The Pillar of Fire Church was situated on eighty bucolic acres of former farmland in Zarephath, New Jersey. Evangelist Alma Bridwell White had established a community there along the Millstone River, far from what she saw as the corrupting influence of the world. Her followers had all they needed—communal living, a college, and a church. Outsiders were discouraged.
Sam drove up a long dirt driveway bordered by neat, fat rows of firs, which gave way to a cluster of white two-story buildings on a pretty, parklike campus. Men and women in modest clothing walked about, greeting one another with pleasant smiles.
“They don’t look much like killers,” Evie remarked.
“They never do,” Sam muttered.
They were met at the administration building by a Mr. Adkins, a beefy, balding man with a square jaw and a very firm handshake. “The Pillar of Fire Church welcomes you.” Jericho and Evie introduced themselves as Mr. and Mrs. Jones, and Sam was Mr. Smith, Jericho’s cousin who had graciously offered to drive them in his car.
“What a fine family,” Mr. Adkins said. “Just our sort of people.”
He led them briefly around the grounds and took them through the church with its enormous pipe organ. Back in the administration building, they passed through a dining hall, where several ladies in identical blue skirts and white blouses sat at a long table assembling pamphlets. They smiled and waved as if it were a church supper and Evie, Sam, and Jericho were their invited guests, and Evie couldn’t help imagining those same welcoming faces illuminated by the flames of a burning cross in the night. A bead of sweat trickled down her back under her dress.
Mr. Adkins ushered them into a small, spare office. A simple cross-stitched panel hung on the wall: ETERNAL VIGILANCE IS THE PRICE OF FREEDOM. Evie perched on the very edge of an offered chair. Jericho sat beside her. Sam stood behind them, his hands in his pockets, his eyes searching.
“What may the Pillar of Fire Church do for you today, Mr. and Mrs. Jones?”
“Mr. Jones and I are so very impressed with your godly way of life. We’re thinking of moving away from Manhattan, what with those terrible murders going on.” Evie shuddered for effect. “We just don’t feel safe, do we, Mr. Jones?”
“I… uh…”
Evie patted his hand. “We don’t. Don’t you think it’s simply awful, Mr. Adkins?”
“Indeed I do. But I can’t say I’m surprised. It’s this foreign element coming in, you know—it’s polluting our white race and way of life. The Jewish anarchists. The Bolsheviks. The Italians and Irish Catholics. The Negroes, with their music and dancing. They don’t hold to our same moral code. They don’t share our American values. We believe in one hundred percent Americanism.”
“Which tribe?” Sam said under his breath.
Evie faked a coughing fit. She made it sound as if she were losing a lung. “Mr. Adkins, could I have a glass of water, please?” Evie coughed again for effect.
“Certainly. I’ll, uh, I’ll have to go to the kitchen for it. I won’t be but a minute. Please make yourselves at home.”
As soon as he was gone, Evie leaped up. “That’s just what I intend to do. You fellas search this room. I’m snooping around.”
Jericho shook his head. “That isn’t a good idea, Evie. What if he comes back?”
“Tell him I went to the lavatory,” Evie said with a roll of her eyes. “Men are pos-i-tute-ly paralyzed by the mention of females in lavatories.”
Evie sneaked down the hall, opening doors, searching for anything that might be a clue. A new batch of Good Citizen pamphlets sat in a stack on a table by the staircase. The cover image showed the same hooded man hanging a Catholic upside down in the way that Tommy Duffy’s body had been posed. Evie pocketed the pamphlet to show to Will later.
“Psst!” Sam hissed at Evie from the doorway of an office.
“Sam! What are you doing?” Evie whispered.
“Same thing you are. Snooping around.”
Evie ran to the end of the hall. Seeing no one, she hurried inside the office and shut the door. “You were supposed to stay with Jericho!”
“You should know by now, doll, that I never do what I’m supposed to do.”
“Never mind that. Did you find anything?”
“Not yet. I’ll look here. You look over there.”
Evie searched the drawers of an end table and glanced at a bookcase but found nothing of value. She moved on to the closet. Inside, white robes and hoods hung from hooks like the hollowed skins of ghosts. Evie shut the door quickly and ran to Sam, who was opening drawers in a large oak rolltop desk.
“Check the bottom drawers,” he said. Sam pulled open the right-side drawer, which was a mishmash of papers and letters. He lifted a notice about a meeting of the American Eugenics Society. Beneath it lay a photograph of a grand castle shrouded in fog. Something about the castle was familiar to Sam, though he couldn’t say why. He shoved the photograph into his pocket just as the door opened with a click.
A tall, rangy man stood uncertainly in the doorway. He wore a dark hat, farmer’s coveralls, and a denim work shirt. From his neck hung a flat, round pendant on a strip of leather.
“Looking for Missus White,” the man said in a clipped tone. “You seen her?”
Carefully, Evie slid the drawer closed. “Whom shall I say is calling?” she asked.
“Brother Jacob Call.” The man took two tentative steps into the room. Evie’s gaze was drawn to the pendant: a five-pointed star encircled by a snake eating its tail. Her heart raced. Behind her back, she signaled to Sam. He squeezed her fingers in response.
“My, that’s an interesting pendant you’re wearing. Is it very old?”
The man placed a palm over it. “It’s the Lord’s mark. A protection to his people in the time of the Beast.”
A cold tickle crept from Evie’s neck down her arm. The pendant, the mention of the Beast—it was very possible she and Sam were in a room with the Pentacle Killer.
“Wh-what did you say your name was again?” Evie asked.
The man looked suddenly suspicious. He turned away briskly, nearly upending a big-boned woman in a sober black dress who gaped at Sam and Evie from behind wire-rimmed glasses.
“What on earth are you doing in here?” the woman demanded. Her voice was pulpit-worthy.
“Who wants to know, sister?” Sam challenged.
The woman’s eyes narrowed. “I am Mrs. Alma Bridwell White. Head of the Pillar of Fire Church. And you are in my office, uninvited.”
She summoned two large, unhappy men to escort Evie and Sam rather roughly back to Mr. Adkins’s office, where Jericho still sat. His eyes widened and Evie shot him a warning glance to keep quiet.
“Mr. Adkins, can you explain what these two interlopers were doing in my office, uninvited and unsupervised?”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. White. They came to ask about membership. I went to get Mrs. Jones a glass of water, and when I got back, Mr. Jones told me both she and Mr. Smith there had gone to the lavatory.”
“Spies! That’s what they are. What, pray tell, were you two doing in my office?” Mrs. White pressed. “I demand an answer!”
A few men had pushed into the room. All of them looked ready for a fight. Evie swallowed hard. If they couldn’t think of something, they were done for.
“I didn’t want to do this, but the lies have gone on long enough,” Sam said suddenly. Evie could tell by the way his hand shook the change in his pocket that he was nervous.
“They… they have?” Evie searched his face for some clue about what game they were playing now.