“Got it!”
Katie stared at Savich. “Not even fifteen minutes and you’ve got something?”
Savich said, “Sometimes things just pop. Okay, Clancy Edens was in Ossining from 1998 to about eight months ago where he shared a corridor with a Luther Vincent of Kingsport, Tennessee, which is, if I’m not mistaken, only about fifty miles from here, right? To the northeast?”
“Right,” Katie said and tapped her knuckles against her forearm.
“Do you know any Vincents?”
Katie frowned, tapped her foot, and finally, shook her head, sighed. “No.”
Savich said easily, “No big deal. We’ll just make a note of him and I’ll keep checking. I should have another one of Clancy’s files in a minute.”
Savich looked up a few minutes later, grinning like a bandit, and said, “Guess what? Old Clancy Edens changed his name some twenty years ago. Turns out his daddy was a real loser—beat his wife, beat his two kids indiscriminately, from the looks of it. Clancy joined the army when he was eighteen, was dishonorably discharged two years later, changed his name and commenced his life of crime.”
Katie said, “Come on, spill the beans. What name did he change from, Dillon?”
Savich smiled at her. “I sure hope you’ve heard of someone by the name of Bird.”
Katie blinked, looked down at Keely’s perfect small fingers, then said, “Bird. There aren’t any local Birds, at least I don’t think there are. But, Bird sounds familiar.” Katie smacked her thigh. “Yes! I’ve got it! I remember now, her name was Elsbeth Bird.”
“Elsbeth Bird?” Sherlock was standing on her toes, she was so excited. “Talk, Katie.”
“Elsbeth Bird married Sooner McCamy back in the early nineties and moved here. So Clancy Edens is her brother?”
“He’s in his forties, so I’d say yes, brother it is.”
“Thank you, Dillon. Since you’re already taken, maybe I can move in with MAX. Glad to meet you, Sherlock. I’m out of here.”
Sherlock said, “Hey, wait a minute, Katie. You’re not going to see this Elsbeth Bird who married Sooner McCamy alone, are you?”
“It’s Sunday,” Katie said patiently.
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Reverend McCamy just happens to be a local preacher. He has a small congregation who worship him and God, probably in that order. The members pretty much keep to themselves around here. I’ve never been to one of their services. I wouldn’t say they’re a cult, but sometimes you wonder. The women are supposed to be subservient and if they’re not subservient enough, rumor is the husbands are encouraged to discipline them. His church is called the Sinful Children of God.”
“What?”
“Yep, that’s what they’re called. I know Reverend McCamy will be preaching all morning—and again this afternoon and evening. Just time off for lunch. The reverend has charisma from what I’ve heard, and can hold an audience in the palm of his hand. I haven’t witnessed the charisma when I’ve seen him around town. He’s quiet, pays his bills on time, hasn’t ever caused any trouble, and is considered quite respectable.
“Reverend McCamy is very intense—you know, he looks all dark and broody, thin, tall, like he spends a lot of time on his knees conversing with God. I’ve never heard of him being involved with any of the women in his congregation. Besides, Elsbeth, his wife, is one of the most beautiful women around here—long blond hair, slender, soft-spoken, does whatever he asks. It’s sure hard to see either of them being involved in this.”
“Hmm,” Glen Hodges said, and Katie waited, just waited, for him to make some sexist remark, but he didn’t. Indeed, he was frowning. “Doesn’t sound true to type,” he said finally.
“You’re right,” Katie said. “He’s always polite, always pleasant, but there’s just something about him, something that makes you want to take a step back, if you know what I mean.”
“How many people in his congregation?” Sherlock asked.
“Maybe fifty, sixty, I’m not really sure. I’m thinking I’ll just swing by their house, you know, check it out a bit, see if just maybe Clancy is hanging around out there. He’s her brother, after all. Where else would he hide?”
“I’m going with you, Katie,” Sherlock said and slung the strap of her purse over her shoulder. “No way are you on this little sightseeing visit by yourself.”
“What about me, Mom?”
“You stay here. Oh dear.” She stared blankly at Miles, who was giving her a crooked smile.
“Go get ’em, tiger,” Miles said. “Keely, you and me and Sam are going to stay and play gin rummy with your uncle Dillon and maybe have some lunch in the cafeteria. Whatcha think?”
“I don’t know how to play gin rummy,” Keely said.
“I want to go, Papa.”
“Sorry kid, not this time. They serve who also wait, or something like that. Keely, you’ll learn real fast. Now, say good-bye to your mom.”
“Good-bye, Mom.”
“I’ll see you soon, sweetie.”
“Take another pain pill in exactly thirty-one minutes, okay?” Sherlock said as she kissed her husband’s whiskered cheek. “And find out if it’s at all possible the McCamys could be behind Sam’s kidnapping.”
“A preacher wanting Sam?” Miles said as he settled Sam back onto his lap. “I can’t begin to imagine why.”
Katie shrugged. “I’ll bet Clancy has visited Elsbeth here in Jessborough, knew about Bleaker’s cabin, and that’s why they took Sam there. You ready, Sherlock?”
Could Elsbeth McCamy be involved in this? Katie just didn’t think that could be right. Elsbeth was a wuss, a woman who worshiped her husband, and was utterly and completely dominated by him. She never even referred to him by his first name.
Glen Hodges said, “I should go with you, Sheriff. Like I said, this is a federal case and—”
Sherlock said mildly, “I’m a Fed last time I checked, Glen. You keep heading up the search. Welcome Butch Ashburn when he arrives, wing tips polished. The women are going to the preacher’s house.”
14
As Katie turned onto Boone Street, she said to Sherlock, “That’s Town Hall, where Mayor Tommy hangs out. I’ve got about six messages on my voice mail from him already this morning. And that’s the combination Police Department and Fire Station. We’re coming up on Main Street, Jessborough’s main drag. You’re in for a treat.”
Sherlock was already craning her neck to see everything. The sky had cleared after the heavy rainstorm of the night before, and the fall leaves were in full color, with spectacular reds, yellows, and golds. Beautiful old buildings lined the brick sidewalks. Sherlock saw half a dozen churches, with spires rising above the brilliant trees.
Katie said, “There’s Keely’s favorite stop, The Lollipop Store, and on the right is Nancy’s coffee shop, called The Cranberry Thistle.” There were antiques stores and galleries, a saddle shop, several gift shops, including a quilt shop that Sherlock would have liked to visit, and an enclosed marketplace. Small restaurants were dotted in among the shops, ranging from burgers and fries to Italian cuisine.
“This is lovely,” Sherlock said, turning in her seat to look back down Main Street. “Does one of these churches belong to the Sinful Children of God?”
“No, that one’s out on Sycamore Road, in an old church that used to be Lutheran before Reverend McCamy took it over some three or four years ago.”
“I see some gift shops. You have a lot of tourists?”
“More during the summer. We’re a little off the beaten track.”
“And those mountains,” Sherlock said, waving her hand at them. “It feels like you could reach out and touch that blue haze. They’re solid and eternal, and that’s comforting, I suppose.”
Katie smiled. “The Appalachians change a lot with the seasons. Fall is the most beautiful time, but they’re sort of like a good neighbor who stays put, you can count on them always being there under that blue haze—well, that??
?s why we call them the Smokies. I’ll tell you, it still sometimes makes my heart skip a beat when I look up and see them.”
“This is a beautiful town, Katie. No exhaust fumes, no gangs of teenagers with bolts through their noses. It’s so peaceful.”
“You get all those things just up the highway.”
“But you’re tucked away all safe and sound. Until yesterday, anyway.” Sherlock rolled down the truck window and breathed in the clean crisp air.
“Yes, it’s always been peaceful, until now.”
“I brought my big hair rollers,” Sherlock said as she watched a horse-drawn carriage pull onto Main Street.
Katie, who’d been thinking the last thing she needed was this FBI character, Butch Ashburn, trying to out-wing-tip Glen Hodges with his heel on her neck, blinked, turned to look at Sherlock, and said, “What?”
“A while back Dillon and I were in Los Angeles on a case. There was this crazy guy murdering people, copying a TV show—”
“You were involved in those TV show murders?”
“Well, yes. As I was saying, Dillon and I discovered quite by accident that he really likes to roll up my hair on those big hair rollers and then have me pull them out of my hair, one by one, and sort of toss my head and string my fingers through my mane. So I brought them along with me to cheer him up. But I think it’s going to have to wait a couple of days before he’s up to playing again.”
Katie laughed. “Hair rollers. Hmm, I never thought of that.”
“I hadn’t either until I met Belinda Gates,” Sherlock said. “Boy, could she pull out hair rollers. It was enough to make Dillon sweat.”
“She’s that actress who starred in The Consultant, isn’t she?”
“Yep, she’s the one, a real piece of work. Actually, I liked her when I didn’t want to punch her out. You wouldn’t believe some of the people we met in Hollywood. They were so crooked you wondered how they could walk. You’ve got a cute kid. What is she—five?”
“Yes, she just turned five last month. She’s all mine, thank God.”
Sherlock wanted to know what she meant by that, but it was too pushy to ask, at least this soon. “Tell me more about Elsbeth Bird McCamy.”
Katie turned her truck off Main Street onto Poplar Drive, checked the old Ford coming up on her left, and said, “The very first thing you notice about Elsbeth is how beautiful she is—she’s got this fall of very light blond hair, all the way to her waist. She always wears it loose, tucked behind her ears so you can see her Jesus earrings.”
“Her what?”
“I call them Jesus earrings. They’re silver—Jesus on the cross—and they hang down about an inch and a half. When she moves, they move. I’ll tell you, it makes me shudder. I think she’s about thirty-five now, which isn’t all that young, but given that Reverend McCamy is well over fifty, it’s a bit on the creepy side. Like I told you, he’s very intense—his eyes blaze and nearly turn black when he looks at you.”
“He’s scary?”
“Well, sort of, I guess. It’s just that he’s so much into his own particular brand of religion. As I said, Elsbeth calls him only by his last name. It’s always Reverend McCamy this, Reverend McCamy that.”
“I haven’t run into that before. You mean like some wives did back in the nineteenth century?”
“Yes. And he calls her Elsbeth. She treats him like he has but to speak and she’ll jump to obey. Whatever he wanted, I can see her jumping through hoops to get it for him. I’d say she was close to worshiping him.”
Sherlock’s left eyebrow climbed up. “Is that part of what he preaches? That wives should be as subservient to their husbands as she is?”
Katie shrugged. “Yes. From what I understand of the Sinful Children of God, Reverend McCamy preaches that women, in order to do penance for their huge sin of munching on the Eden apple, have got to give their all to another human being and that human being, naturally, is their husband.”
“That’s really convenient.”
“Well, I wouldn’t swear to it, but that’s what I’ve heard anyway. People around Jessborough are tolerant of each other. None of the members of the Sinful Children of God who live locally has ever been arrested or disturbed the peace. They’re good people, respectable, and tend to keep to themselves. I think most of the members come from neighboring areas. Like you said, it’s pretty convenient, at least for all the men in the congregation. Maybe that’s why Reverend McCamy has been so successful. He holds up his own wife as the model all the women should try to copy.”
“What happens if the wife isn’t interested?”
“I guess she could refuse to join, but I know he offers some kind of counseling for wayward wives.”
“Just imagine,” Sherlock said. “He preaches enslavement of women and it’s all tax free.”
“You’re right. They’re a church, so no taxes.”
“I wonder if there’s some kind of point system here,” Sherlock said as she looked at a herd of cows spread over a low green hill. “You know, points for bringing the husband a beer during a football game?”
“Or points for meeting him at the front door at night with a drink?”
Sherlock laughed. “I can’t believe they’re that many sandwiches short of a picnic.”
“I have no idea, really. I’ve never been to one of their services.”
Sherlock shook her head, giggling. “Come on, Katie. You want me to believe a sizable group of women actually buys this stuff? You said the congregation was fifty or sixty people. That means at least twenty-five women?”
“To each his own, I guess. Like I said, people around here are tolerant of other people’s beliefs, so long as they’re left alone themselves.”
Sherlock was silent for a moment, drumming her fingertips on the window. “They’re in the middle of a service right now?”
Katie checked the purple big-faced watch that Keely had given her for Christmas. “Yeah, for another half-hour at least. Then there’s a lunch break.”
“Good. We’ve got plenty of time to see if there’s any sign of Clancy hanging around their house.”
Katie took a left onto Birch Avenue, then a right onto Sassafras Road. “Once off Main Street, all our streets are named after local trees. I live on Red Maple Road.”
“Can spring be as gorgeous here as the fall?”
Katie smiled, shook her head. “It’s pretty here in April and May, but you’re lucky to be here just now. All the colorful trees with the mountains in the background . . . it makes you feel like there’s something more than just life and death, something that’s endless and beautiful.”
“Have you lived here all your life?”
“Oh yes. My father owned the chip mill—Benedict Pulp—until he died two years ago. Now my mom runs the mill for me. We’re coming up on Pine Wood Lane where the McCamys live. I’m going to ditch the truck. We’ll go in by foot, okay?”
“Sure.” Sherlock pulled her SIG Sauer out of her shoulder harness, checked it, and put it on her lap. “You know, Katie, we’d need a warrant to actually go inside the house.”
“Yeah, I know that.”
Katie pulled off Pine Wood Lane onto a dirt road, more a path really, that went into some thick woods. “This is good enough. The house is just a bit up the road.”
Sherlock followed Katie as she wove her way through the pine trees, well away from the road. The air was cold but clear, except for the blue haze forming over the mountains.
They heard a small animal scurrying away from them deeper into the forest. The birds were quiet this morning, with just a few crow calls breaking the silence.
Katie said, “Sooner inherited his house and property from an aunt who passed on not long after he married Elsbeth. It’s a nice place.”
“Is he from around here?”
Katie shook her head, shoved a branch out of the way. “No, he moved here maybe fifteen years ago from Nashville. I really don’t know his background but I’ll make it a point to find out about him
now, even whether he puts butter on his popcorn. He went off and married Elsbeth, brought her back here, and then the aunt died.”
They walked out of the pine trees and stopped a moment. Katie pointed to a big three-story Victorian that stood in the middle of a huge lot filled with birches, oaks, and maples, some of them right up against the sides of the house. The golds, reds, and yellows of the leaves were incredible. It was an idyllic setting, and the house was a gem, the trim painted three different shades of green. There were no cars in the driveway.
“Just Sooner and Elsbeth live here. Reverend McCamy has money from his aunt, but they don’t have anyone cleaning for them as far as I know. There’s a gardener who comes by, Mr. Dillard, a really old fellow with no teeth in his mouth, but he’s magic with flowers. The place should be empty. Let’s just check it out.”
Sherlock carried her SIG pressed downward, next to her leg.
Katie stopped abruptly.
“What is it?”
“I think I saw a flash of light in one of the upstairs windows.”
“What kind of flash?”
“Like someone was holding a mirror and it caught the sun.”
“Let’s just see if our guy’s here.”
They made their way to the back of the house and watched for a few minutes.
Sherlock said, “Okay, Katie, if you’d stay here for a little while, I’m going around to the front now and ring the front-door bell. If Clancy is in there, all his interest will be on the front door. You can come around the side and look in, see if you spot him. If he’s in there, hey, we’ve got hot pursuit.”
“Let’s do it.”
Sherlock jogged back into the forest and made her way back around to the road in front of the house, her SIG safely in her belt holster again. She started whistling when she turned into the driveway of 2001 Pine Wood Lane.
Are you there, Clancy?
She walked right up to the front door and rang the bell, whistling Bobby McFerrin’s song, “Don’t Worry Be Happy.”