Carpe Demon: Adventures of a Demon-Hunting Soccer Mom (6 page)

“What?” Confusion and a hint of concern splashed across his face.

I pushed my chair back, dropping the napkin in my seat. “I’m sure it’s nothing,” I said. I was up and around the table, heading for the doorway. “I thought I heard Timmy.” I smiled at our guests. “Excuse me. I’ll be right back.”

Stuart was halfway out of his chair. “Should I—”

“Don’t be silly. He probably had a bad dream. I just want to check.”

That appeased him, and I headed off. As soon as I rounded the corner and was out of sight of the dining room, I took off at a run, bounding up the stairs two at a time.

I didn’t breathe until I hit the bedroom, and once I did, I took the most direct route to my jewelry box, bouncing across the bed in a way that would have earned Timmy a scolding. I yanked the bottom drawer out and dumped it, scattering odd bits of jewelry and memorabilia over the rumpled bed linens.

A charm bracelet, a broken pocket watch, a silver crucifix in a velvet case, a box of Allie’s baby teeth, and—tucked in the back—a single bottle of holy water, the metal cap still screwed on tight.

Dear Lord, thank you
.

I didn’t even hear Stuart come up behind me. “Kate?”

I yelped, then shoved the bottle down the bodice of my dress, where I could feel my heart pounding against it.

“Shit, Stuart, you scared me to death.” I slid off the bed and turned around to face him, not quite meeting his eyes.

“I thought you were checking on Tim.”

“I was. I did. He’s asleep.”

Stuart lifted his brows and looked pointedly at the mess on the bed.

“I, um, realized I wasn’t wearing any earrings.”

Nothing.

The silence grew so thick that I was afraid he wasn’t going to answer. Then he moved toward me and stroked my cheek, finally cupping my chin in his hand. With the utmost tenderness, he tilted my head back. “Sweetheart, do you feel okay?”

“I’m fine,” I said. As fine as anyone could be who had to deal with demons and a dinner party and keeping secrets from her husband. “I’m sorry. I’m just distracted.”

It hit me then that we were both upstairs, and the kitchen was unguarded. What if someone spilled something? What if they went looking for paper towels?
What if they looked behind the cat food?

I grabbed his hand. “I guess I felt a little overwhelmed,” I said as I tugged him down the hall. “I’m not much of a Jackie O.”

“I don’t want Jackie O.,” he said. “You’ve done a fabulous job. Just be yourself and everyone will love you. I know I do.”

I forced a smile, but I couldn’t force any words. Because for the first time, the honest to God’s truth hit me: My husband, the man who’d fathered my youngest child and who shared my bed every night, didn’t really know squat about my life.

And if I had my way, he wasn’t ever going to.

 

 

My opportunity presented itself
during dessert. “Would anyone else like some water?” I asked, rising. No one did, so I headed into the kitchen, pulled down our smallest glass (one of Timmy’s with faded purple dinosaurs) and poured in the holy water. Not even half an inch.

I eyed the tap, wondering if it was sacrilegious to mix holy water with the water provided by the City of San Diablo. Even more important, I wondered if it would render the water ineffective.

Since it wasn’t worth the risk to either my soul or my plan, I returned with my tiny bit of water in my tiny little glass. Stuart looked at me, and I shrugged. “We never seem to have enough clean glasses,” I said.

Judge Larson looked amused. “You’re not very thirsty,” he said. “Or are you sneaking a shot of liqueur while the rest of us gorge ourselves on your delicious apple tart?”

I laughed. “Exceptionally thirsty,” I lied. “I polished off most of the glass just walking back.” As I spoke, I headed for my seat, planning to trip over my own feet and dump the water on Larson as soon as I was in range.

The phone rang, and Stuart pushed his chair back, blocking my path and spoiling my plan. “That might be Judge Serfass,” he said, referring to the one no-show who’d called to say her plane was late. He answered, but his expression quickly turned to confusion. “I can’t hear you,” he said, in that overly loud voice people use on bad connections. “I can’t understand a word you’re saying.”

Another few seconds passed as he shook his head, looking confused and frustrated. Then he shrugged and hung up the phone.

“Who was it?”

“No idea. Sounded foreign. Italian, maybe. The connection was terrible, but it had to be a wrong number.”

Father Corletti
.

Out of instinct, I turned to look at Larson,
and found him looking right back at me.

Oh, hell, it was now or never. I pushed past Stuart’s chair toward my own. As I did, Larson stood. He reached down as if to pull my chair out for me, but before I realized what was happening, he bumped my arm and the glass went flying.

Water splashed harmlessly on the tile. But not a single drop touched the man.

“Oh, look at that. I’m so sorry,” he said. “How incredibly clumsy of me.”

“You did that on purpose,” I hissed as I bent to pick up the glass.

“
What?
” That from Stuart.
Oops.
The comment I’d meant only for Larson had apparently been louder than I’d thought.

“I said he really knows how to startle a person.” I stood up and met Larson’s eyes, my smile cold. “No harm, no foul. Water’s certainly replaceable. Tap water, mineral water, bottled water. All kinds of water.”

He didn’t answer me. He didn’t have to. We both knew the score for that round. Demons—one. Me—
nada
.

 

 

Another hour of chitchat
and political hocus-pocus and then the guests were finally ready to hit the road. Parties often come to an end in a bustle of bodies gathering purses and car keys, and this one was no exception. We all migrated to the foyer, then stepped out onto the front porch where hands started shaking and good-byes started flying.

In the flurry, Larson took my hand, his skin rough against my own. “It’s been a lovely, enlightening evening, Mrs. Connor. I’m sure we’ll see each other again soon.”

His eyes reflected a deep intensity. Not necessarily evil . . . but the man definitely looked as if he knew my secrets.

I shivered, fighting revulsion and a hint of fear. “Yes,” I managed. “I’m sure we’ll cross paths again soon.”

“And I’m so sorry I didn’t have the chance to meet your daughter. I imagine she’s just like her mother.”

My chest constricted and I realized I couldn’t breathe. It was almost eleven o’clock. The mall had been closed for an hour. And I hadn’t heard a word from Laura or Allie.

Oh, shit, oh, shit, oh, shit
.

“I hear Timmy crying,” I muttered, ostensibly to Stuart, but I didn’t bother to see if he heard me. I raced back into the house, tossing “thank you all for coming” over my shoulder as I disappeared inside.

“Pick up, pick up, pick up.” I had the phone in my hand and was pacing the kitchen. Laura’s voice, that damn message, the beep, and then, “Allie? Laura? Where are you guys? Hello?”

No one was answering, and I was on the verge of slamming down the receiver and racing to Laura’s back door when the machine beeped and I heard Mindy’s voice, laced with giggles. “Mrs. Connor?”

“Mindy.” I exhaled, and my legs gave out. I sank to the ground and hugged my knees to my chest, my back pressed against the dishwasher. “Where’s Allie?”

“She’s on the treadmill. We both had double scoops, so that means we have to burn like three hundred calories or something to make up for it.”

I closed my eyes and decided I’d save the eating-disorder lecture for another time. “Can you put her on?”

Mindy didn’t bother to answer, but I heard the clatter of the cordless phone changing hands. “Mom! Mrs. Dupont took us to an Adam Sandler movie! Isn’t that cool? He is
soooo
funny.”

“I didn’t realize you guys were going to be gone that long,” I said. “I thought you were just getting ice cream.”

I could practically hear her shrug. “We kinda begged. But, Mom, it was such a slammin’ movie.”

I assumed that meant she liked it. “Any reason why you didn’t call to let me know where you’d be?”

“Huh? I was with Mrs. Dupont, remember?”

Okay, I wasn’t being fair. “Sorry. I just got a little worried when I couldn’t find you.”

“Then let me have a cell phone.”

My daughter, the pragmatist.

“So,” I said brightly, “why don’t you and Mindy come over here tonight. I’m wired from coffee. If you’re still up for that Harry Potter marathon, I’m game.”

“Um . . .”

Not the enthusiastic response I’d wanted. “Come on, Al. It’ll be fun. You two can stay up as late as you want.”

“Yeah?” A pause. “Why?” Suspicion laced her voice. Smart kid.

“Because you’re my kid and I love you and I want to spend time with you.”
And protect you.

“Oh.” I held my breath while she thought it over. “We don’t have the movies.”

“I’ll send Stuart out to get them.”

“And we can really stay up for all of them?”

“Absolutely.” I could be magnanimous in victory.

“Cool.” A pause, then. “And, Mom?”

“Hmmm?” I was distracted by the realization that I now had to convince Stuart to schlep to Blockbuster.

“I think the guy at the concession stand likes me.”

No more distraction. “Which one? That blond guy who looks like he plays college football?” I’d wring his neck if even looked at my baby girl that way.

“
Nooo.
” I got the verbal eye roll. “He’s probably about sixteen and he’s got glasses and curly dark hair. He’s cute.”

“You don’t need a boyfriend, Allie,” I said. “Believe me. There’s time enough for that later.”

“Oh,
Mo-om
. Anyway, I wouldn’t want
him
as a boyfriend.” Which begged the question of whether there was a particular boy she
did
want. “I said he liked
me
. He’s cute and all, but he’s a little bit of a dweeb. And he’s got really gross breath.”

My blood turned to ice. “Allie,” I said, my voice as sharp as a knife. “I’m going to drive over and get you both right now.” I drew a breath, then tried to cover. “Otherwise,” I added, “we’ll be watching movies until dawn.”

 

 

Despite their enthusiasm
for our impromptu marathon, Allie and Mindy only lasted through the first half of
Chamber of Secrets
. I left them camped out on the floor of the den, then circled the house, checking all the doors and windows, and making sure all the alarms were activated, including the motion sensor on the first floor. We rarely use that feature (inevitably the cat trips the alarm), but tonight I considered it essential. If anyone (or anything) came through the window, I wanted to know about it.

I considered moving the body, but feared I’d wake someone up. Better to send husband and kids out tomorrow with a list of Saturday morning errands, and leave me alone to do the dirty work. If I gave them the option of shopping or cleaning the bathrooms, I could pretty much guarantee they’d depart the house willingly.

I planned to go back to sleep on the couch beside the girls, but Stuart woke up while I was checking Timmy’s room, and he tugged me back into bed with him. We spooned together, the same way we had for years, but I couldn’t sleep. Instead I lay there, my mind in a muddle. I tried to reach out, to grasp some coherent thought and make some sense of the day’s events, but I was too exhausted.

And, really, there was no sense to be had. I simply didn’t have enough information.

I glanced at the clock, the digits swimming through my bleary-eyed vision. Just after four. I eased away from Stuart and sat up, swinging my bare feet to the floor. Then I padded into the guest room and shut the door.

Time to make a phone call.

Even after fifteen years I could still dial the number from memory, and I punched it in, then waited through the funky beep-ring that always made me think that European phones were more of a toy than a telecommunications device. After four rings the Vatican operator picked up.

“Sono Kate Andrews. Posso parlare con Padre Corletti, per favore?”
I said, giving my maiden name. Of course, Father also knew me by my first married name—Crowe—but Father had been like a parent to me. I’d always be Katherine Andrews around him.

The operator put me through, and after a few seconds, Father Corletti picked up.
“Katherine?”
His voice, once so firm and commanding, seemed weak and feeble.
“Katherine? Sei tu?”

“Si.”
I closed my eyes, suddenly fearful that Father would be no help to me at all. But he had to be. If I couldn’t turn to the
Forza Scura
, then there was nowhere else to go.

“I am so pleased,” he said, his accent thick. “When I could not reach you earlier, I feared the worst had come.”

I licked my lips. “Tell me what’s happening.”

“It is you who are there, in San Diablo. Perhaps you should tell me.”

I did. I started from the beginning, going into more detail than I’d left in my earlier message, and ending with Larson’s parting comment and Allie’s revelation about the stinky concessionaire. “They can’t be after my little girl,” I whispered. “Please, Father, that isn’t happening, is it?”

“They seek something,” Father said. “Something in San Diablo.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” I accused.

“I have no answer, my child.”

I closed my eyes and fought tears. I was
not
going to lose Allie. Not now. Not ever. “What? What do they want?”

“That, we do not know.”

“Then find out,” I said. “Or better yet, just eradicate the problem. Surely you have Hunters in place here already.”