Page 64 of A Winter of Discontent for Henry Milch
“Crestor? Is that for the heart?”
I had no idea. “Is there anything in there that says Russell Belcher?”
He pushed the bottles around for a moment then said, “Oh yeah. Nitroglycerin?”
One of the minions said, “Boom.” He was right. It was the main ingredient in dynamite. But I was pretty sure it was also used to prevent a heart attack. I wasn’t sure why I knew that, but…
“Did you get that from Bobbie LaCross?”
“Probably, yeah. I mean she brought in the shoebox, and it was full of meds. Nothing good. I didn’t give her much for it. There was an inhaler in there and I sold that for twice what I paid for the box, so it was worth it.”
The whole thing was starting to come into focus. Bobbie had stolen the box of medications, presumably to get her hands on the Oxy. Before the drugs could be replaced, Russell had a heartattack and, without his nitroglycerin, died. Patty knew about this and blamed Bobbie, believing she’d killed Russell. Which is why she told me Bobbie had killed a man.
All of that happened about a year ago. The anniversary of Russell’s death triggered… Patty to kill Bobbie? No, that didn’t make sense. She’d have said why in the confession. The only reason to hide that was… Brian. Brian was the one who’d killed Bobbie. Patty confessed to protect him.
It was a leap, I know, but a good one. I looked closely at Ronnie, and said, “The police will be coming out here sometime soon.”
“How do you know that?”
“Patty Gauthier confessed to killing Bobbie, but I don’t think she did it. Brian Belcher did. I’m going to go into the sheriff’s office and tell them that tomorrow.”
Ronnie offered me the shoebox. “Take this and give it to them.”
“They’re still going to come out here.”
“Don’t mention my name.”
“I think they know your name.”
“What the fuck am I supposed to do?”
“When they come out, give them the box. Tell them you collect unused meds and give them to your neighbors—who I’m guessing don’t have health insurance. Tell them you traded Bobbie for some high-end allergy meds.”
“They’re not going to believe that.”
“No, they won’t. But they won’t be able to do anything about it since you’ll get everything out of here first.”
He thought about it for a long moment, then looked at his minions and motioned for them to start. Turning to me he said, “How about a couple Oxy on the house?”
I couldn’t bring myself to say no outright, so I said, “I’ll take a raincheck.”
Then he said, “Okay. There’s a house. It’s kind of up behind Masons Bay. On a cul-de-sac. There are like five houses, all snowbirds, sitting empty. People have been partying in there. You might want to check for Denny there.”
“Thanks.”
When I got out to Turtle Highway my car had not been destroyed by a semi, which was a relief. I climbed in, pulled a U-turn, and headed back at low speed to Masons Bay. I drove directly to Benson’s Country Store hoping to buy a sandwich, but unfortunately it was well after seven so they were closed. I sat in their dark empty parking lot thinking about what to do next.
I wanted to call Opal and tell her where Denny might be. She’d have a better idea of where a hillside cul-de-sac of snowbirds might be, but my phone was completely out of juice and wouldn’t even come on.
I could just go home and call Opal from the landline while the damn mobile phone charged. But I just wasn’t up to running the gauntlet of my grandmother’s kitchen. There was a fifty-fifty chance she was furious with me. Well, sixty-forty. Okay, fine, seventy-thirty.
I toyed with the idea of going to Main Street Café and having dinner on my grandmother’s credit card but thought about what Ronnie had told me. Behind Masons Bay. Main Street ran parallel to Lake Michigan. There was a marina and a row of condos and a small beach. There was also an arm-shaped peninsula that curled around enough to justify the Bay part of the village’s name.
Behind Masons Bay had to mean inland. There were several blocks ‘behind’ the village slowly rising uphill with the topmost streets having a lake view. The value of houses rose with each view and put the homes out of reach for locals. The cul-de-sac of snowbirds was likely up there.
It wouldn’t take too long. I’d just drive around up there and see what I could see. Then I’d either go home and have some dinner while Nana Cole plotted my demise, or I’d go ahead and pop into Main Street Café and have a burger.
I’d been up that way before. I’d gone to a book club meeting on Meadowlark Lane—and gotten stabbed—just a few months ago. I didn’t recall any cul-de-sacs, but then I wasn’t looking for one. I drove back and forth on Meadowlark Lane until I noticed a road that went further up the hill—I missed it the first time I passed.
