Page 33 of A Fabulously Unfabulous Summer for Henry Milch

“He was. He understood music. He’d obviously trained. Somewhere in Chicago, I guess. I don’t remember him ever saying where.”

“Did he play an instrument?”

She looked a bit confused. “He played piano and organ. Everyone knows that. That’s how he started with the church.”

“Did he mention if he’d been getting any threatening phone calls? Or letters?” Nana Cole asked.

“Oh my God, no,” she said. “Had he? That would be awful.”

Frowning, I said, “Ivy Greene says the reverend often saw parishioners in the evening. Have you heard that?”

She shook her head.

“Did you ever notice anything suspicious about the way the reverend acted?”

“God, no.” She looked confused. “Why are you asking these questions? It was a robbery. A drug addict wanted to steal from the church and Reverend Hessel tried to stop him. That’s what everyone’s saying happened.”

“What money?” I asked, perking up a bit. “How much was taken?”

“Well… no one’s actually said.”

“You liked Reverend Hessel?” I asked.

“Very much.”

“Did anyonenotlike him?”

“Well, Sue Langtree, I suppose. It was awkward when he took over the choir. I liked them both. A lot of people felt Sue was treated unfairly. Though Chris, Reverend Hessel, really was a better…”

“How was she treated unfairly?” I asked.

“I’m not really sure. It was all a bit murky. I heard a rumor that Sue was blackmailed but that’s ridiculous. You don’t blackmail someone for a volunteer choir position.”

“It does fit,” Nana said. “Sue left very abruptly. That doesn’t sound like someone who wanted to leave. And she’s certainly happy to be back.”

“She’s back?” Barbara asked.

“Yes. You weren’t in church on Sunday. Haven’t you been going to choir rehearsal?”

Barbara became even paler and shook her head. My grandmother asked, “Barbara, are you okay? You don’t look well.”

“I, um, my grandson is missing in Iraq.”

“Oh,” Nana Cole said. “Barbara, you should have said.” After an uncomfortable moment she added, “I’m sure they’ll find him.”

“And I’m sure they won’t.”

“But…”

“It’s been over a week.”

There really wasn’t anything to say. Everything I thought to say seemed lame. Finally, I asked, “Barbara, why did you come here? You should be at home.”

She shook her head.

“No. Doing things is better. I hope I’ve been able to help.”

“You have,” I said, though I had no idea if that was true.