Too Dead To Dance (14 page)

Too tired to call Megan, I
went over things in my head on my way home. Why did Marty come to
the Fest Grounds Thursday night? What about Al? He kept turning up
everywhere. Sally didn’t want anything to do with Wes. Why? I
wanted to call Detective Decker but what would I say? That Sally
didn’t like Wes? That’s not a motive. Maybe I just wanted to talk
to the sexy detective. Not paying attention as I drove down the
empty street, I daydreamed about Detective Decker and his delicious
mouth.

A dark vehicle pulled up
next to me. Thinking it wanted to pass, I slowed and pulled a
little to the right.

As the vehicle came abreast
of my car, it swerved closer to my front fender. I moved over more,
barely staying on the pavement. It moved in closer. I hit the
brakes and twisted the wheel to the right. My Honda shot up the
curb. I braked to a stop at the foot of a massive old Sugar Maple.
My head lurched back, hit the headrest then bounced forward. I
heard something in my neck pop.

By the time I caught my
breath and looked for the vehicle that had forced me off the road,
all I could see were two red dots disappearing around a
curve.

I dug in my leather purse
for my cell phone and called 9-1-1. Again.

13

When a Hermann police
officer arrived, she took notes while I told her I thought it was a
truck, van or SUV that had run me off the road. “I don’t know the
color but it was dark and larger than a car.”

“Have you been drinking?”
She asked.

“I was at Polka Daze. I had
a wine cooler.”

“Just one?” She raised an
eyebrow, my signal that she didn’t believe me.

“Actually, I also had a
schnapps shot. And some funnel cake.”

“Okay. Let me get the
breathalyzer and check you out. Just for the record.”

The breathalyzer was
painless but embarrassing. She told me the number, but it didn’t
mean a thing to me. “You’re fine. You passed,” she said.

Thank goodness for that.
All I needed was to have to call Megan to bail me out of
jail.

We both turned as a shiny
Dodge Ram with a flashing light stuck at an angle to the roof came
to a screeching halt behind the cruiser. Detective Decker jumped
out and grabbed me by the shoulders. “Are you hurt? Do you need an
ambulance? Who did this?”

“I don’t know, no, and I
don’t know. What are you doing here?”

He stuck his thick hands in
the pockets of his tight jeans and kicked a pebble with his shoe. I
noticed he wore a wrinkled t-shirt and no socks. “I was listening
to the police scanner at home and heard your name.” His head came
up and he scolded me. “I told you to be careful and now look what
happened.”

“Hey, I was just driving
home from Polka Fest. Don’t get all parental on me.” I shot him a
look that told him to shut up.

I repeated the whole story
again for his benefit. “Now will you help me get my car back on the
road?”

“Why don’t you let me take
you over to the hospital and have a doctor check you
out?”

“I’m fine. All I need is a
hot shower and a good night’s sleep.”

Detective Decker gave me
that smirky grin again but didn’t suggest that he help me with
those chores. “It doesn’t appear your car is damaged but you might
want to have it checked out tomorrow. I can’t believe the air bags
didn’t go off.”

I thanked the police
officer, waved at Decker and drove away. In my rear view mirror, I
saw Decker pull out behind me. He followed me all the way home.
When I turned into my driveway, he cruised up behind my Honda and
got out of his truck.

“Sorry I yelled at you
before.”

“Oh, that’s okay. I’ve been
married, I’m used to it,” I said, trying to sound cute.

“I hope it hasn’t turned
you against all men. I worry about you.”

“Why?” I asked. “You don’t
even know me.”

He grabbed my shoulders
again, this time more gently. “I’d like to. Can we have dinner soon
and start to get to know each other?”

Dinner? What’s with all
these dinner invitations? I sure didn’t look like a needed a
meal.

It looked like Megan had
been right. He was attracted to me. Well, how about that, I
thought. I almost laughed out loud and then remembered
Bernie.

“I can’t. You think my
friend killed Wes and I know she didn’t. You won’t even look
anywhere else.”

“What makes you think we
aren’t looking at anyone else? Did I ever tell you
that?”

No, he hadn’t. I just
assumed they were going to pin this on Bernie and I was the White
Knight who would need to come to her rescue.

“Who else are you looking
at? Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

“You seem to like to jump
to conclusions,” he said, a smug look on his pleasing face. “What
makes you think I can share confidential information with
you?”

“Fine. Don’t tell me. I’ll
keep looking for myself.” I turned to walk away when he grabbed my
arm and swung me around.

“You are an exasperating
woman. I can’t tell you anything about an open case. But I can tell
you that you’re right or wrong if you ask me about something in
particular.”

“You’re just trying to find
out what I know. Okay, ask my about-to-be-ex-husband what his new
girlfriend was doing talking to Wes, her ex-husband, by the way, on
the night he was killed.”

Good grief, I had begun to
sound like Natalie Younger.

“Marty Fischer was at Polka
Fest the night Wes was killed? Guess we’ll have to have another
talk with her.”

So, they had been looking
for other suspects. Good, but it still didn’t take Bernie off the
hook.

“Give me your cell phone,”
he said.

“What for?” I asked,
digging in my purse for it.

He took my phone and
punched in some numbers. “If you need me just push ‘four’ and
‘talk’.”

I took back the phone he
handed to me. About to say something about a donut run, I decided,
for once, to keep my mouth shut.

“Okay, now will you go out
with me?” Jerry asked.

“Not until we find out who
Wes Fischer’s real killer is and you admit Sister Bernadine is
innocent.”

Jerry stuck his hands in
his pockets again and looked me right in the eyes. “I’ll hold you
to that,” he said. He turned and walked away, wiggling his fingers
over his shoulder. Nice broad shoulder. Nice butt, too.

When I ran the conversation
through my head again, I deduced that the deputies had talked to
Marty. And she’d lied to them about being at Polka Fest. Maybe she
didn’t lie. Maybe she omitted information that would make her look
guilty.

The detectives might talk
to her again but I needed to know what she had to say. The cops
sure weren’t going to tell me anything. And I still had to get a
look at Bernie’s grade book and talk to Sally.

Thank goodness I had
organized my coffee roasting schedule to delegate the roasting to
several college students. I hired three students to come in on the
weekends to help me do the roasting. Each Friday I put up a
schedule that notes when and how much coffee we need each day for
the following week. It also notes where the coffee will go, for
restaurants and other establishments that buy my coffee, as well as
the fairs and festivals I attend. The students make sure there is
enough coffee roasted and bagged to meet the demand. It worked out
surprisingly well. Unless, like today, there is more demand than
usual.

I had arranged for Sally to
take the first shift so she would open the booth at Polka Daze
tomorrow morning. That would give me time to snoop around Bernie’s
office. I knew she would be at Mass from seven to eight
o’clock.

When I pulled off my shirt,
I noticed powered sugar sprinkled over the front. Good grief,
Detective Decker must think I’m a slob, I thought. Maybe it hadn’t
shown up in the dark. I grabbed an icepack from the freezer,
pressed it to the back of my neck and climbed into bed. Tonight I
was wearing a silky chemise I had dug out of a box in my closet
this morning. I set my alarm, again thinking about Jerry Decker
while I drifted off to sleep.

14

Sunday

I swallowed a couple
ibuprofen caplets before getting out of my car in front of St.
Theresa’s Catholic Church, greeting several people I knew attending
the ten o’clock Mass this Sunday morning. While the others went
straight into the nave, I took a sharp right turn, grabbed a
bulletin and glanced over it as I headed down the stairs, looking
for the classroom where Bernie and her volunteers teach catechism
classes on Saturday mornings.

I had planned to be here
while Bernie attended the seven o’clock Mass. It would have been
much easier to sneak into her office while she was upstairs. But my
neck hurt so bad when I woke up that I took some ibuprofen and went
back to sleep.

Oh, crap. An announcement
in the bulletin stated that Bernie would be teaching a special
class for the next several weeks during the ten o’clock Mass for
the second graders who were studying for their First
Communion.

Now I had to sneak around
the church basement while Bernie taught a group of second graders
in the classroom next to her office.

When I came upon a solid
door labeled “Sister Bernadine Lenhert, Director, CCD,” I looked
both ways, then listened for Bernie.

“Okay, children, settle
down. Let’s start with an easy question. What is Holy
Eucharist?”

“I know, I know, I know.
Pick me, Sister.”

“Alright, Patrick. Tell us
what the Holy Eucharist is.”

“It’s communion! See I
know.”

“Yes, it’s communion,
Benny. But it’s also a sacrament. So, class, what is a sacrament?
Mary?”

“It’s something Jesus gave
us to get grace.”

“Right, Mary. Do you know
what grace is?”

“Yep. She’s my
auntie.”

Okay, those kids were going
to keep her busy for awhile. I slowly turned the knob on the office
door. Knowing Bernie’s trusting manner, I guessed the door wouldn’t
be locked. It slid open soundlessly. I slipped into the room,
closed the door, leaned against it and began to breathe
again.

A trickle of sweat ran down
my cheek and not from the morning heat. The only source of light in
this crowded little room came from a small window set high on the
outside wall. I didn’t dare turn on the lights. Although there was
no window in the door, light might seep out under the door and give
me away. I gazed around the closet-sized room.

It was a tight fit for the
chair between the desk and the wall. Bernie might be skinny enough
to fit there but I could only stand next to the desk and reach
over. I yanked the drawer handle, almost jerking my arm out of the
socket. A throbbing pain snaked up my neck. The ice pack I had put
on my neck after the car accident last night hadn’t helped much.
The door was locked. Damn. Oops. Guess I shouldn’t be cursing in
church.

Bernie’s attempt at
security was pitiful. I opened the center drawer of her desk,
reached way in the back until I felt the keys. I drew them out and
opened my hand. On a red carabineer hung an “O” ring with two keys.
The larger key had a tag marked “Supply Cabinet” in Bernie’s neat
script. I grinned, looking at the small key, labeled “File
Cabinet.”

Footsteps echoed down the
hall. I stood stock-still, my breath caught in my throat. They
tapped right past the office door without hesitating. I let out a
sigh and as I turned to go back to the file cabinet, I dropped the
keys.

Down on my hands and knees,
I searched under the desk, squeezing between the desk and wall and
over the chair legs. The area under the desk was as dark as pitch.
I couldn’t see anything. I kept feeling around until my hand
finally touched the metal. I grabbed them and got up, wondering why
I couldn’t see the bright carabineer under the desk.

I opened the top file
drawer, then went over to the door and opened it a crack. I
listened for Bernie, to make sure I was still safe in
here.

“How many sacraments are
there?” Bernie asked.

I heard Benny’s voice
shout, “A whole bunch!”

I shut the door and riffled
through folders until I found a thick file labeled “CCD Class
Attendance Records.” Pulling out the Teacher’s Roll Book for the
year of Wes’ arrest, I began to run my finger down the list of
eighth and ninth graders. I heard a toilet flush and footsteps came
my way again. Two girls giggled and whispered as they walked past
the office door. I stood stock still. This fear couldn’t be good
for my heart.

When the footsteps faded, I
held the book up toward the little window and quickly scanned the
attendance record. I gasped when I came to the second name on the
ninth grade list—Baumgartner, Sally.

That explained Sally’s
attitude toward Wes. But it made Bernie look even more suspicious.
Being fearless, Bernie wouldn’t hesitate to confront him and tell
him off. Could she have been protecting Sally and things went
wrong? No, I refused to believe Bernie could do something like
this. But could Sally? I sure would like to find a suspect I didn’t
like. Like Marty.