The FBI Thrillers Collection Books 6-10 - Catherine Coulter [303]
Sherlock was already craning her neck to see everything. The sky had cleared after the heavy rainstorm of the night before, and the fall leaves were in full color, with spectacular reds, yellows, and golds. Beautiful old buildings lined the brick sidewalks. Sherlock saw half a dozen churches, with spires rising above the brilliant trees.
Katie said, “There’s Keely’s favorite stop, The Lollipop Store, and on the right is Nancy’s coffee shop, called The Cranberry Thistle.” There were antiques stores and galleries, a saddle shop, several gift shops, including a quilt shop that Sherlock would have liked to visit, and an enclosed marketplace. Small restaurants were dotted in among the shops, ranging from burgers and fries to Italian cuisine.
“This is lovely,” Sherlock said, turning in her seat to look back down Main Street. “Does one of these churches belong to the Sinful Children of God?”
“No, that one’s out on Sycamore Road, in an old church that used to be Lutheran before Reverend McCamy took it over some three or four years ago.”
“I see some gift shops. You have a lot of tourists?”
“More during the summer. We’re a little off the beaten track.”
“And those mountains,” Sherlock said, waving her hand at them. “It feels like you could reach out and touch that blue haze. They’re solid and eternal, and that’s comforting, I suppose.”
Katie smiled. “The Appalachians change a lot with the seasons. Fall is the most beautiful time, but they’re sort of like a good neighbor who stays put, you can count on them always being there under that blue haze—well, that’s why we call them the Smokies. I’ll tell you, it still sometimes makes my heart skip a beat when I look up and see them.”
“This is a beautiful town, Katie. No exhaust fumes, no gangs of teenagers with bolts through their noses. It’s so peaceful.”
“You get all those things just up the highway.”
“But you’re tucked away all safe and sound. Until yesterday, anyway.” Sherlock rolled down the truck window and breathed in the clean crisp air.
“Yes, it’s always been peaceful, until now.”
“I brought my big hair rollers,” Sherlock said as she watched a horse-drawn carriage pull onto Main Street.
Katie, who’d been thinking the last thing she needed was this FBI character, Butch Ashburn, trying to out-wing-tip Glen Hodges with his heel on her neck, blinked, turned to look at Sherlock, and said, “What?”
“A while back Dillon and I were in Los Angeles on a case. There was this crazy guy murdering people, copying a TV show—”
“You were involved in those TV show murders?”
“Well, yes. As I was saying, Dillon and I discovered quite by accident that he really likes to roll up my hair on those big hair rollers and then have me pull them out of my hair, one by one, and sort of toss my head and string my fingers through my mane. So I brought them along with me to cheer him up. But I think it’s going to have to wait a couple of days before he’s up to playing again.”
Katie laughed. “Hair rollers. Hmm, I never thought of that.”
“I hadn’t either until I met Belinda Gates,” Sherlock said. “Boy, could she pull out hair rollers. It was enough to make Dillon sweat.”
“She’s that actress who starred in The Consultant, isn’t she?”
“Yep, she’s the one, a real piece of work. Actually, I liked her when I didn’t want to punch her out. You wouldn’t believe some of the people we met in Hollywood. They were so crooked you wondered how they could walk. You’ve got a cute kid. What is she—five?”
“Yes, she just turned five last month. She’s all mine, thank God.”
Sherlock wanted to know what she meant by that, but it was too pushy to ask, at least this soon. “Tell me more about Elsbeth Bird McCamy.”
Katie turned her truck off Main Street onto Poplar Drive, checked the old Ford coming up on her left, and said, “The very first thing you notice about Elsbeth is how beautiful she is—she’s got this fall of very light blond hair, all the way to her waist.