Shake Down Dead (22 page)

“Oh, call me Mort. Mr. Kelley was my
father.” Mort chuckled at his little joke while another M&M
went into his mouth. “Well, let me think. She was looking for
information on Charlie Jackson. I think she was trying to decide
whether or not to vote for him.”

“I’m not sure that’s why she wanted the
information,” I said.

I looked around and saw that I was the
only patron left in the library. Then I heard a door creak. Deb was
over at the bank of computers that were there for the public. She
was shutting them down.

“Did you hear that?” I asked
Mort.

“It’s just the after-hours creaking.
Happens all the time.”

All of a sudden, the pieces started
clicking into place. “Mort, I have an idea.”

“What can I do to help?” he
asked.

“I’d like to do some snooping into
Charlie Jackson’s family tree. Will you help me?”

“Of course, let’s go over to the
reference desk,” Mort replied. He quietly whistled as he walked
ahead of me.

When we got to the desk, he pulled over
a chair so I could also see his monitor. I sat down and Mort asked,
“What are we looking for?”

“I want to find out Charlie Jackson’s
father’s name. Can we find Charlie’s birth certificate?”

“I don’t know. Where and when was he
born?” Mort questioned me.

“According to his campaign information,
he was born here in Hermann. Around fifty years ago.”

‘”
He’s too young. I mean
they don’t have a database for birth certificates. The census
records are only available after 72 years, so we can only look up
people who were alive in 1930. If Charlie’s father was born before
then we might be able to find him. But we need his
name.”

“I don’t know the first name. Where can
we find that?”

Mort snapped his fingers and started
typing. “Let’s look at Charlie Jackson’s website. Maybe there is
information we can use there.”

He hit the enter button and Charlie’s
face showed up. Mort clicked around the site and came up with just
what we needed. “Here we go,” Mort said, reading aloud what I was
also reading on the screen. “Charlie’s mother was born and raised
on a farm near Ames, IA. She moved here after Charlie’s father
died. Charlie’s father, Ronald J. Jackson, was in the Army and was
killed in Vietnam just before Charlie’s birth. Yvonne moved here to
live with her aunt and uncle.”

“Does that help?” I asked.

“It sure does,” Mort answered, his
fingers flying across the keyboard. He keyed in an address for a
website, explaining, “I’m checking on his military record.
Fold3.com is a website dedicated to military records. Oh, oh. I
don’t see any Ronald J. Jackson from Iowa.”

“What does that mean?” I
asked.

Mort shook his head. “There are no
records for Ronald Jackson, or Ronnie Jackson. I don’t think he
exists.”

“Is there someplace else you can check?
Maybe he wasn’t from Iowa.”

“Let’s look at Social Security death
records for the year Charlie was born.” Mort was clicking away
again. He started that low whistling again. This time I recognized
a Donna Summer tune, “Last Dance.” Mort was definitely a fan of
Disco music. Probably the only person west of the Mississippi who
liked that type of music.

I looked at my watch. It was five
twenty-five. “Are we going to have enough time?”

“Oh, sure. Deb will lock up and we can
leave when we’re finished.”

Just then Deb walked up and said, “I’m
going to leave in about ten minutes. I’ll lock up. Remember to turn
off the lights when you leave, Mort.”

He nodded and waved to her. “See you
Monday.”

“I hate to have you stay past closing
time. I can come back later.”

“Oh, no, no. You’ve got me interested
now. Let’s keep looking. Ah, here are the records for that year.”
Scrolling down, he whizzed past hundreds of records. He slowed down
when he got to the J’s. “I don’t see any Jacksons in Iowa who died
that year. That’s very odd.”

“Wait a minute. Can you check the
census records for Jacksons in Iowa in 1930?”

“Sure, let me get to a site that has
those records.” He pulled down his bookmarks and clicked on one.
When the page came up, he signed in and typed the names we were
looking for. After going through several screens he said, “Here we
go. No Yvonne Jackson, she must be under 72 years old.”

“I’m pretty sure she is. Any other
Jacksons?”

“”
Yes, there are a bunch of
them in Ames. Oh, look here. There’s a Jackson family on Rural
Route 1 near Bethel, Iowa. I might be able to find out more but it
will take more time. There are some things I can’t do through the
internet. It’s much easier to find dead people.”

“That’s okay, Mort. I’m pretty sure
those are Yvonne’s parents.”

“You mean she married someone with the
same surname?” he asked.

“No, more likely, she never married at
all.”

“Oh,” Mort said. “Oh! I see. Oh, dear.
That wouldn’t have been good back then.”

The cleaning woman in Charlie’s office
was his mother, snooping around while she waited for her son to
finish up with his meeting. With the simple housedresses that she
wore, it was easy to see why Pam thought she was the cleaning lady
at Charlie’s office. She may have knocked Pam on the head because
she thought Pam was in on the shake down with Whitney.

I picked up my purse and jacket and
thanked Mort for all his help, and was walking toward the door when
he said, “I’ll be right there. I need to unlock the door for
you.”

I walked toward the big glass doors. I
heard a noise that sounded like a groan coming from behind the
circulation desk. I looked behind the counter and saw Deb laying
there. Next to her was a six pound book titled “Human Anatomy &
Physiology.”

I ran over to help her. A trickle of
blood was running down from her temple. “What happened?” she
asked.

“Someone hit me.”

“Do you know who it was?” I asked
pulling my phone from my pocket and hitting the speed dial for the
Sheriff’s Office. Deb shook her head.

Just then, I heard Mort shout, “No!”
And I heard a thump. I handed the phone to Deb and said, “Ask for
Lieutenant Jacobs. Tell him to get right over here.”

I ran back to the reference desk and
found Mort on the floor in front of the desk. I bent over to see if
he was all right. I heard a rustling behind me. I stood up and
turned. Yvonne Jackson was holding a large red book over her head,
the title, in large gold print read, “Lost Girls.” I sidestepped at
the last minute and the book came crashing down so hard it threw
her off balance. She stumbled, dropped the book, and grasped the
desk to help her recover her balance.

She came at me, arms outstretched,
gnarled fingers reaching for my throat. Once again I sidestepped
her. I spun around and ran toward the reference stacks, hiding from
her. I saw two large black volumes, titled “History of World
Religions” sitting on the shelf in front of me. I picked up the
first volume. When Yvonne came around the corner, I smashed her in
the face with it. She fell. She didn’t get up.

Mort was sitting up. I handed him the
book. “Here, if she moves whack her with this.”

I heard a racket in the front of the
library. Cautiously, I peeked out from the stacks, hoping Yvonne
hadn’t brought anyone with her.

I was so relieved to see Decker and
Jacobs rattling the front door that I ran to let them in. I got to
the door and realized that I needed a key to open it. Holding up
one finger, I ran back to Deb. She was sitting on the floor holding
her head. I saw the key next to her on the floor. I snatched up the
key, patted Deb on the shoulder and said, “I’ll be right back. It’s
okay.”

I got to the door just as Decker was
about to smash in the glass with the butt of his pistol. I held up
the key and Jacobs grabbed Decker’s arm.

I fumbled with the lock and finally got
the door opened. I threw myself into Decker’s outstretched arms.
Jacobs walked around us and said, “What the hell happened
here?”

I explained briefly while he and I
scurried back to the reference desk. Decker stayed at the
circulation counter with Deb.

After handcuffing the woozy Yvonne
Jackson, Jacobs called the police department and explained what was
going on. Yvonne had blood pouring from her crooked nose. Jacobs
handed her a pristine handkerchief from his inside jacket pocket.
He spoke into the phone and requested that they send over an
ambulance. “Just need them to check out three people with head
injuries. One of them has a broken nose.”

Yvonne was taken off to the Hermann
Hospital emergency room, handcuffed and with a policeman in tow. I
wondered if Lisa was working tonight.

Deb and Mort were checked out by the
EMTs. I heard him tell them, “Here’s a list of symptoms that you
could experience if you have a concussion. If you experience any of
these get to the hospital or call us again.”

All of us were questioned about the
events of the evening by Sergeant Hackenmuller.

“Jennifer, can you tell me what
happened here tonight?”

“Mort and I were looking at social
security and census records when we heard Deb yelling. When I was
calling the Sheriff’s Office, I heard Mort shout out, so I handed
Deb my phone and ran back to see what was going on.”

“Why did you call the Sheriff’s Office
instead of the 9-1-1 emergency number?”

“Because it’s on speed dial. It was
quicker.”

“Do I want to know why you have the
Sheriff’s Office on speed dial?”

I blushed when I told him, “Decker and
I are seeing each other.”

I think that embarrassed him. He
finished up with a few more questions, and then talked to Deb and
Mort. Asking them mostly the same questions, he had asked me. Deb
had called her husband to pick her up, since the EMTs suggested
that neither librarian drive tonight.

I asked Mort if he had someone to pick
him up. “No, I don’t have any relatives in town. I rode my bike. I
can just peddle home.”

“Oh, no, you won’t. I’ll give you a
ride.”

Decker spoke up. “Neither of you are
driving tonight. I came with Lieutenant Jacobs. I’ll drive your
car, Jennifer, and we can take Mr. Kelley home on the
way.”

Mort shook his head, stopped and put
his hand to his head. “Ouch. No, I can’t leave my bike here. I’ll
be careful.”

“No way, Mort,” I said. “We can put
your bike in the back of my SUV.” I knew having a big vehicle would
come in handy.

We dropped off Mort at his apartment a
block away from the Glockenspiel. When Decker pulled back out on
Broadway, I looked at the clock on the dashboard. It was
ten-fifteen. I realized that I had missed supper and was famished.
Just then my stomach growled.

Decker looked at me and grinned. “Dixie
Diner?”

“Yes, hurry! I need coffee and
something fried.”

28

We were in our favorite corner booth at
the Dixie Diner. The waitress picked up our empty plates and
refilled our coffee cups.

“Okay, Jennifer,” Decker said, “Time to
‘fess up.”

“About what?” I had no idea what he was
talking about.

“Your name. What’s the JJ stand
for?”

“What’s your real first name?” I
snapped.

“Okay, I’ll go first, but you’d better
be ready to tell all.”

“Fine,” I said, folding my hands on the
table and giving him my best smile.

“My
name is Jerzy. It’s polish. My great-great-grandfather came here
from Poland. His name was Jerzy Dekowski.” When he went through
Castle Garden in 1890 the immigration officers changed his surname
to Decker.”

“Wow. That’s awesome. What is Castle
Garden?” I asked.

“It’s in New York, where European
immigrants came before they opened Ellis Island.”

“You should talk to Mort. He has an
avid interest in family histories. He’d love to hear your
story.”

“Okay, Jennifer, your turn.”

I pulled on my jacket. “It’s getting
late and I’m really tired. Let’s go home.”

“No way. We aren’t going anywhere until
you tell me your middle name.”

“I can’t, Jerry. You’ll
laugh.”

“No, I won’t. I promise.” He held up
his hand as if taking an oath. I should have noticed it was his
left hand.

I couldn’t figure out how I could get
out of this. “Okay. Well, you see, my Mom was somewhat of a hippy.
Well, not really a flower child, but she embraced the whole peace
movement and the music of the time. I guess I’m lucky she didn’t
name me Petunia or something like that.”

Decker motioned with his hands for me
to continue. “My father was out of work again and was trying to get
his sister to lend him some money. He wanted to name me after her.
My mom had another name in mind. So, in the end, they
compromised.”