So why was Detective Lehmann asking about eight-fifty? Why wasn’t he asking about sometime between eight and ten? That would be more in keeping with what it said in the book I was holding. I stared at the book for a moment but didn’t find an answer.
Putting the book back, I went downstairs and was about to leave the library, when Hanging Chad waved me over to the circulation desk. He took a copy of the Eagle out from under the counter and said, “It’s from two weeks ago.”
It was the same one that had the story about Reverend Hessel on the front page. “I already looked at that one.”
“Check out the last page,” he said. “The Wyandot County Dispatch Blotter.”
“What is that?”
“All the 9-1-1 calls.”
“Oh.”
I turned to the inside back page and there it was. It said:
2:50PM 05/29/03Animal at Large, S. Plum Point, two calves got out overnight. Calves were located near Big Turtle Road eating grass, returned safely.
11:36PM 05/29/03Disorderly, W. Mill St. Female with bottle of booze yelling at people on bike trail. Currently hiding in bushes. Black jeans/red and white shirt. Advises she will stay at her house for next 24 hours.
12:04AM05/30/03 Body found,Woman reports finding husband unresponsive in church office. Cheswick Community Church.
That was weird.Ivy Greene said she’d sent her son, Carl, over to talk to his stepfather around midnight. And here she was calling 911 just after midnight. That raised a lot of questions. Why was she the one to make the call? Did she do it from herhome or did she go over to the church? And why hadn’t Carl called 911?
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Main Street Café was two blocks down from the library between Peterson and St. Mary. Originally, it had been a two-story clapboard house with a wraparound porch. By now, it had been rehabbed enough times that it was hard to tell where the rooms had originally been. The main section of the restaurant had a bar in the center—complete with a craggy bartender and sports playing on a television—and booths around the edges.
Opal was already sitting in one on the St. Mary’s side of the restaurant. I could tell something was wrong right off the bat. The dye was washing out of her hair and she hadn’t done a thing about it. It looked like she might be a dishwater blonde underneath, but I wouldn’t stake my life on that.
“Who cut your hair?” she asked. “It wasn’t Denny.”
“No, it was his father.”
“You should have had Denny do it.”
“Thanks. But all you said was go to Bob’s.”
She shrugged like it really didn’t matter.
“So, I guess you know Denny?”
“Everybody knows Denny.”
“And he has a little problem with—”
The waitress arrived. She was around our age, perky with pink lipstick and blonde hair.
“Hey Opal. Long time no see.”
“Hi Megan,” Opal said, though it sounded more like ‘screw you, bitch.’
“Who’s your cute friend?”
“Henry Milch. He’s Emma Cole’s grandson.”
To Opal, Megan said, “Well, aren’t you coming up in the world.”
That didn’t make a lot of sense. I mean, yes, my grandmother was related to several of the founding families, but that didn’treallymean anything, did it? Opal shifted uncomfortably and asked for an Arnold Palmer. I ordered a root beer.
