Blindside

women should try to copy.”
    “What happens if the wife isn’t interested?”

    “I guess she could refuse to join, but I know he offers some kind of counseling for wayward wives.”
    “Just imagine,” Sherlock said. “He preaches enslavement of women and it’s all tax free.”
    “You’re right. They’re a church, so no taxes.”
    “I wonder if there’s some kind of point system here,” Sherlock said as she looked at a herd of cows spread over a low green hill. “You know, points for bringing the husband a beer during a football game?”
    “Or points for meeting him at the front door at night with a drink?”
    Sherlock laughed. “I can’t believe they’re that many sandwiches short of a picnic.”
    “I have no idea, really. I’ve never been to one of their services.”
    Sherlock shook her head, giggling. “Come on, Katie. You want me to believe a sizable group of women actually buys this stuff? You said the congregation was fifty or sixty people. That means at least twenty-five women?”
    “To each his own, I guess. Like I said, people around here are tolerant of other people’s beliefs, so long as they’re left alone themselves.”
    Sherlock was silent for a moment, drumming her fingertips on the window. “They’re in the middle of a service right now?”
    Katie checked the purple big-faced watch that Keely had given her for Christmas. “Yeah, for another half-hour at least. Then there’s a lunch break.”
    “Good. We’ve got plenty of time to see if there’s any sign of Clancy hanging around their house.”
    Katie took a left onto Birch Avenue, then a right onto Sassafras Road. “Once off Main Street, all our streets are named after local trees. I live on Red Maple Road.”
    “Can spring be as gorgeous here as the fall?”
    Katie smiled, shook her head. “It’s pretty here in April and May, but you’re lucky to be here just now. All thecolorful trees with the mountains in the background . . . it makes you feel like there’s something more than just life and death, something that’s endless and beautiful.”
    “Have you lived here all your life?”
    “Oh yes. My father owned the chip mill—Benedict Pulp—until he died two years ago. Now my mom runs the mill for me. We’re coming up on Pine Wood Lane where the McCamys live. I’m going to ditch the truck. We’ll go in by foot, okay?”
    “Sure.” Sherlock pulled her SIG Sauer out of her shoulder harness, checked it, and put it on her lap. “You know, Katie, we’d need a warrant to actually go inside the house.”
    “Yeah, I know that.”
    Katie pulled off Pine Wood Lane onto a dirt road, more a path really, that went into some thick woods. “This is good enough. The house is just a bit up the road.”
    Sherlock followed Katie as she wove her way through the pine trees, well away from the road. The air was cold but clear, except for the blue haze forming over the mountains.
    They heard a small animal scurrying away from them deeper into the forest. The birds were quiet this morning, with just a few crow calls breaking the silence.
    Katie said, “Sooner inherited his house and property from an aunt who passed on not long after he married Elsbeth. It’s a nice place.”
    “Is he from around here?”
    Katie shook her head, shoved a branch out of the way. “No, he moved here maybe fifteen years ago from Nashville. I really don’t know his background but I’ll make it a point to find out about him now, even whether he puts butter on his popcorn. He went off and married Elsbeth, brought her back here, and then the aunt died.”
    They walked out of the pine trees and stopped a moment. Katie pointed to a big three-story Victorian that stood in the middle of a huge lot filled with birches, oaks, and maples, some of them right up against the sides of thehouse. The golds, reds, and yellows of the leaves were incredible. It was an idyllic setting, and the house was a gem, the trim painted three different shades of green. There were no cars in the driveway.
    “Just Sooner and Elsbeth live here. Reverend McCamy has money from his aunt, but they don’t have anyone cleaning for them as far as I know. There’s a gardener who comes by, Mr. Dillard, a really old fellow with no teeth in his mouth, but he’s magic with flowers. The place should be empty. Let’s just check it out.”
    Sherlock carried her SIG pressed downward, next to her leg.
    Katie stopped abruptly.
    “What is it?”
    “I think I saw a flash of light in one