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Chapters (41)
  1. Dexter in the Darkby Jeff Lindsay
  2. IN THE BEGINNING
  3. ONE
  4. TWO
  5. THREE
  6. FOUR
  7. FIVE
  8. SIX
  9. SEVEN
  10. EIGHT
  11. NINE
  12. TEN
  13. ELEVEN
  14. TWELVE
  15. THIRTEEN
  16. FOURTEEN
  17. FIFTEEN
  18. SIXTEEN
  19. SEVENTEEN
  20. EIGHTEEN
  21. NINETEEN
  22. TWENTY
  23. TWENTY-ONE
  24. TWENTY-TWO
  25. TWENTY-THREE
  26. TWENTY-FOUR
  27. TWENTY-FIVE
  28. TWENTY-SIX
  29. TWENTY-SEVEN
  30. TWENTY-EIGHT
  31. TWENTY-NINE
  32. THIRTY
  33. THIRTY-ONE
  34. THIRTY-TWO
  35. THIRTY-THREE
  36. THIRTY-FOUR
  37. THIRTY-FIVE
  38. THIRTY-SIX
  39. THIRTY-SEVEN
  40. THIRTY-EIGHT
  41. THIRTY-NINE

Deborah frowned even more intensely. "When was that?" she said. This time the woman actually did smile, just a little, with one corner of her mouth. "About two thousand years ago. You're a little late on that one, Sherlock." "Is there anything else you can think of that might help?" Deborah asked. The woman shook her head. "Help with what? There might be some psycho loser out there who read Aleister Crowley and lives on a dairy farm. How would I know?"

Deborah looked at her for a moment, as if trying to decide if she had been offensive enough to arrest, and then apparently decided against it. "Thank you for your time," she said, and she flipped her business card on the counter. "If you think of anything that might be helpful, please give me a call."

"Yeah, sure," the woman said, without even glancing at the card. Deborah glared at her for a moment longer and then stalked out of the door. The woman stared at me and I smiled.

"I really like vegetables," I said. Then I gave the woman the peace sign and followed my sister out. "That was a stupid idea," Deborah said as we walked rapidly back to her car.

"Oh, I wouldn't say that," I said. And it was quite true, I wouldn't say it. Of course, it really was a stupid idea, but to say so would have been to invite one of Debs's vicious arm punches. "If nothing else, we eliminated a few possibilities."

"Sure," she said sourly. "We know it probably wasn't a bunch of naked fruits, unless they did it two thousand years ago."

She did have a point, but I see it as my job in life to help all those around me maintain a positive attitude. "It's still progress," I said. "Shall we check out the place on Eighth Street? I'll translate for you." In spite of being a Miami native, Debs had whimsically insisted on studying French in school, and she could barely order lunch in Spanish.
She shook her head. "Waste of time," she said. "I'll tell Angel to ask around, but it won't go anywhere."

And she was right. Angel came back late that afternoon with a very nice candle that had a prayer to St. Jude on it in Spanish, but other than that his trip to the place on Eighth Street was a waste of time, just as Debs had predicted.

We were left with nothing, except two bodies, no heads, and a very bad feeling. That was about to change.

TEN