“This is a beautiful town, Katie. No exhaust fumes, no gangs of teenagers with bolts through their noses. It’s so peaceful.”

“You get all those things just up the highway.”

“But you’re tucked away all safe and sound. Until yesterday, anyway.” Sherlock rolled down the truck window and breathed in the clean crisp air.

“Yes, it’s always been peaceful, until now.”

“I brought my big hair rollers,” Sherlock said as she watched a horse-drawn carriage pull onto Main Street.

Katie, who’d been thinking the last thing she needed was this FBI character, Butch Ashburn, trying to out-wing-tip Glen Hodges with his heel on her neck, blinked, turned to look at Sherlock, and said, “What?”

“A while back Dillon and I were in Los Angeles on a case. There was this crazy guy murdering people, copying a TV show-”

“You were involved in those TV show murders?”

“Well, yes. As I was saying, Dillon and I discovered quite by accident that he really likes to roll up my hair on those big hair rollers and then have me pull them out of my hair, one by one, and sort of toss my head and string my fingers through my mane. So I brought them along with me to cheer him up. But I think it’s going to have to wait a couple of days before he’s up to playing again.”

Katie laughed. “Hair rollers. Hmm, I never thought of that.”

“I hadn’t either until I met Belinda Gates,” Sherlock said. “Boy, could she pull out hair rollers. It was enough to make Dillon sweat.”

“She’s that actress who starred in The Consultant, isn’t she?”

“Yep, she’s the one, a real piece of work. Actually, I liked her when I didn’t want to punch her out. You wouldn’t believe some of the people we met in Hollywood. They were so crooked you wondered how they could walk. You’ve got a cute kid. What is she-five?”

“Yes, she just turned five last month. She’s all mine, thank God.”

Sherlock wanted to know what she meant by that, but it was too pushy to ask, at least this soon. “Tell me more about Elsbeth Bird McCamy.”

Katie turned her truck off Main Street onto Poplar Drive, checked the old Ford coming up on her left, and said, “The very first thing you notice about Elsbeth is how beautiful she is-she’s got this fall of very light blond hair, all the way to her waist. She always wears it loose, tucked behind her ears so you can see her Jesus earrings.”

“Her what?”

“I call them Jesus earrings. They’re silver-Jesus on the cross-and they hang down about an inch and a half. When she moves, they move. I’ll tell you, it makes me shudder. I think she’s about thirty-five now, which isn’t all that young, but given that Reverend McCamy is well over fifty, it’s a bit on the creepy side. Like I told you, he’s very intense-his eyes blaze and nearly turn black when he looks at you.”

“He’s scary?”

“Well, sort of, I guess. It’s just that he’s so much into his own particular brand of religion. As I said, Elsbeth calls him only by his last name. It’s always Reverend McCamy this, Reverend McCamy that.”

“I haven’t run into that before. You mean like some wives did back in the nineteenth century?”

“Yes. And he calls her Elsbeth. She treats him like he has but to speak and she’ll jump to obey. Whatever he wanted, I can see her jumping through hoops to get it for him. I’d say she was close to worshiping him.”

Sherlock’s left eyebrow climbed up. “Is that part of what he preaches? That wives should be as subservient to their husbands as she is?”

Katie shrugged. “Yes. From what I understand of the Sinful Children of God, Reverend McCamy preaches that women, in order to do penance for their huge sin of munching on the Eden apple, have got to give their all to another human being and that human being, naturally, is their husband.”

“That’s really convenient.”

“Well, I wouldn’t swear to it, but that’s what I’ve heard anyway. People around Jessborough are tolerant of each other. None of the members of the Sinful Children of God who live locally has ever been arrested or disturbed the peace. They’re good people, respectable, and tend to keep to themselves. I think most of the members come from neighboring areas. Like you said, it’s pretty convenient, at least for all the men in the congregation. Maybe that’s why Reverend McCamy has been so successful. He holds up his own wife as the model all the 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 the colorful 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 the house. 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.