Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
The following morning, I had a brilliant idea.
I’d return the Hessel’s casserole dish. Opal hadn’t wanted to introduce me to the family, so it was perfect.
I had a reason to go. Hopefully, this would satisfy my grandmother and she’d pay me.
The only problem was, I didn’t know what to do with her.
I still wasn’t supposed to leave her alone and she didn’t have any physical therapy scheduled.
I thought about dropping her off at the Conservancy and asking Bev to take care of her for an hour or two, even though they hadn’t made up yet.
But that felt too much like a bad sitcom, ‘Mooch drops his grandma off at her friend’s office so the two stubborn women are forced to make up. ’ Laughs ensue.
In the end, I decided to just take her with me.
It would look less like I was there to ask questions and more like a regular condolence visit.
About eleven, I hustled Nana Cole into the car and then drove to the other side of Masons Bay, the north side, and found a road called Revolt that ran along the water.
I turned onto it, continuing in a circuitous route until I found Apple Court.
The Hessels lived in the third house on the left, fronting on the lake.
Well, most of them lived there. Reverend Hessel didn’t live anywhere anymore. He was dead.
Sitting amid a thick grove of trees, the house was built like a Swiss chalet. The bottom floor was part basement, the second floor had a deck hanging off it and the third floor was crammed up under the steeply pitched roof. The property slopped down to a neglected garden and a bit of beach.
After parking in front of the garage, we walked down a winding boardwalk toward the house, my attention focused mainly on how my grandmother was getting on with her walker.
Not well.
“Slow down, Nana,” I said a couple of times. She just couldn’t grasp the idea that she should take smaller steps.
A windowed-door led into the basement and, as it seemed to be the only door, I knocked on it. Nothing happened. I was about to knock again when a voice above us said, “Emma, you’re out and about. And is that your grandson, Mooch?”
Looking up at the deck, I saw the woman from the picture in Reverend Hessel’s box and thought, well, remembered, Oh God.
I did meet her. Late-thirties, dyed red hair, crow’s feet around her eyes and mouth, she wore a long jean skirt and a plaid blouse.
I sort of, kind of, remembered her coming by and giving me a casserole.
I hadn’t invited her in, which I suppose was rude.
“Henry,” Nana Cole said. “His name is Henry.”
“Of course, Henry.”
“I brought back your casserole dish,” I said, my face burning from my grandmother’s laser-like stare. Ivy happened to be the only person in Masons Bay who’d actually used my nickname, so I suppose I should have been nice enough to remember her.
“Oh, you didn’t have to do that,” she said. “I’ve got so many casserole dishes. You can come in, the door’s open.”
I opened it, as Nana Cole said, “Of course we had to bring the casserole dish back. It’s just neighborly.” She looked at the dish I was holding and sighed. “Of course, we’d be better neighbors if we’d filled the dish back up.”
We stepped into a laundry room and then into what appeared to be a family room. On one side, was a staircase to the upstairs. Another held a large window looking out at the lake. The deck was above that.
Nana made an awful racket on her way to sit down on an equally noisy, brown leather sectional. I sat down next to her, making my own crunch. I had already set the casserole dish onto the wet bar.
“You mean, we should have brought a casserole?” I whispered. “Why does she deserve a casserole?”
“Her husband died.”
“Is that some kind of accomplishment?” I said to be obtuse.
“It’s just what you do.”
Now that I knew more about my grandmother, about her first abusive marriage and her second marriage not starting off well, her adherence to rules and social customs made more sense. Life could take nasty turns; she needed something to grasp onto. Well, maybe we all did.
“And stop telling people your name is Mooch. Mooch Milch? Why would you want anyone—”
Ivy Greene came down the stairs. She was smiling and looked a lot more like a contented TV mom than a bereaved widow. “It’s nice to have company.”
“But aren’t people—” I said, and then stopped myself. We’d gotten so much from so many people when Nana nearly died. It seemed like an actual death should have swamped Ivy Greene with casseroles and condolence visits.
“Can I get you something to drink?” Ivy asked. “I’ve got some pop and bottled water down here.” She nodded at a wet bar. “Or I could go upstairs and make tea?”
“Please don’t go to any trouble,” Nana said.
“It’s no trouble.”
“I’ll have a Coke if you have one,” I said.
As she walked over to the half refrigerator under the wet bar to get my soda, she kept talking. “I was so glad to hear that you’re improving, Emma. We were all worried there for a bit.”
“Thank you. And I’m… I didn’t hear about Reverend Hessel until I got home the other day. Otherwise, I would have tried to call from… the, uh, oh what was it called…”
“Brookhaven Fields Rehabilitation Center,” I supplied.
“That’s a mouthful,” Nana said. “No wonder I can’t… remember it.”
“You shouldn’t worry about that,” Ivy said kindly, as she handed me an unopened can of Coke. I sprung the top and took a bubbly sip.
“Well, I’m so sorry about dear Reverend Hessel. I liked him so much.”
“Thank you,” Ivy said.
“Was it normal for him to be at the church on a Thursday?” I asked.
“Chris devoted a great deal of his time to the church. When people needed him, he was there. That night, he told me a parishioner had called and needed guidance. That happened a lot.”
“He was so kind,” Nana said. “It’s not surprising people needed him.”
Ivy had said, ‘night,’ so I asked, “The murder took place in the later evening? Do you know what time?”
“We don’t know exactly when Chris was killed. Sometime around nine, I’m told. It got very late, and he wasn’t home. I sent Carl over to check on him around midnight.”
“Was he having an affair?” I asked bluntly.
Nana Cole shot me a look that suggested she would have kicked me if she’d had better control of her feet. When I looked back to Ivy the woman had a big, confusing grin on her face.
“Oh that. I get foolish sometimes. I’d had too much wine and voiced some concerns to someone I thought was a friend. I was wrong about my suspicions and the friendship. That person turned out to be an awful gossip.”
Before I could ask another question, Nana said, “This is a lovely house.”
“Thank you. My father built it when I was a girl. We’d come up on weekends and do construction projects. I mean, he would. I hated the place when I was a teenager, but I love it now.”
“Come up from where?” Nana asked, though I didn’t see how that was relevant.
“Detroit. My father worked for Ford.”
“That’s quite a drive for a weekend.”
“It was. My younger brother and I played a lot of punch bug in the backseat.”
I had no idea what that meant. Trying to get things back on course, I asked, “Do you have any idea who Reverend Hessel might have needed to guide that night?”
She shook her head. “He was very careful with people’s privacy. He never told me who he was counseling.”
“He didn’t keep a day runner or—”
“No. The police asked me that question.”
“Of course. You don’t think they have any idea who he might have been meeting?”
“I don’t think so. Detective Lehmann hasn’t been all that forthcoming. Someone might have come forward. He wouldn’t necessarily tell me. In fact, I’m sure he wouldn’t tell me.”
“Ivy,” Nana Cole started. “People are saying it might have been an anti-Christian hate crime. Do you know if he’d gotten any threats?”
“I don’t think so. But then there’s a lot he didn’t share with me.”
I was about to ask if she knew any meth addicts, when she asked, “Couldn’t I get you something, Emma? I still have some wonderful lemon pound cake. Honestly, I don’t remember who brought it, but it’s delicious.”
Nana Cale started to say “No, thank you” but was interrupted by a young guy around my age sliding awkwardly down the bare wooden stairs. Both my grandmother and Ivy Greene gasped.
“Carl? Are you okay?” Ivy asked.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said, bouncing to his feet.
Ivy sat back on the sofa, relieved. Then to us she said, “I’ve asked Chris a hundred times to put carpet on those stairs.”
The fact that he never would hung in the air.
Carl came into the family room. He was tall and angular.
In fact, he had too many angles and I felt like he might drop apart like a poorly constructed mobile.
He wore a black-and-red White Stripes T-shirt, tight black jeans and a thick pair of wool socks.
Shoes might have prevented his slide down the stairs. Someone ought to mention that.
“Carl, you remember Emma Cole. And this is her grandson, Henry.”
“Moo—” I stopped because I was sure my grandmother would hit me.
Carl mumbled a sullen, “Hey.”
“You’re a friend of Opal’s,” I said, and as soon as I said it, I realized I had no idea what Opal’s last name was. Had I never asked it? Or had I just forgotten it?
Carl grunted, “Uh-huh. Kind of.”
“You’re kind of friends?” I asked.
“They’re thick as thieves,” his mother translated. “Boyfriend and girlfriend in high school. They were together when… when Chris was killed.”
I wondered why Opal hadn’t mentioned that. Then, I asked Ivy, “And you were here, alone?”
“Oh, no. I was out. I was down at Main Street Cafe having a glass of chardonnay. I’ve become a bit of a regular.”
“I see,” I said.
“The barmaid, Eva Bailey, is a friend of mine.”
“Of course. Did Reverend Hessel have family in the area? I heard a rumor that’s why he came here.”
“I don’t remember him saying anything like that,” Ivy said, looking at the coffee table in front of me. “People gossip.” Then, as though remembering what she’d said earlier about her friend, added, “Well, obviously.”
I looked at Carl. Opal had said he remembered Chris saying he had family here, but now, instead of correcting his mother, he was looking at the ceiling.
I’d stared at enough ceilings in my time to know they were lying about this.
But why? If Reverend Hessel had family in the area shouldn’t the police know about that? Or did they already know?
It was obvious any relatives he had in Wyandot County weren’t named Hessel.
It would be too easy for people to put that together.
My grandmother had this stupid sign in her downstairs bathroom that said, ‘The nice part about living in Masons Bay is that if you don’t know what you’re doing someone else always does. ’
Carl stopped looking at the ceiling and asked his mother, “Is it lunch time?”
“Soon,” Ivy said. Then she looked at us and smiled.
“Well—” Nana said.
“It must have been awful,” I said to Carl. “Finding your stepfather dead.”
“Yeah, it sucked.”
“Was he a good stepfather?”
Carl just shrugged. Ivy stepped in. “Things were challenging once he became pastor. He continued to lead the choir, so between rehearsals, ministering to parishioners, preparing his sermons, and doing the business of the church… Well, we didn’t see him as much as we’d have liked.”
It was quiet for a moment, then Ivy said, “You’re the boy who found Sammy Hart’s killer. You got a reward for that, didn’t you?”
“I did.”
“Well, you should know… we’re not offering a reward.”
“I didn’t—I knew you weren’t. We just came to return the dish.”
“And now we need to leave,” Nana said pointedly. “I’m so sorry about the reverend.”
“Oh yeah, me too,” I added.
“We all are,” Ivy said sweetly.