Blindside (20 page)

“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,” Katie 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?”

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.”

Sam said, never looking away from Reverend McCamy, “Did you push your aunt down the stairs, sir?”

There was dead silence in the living room. Bad idea to bring the kids, Savich thought, but on the other hand, you never knew what could shake loose. So much for the kids watching TV in the other room. Savich watched the reverend’s face. He was pale, too pale, except for the dark beard stubble, and now, perhaps, he’d paled just a bit more. He looked like an old-time zealot in all that black with those burning eyes of his. He gave Savich the creeps.

Reverend McCamy shook his head. He reached out his hand to touch Sam, then drew it back. “Why no, I didn’t. Why would you think I did, Sam?”

Sam shrugged. “I don’t know, sir. Some grown-ups do really bad things. Like Beau and Fatso.”

“Fatso? Oh, you mean Clancy. Yes, what you said, that’s true enough, and you have good reason to know that. But I’m a man of God, Sam. My mission in life is to bring others to Him, to accept how He suffered for all of us, how He atoned for our sins, even Beau’s and Clancy’s. And He allows some of us to experience His own sacrifice.”

“I wish you’d brought Fatso and Beau to God,” Sam said, “before they took me away from my dad.”

“Well, who knows? Maybe they were thinking about God when they took you. We’ll never know, will we? Not all men are capable of achieving anything like goodness. Are you good, Sam?”

Sam didn’t say a word, just stared up at Reverend McCamy.

Keely said, “He’s a boy, but I think he’s a little bit good.”

Reverend McCamy said, “You’re the sheriff’s daughter, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Keely said, hugging Savich’s pant leg. “You look like a man in one of my mama’s old movies, you know, black and white before there were colors. I don’t like black and white.”

Savich smiled, just couldn’t help it, but he saw that Reverend McCamy didn’t appreciate the child’s wit. There was no change in his expression, but Savich felt something dark and brooding coming over him, something he didn’t understand. But all McCamy said was, “Elsbeth, why don’t you take the children to the kitchen and give them some lemonade.”

Sherlock said, “That sounds splendid. Let me help.”

Elsbeth nodded and walked out of the living room, the kids behind her.

“He’s scary, Aunt Sherlock,” Sam said in a low voice.

“Maybe,” Sherlock said. “Sam, what’s wrong?”

He’d stopped and was staring at the big staircase. Keely was running ahead behind Elsbeth McCamy. Sherlock leaned down and whispered in his ear, “Sam, what’s wrong?”

“I don’t like this house, Aunt Sherlock. Can’t you feel it?”

“Feel what, sweetie?”

Sam frowned a moment, kept staring at that staircase, then shrugged. “I don’t know, but it’s kinda scary. His aunt must have fallen down these stairs.”

“Yes, she did.”

Sam touched his fingers to the newel post, a richly carved mahogany pineapple. “Do you think Mrs. McCamy really has some lemonade, or do you think she’ll just have Diet Coke?”