Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
We created quite the racket getting out of Ivy Greene’s house, down the boardwalk and back into Nana Cole’s Escalade. I’m sure the Hessels were happy when we finally got situated in the car.
Wait, were they the Hessels? Ivy’s last name was Greene, she’d never changed it. And Carl’s last name. Crap, I’d forgotten it. What was it? Well, whatever. I knew it wasn’t Hessel.
“Why did you have to ask about Reverend Hessel having an affair? You know that’s not true.” Nana Cole said as I pulled out of their driveway.
“I don’t know that’s not true. How would I know whether he was having an affair or not? I only met him twice. Besides, what’s more important is whether his wife thinks he was or not.”
We were back on the 22 before Nana Cole said, “I have to admit, Ivy didn’t seem very upset about losing her husband.”
“No, she didn’t, did she? Do you think she killed him?”
“No, of course… not. But they might not have been as happy as we all thought.”
Obviously.
“Who do you think he was meeting that night?” I asked.
“A parishioner.”
“You couldn’t narrow it down? You can’t think of anyone who might have been troubled?”
“It could have been anyone. People don’t always talk about their troubles.”
“And yet everyone knows everything about their neighbors up here.”
She looked distraught. “No, it couldn’t have been anyone from our church. That doesn’t make any sense. In fact, I don’t think it was anyone from Masons Bay. I’m sure it was someone from… somewhere else. Detroit, maybe.”
“Because criminals like to vacation at this time of year?”
“Don’t make fun of me. That’s not kind.”
It wasn’t, and I knew it. I changed the subject. “Do you really believe he didn’t keep a diary?”
“Why shouldn’t I believe that? Why would Ivy lie?”
There were literally dozens of reasons Ivy might lie. I decided not to bring that up, and said, “But if he was as busy as she says, he’d have needed to make notes somewhere, don’t you think?”
“Maybe he just had a really good memory.”
“And was he really that busy? It doesn’t take long to write a sermon,” I said. I’d taken a speech class in college. I’d show up for class hungover and give a ten-minute speech I hadn’t bothered to prepare for. With a little effort I could have spoken for half an hour.
“The choir,” she said. “Barbara says he is—was devoted to it.”
“How would she know?”
“She’s a soprano.”
“Oh. We should talk to her then?”
She didn’t say anything for a moment. I glanced over, and saw that she looked exhausted.
I told her, “You look like you need a nap.”
“I’m all right. I’ll call Barbara when we get home.”
I left her alone the rest of the way. When I pulled into the long driveway, Reilly emerged from behind the house and ran alongside the SUV. Fortunately, he was a big enough dog that I could see him well enough not to run over him.
Once I parked, I jumped out and ran to the back to get Nana’s walker. I ran because I knew she’d open the door and try to get out on her own. I got over to the passenger side just in time to catch her as she attempted to climb down.
Reilly jumped up on both of us.
Nana Cole said something like, “Gaaa.”
“Down boy.”
He didn’t respond to either command. In general, he was a well-behaved dog but not what you’d call well-trained. Ignoring him was usually the best strategy.
Nana grabbed the walker from me and began taking her customary giant steps.
“Slow down,” I said, but she paid no attention. She was nearly into the house before I could shut the door to the Escalade.
Once inside, I got her settled at the table and began to put together some lunch. I got out the ingredients to make tuna sandwiches and a pot to heat up some canned tomato soup.
My grandmother interrupted me, saying, “I want to call Barbara.”
“We can do that after lunch,” I suggested.
“No. Now.”
I went over to the wall phone and picked up the receiver. The cord was extra-long so I knew it would reach to the table without a problem. “What’s Barbara’s number?”
“616-422-89—”
“Wait, that’s not right,” I said. “The area code is 231.”
“No, it’s 616.” She looked confused but then giggled. “Oh, crud. They changed it. It used to be 616.”
I waked over to the nearest cabinet drawer. The one where she kept her address book. I didn’t know Barbara’s last name, so, crossing my fingers, I flipped to the B’s. There was a Barbara there, so I went ahead and dialed it.
As it began to ring, I handed the receiver to my grandmother. She brought it about an inch away from her ear and kept it there the entire time.
“Barbara? It’s Emma.”
She listened a moment, the asked, “Can you come over this afternoon?”
I went back to making sandwiches.
“Yes, three o’clock is perfect. Goodbye.”
I turned around. She’d set the receiver down in front of her, so I went over and walked it back to the wall phone. Then I finished making her sandwich. I wondered if I’d done enough that she’d give me the promised thousand dollars.
I mean, I could just write myself a check.
She hadn’t been able to pay any bills for more than a month.
If I were her, I would have let them slide.
But not my Nana Cole. No, as soon as I could understand what she was saying she told me where the checkbook was and that I should pay her bills.
That I should go ahead and sign her name.
Apparently, it’s not forgery if someone tells you to do it.
And that would be the problem with my writing myself a check. She hasn’t told me to do it.
When I was finished with the sandwiches—complete with potato chips and pickles—I turned around and saw that she’d already fallen asleep in her chair. As quietly as possible, I slid her sandwich in front of her (leaving the soup to get cold on the stove) and took mine upstairs to my room.
Not that I ate it. Honestly, I wasn’t that hungry; my stomach was a little off and my head had begun to ache. And… for some reason I couldn’t figure out, my right eye had begun to twitch. Our bodies are such weird things. They seem to be under our control and then, well, they’re just not.
Even before I got to the top of the stairs, I had my flip phone out and had scrolled through to Opal’s number. When she picked up, I said, “You didn’t tell me you were with Carl the night Reverend Hessel was killed.”
“You didn’t ask.”
“So, what did you do?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“What time did he come over?”
“Also, none of your business.”
“You’re behaving very suspiciously.” I mean, she was, right? Hessel’s stepson was a much better suspect than a phantom burglar or a violent Christian-hater.
“Fine. He came over around eight-thirty.”
That’s when I remembered that exactly when Reverend Hessel was killed was fuzzy. All I knew for certain was that he’d died Thursday night a week or so ago. Ivy had said he died around nine, but she’d also said Detective Lehmann didn’t want to give her information so maybe that wasn’t exactly right.
Seeming to sense my confusion, Opal supplied, “Reverend Hessel died between eight-fifty and nine-twenty.”
“How do you know that?”
“Detective Lehmann called me to verify Carl’s alibi. That’s what he told me.”
Something wasn’t right about that, but I wasn’t sure what exactly. It just felt wrong. It was weird that Lehmann had told her at all. And there was something else, too.
“What about Ivy? Did he verify her alibi?”
“I don’t know. He wouldn’t tell me that. You know you really shouldn’t be doing this? People could get hurt,” she said and then hung up.
That was odd. Why did she get upset when I challenged Ivy’s alibi? Did she know something she didn’t want me to know?
Since Nana Cole was sleeping, I figured I could risk one little Oxy, just to take the edge off. All right, maybe I took two. But honestly, I wasn’t getting much of a buzz on less than three, so it didn’t matter.
My bedroom was last decorated when my mother was a teenager.
I kept my stash stuffed in the back of a drawer in her French provincial desk.
And when I say stash, I mean the lovely orange prescription bottle of the nearly thirty 10s I’d managed to save up from my biweekly visit to Dr. Blinski, who Nana Cole had insisted I see. He was a godsend.
All I had to do was remember to limp on my way into his office. I’d tell him how much my ankle still hurt, then he’d examine my nose for a moment or two.
“It’s healing quite nicely,” he’d said on my first visit.
“What do you mean, nicely? There’s a gigantic gully where the bridge of my nose is supposed to be.”
“That’s where your nose hit the steering wheel and I wouldn’t call it a gully, I’d call it a dimple.
He wasn’t fooling me. Yes, dimples were desirable. But not between your eyes.
Still, the most important thing was that he renewed my prescription.
I’d seen him four times while my grandmother was in the hospital and then the rehab center.
I’d been using her money to pay his fee.
In cash. As long as she didn’t look too closely at how much I’d spent on groceries I’d be fine.
I did ‘spend’ rather a lot for one person.
Particularly one person who was eating a lot of donated casseroles.
After I took my Oxy, I curled up on the bed. Reilly was right there to slip in next to me. I decided to try and think through Reverend Hessel’s murder. Just for amusement.
What did I know for absolute certain?
He was killed on a Thursday night between eight-fifty and nine twenty.
Wait, did I know that for sure? It’s just what Opal said.
She could be lying. Or just wrong. What I absolutely knew was that he was killed between the time he left his home and the time Carl showed up.
So, approximately eight to midnight. A four-hour window, which could possibly be whittled down to a half an hour window.
He was hit with a blunt instrument. In the head.
Wait, no one actually said he’d been hit in the head.
It’s just that hitting someone in the shoulder did not normally result in death.
So it had to have been his head to kill him.
Right? Actually, that’s also what happened to Sammy Hart…
It was like it was going around. Just like a flu. A bludgeoning flu.
Sammy Hart was killed with a fireplace poker. They don’t know what was used to kill Reverend Hessel. I only know this because if they had the murder weapon Detective Lehmann would have said so.
He was meeting one of his parishioners. Wait, did I know that for absolute sure? Reverend Hessel might have lied to Ivy. Or, for that matter, Ivy could have been lying. Would she lie? What would she get—?
Carl found the body. Of course, if he killed the reverend then his mother would have a reason—
Carl. It really seemed like… it was probably Carl… for a minute there I was sure I’d just solved the murder—and then I conked out. It felt like I’d nodded off for just a second, but when I came around it was three fifteen.
Crap. I’d left my grandmother all alone for, well, for a while. I got up and hurried down the stairs. Well, maybe not hurried exactly. I mean, I got there eventually.
In the kitchen, Nana Cole sat calmly with her friend Barbara. Barbara, who was maybe in her late sixties, looked pale and much older than the last time I’d seen her. Which was, what? Two weeks ago?
“Hello, Henry,” she said. “The door was unlocked so I came in.”
“Yeah, you know, it’s fine.”
“Of course, it’s fine,” Nana Cole said. “She’s my friend. And it’s my house.”
I noticed that her plate was empty. She’d eaten the sandwich I’d made at some point. The soup was still sitting cold on the stove. I picked the plate up and set it in the sink. I’d wash it later.
“Emma says you want to talk about Reverend Hessel’s death,” Barbara said. “I don’t think I know anything. I mean, if I did, I’d go to the police, wouldn’t I?”
“Sometimes we know things we don’t know we know,” I said, realizing as I said it how stupid it sounded. “So, um, he was a…”
Oh my God, I was having the same kind of brain farts my grandmother had. Crap.
“You want to know if Reverend Hessel was a good choir director?” Barbara guessed.
“Yes, was he?”
“He was. He understood music. He’d obviously trained. Somewhere in Chicago, I guess. I don’t remember him ever saying where.”
“Did he play an instrument?”
She looked a bit confused. “He played piano and organ. Everyone knows that. That’s how he started with the church.”
“Did he mention if he’d been getting any threatening phone calls? Or letters?” Nana Cole asked.
“Oh my God, no,” she said. “Had he? That would be awful.”
Frowning, I said, “Ivy Greene says the reverend often saw parishioners in the evening. Have you heard that?”
She shook her head.
“Did you ever notice anything suspicious about the way the reverend acted?”
“God, no.” She looked confused. “Why are you asking these questions? It was a robbery. A drug addict wanted to steal from the church and Reverend Hessel tried to stop him. That’s what everyone’s saying happened.”
“What money?” I asked, perking up a bit. “How much was taken?”
“Well… no one’s actually said.”
“You liked Reverend Hessel?” I asked.
“Very much.”
“Did anyone not like him?”
“Well, Sue Langtree, I suppose. It was awkward when he took over the choir. I liked them both. A lot of people felt Sue was treated unfairly. Though Chris, Reverend Hessel, really was a better…”
“How was she treated unfairly?” I asked.
“I’m not really sure. It was all a bit murky. I heard a rumor that Sue was blackmailed but that’s ridiculous. You don’t blackmail someone for a volunteer choir position.”
“It does fit,” Nana said. “Sue left very abruptly. That doesn’t sound like someone who wanted to leave. And she’s certainly happy to be back.”
“She’s back?” Barbara asked.
“Yes. You weren’t in church on Sunday. Haven’t you been going to choir rehearsal?”
Barbara became even paler and shook her head. My grandmother asked, “Barbara, are you okay? You don’t look well.”
“I, um, my grandson is missing in Iraq.”
“Oh,” Nana Cole said. “Barbara, you should have said.” After an uncomfortable moment she added, “I’m sure they’ll find him.”
“And I’m sure they won’t.”
“But…”
“It’s been over a week.”
There really wasn’t anything to say. Everything I thought to say seemed lame. Finally, I asked, “Barbara, why did you come here? You should be at home.”
She shook her head.
“No. Doing things is better. I hope I’ve been able to help.”
“You have,” I said, though I had no idea if that was true.
“Get Barbara more tea,” Nana Cole said. “With, um, maybe some whiskey in it.”