Page 63 of Brimstone Hollow

“Sure did. I’d like to have gone ahead and got it over with today, but Coroner Bradley’s stuck in Frankfort. He drove the bodies of Dean Griffon and Billy Shepherd over and his van had engine trouble on the way back.”

“Can’t we just get someone else to open the grave?”

“Well, I offered to do that,” Dishman says, “I said I’d call the new funeral home in town and he bit my head off, said they have no official jurisdiction. Honestly, I think this being an election year has him jittery. He doesn’t want someone else there digging up his work. But he’s not really wrong. As county coroner, he should be the one to do it, but he won’t get back till later tonight.”

“Okay,” I say. “So, what does that mean?”

“Means I’ll see you tomorrow. Eight o’clock, at the Church of the Healing Redeemer cemetery.”

“I’ll be there with bells on,” I say.

“Sure you will.”

We hang up and I pull myself out of bed and go into the bathroom and take a long drink of water. I check the clock and see that it’s nearly evening.

I take a deep breath, pick up my phone, and call Katie.

“An exhumation?” she asks, when I fill her in. “Is that something I… Should I be there for that?” Her voice is strained with exhaustion, stress, and emotion.

“I don’t think it’s necessary for you to be here,” I say. “You don’t need to sign any paperwork or anything and… well, to be honest, it’s not likely to be all that pleasant.”

She breathes out a sigh that sounds both relieved and anxious.

Now, with solid evidence suggesting that her father’s death was not as innocent and accidental as it had seemed, I explain everything I’ve found so far: Dean Griffon’s murder, the RV, the hiding place, Joel Shepherd’s history, Billy Shepherd’s death and missing finger, and finally Nathaniel Nickels’s prints on a bloody, scarred-up table in her father’s house.

“I know it’s a lot to take in,” I say. “I just didn’t want to alarm you until I felt sure he was wrapped up in something criminal.”

“It’s… I suppose this is what I suspected, why I hired you,” she says.

“Yeah,” I say. “But I think we both hoped you were wrong.”

She exhales a long breath and then says, “And you think—if there were drugs involved—they were using my father and his tent circuit to get around? I mean, do you think he was ignorant of it or do you think he was working with them?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “It’s still completely possible that your father may have met Joel Shepherd in the course of his prison ministry and Shepherd may have had nothing to do with his death. Ezra may have kept a separate ledger only because he really didn’t want to give the church secretary extra work. And, while Nathaniel Nickels might have visited the parsonage at some point, left some fingerprints there, it might have been weeks ago, months even. What I’m saying is, it may be that what it looks like is exactly what it was: Your father handled a venomous snake and it bit him and he refused to seek treatment and died.”

“Doyouthink it’s more than that?” Katie asks. “Now that you’ve spent time there? Do you think my father was involved in selling drugs?”

I move my phone from one ear to the other and say, “I… Yes. I think it’s something you might need to prepare yourself for.”

“Okay,” she says, her voice only a little shaky. “Okay, so… what’s next? Can you stay and keep working now that the police are involved?”

“Yes, I think so. At least for now. The police chief is playing ball for the moment, but if it turns out your father’s autopsy features anything out of the ordinary, then it could become a murder investigation. At that point, I’d pretty much have to take a step back or else risk contaminating thecase. Until we see the body, though, we won’t know what we’re dealing with. So, as long as it’s okay with you, I’m going to follow up on some more leads. See if there’s anything else I can turn up in the meantime.”

“Thank you,” Katie says. “And you’ll let me know how the exhumation goes?”

I tell her I will and we hang up. Realizing how funky I smell, I head back into the bathroom, take a long shower, and then blow dry my hair. I dress in my last clean T-shirt and grab my keys. The sun lies red on the horizon as I pull onto the driveway of Scarlett and Nathaniel Nickels’s trailer. On the porch, I knock and wait, listening while Scarlett turns the music off inside and stomps toward the door.

“What do you want? Another pad?” Scarlett says, before I can get a word out. “I’m not CVS. Andyou’renot the cops. You’re that private investigator lady I’ve been hearing about.”

“I’d just like to ask you some questions,’ I say.

“The hell you would!”

“Scarlett—”

“No, I haven’t seen Nathaniel. No, I have no idea where he is. No, I haven’t heard from him since Friday night. Now, get off my goddamn property and don’t come back without some real copsanda warrant.”

She slams the door in my face and I head back to the Bronco.