Katie looked at the woman standing there in tight jeans, a red spandex top, and the Jesus earrings and thought about the sex room upstairs with that padded wooden block. She wondered what his congregation thought of Elsbeth, but truth be told, she’d never heard anything that indicated anyone thought them mismatched or that a sexpot like her shouldn’t be a preacher’s wife. Like nearly all people in Jessborough, they never caused trouble.
Katie nodded but didn’t extend her hand. “Elsbeth.”
“Hello, Katie. Why are you here?” She wasn’t looking at Katie, she was studying Miles Kettering, a perfect eyebrow hiked up. “You were in church on Sunday.”
“Yes.”
“You’re the boy’s father.”
“Elsbeth, this is Miles Kettering, and yes, he’s Sam’s father. We would very much like to speak to you and Reverend McCamy.”
“Reverend McCamy is ministering to two of his flock,” Elsbeth said. “Mr. and Mrs. Locke. They’re in his study. I don’t expect him to be free for another half hour or so.”
“May we speak to you until he’s free?”
It was quite obvious she didn’t want to let them in, but she couldn’t think of a reason to keep them out. Grudgingly, Elsbeth stepped back.
“This way,” she said. “I’m making some brownies for Reverend McCamy. They’re his favorite. Where is your son, Mr. Kettering?”
“Sam is at the sheriff’s department, supervising all the deputies.”
Elsbeth laughed. “He’s a cute little boy. Is Keely with him?”
“Oh yes,” Katie said. “They’ve become inseparable.” Now, why had Miles lied about Sam’s whereabouts?
“It’s comforting to know what we get for our tax dollars, isn’t it?”
Katie said, “I’m sorry about your brother.”
“Are you really?”
“Yes. I’m a sheriff, not a killer. I can’t imagine Reverend McCamy liking brownies.”
“Why ever not? He has quite a sweet tooth.”
Katie shrugged. “Somehow I think of him as always being too above all of life’s pleasures, immersed in his work—”
“His calling,” Elsbeth said, frowning. “It’s not his work, it’s his calling. God chose him above all others to lead the common man to Him.”
“Not women, too?”
“Of course,” she said, her voice cutting. Then she lowered her voice as if someone were trying to overhear. “God has granted him His grace, he is God’s messenger, so special that God gave him the beauty of suffering.”
Miles said, “What do you mean ‘suffering,’ Mrs. McCamy? How can there be beauty in suffering?”
“It can be a gift to us, Mr. Kettering. Reverend McCamy likes his brownies with pecans, lots of pecans.”
When Katie and Miles were settled at the kitchen table with cups of coffee in front of them, Katie said, “I heard a rumor, Elsbeth. I’d like to scotch it and so I figured the only way to know the truth is to come out and just ask.”
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.”