California Demon (18 page)

“We could wait,” I said. “But then we’ll miss the surf thing.”

She sighed. “If we miss it, they’ll never invite us back.”

“I know.”

She took a deep breath, then grabbed the steering wheel with both hands. “All right. Let’s get this over with.” She shot me a quick glance. “Honestly, Kate. Sometimes I think life’s more exciting now that I know your secret. And sometimes I wish I’d just stayed home that night.”

I’d told Laura because I’d had no choice. She’d followed me one night, then witnessed a rather graphic demonic death. I had to either tell her or let her think she was losing her mind. “If it’s any consolation, I’m glad you know. I’d hate to have to go through this all by myself.”

“I’m glad I know, too. But on days like today . . .”

“Yeah,” I said. “I know.”

We drove in silence for a few minutes. Then Laura turned to me. “Actually, maybe we
should
wait until dark. If we’re not at the cookout, we can’t embarrass the girls.”

“Good point,” I agreed, happy that my universe was shifting back to normal. I’d never intended for Laura to be involved, but now that she was, I realized how much I needed her. Both for helping me schlep bodies and for moral support. “You got the embarrassment lecture, too?” I asked.

“Lecture, memo, reminder phone call.” Her eyebrows rose behind her sunglasses. “It would be irritating if it weren’t so damned amusing.”

“List of do’s and don’ts?” I asked.

She patted her purse. “Right here.”

I tapped my temple. “Left mine on the dresser.”

“I’m particularly fond of item eight—no adjusting Mindy’s hair in public. With extra demerits if there’s a boy within five hundred feet.”

“No participating in karaoke,” I added. “As if that were really a worry in the first place.”

“I like karaoke,” Laura said.

“No embarrassing
me,
” I retorted, deadpan.

“You know,” she said, thoughtfully. “There wasn’t anything on my list about naked hula dancing.”

“Mine either,” I said. “Obviously a blatant oversight.”

“Or flirting with the teachers,” she said.

I thought of David Long and had to silently acknowledge that that one might do well to be on the list. “Are we allowed to acknowledge blood relation with them?” I asked. “I mean, I think it’s important to understand the rules here.”

The conversation pretty much disintegrated from there, as we came up with more and more outrageous ways to embarrass our daughters. Everything from asking each boy if he thought our daughters were pretty to snorting Diet Coke up our noses.

By the time we pulled in behind the cathedral, the imaginary Kate and Laura were surfing with the boys, decked out in bras and panties because we didn’t have our bathing suits, while singing karaoke and inviting the whole crowd back to our neighborhood for a block party.

St. Mary’s Cathedral dominates the highest point in San Diablo, a focal point for the entire town. It’s a splendid piece of architecture, and dramatic, too, in the way it perches on top of the cliffs, the ocean beating a rhythm below.

And it’s not just dramatic visually. There’s also high drama in the way the cathedral fights evil, by nothing other than its mere presence. The cathedral, in fact, was one of the reasons Eric and I moved to San Diablo. Built centuries ago, the structure is home to some of the holiest of relics. Even the mortar is holy, having been infused with the bones of saints.

There were only four cars in the parking lot, and I recognized two—Father Ben’s and Delores Sykes’s, the volunteer coordinator. “Pull around behind,” I said, pointing to the thin driveway that exited on the far side of the lot, then curved around the rectory, the Bishop’s Hall and the other buildings until it dead-ended near the back of the cathedral itself.

While Laura parked the car, I called Father Ben, and he met us outside. “We should be able to do this unnoticed,” he said. His face was pinched, and he looked tired. “Where’s the body?”

“What’s wrong, Padre? Have you learned anything more about the book? About any of it for that matter?”

He shook his head. “No, I’m afraid not. Just a moment of pity for this woman who won’t get a decent burial. And her family, who will never be able to say good-bye.”

“Yeah,” I said. I hated that, too, but none of us could see a way around it. Father Ben had even talked with Father Corletti at the Vatican. But the head of the
Forza Scura
had no better suggestion. “At least she’ll be buried with the bones of saints surrounding her.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “That does give me some peace.”

He looked from me to Laura. “We should begin.”

Because of the way my week had been going, I expected the worst. But God must have decided I’d had enough drama in my life (or that I wouldn’t look good in prison chic, either) because we managed to get the body out of the trunk and into the cathedral without incident.

After that it really was easy. We readjusted our grip on the body, then followed Father Ben down the dark hallway that led from the back door to the sacristy. We didn’t make it that far, though, turning off at a thick metal door that Ben opened with an ancient-looking key.

I’d been down there once before, but Laura hadn’t, and Ben cautioned her to watch her step. The stairs were narrow, and carved out of the rock, and we followed their curve until we hit the bottom and found ourselves in a cavelike room with raw stone walls.

While Laura and I kept a hold on the body, Father Ben took a flashlight from its hook on the wall, then shined it to the right, illuminating yet another door. “That’s the crypt,” I explained to Laura. “The cathedral’s priests are entombed there.”

“Right,” she said, looking just a little green.

Father Ben held the door open, and we entered the damp space. “We’re under the altar now,” he said. A massive crypt loomed before us, ornate stone tablets appearing as decorations, but serving the more practical purpose of sealing the individual tombs.

A metal pry bar was propped against a far wall, and he took it now, placing it carefully between the stone and the surrounding crypt. He shoved, but nothing happened. Laura and I set the body down, and I joined him, both of us tugging on the count of three. The stone shifted, came loose, and we carefully tugged it out of the space, then set it gently on the ground.

“Oh, wow,” Laura said softly.

She was looking into the tomb at the decaying robes of a priest, only the edges of his vestment and the bottom of his feet visible from this angle.

“That’s Father Michael,” Ben said. “He served the church in the late 1800s.”

I closed my eyes and crossed myself, saying a quick thank you to Father Michael for helping us out here.

“You don’t think he’ll mind?” Laura asked. “I mean, buried with a demon . . . ?”

I shrugged, and let the padre field that question.

He stayed silent for a moment, then spoke softly. “When Father Corletti came from Rome and told me what happened last summer—when he told me what you were doing, Kate— I almost couldn’t believe it. Seminary didn’t prepare me for that. Nothing I’d seen or heard or read prepared me for it.”

“I know,” Laura agreed shakily. “But it’s real. I couldn’t believe it, but I also couldn’t deny it.”

“And it’s vile,” Father Ben said. “And as soon as Father Corletti asked me to help—to train to be an
alimentatore
— I knew that I had to say yes. Because the way I see it, nothing I can do in this life is more important than being a part of God’s army against evil. I try to do that in my homilies, to prepare my congregation to fight Satan’s influence. But to actually stand here and see the tangible results of that fight . . .”

“It’s okay,” I said, taking his hand. “We understand.”

“I know you do. But my point is that these priests would have made the same decision. So to answer your question: No, I don’t think they would mind. I think they would welcome the chance to help in any way they can.”

“Right,” said Laura, looking dubiously at the crypt. “Too bad for them that means having some body a demon hijacked shoved in their resting place.”

Father Ben cracked a smile. “Well, we can’t all be out there kicking a little demon butt. We do what we can.”

“Father!” I said, feigning shock.

“Get on with it, you two,” he said, gesturing at the open crypt. “It’s going to be a tight fit.”

He was right, but Laura and I managed, gritting our teeth against the squishing sound as we shoved the body inside the tight space. Father Ben may revere what I do, but there are times when the details of the job really gross me out.

Once the demon was safely ensconced with Father Michael, we replaced the end stone, sliding it back into the space until it was almost impossible to tell that it had ever been removed.

We followed Father Ben back up the stairs. The cathedral was still silent, and I wondered if the saints in the cathedral’s mortar were watching out for us. Just in case, I said a silent thank-you. I needed all the help I could get.

We said our good-byes, then got back in Laura’s car. She’d maneuvered us all the way down to the Pacific Coast Highway before I realized she hadn’t spoken one word.

“You okay?”

One shoulder lifted in a dubious gesture. “Just coming to grips, you know?”

I did know. And because I did, I reached for her free hand. “We did good,” I said.

“Gold stars on my permanent record?”

“A whole box of them,” I promised. “Although . . .”

She shifted in her seat long enough to eye me suspiciously. “Although?”

“Demerits can be fun, too,” I said as she turned into the beachfront parking lot. “Embarrassing our girls should be worth five or six at least, don’t you think?”

“More if we do the underwear surfing.” She was grinning now. For that matter, so was I.

As Laura maneuvered the rows looking for an empty space, I pulled the collar of my T-shirt out and took a mournful look inside. “I don’t think I can go there,” I said. “My bra’s just too boring.”

“Mine’s not,” Laura said, her tone mischievous. “Damn, this lot is full.”

“Try the hotel,” I said. “Valet park if you have to.”

The Coronado Crest Hotel is one of those charming mission-style hotels that sprang up back in the Hollywood heyday, when stars would escape Los Angeles for romantic trysts to the north. It had oversized rooms with fireplaces and balconies, excellent service, and a world-class restaurant with both indoor and outdoor dining. The patio looked out over the beach, and you could sit and drink wine and listen to the sound of the surf.

Eric and I had stayed our first week in San Diablo at the Crest, our days spent searching for a house and our nights spent listening to the ocean. I loved that hotel, but I hadn’t walked through its doors since Eric died.

Laura found a space in the self-parking area, and pulled in. We wove our way through the mishmash of cars until we hit the boardwalk that runs from the hotel to the north, staying parallel with the Coast Highway and the high-priced artsy area that makes up the old-town heart of San Diablo. To the west of the boardwalk is nothing but sand and ocean, and that’s where we’d find our daughters.

We started out on the boardwalk, the beach to our left, and the hotel to our right. “You realize that I haven’t forgotten your comment,” I said.

“Comment?” she asked, her voice a little too innocent.

I reached a finger inside the collar of my shirt and tugged out a hint of bra strap. “Your comment,” I repeated. “Tell.”

She grinned deviously, looked around as if to confirm we had no audience, then unbuttoned the top two buttons on her blouse. She pulled it open quick and flashed me, showing off a satin and lace red push-up bra.

“Whoo-woo,” I said. “I guess you really did come prepared for underwear surfing.”

“No one’s seeing me in these things except Paul.”

I cocked my head, finally getting with the program. “You’re pulling out the big guns?”

She gazed at her 34B chest. “I’m not sure how big they are, but I’m not too proud to use them,” she said. “I spent Thursday afternoon at the mall buying out Victoria’s Secret.”

I took advantage of a bench to sit down. “What did Paul say?”

Her eyes darkened. “He hasn’t been home since Thursday morning.” She made quote marks in the air with her fingers. “Working.”

“He might really be working,” I said, mostly because I wanted it to be true. “You don’t know that he’s—”

“It’s okay. You don’t have to make me feel better. I mean, it makes some sense. We’ve been married for almost twenty years. And even if he’s not—” She cleared her throat. “Even if he’s totally faithful, that doesn’t mean our marriage can’t use a little oomph, right? I mean, everyone gets complacent over time, don’t they?”

“Of course,” I said, giving her the answer I knew she wanted. But I wondered if it was true. Were Stuart and I getting complacent? Was that why it was so easy for him to spend all those late nights away working on his campaign? Because I’d just become part of the scenery? His wife, his house, his kids, his car.

The thought both worried and angered me. Even after ten years, Eric had never once gotten complacent. The comparison was unfair, and I knew it. They were different men, and I loved them both. But Eric had one thing that Stuart never had. Eric understood with microscopic precision just how fragile life is. How every day is a gift. He never took me for granted because he couldn’t. People had been ripped away from us our whole lives. And as far as Eric and I had been concerned, just surviving until dawn was a miracle to be cherished.

I frowned, my thoughts turning back to Eric’s mugging. Was that why I hadn’t been more suspicious? Had I been complacent? Had I spent our entire marriage knowing the Sword of Damocles was hanging over us? And when it finally fell, although it was a tragedy, it wasn’t really a surprise?