I can’t begin to tell you how unappealing a seven-year-old is to a twelve-year-old. I don’t remember a lot about the times I spent with him, other than I kept trying to lose him, and somehow he managed to keep up with me. Annoying, thy name is Josh. And now he was dead. That was weird. Honestly, I didn’t know a lot of dead people. And even fewer dead young people.
My grandmother was giving me the hairy eyeball and nodding toward the kitchen. Apparently, I was to get back to work. Jeez, I didn’t even get a minute to feel bad about the dude dying. Still, I went back into the kitchen.
The phone rang. A lot. Sue Langtree designated herself to answer it. A couple of times it was Barbara’s daughter in Wisconsin. Apparently, she was trying to get the Army to commit to a date when Josh’s body would be returned to Franklin, which was outside of Milwaukee. People were saying that was where the funeral would be held.
Reverend Wilkie showed up, which didn’t exactly go down well with some people. One of the thirty-somethings in the kitchen said, “It’s a shame we lost Chr—Reverend Hessel. He was always so good at this kind of thing.”
“He was such a comfort when my grandmother died.”
I kept trying to work my way back into the living room. I wanted to get next to Nana Cole so I could whisper into her ear that we should leave. I mean, it was almost seven o’clock.
Finally, it was Barbara herself who saved me. One of my trips out there, ostensibly looking for paper plates, she stood up in the middle of the living room, and said, “Please. You’ve all been so kind, but I’d really like to be alone now.”
It took quite a while, but we all made our goodbyes and left. For the first few minutes Nana Cole didn’t say anything. I was thinking about the endless parade of casseroles that would now show up at Barbara’s door. I wondered how she’d make room for them all in her refrigerator.
Then, my grandmother said, “Thank you. Thank you for not going into the military.”
“That’s a weird thing to say.”
“I wouldn’t want to lose you. Not the way Barbara has lost her Josh.”
“I thought you believed in this war.”
“I do. Of course, I do.”
“Just not enough to send your own grandson.”
“You can believe in something and not want someone you love to die for it.”
I shook my head. “I don’t think so. That’s not believing in something.”
A few minutes later, we walked into the kitchen. The room smelled burnt and there was a thin layer of smoke in the air. The smoke alarm was blaring.
“Shit,” I said.
“Don’t swear.”
“I left a casserole in the oven.”
“And I’m the one who needs to be watched.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
It rained most of that next week. Jasper came by and talked to my grandmother in tense monosyllables about the cherries. None of it made a lick of sense to me. It had been too warm too early, and now it was raining too much. To me those sounded like perfect conditions to grow most anything. Strangely, their tense faces said otherwise.
I tried to get back on track with my hunt for Reverend Hessel’s killer. I thought it was Carl Burke because he was in love with Denny, and Denny was partying and playing with his stepfather. But it wasn’t Carl. So maybe it was someone else Hessel partied with. For that matter, it could be Denny. Though I doubted Denny would want to kill the goose that laid the golden egg.
I spent quite a lot of time in a couple of AOL chat rooms asking leading questions about Tina. I found several guys willing to give me meth in exchange for sex, but that was backward. I really needed to find guys who were willing to exchange sex for drugs. They were notably silent.
Then I started to wonder if there really was a parishioner who wanted to see him that night. It was possible. It was also possible that Reverend Wilkie and Sue Langtree were not theonly ones at the church he’d been blackmailing. If that was true, how was I going to figure it out?
The funeral for Barbara’s grandson was set for the following Monday. She was flying over to Wisconsin the day before. Sue Langtree planned a little get-together the Sunday before, right after church. With the invitation, which she made to my grandmother after another really boring service, she added, “The funeral will be all about the parents, as it should be. I thought we should take a little time for Barbara.”
“Why can’t Bev take you?” I asked when Nana Cole said we’d be going at two.
“Because I want you to take me.”
“Fine, I’ll drop you off and come back and get you.”
