Shake Down Dead (18 page)

“You certainly did. I’ll meet you over
at the Cozy Corner.” With that I pushed his arm out of the way,
climbed into my vehicle, slammed it into reverse and sprayed a
little gravel on Decker’s feet. How dare he follow me. I took a
deep breath and realized he might have a reason to be worried.
After all, someone had killed Whitney here a few days
ago.

I pulled into the parking lot of the
Cozy Corner, thinking about how much I had to tell Decker about
what had happened at the library. I decided to forgive him and get
on with the investigation—and dinner. I was starved. Juicy Lucy
here I come.

I jumped down from my SUV when I saw
Decker coming toward me. I gave him a hug and he kept his arm
around me while we walked to the door of the bar. I think he was
swaggering, but it was hard to tell.

This early on a Wednesday night the bar
wasn’t too crowded. Most of the people there were eating more than
drinking. With no band blaring out country music, it was fairly
quiet.

While we waited for the cheesy lava
centers of our burgers to cool down we munched on onion rings and I
told Decker about everything that had happened at the
library.

He listened without interrupting
although his facial expressions, from quizzical to glaring, showed
me exactly how he was receiving the information. When I told him
about Pete’s brown boots, he frowned. And when I told him about
asking Pete why he was at the library, he couldn’t stay quiet any
longer. “What were you thinking? If he killed Whitney, you’re in
danger.”

“I know, I know. But I’ve been thinking
about that. Pete was at the dollar store with a van full of
residents. He couldn’t have killed Whitney.”

“Was he the only staff person with the
residents?”

“I don’t know. I just saw when they
came back and he was the only staff person in the van with
them.”

“He needs to be checked out. I’ll call
Jacobs later and tell him all about it.”

We didn’t talk much while we ate our
burgers. I was trying to sort through all the information I had
gleaned from our investigation.

“We know that Charlie’s alibi doesn’t
hold water, so he’s back on the list. He’s about the same height
and weight as Pete and with the hoodie it would have been hard for
Pam to recognize the person. Charlie often wears cowboy boots and
western shirts.”

I must have looked perplexed because
Decker said, “Hey, are you here? You look so serious.”

“I’m just frustrated. I have all this
information and I don’t know what to do with it.”

“What else are you thinking? Tell me
about it.”

“Pete admitted that he’d been at the
library. But maybe he wasn’t the one who attacked Pam. He wasn’t
wearing a hoodie when I just saw him. But he could have taken it
off when he got to the group home. It was warm in the house. It
could have been him, or Charlie or someone else. See why I’m so
frustrated?”

“Yeah, that happens a lot during an
investigation.” Decker said. “We’ll sort it all out eventually. We
just have to find a couple missing pieces and everything will fall
into place.”

“You think so?” I asked. “I feel like
we don’t know anything. Every lead goes nowhere.”

“The thing is, Jennifer, we know more
than we think we do. We just haven’t realized that some of the info
we have is important.”

“I just hope it wasn’t Charlie,” I
said. “Megan would be devastated and his mother would really hate
me then.”

Decker chuckled. “Don’t feel too bad.
Yvonne Jackson doesn’t like anyone who doesn’t think her son is the
greatest thing since sliced bread.”

Suddenly I felt exhausted. I guess the
adrenalin had worn off. “I need to go home, Jerry. I’m
bushed.”

“I’ll follow you home. Do you want me
to stay or go home?”

I should just tell him to go home, I
thought. But, I wasn’t angry any longer and it would be nice to
cuddle in his arms.

“Follow me, big guy,” I said winking at
him.

When I pulled onto the highway, I was
glad Decker was behind me. It was a very dark autumn night. No
harvest moon tonight.

23

When my alarm went off Friday morning,
I reached over to poke Decker to turn it off. I was alone in bed. I
sat up and sniffed. No coffee brewing. I got up and put on my robe.
Then I saw the note on the night stand next to my side of the
bed.

“Forgot I had court this morning. I’ll
call you later,” the note read.

Shoot! I was looking forward to one of
Decker’s delicious omelets. I had stopped for eggs, cheese and
fresh mushrooms yesterday. I put the coffee on and opened the loaf
of bread on the counter. Toast and blackberry jam would have to do.
St. Theresa’s had a farmer’s market the second Saturday of the
month. I had driven by last month and decided to stop and check it
out, since it was the last one of the season. I found a vendor
selling homemade jams and jellies. I stocked up on blackberry,
raspberry and peach preserves. I also found a beekeeper and bought
several jars of honey.

The bread was a little stale but would
be okay toasted. Since my divorce I rarely cooked. When I did, I
seemed to make too much and ended up eating the same dish for
several days.

While munching on my toast, I made a
list of things to do. Besides my usual coffee roasting and
deliveries, I had to check with Sally Baumgartner, my part-time
employee. Since Megan had become so involved with Charlie and his
campaign, she no longer took care of the website. Now three times a
week, Sally took the orders and packed them to be shipped out. I
picked them up and ran them to the post office to be sent by
priority mail so the coffee would be fresh when my customers
received them.

I burrowed in my purse for my notebook
to make a list of things I wanted to do after my business duties
were completed. When I pulled out my little notebook a folded scrap
of paper was tucked into it. Opening it, I saw it was the coupon
for a haircut. I put that first on my list. Since I’d started
wearing my hair shorter, I found that it was time for a haircut
when my arms got tired while blowing my hair dry.

I also needed to call Megan to see if
she’d come with me to talk to Bobbette Murphy. I wanted to find out
if Bobby knew anything helpful about Whitney’s friends that Whitney
could use to blackmail them.

I put on my jacket and grabbed my
purse. When I opened the back door, I almost got blown over. It was
cold and windy. I made a mental note to get my winter coat, hat,
and mittens out of the closet in the spare room.

It only took a few minutes for me to
travel the five blocks to the strip mall on South Broadway where
Head’s Up Hair Salon was located. A sign in the window said,
“Walk-ins welcomed.”

The bell on the door jingled when I
pulled it open. I was barely through the door when a woman’s voice
greeted me. “Hello. I’ll be right there.” Her head popped out from
a door in the back of the shop. “Sorry,” she said, “I was putting
away supplies. How can I help you?”

She looked vaguely familiar but I
couldn’t place her. “I need a haircut,” I said, “and I have a
coupon.”

She sat me down in a chair and fluffed
my hair. “Do you know what style you want?” she asked.

“I have no idea. I thought something
short would be easier to deal with. I’m not very good with my
hair.”

“Why don’t I give you a cut that’s
short and only requires a quick blow-dry?”

“That sounds good to me.”

We moved over to the sink so she could
wash my hair. She was massaging my scalp while I was thinking that
this was the best part of going to a beauty salon.

Back in the chair in front of a large
mirror, the beautician asked me if I wanted her to give me a razor
cut.

“I don’t know what that is.”

“Your hair is very fine if I use a
razor, instead of a scissors, your hair will have more
volume.”

“That sounds good to me.”

We chatted about the weather and other
local events. I looked at her license taped to the mirror. It said
“Gina Cooper.” Whoa! No wonder she looked familiar. She was about
30 pounds heavier than she was in high school, but she was still
glamorous—her hair fashionable and about three shade lighter than
it was in high school.

I looked at her through the mirror
while she snipped away at my hair. Her make-up was understated and
gave her a somewhat youthful look. Her black smock hid her figure
but added to her professional look.

I still had a niggling feeling in the
back of my mind that I had seen her somewhere besides pictures in
the yearbook. “Have we met? You look so familiar.”

“We might have. I’m not very good with
faces, but I don’t think I’ve cut your hair before.”

“We both laughed while I thought fast.
How could I get her talking about Whitney? I didn’t want to
interrogate her or let her think I came there just get information.
She was doing a nice job on the haircut and I wanted to be able to
come back the next time I needed my hair styled.

“Did you hear about that woman who got
killed in Itzig?” I asked. Of course she did; everyone in town had
heard about it by now.

“Wasn’t that awful?” she said. “I
actually knew her, Whitney I mean. We went to high school
together.”

“Really? What was she like? Do they
know who killed her?” I asked faking ignorance.

“She wasn’t a very good friend,” Gina
said. “She’d be your best buddy one day and stab you in the back
the next. My mother used to say that she was a ‘fair-weather
friend.’ She probably made someone really mad at her.”

“Oh, that’s too bad,” I commiserated,
hoping I didn’t sound condescending. After all the information I
had, I could imagine what being a friend of Whitney’s was like.
“Did you keep in touch after high school?”

“More or less,” Gina said, stepping
back to look at her work on my hair. She fluffed it up a bit, and
then pulled down the sides to see if they were even.

While she continued cutting my hair,
she said, “I used to see her a lot. But, you know, you can only
take so much. She was such a diva and it was always all about her.
I quit hanging out with her when I opened this shop. I have too
many responsibilities to spend my evenings in a bar acting like a
teenager. Oh, that wasn’t very nice, was it? I’m sorry. I shouldn’t
speak ill of the dead.”

“It’s okay. Sometime it helps to get it
all out. I heard somewhere that she was gay.”

“Whitney? No way! Well, maybe, if she
could get something out of it. She was pretty greedy, especially
since her father died. I don’t think she was attracted to women
though. But who knows?”

“Did she come to you for haircuts when
you opened the shop?” I decided to get off that subject.

“Oh, heck no,” she said shaking her
head. “My little shop wasn’t good enough for her. She went to some
fancy salon in the Cities. Her stylist was Mr. Somebody. He
probably charged five times what I do and my cuts are every bit as
good as his. Do you want me to blow it dry and style
it?”

It took a few moments to realize she
had shifted to asking about my hair. “Oh, sure, I’ll take the
works. It looks great so far. How long have you been a stylist?” I
asked.

“I’ve been cutting hair since I was in
Middle School. But I got my license about four years ago. I worked
in a couple different shops in town but I realized that if I wanted
to make any money and have control of my life, I needed to open my
own shop.”

“You have three stations here. Do you
have employees?”

Gina laughed. “No, I can’t afford that.
I lease these stations to two women who used to work with
me.”

“I’m impressed. You’re not only pretty,
you’re smart too.” She started blow drying my hair so the
conversation ended. When she was done, I said, “I think I’m going
to like this haircut. It’s was really short but, I have to admit it
looks better than ever.”

“Thanks, I’m glad you like it. You look
good in short hair. Not everyone can pull off a cut that
short.”

“You’re probably right, but it suits
me. I’ll be coming back here again.”

I paid the bill and gave her a generous
tip. She deserved it, for the haircut and the
information.

When I left the shop, the sharp autumn
air hit my newly bared neck. Maybe I should have waited until
spring to cut my hair this short. Too late now. I promised myself
to dig out a knitted scarf too keep my neck warm.

I was sitting in my car, buckling my
seatbelt when an older lady driving a late-model Buick pulled into
the space next to mine. She sat so low on the driver’s seat she
could barely see over the steering wheel. The passenger door opened
and out jumped a little girl with long black hair.

I recognized her. She had been at one
of Charlie’s events. She was the little Coca-Loca girl. When the
two of them entered into the beauty shop, things clicked into
place. Gina had been with her at the rally. I had barely noticed
her then and only then because her little girl was so precocious.
No wonder I didn’t put her with the pictures of the girl in the
yearbook.