Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The wind had begun to blow, sounding vaguely like a runaway train, slapping me in the face like a damp towel when I climbed out of Nana’s Escalade. I walked up to Ronnie’s metal door and knocked.
After a moment, he opened the door. Ronnie looked ridiculously young (fifteen) for his age (early thirties), with freckles, scraggly hair full of cowlicks and very little in the way of facial hair. It was like he’d reached a certain age and simply stopped.
“I remember you. You bought some pot and a few Oxy. That was a while ago. Where you been?”
“I had a little car accident that night.”
“Oh, that was you. Wow. You hurt yourself?”
“A bit. Yeah.”
“And they don’t want to give you any more pills, do they? I can give you twenty tens for a hundred and twenty-five.”
Given that I was getting more than I was using from Dr. Blinski for about seventy-five bucks, most of which was the visit, that was a definite no go.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re fine? Who’s your doctor? Blinski?”
“Um, yeah.”
“That rat bastard is going to put me out of business.” Then he cocked his head. “Unless you wanna sell some?”
“No, that’s okay.”
“I’ll give you twenty bucks for ten pills.”
Obviously, the markup was steep.
“Really, no.”
“So why are you here?”
“Do you know anything about Reverend Hessel using methamphetamine?”
“I might.”
“Did he like to play and party?”
He got quiet. Crap, I was going to have to give him pills. That was the only way I’d get information out of him. But I didn’t want to. Yeah, I had a couple pills in my pocket for an emergency and still had a bunch at home. But. I mean. There was a principle here. I didn’t want to just hand over…
“I’ve got two tens on me. That’s it.”
He held out his hand. Reluctantly, I reached into a pocket and put the foil-wrapped pills into his palm.
“So yeah, I’ve heard the good reverend liked to PNP.” He shrugged. “Each to his own, you know?”
“Who’d you hear it from?”
He shook his head and said, “Not for a couple of measly tens. Sorry.”
And then he slammed the door in my face. That’s it? That’s all I got for my pills? I pounded on the door but gave up after a minute or two. What an asshole.
I got back to Masons Bay around three. My plan was to get Denny to cut my hair. Ridiculous, I know. It had only been a week since my last haircut. I’d probably come out bald, but I really needed to talk to him and it seemed the safest way.
Taking one of the back streets that ran parallel to Main, I drove past Grover.
When I got close to the barbershop, I saw Denny across the street with Carl Burke.
They were embroiled in an argument, so I didn’t make the turn.
I kept going, hoping they hadn’t noticed me.
As soon as I was out of sight, I did a U turn and crept back toward them.
When I could just barely see them, I pulled over and parked.
At best I could tell they hadn’t noticed me.
Denny was yelling at Carl. Slumped over and shrunken, Carl was red-faced, tears flowing. I lowered both of my front windows to see if I could hear anything they were saying. I couldn’t hear much other than the occasional snippet.
“…love you…”
“…anything to do with…”
“…you can’t…”
“…stay away…”
“…no, no, no…”
Carl reached for Denny, attempting to put his arms around him. Denny pushed him away. He fell to the ground sobbing. Denny continued to yell at him, then pulled him up. Stumbling away, Carl held an arm over his face and rushed over to a gold Honda Civic hatchback. A pretty new one. I was jealous.
Climbing into the car, Carl sped off. Denny watched, then took a few steps toward the barbershop. I jumped out of the Escalade and hurried over.
“Hey. You okay?”
“What are you doing here?”
“I wasn’t spying on you. Honest. But I couldn’t help seeing that. What’s he so upset about?”
He leaned against his car, folded his arms and stared at me. “You didn’t answer my question. What are you doing here?”
“I came to ask you a question about Reverend Hessel.”
“How about you leave me alone.”
“Well, I guess that answers my question.”
And it did, kind of. I wanted to know if he ever PNP’d with the good reverend. Not even letting me ask the question made it seem like a definite yes.
I could see that I’d piqued his curiosity. He wanted to know what my question was. Finally, he asked, “All right. What’s the question?”
“I heard you liked to PNP with Reverend Hessel.” Not exactly what I’d heard but hey it was my question.
“Where did you hear that?”
“Around. Is that why Carl was upset? Because you were doing it with his stepfather?”
“Carl thinks he’s in love with me,” he said with a shrug. Like it was something that happened to him all the time.
“How long has he thought that?”
“A while.”
“Are you in love with him?”
“It doesn’t matter if I am,” he said cryptically.
“Because you gotta do what you gotta do?”
“Sometimes I’m short. You know, financially. So I hang out with someone like Chris. It wasn’t like I wanted to have sex with him. I just did it to get what I needed. It’s not a big deal.”
“Except for the part where Hessel is dead.”
“I didn’t have anything to do with that.”
“Did Carl?”
“You’d have to ask him.”
“When was the last time you were with Hessel?”
“A few days before he died.”
“And Carl found out…”
“He did.”
Before I could ask how Carl had found out—though my guess was coitus interruptus—Denny’s father came out of the barbershop and called him. Denny looked over at me, and said, “Don’t come back here,” then ran back into the barbershop.
I walked back to my car thinking that Carl had to have done it. He had a strong motive. Love, or maybe jealousy. I mean, your own stepfather doing the guy you were hung up on. Killing him just made sense. Except for one thing, of course. Carl had an alibi.
Unless Opal was lying for him. Could she be? Was I wrong to believe her?
Masons Bay had a charming shopping area on Main Street. It consisted of two facing rows of hundred-year-old buildings that looked a little too much like a movie set. Pastiche was a boutique on the west side of the street squeezed between the movie theater and a fudge shop.
Like the other businesses on Main Street, the storefront was narrow, with a high ceiling and a rustic appeal: wooden floors, mismatched furnishings, lux mixed with handmade. The kind of vibe stores paid decorators scads for in L.A. but was probably much more catch-as-catch-can here.
The clothes at Pastiche were largely handmade, and not by tiny hands in Indonesia. That was reflected in the prices, which I was sure were huge. You had to be wealthy to care who made your clothes.
Opal stood next to the cash register. Her hair was even more faded. The green and orange and yellow had washed out, making her head look like a bag of pastel mints. The chalky kind you always want to spit out the minute you put them into your mouth.
“You can’t just come in here,” she said, when she looked up and saw me.
“Maybe I’m a customer.”
“It’s a lady’s boutique.”
“I could be buying my grandmother a gift.” I looked around. Was there anything in here my grandmother would want?
“Are you buying her a gift?” Opal demanded.
“Maybe.”
“Is it her birthday?”
“No. Early Christmas shopping.”
“Very early. What are you looking for?”
“A scarf maybe.”
She walked over to a line of scarfs and picked one out. “This one would go well with your grandmother’s coloring.”
It had about fifteen colors in it, so it probably went with anyone’s coloring.
“How much is it?” I asked, bracing myself.
“Three ninety-five.”
“Four dollars? Really?” Maybe I would get it for my grandmother. Yeah, it was June and Christmas was ridiculously far off. I could give it to her when I—
“Three hundred ninety-five.”
“That’s insane.”
“What do you want? You’re not here to buy a scarf.”
I realized it was time to get serious, so I said, “Your boyfriend Carl is in love with Denny the hairdresser.”
“Denny’s a barber.”
“Whatever. Denny and Reverend Hessel used to PNP together.”
“What’s PNP?”
“Party and play.”
“Is that what it sounds like?”
I nodded.
“You think Reverend Hessel and Denny… that’s stupid.”
“Denny admitted it. Didn’t Carl say anything to you about it?”
“No.”
“You’re sure?
“I think I’d remember that.”
“He could have come to you and told you what he’d done and asked you to give him an alibi.”
“You really think I’m the kind of girl who’d lie for a guy?”
“A guy she loved. Sure.”
“Get out.”
“You can’t throw me out. I’m a customer.”
“You’re not a customer. You’re an asshole. Get out.”
“A girl who lied for a guy would throw me out.”
That stopped her. She glared at me, pursing her lips and grinding her jaw.
“Look, this is what happened. I wasn’t planning to see Carl that night.
But he called around seven-forty-five, said he wanted to come over and hang out.
He got to my house around eight. I had a couple of DVDs I’d rented.
Adaptation, which was weird, and The Pianist, which was depressing.
Carl seemed nervous or whatever. Upset maybe, but he wouldn’t tell me about what. ”
“And normally he would tell you?”
“He didn’t kill his stepfather,” she said. “He couldn’t have. According to Detective Lehmann, Reverend Hessel was still alive when Carl got to my house. And he was with me the whole time. It’s impossible that he killed him.”