Too Dead To Dance (7 page)

“My girlfriend doesn’t like
him. She acts like she’s scared of him, so I told him to stay away
from her.”

“Did she tell you why she’s
afraid of him?”

“No. And I asked. She just
said…” Bobby’s voice trailed off when he shifted his position and
Jacobs moved right in front of him. I couldn’t hear anything else
they said.

When Jacobs finally got
back to me, I repeated what I had seen in the parking lot, again
leaving out what Bernie had told me about the argument with Wes.
After all, I hadn’t witnessed it. “I can’t believe you’re
considering Sister Bernadine as a suspect in this. She’s a nun, for
Pete’s sake.”

“Jennifer, I know you want
to believe she’s above reproach. I know you think bad things can’t
happen in a small town. But in the years I’ve been a cop, I’ve seen
a lot of ugly things. People are people, small town or large; there
are people capable of the most heinous things.”

“I believe that, Lieutenant
Jacobs. Remember, I found the body. But I’ve known Sister Bernadine
most of my life. She’s outspoken and sometimes tactless, but she’d
never hurt another human being. She just couldn’t do
that.”

“That may be true.
Detective Decker will get her alibi and check her off the
list.”

When I was finally ready to
leave, the paramedics wheeled a gurney out of the building.
Glancing at the shiny black body bag, I shivered, spilling some
water down the front of my perky pink top.

“Lieutenant Jacobs, is
there some way I could get my coffee from the building? I hate to
leave it there overnight.”

“I’ll get it for you,
Jennifer. Just pull your car up here.”

I backed away from Jacobs
and made my way to my Civic. I was glad Detective Decker had left
with Bernie before he could see my moist tush.

When I pulled my car up to
the Home Arts building, Jacobs was busy talking to a group of
vendors. When he saw me he said. “Jennifer, go in and get the box
of coffee but don’t touch anything else. Okay?”

Walking into the building,
I felt the hair on my arms rise. Then the stench hit me. I covered
my nose and mouth and hurried over to my table. I held my breath
and hoisted the box of coffee. Then I spotted the white bakery bag
I’d flung across the booth crunched up in the corner. I wondered
who could’ve been so callous to eat a stolen donut in front of a
blood soaked corpse. My money was on the smart-mouthed
EMT.

When I came out of the
building Jacobs was talking to Clara and Ray, also part of Trudy’s
husband’s band.

Clara said, “We stopped for
a bite to eat at Dottie’s Diner after we left the Fest Grounds. It
must have been about midnight. No one else from our band showed up
so we sat with a band from Texas.”

“Texas?” Jacobs asked. “Is
that someplace in Germany?”

Vic and Clara laughed and
Vic said, “People always ask that. Actually there is a large
community of people of German decent in and around Fredericksburg,
Texas. It’s actually larger than the German population here in
southwest Minnesota.”

“Did you see leave with
anyone after you finished playing for the night?”

“No,” Clara said. “He
jumped down off the bandstand carrying his trumpet and walked into
the crowd and that’s the last I saw of him. He didn’t even stick
around to help pack up the instruments. As usual. I think he might
have gone to the other tent. He like to dance and that tent stays
open until midnight.”

I excused myself for
interrupting and told Jacobs that I was leaving and thanked him for
letting me get my coffee. He assured me the building could open
tomorrow as usual. I didn’t want to go into that building again but
I had signed a contract to keep my booth open until six o’clock
Sunday evening. The coffee would still be fresh tomorrow and if
anyone showed up, maybe I could sell most of it. Fifty pounds of
coffee I wouldn’t be selling today sat in the back seat of my car.
I guess I was lucky the deputies hadn’t confiscated it.

7

I called Bernie’s apartment
from my cell phone and left a message for her to call me as soon as
Detective Decker finished grilling her. Since I couldn’t open my
booth today, I decided to start looking for Laura’s beer
stein.

Glancing at the list, I
decided that I’d start at the antique store. I pulled into a
diagonal parking space in front of the Built for Speed bicycle shop
in downtown Herman, next door to Zeller’s Antiques. I glanced into
the bike shop and saw Bernie standing at the counter talking to a
young guy.

I waited until she walked
out then greeted her. “I see that they didn’t lock you up. Are you
okay?”

“I’m fine,
Jennifer.”

“What did the police say to
you? Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Jennifer, I’m fine. I
don’t want to talk about it. Okay?”

“Okay, fine,” I decided to
change the subject, for now. “Do you still have that old bike?”
Bernie was quite a sight peddling around Hermann in a
forty-year-old Schwinn bicycle with a wire basket which held her
canvas bag. “I thought you got rid of it when the parishioners
bought you the new car?”

“No, I got rid of the old
car. I still love to ride my bike. You know, it’s the only bike I
ever owned. My dad bought it new for me for Christmas on my eighth
birthday. I’ll never get rid of it. But I did need to order some
new gloves,” she said holding up a plastic bag with “Built for
Speed” and a bicycle printed on it.

“Want to come with me? I’m
looking for a beer stein for a customer and want to check out
Zellers.” I thought I might be able to get her relaxed enough to
tell me what happened to her at the sheriff’s
department.

“Sure, why not.” She
shrugged and turned with me to check out the antique
store.

I was pleasantly surprised
when we walked into Zeller’s Antiques. I expected a dimly lit,
dusty room filled with heavy old furniture. Instead, it looked more
like a modern furniture store.

The first thing I saw was a
dining room set. A large table with eight matching chairs was set
with a flowery Bavarian china. Behind the table, a heavy sideboard
with a pair of matching lamps stood watch over the
table.

As we walked through the
store, I looked at the other room settings. The pieces didn’t
always match but they complemented each other. It gave the store a
comfortable feel; a place where you wanted to spend some time just
looking around. “Isn’t this a lovely store?” I asked
Bernie.

“It’s a very nice store,”
she answered. “Too bad the proprietor isn’t as nice.”

“What do you mean?” I asked
while looking at a beautiful sideboard with a matching
mirror.

Just then a slender young
man wearing jeans, a grey blazer with patches on the elbows and a
dark blue tie made his way through the furniture. Pushing his
glasses up on his nose he said, “Hello, I’m Thomas Zeller. May I
help you find something?”

“Your store is beautiful.
I’ve already seen several items I’d like to have in my home.” If I
had a home, I thought. “But what I’m looking for is a beer
stein.”

“We have several steins,
let me show them to you,” he said with a sweep of his arm toward a
tall hutch with glass doors. Wine glasses filled three shelves. The
bottom shelf held several china knick-knacks and three squat,
colorful beer steins with pewter lids. None of them had the
Coca-Cola logo.

“Here’s a picture of the
stein I’m looking for,” I said handing him the picture Laura had
sent me.

When he looked at the
picture, his eyebrows crawled up his face toward his hairline and
his head jerked back as if he was trying to get away from the paper
in his hand. “This is not an antique! I would never carry something
like this.”

I pulled the paper from his
hand and put it back in my purse. “You don’t carry any
collectables?”

“Of course not. This is an
antique store,” he replied.

“Do you know where I might
find this stein?” I thought he might have some connections that
could be useful to me.

“Try a flea market.” He
said and stuck his nose up in the air.

“Okay well, thank
you.”

I looked at Bernie who just
shrugged and turned toward the front door. I began to follow her
when my eyes again went to the sideboard. It was a fat, heavy
buffet embellished with curly ques. Three slender drawers lined the
top front of the piece and were perfect for silverware. The three
deep drawers that sat under them could hold table linens. Two large
doors on each side would hold china and a myriad of
items.

“Just a minute, Bernie,” I
said and walked over to the buffet and when I ran my hand over the
dark wooden top I noticed the chocolate marble inlays. This piece
would look wonderful in a Victorian dining room. I patted the top
as if to say, “I’ll be back for you,” and made my way through the
other pieces to the door.

Outside Bernie said, “I
told you he wasn’t very nice. If he didn’t have a God-given talent
for procuring the best items and the ability to show them at their
finest, he’d have gone out of business years ago. Sorry, Jennifer,
snobs annoy me.”

“That’s okay, I have to get
going, do you want a ride home?” I was thinking that getting her in
my car would be a good time to talk to her. That way she couldn’t
get away from me.

She pointed toward her
bike, “Nope, have my own transportation.”

“I’ll call you later. I
need to talk to you.”

“I’ll call you, Jennifer. I
have a couple stops to make.”

Back in my car, I crossed
Zeller’s Antiques off my list. Zeller was a pompous ass, but he
sure had some beautiful furniture in his shop. I wanted that
sideboard. I really wanted that sideboard. All I needed was the
right home for it.

I stopped at Stanley’s
market and picked up some bread, milk and other items, then decided
to go home. I called Bernie’s apartment but there was no answer, no
voice mail either. How odd. Bernie never turned off her
old-fashioned answering machine. My phone rang almost as soon as I
snapped it shut. “Bernie, where are you?”

“It’s not Bernie, it’s me,
Megan. What the hell have you gotten yourself into now?”

“Oh, Lord, Megan I’m so
glad it’s you,” I said, relieved that she’d finally returned my
phone call. “Why didn’t you call me back last night?”

“It was late when I got
home. Your lights were off and I didn't want to wake you. What's
up?”

I told her about the events
of the day, then added, "Not only did I find a dead body but I
found a live one I don’t know what to do with.”

“You met a man? I’ll be
right over. Don’t go anywhere.”

Two minutes later she
bounded through my front door, slamming it behind her. Carrying two
wine coolers, she handed one to me and plopped down on my sofa.
“Okay, Sweetie, tell me all the goodies. Who’s the guy? Do I know
him?”

“His name is Jerry Decker.
He’s a cop, a detective, I think.”

“Oh, yeah. I heard about
him. One of the realtor’s in my office, Sherri, I think, found him
a house to rent. He’s only been here a few months. Word is he’s
hot. Is he?”

I described my reaction to
Jerry Decker and his winking at me as if we shared a secret. “I’m
so not ready for this, Megan. Help me.”

“Gee, Jennifer, I hate to
tell you this but there’s no help for a physical attraction like
yours. Either it wears off after a short physical relationship or
it moves into something more important. It depends on the character
and intentions of the participants.”

“Stop with the
psychological analysis and tell me what to do.”

“Jump in bed with him,
Sweetie. It’s the only way to get him out of your
system.”

“Megan, I certainly have no
intention of getting into bed with anyone.” I could feel my spine
stretch out as I sat up straighter. “Besides, he’s at least five
years younger than I am. And he makes me stutter.” I
wailed.

Megan had the nerve to sit
there and snicker. "Who cares about age these days? Don’t you know
it’s cool to date younger men? They call them cougars.” She laughed
and lightly punched me in the arm

“Who’s called
cougars?”

“Women who date younger
men—cougars. It’s fashionable to date young guys.”

“Right. I live to be
fashionable.”

“Face it, Sweetie. You've
got it bad already. The bug has bitten you.”

I could’ve slapped her.
Well, no I couldn’t. Not really. She’s my best friend, even though
she pulls no punches with me. But after so many years of Edwin’s
browbeating, I knew I didn’t want to get involved with anyone for
any reason. At least, not right now. “A cougar? Oh, good Lord,” I
groaned. “I’m not even divorced yet.”

“You know, Edwin isn’t
divorced from you either and he has no problem getting involved
with someone else.”

“Edwin is scum,” I
retorted.

“True. So, what about the
dead dude? What’s going on with that?”