Free Divine Evil by Nora Roberts Page B

to settle.” Min took over, as was her right as the mayor's wife-and president of the Ladies Club. “You remember Gladys Finch, Lenore Barlow, Jessie Misner, and Carolanne Gerheart.”
    “Ah…”
    “The girl can't remember everybody all at once.” Gladys Finch stepped forward and thrust a Tupperware bowl into Clare's hands. “I taught you in fourth grade-and I remember you well enough. Very tidy handwriting.”
    Nostalgia swam sweetly through Clare's mind. “You put colored stars on our papers.”
    “When you deserved them. We've got enough cakes and cookies here to rot every tooth in your head. Where would you like us to put them?”
    “It's very nice of you.” Clare gave a helpless glance toward the door that opened into the laundry room, then the kitchen. “We could put them inside. I haven't really…”
    But her voice trailed off because Min was already sailing through the laundry room, anxious to see what was what.
    “What pretty colors.” Min's sharp little eyes darted everywhere. Personally, she didn't see how anyone could keep a dark blue countertop looking clean. She much preferred her white Formica with its little gold flecks. “The last tenants in here weren't very neighborly-didn't mix well-and can't say I'm sorry to see them gone. Flatlanders,” Min said with a derisive sniff that put the absent tenants in their place. “We're glad to have a Kimball back in this house, aren't we, girls?”
    There was a general murmur of agreement that nearly had Clare shuffling her feet.
    “Well, I appreciate-”
    “I made you up my special Jell-O mold,” Min continued after drawing a breath. “Why don't I just put it right in the refrigerator for you?”
    Beer, Min thought with a knowing frown after she wrenched open the door. Beer and soda pop and some kind of fancy chip dip. Couldn't expect any better from a girl who'd been living the high life up in New York City.
    Neighbors, Clare thought as the women talked to her, around her, and through her. She hadn't had to speak to- or so much as look at-a neighbor in years. After clearing her throat, she tried a smile. “I'm sorry, I haven't had a chance to go shopping yet. I don't have any coffee.” Or plates or cups or spoons, she thought.
    “We didn't come for coffee.” Mrs. Negley patted Clare's shoulder and smiled her wispy smile. “Just to welcome you home.”
    “That's so nice of you.” Clare lifted her hands and let them fall. “Really, so nice. I don't even have a chair to offer you.”
    “Why don't we help you unpack?” Min was poking around, brutally disappointed at the lack of boxes. “From the size of that moving truck that was here this morning, you must have a mess of things to deal with.”
    “No, actually, that was just my equipment. I didn't bring any furniture down with me.” Intimidated by the curious eyes fixed on her, Clare stuck her hands in her pockets. It was worse, she decided, than a press interview. “I thought I'd just pick up what I needed as I went along.”
    “Young people.” Min gave a quick, skipping laugh. “Flighty as birds. Now, what would your mama say if she knew you were here without a teaspoon or a seat cushion to your name?”
    Clare yearned for a cigarette. “I imagine she'd tell me to go shopping.”
    “We'll just get out of your way so you can.” Mrs. Finch rounded up the ladies as competently as she would a group of nine-year-olds. “You just return the dishes when you get around to it, Clare. They're all labeled.”
    “Thank you. I appreciate the trouble.”
    They filed out, leaving the scent of chocolate cookies and floral perfume behind.
    “Not a dish in the cupboard,” Min muttered to the group. “Not a single dish. But she had beer in the refrigerator and plenty of it. Like father like daughter, I say.”
    “Oh, hush up, Min,” Gladys Finch said good-naturedly.
    Crazy Annie liked to sing. As a child she'd been a soprano in the church choir at First Lutheran. Her high, sweet voice had