Too Dead To Dance (9 page)

“It was more than awkward,
Mom. The second night they were here, Ken and I went for a walk
before we went to bed. When we went past their cottage we heard
Daddy yelling at her. Marty was yelling back and I could tell she
was crying, too. It sounded like they were arguing about money. I
could hardly look at them at breakfast the next
morning.”

“I’m sure you were your
usual polite self, dear.”

“Polite, yes but not
friendly. I was relieved when they left. I love him and was really
looking forward to his visit but I wish he had come
alone.”

“Beth, have you thought
that maybe he was looking for your approval?”

“My approval? When did I
become the parent?”

“These things are very
complicated. Our emotions get all mixed up with our expectations.
Just hang in there. It will all sort itself out. Try to be patient
with him.”

“I don’t know what to do
when he wants to come up again.”

“I’m sure you and Ken will
figure it out, Beth.”

“Mom, do you think you and
Daddy will get back together?”

“No, Honey, it’s over for
us. Too much water under the bridge and all that, you
know?”

“Yeah, I know. Part of me
would like things to go back how they were. But, I think you’re
happier now that he’s out of your life. Are you seeing anyone? I
mean, it’s none of my business, but—”

“No, I’m not dating, yet.
But I probably will eventually. I’m just not ready to get involved
with anyone yet. I’m enjoying the freedom to do as I
please.”

“Well, when you start
dating, find a guy like Ken. Then you can still do as you please.
He’s the best.”

After we hung up, I found
the Facebook Home page and set up my account. Beth was right; it
only took a few minutes. I spent the next hour looking for people I
knew and sending out friends requests.

I finally remembered to
call Nick. When I punched his number into my cell, it went right to
voice mail. Nick must have turned it off. I left a brief message
asking him to call me when he got a chance. And since I was still
sitting at the computer desk, I sent him an email briefly
describing the events of the day and asking him if he’d ever run
into Wes during his summers in Hermann.

I set the phone down and
jumped as it immediately rang. Caller I.D. showed it was Bernie, at
last. “Are you okay?” I asked without even saying
“Hello.”

“I’m fine, Jennifer. Just
tired and cranky. I wanted to let you know I finally got out of the
sheriff’s office. Right now, I’m on my way over to the rectory.
Father Werner wants to meet for ‘a little talk.’ I can only imagine
how unpleasant that'll be.”

“Can’t you put him off
until tomorrow? You must be bushed.”

Father Werner, old,
stubborn and cantankerous, ruled his dwindling realm with a heavy
hand. Most of the people involved in the parish were volunteers.
Only Sister Bernadine and three administrative assistants were on
the payroll.

“No, you know how he is.
I’d just as soon get it over with, or I’ll worry about it all
night. After he bawls me out, I can go home and get some sleep.
I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

I couldn’t think of
anything to say, so I thanked her for calling and let her go. I dug
receipts from expenses and sales out of my purse. As usual, I had
been stuffing them in my purse for the past week. I needed to enter
them into my ledger so my accountant didn’t give me another
lecture.

I knew I needed to send out
“past due” notices to several restaurants whose payments were
overdue but it was a task I didn’t relish. A few businesses were
always late in paying me. The restaurant business could be dicey.
One day they are the “in” place to go until next week when diners
move on to another place. Also, when the economy fluctuates dining
out is the first thing people cut in order to save money. I’m good
about making arrangements with these businesses and had kept my
customers while they went through tough times.

I heated up some left over
sweet and sour pork in the microwave and half-heartedly ate some
supper. My drink of choice is hot coffee with a dollop of cream.
Although in theory I’m generally against caffeine-free anything, I
chose to go the caffeine-free coffee route this late in the evening
or I’d never get to sleep. I kept thinking about Bernie being so
stubborn. Why was she being so secretive about the fight with
Wes?

And what about this
Detective Decker? Why was I so attracted to him? I went back to the
computer and Googled his name. I found several articles in the
Chicago Tribune about him. Sergeant Decker received several awards
for bravery from the Chicago Police Department. He’d been involved
in the Chicago Boys Club and several other local youth
programs.

It appeared that he was
quite involved in his job and his community. Why would he leave
there to move to Hermann? Further down I noticed a story about a
trial that took place about a year ago. One of the witnesses was
Detective Jerome Decker. What had happened to Sergeant Decker, I
wondered. Checking Wikipedia, I found that in Chicago a Detective
isn’t a ranking officer. It appeared that Detective Decker had been
demoted. Curious, very curious.

My eyes were starting to
cross, I was so tired. I’d have to search for more information
about Detective Decker another time. I turned off the computer and
went to my bedroom. I donned my Betty Boop pajamas and thought
about what I would be wearing if Jerry Decker were here. “Stop!” I
told myself, I didn’t need those images in my head keeping me
awake.

9

Saturday

Reaching into the trunk of
my Civic, I pulled out the folding crate cart I had picked up at
Office Max on my way to the Fest Grounds. I swore I’d never use one
of these wire “granny” carts my mother had embarrassed me by
pushing all over town. I was grateful when I found this file box on
wheels. I couldn’t deal with lugging heavy boxes across the Fest
Grounds one more time. I looked down at my shoes and although the
bleach had taken out the bloodstain, I could still see it. I
thought I might have to go shopping soon and get another new pair
of sneakers.

To my surprise, without the
struggle of carrying forty pounds of coffee bags, I enjoyed the
hike across the Fest Grounds. Potted flowers were everywhere.
Bright red azaleas, purple hydrangeas, and salmon-colored impatiens
danced in flowerpots lining the walkway and clustered at the
entrances to tents and buildings.

Workers were setting up
their food stands and the smell of flowers mixed with the odor of
hot grease. I turned the corner and had the Home Arts Building in
sight when I heard someone call my name.

“Jennifer, wait up! I want
to ask you something.”

I knew that voice. Damn.
“Hello, Natalie.” I said, catching myself from calling her Greta.
“I’m in a bit of a hurry. I seem to be late.”

She skipped into step next
to me. Today she wore an azure tank top neatly tucked into her
spotless, crisp white Capri pants, and again sported patent leather
pumps. Once more I felt dowdy in faded blue jeans and a t-shirt
that read “Hard Polka Café, Hermann, Minnesota.”

“No problem.” Natalie
chirped. “I’ll just walk with you. So, what’s up? Did Bernie whack
that musician or what?”

“Bernie did no such thing,
Natalie. And don’t you go spreading rumors either.”

“Why, I would never do
that, Jennifer. You know me, I‘m the soul of discretion. But I
heard she’d been arrested and taken off to jail. I knew something
was going on when she got into that fight and now the guy turns up
dead. At your booth, of all places.”

“Natalie, you sure can
twist things around. The deputies wanted to ask Bernie some
questions. She hasn’t been arrested and is now at home.”

“What about the dead guy?
He’s the one she had the fight with, isn’t he?”

“
That little disagreement
had nothing to do with Wes being killed. And I have no idea why
whoever killed him decided to do it in the Home Arts
Building.”

“Maybe it was someone who
has a booth there. I mean, besides you.”

“Maybe whoever did it
wanted to meet with him in private. It certainly didn’t have
anything to do with my coffee booth or me. Excuse me.” I turned
into the building and ignored her until she went away in a
huff.

I thought of that old
television show “The Honeymooners” where Jackie Gleason says to his
wife, “One of these days, Alice, pow, right in the kisser.”
Sometimes I would love to smack Natalie.

I reluctantly stepped into
the Home Arts building. I wouldn’t have much time to set up before
the doors opened. But, I didn’t think we’d have much business today
anyway. My nose itched when the scent of pine cleaner wafted toward
me. Clicking bobbins announced Trudy roosting on a cushioned stool
in her booth. I greeted her and asked, “Who cleaned up the
mess?”

“I think Frank Metzger and
some of the maintenance crew got the clean-up job. Guess being Fest
Meister includes some nasty duties.” She chuckled as she sat
flipping bobbins and making lace. “It’s about time he did something
useful.”

“What do you mean?” I
asked. “He’s always hustling around here and he told me he owns a
meat market. That must keep him busy.”

“Being the Fest Meister is
just for fun. Cleaning this place is probably the most work he’s
done all week. Polka Daze is his excuse to be away from the butcher
shop. He never spends much time there anyway. His younger brother
is half owner and Al does most of the work. Frank just stands
around, looking important and shootin’ the bull with folks, if he
decides to show up at all.”

“Well, I think he’s nice.
He sure helped my yesterday,” I said, wondering about Trudy’s
attitude toward the Fest Meister.

I didn’t think there would
be much business today. Who’d want to go shopping where a murder
had occurred? I sat down and punched “2” on my phone’s speed dial
to call Megan. I thought I’d call and ask her to wait to call
Bernie, in case she might sleep in after meeting with Father Werner
last night.

Suddenly, the doors opened
and people flooded into the building. Hanging up before Megan
answered, I started waiting on customers. I stayed busy for the
next two hours and sold all fifty pounds of coffee.

When we got down to twelve
bags of coffee, I called Sally Baumgartner and asked her to run
over to Primo Gusto to roast more coffee and get over here with it.
I thought people would stay away from something as gruesome as a
crime scene. Instead, almost every one of my customers asked for
details about the murder. Creepy.

When Sally finally arrived
with more coffee there were still about a half dozen people waiting
in line. We finally served everyone and I turned to Sally. “Thank
you so much for your help. I hope I didn’t take you away from
anything important.

“No problem, Ms. Penny. I
was just eating breakfast when you called. I didn’t have any plans
for today before my shift here.”

“Would you mind staying a
little longer? I’m starved.” I asked.

“Go. Eat. I’ll be fine
here.”

I grabbed a sausage and
some hot German potato salad to eat from the brat wagon. The
parents of Hermann’s hockey team set up a trailer to sell bratwurst
at every event in the area. Hockey is the most popular sport in
Hermann and the hockey jocks are more popular than the football
team, although some of the high school students play on both
teams.

I called Megan, anxious to
see if she got any information out of Bernie.

“I tried my best, Jennifer.
But that is one stubborn woman. She’s exasperating. She kept
insisting that what she knew was confidential. I don’t understand.
She’s a nun, not a priest and a frustrating nun, too.”

“Megan, you know it won’t
do any good to badger her. She won’t change her mind and she’ll get
mad at us for prying. We’ll have to try a different tactic to get
her spill the beans.”

“I don’t know what else we
can do. She isn’t going to tell us anything.”

I took a sip of my Diet
Coke to wash down the brat. “No wonder the cops think she knew more
than she admitted about the murdered man, she did. We need to
figure a way to find out what she knows.”

“Okay, Miss Detective.
Where do we go from here?”

“I’m thinking, Megan. Give
me a minute.” I took a bite of my bratwurst. A strange breakfast at
10:30 in the morning but a better choice than the mini-donuts or
deep fried cheese curds that were for sale at the food stand across
from the brat wagon.

“Megan can you meet me at
Primo Gusto in about an hour?”

“Sure, what
for?”

“Start by roasting some
more coffee, please. I’m going to need more for tonight. And while
it’s roasting can you do an internet search? See what you can find
out about the Windig Sangers and the people in the
band.”

“I can do that. I can also
call a couple people who go to the local taverns where they play.
I’ve seen them a couple times but you know how Don is about polka
bands.”