He looked furious that she’d pushed him to this, and Miles realized in that instant that she indeed had, and she’d done it very well. For a moment Reverend McCamy didn’t say anything. Katie knew he was trying to get himself under control and it was difficult for him.
Katie said, “Homer Bean, one of your former parishioners, told us that you’d told a small group of men one evening about being a victim of God’s love, about being a stigmatist.”
Reverend McCamy said without looking up, “Since they have told you, then I will not deny it. Once in my life I was blessed to have the suffering of ecstasy with blood flowing from my hands in imitation of the nails driven through our Lord’s palms.”
Katie said, “You’re saying that blood flowed from your palms? That you have actually experienced this?”
“Yes, I have been blessed. God granted me this passionate and tender gift. The pain and the ecstasy-the two together provide incalculable profit to the soul. I have kept this private, all except for those few men in whom I once confided.”
Katie said, “And how is it you were chosen for this, Reverend?”
“You must recognize and accept the divine presence, Katie. You must believe that it is too overwhelming for mankind to fathom, that it must be the expression of ultimate faith. Thus the godless have sought to belittle this divine ecstasy, to trivialize it, to turn it into some sort of freak show. But it isn’t, for I have had my blood flow from my own palms.”
Miles said, fed up with this fanatic, his strange wife, and the damned brownies in the oven, “This is all very fascinating, McCamy, but can you tell me why Clancy and Beau kidnapped my son?”
It was as if someone flipped off the light switch. Reverend McCamy’s eyes became even darker, as if a black tide was roiling up through his body. He shuddered, as if bringing himself out of someplace very deep, very far away. He said, “Your son is one of God’s children, Mr. Kettering. I will pray for your son, and I will ask God to intercede.” With that, Reverend McCamy turned and walked out of the kitchen. After a moment, they heard him call out, “Elsbeth, bring the brownies to my study when they’re done. You don’t have to cool them.”
She nodded, even though he was no longer there. “Yes, Reverend McCamy.”
Katie said to Elsbeth, “Sam is a wonderful little boy. I will not allow him to be taken again. Do you understand me, Elsbeth?”
“Go away, Katie. Go away and take that godless man with you.”
“I’m not godless, ma’am. I just don’t worship quite the same God you and your husband do.”
When they were driving away from that lovely house, Miles said, “That was excellent questioning. I just don’t know what it got us.”
“I don’t either,” Katie said. “But I discovered I could pry him open.”
“They’re in on this, Katie.”
“Yes,” she said. “I think so, too.”
Miles slammed his fist against the steering wheel. “Why, for God’s sake? Why?”
29
S am and Keely were playing chess, loosely speaking, given that Keely had had only two lessons. Katie had a No-TV rule during the week so the house was quiet, with just a soft layer of light rock coming from the speakers, and an occasional ember popping in the fireplace. The air felt thick, heavy. Another big storm was coming.
“No, Sam,” Keely said, “you can’t do that. The rook has to go in straight lines, he can’t go sideways.”
“That’s boring,” said Sam, and moved his bishop instead because he liked the long diagonal. The only problem was he stopped his bishop in front of a pawn, which Keely promptly removed. Sam yelled out, then sat back, stroked his chin like his father did, and said, “I will think about this and then you’ll be very sorry.”
Keely crowed.
“Killers, both of them,” said Miles, happy to see Sam acting like a normal kid again.
Katie and Miles were seated on opposite ends of the long sofa, doing nothing but sipping coffee and listening to the fascinating chess moves made by two children whose combined age was eleven.
Two deputies, Neil Crooke, who got no end of grief for his name, and Jamie Beezer, who did a great imitation dance of Muhammad Ali in his heyday, were outside watching the house. When Neil called to ask if he could go unlock ancient Mr. Cerlew’s 1956 Buick for him since he’d locked his keys in it, Katie said go, but get back as soon as possible.
She excused herself a moment, and came back into the living room with a plate of brownies in her hands. “They’re not homemade like Elsbeth’s, but I’ll tell you, the Harvest Moon bakery can’t be beat.”
Miles took a brownie, saying, “You think they’re better than the ones Elsbeth McCamy made?”
“We’ll never know, at least I hope we won’t. Kids? Can the chess battle stop for a brownie break?”
When the plate was empty, in just under four minutes, Miles sat back and laced his fingers over his belly. He stretched out his legs, crossed them at the ankles, and leaned his head back against the sofa. He said as he closed his eyes, “It’s Wednesday night. I’ve known you since Saturday. Isn’t that amazing?”
Katie slowly nodded even though she knew he couldn’t see her, and said, “We’re sitting here like two folks who’ve been sitting here for a very long time.” Except for the SIG tucked into the waistband of her jeans and the derringer strapped at her ankle.
That was sure the truth, Miles thought.
Katie stared at the glowing embers in the fireplace that periodically spewed up a mist of color. “It seems much longer,” she said after a moment. “It seems natural.”
He opened his eyes and turned his head to face her. “I can’t stay here indefinitely, Katie, although I’m becoming fond of your microwave and your teakettle. The oatmeal was pretty good, too. But the bed is too short, and Sam snores on occasion.” He stopped, and sat forward, his hands clasped between his knees, staring at the rag rug Katie’s grandmother had made in the thirties. “This still isn’t over, Katie. What am I to do?”
Because Katie didn’t have an answer for that, she looked over to make sure the kids were occupied. They were on their stomachs, their noses almost touching the chess pieces. She said, “The meeting with the McCamys- you did good, Miles, asking Elsbeth that question point-blank. At least we know for sure now they’re involved- Elsbeth’s face gave it all away. She’s not good at lying. She’d lose her knickers in a poker game.”
Miles said quietly, “All right, they’re involved. Tell me why a preacher would have Sam kidnapped.”
“Okay, let’s just cut to the bone. Reverend McCamy had Clancy and Beau kidnap Sam, told them to take him to Bleaker’s cabin. To wait? Why? Well, I suppose, so he could make arrangements.”
“For what?”
“We don’t know yet, but if that’s the case, there has to be a reason, one that makes a great deal of sense to the McCamys. You know, Miles, there was something else Homer Bean mentioned. He said something about Reverend McCamy wanting a successor. No, wanting a
“If that rumor about seeing Reverend McCamy in Knoxville at a real estate office is true, and he is planning to pick up stakes, then it would be logical, I suppose, that he’d want to find someone to take his place with all the sinful children. But what does that have to do with Sam? Sam’s a little young to be anyone’s successor. Just last month I told him for sure that he’d be my successor, but he couldn’t take over until he could spell guidance system.”
Katie smiled at that. Miles watched her scuff her toe against the carpet and leaned toward her as she said, “Bits and pieces, Miles, that’s what we’re gathering. Soon it will all come together. We’re close, I can feel it. I do wish that Agent Hodges would get back to us on the McCamy personal bank transactions and the church’s books.”
“Since he had trouble getting a warrant, he said it wouldn’t be until tomorrow.”
“There’s something else. It’s Reverend McCamy. I’ve known him a long time. This is the first time I’ve seen him come close to losing it. He was out of control a couple of times.”
“If they’re behind Sam’s kidnapping, they have to know that it’s just a matter of time before everything collapses.”
“Check!”
Sam came up on his knees, shook his fist, and shouted, “You moved the queen like a knight, Keely, and that’s
