Devil's Kiss (7 page)

“You've seen these holes and caves and pits?” Sam interrupted.

“Well, no, Sam. But the area has been posted ever since my father was just a boy, back in the 1890s. No one goes in there except Karl Sorenson—he owns the land.”

“He is a disgusting man!” Jane Ann blurted.

Sam agreed with her, but asked, “In what way, Janey?”

John smiled, waiting for Jane Ann to elaborate.

“He ridicules God and anyone who worships Him. Sorenson says if he ever decides to worship anything, it'll be Satan, because the devil is more practical.”

“Yes,” Sam said. “I've heard that Sorenson says that.”

“There are probably a lot of other things people won't discuss around you, Sam,” John seemed ill at ease. “He's a womanizer, Sam. He's had some pretty raunchy parties out at his ranch. Not the kind of stuff you'd want to discuss in front of a lady. He's been known, from time to time, to import some—talent, if you want to use that word, out to his ranch. These people would perform, if you know what I mean.” Benton flushed. “I don't feel right discussing this before you, Sam.”

Sam grinned. “John, before I became a minister, I saw lots of things knocking around the country, including a lady with a donkey. Do I have to say more?”

Benton shook his head, a half-smile on his lips. “I heard you were quite a rounder before you became a minister. Guess the talk was true.”

“What about a lady and a donkey?” Jane Ann asked.

Never mind, Jane Ann,” Benton said sternly, fatherly. “Point I was making, Sam, is this, rumor has it that some of those people never left this area. There's been some real horror stories come out of Sorenson's ranch.”

“Can't the authorities do anything?”

“No evidence, Sam. Nothing to prove anything out-of-the-way took place. Besides, Karl is a very wealthy man, with connections at the State House, if you know what I mean.”

“Money talks?”

“And swears, sometimes.”

“Interesting,” Sam said softly. He did not elaborate, and John did not pick up on his softly spoken innuendo. Jane Ann looked at her minister, as if attempting to read his thoughts.

“I'll put Best and Perkins on suspension until this is all proven or cleared up. You will press charges, Jane Ann?”

“Oh, boy, will I!”

The chief walked to the door. “I've got some plaster in my car. I want to make some impressions of some prints out back. I'll get back to you both.”

Benton had taken his impressions in the earth, thanked Sam and Jane Ann, and left, saying he was going to get to the bottom of this. He was going after Best and Perkins right now.

Sam glanced at his watch, shocked to discover it was only eight-thirty.

“You look tired, Sam.”

“Somewhere between tired and confused. I don't believe I've had a restful night's sleep in several weeks.”

“Michelle?”

“She's part of it, I suppose.” He looked at Jane Ann, sitting across the small living room from him, one leg tucked under the other. It looked like an awfully uncomfortable way to sit. Sam started to tell her of his dreams, then decided against it. No point in dumping his problems on her. His gaze swept the room, stopping at a book on demonic possession. It lay on the coffee table.

“I didn't know you were interested in that stuff?” he pointed toward the book.

She leaned forward, picking up the book, a slight smile on her lips. “I wasn't—until a couple of weeks ago.”

“Why all the sudden interest?” Sam tried to keep his voice cool, but he had a feeling Jane Ann could see past his calmness.

“I saw the book in a store in Rock Point. It seemed to pull me toward it. That must sound awfully stupid, Sam, but I swear I couldn't take my eyes off it. Do you know much about possession and devil worship?”

“More than most Protestant ministers, I should imagine. I almost got kicked out of seminary several times because I wanted to probe more deeply into the subject. I'm afraid most Protestants tend to take that subject rather lightly.”

“Do you take it lightly?”

“No, I don't.”

Their eyes met, locked, held. A chiming clock rang the quarter hour, the melodious donging echoing through the house. Sam stood up, knowing if he did not get out of this house—right then!—one of them could very easily do something they both would regret.

“Let's sit outside, Janey. On the porch.”

“Are you afraid of me, Sam?” Her eyes were very mischievous, shining at him.

“I refuse to answer that question. Come on.”

She followed him, carrying the book on possession and devil worship. She sat in the porch swing, Sam in a straight-back chair. Neither of them spoke for several minutes.

“Can you feel it, Sam?” she asked, her voice low, little more than a whisper.

“What are you talking about?” But he knew very well what she meant.

“This town.”

He sighed, nodding his head. “Yes. I can feel . . . something. For several weeks, now.”

“What is it, Sam?”

The one question he had hoped she would not ask. “I don't know,” he admitted.

“Want to hear a theory?”

“Go ahead.”

“Church attendance is down—all over Whitfield. I don't have to tell you that. People are behaving strangely, as if the word morality no longer existed. Two police officers tear down my door and threaten to rape me; draw dirty pictures on the door. Kids are disappearing. I'm practically throwing myself at my minister. I'm ashamed of myself, Sam. But I'm scared.”

So am I, Janey. So am I. I've a confession to make: my own thoughts of you have not exactly been pristine the past few weeks.”

She smiled, hearing what she wanted to hear. “Have you talked with Wade lately?”

“No. Not in several weeks—in depth, that is.”

“Chester?”

He shook his head. She was getting to something in her own way.

“Sam, for years Whitfield has been a nice place to live. People always got along well, helping each other in times of need. We're not growing in population, but we're not shrinking, either. There hasn't been any major crime in this town for years. We had a Red Cross chapter, a March of Dimes, a Rotary, a Lions—all the normal clubs and organizations. Yet in less than two months' time, they've all shut down. And there is this: nothing, and I
mean nothing
was ever done about Brother Hayes's murder. This man Farben comes in, professing to be a Baptist minister. But he isn't. Don't ask me how I know. I just do. I'm not telling you anything you don't already know, though, am I, Sam?”

“No, Janey, you're not. But I thought I was the only one who suspected something out of whack around Whitfield. But you're leaving out something: Sheriff Marsh.”

“Yes. Mr. Marsh was a good, decent man. A man in excellent health who suddenly drops dead of a heart attack. Two days after his funeral, his body is stolen. How many bodies have been stolen so far, Sam?”

“Too many, I'm afraid. But nothing is being done about it.”

“I didn't put it all together until last week. School was out, I didn't have anything to do, so I began looking around this town. I don't like what I've found. Or what I think I've found.”

“It's always on a Friday,” Sam muttered.

“You do know devil worship.”

“Not as much as Father Dubois, but enough to pique my curiosity—get me moving on my suspicions. I'll start today.”

“You've talked with Father Dubois?”

“Not lately, but I intend to.”

“Today is Friday, Sam.”

“I know,” the minister said quietly. “What time did Perkins and Best try to break in?”

“It was—let me think. Twelve-thirty. I remember because I woke up when they started driving up and down this street. That was at midnight. I lay in bed wondering what in the world was going on.”

“Why did you ask me if I'd talked with Chester or Wade?”

“I overheard them talking at the church last Sunday. Chester is worried about this town, and his children. But Wade laughed at him. He said it was Chester's imagination. But Sam, it wasn't a very convincing laugh.”

“Yes, for the first time in his life, Wade's sent his kids off to summer camp. So did Miles. Wade is trying to play the skeptical-reporter bit. But his act is not coming off very well. He's worried.”

“He's a good Christian man.”

“One of the best I know, considering the line of work he's in.”

“What do you mean?”

“Reporters have to deal with all the frailties of humankind; it must be difficult not to become cynical after a time.”

“You're worried; I'm worried; Miles is worried; Wade is worried.” She shook her head. “Sam, what do the numbers 666 mean to you?”

He smiled. “That's a tonic, isn't it?”

“Come on!” she laughed. “Be serious.”

“It's from Revelations. The Beast. Chapter 13. Mentions two beasts. The mark of the beast. The number is six hundred three score and six.”

“Do you believe it?”

“I have no reason to doubt it.”

“How about an upside down cross?”

“If you've read that book,” he pointed to the book on devil worship, “you know what it means. Devil worship.”

“I know,” she said. “I've seen both things.”

“Where?” he was instantly alert.

“There is an upside down cross just inside the front window of Hoge's Pool Hall. The numbers 666 are painted on the side of a barn, just outside of town. They weren't there last week. I'm sure of that.”

“Of course, Janey, we must remember that everything we're saying may just be the product of overactive imaginations. We have to consider that.”

“I have considered it, Sam—and rejected it.”

He nodded, not committing himself. “All right. You've said nothing about this?”

“Not to a soul, Sam. Except to you.” She picked up the book on devil worship and possession. “In this book, Sam, the author says some—well, disturbing things. He says there are Beasts on this earth that—well answer to the devil or the devil's agent. He says these Beasts are God's mistakes. I really feel funny saying that. He maintains that no one really knows exactly how many times God tried to make man in His image; that God may have tried several times, many times, even, and these Beasts are part of His failures. He says God managed to destroy all His other failures, but at least one effort survived, due to Satan's intervention, and the devil can call them out whenever he chooses.”

“That's really not a new theory, Janey. I believe most intelligent peopie—layman or theologian—will have to agree that anthropologists have just about proved humankind evolved, working its way up from primates—out of the caves. I believe that works right along with the Bible, not against it, as some argue. God may well have made mistakes—if you want to use that word—in His endeavors to create. And He is certainly capable of destroying what He created.”

“You're an unusual minister, Sam,” Jane Ann said, all the love in the world shining in her eyes.

“I may be an unusual one, but I'm not at all certain I'm a good one.”

“Doubts, Sam? You?”

“I'm a married man, yet,” he hesitated, “I'm lusting after another woman. It's the first time in my ministry I've done so.”

“That just proves you're human, Sam—not a rock.”

He wanted very much to touch her. He wanted very much to do several things to her and with her. He fought back his feelings, apologizing to God for them.

“I don't want you staying here, Janey. Not after what happened last night. Pack up a few things and we'll go over to Chester's; tell him what happened. Chester and Faye will welcome you in their home.”

“I was hoping you'd suggest that. I won't be a minute.”

 

“You're a liar!” Patrolman George Best snapped the words at Jane Ann. “Me and Jimmy wasn't nowhere near your house last night. What are you tryin' to pull, anyway?”

The two patrolmen, in civilian clothes, stood side by side in Chester's den, confronting Jane Ann. Sam stood with Chester and the Chief.

Jane Ann stood with chin high, not backing down.

“Watch your mouth!” Sam warned the patrolman.

Best whirled, facing Sam. “Hey!” he pointed a finger at the minister. “You stay out of this, preacher. This is none of your concern.”

Only the quickly outflung arm of John Benton prevented Sam from knocking the young patrolman flat on his backside. “Easy, Sam,” the Chief cautioned.

Officer Perkins gave Sam a peculiar glance. He knew the minister's background, and what he was very capable of doing. “Reverend Balon, we didn't do those things. As God is my witness, we didn't do them!”

“You don't have to explain a damn thing to that psalm singer!” Best looked at Sam with hate.

“You're fired!” Benton snapped. “I will not tolerate that kind of language toward Sam Balon. As far as you not being at Jane Ann's—I think I can prove you were.”

Best sneered at him. “I'd like to see you do that!”

Take off your right shoe.”

“What?”

“You hear me. Take off your right shoe. Those are city-issued patrolman's shoes. You were wearing them last evening because I recognize the scuff on the toe of the left shoe. I told you to polish them. You didn't. Now, you want to prove you weren't at Jane Ann's? Take off your right shoe.”

“I'll be damned!”

“I'm almost certain of that,” Sam muttered, just loud enough for John to hear.

A corner of the Chief's mouth crinkled with a small smile.

“Come on, George,” Jimmy urged. “You know we weren't there. Take off your shoe if that'll prove us innocent.”

For a brief moment, a look of pure panic crossed Best's face. He shook his head. “No. I won't.”

“George,” his friend said patiently, “I could always whip you in high school, and I can do it now if I have to. Take off your shoe!”