California Demon (30 page)

“Absolutely,” I said.

“Hold on. Let me check my file.” I heard him rifling through papers, and then his voice came back on the line. He read off an address, but I didn’t copy it down. Laura and I had already called; I knew that Cool had moved on.

I confirmed with David that Cool was definitely not going to be anywhere near the planning session that afternoon. Then I signed off and drummed my fingers on the table until the furniture guys signaled to me. Then I spent the next hour showing them where the various pieces went, and telling them which of the destroyed items they could cart away.

I spent the rest of the afternoon moving furniture this way and that, pretending like I had even an inkling of talent in the interior-decorating department. Finally, I just shoved the couch back where the old couch had been and called it a day.

Allie came home, pronounced the new furniture “okay,” then went upstairs to do homework. Timmy immediately got chocolate smears on the sofa. Eddie announced that the floral print was “too damn frou-frou.” And Stuart wandered in so exhausted that he didn’t even notice.

Nice to know my domestic efforts are appreciated.

As soon as I’d put Timmy into bed, I followed suit, anxious for this day to be over and tomorrow to arrive. At least then I could get back to demon hunting. My efforts there might not be acknowledged, but at least I knew they were appreciated.

Fifteen

l WAS SO anxious to get back to work Thursday morning that only the tiniest bit of mommy guilt peeked out as I dropped Timmy at day care. And when Miss Sally told him that they were going to be finger painting that day, the guilt vanished in a puff, erased by the toothy grin that spread across the face of my soon to be purple, orange, and blue child. (No matter how hard the school insists that the kids wear smocks, my child always comes home in psychedelic colors. That, however, is a small price to pay for guilt reduction.)

Back home, I made a fresh pot of coffee and tried to decide where to start. As the coffee brewed, I skimmed the paper, my heart stopping when I saw the small article on the front of the Metro section.

Jason Palmer, a junior at Coronado High School, was found beaten to death in an alley near the community college. “Mr. Palmer held a 4.0 grade point average, was a member of the marching band, editor of the newspaper, and the treasurer of the surf club.” The article ended with details regarding the funeral and memorial.

I’d just finished reading it, when the phone rang.

“Did you see that article about Jason?” Laura asked, as soon as I’d answered.

I told her I’d just finished reading it. “Allie’s going to be devastated,” I said. “I don’t know the boy, but she must if he’s in the surf club.”

“Mindy, too,” Laura said. “From the newspaper staff. Do you think . . .” She trailed off, but I knew where she was going.

“I can’t be positive. But the way everything has been going lately . . .”

“Yeah,” Laura said ominously. “And now everything seems to tie back to the high school. I swear I’m going to pull Mindy out. St. Mary’s has a Catholic school, right? Better yet, a convent. Maybe Mindy would take to being a nun.”

I laughed. “You’re not even Catholic.”

“A minor detail,” she said.

She was joking, of course. At least about the nunnery. But I knew how she felt about the school. The same thoughts had crossed my mind, too. “At least today’s Thursday,” I said. “Today, tomorrow, and then they’re off for two weeks. Surely we’ll figure out what’s going on—and stop it— before the new semester starts.”

Actually, I thought I might just keep Allie home tomorrow, and then come up with some excuse to keep her away from the exhibition on Saturday. I didn’t know what, but I had a feeling bribery and threats would have to be involved. I could do that. When it comes to saving my kids, I’m really not proud.

After that, it was total family time, and I intended to do my damnedest to keep my daughter locked in the house, the alarm system on, a crucifix around her neck, and Christmas carols playing in the background.

The phone beeped, signaling an incoming call, and so I signed off with Laura and clicked over.

My hand went to my throat, and I dropped back into my chair. Stupidly, my eyes filled with tears. “Father Corletti,” I said. “It’s so good to hear your voice.”

“Father Ben has told me of your recent trials,” he said. “You are well?”

“I’m fine. My family’s fine. But I’m worried.”

“Ah,
mia cara,
my heart and prayers are with you.”

“Thank you,” I said. “But we could use a few more Hunters here.”

“You know that is one request I cannot grant. Our resources are too thin, and the need is great elsewhere in the world as well.”

“I know,” I said, feeling like a petulant child. “Our problem isn’t even so much manpower,” I admitted. “It’s information. We haven’t figured out what the Tartarus demons are up to. We’re working blind, here.”

“Sì,”
he said. “But if we are correct and this book is the
Malevolenaumachia Demonica,
then these events could bring forth a reign of evil such as we have never seen.”

I shivered. Father Corletti is not prone to exaggeration. If he says the book could spark a crisis like nothing ever seen on the earth, I certainly wasn’t going to argue with him.

“Be strong in your faith,
mia cara.
You will find the answer soon. Of that,
I
have faith.”

“Thank you, Father,” I said, feeling like a little girl being praised by a parent.

I started to say good-bye, but stopped myself, remembering one other question I had for him. This one, about Eric.

“Katherine? Are you still there?”

“I’m here,” I said, suddenly tentative.

“There is something on your mind, my child?”

I couldn’t help my smile. Father knew me better than almost anyone. He’d been teacher, trainer, father, nurse. He’d sat for hours at my bedside when I’d succumbed to pneumonia after battling a demon in the Paris catacombs in the dead of winter. And on my sixteenth birthday, he’d given me the delicate silver crucifix that I still cherished.

I couldn’t keep secrets from Father Corletti. And, honestly, I wouldn’t want to.

“I’ve been thinking about Eric,” I said.

“Ah, my child. You and Eric shared a wonderful love, but you must let go. Keep him in your heart, always. But honor the husband you have now.”

“I know,” I said. “I do. Or, that is, I try.” I swallowed. “The thing is, Father, I found a note.”

I explained about finding the cryptic notes from Eric, the words spilling out. My uncertainty as to how much to tell Allie, and when. My hurt that Eric kept secrets from me, secrets that seemed to grow with every bit of information I discovered.

“But I’ve reached a dead end,” I said. “Father Oliver passed away, and he left no information for me. Whatever Eric wanted me to find is gone. I feel like I’ve failed him, Father. But at the same time, I’m so hurt—so angry—that he hid something this huge from me.”

“I understand, child. It is never easy to learn that what you believed is not entirely true. But even in a marriage, there is still autonomy, no? You are one as a unit, while remaining unique in the eyes of the Lord.”

“I . . . well, yes.” Not that his words made me feel any better. I mean, Eric had still been keeping secrets.

I heard Father’s soft chuckle, and realized that he knew exactly what I was thinking. “What do you wish to know, child?”

My breath hitched in my throat, because I realized what he was offering me. Father Corletti knew what Eric had been up to. The trail Eric had laid out for me might have gone cold, but I could still learn the truth. Or I could walk away from the mystery, bid good-bye to Eric, and concentrate on the family I had now.

I closed my eyes, trying to think rationally, to parse my decision through both logic and love. In the end, I made the only choice I could. I asked Father to tell me about Eric.

If he was disappointed in me, he didn’t show it, and for that, I loved him all the more. Instead, he told me to sit down, that what he had to say might be hard to hear.

I sat, mindlessly ripping a paper napkin to shreds as Father Corletti told me things about my first husband that I’d never imagined.

“Eric visited Father Oliver because he was studying to be an
alimentatore,
” Father said.

I tried not to be shocked, but the world was spinning under me. “When? When we were in San Diablo?”

“But . . . but . . . why didn’t he tell me?”

“That, my child, I do not know. I assume he had not completely made up his mind to return to
Forza,
and he did not want to unnecessarily worry you.”

“That’s nuts,” I said. “There must have been some other reason.”

“Child, I have no more information—or comfort—to give you. Other than to say that Eric Crowe loved you very much.”

I snuffled a little, but nodded, even though Father couldn’t see me. “I know that. I do. It’s just, hard. All this coming at me at once.”

“Perhaps you should speak to Father Donnelly.”

“Why?” Father Donnelly was on the short list of priests poised to take the helm at
Forza
once Father Corletti retired.

“He supervised Father Oliver’s work with Eric. Perhaps he will have more information for you.”

“Okay.”

“If you are certain you wish to pursue this, I will transfer you to Father Donnelly’s extension.”

“I’m sure.”

“Very well. And Katherine, remember that God is with you always. And, my child, so am I.”

I heard
click-click
ing on the line as Father Corletti put the call through. A ring, then another, and then a male voice.
“Sì?”

“Padre Donnelly? Is he available?”

“Not at the moment,” the voice replied in crisp English with only a hint of an accent. “May I take a message?”

I decided not to leave my name. Assuming Father Corletti didn’t mention my call, I might be able to catch Father Donnelly before he’d had the chance to think about his responses. “Never mind,” I said. “Thanks so much.”

I’m not sure how long I sat there, my head in my hands. Then I heard the scuff of a chair across the tile and looked up to see Eddie peering hard at me.

“What’s on your mind, girl?”

“What?”

“Either you’re constipated, or you’re thinking deep thoughts. Which is it?”

I frowned slightly at his choice of words, but I wasn’t his mother, so I let it slide. “Deep thoughts,” I said.

“Good. We’re out of prune juice.”

“Thanks for the update,” I said.

“So what is it? The book? Your daughter’s love life? Damn demon-bugs that keep crawling over this godforsaken town?”

“Actually,” I said, “I’m thinking about Eric.”

His bushy eyebrows rose above his glasses frames. “My grandson, eh?” He pulled out a chair. “In that case, I’ll have a seat and you can tell me all about it.”

At the moment, Eddie was the closest thing I had to a father. And since I needed a shoulder to cry on, I took him up on his offer and basically spilled my guts.

Laura tapped on the back door just as I was finishing my story. I let her in, then brought her up to speed as we traipsed back to the table. Eddie was still there, his fingers tapping out a rhythm on the Formica.

“Father Donnelly,” he said. “Interesting.”

“Why?” I asked, my ears perking up at his tone.

“Just that he’s as crooked as they come. If Eric was working with that one, then he musta been crooked, too.”

I reeled backwards with as much force as if he’d slapped me, rage bubbling up. “What the hell are you talking about? This is Eric! You didn’t know him. You can go around pretending you’re part of this family, but you’re not. You don’t know us, and you sure as hell don’t know Eric.”

I pushed back from the table, my hand clapped over my mouth, ferocious anger warring with total mortification. I ran out of the room and up the stairs, then fell onto my bed, pulling a pillow tight against my chest.

I knew I was overreacting, I
knew
it. But I’d been hit too hard lately to even bother trying to rein my emotions in.
Damn Eddie!
What right did he have to trash Eric’s good name? My husband wasn’t corrupt. The idea was completely absurd.

I closed my eyes and buried my face in the pillow. As pissed as I was, I still hated myself for lashing out. I may have only known Eddie for a few months, but I did love him, and I knew he loved me. He was brash and obnoxious and often thoughtless, but he’d never hurt me on purpose.

On accident, though. Well, he’d definitely got me good, there.

I heard a soft tap on the door, then felt the mattress shift as someone sat down next to me. I opened my eyes to see Eddie peering at me. “Wanna take a punch at me? Just do it in my gut. Be a crime to ruin such a perfect nose.”

I smiled despite myself. “No punches. I’m sorry I yelled at you.”

He stroked my hair. “No, girl, I deserved it. Never liked Father Donnelly, and I opened my mouth without thinking. Maybe he ain’t corrupt after all. Father Corletti likes the pansy-ass jerk, so maybe he’s okay.”

I propped myself up on my elbow, still listening.

“And even if the rat-bastard’s as crooked as the day is long, well, that ain’t no reason for me to go accusing Eric of throwing in with him. Eric might not’ve known. Or maybe he was trying to trap Donnelly.”

Laura sat down on the other side of the bed. “Like a sheriff going in to clean up an outlaw town.”

“That’s it, girlie.”

I almost managed a grin, liking the picture of Eric stepping up to battle corruption wherever he found it. I still didn’t like him keeping the battle a secret from me, but if he had to have a secret, I wanted it to be a noble one.