Still, the most important thing was that he renewed my prescription. I’d seen him four times while my grandmother was in the hospital and then the rehab center. I’d been using her money to pay his fee. In cash. As long as she didn’t look too closely at how much I’d spent on groceries I’d be fine. I did ‘spend’ rather a lot for one person. Particularly one person who was eating a lot of donated casseroles.
After I took my Oxy, I curled up on the bed. Reilly was right there to slip in next to me. I decided to try and think through Reverend Hessel’s murder. Just for amusement.
What did I know for absolute certain?
He was killed on a Thursday night between eight-fifty and nine twenty. Wait, did I know that for sure? It’s just what Opal said. She could be lying. Or just wrong. What I absolutely knew was that he was killed between the time he left his home and the time Carl showed up. So, approximately eight to midnight. A four-hour window, which could possibly be whittled down to a half an hour window.
He was hit with a blunt instrument. In the head. Wait, no one actually said he’d been hit in the head. It’s just that hitting someone in the shoulder did not normally result in death. So it had to have been his head to kill him. Right? Actually, that’s also what happened to Sammy Hart… It was like it was going around. Just like a flu. A bludgeoning flu.
Sammy Hart was killed with a fireplace poker. They don’t know what was used to kill Reverend Hessel. I only know this because if they had the murder weapon Detective Lehmann would have said so.
He was meeting one of his parishioners. Wait, did I know that for absolute sure? Reverend Hessel might have lied to Ivy. Or, for that matter, Ivy could have been lying. Would she lie? What would she get—?
Carl found the body. Of course, if he killed the reverend then his mother would have a reason—
Carl.It really seemed like… it was probably Carl… for a minute there I was sure I’d just solved the murder—and then I conked out. It felt like I’d nodded off for just a second, but when I came around it was three fifteen.
Crap. I’d left my grandmother all alone for, well, for a while. I got up and hurried down the stairs. Well, maybe not hurried exactly. I mean, I got there eventually.
In the kitchen, Nana Cole sat calmly with her friend Barbara. Barbara, who was maybe in her late sixties, looked pale and much older than the last time I’d seen her. Which was, what? Two weeks ago?
“Hello, Henry,” she said. “The door was unlocked so I came in.”
“Yeah, you know, it’s fine.”
“Of course, it’s fine,” Nana Cole said. “She’s my friend. And it’s my house.”
I noticed that her plate was empty. She’d eaten the sandwich I’d made at some point. The soup was still sitting cold on the stove. I picked the plate up and set it in the sink. I’d wash it later.
“Emma says you want to talk about Reverend Hessel’s death,” Barbara said. “I don’t think I know anything. I mean, if I did, I’d go to the police, wouldn’t I?”
“Sometimes we know things we don’t know we know,” I said, realizing as I said it how stupid it sounded. “So, um, he was a…”
Oh my God, I was having the same kind of brain farts my grandmother had. Crap.
“You want to know if Reverend Hessel was a good choir director?” Barbara guessed.
“Yes, was he?”
