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"She might have left a forwarding address with these folks." Adam rapped the door. "Wouldn't want those welfare checks to get lost."
I could hear gospel music playing inside. At least we weren't waking up the new owners. Adam knocked again, and finally the door opened. There stood a tiny old woman, with a deeply lined face and hands that trembled as she clutched the door.
"We're looking for Carol Degas," I said. "She used to live here."
"Still does," the woman said in a reedy voice. "I'm her."
According to the file, Carol was fifty-two. No matter how hard I looked at this woman, she didn't appear a day under seventy.
"We're in town investigating--"
"Brandi's murder. I figured that was who you were. I've been wondering when you'd come see me." She held open the screen and ushered us in.
We followed her into a hall lined with cheap religious prints. Gospel music boomed from deep in the house. I squinted at a needlepoint hanging on the wall. A Bible verse of some kind, but damned if I could read it--half the stitches were out of place.
"I've found Jesus," Carol said, beaming.
"Huh," I murmured under my breath. "I didn't know he was lost."
Adam gave me a look, his eyes telling me to watch it, his lips holding back a smile.
She waved us into what must have been the living room, but looked more like a Vegas chapel, every inch of space crammed with cheap china Madonnas and butt-ugly cherubs.
"Do you know Christ our Savior, child?" Carol said as we sat.
"Not personally."
I got another look from Adam, who prodded me onto the loveseat, then sat beside me, close enough to elbow me if I got out of line.
I have nothing against organized religion. Well, not much. But if you're going to have a religious conversion and clean up your life, then do it when your child is born, not after she dies.
"How about you, young man?" Carol said, turning to Adam. "Have you accepted Christ into your life?"
"I'm still ..." Adam gave a sheepish shrug. "Looking, you know? Trying to find the right church. Which one do you belong to?"
"Our Holy Savior in Battle Ground. It's a very old church. Small, but old."
"Can't say I've heard of it. Maybe I'll check it out. How does it feel about ... ?" He squirmed. "I've got this problem. More of a question, really, and I
'm having a hard time finding the right answer from the churches I've tried." He glanced sharply at me. "Don't give me that look."
I wasn't giving him any look, but I rolled my eyes on cue, murmuring, "Not this again."
"It's bugging me, okay?" He turned back to Carol. "I've got this good friend who's been dating this girl and she's into ... stuff. Occult stuff."
"Occult?" Carol's eyes widened.
"It's not occult," I said. "I keep telling you it's--"
"Witchcraft, I know. She says she's a witch."
Carol frowned. "Wiccan?"
"No, this one says she's a real witch."
Carol looked genuinely confused. "You don't mean devil worship, do you?"
"It is Wiccan," I said. "A branch of it anyway. And I keep telling him it's not occult; it's an earth-based religion."
