China Lake by Meg Gardiner Read Free Book Online

Paxton’s grip tightened on my collar, and his breath blew across my neck.
    When Tabitha looked up her expression mixed humiliation and defiance. ‘‘I confess, I was wayward. But the Lord found me; He showed me I was hanging over a pit, and right before I fell in’’—she balled a fist— ‘‘He yanked me up and brought me to you.’’
    Wyoming prompted, ‘‘And what did Jesus show you in that pit?’’
    ‘‘The truth about my husband. That he believed a false religion and fought for Satan’s puppet government. ’’
    The line was scripted, and she recited it woodenly, but heads in the crowd nodded like toy dogs on car dashboards. My stomach was cramping. I wanted to scream at her, to correct her theology, to clarify her Mr. Magoo vision, to shout, Tell them the rest; tell them you abandoned your kid. But when I tensed to speak, Paxton’s hand began twisting my collar, so I stood, silently fuming.
    ‘‘I also saw the fruits of Satan’s end-times hoaxes.’’ Abruptly her voice took on conviction. ‘‘I’ve seen Christians driven to despair by these lies—it’s horrible. But until you told me, I didn’t know it was a demonic plot.’’
    Boom, like a plank hitting me across the forehead, it made sense. Tabitha was talking about her mother.
    Wyoming was nodding sympathetically. ‘‘Thank you for your honesty. But I don’t think it’s made a lick of difference.’’
    He raised his chin again and looked down at me. A hundred heads swiveled to do the same. I stayed resolutely silent.
    ‘‘Nope. Just like I thought.’’ He sighed. ‘‘Tabitha, this mess is getting stinky. Take care of it.’’
    He lowered the microphone and walked over to the choir soloist, leaving Tabitha center stage. The soloist took a handkerchief and dabbed the sweat from Pastor Pete’s glistening forehead. Tabitha looked out at a hundred expectant faces.
    She flicked her head at Isaiah Paxton. ‘‘Go on, then.’’
    He propelled me toward the door. Off balance, I clawed for his hands, dragged my heels. Curt Smollek grabbed me and pulled me sliding along the floor. He leaned close and said, ‘‘Who has the tiny brain now, Miss Smarty-pants?’’
    I felt like biting him, but with the door looming I twisted my head toward the stage. Tabitha stood there like marble, white-clad and rigid.
    ‘‘You may have bought into this circus,’’ I called to her, ‘‘but remember—caveat emptor.’’
    People actually audibly gasped. Latin . . . Paxton yanked on my collar. Smollek said, ‘‘Witch!’’
    I had defiled their sanctuary. Good. Maybe they’d have to sandblast the church, or raze it and pour salt on the ground. They hauled me to the door, bunching their muscles to heave me outside. Paxton said, ‘‘On three,’’ reaching for the doorknob.
    Before he touched it the door flew open. Outside stood a gaunt man, his face in shadow. Smollek jerked up short in surprise.
    ‘‘Move!’’ The man shooed us aside and tottered forward into the light.
    Smollek dropped my arm. He gasped, ‘‘Lord almighty, ’’ and flattened himself back against the doorway. The intruder lurched toward Paxton and me.
    Paxton stared at the intruder, jerked me in front of him, and said, ‘‘Hold it right there.’’
    Yeah, don’t move or the heathen girl gets it. The intruder grabbed my shirt with clammy hands. His sour breath panted over me. ‘‘Out of my way!’’
    A small eeiuu crawled from my throat. His face was sweat limned and skeletal, his eyes alight with fervor or alcohol or fever, jittering around the room. He tried to toss me aside, couldn’t. He tried again, looked confused, and finally just barreled into me and Paxton. Pinned between them, I smelled his reeking body odor. Paxton reached around me and grabbed his arms, saying, ‘‘Smollek, get his feet.’’
    The intruder pointed a jerky hand toward the stage. ‘‘Her!’’ he shouted. ‘‘She knows. She knows!’’
    I tried to squirm free. The man was