Page 72 of A Winter of Discontent for Henry Milch
“They don’t care. You know they don’t care.”
“Henry’s working for a private investigator,” Opal said.
“Really?” Ivy said. “How odd.”
“He could look into it. And he wouldn’t charge you.”
“Excuse me?” I’d managed to swallow. I also managed to move my foot before Opal could stomp on it.
“Would you?” Carl asked. “Would you do that?”
I really wanted to say no. I mean, it was obviously an overdose. One that Carl should have seen coming a long time ago. On the other hand, I realized it would get me out of there if I played it…
“I could talk to Detective Lehmann for you. See if there’s any reason to suspect it wasn’t an overdose. In fact, I’m due at the sheriff’s office soon. Opal’s going to drive me there.”
“At seven-thirty in the morning?” Ivy asked.
“They’re open twenty-four seven.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“I’ll pay you if I really have to,” Opal said as we pulled out onto M-22 on our way to the Municipal Center.
Even though she always had one or two crappy jobs, she apparently had a lot of money. That made me doubt her sanity, since if I had a lot of money I’d be gone from Wyandot County in a heartbeat.
“There isn’t anything to investigate.”
“You told them you’d talk to Detective Lehmann about it.”
“And I will, but I know he’s going to tell me Denny overdosed.”
“And you’re going to ask why he thinks that.”
If that was her idea of investigating, then I’d do it. There was an irony here that wasn’t lost on me. Usually, or at least in the last year, it was me saying “this isn’t what it looks like”. And then I’d prove it wasn’t what it looked like. But now, with Denny, I was saying this is exactly what it looks like, and no one wanted to believe me.
The sun was finally coming up when we parked in front of the sheriff’s office. It promised to be another gray, snowy day. I got Emerald out of the backseat.
My first indication that something was happening was Bernie’s Jetta sitting in the parking lot. There was also a black Mercedes from the early nineties, the weird Subaru and half a dozen other cars.
I made Opal stop in the lobby so I could open up Emerald’s snowsuit and roll it down. She’d fallen asleep on the way over and now she let out a wail at being woken. Once I was sure she wasn’t going to roast to death, I swung the car seat back and forth until she calmed down. Then we went into the sheriff’s office.
In the common area, there was a lot going on for seven-thirty in the morning. Deputy Twiss was already there—dreaming of his overtime check, I’m sure. Bernie was sitting pensively looking at Patty Gauthier, and I could hear yelling—or at least strong, forceful statements, coming out of the interview room.
I tried to set Emerald on a desk, but the lack of movement made her grumble, the grumble before the wail. I took her off the desk and swung the car seat back and forth.
I asked Bernie, “What’s going on?”
“Brian Belcher is in there confessing to Bobbie’s murder.”
“He didn’t do it,” Patty insisted. “It was me.”
Ignoring her—I assumed it wasn’t the first time that morning she’d ignored his advice and made that inadvisable statement—Bernie asked me, “What are you doing here?”
“I came to tell Detective Lehmann that Brian’s the one who killed Bobbie.”
“But he didn’t. It was me,” Patty said. “And I’m not paying you to accuse my… friend.”
“Okay, but isn’t it my job to get you out of trouble?”
