Page 27 of A Fabulously Unfabulous Summer for Henry Milch

Ivy Greene came down the stairs. She was smiling and looked a lot more like a contented TV mom than a bereaved widow. “It’s nice to have company.”

“But aren’t people—” I said, and then stopped myself. We’d gotten so much from so many people when Nana nearly died. It seemed like an actual death should have swamped Ivy Greene with casseroles and condolence visits.

“Can I get you something to drink?” Ivy asked. “I’ve got some pop and bottled water down here.” She nodded at a wet bar. “Or I could go upstairs and make tea?”

“Please don’t go to any trouble,” Nana said.

“It’s no trouble.”

“I’ll have a Coke if you have one,” I said.

As she walked over to the half refrigerator under the wet bar to get my soda, she kept talking. “I was so glad to hear that you’re improving, Emma. We were all worried there for a bit.”

“Thank you. And I’m… I didn’t hear about Reverend Hessel until I got home the other day. Otherwise, I would have tried to call from… the, uh, oh what was it called…”

“Brookhaven Fields Rehabilitation Center,” I supplied.

“That’s a mouthful,” Nana said. “No wonder I can’t… remember it.”

“You shouldn’t worry about that,” Ivy said kindly, as she handed me an unopened can of Coke. I sprung the top and took a bubbly sip.

“Well, I’m so sorry about dear Reverend Hessel. I liked him so much.”

“Thank you,” Ivy said.

“Was it normal for him to be at the church on a Thursday?” I asked.

“Chris devoted a great deal of his time to the church. When people needed him, he was there. That night, he told me a parishioner had called and needed guidance. That happened a lot.”

“He was so kind,” Nana said. “It’s not surprising people needed him.”

Ivy had said, ‘night,’ so I asked, “The murder took place in the later evening? Do you know what time?”

“We don’t know exactly when Chris was killed. Sometime around nine, I’m told. It got very late, and he wasn’t home. I sent Carl over to check on him around midnight.”

“Was he having an affair?” I asked bluntly.

Nana Cole shot me a look that suggested she would have kicked me if she’d had better control of her feet. When I looked back to Ivy the woman had a big, confusing grin on her face.

“Oh that. I get foolish sometimes. I’d had too much wine and voiced some concerns to someone I thought was a friend. I was wrong about my suspicionsandthe friendship. That person turned out to be an awful gossip.”

Before I could ask another question, Nana said, “This is a lovely house.”

“Thank you. My father built it when I was a girl. We’d come up on weekends and do construction projects. I mean, he would. I hated the place when I was a teenager, but I love it now.”

“Come up from where?” Nana asked, though I didn’t see how that was relevant.

“Detroit. My father worked for Ford.”

“That’s quite a drive for a weekend.”

“It was. My younger brother and I played a lot of punch bug in the backseat.”

I had no idea what that meant. Trying to get things back on course, I asked, “Do you have any idea who Reverend Hessel might have needed to guide that night?”

She shook her head. “He was very careful with people’s privacy. He never told me who he was counseling.”

“He didn’t keep a day runner or—”