Page 100 of Brimstone Hollow

“Trying to multiply his loaves and fishes,” Dishman mutters sardonically.

“You’re probably right,” I say. “He had a gambling problem. Supposedly he quit years ago, when he found God, but when it’s an addiction like that, I don’t think the urge ever leaves you.”

I drop the stacks of bills into the evidence bag Gavin holds open for me.

Times like this, I keenly remember what it was like to be a cop in themilitary. The official protocol, the double-checking everything, making sure you never miss an important step that would get the whole case thrown out. Being a PI, you still have to be careful, still have to dot the i’s and cross the t’s, but it’s nowhere near as finicky. Plus, I don’t have to wear polyester.

Shuffling the clothes around, I feel something hard and fish out a large ledger.

“That’s the one you were looking for,” Dishman says. “You said he’d been keeping his shifty finances in a separate book, right?”

“Ofcoursehe took it with him,” I say. “Yeah. This looks like exactly what I was trying to find. Well, it definitely wasn’tthisthat he came back for.”

I page through the ledger, but while I can make some sense of the more regular entries—dates and cash from various tent revival collection plates—most of the book is filled out in code.

“You’re going to need a forensic accountant for that thing,” I tell Dishman as I slide the book into a large bag.

“We’ll have to pass all this up to Frankfort,” he says, looking down into the growing collection of evidence in plastic tubs at his feet. “I put a call in to the FBI and the DEA when we found the traces of drugs in Dean Griffon’s garage, but without a more substantial find, they put us on a backlog.”

“I’d bet they’ll take a keener interest now,” I say.

We finish going through the car, even checking under the floor mats and in the wheel wells, but don’t find anything significant. I look back at the bagged evidence: clothing, passport, ledger, and receipts. I step away from Ezra’s beat-up Kia and stare toward the church, where police tape is still strung across the double doors.

“You having your guys search the place?” I ask Dishman. “For whatever it was Ezra must’ve come back for?”

“We’ve got two officers in there, but they’re gonna have a bad time with this place. Public, all kinds of people in and out. The forensics’ll be a mess.”

I start toward the church and Dishman falls in step beside me. We go around the back and up the stairs to the back door.

“Whatever he left behindmustbe in here,” I say, as we enter thekitchen. Thelma is standing at the sink, washing dishes, while her nephew and Will sit at the little table, slumped over Cherry Dairy to-go boxes.

“What’s going on?” Thelma asks.

“We think Ezra came back to get something,” Dishman says. “Something valuable. Can any of you think what that might be?”

I look from Will, to Thelma’s nephew, to Thelma. They all shake their heads and then Will goes back to poking at his food, in the slow, distant way of someone whose mind is somewhere else.

I look past them, down the hall.This whole area, I think,will already have been searched and cleared. The bathroom (and the path to it) is the first area cops clear, if for no other reason than they need somewhere to pee while they carry on their search.

Thelma leans closer to me, wiping her hands on a towel, and whispers, “I can’t believe Roman Bradley killed himself. And people are saying on Facebook that it was him that killed Ezra…”

She’s louder than she realizes and Will looks up, startled, eyes wide.

“What?” he says, coming out of his chair. His face red, his eyes filling with tears, he says, “What? No, that can’t be right… Mr. Bradley’sdead? No, he—My God, what’s happening?”

Thelma starts toward him, muttering soft sorries, but Will shakes his head, jolts out of his chair, and stomps off into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

“Bless his heart,” Thelma whispers. “Poor thing hasn’t been eating and I doubt he’s slept half a wink since Saturday morning. I’m gonna give him some of my Ambien later on. You know I hardly ever take it anymore since I woke up at fourAM, out in the yard, watering the hydrangeas with a gallon of milk. But when youneedit, youreally needit.”

She puts the dish towel down on the counter, takes another step closer to me, and says, “Do you really think Ezra hid something in here? My goodness, what on earth would it have been?”

“I don’t know,” I tell her. “But I don’t think he was the pious preacher he seemed to be.”

She snorts and says, “Yes, honey, that’s becoming abundantly clear.”

Dishman says, “Well, I’ve got two officers searching. Hopefully,whatever it is, they’ll find it. In the meantime, you folks can head on home. We’ll let you know when we’re out of here.”

“We need to have a service tonight,” Will says, emerging from the bathroom with a wet face and red eyes. “And… what about Brother Ezra’s funeral? Hisrealfuneral, I mean. What’s going to happen?”