Page 29 of Brimstone Hollow

But Will shakes his head. “No. The thing is, the snakes don’t release all their venom at once—well, the adult ones don’t—so even though she’s just been milked, that timber rattler still has enough in her system to level a man. Ezra didn’t take that one to the revivals much though. Usually, he traveled with the two copperheads. They’re smaller, easier to transport.”

He looks at the snake box sitting on a thin old towel, stretched out there presumably to keep the rustic pine box from scratching the table top. He picks at the edge of the towel, pulling at a loose thread until it comes free. Then he balls the thread up between thumb and finger.

“Will you do the tent revivals now?” I ask. “With the snakes and everything?”

“I don’t know,” he says. “I’ve been praying over it. Hoping that God will give me a sign. When I was younger—a teenager—I went along with him to the revivals a few times. But… what he did there was different. Preaching in a church is one thing. A revival is… it’s different.”

Without him telling me, I know exactly what he’s talking about. In my experience, the vibe in a Sunday morning church service is more like school, a lecture. A revival is like a wild, exciting stage show where you’re never sure what’s going to happen next.

“Are you going to use the snakes in your sermons here?”

Another head shake. He raises his glass to his lips and finishes the lemonade.

“I don’t know. When I first started coming here, back when I was a kid,it was different. Brother Ezra handled the snakes every week or so. It was thrilling to see a man of such powerful belief. It was breathtaking.”

“You admired him very much,” I say.

“When I was fifteen…” Will starts, and then falters. He shakes his head and starts again, his voice croaky. “When I was younger, I became very sick. I was sure that I wouldn’t survive. No one knew what to do, but it was Ezra who healed me.”

“Really?” I say. “That’s incredible.”

He smiles bashfully and meets my eyes.

“You don’t have to believe me,” he says. “It’s okay. I understand it’s a lot. I’m the only really religious person in my family. Faith is personal. For me, I know I’ve experienced a miracle. My faith is unshakable.”

“Was Ezra’s?” I ask, as gently as I can.

“Yes,” Will says. But he pushes away from the table, taking both our empty glasses with him to the sink. “Yes, Brother Ezra’s faith could move mountains.”

Before I can ask anything else, Will says, “You wanted to talk to the woman who found Brother Ezra on Saturday morning?”

“That’s right.”

“I’m sorry, I should’ve called you. She got in touch this morning and said she’s too busy to come in. I mentioned you to her, though, and she said I can give you her address, as long as you don’t take up much time.”

“I promise I’ll be fast,” I say. “What’s her name?”

“Thelma,” he says. “Thelma Worley.”

I pull out my phone and tap Thelma’s information into it.

“Do you mind if I have a look around the parsonage before I leave?” I ask.

“You want to… to look for clues?” he asks, wincing. Like this house is now a shrine to Ezra King and Will is its keeper.

“I realize this is hard for you, Will,” I say. “I promise I’ll be careful not to disturb anything more than I absolutely need to.”

“I don’t know…” he starts, his expression pained as he looks around the house.

“I’ll be quick,” I say. “And then I’ll get out of your hair.”

He nods and I realize there are tears in his eyes.

“Okay,” he says. And then, more to himself than to me, “It’s okay.”

I turn and look around in the living room. A newer TV sits on an old hardwood entertainment center in front of a brown leather sofa. I look at the space where the recliner had been.

“Do you know who took the recliner away?”