Page 30 of Brimstone Hollow
“After the police cleared the house for use, I called a junk removal guy. It… it smelled really bad.”
I nod. There’s a little art on the walls, framed prints of nature scenes, mostly. No photographs. No sign of Katie or her mom or Ezra’s previous life as a father.
In the pantry, a few canned goods sit on high shelves, but aside from that, there’s only a mini fridge and three large tanks with lights and stones and sticks inside. This is where the snakes live, I realize, as I catch a glimpse of a ginger-colored copperhead as it slithers behind a large rock. I head back through kitchen, then the living room, and into the narrow hallway.
The bathroom is small but well kept. There’s a newer shower stall with masculine-scented drugstore shampoo, a toothbrush in its holder, toothpaste. Nothing more exciting in the medicine cabinet than a nearly empty tin of black boot polish, another one still sealed and ready to go. There’s also some ibuprofen and a couple rolls of antacids.
The bedroom is small but very tidy with a queen-size bed dressed in a dark-gray set of summer-weight linens. Ezra’s closet features several all-black button-ups, black trousers, black boots. A rain jacket and a black wool coat. His underwear drawer is much the same. Clean black boxer briefs, black socks. Aside from the monochrome palette, there’s nothing out of the ordinary.
I spend another few minutes in Ezra’s small but well-appointed home and find nothing of substance. If it weren’t for the black wardrobe, the terrariums in the pantry, the vials of snake venom in the fridge, I’d never think the man who lived here was anything besides a boring, conservative,private, small-town preacher. Instead, it looks like he was a conservative, private, small-town preacher with a flair for the dramatic. Which I already knew.
“Thanks,” I holler to Will. He comes out of the kitchen with a dish towel in his hands.
“You’re done?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I say. “I didn’t find anything unexpected. Thanks for letting me have a look around.”
He nods and I head toward the door, pausing briefly as I approach. Part of the doorframe, all around the mortise, looks newly painted. I reach for the door and inspect the knob. The doorknob and dead bolt look factory fresh. They’re cast in heavy brass, and the yellow metal gleams. There’s no tarnishing, no patina, no scratches from badly aimed keys.
“Will?” I ask as I turn back toward the kitchen. “When was this replaced?”
“Huh?”
“The hardware on the door.”
His eyebrows scrunch up and he blinks at me, confused. He steps closer, and when he gets to the door, he kneels down and looks at the hardware.
“Do you know when these were replaced?” I ask again.
He shakes his head, slowly, and stands, still staring at the knob and bolt.
“No,” he says. “I couldn’t say. They look brand new.”
“Yeah,” I say. “They sure do.”
“Do you think it’s important?” he asks, eyes wide.
“I don’t know,” I say. “Maybe the old set was just wearing out and Ezra replaced them a couple weeks ago and you just never noticed.”
He nods but looks doubtful.
“Do you have a key?”
“Well, I have the spare,” he says. “The one Ezra always kept in the church kitchen.”
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a ring of keys and a singlenew-looking key on a separate ring with an old leather fob. He puts the other keys back in his pocket and looks at the one on the fob.
“Oh…” he says, “I hadn’t noticed…”
“It’s new,” I say, when he drops it into my palm. “How’d you end up with it?”
Will says, “They—the police, I mean—when they got here on Saturday, they asked me and Thelma if we had a key. She went inside the church and got it from the kitchen and gave it to the officer. Then, after they took Brother Ezra’s body, I explained that I needed to take care of the snakes until the congregation decides what to do with them. They gave the key to me so I could lock up when nobody’s here.”
“So, where’s Ezra’s personal set of keys?”
“I’d guess the police still have them.”
“And you’re sure you don’t know when the hardware was replaced?” I ask.
