Chapter 19.

Because Ramsey's jaw was hanging open, Dev slipped a finger beneath her chin to help her close it.

Not surprisingly, she batted his hands out of the way. "Sex," she croaked.

He gave a meaningful glance toward the bed. "Okay."

"No, I mean we have sex. Had," she corrected herself. "Once."

"Actually, it was three . . ."

"No, one night." She slipped out of his arms. He immediately missed the feel of her. Which meant he had it worse than he thought, but he was still convinced he could handle this.

He was becoming less and less convinced he could handle her.

"It would be a mistake to confuse that with romance, something all tied up with hearts and flowers. We don't need that. Neither of us."

He was past the time he could claim that himself, though he was unsurprised she did. And it calmed something inside him to see her reacting just this way. Because he was coming to know her, to predict her reactions, he saw just how close panic was running beneath her normally impassive exterior. "At some point, you and I are gonna have a talk 'bout what it is we do need. But for now . . ." For now, he needed to soothe the nerves that were all but jittering off her. "It's enough you tell me you missed me, too."

The lift of her shoulder was jerky. But she didn't bolt when he slid an arm around her waist again and pulled her closer. "I gave you a thought a time or two."

"Poetry." He pretended to dab at his eyes with his free hand. Needed quick reflexes to avoid the jab she would have sent to his ribs. "Big-city women like you come down here, turn a simple man's head with your fast talk and smooth lines."

"I have a feeling your head is turned so easily you're lucky it doesn't fly off."

A thread of pure delight ran through him. "Why is it we sensitive sorts always fall for the hard cases?"

"Maybe you can't resist a challenge."

He recognized the underlying seriousness of her words, wondered at it. "Maybe . . ." Dev ducked his head, nipped at the cord on the side of her throat. Was satisfied to feel her body relax a bit more against his. ". . . it's because I recognize the softness beneath is all the more satisfying for bein' disguised." He nipped again, less gently this time. Immediately soothed the area with the tip of his tongue.

"Dev . . ."

A wise man realized when not to push. A smarter one yet knew enough to change the subject when it was apt to turn to something he didn't want to hear.

He gave her bottom an affectionate squeeze and deliberately set her away from him. "Enough. If I let you have your way with me, we'll spend the afternoon rollin' on that lumpy motel bed and not get any work done."

Her look was withering. "You flatter yourself."

"When no one else will." To keep from reaching for her again, he tucked his fingers into his jeans' pockets. "Can't think straight when you're enticin' me that way, and I've got somethin' to tell you. I think it just might prove to be a real lead in our case."

The look that settled over her expression then was pure cop. "Our case? You don't have a case, Stryker. You have . . ." She made a gesture with her hand. "Ghosts and readings and dancing lights that may or may not be real lights. This investigation-the police end of it-doesn't concern you."

There was no reason that should have wounded. But it did. A quick vicious burn. "Okay then. Get your purse. We'll go out to lunch instead."

Ramsey didn't move. She was watching him closely, seemingly fighting an inner battle. "I'm not belittling what you do. I can't say I understand it-I don't at all-but I got a little taste of it the other night and can certainly agree that some things aren't easily explained."

He turned toward the door. "The Half Moon doesn't open until four, but The Henhouse serves until two. Unless you want to head over to Kwik Serv for another pizza."

"I'm not hungry."

Maybe not for food, but if he didn't miss his guess, curiosity was already working at her. "You can watch me eat." He headed to the door "You could still tell me what information you've come across," she said to his back.

"Nope, you're probably right." It took effort to toss a friendly grin over his shoulder. "You don't need me messin' around in your investigation."

"I didn't say . . . shit." She hissed out a breath, jammed her fingers through her hair. "I'm sorry, okay? That was snotty and mean. And automatic." There was a bleakness in her eyes, there and gone so quickly he might have thought he imagined it if he hadn't seen it there before. "The thing is, I'm all those things, Stryker. You've said it yourself. I'm mean-tempered and surly, and other people's feelings are rarely my first consideration."

His ire faded in the face of her misery. He gave a slow nod. "You can be all those things, Ramsey. Can't deny it. But you're more, too. And damned if it isn't the more that trips me up, every time."

"Since you're outside the investigation, discussing the case with you is enough of a stretch. I can't divulge any aspect of the case not already public-"

"When have I asked you to?"

"-but I'm interested in the information you have. I'm just saying it might be a one way street."

The words struck him as ominous only because they so closely paralleled what he feared might end up being the summation of their relationship. He decided then and there he'd be having a beer with his meal. He'd never met a woman who took more energy just to be around than this one.

"In that case, you can buy me lunch. Even up the score."

They ended up settling on pizza, and Dev insisted on eating it in the middle of the town square. Ramsey expressed some uneasiness about him drinking a Bud Lite in the center of town, directly across from the courthouse, but he waved away her concern. They were in far more danger from Mary Sue Talbot if she found out they'd swiped the quilt from the motel bed to spread out beneath the huge boughs of the ancient oak than from an enterprising town cop set to write him a ticket for an open container.

Eventually Ramsey even seemed to get into the mood, although he'd be willing to bet she couldn't name the last time she'd been on a picnic. She'd slipped out of her suit jacket, seeming unconcerned that her shoulder holster showed. He'd managed to talk her into unbuttoning the top two buttons of her short sleeve blouse, but only because there was no one close enough to notice.

And he found he liked this side of her, a little too much, when she relaxed enough to set aside the uptight cop and just enjoy being.

Dev set his beer on the pizza box and took a healthy bite of the slice he held in his hand. He reflected that it was just as well Ramsey had had the foresight to buy paper plates, since he'd talked her into a pizza loaded with all the fixings.

As if in response to the thought, a glob of tomato sauce plopped off his pizza to the plate beneath it.

"Okay, give."

He made a show of looking first at the quilt, then at her. "Here?" Then dodged the wadded up napkin she threw at him.

"The information you said you ran across."

"Oh, that." He chewed reflectively, considering the sight she made in the buttoned-down white shirt and navy slacks. "Y'know, if it weren't for the gun, you'd look like a Catholic school girl in uniform. Sorta Mary Katherine Gallagher, packin' heat."

She looked blank. "Who?"

Of course she wouldn't understand a reference to old Saturday Night Live reruns. He doubted popular culture headed the list of her personal favorites. And she was far better looking than the comedienne who'd made the SNL character famous, with her short streaked brown hair, hazel eyes, and long lithe curves. "Never mind."

He caught a teetering mountain of sauerkraut before it slid from his pizza and resettled it more securely. "We've discussed it before when we went to talk to local healers. How the plant I shouldn't know anythin' 'bout could have somethin' to do with healin', or witchcraft, or religion." He saw the slight wince she gave at his verbal jab and immediately felt petty and mean for slipping it in.

"So I got to thinkin' . . ." He finished off his slice of pizza and reached for another. Ramsey was still working on her first, but only because she was such a finicky eater and she was picking all the toppings she didn't like off and leaving them in a growing mound on her plate. "Coupla people have mentioned this Rufus Ashton fella, the town founder, and how he also started the first church in this area."

She took a careful bite, as if afraid to encounter anything not already preapproved. He imagined she approached life much the same way she did a kitchen-sink pizza. She wasn't one to enjoy meeting the unexpected.

"And I happen to know someone in that line of research. He checked some stuff out for me, and I found out this Rufus Ashton left Pennsylvania back in the early 1870s. Belonged to the Church of Elders. Seems he and several other young men were ordained and given money to buy land in different states to spread the religion. But once in Tennessee, Ashton had a fallin' out with the church bigwigs. Had his own set of beliefs and was eventually kicked out of the church for them. But until that time, there are records of his doin's in the church's name."

He let her digest, both the pizza and his words, and waited for the inevitable questions.

"So Ashton settles Buffalo Springs, starts the town, begins the church. Builds that house where Rose Thornton lives now."

"Actually begins the first bank and the quarry 'mong other things, but seems he didn't cotton to just anyone bein' in his church. Had quite strict standards, did Rufus Ashton, and some of those standards led to the Church of Elders cuttin' him loose years later."

"Must've been bad to have the Church of Elders disagree with him," she observed. He noted that in her distraction, she didn't even seem to notice she'd just bitten into a mushroom that she'd missed in her earlier mining. "Aren't they the ones who believe only thirty-five people a century go to heaven, and the rest of the godly go to like a press box or something?"

He made the mistake of trying to swallow when she'd made that last remark. Almost choked for his efforts. "I believe it's compared more to a waiting room while the holiest in the church prepare the faithful's way into an eternity of paradise."

Ramsey snorted and reached for her Diet Coke. "Sounds like a religious snipe hunt to me."

She had the most fascinating mind. "In a sense. Anyway, I'd always imagined there's some wicked politickin' goin' on tryin' to get to be one of the chosen in that century." He bit off a piece of pizza, chewed reflectively. "I mean, I've seen people get downright nasty just to secure their spot at the annual Buffalo Days Parade. I can't imagine what some would do to wedge their way into eternal paradise." He thought of Reverend Biggers then. Considered it fortunate all around that the man was a Baptist. "Anyway, one of the first instances of Ashton's beliefs departin' from the church's was his enthusiastic way of metin' out punishment for violations of the faith. Another was his view on marriage. Seems he was for it. Over and over and over again."

She paused in the midst of bringing the slice of denuded pizza to her mouth. "He was a bigamist?"

"He was a 'celestial channeler,' " Dev corrected. He wished he'd brought his laptop, where he'd downloaded all the notes Denny had sent, but he thought he remembered that part correctly. "He maintained that he was in direct contact with God. And apparently his being in direct contact with nubile young virgins, in the plural tense, just made the signals stronger."

"What, his penis was a sort of heavenly antenna? A divining rod in the most literal sense?"

That had him bent over in a spate of coughing so violent he vowed to stop trying to eat until this conversation was over. When he recovered his power of speech, he gasped, "You are a dangerous woman to eat 'round. Are you tryin' to kill me?"

She selected another slice of pizza. Her technique was losing some of its earlier finesse: this time, she merely flicked the excess toppings off with her finger. "C'mon, tell me the rest. I fail to see how it remotely connects to this case, but I find myself morbidly fascinated. So this Rufus Ashton guy-a perv of the highest order-starts this harem of women in the name of religion. Then what?"

"Apparently Rufus Ashton, as head of the church, was allowed unlimited wives. The men in his church, the ones he allowed to be a part of it, were allowed wives in direct correlation to their standing with Ashton. Children were raised in a community atmosphere, and the female children were kept separate from the males. Many of the male children were banished from the town between the ages of ten to sixteen for various offenses."

Her voice was caustic. "Here's betting their biggest offense was making the old guys in the church look bad in comparison."

"That's where Denny's research starts moving into supposition, but yeah. That's what he's figurin'. Of course by that time, the main Church of Elders had cut all ties with Ashton, so most of their written records end, at least relatin' to him. But Denny had an undergrad student use this topic as an honor's thesis recently, and there were a few more details uncovered in her research. Ashton did a bit of travelin' and preachin' on the side, in an attempt to gather more church members. In 1888, he was travelin' through what's now south-eastern Illinois, and he stayed with a farm couple by the name of Klinkel."

He took a moment to tip his beer to his lips and swallow before he continued. "The Klinkels were quite taken with his preachin'. Seems he'd been 'round that area before. And durin' the course of his stay with them, he took a shine to their daughter, Ruth. Pretty as a speckled pup she was, and Denny's student apparently scared up some photos that proved it."

Ramsey put a hand to her stomach. "Don't tell me. She was his next 'bride.' "

"You guessed it. He convinced her folks it was Ruth's path to salvation, and they agreed to stand up with her as the Reverend Ashton took her hand in marriage. I 'spect it was pretty convenient with him bein' able to say the words over them, while bein' the groom and all."

"How old was she?" Ramsey had given up all pretense of eating. Her gaze was grim.

"Fourteen."

"And he was likely decades older. He prettied it up with religion, but a pedophile is still a pedophile," she muttered.

He was to the part of the story that put him off his own appetite. "Details from here out are sketchy and garnered from genealogy buffs in the modern Klinkel family. Apparently there are letters that still exist between Ruth and her parents. Life in Buffalo Springs was hard. She'd joined thirteen other wives of Rufus Ashton, and the man was a strict taskmaster. Worked them like slaves. The labor of men and women alike was responsible for building the church, startin' the quarry, and other businesses. Ashton expected absolute obedience to him and to the church's guidelines, which of course he dictated. Accordin' to these letters, he retained absolute control over his wives, children-one letter mentioned he had nearly forty-and other members of the church. Dissenters were dealt with harshly."

He heard a slight sound and glanced down. Saw her tight grip on the soda can had crushed in its sides.

"How harshly?"

"Public whippin's and whispers of more private punishment given out by the disciples of the church to the 'sinners.' Some of the people, men and women alike, disappeared and their names were never spoken again."

"I hope that convinced her family to act."

He gave a slow nod. "Thomas Klinkel went down to Tennessee to fetch his daughter home, marriage vows or no marriage vows. But you have to recall what the mail service was like in those days. What travel consisted of. By the time he received that last letter and got to Tennessee, at least a month has passed since his daughter had written it. Probably more. He sent one letter to his wife shortly after he'd gotten to Buffalo Springs. Couldn't get anyone to talk to him about Ruth. The next day he had a meetin' planned with Rufus Ashton, and he promised his wife he'd be bringin' their Ruth back home."

Dev paused a moment, but it was a moment too long. Ramsey interrupted his conclusion by stating, "And neither of them were seen or heard from again."

His eyes narrowed in irritation. "How do you do that?"

"Deduction." She made an impatient gesture. "And it ended there?"

Piqued, he considered not answering. The woman knew how to take the bang out of a good story. "It ended there. With young ones at home and now workin' the farm alone, Matilda Klinkel had no way to find out what happened on her own. She did contact the US Marshal in the region, but the only word she heard was that her husband had never been seen in town and her daughter had died three months earlier of cholera."

"Except she had letters disproving both those statements."

"She did. But she was never able to interest the marshal into followin' up. The secrets surroundin' Thomas Klinkel's and Ruth Ashton's deaths were buried with them."

The fierce frown on her face was contemplative, and he reached for another slice of pizza while she reflected on the tale he'd recounted. Folks sometimes had a way of glorifying the past, as if simpler times made for purer values. But he figured people were people no matter what time period they lived in. And he had to admit the thought of their town father being part of something so grisly made him feel a bit queasy, over a century later.

After several minutes, she shrugged. "There has to be information around we can dig up about this. Every town keeps historical records of details regarding their founding fathers, even if they tend to glorify them a bit."

"Tried that." His bottle empty now, he ran a thumbnail around the edge of the damp label, loosening it. "I spent some rather painful time in the Historical Museum-don't ask-and read the extremely borin' journals talkin' 'bout life in those times and extollin' Ashton's virtues." He'd assumed the authors had been Ashton relatives but suspected now they'd all been dutiful Ashton wives. "I found nothin' that serves as verification for the worst of the story. Even went to the library, where I got only enough information to know what direction to have my buddy start lookin'." Honesty had him adding, "Probably could go back when I have a bit more time and look harder, but I'm doubtin' I'll find anythin' close to describin' Ashton's real actions."

He saw the exact moment she'd reached a decision. Felt a surge of impatience as she said the words he fully expected to hear. "Interesting. Sad even. But this has nothing to do with Cassie Frost's murder. Regardless of what you decide is causing those lights, you're not going to convince me Rufus Ashton rises up again every generation to exact punishment on the unworthy."

"Wouldn't try to."

She reached for her pizza. Chewed ferociously. "Do we know anything about the church offshoot Ashton started? Sancrosanctity? Does it still exist?"

"Denny says there's no record of it anywhere, although various cult-type religions include a similar belief or two in their own guidelines."

"How many churches are in Buffalo Springs?"

This was an area he definitely wasn't well versed in. "Well, let's see now." He rubbed his chin. "We've got our Southern Baptist, of course. There's the United Methodist over on East Union. They've always been regarded a bit suspiciously by the Baptists, but I figure that's only 'cuz they bring in more tithin' every year despite having half the number of members in the congregation." He searched his memory. Found it embarrassingly empty. "I know there's a Presbyterian. Bet you didn't know Mark Rollins is a deacon there."

When he stopped, he caught her eyes on him, amused, and he shrugged. "Okay. So I'm no expert in the local congregations. I go occasionally with my granddaddy when I'm visitin'. He's a lifelong member of the United Methodist. But if you're really interested in learnin' more 'bout local churches, we can go talk to a pastor. Take 'bout ten minutes."

"Seems like a waste of time. Like I say, it isn't related to my case."

Although there was every reason to agree with her, he couldn't prevent a stab of disappointment. "Not yet."

"Not at all," she said flatly. "The victim's sister said she wasn't a member in any particular church. And certainly nothing else points to a religious bent to the investigation."

"Unless the plant you were interested in turns out to have religious implications." He helped himself to the last slice of pizza, watched her silently wrestle with his words. There wasn't an impulsive bone in Ramsey's body. Every move would be carefully weighed and evaluated before decided on. What made her a good cop could also drive him crazy if he let it.