Free Divine Evil by Nora Roberts Page A

folder. “Name's Carly Jamison, fifteen-year-old runaway from up in Harrisburg. She's been missing for about a week. She was spotted hitching south on Fifteen. Either one of you see her on the road, or around town?”
    Both Oscar and Less leaned over the picture of a young, sulky-faced girl with dark, tumbled hair. “Can't recollect seeing her,” Oscar said finally, and worked out another satisfying belch. “Would've if she'd come around here. Can't hide a new face in this town for long.”
    Bud turned the photo so Alice could get a good look.“She didn't come in here during my shift. I'll ask Molly and Reva.”
    “Thanks.” The scent of coffee-and Alice's perfume-was tempting, but he remembered his duty. “I'll be showing the picture around. Let me know if you spot her.”
    “Sure will.” Less crushed out his cigarette. “How's that pretty sister of yours, Bud?” He spat out a flake of tobacco, then licked his lips. “You gonna put in a good word for me?”
    “If I could think of one.”
    This caused Oscar to choke over his coffee and slap his knee. With a good-humored grin, Less turned back to Alice as Bud walked out. “How about a piece of that lemon pie?” He winked, as his fantasies worked back to humping and pumping on Alice amid the bottles of catsup and mustard. “I like mine firm and tart.”
    Across town, Clare was polishing off the last of her supply of Ring-Dings while she turned the two-car garage into a studio. Mouth full of chocolate, she unpacked the fire bricks for her welding table. The ventilation would be good, she thought. Even when she wanted to close the garage doors, she had the rear window. Right now it was propped open with one of her ball-peen hammers.
    She'd piled scrap metal in the corner and had shoved, pushed, and dragged a worktable beside it. She figured it would take her weeks to unpack and organize her tools, so she would work with the chaos she was used to.
    In her own way, she was organized. Clay and stone were on one side of the garage, woodblocks on another. Because her favored medium was metal, this took up the lion's share of space. The only thing that was missing, shethought, was a good, ear-busting stereo. And she would soon see to that.
    Satisfied, she started across the concrete floor to the open laundry-room door. There was a mall only a half hour away that would supply a range of music equipment, and a pay phone where she could call and arrange for her own telephone service. She'd call Angie, too.
    It was then she saw the group of women, marching like soldiers, Clare thought with a flutter of panic. Up her driveway, two by two. And all carrying covered dishes. Though she told herself it was ridiculous, her mouth went dry at the thought of Emmitsboro's version of the Welcome Wagon.
    “Why, Clare Kimball.” Streaming in front of the group like a flagship under full sail was a huge blonde in a flowered dress belted in wide lavender plastic. Rolls of fat peeked out from the cuffs of the sleeves and over the tucked waist. She was carrying a plate covered with aluminum foil. “You've hardly changed a bit.” The tiny blue eyes blinked in the doughy face. “Has she, Marilou?”
    “Hardly a bit.” The opinion was whispered by a stick-framed woman with steel-rimmed glasses and hair as silver as the sheet metal in the corner of the garage. With some relief, Clare recognized the thin woman as the town librarian.
    “Hello, Mrs. Negley. It's nice to see you again.”
    “You never brought back that copy of
Rebecca.”
Behind her Coke-bottle lenses, her right eye winked. “Thought I'd forget. You remember Min Atherton, the mayor's wife.”
    Clare didn't allow her mouth to drop open. Min Atherton had put on a good fifty pounds in the last ten years and was hardly recognizable under the layers of flab. “Of course. Hi.” Awkward, Clare rubbed her grimy hands over the thighs of her grimier jeans and hoped no one would want to shake.
    “We wanted to give you the morning