Only men can understand God? Sherlock felt Dillon lightly touching his fingertips to her arm. When she turned, he was smiling. Then he winked at her.
“There are special graces that God grants a few men on this earth that allow them to be special victims of God’s grace, to actually experience his own sacrifice for all of our sins.”
Victims of God’s grace? What did that mean? Sherlock tuned him out until some five minutes later, when Reverend McCamy said suddenly, “Now it’s time for us to divide into our Sunday evening study groups. Our topic for discussion this evening will be ‘Submitting to the Path of God’s Grace.’ ”
Katie looked at Miles, her head cocked to one side. His dark eyes were glittering, narrowed on Reverend McCamy’s face. His hands were fisted, one on his thigh. She smoothed his fisted hand with her own, feeling the tension slowly ease. She would ask him what he was thinking later. It had been smart of the reverend to be up front about Elsbeth McCamy’s brother, very smart indeed. She wondered if the good reverend would have said a word about Sam’s kidnapping if the four of them hadn’t trooped into his service.
After the congregation split into groups, Sherlock made a request to join them. Reverend McCamy looked infinitely patient. “I’m sorry, Agent Sherlock, but you must be a believer and member of this church before you can attend our study groups. Why did you come?” He looked at all of them in turn, one very black eyebrow arched up, a bit of a satyr’s look, if he but knew.
Katie introduced Savich and Miles Kettering.
Reverend McCamy said nothing, merely nodded at them. He gave Miles a long look, then he looked down at the ring on his third finger—an odd ring, thick, heavy-looking, silver with some sort of carving on top. The carving was deep black. Sherlock couldn’t make out what it was. Surely this monstrosity couldn’t be his wedding ring.
Reverend McCamy said, “Special Agent Savich. You appear to be hurt.”
How had he known that? No, that was easy, Savich thought, likely everyone in town was talking about how the federal agent got his back sliced open by a flying piece of van. Savich removed his hand from the reverend’s. “Just a bit.”
Reverend McCamy said, “I will direct all our congregation to include you in their prayers. Sheriff, you’ve known some of these folk all your life. You know they’ll help if they can. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must attend to my children.”
Katie looked over toward Thomas Boone and remembered a scene in the post office between him and a Mr. Phelan. They’d been arguing about the church and Reverend McCamy. She wanted to speak to Mr. Phelan.
After Katie dropped Savich and Sherlock off at Mother’s Very Best, Savich looking like he was nearly ready to drop in his tracks, she and Miles went for a cup of coffee at the Main Street Cafe. Beverly, with her lovely, big smile, served them. Bless her heart, she didn’t say a word about the kidnapping.
“It’s an amazing thing,” Miles said as he sipped his black coffee. “In the space of a day and a half, I went from absolute despair to euphoria to something like dread. Do you think Clancy is still here?”
Katie nodded as she stirred some cream into her coffee. “He’s hiding somewhere.”
“You think the reverend and his wife know where he is?”
“I wish I could say yes, but actually I haven’t the slightest idea if they do. You’re a former FBI agent. What do you think?”
“As I said, I’ve only been here for a day.”
“What field office were you assigned to?”
“Actually, I stayed in Washington along with Savich after we met at the academy. I was in the Information and Evidence Management Unit.”
“You dealt with forensics.”
He nodded as he looked through the big front windows out onto Main Street. “My father wasn’t pleased with my choice of career, but to his credit, he encouraged me endlessly. When he died, I realized that it was time to make a change. Fact is, I was getting burned out. I remember reading John Douglas’s book and being struck to my gut when he wrote about his wife cutting her finger. He wrote that what he paid attention to was the way the blood splattered, not his wife’s injury. It could have been me. So, when my father died, I resigned and took over my father’s business. I’ve been doing it now for five years.” He paused a moment, sipped his coffee, closed his eyes, and said, “Fact is, I like it, and I’m good at it.”
“What is it?”
“We design and build parts for helicopters, like guidance systems, primarily for the army, but we’ve built components for all the other branches of the military as well. I’ll tell you though, after some of our negotiations with the military agencies, I’ve thought life was easier at the Bureau.”