Free Devil's Kiss by William W. Johnstone Page B

Not after hearing what Chester said.
    Coven.
    He reminded himself he was a minister before he began cursing in frustration.
    This was Friday, and Sam had been more than an avid student of the occult and devil worship. Black Masses were always held on a Friday.
    â€œCome on, Sam!” he hit the steering wheel in anger.Knock off the jumping to conclusions.”
    There was a book somewhere in his attic at the parsonage—a very authoratative study on devil worship. The best ever written, some experts said. He would dig it out, read it.
    He heard the sirens coming his way and a chill touched him; a feeling of deep despair. Something awful had happened. And for some reason, Sam had the gut feeling that whatever it was would touch him personally.
    Another block, and Sam saw Benton’s car nosed against the curb, the Chief stretched out on the sidewalk, people standing around him. Sam pulled to the side of the road, parked his car, and got out, walking up to the knot of people just as Doctor King arrived. The young doctor jumped out of his car and ran toward the men kneeling by John Benton.
    No hurry, Sam thought—he’s dead.
    How do I know that? he questioned silently.
    The sheriff slid to a tire-squalling halt, blocking the street with his patrol car, jumping out of the car. Sam nodded a greeting. Addison ignored him. Sam leaned against a tree, watching Tony minister to Benton.
    â€œTerrible thing,” a voice spoke from behind him. Miles Lansky.
    â€œYes,” Sam turned, the Jew and the Gentile locking eyes. “A terrible thing.”
    â€œWhen you get time,” Miles spoke softly, so only Sam could hear, “I’d like to talk to you. This afternoon, maybe. If not, tomorrow will do. It’s important, Sam.”
    Miles knows, Sam thought. He knows. The minister took a chance. “You feel it, too, Miles?” he kept his voice low.
    â€œYes,” Miles whispered. “Whatever it is.”
    â€œWe’ll get together.”
    â€œGood.”
    The two men stood silently, watching Doctor King work on Benton. Tony stood up, shaking his head. “Cover him,” he said. “He’s dead.”
    â€œAwful!” Addison said. “Just awful! What caused this, Tony?”
    The doctor shrugged, wanting very much to reply: How in the hell should I know? Instead, “Heart attack, perhaps. Stroke. We’ll do an autopsy.”
    Cut up the body?!” the sheriff seemed unduly alarmed at the suggestion. ”What purpose would that solve?”
    â€œTo find out what killed him! What else?” Tony did not like stupid questions from people he felt should know better.
    The sheriff put his hand on the young doctor’s shoulder. “I didn’t mean to be so snappish, Tony. I’m sorry. Forgive me. I’ve known John for so long, that’s all.”
    â€œI understand, Walter.” But his tone indicated something else. He looked squarely at Sam, just for a few seconds cutting his eyes down the street, toward town.
    Sam nodded his head.
    Tony walked away from the scene, walking toward Sam and Miles. Only a few curious spectators had gathered to rubberneck at the dead man. Only a few. That, to Sam, was unusual. He looked up and down the street. Almost no one stood on their porches, gawking, as is usually the case with tragedy. Odd.
    â€œStrange, isn’t it?” Miles said softly.
    â€œYes,” was all Sam had time to say before Tony reached their side, shaking hands with both men.
    Tony clasped the minister on the shoulder. When he spoke, it was loud enough for Walter to hear. “Sam? You haven’t forgotten your appointment this afternoon, have you. Two o’clock, now. You’re overdue for that physical.”
    Sam had just had a physical in June. Tony knew that perfectly well—he had given it to Sam. “I haven’t forgotten, Tony. I’ll be there.”
    Addison was no longer paying attention to them.
    As Tony walked