Heather Graham - Dark Rites

“In truth, he seemingly followed a young woman named Missy Prior, who had left of her own accord, being against the repression of the society. Anyway, Ezekiel had a thing for Missy—but she didn’t have a thing for him. He managed to blame her for every ill that befell his community. He claimed to have found those words written in the ground near where Missy Prior lived, and that Missy was trying to conjure Satan, and that Satan came to him at night and claimed that Ezekiel would have Missy Prior. Naturally, he saw himself as Satan’s representative. Satan in the flesh until Satan should appear... His personal religion afforded him lots of benefits.”

“Wow—and yuck! Even way back, people were going on icky ‘I’m close to God so I get to have all the sex’ trips, huh?”

“I’m still trying to find more on Ezekiel Martin,” Vickie said.

“Isn’t Alex a history professor?”

“Exactly. He’s in a guest position, or whatever they call it right now—and he loves Harvard, so he’s hoping to stay on.”

“And I’m sure he’s researching all this himself.”

“He is, but that’s also why he’s anxious to meet with me. Compare notes.”

Their waitress came by, a pretty, gamine-faced young woman with dark brown hair.

“You still waiting for your friend?” she asked.

“We’re going to give him a few more minutes,” Vickie said.

“Is it that fellow you’ve met here before?”

Vickie looked at her with surprise, and then realized that the young woman usually wore her hair down, and that—yes, of course—she’d had her several times as a server at the coffee shop.

“Yes, I’m waiting on Alex,” she said.

The girl smiled cheerfully. “He was here last night. I’m sure he’ll be along.”

“There—she’s sure Alex will be along,” Roxanne said.

“He was here last night?” Vickie asked.

“Yes, he’s always in when the Dearborn duo are playing. He loves them,” the waitress said. “I’ll keep my eye out!” she promised as she moved on.

“Thanks,” Vickie said. She’d been with Alex when he’d come to see the Dearborn brother-and-sister performers before. They were talented guitarists and played folk music, ballads and covers of Simon and Garfunkel tunes, John Denver, Carole King and more.

She’d heard that the pair were twins; if so, they were fraternal. He was blond with soft brown eyes; she had extremely dark hair and smoke-gray eyes. They were an attractive pair, and they definitely seemed to have a casual, easy way with a crowd.

“I just wish that he’d answer his phone,” Vickie said.

“Vickie!”

For a moment, her heart jumped. But it wasn’t Alex calling her. She looked through the milling guests in the coffee shop and saw Professor Milton Hanson, one of Alex’s closest associates. He knew Vickie’s father, though was more of an associate than a friend.

Actually, her dad didn’t like him very much.

“Who is that? Cool-looking guy, distinguished...dignified.”

He was “smarmy,” according to her dad. A little too good-looking. A little too close to some of his students.

“Hello, young lady. How are you?” he asked, stopping by the table. He had an attractive woman on his arm; she offered Vickie a big smile.

“Professor Hanson,” she said, introducing him to Roxanne. He, in turn, introduced his lady friend.

“I wanted to come by to check out this café,” Hanson said. “Our mutual friend, Alex Maple, loves this place. But there’s no music.”

“Yes, Alex loves it,” Vickie agreed. “But the music is on Saturday nights.”

Roxanne opened her mouth; she was clearly about to say that they were waiting for Alex.

Vickie kicked her under the table. A little tiny squeak escaped her.

“Saturday night. I’ll have to come then. Well, nice to see you!” Hanson said, and he moved on.

“Hey! That hurt,” Roxanne said.

“Sorry.”

“Why didn’t you tell him we were waiting for Alex now?” Roxanne asked.

“I don’t know.”

“He’s still here somewhere,” Roxanne said. “We could find him.”

“No, I just don’t feel comfortable asking him about Alex.”

“Okay. But Alex isn’t here. So, seriously, maybe something just came up,” Roxanne said. “Let’s face it. Not that I blame you—I mean, you were kidnapped and nearly killed recently—but you’re overly suspicious of the world. I’m overly suspicious, too, since that wasn’t such a great time for me, either. And I’m your basic coward, so that adds to me doubting everything. But honestly—aren’t you getting a little carried away, being so worried just because Alex didn’t show up for dinner? Maybe his sister was sick, or maybe he had to rush his dog to the emergency vet or something. Things do happen.”

“But someone like Alex, Roxanne, he would let me know. You know, maybe I am being ridiculous. I just can’t believe he’d be so rude.”

“I’m sorry, Vickie. I love you—you really are the best friend and most courteous human being—but maybe his emergency was just more important than you.”

“I hope that’s true,” Vickie murmured.

Just as Roxanne spoke, Vickie’s phone rang. It was Griffin.

“Hey! How’s it going? I wish I could have joined you,” Vickie said.

“Dinner didn’t happen. Barnes was dropping me off at the restaurant when someone called in an attack down the street from where we were—we heard it on the scanner. Anyway, to make a long story short, I gave chase, caught the guy—and he took some kind of a suicide pill,” Griffin told her.

“So, he’s dead?”

“Who’s dead?” Roxanne demanded, looking at Vickie with alarm.

“An attacker,” Vickie murmured quickly.

“That’s great!” Roxanne said. “No, I mean, not the dead part. He’s been caught, right? But... Griffin killed him? I mean, we shouldn’t want anyone dead. Except this guy really hurt a lot of people, so—”

“He killed himself,” Vickie said quickly.

“How, what, why?” Roxanne asked.

“I don’t know! Let me listen,” Vickie pleaded. “Griffin? The attacker is dead?”

Griffin didn’t seem to have noted her absence from the conversation to whisper to Roxanne; whatever had happened that evening, it was still consuming his mind.

“Yes. Strange, he was trying for suicide by cop. I told him I wouldn’t shoot him. He took a pill before I could stop him.”

“But it was the man who attacked Alex, right? I mean, was it? You just said that it was an attack. It was the same kind of attack—with the same words written?”

Griffin hesitated on the other end of the phone line.

“A guy is dead. A guy who was seen leaving the same note that was found on Alex and the other two victims. I’m sure Alex will be glad to hear that. Tell him for me, and that I’ll give him details in the morning. Except...”

“Except what?”

Griffin seemed to hesitate a long time.

“What is it?” Vickie persisted.

“I don’t think the man who killed himself tonight is the only one in on this,” Griffin said. “But hey, that’s for later. Anyway, I’m at the station. Devin and Rocky are going to stay at my place tonight. I told them I seldom use it and they kind of figured that. Salem is only forty minutes away—well, forty minutes or two hours, depending on traffic! They were actually taking a little personal time to check on their homes up there, see some family and friends. I’m glad they’re here, though. I can toss around what’s going on with them. You can give Alex the news that we’ve stopped one of them, anyway.”

“I can’t tell Alex anything. He didn’t show,” Vickie said. “We’re still here—we’re having the café’s Sunday night special and hoping that he will make it eventually.”