Tools of the Devil Read online

  Tools of the Devil

  Copyright © 2015 by Barbara L. Clanton

  Acknowledgments

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Other Titles from Barbara L. Clanton

  Other Young Adult Books

  About the Author

  Visit Us On Line

  Also by Barbara L. Clanton:

  THE CLARKSONVILLE SERIES

  Out of Left Field: Marlee’s Story

  Tools of Ignorance: Lisa’s Story

  Going, Going, Gone: Susie’s Story

  Stealing Second: Sam’s Story

  Out At Home

  OTHER TITLES

  Art For Art’s Sake: Meredith’s Story

  Quite An Undertaking: Devon’s Story

  Tools of the Devil: Book Six in the Clarksonville Series

  by

  Barbara L. Clanton

  Young Adult Books

  by Regal Crest

  Texas

  Copyright © 2015 by Barbara L. Clanton

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. The characters, incidents and dialogue herein are fictional and any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Print ISBN 978-1-61929-230-7

  eBook ISBN 978-1-61929-229-1

  Cover design by Acorn Graphics

  Published by:

  Regal Crest Enterprises, LLC

  229 Sheridan Loop

  Belton, TX 76513

  Find us on the World Wide Web at http://www.regalcrest.biz

  Published in the United States of America

  Acknowledgments

  Thanks to my ever-supportive family and friends for encouraging me in my writing. Thanks to the team members at Regal Crest for their expertise in putting this book together. And, thanks especially to my team of Beta readers: Angela Mula, Andrea Danak, Sheri Milburn, Erin Saluta, Elaine Burnes, Dejay Garden, Christie Register, and Erin Register. I needed a big sounding board on this one, and you collectively came through beautifully. And, as always, thanks to my best girl, Jackie Weathers, who is the life of my party.

  Dedication

  To the memory of Jeanne Taylor

  Teacher, Mentor, Colleague

  Chapter One

  “Submit yourselves therefore to God. Resist the devil, and he will flee from you.” — James 4:7

  LISA BROWN DIDN’T sing along with the choir like usual. Singing in church was a way to be free and let her spirit soar, not that she ever sang in tune, off-key seemed to be her key. But usually she was able to step back from anything that was troubling her and focus on being grateful for all the good things in her life. That was the point of church, wasn’t it? But today was different because she had to give Sam an answer soon. It wasn’t fair to keep her hanging like that. Unfortunately, she still didn’t know what that answer was going to be.

  Lisa had been going to the centuries old Presbyterian Church of Clarksonville her entire life. All sixteen years of it. The ancient granite walls, the stained glass windows, and the musty tapestries made her feel part of something bigger than her and her stupid problems. Generations dating back to the 1800’s had attended this church. Her family had history here. Lisa, her two sisters and brother, and her mother, had all been baptized in this church. Her parents and grandparents had been married here. The gigunda church organ, the dark wood pews, and the seemingly timeless traditions made the church her sanctuary. It was her weekly place to regroup, reground, and catch her breath. Usually.

  At the moment, her sisters and brother were in Sunday school down the hall from the sanctuary. It was the same Sunday school she’d attended from age three up through eleven. With her younger siblings gone, she sat alone with her parents in the unofficial Brown Family pew. She ran her fingers over her initials, LAB that she’d scratched into the wooden seat with a blue pen when she was nine. That had made her parents furious, especially her mother. She’d had to apologize to Reverend Owens and lost TV privileges for an entire month. Lisa never defaced anything ever again.

  Lisa pulled her long, black braid over her shoulder and twisted the frayed ends. At almost six-feet tall, she had to lean down to whisper to her mother. “Mom, where’s Reverend Owens?” Over the years she and her mother had mastered the art of whispering in church, although sometimes Lisa’s father gave them the hairy eyeball when they did.

  “Rochester. Granddaughter’s graduation.”

  “In December?”

  Her mother shrugged. “College graduation.”

  “Granddaughter in college? Geez, just how old is Reverend Owens?”

  Lisa’s mother smirked and nudged Lisa in the shoulder without answering. Her mother went back to singing.

  The hymn ended and Lisa sat on the hard pew and pulled her coat tighter around her, not because she was cold, mainly because she knew Sam wanted her to say, “Yes,” and Lisa wasn’t sure if she could.

  Mean old Mr. Muller was the reader for the service, and he stood and headed for the reader’s podium. Lisa called him mean because he lived in their neighborhood and constantly yelled at the kids if they played anywhere near his house. Lisa’s father fixed old man Muller’s furnace on a regular basis, and he had never once paid him. Not even for the parts. When Lisa asked her father why he kept helping Mr. Muller, he said that helping your neighbors was the right thing to do. Lisa still didn’t understand it.

  “A reading from Psalm 42,” Mr. Muller said and then paused for a moment. A few parishioners opened their pew Bibles to follow along. “When shall I come and behold the face of God? My tears have been my food day and night, while people say to me continually, where is your God?”

  Yeah, Lisa thought, where was God when she needed help making this decision? Mr. Muller read on, but Lisa couldn’t stay focused on his words. Either answer she gave Sam would somehow be the wrong one. Sure, the dance was miles away at Sam’s high school and no one there would know her, but she couldn’t decide. Only a very few select friends at Clarksonville High knew she was gay. Three to be exact. Everyone at Sam’s school, East Valley High, knew that Samantha Rose Payton, as she was known there, was into girls, but Lisa didn’t want the entire world to know that she was, too. She was only halfway through her junior year, and she didn’t exactly want to be out of the closet for another year and a half. That’s why saying, “No,” had been her first instinct. When Sam was outed by a reporter in October, a lot of kids at her school had been mean, really mean, to her. Sam’s picture had been taken at a gay pride event and printed in the local paper for everyone to see. Luckily Lisa hadn’t been in the picture, too. In hindsight, it was probably pretty stupid to go to the pride festival in the first place. She thought it would be a place where she could finally be herself and hold hands with Sam out in the open. Neither of them had thought that one all the way through.

  What made the decision to attend the dance at Sam’s school tougher was the fact th
at Marlee and Susie had gone to Clarksonville’s Winter Formal. Together. As a couple. Marlee outed herself to everyone at Clarksonville High School by going. Lisa’s own mother had cut and styled Marlee’s hair for the occasion. Lisa hadn’t had a chance to talk to them yet since the dance had taken place the night before. They were probably still sleeping, anyway, but they had texted a ton of pictures from the dance and said that no one was harassing them or anything. Marlee even said they were having an awesome time. It sure looked like it in the photos.

  Blocking out Mr. Muller, Lisa stilled her thoughts and put God first in her mind. She took a slow breath and let His empowering strength soak into her. She silently thanked Him for her loving and supportive family. She thanked Him for Sam whom she hoped to marry and have babies with one day. Lisa almost laughed out loud. She wanted all those things, but couldn’t bring herself to go to a stupid school dance with her.

  Mr. Muller adjusted his glasses and continued to read, but Lisa simply could not stay focused on mean old Mr. Muller’s gravelly voice.

  She looked around at the congregation. Many of her mother’s customers were there. Mrs. Maynard who was due for a touch up; her gray roots were looming large. Mrs. Winfred and her family, and the Patrovs who lived next door to Marlee. Lisa had known these people her entire life. A few kids from school were also in the congregation, but she didn’t have any classes with them and didn’t know them well.

  Mr. Muller finally finished and waited as the guest reverend made his way up the stairs. If she thought Reverend Owens was old, then Reverend Rinaldi was ancient. He shuffled to the pulpit clearing his throat loudly as he went. Lisa was amazed at the number of wrinkles in his face, and his hair was so white it looked like the dusting of snow that had fallen the night before.

  “It is always a joy to visit the quaint hamlet of Clarksonville,” Reverend Rinaldi said with a voice that seemed like it had once held great power and strength. “The road sign on the edge of town told me that your high school softball team won the state title this year. Congratulations. You must be a proud hamlet indeed.”

  Lisa beamed. She had been the catcher for that championship team. And with most of their players returning, they had a really good chance of going all the way again next spring. If that stupid East Valley team didn’t get in the way, of course.

  “God’s glory shines down upon us, and the people I’ve met here have truly been God’s people.” The reverend smiled at the congregation. “Welcoming and kind and generous to me and my wife.” He smiled down at his equally wrinkled wife sitting ramrod straight in the front pew; her bland dress was buttoned completely to the top. A reverend’s wife, that’s for sure. Lisa wanted to whisper that to her mother, but didn’t dare. Reverend Rinaldi seemed like a nice old man, and he was a guest of their church. She had been taught to treat everyone with respect, and that included guests and strangers.

  The reverend cleared his throat and spoke about God’s children acting with charity and grace. It was a nice message, but after fifteen minutes or so, Lisa was ready for the service to move on. Wasn’t the choir supposed to sing or something? Anything? Lisa feared the worst. She’d seen it before. Guest preachers didn’t have their own churches, so they got it all out of their system at the expense of congregations like hers.

  Lisa tried not to let her eyes glaze over as he cheerily went on and on and on. She also tried not to let the real world creep back in either, so she worked on a study schedule for her semester exams which were a week from Monday. Algebra 2 would be fine; it was so much easier than Geometry. Spanish 3, hmm, she needed to make vocab flashcards. Thank God there was no exam in Art History, but she’d have to review her notes for U.S. History and for English 11. And, of course, she’d start on Anatomy right away. She’d quiz herself every day because Anatomy was the one class she wanted to ace.

  Lisa’s attention was brought back to the sermon when Reverend Rinaldi’s tone changed. He was scowling, clearly unhappy about something. Geez, Lisa thought, everything was sunshine and rainbows a minute ago.

  “We are gathered here in Christ’s name,” the Reverend said. “Yet despite the holy teachings of Jesus, there is a cancer growing among us.” His eyes flashed in anger. He pounded a fist on the podium, and then gripped both sides and leaned toward them. “The devil has a firm grip and is spreading this cancer throughout our country, our churches, and,” he paused for emphasis, “even here in this lovely church.” He pushed back off the podium.

  Lisa had to admit, Reverend Rinaldi was good. He had hooked them all like fish on a line and was about to yank them in. Mr. Muller looked around him at the other parishioners as if trying to root out the source of this unnamed cancer. Who or what had dared infiltrate his happy little church? Funny thing, he wasn’t the only one looking around.

  But when Reverend Rinaldi spoke again, he uttered four words that crushed Lisa’s spirit. “Homosexuality is a sin,” the Reverend said simply. They were four words that the congregation, friends and neighbors she’d known her entire life, seemed to support. Lisa’s heart broke when she saw Mr. and Mrs. Winfred and even sweet but gossipy Mrs. Maynard nodding in agreement. These were people she’d known her entire life, people who came to her house on a regular basis.

  Had she heard him right? When her mother put a hand on her forearm, she knew she had. Every muscle in her body tensed.

  What was happening?

  The church she’d been baptized in, grown up in, and wanted to get married in had, in one instant, turned against her.

  The congregation, like a surging mob, murmured its collective agreement. Shouting and carrying on were never the way of her low-key conservative church, but if let loose, Lisa was sure there would be communal cheers of agreement.

  It was one thing for a stranger like Reverend Rinaldi to come into her place of refuge and say these things, but it was an entirely different thing to see people she’d known her entire life agree.

  He went on to say that big changes were coming to the Presbyterian Church, and as soldiers of God, they had to be ready.

  Ready for what? Lisa was too much in shock to truly register his words. Still not quite believing what she’d heard, she mumbled, “Ignorance is the sin, Reverend.”

  Her mother squeezed her forearm as if to say she agreed.

  She scanned the congregation again, and finally noticed a few parishioners who didn’t seem to be on the same page as the reverend. Marlee’s neighbors, the Patrovs, looked as shocked as Lisa felt. And some of the kids from school had expressions on their faces that said they thought the reverend had lost his mind.

  Lisa was so uncomfortable that she was inches away from climbing over her parents and bolting out of the church.

  Reverend Rinaldi finished his sermon and the choir leaped to their feet faster than lightning and burst into song. “God of the Sparrow” echoed off the granite walls.

  Lisa found it hard to breathe. How could they all go back to singing as if nothing earth-shattering had just happened? Through the tears burning her eyes, she looked around at her betrayers, her own personal Judases, and muttered, “Game on, people. Game on.”

  Chapter Two

  “God saw everything that he had made, and indeed, it was very good.”— Genesis 1:31

  ALTHOUGH IT WAS icy cold in the world outside, Lisa was warm and cozy in the passenger seat of Sam’s convertible Sebring. She gazed at her girlfriend as she drove. Blonde hair loose over her white ski parka, cute button nose, full pouting lips waiting to be kissed. Sam looked so cute. No, Sam wasn’t just cute. Sam was gorgeous. And Lisa was lucky to have her. It was late afternoon on Wednesday, and Sam had picked her up at home right after school. She was whisking her off to some still unknown secret destination to celebrate their seven-month anniversary. Lisa had no idea where Sam was taking her, but it looked like they were staying in Clarksonville.

  The gray skies were turning darker as the sun set for another long December night. It had been three short days since Reverend Rinaldi threw the fir
st punch, and it had taken great strength for Lisa to hide her anger and confusion from her sisters and brother when they came back from Sunday school. Lisa pretended that everything was fine, but inside she was seething. For the past three days, Lisa’s mother would look at her in that certain way that her mom had, sending the message that she was ready to listen if Lisa wanted to talk, but Lisa didn’t. Not yet. She was still in shock. Maybe if she ignored it or pretended it had never happened, the whole stupid thing would go away. But then she would remember Mrs. Maynard nodding along with Reverend Rinaldi. Who was he anyway? He was just a guest reverend, probably gone back to whatever lost-in-time town he’d come from. She shouldn’t have been surprised, anyway. Most of the world seemed to feel the same way he did. But why think of him when she was finally alone with Sam. She kissed the hand she was holding and let her lips linger for a while.

  “Mmm,” Sam murmured. “We may not make it if you keep that up.” She glanced at Lisa appreciatively from the driver’s seat.

  “Would that be such a bad thing?” Lisa sent Sam a smoldering look.

  “Yes, because it’s the middle of December and they’d probably find us frozen in a compromising position.”

  “You’re right. That would look bad.” Lisa kissed Sam’s hand one more time and pulled it into her lap. She sighed as she looked out the passenger window at the piles of snow on the side of the road. The now dark, gray sky matched her mood. Well almost. She was with Sam, so one corner of her world was bright. But then again, she had to give Sam an answer about the Snowball Formal. Dark clouds drifted over the only bright corner she had left.