Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
None of it really mattered. It didn’t matter that we’d probably never find out who killed Reverend Hessel (I hadn’t much confidence in Detective Lehmann).
And it didn’t matter that I didn’t have enough money to get home.
The important thing was… I was dating a doctor. Or rather, I WAS DATING A DOCTOR!
Yes, there was a part of me, a big part, that wished I could say I was dating a doctor as in Beverly-Hills-plastic-surgeon, but I couldn’t.
I had to deal with reality. And, just because I was dating a small-town trauma doctor didn’t mean he wouldn’t be willing to move across the country and change his specialty. C’mon, stranger things have happened.
Anyway, when I returned to Dr. Blinski’s office, Nana Cole was standing on the sidewalk. She no longer had a walker. Instead, she was sporting a very sturdy looking metal cane with four prongs at the bottom for balance. As soon as she saw me, she wobbled across the grass to the curb.
I jumped out of the SUV and ran around to help her in. After I opened the passenger door, I attempted to help guide her, but she slapped my hands away. I stood back, crossed my arms across my chest, and watched as she ungracefully wrenched her way into the vehicle.
Shaking my head, I walked around the SUV and got in. As I pulled away from the curb, I asked, “Is it safe to leave you alone?”
“Yes, Dr. Blinski said it was safe to leave me alone. Not more than eight hours. You can go back to work now.”
That part was not exciting. I didn’t have much interest in tromping around people’s back forty.
Yeah, I know, I had to do something with my life.
And since I wasn’t exactly sure what that thing was, I might as well do this.
Except, I already knew I didn’t want to work for the Conservancy forever. Or even another month.
When we reached the end of the driveway I turned off the Escalade, and said, “Wait until I get around to that side before you—”
“Let’s just sit for a minute.”
“Huh?”
It was awfully quiet. Even for Masons Bay. Finally, she said, “Do you know how many generations of our family have lived on this farm?”
“Not a clue,” I said, truthfully.
“Your mother never talked about it?”
The only thing she ever said about the farm was how much she hated it.
“Well, we’ve been here six generations.”
“You mean, my family. It was Grampa Cole’s farm.”
“No, it came to me. My grandfather was the first Scheck. I think his family was here for a while. He came from back East at the end of the Great Land Rush. Around the time the county was founded. There was a lot of land then.”
There was still a lot of land, but okay.
“We grew corn before the Civil War, but then planted orchards around the turn of the century. She meant the last century, not the recent one.
“Does this story have a point?” I asked.
“You don’t feel any connection?”
“No.”
For a moment, she looked like she’d just taken a punch. Then, ignoring my request, she opened the passenger door.
“Wait,” I snapped, jumping out. I ran around the Escalade to find her clutching the door with her cane on the ground. I picked up the cane, set it where she could reach it and then peeled her off the door.
Watching her every step, I walked her over to the back door. As we went, I said, “You really need to learn patience.”
“Like you can talk.”
That was at least a little bit true, so I didn’t say anything. Reaching the back door, I could see there was yet another casserole sitting on the stoop. My God, did these people do nothing else?
“Who’s it from?” Nana Cole asked me.
Naturally, I had no clue. “Don’t you recognize the baking dish?”
“Well, yes, it’s brand new and it came from Meijer.”
“There’s no note,” I said, even though I’d taken in a couple of casseroles that hadn’t had them. Most of them were given by hand with a few words of sympathy and encouragement. Not to mention instructions for heating.
“It looks like lasagna,” she said, as I put it on the counter. “Spinach.”
“We can have it for dinner,” I said, though I planned to pass. I found spinach disgusting.
“All right.”
“Do you want me to make you a sandwich?”
“I’ll make my own lunch. You should go out and have some fun.”
Where did she think we were? Fun? In Masons Bay? Those thoughts must have flashed across my face because she said, “Call your friend with the colorful hair.”
“Friend is stretching it. And I don’t think she knows how to have fun.”
“Weren’t you with her on Saturday night?”
I’d managed to slip out of the house without letting her or Bev know I was going on a date. I hardly wanted to talk about it now, though.
“Fine. I’ll go.”
I ran upstairs, took an Oxy, and changed into a lavender dress shirt that I liked with a pair of dark jeans. It was a Monday afternoon, after all. I couldn’t wear anything actually cool.
A half an hour later, I was in Bellflower. It was not exactly large, but larger than Masons Bay. I popped into the bookstore, Vertical Books, and picked up GQ, People and Vogue. Then I walked down to Drip.
I got myself a latte with normal milk and two gooey brownies—you know, lunch. Then I settled myself at a tiny café table for two and began to study the magazines I’d bought.
People was asking the nearly impossible question, who was the hottest bachelor, Prince William or Ashton Kutcher? Honestly, I couldn’t be sure until I’d slept with them both… though obviously I was leaning toward Prince William since he came with an eventual crown.
On the other hand, the new Hulk was on the cover of GQ and, in opinion, they should really throw him into the mix. Demi Moore was on the cover of Vogue, which I got for the ads much more than the articles.
My latte and both of the brownies were nearly gone when Carl walked into the coffeeshop. I nearly didn’t look up from GQ’s guide to fall clothes. Too much brown in my opinion. There was always too much brown in the fall.
Carl got a coffee and found a table against the far wall. I picked up my magazines and went up to the counter to order another latte. I waited for it, thinking about Carl. I was not trying to find out who’d killed his stepfather. That was over. But he was still a bisexual male.
Not that I wanted to sleep with him, he was just someone I could flirt with. And clearly after my date on Saturday I was out of practice. The fact that he or his mother still might be a murderer was hardly a deterrent.
“Hey,” I said, sliding my refilled latte onto the table. Quickly, it was followed by my magazines. “Fancy meeting you here.”
“Um, I come here a lot.”
“Well, there’s nowhere else, really. Is there?” I fake laughed.
“So why did you think it was weird that I’m here?”
“I didn’t think—it’s just an expression.”
He didn’t say anything. I took a sip of my latte. I was beginning to feel the caffeine from the first one. Even after an Oxy.
“Do you like magazines?”
“Not really?”
“Books?”
He shook his head.
“Music?”
“No.”
“So you’re just going to sit here and drink coffee.”
“It’s a coffeehouse.”
This was going nowhere. I almost got up to pick out another table, but then I thought, Oh, what the hell.
“Did you know your stepfather was using meth?” I asked, very casually.
He abruptly stood up. I thought he was going to walk away, but then Opal was there standing behind me. I turned and saw that she was wearing a black leotard and a giant vintage scarf. Her hair was fading. She wasn’t taking care of it.
“What are you doing here?” she snapped at me. “You need to leave people alone.”
She kissed Carl’s cheek. He tolerated it.
“My grandmother told me to go out and have some fun,” I said, quite truthfully.
“Fun?” Carl said. “You just told me my stepfather was using meth. Is that your idea of fun?”
“What? That’s not true,” Opal said, sitting down.
“It is true,” I said. “He was arrested for possession in Chicago. The police know all about it. They think he was murdered in a drug deal gone wrong.”
“Did you know?” Opal asked Carl.
“No. No, I didn’t,” he said, not looking up. He was totally lying.
Ignoring me, Opal said, “But your stepfather’s behavior… It must have been suspicious.”
“He wasn’t always around. He saw a lot of his parishioners at the church office. And, you know, he had insomnia a lot. Then he’d be kind of angry and depressed because he didn’t get enough sleep.”
“Where would he have gotten the money?” I asked. Yes, I’m obsessed with money. Get over yourself.
“My mother gave him whatever he wanted.”
“Did that make you mad?”
“Why would it—no, that’s just who she is.” After the briefest pause, he added, “She wasn’t happy. That made me mad.”
“Do you think she might have known? About the meth, I mean.”
“I don’t think so. I don’t think she’d have put up with it.”
“Do you think she could have killed him?”
“Henry!” Opal said. “Ivy couldn’t do that!”
But Carl was not as quick. “No… no I don’t think she could have killed him. If she’d known I think she would have turned him in to the police. I think that’s how she’d have dealt with it.”
“Did she ever catch you with drugs? When you were a teenager?”
“Once. Yeah.”
“And she turned you in to the police?”
“No. I was fourteen, though. And it was just pot.”
I wondered what he was doing. It felt like he was throwing his own mother under a bus. I mean, he said she wouldn’t have killed Hessel, but it didn’t feel like he meant it. So, had she killed him? Or did he just want me to think she had?
“What do you guys do for fun around here?” I asked.
They looked at me like I just asked where they hid the human-skin wearing cannibals. Honestly, I’d wondered about that for a long time. Fun, I mean.
“What? It’s a pretty normal question.”
“We go tubing,” Carl offered. “That’s fun.”
“On the Beckett River.”
I flinched a little. The guy who’d tried to kill me was a Beckett. And so was the guy he’d killed. For that matter, so was I. Which didn’t mean I enjoyed hearing about more Becketts. Even geographical ones.
“It’s almost twenty miles long. You stick your butt into a giant tire tube, drop a six pack into the water, and float away. By the time you reach the end the six pack is gone.”
“How do you get back?”
“We leave cars at both ends.”
“You get a lot of DUIs?”
“Not yet.
“Or should I say: Tubing While Intoxicated.”
“Ha-ha.”
“When’s the next time you’re going?” I asked. I was not trying to invite myself along. Really. It was just the polite thing to ask.
“I probably won’t go this summer,” Opal said. “I got pretty scalded last year.”
“You need a coffee,” Carl said. “Let me get it.”
He didn’t ask for her order, so he must have known her regular. The moment he was gone, I asked her, “So, you weren’t clear before. Did you fuck him?”
“It’s not like that.”
I waited.
“We tried to do it once when we were seventeen, but it was a nonstarter.”
“You said he’s bi?” I asked, dubiously. I mean, her story didn’t strike me as very bi.
Sure, she wasn’t Jennifer Aniston, but teenage boys were hardly picky.
Believe me, I know. When I was thirteen, I had a deep and meaningful relationship with a standard-sized pillow. And no, I am not a pillow-sexual.
“Yes, he’s bi,” she whispered. “And keep your voice down. You don’t need to tell everyone in Wyandot County.”
I decided it was probably best to let her think what she wanted to think. And who knows, maybe she was right. My gaydar was set to Kinsey-6. Bi guys, curious guys—they just confused me.
“You guys have been friends since then?”
“Yes, we’re very close.”
“That’s nice. It’s good to have friends.”
She looked at me like I’d just sprouted antlers.