Then it came to her and she smiled. It was worth a shot. She picked up the phone, spoke to Mrs. Cerlew, who owned Emmy’s One-Stop Grocery, named after her suffragette grandmother. That was where Ben had ineptly lifted the Snickers bar. When she hung up, she grabbed her hat, and stopped by Linnie’s desk. “I’m off to see Ben Chivers. I know he’s in school, and I’m going to get him out of class. It’ll make his reputation if the sheriff comes to see him, don’t you think?”
“He’ll strut,” Linnie said, then shook her head. “That’s a bad situation, Katie. Those folks of his, all they do is lie around drunk and bitch.”
“I’ve got an idea,” Katie said, gave Linnie a small salute, and drove her truck to the local middle school.
Savich looked up to see Sherlock tuck her cell phone back in her shirt pocket. They were in their bedroom at Mother’s Very Best. He was still sitting forward, trying to ignore the constant throb in his back, working on MAX.
“What did the medical examiner have to say?”
“Clancy,” Sherlock said as she bounced up and down on the bed a couple of times, “was stronger than a bull, ate like a pig, and had arteries clogged all the way to his ears. Katie’s bullet killed him. Nothing more, nothing less.” She eased off the bed, smoothed down the covers and walked to her husband. She leaned down and kissed his mouth. She felt the immediate hitch in his breath, and stood again. “About all we can do is play with my hair rollers,” she said, a wealth of disappointment in her voice.
“Where are they?”
Sherlock laughed. “You’ve been working on MAX all afternoon. What have you got?” She affectionately patted the laptop as she spoke. At least Dillon didn’t have to worry about the math teacher killer case since Jimmy Maitland had told him to chill out until he was better.
“I’ve been reading about Reverend Sooner McCamy. He’s fifty-four years old, born near Nashville, Tennessee, went to Orrin Midvale Junior College, married and divorced once, no children. He sold cars at the Nashville Porsche dealership, and did very well financially. Then he quit and moved to his rich aunt’s house here in Jessborough. He hasn’t done anything since then to earn money, I guess because he didn’t have to. He married Elsbeth Bird of Johnson City ten-plus years ago when she was only about twenty-four and he was forty-four. He didn’t become a preacher until about six years ago.”
He tapped his fingertips together, frowned down at MAX, who was humming placidly.
“He’s married to Elsbeth four years before he finds his calling?”
“Apparently. But when the calling hit him, it hit him hard. Suddenly he’s the founder and leader of this pretty strange-sounding church, the Sinful Children of God.”
“He didn’t go to a seminary?”
“Nope.”
“Hmm. What did his aunt die of?”
Savich’s back was throbbing like the very devil.
She hated seeing the pain in his eyes. “You’re taking a pill, buddy, no arguments.”
After he’d swallowed the pill, she made him sit for a few minutes until his back stopped throbbing. He said, “Let’s see about that aunt. She died something like six months after Sooner married Elsbeth. They both lived with the aunt in that lovely big house that his aunt, Eleanor Marie McCamy Ward, inherited from her husband. Ah, do you have Katie’s cell? Ask her.”
Katie answered immediately and listened. She said, “That’s an excellent question, Sherlock. I’m in the middle of a delinquent problem right now, but I’ll get back to you.”
When Sherlock hung up, she said, “Katie will check it out. We’re having dinner tonight at Katie’s mom’s. You can tell each other what you know about Sooner McCamy and she can tell us all about Aunt Eleanor Marie. Do you want Agent Hodges to come?”
“Sure, the more we compare notes the better. I think Miles is still with Sam and Keely, even though Katie’s mother volunteered to watch them.”
“But Miles didn’t want Sam out of his sight.”
“You got it. I told him to come here-”
There was a knock on the door, then Sam’s voice, “Uncle Dillon! Aunt Sherlock! We’re here.”
Savich slowly rose. He knew the pain would knock him on his butt if he moved too fast. He took a handful of Sherlock’s hair, kissed her-lust, pain, frustration in that kiss. “I want to do something with those big hair rollers later.”
She said against his jaw, “I’ve been thinking that just maybe we can figure something out that won’t hurt you too much.”
That perked him up.
23
T hey went to Katie’s mom’s for dinner, a large ranch-style home built in the sixties located in the middle of Jessborough on Tulip Lane. She’d lived there for twenty-nine years with her husband. Now, she lived with two canaries, three King Charles spaniels, and an aquarium, temporarily empty. She was serving a huge tuna casserola that the kids would love, Minna Benedict had assured Miles when she met him at the front door.
“Is that the same as a tuna casserole, ma’am?” Miles asked her.
“My granny called it a casserola and that’s just the way it is around here. Hello, Dillon, Sherlock. And who are you, sir?”
“I’m Agent Glen Hodges, ma’am.”
She shook his hand. “Welcome, all of you. Please, call me Minna. Ah, and the beyond-perfect specimens of kidness-Sam and Keely. Come on in, and let me give you each a big hug and an even bigger chocolate chip cookie, fresh out of the oven.”
“What about us, Mom? Just look at Dillon here. The man’s back is hurting bad. He could probably use a cookie about now.”
Minna Benedict was not quite as tall and slender as her daughter, but she had thick red brown hair even more lustrous than Katie’s. She said, “All right. One for each of you, and two for Dillon because of his back. Come in, come in, don’t dawdle. There’s enough time before dinner. Dessert is always better than dinner any day of the week, isn’t it?”
After the three King Charles spaniels had finally calmed down, their silky ears stroked by every adult and child, and the canaries were quiet beneath their night sheets, everyone trooped into the small dining room. To Miles’s surprise, Sam took one bite of the tuna casserola and didn’t stop until he downed two helpings and three of Minna’s homemade biscuits. He and Keely had their heads together throughout the meal.
“Let me tell you one good thing I did today,” Katie announced to the table at large.
Sherlock waved her fork. “Out with it, Katie, we need to hear something positive.”
“I had a boy steal a Snickers bar from a local grocery. His family’s poorer than dirt and both parents drink. I went to the middle school, pulled twelve-year-old Ben Chivers out of class and offered him a deal. He works for Mrs. Cerlew at the grocery three hours a day after school. She pays him minimum wage for two of those hours, then he works free for the other hour. Mrs. Cerlew is all for it, too. If he does well for a month, she’ll keep him on and pay him for the full three hours, three days a week.”
Miles’s head was cocked to the side. “That’s very good, Katie. This way the kid doesn’t have to go into the juvenile system.”
Katie shuddered. “Something I like to avoid at all costs. He’s not bad, just helpless. This will give him a sense of worth, and a bit of money. I told him to keep his new job to himself as long as he could, or his dad would hit him up to buy some cheap wine.”
Minna said, “Of course old Ben would too. Now, Katie, Mrs. Cerlew doesn’t have an extra dime, so I’ll just bet that you’re subsidizing his wages, aren’t you, dear?”
Katie gave her mother a tight-lipped frown and didn’t say anything.
How, Miles wondered, could a sheriff, on a small-town sheriff’s pay, afford to subsidize a kid’s wages? He was chewing his tongue he wanted to ask so badly when Katie’s mom said, smiling, “After the settlement, Katie saved Benedict Pulp Mill, and a lot of local folks’ jobs, and every so often, she helps folk here in Jessborough, mainly the kids.”