Blindside

She laughed, hugged him very carefully, kissed his mouth. He fastened the cap back on the vial and handed it back to her. “When all this dies down, let’s send it to the lab and see what’s in this salvation stuff.”

“Maybe we can find out if it’s manufactured or if the reverend makes it himself. There were about a dozen other vials, all with charming names like this one. I know I shouldn’t have taken it but I just couldn’t resist.” When she finished telling him about the whips and the green marble altar and the wooden block, he said as he looked down at his fingernails, “You wonder what that wooden block with the fur on top is for?”

“Well, I’m not going to chew off my fingernails if I don’t find out, but yeah, I’d like to know.”

“It’s to pad your stomach.”

“What? To pad… oh goodness, I see now. You know, Dillon, big hair rollers are one thing, but being propped up on a wooden block is quite another. No, I don’t think so. Has Dr. Able been around to see you? I want to get you out of here.”

“Yes, he has. I’m fine, just need to sit forward for the next year or so. Stitches come out next week. You ready to break me out of this place? I was just waiting for you to get here.”

Sherlock said over her shoulder as she fetched him the clothes she’d brought from home, “Yes, but we’re in a bit of a pickle, aren’t we? We have no idea why Sam was brought to Jessborough and we don’t know yet who hired Clancy and Beau to bring him here. The investigation is just starting. Clancy’s still out there and we need to help. I think, too, that Sam and Miles probably need to remain with us. It’s dangerous for Sam and Miles to go back home alone, don’t you think?”

“Yes, we’ll stay,” Savich said, and got himself dressed. “Don’t worry about a few more days. Mr. Maitland called a little while ago, told me to take it easy, not to worry about the math teacher killings.”

He looked big and tough, much more like himself with his leather jacket slung over his arm. Sherlock beamed him a brilliant smile. “Can I kiss you?”

“Yeah, but don’t tease me, Sherlock.” He carefully put his arms around her, nuzzled her neck. “You know, I just might be ready for some hair rollers tonight. I wish we had time to check out what’s in that vial, just maybe it’s something we can use.”

At five minutes after three o’clock that afternoon, five FBI agents, one former FBI agent, one sheriff, and two children congregated in Sheriff Benedict’s living room.

If Butch Ashburn wondered why two young children were present during a meeting, he didn’t say anything, just watched the little girl for a moment-the sheriff’s kid-playing with a big-eared rabbit named Oscar. His own kid was now nearly twenty, but he could remember when she’d have been on the floor playing with a stuffed animal. The years just swept over you too fast, he thought, leaving you older and slower, and your little kid a grown-up.

“I’m thinking,” Savich said, “that I want to go to church. Does Reverend McCamy have a service this evening, Katie?”

“Yes, he goes all day on Sunday. The church is really nice, sort of like Paul Revere’s church in Boston. Sooner also does tent revivals-every June, out in Grossley’s pasture, about three miles west of Jessborough.”

Katie glanced over at Miles, who still looked dead on his feet. All his attention was on his boy. After she’d dropped Sherlock off at the hospital a couple of hours before, she’d taken Miles and the kids out to Kmart to buy some clothes. Miles was wearing the black jeans, boots, and plaid fla

“Papa forgot to pack clothes for us,” Sam had confided to her earlier in the truck. “He didn’t think about anything else, he just wanted to get to me as fast as he could.”

“I wouldn’t have packed anything either,” Katie said, smiling at Miles. “Not with a Kmart in the neighborhood.”

Of course, Keely had to have black jeans and black boots, and her mother, knowing when to throw in the towel, had given in.

Butch Ashburn said to Savich, “If you and Sherlock plan on staying in Jessborough for a while, I think Jody and I will head back to Washington. We’re still ru

Miles swallowed, then nodded, and said sharply, “Sam, don’t wipe your greasy fingers on your new jeans. Use the napkin.”

Life, Butch thought, was always unexpected and even, sometimes, like now, not bad at all. He said, “You guys work on Clancy’s co

Katie smiled at Special Agent Butch Ashburn-no wing tips on my neck from this guy.

Fifteen minutes after a telephone call, Katie’s mother, Mi

“Butch, you have a safe trip back to Washington. Miles, Katie, we’re off to meet the Sinful Children of God,” Savich said, and took Sherlock’s hand. “Maybe we can talk to some of the congregation before the service starts.”

“Find Fatso,” Sam called after his father as they went out the front door. “Shoot him.”

The church of the Sinful Children of God was on Sycamore Road. Katie was right, it looked like the Old North Church in Boston-a tall wooden spire, painted all white, the roof sharply raked with shingles, the windows small and traditional.

There were maybe twenty cars parked in the paved lot behind the church, which was set back from the road, at the edge of a thick stand of maple and oak trees. And Miles found himself marveling yet again at how many trees there were in this part of the country.

The church was nearly full, maybe as many as fifty, sixty people. Men were in suits, women in dresses, hats on their heads. Children sat quietly beside their parents. The four of them sat down in the back. A couple Katie didn’t recognize scooted farther down the bench, not speaking to them.

Katie realized, as she looked around at all those well-dressed people, that she didn’t know very many of them. She wondered from how far away they came. It took her a while to recognize Thomas Boone, the postman, because he looked different in a suit. There was Bea Hipple, an expert quilter, sitting only shoulder high to her husband, Be

She knew maybe twenty-five of the adults in the congregation, no more than that. The organist finished “Amazing Grace.” Throats cleared, papers rustled, and then the church fell quiet. Hearing “Amazing Grace” played in church always made Katie, hard-assed sheriff or not, get tears in her eyes.

Reverend Sooner McCamy rose from his high-backed chair to walk up the winding stairs to the pulpit that was set on a six-foot-high dais. He stood there for a few seconds, looking out. He was wearing a lovely white robe over a black suit and white shirt.

Reverend McCamy wrapped his large hands around the corners of the beautifully worked pulpit. They were strong hands, nicely formed, with short buffed nails, black hair visible on the backs even from a distance. When he spoke, his voice reached to every corner of the room, forceful and deep. Katie was aware that people were sitting at attention now, leaning forward a bit so as to not miss a word.