Page 34 of Brimstone Hollow

“Well, I understand Dean used to have a pretty bad drug problem. But Brother Ezra ministered to him, gave him some work, helped him get on his feet. He can fix just about anything with an engine. My nephew found an old truck from the sixties—about half rusted, I thought—but Dean fixed it up for him and for a lot cheaper than the place in Lexington wanted.”

I’m about to ask another question when Thelma checks her watch and starts scooting her chair out.

“Oh, son of a gun! I’m sorry, honey, but could I trouble you to help me load those pies into the car? I’ve got to get them down to the picnic.”

“Sure,” I say and follow her back into the house, where she starts frantically prepping the little pies for transport.

“They’re still a little warm,” she says. “But I’ll put ’em on some ice down at the picnic.”

She sets one bar aside on a little paper plate, sprinkles powdered sugar over it from a metal shaker, slides the shaker into her bag, and then says, “Okay. I think that’s about everything.”

When we’re done loading up her car, she goes back in to grab herkeys and purse and emerges with the extra pie, which she pushes into my hands. “Thanks for the help, honey.”

“No problem.”

She bustles around to the driver’s side of her Corolla and then it suddenly occurs to me to shout after her, “Oh, Thelma, I almost forgot. Do you remember getting any receipts to repair the parsonage door?”

She pauses and looks over the roof of the car at me, perplexed. “The door?”

“Yeah, I noticed the doorknob and dead bolt had recently been replaced. Will said you handle the receipts for repairs like that.”

“That’s right, I do. But I haven’t seen a thing about it.”

“Would Ezra have paid for it out of his own pocket?” I ask.

She blows a raspberry of a laugh and says, “Well, I doubt that. I hate to speak ill of the dead, but Ezra wouldn’t even buy his own lightbulbs. Now, I’m sorry but I’ve got to scoot.”

She speeds away while I sit behind the wheel, devouring the gooey, sweet-tart pie. When my phone rings, my mouth is still full.

“Annie, I’ve got Honey loaded up, but I’m gonna need to show you something,” Tina says, without preamble. “And I figure the cops probably ought to be around when I do.”

It takes some doing—going through a harried Melissa Charles working dispatch—but I finally find out where Chief Dishman is. I call Tina back and tell her to meet me at the town square.

“A picnic?” Tina says. “Shit. I’ll see you there.”

TEN

THE MOUNT ZION TOWNsquare is blocked off, but I park as near to the picnic as I can and then get out and start pushing my way through the crowd to look for Chief Dishman. I pass booths selling hot dogs, funnel cakes, and all kinds of cold drinks, alongside a few local shops who’ve set out tables selling everything from gemstones to vintage hot pants. On the other side of the square, there’s a bluegrass band playing under a big white canopy. Despite the shade provided, they’re sheening with sweat like the rest of us. I grab a flyer from someone hawking rappelling tours and use it to fan myself while I keep looking until I find Thelma setting out her hand pies.

“Have you seen Chief Dishman, by chance?” I ask her.

“He was just right here,” she says. “Well, who in the world…?”

She squints, shielding her eyes from the sun, looking far past me. On the other side of the square, I see Tina pulling up in her borrowed wrecker, edging the nose of the giant truck all the way up to the roadblock. Behind her, held tight to the wrecker, is Honey.

I start in Tina’s direction, but it takes some effort, reluctant as I am to see the scale of Honey’s damage. When I finally get through the crowd and emerge beyond, next to the wrecker, I wince. Honey’s body is all caved in and the gorgeous amber paint is gouged and scratched to hell.

“Tina,” I say as she comes around the front of the truck. “I’m so glad you got her out.”

“It was a time,” Tina starts. “I had to—”

“Just what the hell is going on here?” I hear behind me. “You can’t just pull up here like this. This is a town function, Miss Gore, and—”

“This guy the police chief?” Tina asks me.

“Yes,” Dishman says. “I goddamn wellamthe police chief. What’s going on?”

“Chief Dishman, someone in your pretty little town here tried to kill Annie yesterday.”