Page 33 of Girl, Accused

Brother Thomas Reed

GRANVILLE COUNTY FAIRGROUNDS

DECEMBER 15TH– 7 PM.

Ripley grabbed the flyer off her. ‘Brother Jeremy Caldwell. Dammit, we got him. Good eye, Dark.’

‘Seven PM. We’ve got an hour before the show starts.’

‘Let’s go, but I gotta ask… what the hell is a tent revival?’

Ella took the flyer back and pocketed it. Somewhere in Granville, canvas walls were going up. Sinners were gathering. And Jeremy Caldwell, murder suspect, was preparing his speech.

‘Oh, you’re in for a treat.’

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Tent revivals occupied a strange place in Ella's memory bank. She'd only been to one, back when she was about eight and her aunt had dated a pastor. It had only been a couple of years after Ella’s dad had died, and her aunt was convinced that what her traumatized niece needed wasn't therapy but a good dose of hellfire. When the relationship ended, so did her aunt’s abrupt religious fixation.

‘God, I hate these things,’ Ella said.

‘You've actually been to one before?’ Ripley asked.

‘Once. About 25 years ago.’

Back then, Ella had sat rigid on a chair as she watched the speaker talk way too loudly, all the time certain that he would point at her next and demand she admit to feeling something she didn't. The woman beside her had convulsed and spoken in tongues, and eight-year-old Ella had immediately known that the whole thing was an act. Some things you couldn't forget, even without a perfect memory.

‘I’d never have guessed.’

‘Doesn’t look like Caldwell’s kind of place either. Prison Bible study is a pretty big leap to faith healer.’

‘Religion's the ultimate rebrand. Yesterday's arsonist is today's prophet.’

‘True. Let’s go find our guy.’

They jumped out of the car into the December cold. It bit through Ella's jacket and started gnawing on her bones. She jammed her hands into her pockets and followed the stream of faithful toward the tent's gaping mouth. The fairgrounds sprawled across about ten acres of trampled grass. Food vendors lined the perimeter, and the massive revival tent dominated the center of the grounds. The faithful streamed in wearing their Sunday best, even though it was Thursday night.

The crowd surrounding them didn't match Ella's stereotype. Besides the expected older worshippers and soccer moms, she spotted college kids, bikers, and what looked like half the local high school football team. Faith cast a wider net than she'd assumed. They all moved with the synchronicity of true believers: heads bowed, Bibles clutched, shoulders hunched. People moved asideas Ella and Ripley approached, eyeing them with that hard Midwestern suspicion reserved for door-to-door salesmen.

A woman handed Ella a program. ‘Welcome sister. Are you here to be saved?’

The question hit a nerve Ella didn't know she had. How many forms of salvation had she chased over the years?

‘Just looking for a friend,’ she said. ‘Jeremy Caldwell.’

The woman's face lit up. ‘Oh, you're in for a treat. His sermons really make you think.’

At the back of the tent, Ella found what they were looking for: a flap held shut with rope ties and a man with arms like tree trunks standing guard. His jacket strained across his shoulders and read ‘SECURITY’ in yellow block letters.

‘Need to see pass,’ the man said before they got within ten feet.

Ella reached into her jacket and produced her badge. ‘FBI. We need to speak with Jeremy Caldwell.’

‘Never heard of him.’

‘He's listed as one of tonight's speakers.’

The guard scratched his neck. ‘Lot of speakers. Can't keep track. But if he's supposed to be here, he'll be backstage with the others.’ He moved aside reluctantly.

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