Blindside (24 page)

Elsbeth turned, a can of cocoa in her hand. “What rumor?”

“That you and Reverend McCamy are thinking about leaving the area.”

Elsbeth nearly dropped the can. “Goodness, where did you hear that, Katie?”

She was aware that Miles was wondering what she was up to. She just smiled, sipped her coffee, and wondered if indeed Reverend McCamy had been seen going into a real estate office in Knoxville. She said as she watched Elsbeth’s hand shake as she measured a teaspoon of baking powder into the mixing bowl, “You know rumors—they’re talked about everywhere but don’t seem to begin anywhere.”

“Well, it’s wrong. Of course we’re not leaving. Reverend McCamy is very happy here, despite that nasty televangelist over in Knoxville. That miserable man happened to find out that Reverend McCamy was approached by the producers on the cable station, and now he’s trying to make everyone believe he’s the spawn of the Devil, the bastard.”

“What’s this bastard’s name?”

“James Russert, a real tacky individual, right up there with most of the others who bleat on TV and collect millions of dollars from gullible people.”

And Reverend McCamy’s congregation wasn’t gullible?

Katie had seen Russert, a loud, blustering Bible-thumping TV preacher she turned off as fast as she could.

Elsbeth looked around at them, a big chocolate-covered spoon in her hand. “We’ve heard that you’re harassing our congregation, talking to them at work, following them home. It’s disgraceful, Sheriff, disgraceful.”

“We’re conducting an investigation, Elsbeth. Be sensible, you’re up front because Clancy was your brother. Naturally you’re part of the investigation.”

Elsbeth waved that spoon at them, sending some of the chocolate flying. “I want you to leave us and our parishioners alone, or we will find a lawyer who will stop you. Do you understand me?”

Suddenly, she shrugged and turned back to the brownie bowl. She said over her shoulder as she measured more cocoa into a measuring cup, her voice calm again, under control, “Neither I nor Reverend McCamy know anything about this. We have told you this repeatedly. Reverend McCamy loves God. More importantly, he is beloved by God and all those who bask in His grace. He doesn’t speak ill of anyone.”

“He doesn’t speak ill of sinners?” Miles’s voice was so mild he surprised himself.

“Regular sinners—our local sinners—they know they’re in trouble. They know they need Reverend McCamy to help them rise above their sins.”

Miles asked in that same mild voice after a moment of silence, “I understand that Reverend McCamy believes women need more assistance than men.”

Elsbeth McCamy paused a moment, then in a sharp angry movement, pulled a bag of pecans out of a cabinet and dumped the whole bag into a bowl. “Well, not exactly, but we let our righteous men guide us. Reverend McCamy is very serious about every member of his flock leading the sort of life that will grant him God’s grace. As for the women of his flock, we know it was Eve who tempted Adam to abandon God’s commands, and so it is women who must bear her sin.”

What to say to that? Katie and Miles sat in silence, watching Elsbeth mix the ingredients together. She was humming under her breath, comfortable with what she was doing.

How, Miles wondered, watching this woman mix brownies, how could this very strange, very beautiful woman be involved in the kidnapping of his son? But Clancy was her brother. He couldn’t forget that, ever. Miles said, “My son was kidnapped for a reason, Mrs. McCamy. Perhaps you could tell us what this reason is.”

She nearly dropped the bowl to the clean pale cream tile floor. Katie held very still, her face not giving away that she wanted to punch Miles. Talk about rushing fences. She saw Elsbeth’s face, just as Miles did, and it was as obvious to her as it was to Miles that Elsbeth McCamy knew something. It would have been obvious to the postman. Katie realized then that Miles’s unexpected question had shocked her into giving at least that much away.

Elsbeth picked up a wooden spoon and began to vigorously stir the brownie batter. She was stirring so hard he could hear the pecans crunch against the sides of the bowl.

Elsbeth walked to the oven and turned it on, still saying nothing at all. She returned to the kitchen counter and continued beating the brownie batter. There was raw fury in every whip of the spoon.

Her Jesus earrings caught the sunlight from the kitchen window when she turned suddenly. “I want you both to leave. I’ve been polite, but this is police harassment and—”

“Elsbeth, what are you doing in here?”

She turned very slowly, picking up the bowl as she did so, and holding it in front of her, as if for protection. Now that was odd, particularly since it was Reverend McCamy’s voice, her husband’s.

“We have visitors who were just leaving. I’m making brownies for you.”

He came into the kitchen, those dark intense eyes fastened on that brownie batter, but he said nothing to his wife. His eyes passed over Katie, stopped at Miles, and he said, “You’re the boy’s father, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I’m Sam’s father. Miles Kettering.”

Reverend McCamy didn’t approach him, and Miles was glad. He didn’t want to shake the man’s hand. He appeared to be studying Miles, and thinking hard.

“I have wondered,” Miles said, “why you have named your church the Sinful Children of God?”

Reverend McCamy said, “Because of the first sin, Mr. Kettering. A sin so grave that Adam and Eve were forever cursed and forced to suffer for what she had done.” He paused a moment, looked briefly at his wife, then at Katie. He stepped over to the counter and ran a finger along the edge of the brownie bowl and licked off the batter, closing his eyes a moment. Well, Katie thought, that was certainly one kind of bliss. Then his eyes snapped open and he seemed once again the prophet ready to condemn the sinners. He said, “It is written to woman in Genesis: ‘Your desire shall be for your husband, and he shall rule over you.’ It is a pity your husband left you, Katie. He took away the focus of your life.”

“I cannot tell you how pleased I am about that,” Katie said and smiled sweetly at Reverend McCamy.

Miles thought the man was mad.

“A husband is a woman’s shepherd,” Reverend McCamy said, his dark eyes resting hard on Katie’s face. “Without his guidance, without his support and discipline, she will fall into sin and be struck down.”

Katie looked this time as if she wanted to leap on Reverend McCamy, but the flash of murder in her eyes was gone in an instant. She even smiled. “I see you love brownie batter. I do, too. Could I have some, Elsbeth?”

Miles wondered just how long Reverend McCamy had been listening outside the kitchen. Had he been afraid his wife would give something away?

Miles said, “You probably heard me asking your wife why her brother kidnapped my boy.”

Reverend McCamy didn’t acknowledge Miles’s words. He said, “Suffering draws us closer to God, even a little boy’s suffering, if it is God’s divine will.”

Katie said, “I don’t understand, Reverend McCamy. How can a little boy’s suffering conform to God’s divine will? That makes no sense to me. Do you mean that God wants everyone, including children, to suffer?”

He whispered, his eyes on Katie’s face, “You misunderstand. I’m speaking of our conforming to the Cross of Christ. It is written: ‘Whoever does not bear his own cross and come after me, cannot be my disciple.’ It is man’s highest gift to suffer for the love of God, to suffer so that he can come closer to a union with the Divine. Of course, only a very few of the blessed ones are granted such divine grace.”

“What do you mean conforming to the cross?” Katie asked. “As in one should want to be crucified? That would please God?”

Miles could tell that Reverend McCamy wanted to lay his hands on Katie. To bless her or to punish her because he thought she was blaspheming? He couldn’t tell.

Reverend McCamy said, all patience, so patronizing that Miles imagined Katie standing up and smacking him in the jaw if she weren’t so focused on what she was doing, “We must embrace suffering to lead us ever closer to God, and in this suffering, there is greatness and submission. No, God does not wish us to be crucified like him. That is shallow and blind, meaning nothing. It is far more than that, far deeper, far more enveloping. Very rarely God’s grace is bestowed on a living creature and is manifested in the imitation of Christ’s travails on the cross.”

Katie said, never looking away from Reverend McCamy’s face, “You said that God doesn’t want us to nail ourselves to a cross in imitation of the crucifixion. What then is this gift bestowed on so very few?”

Reverend McCamy said, “How long does it take for the brownies to bake, Elsbeth?”

“Thirty minutes,” Elsbeth said. She never looked her husband in the face, nor did she look at Miles or Katie. She slipped the glass dish inside the oven, then turned to the sink to run water in the batter bowl.

Too bad, Katie had
really
wanted a taste of that batter. It was time to push again, time to maneuver him where she wanted him to go. She said, “These individuals who imitate Christ’s suffering, who and what are they? How are they selected? And by whom?”

Elsbeth whispered, “Don’t you understand? Reverend McCamy is one of the very few blessed by God’s grace, who is blessed by God’s ecstasy in suffering.”

Reverend McCamy looked like he wanted to slap her, but he didn’t move, just fisted his hands at his sides.

Katie said, ever so gently, her eyes as intense as Reverend McCamy’s, “You’re speaking of Christ’s wounds appearing on a mortal’s body. You’re saying that Reverend McCamy is a—what are they called?”

“Stigmatist,” said Reverend McCamy.

“And you’re a stigmatist, aren’t you, sir?”

He looked furious that she’d pushed him to this, and Miles realized in that instant that she indeed had, and she’d done it very well. For a moment Reverend McCamy didn’t say anything. Katie knew he was trying to get himself under control and it was difficult for him.

Katie said, “Homer Bean, one of your former parishioners, told us that you’d told a small group of men one evening about being a victim of God’s love, about being a stigmatist.”

Reverend McCamy said without looking up, “Since they have told you, then I will not deny it. Once in my life I was blessed to have the suffering of ecstasy with blood flowing from my hands in imitation of the nails driven through our Lord’s palms.”

Katie said, “You’re saying that blood flowed from your palms? That you have actually experienced this?”

“Yes, I have been blessed. God granted me this passionate and tender gift. The pain and the ecstasy—the two together provide incalculable profit to the soul. I have kept this private, all except for those few men in whom I once confided.”

Katie said, “And how is it you were chosen for this, Reverend?”

“You must recognize and accept the divine presence, Katie. You must believe that it is too overwhelming for mankind to fathom, that it must be the expression of ultimate faith. Thus the godless have sought to belittle this divine ecstasy, to trivialize it, to turn it into some sort of freak show. But it isn’t, for I have had my blood flow from my own palms.”

Miles said, fed up with this fanatic, his strange wife, and the damned brownies in the oven, “This is all very fascinating, McCamy, but can you tell me why Clancy and Beau kidnapped my son?”

It was as if someone flipped off the light switch. Reverend McCamy’s eyes became even darker, as if a black tide was roiling up through his body. He shuddered, as if bringing himself out of someplace very deep, very far away. He said, “Your son is one of God’s children, Mr. Kettering. I will pray for your son, and I will ask God to intercede.” With that, Reverend McCamy turned and walked out of the kitchen. After a moment, they heard him call out, “Elsbeth, bring the brownies to my study when they’re done. You don’t have to cool them.”

She nodded, even though he was no longer there. “Yes, Reverend McCamy.”

Katie said to Elsbeth, “Sam is a wonderful little boy. I will not allow him to be taken again. Do you understand me, Elsbeth?”

“Go away, Katie. Go away and take that godless man with you.”

“I’m not godless, ma’am. I just don’t worship quite the same God you and your husband do.”

When they were driving away from that lovely house, Miles said, “That was excellent questioning. I just don’t know what it got us.”

“I don’t either,” Katie said. “But I discovered I could pry him open.”

“They’re in on this, Katie.”

“Yes,” she said. “I think so, too.”

Miles slammed his fist against the steering wheel. “Why, for God’s sake? Why?”

Sam and Keely were playing chess, loosely speaking, given that Keely had had only two lessons. Katie had a No-TV rule during the week so the house was quiet, with just a soft layer of light rock coming from the speakers, and an occasional ember popping in the fireplace. The air felt thick, heavy. Another big storm was coming.

“No, Sam,” Keely said, “you can’t do that. The rook has to go in straight lines, he can’t go sideways.”

“That’s boring,” said Sam, and moved his bishop instead because he liked the long diagonal. The only problem was he stopped his bishop in front of a pawn, which Keely promptly removed. Sam yelled out, then sat back, stroked his chin like his father did, and said, “I will think about this and then you’ll be very sorry.”

Keely crowed.

“Killers, both of them,” said Miles, happy to see Sam acting like a normal kid again.

Katie and Miles were seated on opposite ends of the long sofa, doing nothing but sipping coffee and listening to the fascinating chess moves made by two children whose combined age was eleven.

Two deputies, Neil Crooke, who got no end of grief for his name, and Jamie Beezer, who did a great imitation dance of Muhammad Ali in his heyday, were outside watching the house. When Neil called to ask if he could go unlock ancient Mr. Cerlew’s 1956 Buick for him since he’d locked his keys in it, Katie said go, but get back as soon as possible.

She excused herself a moment, and came back into the living room with a plate of brownies in her hands. “They’re not homemade like Elsbeth’s, but I’ll tell you, the Harvest Moon bakery can’t be beat.”