Page 68 of A Winter of Discontent for Henry Milch
“Nana, there was none of that. I really think he overdosed.” And then, to change the subject, I asked, “Are you going to ask how I figured out it was Brian Belcher who killed Bobbie?”
They stared at me a moment until Barbara said, “Well, tell us.”
After I caught them up, I got the pizza out of the oven and took a bite. It wasn’t bad, but the Ativan had killed my hunger. I just nibbled.
“I don’t believe it,” Nana Cole said. “Brian Belcher is so much younger than Patty. They can’t possibly be involved.”
“I don’t know,” Bev said. “Patty is still an attractive woman.” A sentence that now sounded much different than it would have just days before.
“I think it’s romantic,” Barbara said. “Confessing like that to save the man you love.”
“Stupid is more like it,” Nana Cole said. “She’ll go to prison, and he’ll find some young tramp and that’ll be that.”
“Well, that won’t happen,” Barbara said. “Henry’s going to tell the sheriff what’s really happening. And then it will all work out.”
Even I thought that was unlikely, but I nodded agreement anyway. A few minutes later, Bev and Barbara said it was time to go. Once they got their coats and gloves and hats on, Barbara asked, “Do you need me to come back in the morning so you can go to the sheriff?”
“It’s okay. I’ll just bring Emerald along. I think Detective Lehmann likes her.”
“You can leave her with me,” Nana Cole said, grumpily. “I’m not completely helpless.”
“I’ll bring her with me.”
After they walked out the door, I picked up the baby and said, “We’re going to go upstairs and go to bed.” I should probably have left it at that, but I had to say, “I’m glad things are better.”
She shrugged and said, “Nobody cares what a couple of old ladies do.”
Okay, that was a challenge. Did she mean their gayness would matter if they were younger? Did she mean it would matter if they were a couple of old men? And she, an old lady herself, couldn’t really believe it didn’t matter what old ladies did—could she?
Showing incredible restraint, I said, “Okay then,” and we went upstairs to bed.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Emerald slept for six hours without waking up, so I did too. That was amazing. We were up around five. I was a little groggy, so I barely remember changing her, tickling her until she was giggling, and then bringing her downstairs for a breakfast of rice cereal and crushed blueberries.
I do remember that the baby—and I—were covered with mushy blueberries when the landline rang. I grabbed it before the second ring, getting blueberries and cereal all over the receiver. The phone, the high chair, the baby and I were now covered. Had I gotten any breakfast into Emerald?
“Hello,” I whispered into the phone. The last thing I wanted to do was wake up my grandmother.
“How could you not call me!” Opal screamed.
And that was when I realized I’d never plugged my phone into the charger. It was sitting on my desk upstairs still dead.
“Um, my phone died.”
“Your phone died! Your phone died? Denny died!”
“I know. I’m the one who found him.”
“Carl found out on MySpace.”
I’d heard of MySpace. I should sign up. It sounds like it might be useful.
“I’m sorry. But you know, it sucks no matter how Carl found out.”
“He’s devastated.”
“I’m sure he is.”
