Fifteen minutes after a telephone call, Katie’s mother, Minna Bushnell Benedict, arrived to take charge of the children. She won Sam over with a chocolate chip cookie the size of Manhattan, and assured both Miles and Katie that she’d keep both Sam and Keely safe, with the help of the two deputies seated in their cruiser just outside the house.
“Butch, you have a safe trip back to Washington. Miles, Katie, we’re off to meet the Sinful Children of God,” Savich said, and took Sherlock’s hand. “Maybe we can talk to some of the congregation before the service starts.”
“Find Fatso,” Sam called after his father as they went out the front door. “Shoot him.”
The church of the Sinful Children of God was on Sycamore Road. Katie was right, it looked like the Old North Church in Boston-a tall wooden spire, painted all white, the roof sharply raked with shingles, the windows small and traditional.
There were maybe twenty cars parked in the paved lot behind the church, which was set back from the road, at the edge of a thick stand of maple and oak trees. And Miles found himself marveling yet again at how many trees there were in this part of the country.
The church was nearly full, maybe as many as fifty, sixty people. Men were in suits, women in dresses, hats on their heads. Children sat quietly beside their parents. The four of them sat down in the back. A couple Katie didn’t recognize scooted farther down the bench, not speaking to them.
Katie realized, as she looked around at all those well-dressed people, that she didn’t know very many of them. She wondered from how far away they came. It took her a while to recognize Thomas Boone, the postman, because he looked different in a suit. There was Bea Hipple, an expert quilter, sitting only shoulder high to her husband, Benny, a local mechanic. For the life of her, Katie couldn’t imagine Bea being all that submissive.
She knew maybe twenty-five of the adults in the congregation, no more than that. The organist finished “Amazing Grace.” Throats cleared, papers rustled, and then the church fell quiet. Hearing “Amazing Grace” played in church always made Katie, hard-assed sheriff or not, get tears in her eyes.
Reverend Sooner McCamy rose from his high-backed chair to walk up the winding stairs to the pulpit that was set on a six-foot-high dais. He stood there for a few seconds, looking out. He was wearing a lovely white robe over a black suit and white shirt.
Reverend McCamy wrapped his large hands around the corners of the beautifully worked pulpit. They were strong hands, nicely formed, with short buffed nails, black hair visible on the backs even from a distance. When he spoke, his voice reached to every corner of the room, forceful and deep. Katie was aware that people were sitting at attention now, leaning forward a bit so as to not miss a word.
“I welcome all of you back again for our evening service. It has been a full, rewarding day, and a very unusual one as well. My wife and I spoke with Sheriff Benedict and an FBI agent at our home at noon. It seems that Elsbeth’s brother, Clancy, is wanted for questioning in the kidnapping of the little boy who managed to escape. Yes, Clancy Edens is indeed my wife’s brother. I would ask that if any of you know of this very man’s whereabouts to call the sheriff. I’ve been told there are posters of him all over Jessborough.”
He never broke eye contact with Katie while he spoke. She found herself nodding as one by one, the congregation turned to look at her.
Reverend McCamy paused a moment, looking, it seemed, at each of his congregation. He said finally, “Our spirits need constant nourishment, just as our bodies do. We recognize this need even if we don’t understand how to bring deep into ourselves the nourishment our souls require. We must pray that Clancy Edens finds the nourishment tonight.”
“Amen. Amen.”
“We must all first realize there is a common bond among right-thinking men, men who recognize there is something more to living than being a part of the human herd, something beyond us. It is something more precious than life itself, something that can bring us all infinite understanding and peace. And these men know that this something is our beloved God, and that it is He who is our spiritual nourishment, He who brings value to our lives, He who makes us know the path we must tread. Let us pray for him tonight, brothers, pray that he seeks this path with us.”
“Amen… amen… amen.”
“It is we men who must lead, who must show these sinners, as we show our precious helpmates, the way to grace and salvation, ensuring God’s forgiveness for their eternal sin. All of you seated before God and His messenger here this evening know that we each have a role in this life, some of leadership and some of submission. Both will free us. I exhort all of you: Seek always to understand what it is you must be and what you must do. Let nothing stop you from attaining what it is God wants you to have, what God wants of you.”
Only men can understand God? Sherlock felt Dillon lightly touching his fingertips to her arm. When she turned, he was smiling. Then he winked at her.
“There are special graces that God grants a few men on this earth that allow them to be special victims of God’s grace, to actually experience his own sacrifice for all of our sins.”
Victims of God’s grace? What did that mean? Sherlock tuned him out until some five minutes later, when Reverend McCamy said suddenly, “Now it’s time for us to divide into our Sunday evening study groups. Our topic for discussion this evening will be ‘Submitting to the Path of God’s Grace.’ ”
Katie looked at Miles, her head cocked to one side. His dark eyes were glittering, narrowed on Reverend McCamy’s face. His hands were fisted, one on his thigh. She smoothed his fisted hand with her own, feeling the tension slowly ease. She would ask him what he was thinking later. It had been smart of the reverend to be up front about Elsbeth McCamy’s brother, very smart indeed. She wondered if the good reverend would have said a word about Sam’s kidnapping if the four of them hadn’t trooped into his service.
After the congregation split into groups, Sherlock made a request to join them. Reverend McCamy looked infinitely patient. “I’m sorry, Agent Sherlock, but you must be a believer and member of this church before you can attend our study groups. Why did you come?” He looked at all of them in turn, one very black eyebrow arched up, a bit of a satyr’s look, if he but knew.
Katie introduced Savich and Miles Kettering.
Reverend McCamy said nothing, merely nodded at them. He gave Miles a long look, then he looked down at the ring on his third finger-an odd ring, thick, heavy-looking, silver with some sort of carving on top. The carving was deep black. Sherlock couldn’t make out what it was. Surely this monstrosity couldn’t be his wedding ring.
Reverend McCamy said, “Special Agent Savich. You appear to be hurt.”
How had he known that? No, that was easy, Savich thought, likely everyone in town was talking about how the federal agent got his back sliced open by a flying piece of van. Savich removed his hand from the reverend’s. “Just a bit.”
Reverend McCamy said, “I will direct all our congregation to include you in their prayers. Sheriff, you’ve known some of these folk all your life. You know they’ll help if they can. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must attend to my children.”
Katie looked over toward Thomas Boone and remembered a scene in the post office between him and a Mr. Phelan. They’d been arguing about the church and Reverend McCamy. She wanted to speak to Mr. Phelan.
After Katie dropped Savich and Sherlock off at Mother’s Very Best, Savich looking like he was nearly ready to drop in his tracks, she and Miles went for a cup of coffee at the Main Street Cafe. Beverly, with her lovely, big smile, served them. Bless her heart, she didn’t say a word about the kidnapping.
“It’s an amazing thing,” Miles said as he sipped his black coffee. “In the space of a day and a half, I went from absolute despair to euphoria to something like dread. Do you think Clancy is still here?”
Katie nodded as she stirred some cream into her coffee. “He’s hiding somewhere.”
“You think the reverend and his wife know where he is?”
“I wish I could say yes, but actually I haven’t the slightest idea if they do. You’re a former FBI agent. What do you think?”
“As I said, I’ve only been here for a day.”
“What field office were you assigned to?”
“Actually, I stayed in Washington along with Savich after we met at the academy. I was in the Information and Evidence Management Unit.”
“You dealt with forensics.”
