Opening the outer screen, I found the heavy wooden door ajar. Once inside, I pushed it tight and tested the handle, hoping Ryan would do the same. Then I trudged to Magnolia, intent on a shower and bed. I was barely in the room when someone tapped softly.

Thinking it was Ryan, I set my face in the hard stare and cracked the door.

Ruby stood in the hal, her features looking solemn and deeply creased. She wore a gray flannel robe, pink socks, and brown slippers shaped like paws. Her hands were clasped at chest level, fingers tightly interlaced.

'I'm about to turn in.' I smiled.

She gazed at me gravely.

'I've had dinner,' I added.

One hand rose, as if to pluck something from the air. It trembled slightly.

'What is it, Ruby?'

'The devil assumes many forms.'

'Yes.' I wanted desperately to bathe and sleep. 'But I'm sure you're way ahead of him.'

I reached out to touch her shoulder, but she stepped back and the hands found each other again.

'They fly with Lucifer in the face of divinity. They blaspheme.'

'Who does?'

'They've grasped the keys of Hades and of death. Just like it says in Revelations.'

'Ruby, please speak to me in plain English.'

Her eyes were wide, the nodes in the corners pink and shiny with moisture.

'You're from foreign parts so you can't be knowing.'

'Knowing what?' Irritation curled the edges of my voice. I was not in a mood for parables.

'There's evil here.'

The beer?

'Detective Ryan an—'

'Wicked men scoff at the Almighty.'

This was going nowhere.

'Let's talk about this tomorrow.'

I grasped the doorknob, but a hand flew out and clutched my arm. Caluses scratched the sleeve of my nylon jacket.

'The Lord God has sent a sign.'

She drew even closer.

'Death!'

Gently prying loose the bony fingers, I squeezed Ruby's hand and stepped back. I watched her through the gap as the door swung shut, her smal body frozen, the sausage curl crawling her skul like a dul, gray serpent.

CHAPTER EIGHT

The next day honored someone. Christopher Columbus, I think. By midmorning it had turned into a nightmare.

I drove to the morgue through mist so thick it obliterated the mountains, and worked until ten-thirty. When I broke for coffee, Larke Tyrel was in the staff room. He waited while I filed a cup with industrial sludge and added white powder.

'There's something we need to talk about.'

'Sure.'

'Not here.' He looked at me a long time. The look meant something, and I felt a prick of anxiety.

'What is it, Larke?'

'Come on.'

Taking my arm, he propeled me out the back door.

'Tempe, I don't know how to say this.' He swirled his coffee, and iridescent clouds slid across the surface.