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and calling out an occasional amen. Miss Birdie had resumed her seat and was leaning back with her eyes closed, breathing heavily. Elizabeth relaxed slightly, keeping an eye on the as yet untouched serpent boxes, and surreptitiously began again to study her surroundings.
    The little congregation, no more than twenty people, sat on simply made wooden benches. The white-painted walls of the concrete block building were unadorned except for a faded reproduction of Leonardo's
Last Supper
on the wall behind the pulpit, beside a plaque bearing the verses which defined this “signs-following” group of believers.
    And these signs shall follow them that believe; In my name shall they cast out devils; they shall speak with new tongues; they shall take up serpents; and if they drink any deadly thing, it shall not hurt them.

Mark 16:17–18
     
    The windows on either side of the room were filled with plain frosted glass. A low platform held a lectern, a table with paper cups, a plastic jug of water, and the serpent boxes. To one side of the platform sat a man with a guitar and a woman and a teenage girl, each with a tambourine. Elizabeth had noticed that the girl had managed, in the way of teenagers everywhere, to look bored, even as she had rattled her tambourine all through the frenetic praying and speaking in tongues.
    In general, the men and women of the church had the look of the hardworking rural folk of Appalachia. The women all wore dresses, most with long sleeves even on this warm evening. All had long hair and many let it fall unconfined down their backs. None wore jewelry, not even a wedding band. A few sleepy children leaned against their mothers. The men wore jeans or slacks and long-sleeved shirts buttoned to the neck. Their hair was uniformly short and there was not a beard or a mustache to be seen. One or two of the younger men sported modest sideburns, trimmed a careful inch or two below the ear top.
    The sermon appeared to be winding down now. The guitar began again and, with a final song, the service was over and men and women began to make their way out of the little building. Elizabeth waited in her place while Miss Birdie went forward to speak with Aunt Belvy. The man who had been preaching tucked his Bible under his arm and picked up both of the serpent boxes. He stepped down off the platform and stood chatting casually with two other men. One jerked his head in Elizabeth's direction and said something. There was a low laugh from the other two men.
    Miss Birdie and Aunt Belvy appeared to be catching up on several years' worth of talk. Elizabeth put her hand in the pocket of her denim skirt and fingered her car keys.
Come on, Birdie! It must be nearly eleven and we've got an hour's worth of twisty roads ahead of us,
she thought, then relaxed.
Who knows, maybe Aunt Belvy's explaining her prophecy to Birdie. Maybe she's even telling her what happened to Cletus.
    The tall preacher with the serpent boxes left the other two men and started for the door at the back of the room. A dark-haired young woman, one of the pair who had blushed when the preacher nodded to them, came toward him from the pew where she had been waiting, but he brushed past her with a polite word and continued down the aisle. Elizabeth saw the look of puzzled hurt on the girl's face change to anger as the preacher came nearer. He stopped in front of Elizabeth and, leaning down to set the boxes on the bench, said softly, “I don't believe I know who you are.”
    Elizabeth couldn't take her eyes off the Bible under his arm. The binding was snakeskin, the distinctive diamond pattern of the rattlesnake. Following her gaze, he suddenly thrust the book under her nose. “
That
what you come to see?”
    Jerking back involuntarily, Elizabeth was instantly annoyed with herself for letting this oddly intense man startle her. She put out her right hand and answered evenly, “I'm Elizabeth Goodweather, Miss Birdie's neighbor. Aunt Belvy invited her to come