"Oh, when? Did you tell him what's happening with Rags?"
"I told him. I told him he ought to come see her."
"Is he coming?"
"I don't know. I don't think so," Chris answered.
"You'd think he'd make the effort."
"Yeah, I know." Chris sighed. "But you've got to understand his hang-up, Shar. That's it. I know that's it."
"What's it?"
"Oh, the whole 'Mr. Chris MacNeil' thing. Rags was a part of it. She was in and he was out.
Always me and Rags together on the magazine covers; me and Rags in the layouts; mother and daughter, pixie twins." She tipped ash from her cigarette with a moody forger. "Ah, nuts, who knows. It's all mixed up. But it's hard to get hacked with him, Spar; I Just can't." She reached out for a book by Sharon's elbow. "So what are you reading?"
"What do you mean? Oh, that. That's for you. I forgot. Mrs. Perrin dropped it by."
"She was here?"
"Yes, this morning. Said she's sorry she missed you and she's going out of town, but she'll call you as soon as she's back."
Chris nodded and glanced at the title of the book: A Study of Devil Worship and Related Occult Phenomena. She opened it and found a penned note from Mary Jo Perrin: Dear Chris:
I happened by the Georgetown University Library and picked this up for you. It has some chapters about Black Mass. You should read it all, however; I think you'll find the other sections particularly interesting. See you soon.
Mary Jo
"Sweet lady," said Chris.
"Yes, she is," agreed Sharon.
Chris riffled through the pages of the back, "What's the scoop on Black Mass? Pretty hairy?"
"I don't know," answered Sharon. "I haven't read it."
"No good for serenity?"
Sharon stretched and yawned. "Oh, that stuff tuns me off."
"What happened to your Jesus complex?"
"Oh, come on."
Chris slid the book across the table to Sharon. "Here, read it and tell me what happens."
"And get nightmares?"
"What do you think you get paid for?"
"Throwing up."
"I can do that myself," Chris muttered as she pick up the evening paper. "All you have to do is stick your business manager's advice down your throat and you're vomiting blood for a week."
Irritably, she put the paper aside. "Would you turn on the radio, Shar? Get the news."
Sharon had dinner at the house with Chris, and then left for a date. She forgot the book. Chris saw it on the table and thought about reading it, but finally she felt too weary. She left it on the table and walked upstairs.
She looked in on Regan, who still seemed to be asleep under the covers, and apparently sleeping through. She checked the window again. Leaving the room, Chris made sure to leave the door wide open and then did the same with her own before getting into bed. She watched part of a movie on television. Then slept.
The following morning, the book about devil worship had vanished from the table.
No one noticed.
CHAPTER THREE
The consulting neurologist pinned up the X-rays again and searched for indentations that would look as if the skull had been pounded like copper with a tiny hammer. Dr. Klein stood behind him with folded arms. They had both looked for lesions and collections of fluid; for a possible shifting of the pineal gland. Now they probed for Lückenshadl Skull, the telltale depressions that would indicate chronic intracranial pressure.
They did not find it. The date was Thursday, April 28.
The consulting neurologist removed his glasses and carefully tucked them into the left breast poet of his jacket. "There's just nothing there, Sam, Nothing I can see."
Klein frowned at the floor with a shake of the head. "Doesn't figure."
"Want to run another series?"
"I don't think so. I'll try an LP."
