Blindside

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?”
    “We’ll see, now won’t we?” Sherlock said.
    In the living room, Savich remained standing. It was less painful that way. Reverend McCamy wasn’t a large man, but he had presence, and that made him appear bigger than he actually was. Savich remembered the bottomlesswell of madness in Tammy Tuttle’s eyes and wondered if there was a hint of the same madness in Reverend Sooner McCamy’s dark eyes as well.
    “You actually discussed my aunt’s death in front of children? Discussed my murdering her?”
    “We thought they were watching TV,” Savich said. “We should have known better. We’re cops, Reverend McCamy, and we had to wonder about the excellent timing of her demise—six months after your marriage to your wife. No illness, just a sudden fall down the stairs and a broken neck.”
    “My aunt was a very fine woman, Agent Savich. I loved her very much. She took me in when I was blind and couldn’t find my way. She listened to me, comforted me, encouraged me to follow my heart. Her death brought me great sadness. But I knew she basked in God’s sacred light. She’s with Him now, out of pain, for all eternity.”
    “Perhaps so. But you were still alive, Reverend McCamy, as was your wife. And you were also much richer. I like your house. It’s a lovely property.”
    “Yes, that’s a fact.” McCamy waved Savich to a sofa. “It’s interesting how the living always regard death selfishly, isn’t it? A man will grieve, then almost immediately measure what he’ll gain from it. Why don’t you sit down.”
    “Perhaps that’s true. I’ll stay standing. My back isn’t very happy at the moment.”
    “I’ve never had back problems.”
    “I haven’t either until Saturday night. Tell me, sir, what do you think of Sam?”
    His dark intense eyes rested on