The hand came toward me.

'Name's Bowman.'

We shook. His grip was steel.

'Temperance Brennan.'

'That's a powerful name, young lady.'

'Thank you.'

'Are you anti-saloon?'

'I'm sorry?'

'I am among those who see intoxicating liquor as the main cause of crime, poverty, and violence in this great nation. Fermented liquor is the greatest threat to the nuclear family ever spawned by Lucifer.' He pronounced it nucular.

The name Bowman suddenly clicked.

'Are you Luke Bowman?'

'I am.'

'The Reverend Luke Bowman?'

'You've heard of me?'

'I'm staying with Ruby McCready at High Ridge House.' It was irrelevant but seemed safe.

'Sister McCready is not one of my flock, but she's a good woman. Keeps a fine Christian house.'

'Is there a Mr. McCready?' I'd been curious for some time but had never asked.

Now the eyes remained on the road. Seconds passed. I thought he wasn't going to answer.

'I'm gonna leave that question alone, ma'am. Best to let Sister McCready tel the tale as she sees fit.'

Ruby had a tale?

'What's the name of your church?'

'The Eternal Light Holiness-Pentecostal House of God.'

The southern Appalachians are home to a fundamentalist Christian sect known as the Church of God with Signs Folowing, or the Holiness Church. Inspired by biblical passages, adherents seek the power of the Holy Ghost by repenting their sins and leading godly lives. Only thus is one anointed, and thereby able to folow the signs. These signs include speaking in tongues, casting out demons, healing the sick, handling serpents, and ingesting toxic substances.

In more populated areas preachers establish permanent congregations. Elsewhere, they work a circuit. Services last hours, the centerpiece sometimes being the drinking of strychnine and the handling of poisonous snakes. Preachers accumulate fame and folowers based on their oratorical skils and immunity to venom. Each year someone dies.

The distorted hand now made sense. Bowman had been bitten more than once.

Bowman turned left a few blocks past the supermarket where I'd made my purchases, then right onto a rutted side street. P & T Auto Repair was situated between businesses offering glass replacement and smal-appliance repair. The reverend puled in and cut the engine.

The garage was a blue aluminum-sided rectangle with an office at one end. Through the open door I made out a cash register, counter, and trio of heads in dozer caps.

The other end of the building held a work bay in which a battered Chevy station wagon was pedestaled on a hydraulic lift, its doors flung wide. The car looked as though it were taking flight.

An old Pinto and two pickups were parked outside the office. I did not see a tow truck.

As Bowman got out, Boyd began what I knew was not a Pinto growl. Folowing his line of vision I spotted a black-and-brown dog lying inside the office door. It looked pure pit bul.