“No. The police asked me that question.”
“Of course. You don’t think they have any idea who he might have been meeting?”
“I don’t think so. Detective Lehmann hasn’t been all that forthcoming. Someonemighthave come forward. He wouldn’t necessarily tell me. In fact, I’m sure he wouldn’t tell me.”
“Ivy,” Nana Cole started. “People are saying it might have been an anti-Christian hate crime. Do you know if he’d gotten any threats?”
“I don’t think so. But then there’s a lot he didn’t share with me.”
I was about to ask if she knew any meth addicts, when she asked, “Couldn’t I get you something, Emma? I still have some wonderful lemon pound cake. Honestly, I don’t remember who brought it, but it’s delicious.”
Nana Cale started to say “No, thank you” but was interrupted by a young guy around my age sliding awkwardly down the bare wooden stairs. Both my grandmother and Ivy Greene gasped.
“Carl? Are you okay?” Ivy asked.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said, bouncing to his feet.
Ivy sat back on the sofa, relieved. Then to us she said, “I’ve asked Chris a hundred times to put carpet on those stairs.”
The fact that he never would hung in the air.
Carl came into the family room. He was tall and angular. In fact, he had too many angles and I felt like he might drop apart like a poorly constructed mobile. He wore a black-and-red White Stripes T-shirt, tight black jeans and a thick pair of wool socks. Shoes might have prevented his slide down the stairs. Someone ought to mention that.
“Carl, you remember Emma Cole. And this is her grandson, Henry.”
“Moo—” I stopped because I was sure my grandmother would hit me.
Carl mumbled a sullen, “Hey.”
“You’re a friend of Opal’s,” I said, and as soon as I said it, I realized I had no idea what Opal’s last name was. Had I never asked it? Or had I just forgotten it?
Carl grunted, “Uh-huh. Kind of.”
“You’rekind offriends?” I asked.
“They’re thick as thieves,” his mother translated. “Boyfriend and girlfriend in high school. They were together when… when Chris was killed.”
I wondered why Opal hadn’t mentioned that. Then, I asked Ivy, “And you were here, alone?”
“Oh, no. I was out. I was down at Main Street Cafe having a glass of chardonnay. I’ve become a bit of a regular.”
“I see,” I said.
“The barmaid, Eva Bailey, is a friend of mine.”
“Of course. Did Reverend Hessel have family in the area? I heard a rumor that’s why he came here.”
“I don’t remember him saying anything like that,” Ivy said, looking at the coffee table in front of me. “People gossip.” Then, as though remembering what she’d said earlier about her friend, added, “Well, obviously.”
I looked at Carl. Opal had said he remembered Chris saying he had family here, but now, instead of correcting his mother, he was looking at the ceiling. I’d stared at enough ceilings in my time to know they were lying about this. But why? If Reverend Hessel had family in the area shouldn’t the police know about that? Or did they already know?
It was obvious any relatives he had in Wyandot County weren’t named Hessel. It would be too easy for people to put that together. My grandmother had this stupid sign in her downstairs bathroom that said, ‘The nice part about living in Masons Bay is that if you don’t know what you’re doing someone else always does.’
Carl stopped looking at the ceiling and asked his mother, “Is it lunch time?”
“Soon,” Ivy said. Then she looked at us and smiled.
“Well—” Nana said.
