Page 25 of A Fabulously Unfabulous Summer for Henry Milch

“We are,” I said reluctantly.

She nodded while she laid out the bread. “I always get busy when church lets out.”

I was alone in the shop. I guess I constituted a rush.

“Who gave the sermon this morning?”

“Reverend Wilkie.”

“And the congregation was glad to have him back?”

“I don’t know if I’d say that.”

“I suppose I gave them too much credit.”

“You didn’t like Reverend Hessel?”

“He was cheating on his wife.”

“You mean Reverend Wilkie?”

“That old man? No, I mean Reverend Hessel. He was cheating on his wife.”

“How do you know that?”

“I hear things, that’s all.”

Well, that was inconclusive. I didn’t think I could actually believe her. I mean, had she even known Reverend Hessel? I went ahead and asked, “Did you know Reverend Hessel?”

“He’d come in every so often. He liked the Corny Rube.”

“…and he’d lean over the counter and say, ‘by the way, I’m having an affair.’”

“A friend of his wife told me. I don’t want to say more than that. I’m not a gossip.”

Obviously, shewasa gossip. She was telling me stuff and she didn’t know me from Adam. She set the bag of sandwiches and sodas in front of me.

“Tell your grandmother I said, ‘hey’.”

Okay, so I guess she did know me from Adam. I thanked her and slipped out of the shop. At the Escalade, I opened the passenger door behind the driver and put the bag of sandwiches onto the floor since I didn’t want the sodas to spill all over.

I didnottell my grandmother about Reverend Hessel’s possible unfaithfulness. It wasn’t what she wanted to hear. But what did she want to hear? The idea that her beloved reverend was killed by a burglar hadn’t satisfied her. And as much as she like the idea of an anti-Christian hate crime, that wasn’t exactly sticking.

So, what would? I mean, we weren’t going to find out he was killed because he was such a great guy. If it wasn’t a burglar—and honestly, I didn’t think it was—then he had to have done something to make someone want to kill him. Most of the time that would mean he’d done something bad.

Turning the radio on, I found my regular NPR station. As I drove, I learned that the Czech Republic had voted to join the European Union, something happened or didn’t happen in the Middle East, women are better than men at going without sleep, andSex and the Citywas beginning its final season.

I adoredSex and the City, having spent a weekend watching the first three seasons on VHS tape (which meant I was still two seasons behind). Samantha Jones was my spirit animal.

“Can we get HBO?”

“No.”

I swear, murdering my grandmother seemed like a better idea every day. I mean, I wouldn’t really… but that thought brought me back to Reverend Hessel as I drove up to Nana Cole’s house. Honestly, I couldn’t care less who killed him. I just needed the money.

Before we went into the house, I said, “You know, it probably was a burglar who killed Reverend Hessel.”

“You don’t really think that, do you?”