Page 88 of Brimstone Hollow

And next to Ezra, Dean Griffon—Ezra’s helper—who thought Ezra was messing around with his girlfriend. And if Dean wanted to get back at Ezra, what would he do?

He couldn’t risk striking out at Ezra, his boss and mentor, a man who held so much power, so much sway in the community. Dean would never win, not by himself. He’d have to go higher than Ezra. If he really wanted to bring Ezra down, he’d have to go to the only person in town with that kind of clout. A person with a ruthless leg breaker on his payroll.

Kentucky’s King of Weed: Joel Shepherd.

And what information could Dean have taken to Joel? What would’ve been enough to get him involved?

The dying thief rejoiced to see

That fountain in his day…

I imagine Ezra and Joel at opposite ends of the line. Taut and tight.

Between them: Dean Griffon, the driver. Nathaniel Nickels, the enforcer. Billy Shepherd, the local dealer, Joel’s middleman.

I think about how Joel Shepherd had only ever been known for growing weed. A farmer above all else. A man who merely traded one drug for another when the tobacco subsidies went away. So how did heroin and fentanyl wind up in Ezra’s RV?

I draw a mental line from Ezra to Billy Shepherd.

“A sideline,” I say.

“Huh?” Zelda says.

I shake my head and she keeps walking.

Dear dying Lamb, Thy precious blood

Shall never lose its power…

Ezra and Billy could’ve been running a sideline in hard drugs, using the circuit they’d already established through Ezra’s traveling ministry, and keeping that money for themselves. Never telling old man Shepherd. So, what if Dean Griffon spilled the beans?

Maybe Shepherd sent Nathaniel Nickels out the next day, Friday, to deal with both his grandnephew, Billy, and Ezra King.

Maybe Nathaniel Nickels never meant to kill either of them. Maybe the money or the drugs were hidden and Billy refused to tell where they were and Nickels got too rough. Decided to torture Billy for the hiding place. Cut Billy’s finger off in the process. Beat him too hard, thought he was dead, and ended up burning down the house to cover his tracks.

Then, maybe he went over to the parsonage with his baseball bat and kicked the door in, never expecting to see Ezra King sitting at the table milking a snake. But of course once the two men started scuffling, the snake would’ve been agitated. Riled up enough to strike. And maybe once Ezra was bit and clearly dying Nickels realized there was nothing he could do. Maybe he figured, with the snakebites, Ezra’s death would just look like an accident. All he had to do was fix the door.

E’er since by faith I saw the stream

Thy flowing wounds supply…

Nickels could’ve given some acquaintance fifty bucks to run in to Walmart and grab the hardware and paint for him. Then returned to the parsonage, fixed the door, and wiped the placealmostclean of prints. But then… if he’d covered his tracks in both Ezra and Billy Shepherd’s place, why not just go back home? Scarlett, Nickels’s wife, said she hadn’t seen him since Friday and—pissed off as she was—I’m inclined to believe her.

So maybe Nickels split. Took whatever money and drugs he could getout of Ezra King and left town. But that doesn’t explain the missing ledger. Or the note written in Ezra’s hand, detailing how he wanted to be buried. And it doesn’t explain the empty grave.

When this poor lisping, stammering tongue

Lies silent in the grave,

Then in a nobler, sweeter song,

I’ll sing Thy power to save…

“Oh,” I say, stopping in my tracks.

Zelda stops too, turning to face me in the weak light. Deep in my reverie, I’d almost forgotten she was there.

“You okay?” she says. “What’s wrong?”