Free Death in the Cards by Sharon Short Page B

fat.)
    â€œâ€”but won’t you join me in a word of prayer for the fallen soul—” he waved a hand “—over yonder?” He held out his hands, expecting me to take them. Sweat glistened on his palms and brow. If he took off his jacket, I just knew I’d see sweat stains on his underarms.
    â€œDon’t you want to know who we’re praying for?”
    â€œRebecca said it was one of them psychics,” Dru Purcell said. “So I’m sure their soul is lost. But despite my moral obligation to fight their Satanic influence, it’s also my moral obligation to pray for their soul even as it wends its way to the fiery depths of hell. . .”
    He broke that last word into two syllables, as if hiccupping in the middle of it, lifting his hands to the heavens, or at least to the sparse autumnal bug population in the light.
    â€œThe dead person is Ginny Proffitt,” I interrupted harshly. “She appears to have been murdered.”
    For a moment, Dru went as solid as if he’d glanced Gomorrah over his shoulder. His hands dropped to his side. I thought he was going to fall straight over. Then he drew a handkerchief from his pocket, and put a trembling hand to his brow, wiping away the sudden beading of sweat.
    In that moment, he stopped being a caricature of himself, of the identity of righteous, knows-it-all preacher he’d created for himself. He looked lost. Scared. Confused. He looked simply . . . human. I felt a surge of pity for him.
    â€œYou knew her, didn’t you? I mean, personally,” I said softly.
    He put the handkerchief away and stared at me as if trying to figure out who I was. Then he looked around as if trying to figure out where he was and how he’d gotten there. For a moment, I thought maybe he’d snapped. Could a person get amnesia all of a sudden, just forget who he was because of something terrible he’d heard? Did Ginny mean that much to him?
    â€œPastor Purcell? You knew Ginny Proffitt?” I asked again.
    Suddenly he looked at me, his dark eyes intense. “Yes, young lady, I knew her. I knew her to be a force of evil come to our town. A practitioner of the dark arts. A follower of—”
    â€œNo, I mean you knew her personally. I saw you with her at Serpent Mound. You were embracing, as if you were old friends,” I said. Or lovers. But I didn’t have the guts to say that.
    Dru gave me a long look. Finally, he said, “No. I do not know Ginny Proffitt personally.”
    â€œI saw you with her at Serpent Mound.”
    He shook his head. “I was not there with her. I was not there at all. The place should be razed, in my opinion. You know I’ve spoken out on that many times.” Oh yes, I knew. Dru’s absolute certainty in his self-made brand of Christianity really did extend to wanting to see thousands-years-old remnants of an ancient civilization destroyed. “You must be mistaking me for someone else.”
    â€œYou’re pretty unmistakable,” I snapped.
    Dru glared at me. “I was not at Serpent Mound with Ginny Proffitt.”
    â€œYou’re counting on me being the only one who saw you, just because mine was the only face you saw looking outside the bus? But you can’t be sure I’m the only one who sawyou,” I said. “And it’s a small town. Word will get around.”
    He gave a short laugh. “It hasn’t yet. And what are people more likely to believe—my word, or yours and a van full of psychics no one wanted here in the first place?”
    â€œMost people in Paradise were fine with the psychic fair,” I said. “The only opponents were you and your followers. And I’ve never really understood why. What are you so afraid of?”
    He started to speak, but I held up my hand and went on. “No, I don’t want the same old answer about the dark arts. I want to know why you personally are so afraid of these