Then it came to her and she smiled. It was worth a shot. She picked up the phone, spoke to Mrs. Cerlew, who owned Emmy’s One-Stop Grocery, named after her suffragette grandmother. That was where Ben had ineptly lifted the Snickers bar. When she hung up, she grabbed her hat, and stopped by Linnie’s desk. “I’m off to see Ben Chivers. I know he’s in school, and I’m going to get him out of class. It’ll make his reputation if the sheriff comes to see him, don’t you think?”
“He’ll strut,” Linnie said, then shook her head. “That’s a bad situation, Katie. Those folks of his, all they do is lie around drunk and bitch.”
“I’ve got an idea,” Katie said, gave Linnie a small salute, and drove her truck to the local middle school.
Savich looked up to see Sherlock tuck her cell phone back in her shirt pocket. They were in their bedroom at Mother’s Very Best. He was still sitting forward, trying to ignore the constant throb in his back, working on MAX.
“What did the medical examiner have to say?”
“Clancy,” Sherlock said as she bounced up and down on the bed a couple of times, “was stronger than a bull, ate like a pig, and had arteries clogged all the way to his ears. Katie’s bullet killed him. Nothing more, nothing less.” She eased off the bed, smoothed down the covers and walked to her husband. She leaned down and kissed his mouth. She felt the immediate hitch in his breath, and stood again. “About all we can do is play with my hair rollers,” she said, a wealth of disappointment in her voice.
“Where are they?”
Sherlock laughed. “You’ve been working on MAX all afternoon. What have you got?” She affectionately patted the laptop as she spoke. At least Dillon didn’t have to worry about the math teacher killer case since Jimmy Maitland had told him to chill out until he was better.
“I’ve been reading about Reverend Sooner McCamy. He’s fifty-four years old, born near Nashville, Tennessee, went to Orrin Midvale Junior College, married and divorced once, no children. He sold cars at the Nashville Porsche dealership, and did very well financially. Then he quit and moved to his rich aunt’s house here in Jessborough. He hasn’t done anything since then to earn money, I guess because he didn’t have to. He married Elsbeth Bird of Johnson City ten-plus years ago when she was only about twenty-four and he was forty-four. He didn’t become a preacher until about six years ago.”
He tapped his fingertips together, frowned down at MAX, who was humming placidly.
“He’s married to Elsbeth four years before he finds his calling?”
“Apparently. But when the calling hit him, it hit him hard. Suddenly he’s the founder and leader of this pretty strange-sounding church, the Sinful Children of God.”
“He didn’t go to a seminary?”
“Nope.”
“Hmm. What did his aunt die of?”
Savich’s back was throbbing like the very devil.
She hated seeing the pain in his eyes. “You’re taking a pill, buddy, no arguments.”
After he’d swallowed the pill, she made him sit for a few minutes until his back stopped throbbing. He said, “Let’s see about that aunt. She died something like six months after Sooner married Elsbeth. They both lived with the aunt in that lovely big house that his aunt, Eleanor Marie McCamy Ward, inherited from her husband. Ah, do you have Katie’s cell? Ask her.”
Katie answered immediately and listened. She said, “That’s an excellent question, Sherlock. I’m in the middle of a delinquent problem right now, but I’ll get back to you.”
When Sherlock hung up, she said, “Katie will check it out. We’re having dinner tonight at Katie’s mom’s. You can tell each other what you know about Sooner McCamy and she can tell us all about Aunt Eleanor Marie. Do you want Agent Hodges to come?”
“Sure, the more we compare notes the better. I think Miles is still with Sam and Keely, even though Katie’s mother volunteered to watch them.”
“But Miles didn’t want Sam out of his sight.”
“You got it. I told him to come here—”
There was a knock on the door, then Sam’s voice, “Uncle Dillon! Aunt Sherlock! We’re here.”
Savich slowly rose. He knew the pain would knock him on his butt if he moved too fast. He took a handful of Sherlock’s hair, kissed her—lust, pain, frustration in that kiss. “I want to do something with those big hair rollers later.”
She said against his jaw, “I’ve been thinking that just maybe we can figure something out that won’t hurt you too much.”
That perked him up.
23
They went to Katie’s mom’s for dinner, a large ranch-style home built in the sixties located in the middle of Jessborough on Tulip Lane. She’d lived there for twenty-nine years with her husband. Now, she lived with two canaries, three King Charles spaniels, and an aquarium, temporarily empty. She was serving a huge tuna casserola that the kids would love, Minna Benedict had assured Miles when she met him at the front door.
“Is that the same as a tuna casserole, ma’am?” Miles asked her.
“My granny called it a casserola and that’s just the way it is around here. Hello, Dillon, Sherlock. And who are you, sir?”
“I’m Agent Glen Hodges, ma’am.”
She shook his hand. “Welcome, all of you. Please, call me Minna. Ah, and the beyond-perfect specimens of kidness—Sam and Keely. Come on in, and let me give you each a big hug and an even bigger chocolate chip cookie, fresh out of the oven.”
“What about us, Mom? Just look at Dillon here. The man’s back is hurting bad. He could probably use a cookie about now.”
Minna Benedict was not quite as tall and slender as her daughter, but she had thick red brown hair even more lustrous than Katie’s. She said, “All right. One for each of you, and two for Dillon because of his back. Come in, come in, don’t dawdle. There’s enough time before dinner. Dessert is always better than dinner any day of the week, isn’t it?”
After the three King Charles spaniels had finally calmed down, their silky ears stroked by every adult and child, and the canaries were quiet beneath their night sheets, everyone trooped into the small dining room. To Miles’s surprise, Sam took one bite of the tuna casserola and didn’t stop until he downed two helpings and three of Minna’s homemade biscuits. He and Keely had their heads together throughout the meal.
“Let me tell you one good thing I did today,” Katie announced to the table at large.
Sherlock waved her fork. “Out with it, Katie, we need to hear something positive.”
“I had a boy steal a Snickers bar from a local grocery. His family’s poorer than dirt and both parents drink. I went to the middle school, pulled twelve-year-old Ben Chivers out of class and offered him a deal. He works for Mrs. Cerlew at the grocery three hours a day after school. She pays him minimum wage for two of those hours, then he works free for the other hour. Mrs. Cerlew is all for it, too. If he does well for a month, she’ll keep him on and pay him for the full three hours, three days a week.”
Miles’s head was cocked to the side. “That’s very good, Katie. This way the kid doesn’t have to go into the juvenile system.”
Katie shuddered. “Something I like to avoid at all costs. He’s not bad, just helpless. This will give him a sense of worth, and a bit of money. I told him to keep his new job to himself as long as he could, or his dad would hit him up to buy some cheap wine.”
Minna said, “Of course old Ben would too. Now, Katie, Mrs. Cerlew doesn’t have an extra dime, so I’ll just bet that you’re subsidizing his wages, aren’t you, dear?”
Katie gave her mother a tight-lipped frown and didn’t say anything.
How, Miles wondered, could a sheriff, on a small-town sheriff’s pay, afford to subsidize a kid’s wages? He was chewing his tongue he wanted to ask so badly when Katie’s mom said, smiling, “After the settlement, Katie saved Benedict Pulp Mill, and a lot of local folks’ jobs, and every so often, she helps folk here in Jessborough, mainly the kids.”
“This is my home,” K
atie said very quietly. “Actually, you could have pulled the mill out of trouble yourself, Mama.” She added to everyone at the table, “She’s an excellent manager, something Dad just wasn’t. Now, that’s enough.” She looked down at the last bite of tuna casserola on her plate. “Keely, you want one more forkful?”
Truth be told, the very large tuna casserola and the platter of biscuits were memories in fifteen minutes.
Miles sat back and folded his hands over his stomach. “That was delicious, Minna. Thank you very much for letting us come.”
“Well, I put up with you adults just so I can get my hands on Sam and Keely. Now, who’s ready for coffee and apple pie?”
Savich said, “May I give you my mom’s e-mail, Minna? You can give her your recipe for the casserola and she’ll give you hers for Irish beef stew.” He grinned at his wife. “Then Sherlock and I can bid good-bye to our waistlines.”
After Minna assured the adults that both kids were lying in front of the television, glued to Wheel of Fortune, Katie set down her cup of coffee, pulled out a file and said, “Eleanor Marie McCamy Ward was only sixty-three when she died of a fall down the front stairs. The ME’s report showed that her neck was broken and that the broken bones and internal injuries were consistent with such a fall. Neither Sooner nor Elsbeth apparently were at the house at the time of the accident. He didn’t preach his first sermon for five more years, then he was invited to the Assembly of God over in Martinville. Six months after that, he established the Sinful Children of God here in Jessborough. He started with only a dozen or so worshipers. There are now a good sixty in the congregation. He’s what you’d call a natural.”
“He was an accomplished car salesman,” Savich said. “It makes sense that he’d be a natural as a preacher. Minna, do you know anything more about Reverend McCamy?”
“I remember Eleanor told me that Sooner had been an intense, quiet boy, self-sufficient, very into himself, but when he spoke, he was always so sure of himself that people believed what he said. She said he wasn’t a happy man, understandable with a bad marriage and living in that big city selling those ridiculously expensive cars. She was quite religious herself. She prayed he would find what he was meant to do in life before she died.”
“But she didn’t live long enough to see him become an evangelist,” Sherlock said.
“No, she didn’t,” Minna said. “Her death was a shock to all of us. She was a fine woman. But evidently Sooner did find his calling. He’s very much admired and respected by his congregation. He’s a big part of their lives. Whether that’s healthy or not, I won’t speculate.”
Katie looked directly at Sherlock. “Do you think Eleanor’s fall down the front stairs might not have been an accident?”
“Let me ask another question first,” Sherlock said. “Was Eleanor McCamy Ward just really well off or was she rich?”
“We could check the probate records, but everyone knows she was worth quite a bit at her death, say, maybe around five million. So, yes, I’d say she was rich.”
“And Sooner McCamy inherited everything?”
Katie nodded, sighed. “I wasn’t living here at the time, but I remember thinking that her death was awfully convenient for Sooner. But of course, no one could prove anything. You guys met him. He certainly looks the role of the stern country preacher, doesn’t he? Dark, brooding, his eyes boring right into your soul.”
“You wonder how much of it is for real,” Miles said, then rose and went off to check the kids. He returned in a moment.
Katie said, “I suppose Sooner could have killed his aunt.”
“Yes,” Savich said, nodding as he sipped Minna’s delicious Darjeeling tea. “But a push down the stairs was taking a chance. It doesn’t guarantee a broken neck. If Sooner did kill her, then he probably saw the opportunity and took it without thinking it through.”
Katie said, “You’re right. It’s not at all a sure thing, she could have come out of it with a sprained ankle.”
“You know,” Sherlock said after her last bite of apple pie, “I think I’m in need of some more local religion. Katie, do the Sinful Children of God meet during the week?”
“Oh yes,” Katie said. “But not on Tuesdays, that’s their day off.”
Savich said thoughtfully, “I think a better idea is for me and Sherlock to take the kids and go visit Reverend and Mrs. McCamy. You’ll know I’ll be looking real close to see his reaction to Sam. And I want to know if Sam’s ever seen him before. Do you guys think that’s a good idea?”
Minna frowned. “If Reverend McCamy is somehow involved in Sam’s kidnapping, is it wise to stick Sam right under his nose?”
Sherlock thought about that for a moment, then said, “Absolutely nothing will happen to Sam with Dillon and me with him, that I can promise you, or else we wouldn’t even consider taking him over there. Just seeing how Reverend McCamy reacts when confronted with Sam, well, that could give us lots of information.”
Miles said, “Minna, these two are the best, don’t worry. I’m not. On the other hand, I just might hide right outside the front door, a big stick in my hand.”
Katie was grinning as she said, “I agree that just maybe something will pop. After all, Beau and Clancy are no longer in the picture. If the McCamys are involved, they’ve not had time to recruit more out-of-work criminals.”
Late Tuesday morning, Savich and Sherlock, with both Keely and Sam in hand, knocked on the McCamys’ front door.
“Who lives here, Uncle Dillon?”
“Two very interesting people I think you kids might like meeting.”
“I’d rather watch cartoons,” Keely said and laced her fingers with Sam’s.
Sherlock said, “We’re going to have lunch with your mom, Keely, and your dad, Sam. So that means you need to hang out with me and Uncle Dillon for a while, okay? I doubt any cartoons will be playing in this house, so you’ll have to be patient.”
“She means she doesn’t want us to whine,” Keely told Sam, who nodded, then asked, “Where’s my dad?”
“He had some calls to make, you know, Conrad Evans at the plant. He said he needed you guys out of his hair for a while.”
“He always says that,” Sam said, “but then he says he can’t wait to see me again.”
Savich smiled. “That, Sam, is what’s known as a parent’s curse.”
Elsbeth McCamy came to the door after another minute had passed. She stared at the two agents, then she stared at the children.
“May we speak to you, Mrs. McCamy?” Sherlock said. “Forgive us for bringing the children, but we were the only two free adults.”
“Yes, of course. Do come in. Reverend McCamy,” she called out, “two FBI agents are here and they’ve brought children.”
It really was very old-fashioned of her to call her husband Reverend McCamy, Savich thought. But Elsbeth McCamy didn’t look the least bit old-fashioned in her tight low-slung jeans and white tube top that left three inches of bare belly showing. She was wearing a belly button ring, a delicate circle of gold. And her Jesus earrings were shining bright in the morning light pouring through the front windows.
Reverend Sooner McCamy was wearing his patented black pants, a white shirt, and a black jacket. When he came out of his study down the hall, he looked harassed. “Elsbeth, I’m ministering to Mr. and Mrs. Coombs.”
“The agents would like to speak to us.”
“Take them to the living room. I’ll see if Mr. and Mrs. Coombs can wait for ten minutes.” He raised an eyebrow as Sherlock said, “Ten minutes sounds just fine.”
Elsbeth McCamy waved them into the living room. She eyed the children again. “Hello, Keely. Can you introduce me to this little boy?”
“I’m not a little boy,” Sam said. “I’m six.”
“I see. And what is your name?”
“Sam. I’m Sam.”
Sherlock was watching her carefully when she looked at Sam. She saw nothing but an adult being polite to a child.
“No, you’
re not little at all. I’m Mrs. McCamy, Sam. Welcome to my home. Do you like it here in Jessborough?”
Sam gave this some thought. “Well, those two men who kidnapped me are dead. Maybe things are better now.”
“Yes, I hope so.”
“We’re very sorry about Clancy’s death, Mrs. McCamy. The medical examiner finished this morning and he wanted me to ask you if you wanted to take care of the arrangements.”
“No, I don’t want to. Let Tennessee do it. Clancy had been bad for a very long time.” She paused a moment, and looked down at Sam. “Did you know that Clancy was my brother?”
24
Sam stared up at her, then he shook his head. “Really?” Sam said. “Why did your brother take me?”
“I don’t know, dear. We haven’t been close for many years now.”
“I wouldn’t want to be close to Fatso either.”
“I can see your point.”
Reverend McCamy said from the doorway, “So you’re Sam Kettering, the little boy who was kidnapped.”
“I’m not little,” Sam said.
“He’s six,” Elsbeth said.
“You look pretty little to me,” the reverend said, ignoring his wife as he walked forward to stand over Sam.
“You’re old,” Sam said, staring up at him. “That’s why you’re bigger than me.”
“Do you think Agent Savich is old?” Reverend McCamy asked, not smiling, his dark eyes intent on Sam’s face.
“Well, sure, he’s even taller than you, but he’s really strong. I’ve seen him and my dad throw each other all over the place at the gym. They punch each other, yell insults, and groan, and then they’re laughing.”
“Sam’s father and I work out together occasionally,” Savich said to Reverend McCamy. “Sam, why don’t you and Keely check out that fireplace. It looks pretty old and big to me.”