Page 87 of A Fabulously Unfabulous Summer for Henry Milch

I waited for him to decide that earned me more information. “Ivy says that Hessel called her around seven-thirty to ask if she needed him to bring anything home. She asked for the pizza.”

“Or… that call came from Carl. He’d just killed his stepfather and wanted his mother’s help.”

“Why would Carl kill his stepfather?”

I blushed. This was going to be embarrassing. “Carl’s bisexual. He’s got a thing for a guy named Denny. Denny would sometimes PNP with Reverend Hessel.”

“PNP? What is—”

“Seriously?” I mean, a cop would know what that meant, right? He smirked at me, happy to have gotten me riled up.

“Do you have any evidence of that?” he asked.

I decided not to mention my little trip to the local drug dealer, and went with, “I saw Denny and Carl having an argument across the street from the barbershop.”

“Nothing says love like fighting on the street.” He seemed to be enjoying this. “You’re still just guessing.”

“You could talk to Denny.”

“Because drug addicts always tell the truth?”

“So, whatareyou doing next?”

“Not telling you.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

And then nothing happened. Well, not nothing exactly. The fourth of July happened. Big whoop. The Cherry Festival happened over in Traverse City. Another big whoop. I mean, we didn’t go. Nana Cole was doing well with her cane but was nowhere near ready for crowds. And I had very little interest.

She did talk a lot about the festival, telling me all about the first one she went to when she was a child sometime in the Jurassic age. Then she dropped a bombshell.

“My favorite year was 1977. That was the year your mother was Cherry Queen.”

“My mother was Cherry Queen?”

“Yes. I was so proud of her. She was so pretty. I really thought she was going places in life.”

“She’s on a yacht as we speak.”

“It’s not her yacht though, is it?”

That was true.

It rained most of the weekend after the fourth, so by Monday I guess it was a real disaster. My grandmother woke me up before seven. “Get up. You have to come help.”

“Whaaa?”

“It’s starting to rain. We could lose most of our cherries.”

“What do you mean, lose? Are they going to run away?”

“They’ll take up too much water and split. We have to pick them now.”

“Does it really matter?”

“There won’t be any money if we don’t do it.”

That got my attention. “What do you mean there won’t be any money? I thought you were rich?”