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“Her what?”

“I call them Jesus earrings. They’re silver—Jesus on the cross—and they hang down about an inch and a half. When she moves, they move. I’ll tell you, it makes me shudder. I think she’s about thirty-five now, which isn’t all that young, but given that Reverend McCamy is well over fifty, it’s a bit on the creepy side. Like I told you, he’s very intense—his eyes blaze and nearly turn black when he looks at you.”

“He’s scary?”

“Well, sort of, I guess. It’s just that he’s so much into his own particular brand of religion. As I said, Elsbeth calls him only by his last name. It’s always Reverend McCamy this, Reverend McCamy that.”

“I haven’t run into that before. You mean like some wives did back in the nineteenth century?”

“Yes. And he calls her Elsbeth. She treats him like he has but to speak and she’ll jump to obey. Whatever he wanted, I can see her jumping through hoops to get it for him. I’d say she was close to worshiping him.”

Sherlock’s left eyebrow climbed up. “Is that part of what he preaches? That wives should be as subservient to their husbands as she is?”

Katie shrugged. “Yes. From what I understand of the Sinful Children of God, Reverend McCamy preaches that women, in order to do penance for their huge sin of munching on the Eden apple, have got to give their all to another human being and that human being, naturally, is their husband.”

“That’s really convenient.”

“Well, I wouldn’t swear to it, but that’s what I’ve heard anyway. People around Jessborough are tolerant of each other. None of the members of the Sinful Children of God who live locally has ever been arrested or disturbed the peace. They’re good people, respectable, and tend to keep to themselves. I think most of the members come from neighboring areas. Like you said, it’s pretty convenient, at least for all the men in the congregation. Maybe that’s why Reverend McCamy has been so successful. He holds up his own wife as the model all the women should try to copy.”

“What happens if the wife isn’t interested?”

“I guess she could refuse to join, but I know he offers some kind of counseling for wayward wives.”

“Just imagine,” Sherlock said. “He preaches enslavement of women and it’s all tax free.”

“You’re right. They’re a church, so no taxes.”

“I wonder if there’s some kind of point system here,” Sherlock said as she looked at a herd of cows spread over a low green hill. “You know, points for bringing the husband a beer during a football game?”

“Or points for meeting him at the front door at night with a drink?”

Sherlock laughed. “I can’t believe they’re that many sandwiches short of a picnic.”

“I have no idea, really. I’ve never been to one of their services.”

Sherlock shook her head, giggling. “Come on, Katie. You want me to believe a sizable group of women actually buys this stuff? You said the congregation was fifty or sixty people. That means at least twenty-five women?”

“To each his own, I guess. Like I said, people around here are tolerant of other people’s beliefs, so long as they’re left alone themselves.”

Sherlock was silent for a moment, drumming her fingertips on the window. “They’re in the middle of a service right now?”

Katie checked the purple big-faced watch that Keely had given her for Christmas. “Yeah, for another half-hour at least. Then there’s a lunch break.”

“Good. We’ve got plenty of time to see if there’s any sign of Clancy hanging around their house.”

Katie took a left onto Birch Avenue, then a right onto Sassafras Road. “Once off Main Street, all our streets are named after local trees. I live on Red Maple Road.”

“Can spring be as gorgeous here as the fall?”

Katie smiled, shook her head. “It’s pretty here in April and May, but you’re lucky to be here just now. All the colorful trees with the mountains in the background . . . it makes you feel like there’s something more than just life and death, something that’s endless and beautiful.”

“Have you lived here all your life?”

“Oh yes. My father owned the chip