Page 84 of Brimstone Hollow

“Once you’re done with that, Gavin,” Dishman says, “go straight home. Get some rest. I’ve got a feeling tomorrow might be a long day.”

“What are you gonna do?” I ask him, as Gavin heads out.

“What I spend most of my time doing,” he says with an exhausted smile. “Paperwork.”

I tell him briefly about my interview with Crystal.

“You think she’s being straight with you? She really had some vision?”

“I think she’s just a sad kid,” I say. “She wants to be special and her subconscious is trying to make it happen for her.”

“How many psych classes did you take to get to that diagnosis?” he asks.

“None,” I say with a snort. “But as someone with a tricksy subconscious, I speak from experience. Anyway, are you going up there tomorrow? To see Ezra King return from the dead?”

Dishman smirks at me and says, “I’ve got better things to do that wait around at the butt crack of dawn for something that ain’t gonna happen.”

I turn to go and then stop, turn back, and say, “Forgive me for saying so—”

“Here we go,” he says, crossing his arms but still smirking. “What is it?”

Exhaling a little, I say, “When I got here, it seemed like you believed in Ezra. In the power of his faith, if nothing else. It seemed like you admiredhim. Has all this… everything we’ve found out or, I guess, sort ofhalffound out, changed that?”

Dishman’s arms drop in an expression of giving up and he shrugs his big shoulders and says, “I suppose it has. At the end of the day, I’m a cop. I have to follow the evidence. Even if that means… Even if sometimes that leads to embarrassing realizations.”

“Don’t be embarrassed,” I tell him, as I tug my bag onto my shoulder. “First of all, until we find his body, we won’t know for sure how much he was really involved in a drug operation that may or may not have even existed…”

Dishman throws me a look and I continue, “Seriously. We don’tknow.We can suspect based on evidence, but we don’tknow.”

“True,” he says. And then, walking me to the door, he asks, “Are you going up to the mountain tomorrow?”

“Maybe,” I say. “After all, if Ezra suddenly materializes in front of everyone, I can forget all this tedious footage scrubbing and fingerprint gathering and just ask him what the hell happened and go home.”

He laughs and I pull open the door. As I’m walking through, he says, “Stay out of trouble.”

I shoot him a thumbs-up before sliding out into the evening. I check my watch. It’s almost 9PM.

“I wonder if Coroner Bradley would take a visitor at this hour?” I ask myself as I walk back to the Bronco. I drive up Main Street and around to the top of the hill where Bradley Funeral Home is situated. The coroner van isn’t there, but a light shines in the upper story. I take my chances and knock.

After a few moments, the door to the adjoining flower shop opens with a jangle of bells. A woman steps out onto the walkway and asks, “Can I help you?” She’s thin, with chestnut hair, and the well-manicured look of someone who has all their clothes dry-cleaned.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” I tell her. “I was just looking for the coroner. I keep missing him.”

“Oh,” she says, taking a step closer as she studies me. “You’re the private investigator, aren’t you?”

“That’s right.”

“Diana Bradley,” she says, offering a long-fingered, firm hand for me to shake. “I’ve been hearing about you all over town. I’m sorry you missed Roman. He mentioned that you needed to talk to him.”

“He seems very busy,” I tell her.

Her head tilts to the side, glossy hair swishing, as she smiles apologetically. “It’s always like this around holidays. Fourth of July and New Year’s are the worst, but Memorial Day is always bad. The start of the summer season and all that. And this year—with the heat—seems like it’s been even worse than usual. I’m so sorry you missed him, though. You’re investigating Ezra King, right?”

“That’s right.”

She shakes her head and comes another step closer, speaking in soft tones. “I cannot believe that coffin was empty. Honestly, what is this world coming to? Taking a dead body out of its grave in the middle of the night? It’s beyond the pale.”

“You don’t believe the Lord called him to heaven?” I ask.