A wretched hag who is head of a crack pot religious cult targets Christine’s six-year-old son, Joey, as the anti-Christ. Every member of the cult then sets out to destroy the boy and the only person Christine can find to really help her is a private detective. Grace (the cult leader) seems to be able to locate them with her psychic powers no matter what they do or where they go. Lots of violence and a little explicit sex. Excellent supernatural thriller from a master storyteller.
It began in sunshine, not on a dark and stormy night.
She wasn’t prepared for what happened, wasn’t on guard. Who would have expected trouble on a lovely Sunday afternoon like that?
The sky was clear and blue. It was surprisingly warm, for the end of February, even in southern California. The breeze was gentle and scented with winter flowers. It was one of those days when everyone seemed destined to live forever.
Christine Scavello had gone to South Coast Plaza in Costa Mesa to do some shopping, and she had taken Joey with her. He liked the big mall.
He was fascinated by the stream that splashed through one wing of the building, down the middle of the public promenade and over a gentle waterfall. He was also intrigued by the hundreds of trees and plants that thrived indoors, and he was a born people-watcher. But most of all he liked the carousel in the central courtyard. In return for one ride on the carousel, he would tag along happily and quietly while Christine spent two or three hours shopping.
