When Death Draws Near (9 page)

SNAKES AGAIN
. THE ROOM WAS WARM, BUT I
felt a chill.

Only the crackle of the fire and the tinkle and clink of melting ice cubes in the old-fashioned glasses broke the silence. Arless finally spoke. “We should start at the beginning.”

I nodded.

“Kentucky is the only state”—Arless smoothed his perfect hair with a well-manicured hand—“that passed laws specifically prohibiting snake handling in religious services. But it wasn't enough. People continued to die from snakebites. I was able to introduce a bill to substantially increase the fines and jail time.”

“Arless thought that would be the end of it,” Blanche said, “that the churches would simply go to West Virginia where it's legal. Instead, they went underground and stayed in Kentucky.”

“And the bodies started to pile up,” Clay continued. “Not just snakebites. They also drink poison—strychnine and lye—and burn themselves with fire.”

I swallowed hard, wishing I'd taken that glass of bourbon. “I don't understand. Why?”

“Partly because these are uneducated, backwoods people. And they take their Bible literally,” Arless said.

Professor Wellington stood, walked to the bookshelves, and pulled down a gold-labeled Bible. “It comes from Mark 16:17–18. ‘And these signs shall follow them that believe; in my name shall they cast out devils; they shall speak with new tongues; they shall take up serpents; and if they drink any deadly thing, it shall not hurt them; they shall lay hands on the sick, and they shall recover.' ”

“I confess I'm not all that familiar with that passage,” I said.

“Snake, or serpent handling, as they call it,” Professor Wellington said, “was practiced in Virginia and West Virginia as far back as the late eighteen hundreds. You'd basically find it at coal-mine revivals.” He looked toward the ceiling and slightly nodded his head. I could almost see him mentally composing his thesis.

Wellington continued. “But it was a charismatic traveling preacher, George Went Hensley, who linked serpent handling with tongues and the other signs and seemed to make it more . . . popular. They believe this biblical passage is a commandment of Jesus.”

I shook my head. “But it seems to me that there's a First Amendment issue about passing a law prohibiting—”

“The free exercise of religion.” Professor Wellington snapped the Bible shut. “And the Fourteenth Amendment says state legislators can't pass laws either. But the Kentucky Supreme Court ruled that the state could regulate snake handling to protect citizens. And believe me, they need protection.”

“Children—” Blanche glanced at her husband. “Some of the . . . victims of this cult have been children. Forced to drink poison and handle deadly snakes.”

I wiped my damp hands on my dress. “That's terrible. Did you identify the children? Do you need me to draw—”

“Yes, we identified them.” Clay's face tightened and a vein pounded in his temple.

“Then I don't see how this has anything to do with me.”

“We know Elijah and Ruby are members of this so-called church,” Clay said. “But we need to identify everyone involved, especially the leaders.”

I was beginning to see where this conversation was going, and I didn't like it at all. I waited until the mild hot flash passed before speaking. “Tomorrow I'm picking up my daughter. I won't—can't—put her in any danger.”

“She won't be in danger.” Professor Wellington carefully placed the Bible back on the shelf. “It's only the members who are . . . shall we say ‘allowed,' or forced, to follow the bizarre beliefs.”

“And you know this because . . .?”

Trish spoke for the first time. “Six months ago we came down here and started working on Tom—er, Professor Wellington's thesis on Appalachian church music and beliefs. That's when the first body, a twelve-year-old girl, turned up.”

“So I asked Trish if she'd help us,” Clay said. “All we thought we needed was the right clothes. She already had the long hair and, since she was from West Virginia originally, the right accent.”

“I went undercover,” Trish said, “and tried to infiltrate the church, but they quickly figured out that I wasn't much of a Christian, let alone a Pentecostal holiness believer.”

“You said ‘holiness believer,' ” I said. “That means . . .?”

“That's one of the names they call themselves,” Trish said. “For them, uncut women's hair, modest clothes, stuff like that were some of the outward signs.”

“Okay, but why me, and why now?” I asked.

“
Why you
is that you have a foot in the door with the invitation to the funeral,” Clay said. “And can draw the faces of the members.”

“Can't you just take their pictures?”

“Believe me, we tried,” Trish said. “I had a camera with me, but they found it.”

Professor Wellington rubbed his hands together. “As to the
why now
part of your question, we know a big revival, a brush-arbor homecoming, is coming up soon. We also have heard that this time all of the children will be forced to participate. Burned, poisoned, and bitten by snakes.”

A log in the fire popped.

I jerked, then licked my dry lips. “But what about the rape cases?”

Clay swirled his glass. “I think you've done all you can on them for now. We'll keep looking for the missing woman, and this time we'll put her in protective custody until we can get that drawing and the information we need. And given the threats and all to you, it wouldn't hurt for you to lay low for a bit.” He glanced at Arless, then back at his glass.

“I don't know—”

“I'll tell you what. When I drive you to the airport tomorrow, I'll fill you in on our plan and the background of this group,” Blanche said.

“And I'll pull the police reports on the bodies we've found,” Clay offered.

“We'll get you a car,” Arless added.

“And the right clothes to wear for that funeral,” Blanche said.

My head ached and I rubbed my forehead. “But Elijah already knows I'm connected to the police—”

“Don't worry,” Clay said. “We'll arrange everything.”

I stood to leave.

The men also stood. “There's a substantial reward should you be able to expose this cult,” Arless said.

“Reward?” As soon as the word left my mouth, I regretted it.

“I put the money up, personally, when I got the laws passed,” Arless said. “Any person who identifies members of this snake-handling group will receive a reward. I'm dangling a carrot, the monetary reward, with the intent of then getting new laws on the books.” He mentioned an amount that left me breathless.

I studied my clasped hands. “I'd like to think it over. I'll give you my answer in the morning.” Quickly leaving the room, I headed to my suite, my brain buzzing. I held my thoughts in check until I'd firmly shut the door.
Reward.
The kind of money Arless mentioned would pay my expenses for the upcoming battle with cancer. A losing battle.

I tugged off my dress and hung it in the closet. I could choose to not fight the disease and use the money for Aynslee's college. Robert had put some funds aside, but this would get her into a first-rate school.

But I would have to either leave her in town with a serial rapist loose or take her into the mountains to a snake-handling cult.

I SPENT A RESTLESS NIGHT RUNNING FROM
snakes and spiders, waking up in a cold sweat. Failing to inquire the night before about breakfast, I showered and dressed, then went looking for coffee. If need be, I'd call a cab and scour the town for some morning brew. Fortunately Mrs. Fields spotted me crossing the living room and pointed to an alcove off the kitchen where coffee, orange juice, fruit, and pastries waited on the sideboard.

Professor Wellington sat next to the window, deeply engrossed in a newspaper. He wore a worn, umber-brown corduroy jacket over an open-necked plaid shirt. Trish, seated on his right, was just finishing up a muffin. She looked fetching in an oatmeal sweater with an oversize taupe scarf around her neck. “Morning.” She popped another bite into her mouth. “Try the pumpkin spice,” she managed around a mouthful. “It's heavenly.”

I joined them. “You're up early.”

“Not really. We're fellow houseguests.” She stood and retrieved a second muffin. “Blanche and Arless insisted when
Professor Wellington asked about a place in Pikeville while working on his second PhD.”

“That was nice of them.”

“They're the most generous people I've ever met. They work in a food kitchen, helped fund a shelter. They're even building an orphanage in Haiti.”

“Impressive.” I turned to Professor Wellington. “What are you getting your PhD in?”

He lowered the paper enough to see me. “Religion.”

I took a sip of coffee. “And your thesis is on . . .?”

“Music played and sung in the Appalachian churches.”

“Like the Scottish-Irish roots to gospel—”

“Hardly.” Professor Wellington put down the newspaper. “I was following up on K. Y. Young's 1926 analysis that revealed the infantile desire found in the church lyrics was nothing more than a repressed desire for an absent father's protection and comfort.”

“Oh.” I took another sip of coffee. “Or maybe the music is meant to lift you up and get your mind on worship.” I wanted to kick myself as soon as I said that. Wellington was a longtime friend of my host and hardly someone I wanted to antagonize.

Wellington stared at me for a moment, then returned to his paper.

Before I could think of anything suitably neutral to resume the conversation, Blanche breezed into the room wearing a sharply tailored, black-and-white-striped jacket and gray boot-cut trousers. Her hair was held back with a pair of sunglasses. “Arless sends his regrets that he won't be joining us this morning. He's expecting visitors.” She glanced at her diamond-encrusted watch. “What time does your daughter arrive in Lexington?”

“Four fifteen.”

“We should leave after lunch then.” She filled a coffee cup and took a seat next to me. “Have you made up your mind about helping us?”

“I have. I'll help.”

“Outstanding!”

“Just to be clear, you want me to draw a composite of the people directly handling the snakes?”

“And anyone bringing snakes in a snake box. Yes.”

“What are you going to do with the composites? Release them to the press or—”

Blanche smiled. “You'll help, but Clay already made inquiries into that computer program you spoke about last night—Composit-Fit ID, by the way, is the name. Now that you're on board, Arless will purchase it. As soon as you get us the composites, we'll be able to identify the suspects and put a stop to all this here in Kentucky. According to Clay, it interfaces with the DMV as well as other facial databases.”

“Are you going to arrest the identified handlers?”

“Clay said they pretty much have to catch them with the snakes, but if he knows who they are, he can keep an eye on them and wait until they make a move.” She paused. “I'm assuming that because you are both the witness and the artist, the drawings will be extremely accurate.”

“They should be. I may not remember a name, but I'll never forget a face. But there's still the problem of me getting accepted by the group.”

She patted my hand. “Don't worry about that. I'm sure you'll be able to do it. I'm thrilled with your answer. Now, you'll have to excuse me. I have some phone calls to make.” She turned and strolled off, leaving behind a whiff of Joy perfume.

Trish raised her eyebrows at me. “So. You're going in.”

“Looks like.”

“I see you wear a cross. Are you by any chance Pentecostal?” Trish asked.

“No.”

Professor Wellington folded his paper onto the table. “So what do you know about the holiness Pentecostal traditions?”

“Um . . . well, Trish talked about long hair and clothing and . . . maybe they talk in tongues?”

“That's what I thought.” Wellington tilted his head back and his eyes became unfocused as if he were addressing a classroom of college freshmen. “The practice of glossolalia, or speaking in tongues, is not limited to Pentecostals. In America, that phenomenon occurred in such groups as the Mormons and the Shakers of the nineteenth century.” His gaze sharpened on me. “You'll need to brush up on what they believe.”

“And I would need to know this because . . .?”

“You'll be hard-pressed to join them at their homecoming if you can't show some familiarity and acceptance of their faith.”

“What's a homecoming?” I asked.

Wellington stood. “It's similar to a church revival. Different churches get together to support a single church. In this case, they'd not only be helping the local congregation but showing contempt for the law. I'll be right back.”

Trish watched him leave, then sighed. She caught me watching her and her face flushed red.

“He seems like a nice enough fellow,” I said.

“He's . . . wonderful. But doesn't seem to know I'm female.”

“Umn,” I grunted noncommittally.

Trish shrugged, then lifted her chin. “Well, back to earth.
Big day today. Lots of churches to scope out for the professor.”

“How do you find or choose the churches for his music research?”

“Professor Wellington finds them. I think he grew up around here.” She stood. “Oh, I have a magazine article written about the snake handlers. It's old, but I think it's still accurate. Let me find it and get it to you. Okay?”

“That'd be great. Anything you have will help.”

She stood and left the room.

After placing my cup on the sideboard, I started to leave, but Wellington appeared in the door. “Blanche will fill you in on the background of the locals, but you might want to read this.” He shoved a thick paperback into my hands. The title was
The Traditions of Holiness Pentecostals
. “This will catch you up on some of the origins and beliefs. There's a chapter in here about the serpent handlers, which came out of this movement.”

“Thanks.” I rather expected him to assign me a research paper as well.

Mrs. Fields appeared at the door. “You have a phone call.” She held up a receiver.

The book dropped from my suddenly numb hand. “Who . . . Who is it?”

Mrs. Fields's knuckles whitened on the receiver. “It sounds like Sheriff Reed.” She thrust the phone into my hand.

“Hi, Gwen. Clay here. Tried to call you on your cell. We found Ina Jo.”

“Fantastic—”

“Not really. She's dead.”