Page 2 of A Winter of Discontent for Henry Milch
After that were pages of interviews with the workers at the winery, Roberta’s two friends who were with her, and Roberta herself. I was too sleepy to read through the interviews just then, so I stacked them next to the printer. There was more stuff in the file, but I didn’t bother looking at it. I just printed it out and then stuck the whole mess in a manila folder, which went into a Pendaflex. I felt very efficient.
After a brief cat nap, I went downstairs; I actually was very excited. I was going to be an investigator. Like Angel on TV. Except not a vampire. And hotter. In a boyish way. I did hope I could wrap this up in a well-structured hour—and then charge for six.
In the kitchen, Nana Cole sat with Bev and Barbara. Both were close friends of hers. Bev was younger than Nana Cole, had steel gray hair like a brush and a sharp nose that might cut you if you got too close. Barbara was closer to my grandmother’s age, with wispy hair and a sweet personality. Bev was jiggling Emerald in her arms and trying to get her to take a bottle. It was a chore. Lately, Emerald had been pushing the bottle away. Not because she wasn’t hungry, simply because she could. Frustrating people seemed to delight her.
“Here comes the choo-choo train,” Bev said, adding in a few sounds that distracted Emeral enough to get the bottle into her mouth.
We’d started out trying to keep her on a strict feeding schedule, Nana Cole’s idea, feeding her every four hours, which meant seven, eleven, three, seven, eleven and most nights 3 a.m. That schedule crumbled quickly, and feedings happened willy-nilly. When she cried or otherwise fussed, I had a three-word mantra: stinky, sleepy, hungry. If she’d slept recently and didn’t need a diaper change, then she was probably hungry. I glanced at the clock which said 4:34. See what I mean? Willy-nilly.
“I got a job,” I announced.
“A what?” Nana Cole asked.
“Why did you get a job?” Bev asked. “You have a job. You said you just needed a break to take care of Emerald.”
I did, in fact, say that. Mostly because I didn’t want to work for the Wyandot County Land Conservancy anymore. It turns out tromping around fields with grumpy farmers isn’t my idea of fun.
“I’m going to be a private investigator.”
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous,” Nana Cole said. “You’re the last person?—”
“Excuse me. Youpaidme to find out who killed Reverand Hessel.”
“And how well did that go?”
“It’s complicated.”
I did find his killer. Sue Langtree. But she’d framed her granddaughter’s rapist, Donny Hyslip, so I left it alone. Or at least I did for a while. Last fall, I gave Detective Lehmann a tip that led to her arrest, but Nana Cole didn’t know any of that. All she knew was that I hadn’t caught Donny Hyslip, and I hadn’t caught Sue Langtree.
“Emma, you should be proud of Henry,” Barbara said. “Hedoestry. And he’s so good with little Emerald.”
I could tell Nana Cole wanted to snort, but she restrained herself. “I suppose this job is through that Hamish fellow down in Grand Rapids.”
“Hamlet.”
“I can’t imagine why he thinks?—”
“I saved his life. He owes?—”
“Oh, pishposh. That’s an overstatement. I don’t see what Nancy Fisher’s drowning has to do with him.”
“I saved him from her nephew.”
“Elbert Robins wouldn’t hurt a fly.” Now I was sorry he’d taken a plea deal. If there’d been a trial, I could have dragged Nana Cole there every day and plunked her in the front row. Let her pishposh that.
“He killed Dr. Blinski. He admitted it.”
“Well, no one’s perfect.”
I’d had about enough of that. I wasn’t sure how serious Nana Cole was anyway. Sometimes she said things because she’d like them to be true, no matter how obvious it was that they weren’t. And sometimes she said things just to annoy me. Seriously, she needed to get out more.
“I have to work tomorrow afternoon,” I said, walking over to the chart hanging on the wall next to. “Do you think Jan might stay an extra hour or two?”
“I’ll call her,” Bev said.
“And if she won’t do it, we will,” Barbara said. And then she began to make goo-goo-ga-ga noises at the baby. I know that’s supposed to help babies pick up language, but seriously, it makes adults look like idiots.
“Okay, well, thanks.”
