Right after the show ended.
During the commercial, I wondered, did I want to have sex with Denny? I mean, seriously, he’s a drug addict. It hardly seemed a good idea. And just because youcando something doesn’t mean you should. On the other hand, I’d had sex exactly once since February and I couldn’t even remember it. I was used to a much more sexually adventurous lifestyle. So maybe I should. It might be fun. But would it help me figure out who killed Reverend Hessel? It would be kind of awkward to start asking questions in the middle of sex.
‘Wow you’re a good kisser. You know what I’m wondering? Do you think any of your druggie friends might have killed Reverend Hessel?’
Maybe it was better pillow talk.
‘That was amazing. You’re a super good lover. And by the way, did you kill Reverend Hessel?’
God, what if he did kill the reverend? I certainly didn’t want to sleep with him then. Yuck. I mean, obviously I’ve slept with guys who’ve committed crimes. Misdemeanors. Low level felonies. I mean most people had, right? But I’d like to avoid murderers. You had to draw the line somewhere.
Nana Cole fell asleep right before the end ofAmerica’s Top Model. When it finished, I nudged her and helped her to the bathroom—I waited outside, of course. Uck. And then to her bedroom. I got her pajamas out of the dresser and laid them onthe bed. She was managing to get herself dressed just fine. As long there weren’t any zippers.
By the time I got her settled it was almost eleven. I went upstairs and washed up a bit in my bathroom. I changed into a Godzilla T-shirt I’d gotten on Hollywood Boulevard and cargo shorts. I really didn’t want to look like I was trying.
I took Reilly out and made sure he peed. After I let him back in and gave him a treat, I quietly slipped back out and walked across the driveway to our pole barn. To be honest, I haven’t spent a lot of time in there.
As I recalled, there was an ancient tractor stored inside. One that I suspected was now gaining in value every year, as antiques do. On the far side of the barn, now in pitch darkness, was a work bench with a collection of tools hung on peg board, two stacks of tires, and a lot of farming-type tools that did things I couldn’t even imagine.
Off to the left was my grandmother’s red 1985 Ford F-150, which I had technically totaled when I was run off the road. The whole front end now pointed upwards. I know my grandmother wants to fight the insurance company to repair the truck, and I’m sure she’ll do it as soon as she’s a bit better. If they’re smart, they’ll just pay up.
Beyond the truck were two other vehicles: a burgundy-colored Sedan de Ville from the mid-eighties and a cream-colored Coupe de Ville from the late sixties. I mean, why trade your cars in when they can spend eternity in your pole barn.
Funny story: When I was a little kid, and my grandparents were still driving the Sedan de Ville, I thought that the Disney villainess Cruella de Vil came from the de Ville family, which I imagined to be some kind of automotive dynasty.
I was wrong.
Anyway, that night I lingered by the door of the pole barn. Since I didn’t want to turn on any lights and it was so dark, Icouldn’t actually see any of the things I’ve just described. I tried not to worry too much about what I was about to do. Was I about to do anything? I mean, I could just talk to Denny. The point really was totalkto him. Whether I had sex with him or not was simply a side issue.
A few minutes later, I heard the sound of tires on gravel. Denny had been smart enough to turn off his headlights before he turned down our driveway. He was driving the same ancient Thunderbird I’d seen out in front of the barbershop. He got out and gently shut the door. I thought that was very considerate of him.
Walking over to the pole barn, he pulled a cell phone out of his pocket and flipped it open. The tiny bit of light from his screen helped him to pick me out. When he did, he gave a little nod and smiled in a devilish way.
Reaching the barn, he stood very close to me and asked, “Where do you want to do this?”
“Well. In the barn.”
“Yeah, I know that. On the ground?”
“Oh. Yeah. Probably not. There’s, um, a couple of Cadillacs in here.”
“Cool,” he said, holding up his phone. It revealed the silhouettes of the two old cars. We felt our way in the dark until we got to the Sedan de Ville. I opened the back passenger door and climbed in. Denny got in behind me.
It was very dark and smelled like mildew and cigarette smoke. I’d forgotten my grandparents used to smoke. I could barely see anything. That, and the fact that I might be sitting there with a murderer made me very nervous, so I asked, “How was your evening?”
“Okay. We watched TV.”
“Did you watchAmerica’s Top Model? I thought it was agreatepisode.”
“We watched something else. I kind of don’t remember what it was.”
Then, abruptly, he grabbed my face. I thought he was going to kiss me but instead I felt something under my nose, a tiny spoon or something.
“Take a hit,” he said.
Turning my nose to one side, hoping to not actually inhale much of anything, I sniffed hard. My plan didn’t work. A lot of the meth went up my nose.
“Oh my God, it burns,” I couldn’t help saying.
