Fear the Darkness: A Thriller by Becky Masterman Read Free Book Online Page B

have been in 1973, on the kind of guy all the girls have the hots for precisely because our parents warned us about boys like him without telling us why.
    “No one can beat a good banana cake,” he said. It might have been naughty, but you couldn’t see that in his expression.
    “I have to hand it to you, it’s hard to walk into a group where you don’t know anyone,” Carlo said. “Shopping?”
    The man looked blank.
    “For a church,” Carlo said.
    He took down the blazing grin and let one corner of his mouth go up in a more self-deprecating smile. “Yeah, I guess you could say I am. Haven’t done this for a long time. I just moved here.”
    “Where from?” I asked.
    “Florida.”
    “Me, too. Broward County area.”
    “Oh, well, they say when you’re south of Orlando you’re in the North again. More diverse. I’m Alachua County,” he said. “An actual cracker.”
    “That’s up near Gainesville,” I told Carlo.
    “I had a restaurant there for years.” His eyes filmed over and he blinked some sadness away, nearly. “I’m sorry, I lost my wife seven and a half months ago, and she was in charge of the manners in the family. Adrian Franklin.”
    Carlo’s pastoral instinct switched on and he shared his own widowerhood. I already knew about that part, so I left him to it, my glance first lighting on Mallory, who lifted her eyebrows appreciatively. I’d introduce her later if she hadn’t already moved in on him, but for now I slipped what they call “the fellowshipping,” cut the line for the coffee, and looked around for Gemma-Kate.
    The parish hall had tall windows along one wall where you could look out onto the property. From there you saw a labyrinth made out of rocks carefully laid in circles leading to a cross in the center, and further away, to the right, part of another adobe structure, just walls without a roof. I had never gone out there.
    The labyrinth was where I saw her. With the bustle and chatter behind me I stood at the window, sipping my coffee and watching Gemma-Kate walk the labyrinth. She seemed out of place out there, and alone. In a church setting, alone always seems sad.
    “I sent my son out,” said a voice that reminded me of a squirrel, fast and perky.
    I turned to see a woman, on the short side like me, but much younger. “Hi, I’m Ruth. That’s my son, Peter.”
    I turned back to the window and watched Peter Salazar walk out to the labyrinth.
    “I met him. He took Gemma-Kate for a night hike.” I felt a little smug, knowing something she didn’t about the kids. Is that how parents are?
    For her part, Ruth covered up her surprise by changing the subject. “We’ve been coming to the church about three years,” she said. “They have a youth group. I thought Peter should be with more Christian children. There’s the Manwaring boy, over there, Ken.” I turned to look out of politeness and spotted a lumpish and sullen boy who would be the right age and same body type as Elias. Ruth hadn’t taken a breath, “There aren’t too many children, though. They need to bring in more youth. Nice to have a girl here. We have more boys than girls.”
    “I think—”
    “There you go. See, he’s walking the labyrinth with your daughter. I knew she must be your daughter because of the way you watch her. A late-in-life child. Those can be the best. We’ve had some trouble with Peter. But not too bad, considering. The things kids get into these days, I mean.”
    I noted that Ruth did not appear to need me to participate in a conversation, so while she chattered on about the church and Peter and herself and her husband who didn’t attend and wasn’t that too bad but with God’s grace you never knew, I watched Gemma-Kate and Peter walk the labyrinth. Not together; the way the path was laid out had them passing close and then drawing away from each other, passing and drawing away, not looking at one another, like a meditative pas de deux. At this distance I couldn’t even