Page 102 of Eldritch

“How is that a failing?” Letisha asked.

Clarice sat back on the couch, a petite woman swallowed by the plumpness of the cushions. “Take this Taggert man. Obviously, he’s treated Sybil horribly. He’s been treating women dreadfully before he met you and since you dumped him. He’s got so many people fooled into thinking he’s the wronged one and stomps around in his cowboy boots and leather and maybe a self-righteous attitude that says he’s a good old boy with all the answers. Does he have a lot of flags and political statements on his vehicle?”

Sybil snorted a laugh. “Wow. It’s as if you’ve seen him and met him.”

“I’ve met many men like him. Sometimes they come clean cut and wearing suits. They might be soft-spoken and with what I call God hair.”

The other woman laughed.

“Slicked into a perfect cut,” Clarice said. “Usually short and conservative. Prim and proper. Stick up their pious asses.”

The ladies laughed again, and a surge of appreciation for the older woman’s insight hit Sybil. “I know just who you’re talking about. They don’t brag about their awfulness the way Taggert does. But they say the same thing differently.”

Clarice sighed. “It’s all the same toast. Some with a little more jam and butter. They’re all the same animal.”

“Haven’t people accused you of being a man hater before?” Sybil asked, confident she could ask these types of questions of Clarice.

Clarice’s eyebrows went up. “Yes.” She leaned forward, her eyes relaying her interest. “You’re quite perceptive. What about you? What do you think about the subject?”

A grain of satisfaction started inside Sybil. People didn’t ask her these types of questions often. “I agree with what you’ve said. But there are also women who spend their lives undercutting other women. Women have treated me more poorly than men have. Taggert and my father...” She drifted off. “They were awful men. But I’ve met at least as many awful women.”

Letisha snorted. “Me, too.”

Clarice nodded, even if she didn’t speak for a minute. “I’d heard of your father before I hired you. Then when Doug did his security check for me...well, it confirmed what I already understood. And that your father was the first one to treat you as less-than. Wasn’t he?”

Sybil’s mind went to the fact she’d gone straight into this trap of being more open than she wanted to be right now. Clarice was great at leading people where she wanted to go in a conversation.

What the hell? Might as well let it out.

Sybil said, “Definitely.”

“It probably honed your skills with people. If you didn’t trust your mother or your father, right?” Clarice asked.

Sybil hadn’t heard it put that way, but she couldn’t deny that hard truth. “You hit it on the head again. I have a great B.S. meter.”

Clarice laughed, the sound warm and assured. “So do I. Women have to play so many games to survive, don’t they? Leveling the playing field, when it happens, feels so gratifying.”

“That’s for certain,” Pauline said with a big but sarcastic smile. “One of my old aunts used to say it was a woman’s life to bare all the hardships put on her by men and other women who were trying to crawl their way out of the primordial ooze. I’ve done that a million times, and the few times I’ve gotten my revenge it’s felt so good.”

Clarice pointed quickly at Pauline. “There you go. Someone who is willing to admit it. But my question to you is, has all of your revenge been a fantasy?”

Pauline frowned, her normally youthful expression altered by confusion. “Fantasy? No. I’ve seen people get theirs.”

“Not just a revenge fantasy filled with things you couldn’t admit to wanting to see happen?” Clarice asked. “Revenge you’ve personally delivered. Because that’s the most satisfying kind.”

The wind outside roared and battered the house. Sybil shivered, more uncertainty flickering inside her for a reason she couldn’t quite put her finger upon.

Pauline shrugged, defensiveness flickering over her face. “I’ve done my fair share of damage.”

Sybil noted Clarice’s wide smile but couldn’t say for certain if the older woman liked Pauline’s answer or simply found it amusing. Sybil also observed something drastically different about the older woman. Talking about revenge had turned Clarice’s expression gleeful. Along with the sparkle in her eyes, her skin had smoothed a little, the dark circles less prominent, the color in her cheeks supplanting the paleness.

The doorbell rang.

Chapter Seventeen

Sybil stood. “That should be Doug.”

“Let me look on the camera before anyone answers the door,” Letisha said. She fiddled with her phone and seconds later said, “Yep, it’s him.”

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