Head in a Haymow

by Chris Seaton

  “But not a rope.” Agent Wyatt was looking outside again, knowingly repeating what he had just read. “And not with bare hands.”

  “Correct,” Melonie answered. She nodded to the folder, slightly annoyed she had to recite her work. “In my professional opinion the weapon had a considerable length and decent width but a very thin profile.” She looked pointedly at Agent Wyatt. “Similar to your tie,” she finished.

  He looked back at her and didn't like the way she was observing his throat. He picked up the folder as he stood and held out his hand in a gesture of camaraderie, despite whatever evil fantasy the ME might be playing out in her head. “Thanks for your help.” He shook her slightly sticky hand. “Please leave a message on my cell and at the motel when the Tox comes in.”

  Melonie registered surprise at his statement. “I figured you'd head back to Mad Town until I heard from Wausau.”

  “There's too many people to question,” he reasoned, “starting with Abernathy's father-in-law and co-workers over at West Side Auto.”

  Agent Wyatt nodded a salutation and let himself out.

  After checking messages, getting mail, and refilling her water bottle from the tap, Bernice decided to get it over with and head over to West Side Auto with the truck.

  She knew going anywhere near that place was going to get her in trouble, but with the mood she was in she just didn't give a shit anymore. It was starting to look like you couldn't whip a dead cat without hitting someone who had a beef with old Herb.

  It kind of reminded her of Agatha Christie's book, Murder on the Orient Express, where it was revealed that everyone had motive to kill the victim. In fact, as she made her way down the long dirt driveway that led to the garage & salvage yard, Bernice was wondering who else in her life would kill Herb.

  How about her dental hygienist? She seemed clueless enough to be one of Herb's pickups from the bar, and she scraped on people's gums for a living, so you knew she had a mean streak.

  The unmistakable sedan with the state law enforcement plates waited like a bad omen by the office door. Bernice parked in front of one of the large open garage doors instead and turned off the engine. She jumped out and walked directly into the garage. She saw the lift, piles of new tires, boxes of various filters and parts, but no human beings to speak of. She didn't have to guess where they all were. She could hear Agent Wyatt's low crisp voice through the walls.

  So she hopped back into the open cab of her truck, sipped at her water bottle and waited.

  Sooner rather than later, they all emerged from the office side door into the garage. An older man came out first. Bernice guessed he'd be Margie's dad. Agent Wyatt followed him, and a very young man came out along with Bernardo at the last.

  She watched Agent Wyatt stop in his tracks and stare her down like an angry rhino. She didn't flinch. “Give it your best shot,” she thought.

  He actually had to audacity to shake his finger at her. He stated rather crossly, “I'll deal with you in a minute.”

  Bernice couldn't help but smirk at this display. “Take your time,” she offered and shrugged, which only made him glare even more. He followed the older man out the back door.

  Bernardo walked up to her truck as Bernice jumped back down. “You know that guy?” he asked concerned.

  Bernice waved him off, mumbling, “Long story.” She handed him her keys.

  Bernardo tossed to keys to the young man. “Set the truck up on the first lift and check the struts.” The young man nodded as he shyly glanced at Bernice and climbed into her truck.

  “Who's the kid?” she asked as they walked out into the sun.

  “That's Chet's grandkid. He's been working here summers and weekends for the last few years.” Bernardo watched the kid maneuver the truck onto the lift and commented with pride, “You're in good hands. He's a heck of a mechanic.”

  Bernice decided to broach. “So that's Herb and Margie's youngest?”

  Bernardo regarded her with more caution as he nodded. “You know about Herb?”

  She watched Agent Wyatt re-enter the garage before commenting, “More than I want to, believe me.”

  The young man came back, wiping the grease from his hands. “Definitely a strut,” he told Bernardo.

  Bernardo made proper introductions. “Mark, this is Bernice.”

  Mark bashfully put out his hand. “Hi,” he mumbled.

  Bernice shook his hand and smiled. “So how long you thinkin', Mark?”

  Mark looked back at the truck as he answered. “I think we got that make and year in the back somewhere. Might take some time to get it out though.” He looked at her feet as he continued. “Maybe by four or five?” He looked up at Bernardo, questioning.

  “Sounds about right,” he agreed then Bernardo asked Bernice, “You need a loaner for the day?”

  Bernice started to nod when she was interrupted.

  “That won't be necessary.” Bernice turned around, intent on giving Agent Wyatt a review of the meaning of sexism, but she found he had already dismissed her and was talking to Chet. “I'll be back this afternoon to drop off Ms. Hordstrom. Please have those lists ready for me.”

  Chet nodded with undisguised distrust and hostility. In fact, all three men looked like they wouldn't offer him water if he was burning alive. Agent Wyatt ignored them and gestured to Bernice to accompany him to his car.

  Bernice stood her ground for about three seconds then finally rolled her eyes at him and relented. “Later, Bernie,” she yelled over her shoulder and got in the car.

  The three men stood in the dirt driveway and watched them leave. Bernice wondered what they were thinking.

  A good minute passed in the car with neither of them offering anything that resembled a conversation. Finally Agent Wyatt asked, “You hungry?”

  Bernice couldn't help herself. “Not for egg whites,” she answered her window.

  “Fine,” he grumbled to the windshield, “you pick then.”

  “Oh, I get a choice now?” she asked sarcastically. “Then I want to go home.”

  “Your aunt there yet?” he quietly inquired.

  “No. So what?”

  “Then no,” he stated flatly.

  Bernice turned to him. “Why the hell not?”

  Agent Wyatt carefully pulled up to the stop sign before turning to her. There was no illusion to his demeanor. “Because if I spend any more time alone with you, I will not be held responsible for my actions.” He gripped the steering wheel and concentrated on his lap. “Pick,” he demanded.

  “Dottie's out on the highway. Take a left,” Bernice told him then looked away. They didn't make any more eye contact until Agent Wyatt pulled into the busy parking lot a short time later.

  Dottie's was a sprawling complex that consisted of two large pole structures sutured together. Doing so combined the butcher shop with the gift shop, convenience store, and restaurant. Dottie was the name of the owner's first and favorite cow. Legend has it, when she “passed on”, the family would cry at the dinner table every time they had beef.

  Agent Wyatt and Bernice were seated in a booth with an obnoxious print of the “Moona Lisa” hanging on the wall, judging their conversation with her bovine coquettish smile.

  Bernice buried her face in the laminated menu and ignored her lunch companion.

  He wasn't having it. “What's good here?” Agent Wyatt wondered aloud, leaving his menu untouched on the table. He watched Bernice instead.

  “Everything but the salad,” she snidely answered him.

  Their grey-haired waitress returned with their mandatory glasses of ice water. Bernice finally set down her menu and smiled up at her. Upon spying the Guest Check pad in the woman's hand, she dutifully recited, “Bacon cheese burger, well done, a slice of coconut cream pie, and a glass of milk.”

  “Onions?” the waitress asked.

  “No thanks,” Bernice answered.

  The waitress nodded to her then looked at Agent Wyatt with her pen poised.

  “How ar
e the pork chops?” he asked vaguely.

  The waitress gave him a queer once over. “They butchered three hogs this morning,” was her idea of an answer. For some reason it wasn't whetting his appetite.

  “I'll have what she's having,” he relented.

  The waitress scribbled once more on her notepad and gathered the menus. She sent a suspicious glance at Agent Wyatt and walked away.

  “Their pork chops are tasty,” Bernice commented softly as she arranged her silverware. “You should have taken a chance.”

  Agent Wyatt assessed her as he asked, “You eat here often?”

  “I've been here a few times,” was her vague disinterested answer.

  “With Roger?”

  He got her attention that time. “What?” She looked up, clearly annoyed.

  “Have you had a dinner date here with Roger?” he repeated.

  “No,” Bernice enunciated with feeling.

  “Then where do you eat with Roger?” he continued.

  “We don't,” she countered.

  “You don't eat?” He questioned, confused.

  “We don't date,” she hissed, slouching in her seat.

  “I don't understand,” Agent Wyatt remarked. “Are you two seeing each other or not?”

  Bernice was glaring then, her arms crossed defensively. “Is he a suspect?” she asked.

  “Not yet,” he answered evenly.

  She shrunk away uncomfortably from the scrutiny. “Then why are you asking?”

  “Because I need to know.”

  His request was released in a husky voice that brought her back to his attention. She searched his face, recognizing the need but feeling helpless as to what to do about it.

  “Here's your pie,” the waitress barked, setting two heaping plates on the table along with their glasses of milk. “The burgers will be up shortly.” She walked away.

  Nothing more was said even after the waitress came back with the burgers. However, they soon realized that didn't help. Too much meaning could be conveyed in the mere looks that were exchanged across the table.

  Bernice finished her first bite of burger and washed it down with a glass of milk. After swallowing, she remarked, “He didn't do it, you know.”

  “Who are you talking about?” Agent Wyatt asked, chopping his pie into little pieces.

  Bernice eyeballed him. “Bernardo. Just because he's got a record, it doesn't mean he killed Herb.”

  He gestured with his fork, questioning, “You know about his record?”

  Bernice shrugged like it was nothing. “He showed me his prison tats one day at the farmer's market. He mugged a woman in East St. Paul when he was a gang banger, but that was a long time ago.”

  Agent Wyatt lifted his eyebrows in an air of skepticism. “And now you believe he's a changed man?”

  Bernice was losing her patience again. “I believe human beings have an innate ability to adapt to their surroundings, good or bad.”

  “And Herb was bad, right?” He hit a nerve with her and decided to see where it would go. “He cheated on his wife, he owed people money, he embezzled from his boss-”

  Bernice poised her fork in mid-air, stunned. “What?” she cried.

  “Mr. Torrensen found out Herb had been skimming the till for years before he disappeared. It tore him up, knowing his own son-in-law was stealing from him.” Agent Wyatt scoffed bitterly at the absurd look on her face. “And your good buddy Bernie kept his mouth shut because Herb threatened to frame him for it, and he didn't want to go back to jail.”

  He looked at his burger but shoved the plate away, losing his appetite. “This case is getting more snarled than a damn rats nest. Herb was apparently such an ass that I have more suspects and motives than...well...”

  “Than you can whip a dead cat at?” Bernice smirked into her milk.

  Agent Wyatt smiled back but there was a perplexity with it. He brought up what was eating at him.

  “Why'd you give it up?”

  Bernice knew what he was talking about but pretended not to. “What?”

  “Oh, come on,” he goaded. “You already know I checked up on you. You were a TV news reporter in Minneapolis.”

  Bernice concentrated really hard at dissecting the coconut filling from the shortbread crust of her pie. “Sometimes you just gotta know when to quit,” she offered up lamely.

  “You broke one of the biggest stories wide open. I bet you were getting phone calls from the network. That doesn't sound like the time to quit to me.” Agent Wyatt's voice stayed level, but his curiosity was eating him alive. “I just don't understand.”

  Bernice's phone rang obnoxiously. “And that's probably why I'm not telling you.” She ended the subject and answered the phone. “Hello?”

  “Mark got your strut in but says your joints need greasing and your oil looks like molasses. You want us to take care of that for you?” Bernardo didn't bother identifying himself.

  “Well,” Bernice hemmed and hawed, “Darlene would kick my ass if she knew I was paying someone to change the oil, but she's not here so what the hell. Tell the kid to have at it.”

  “Great, okay then, Bernie, we'll get that done for ya.”

  “Hey Bernie,” Bernice stopped him, repeating their nickname game. “I was wondering something, if you don't mind me askin'.”

  There was some hesitation on the line, but Bernardo relented. “Shoot,” he said.

  “Did you ever happen to see someone come into the shop just to see Herb. You know...of the female persuasion? Maybe kind of classy, out of place?”

  “You mean, like a Lady?” he inquired.

  Agent Wyatt was sending her dirty looks as he made quick use of his burger. She turned away from his scrutiny and continued her phone conversation. “Yah, really dolled up, you know, maybe driving something foreign?”

  There was hesitation on the other end of the line then the sound of a file cabinet and papers. Bernardo made a low raunchy whistle. It kind of took Bernice by surprise.

  “What's that?” she asked.

  “I almost forgot about her,” Bernardo revealed. “She was a real number. Looked you over like she knew what she was doing, you know?” That was emphasized by a nasty snicker.

  Bernice cringed. “You got a name, Bernardo?”

  “Jessica,” was his answer, “like the cartoon character with red hair and everything. She came in one day on route with a flat tire, and Herb took care of her after that.” There was a knowing pause. “I think he was giving her the company discount, if you know what I mean.”

  “I'm afraid I do,” she remarked, flatly. “So whatever happened to her? She been back recently?”

  “Nope. She kind of left when Herb did.”

  “Hmm.” Bernice's brain started buzzing like those flies around Herb's head.

  From her phone she heard, “Are we done?” She could tell Bernardo was tired of the reminiscing.

  “You dug out her invoice, right?” Bernice glanced back up at Agent Wyatt. He acted engrossed in his pie pieces, but she could tell he was listening.

  “It won't do you any good. It's only got her first name, and she billed the only invoice we ever had to some company. Herb covered her every time after that.”

  “And the name of the company?” Bernice stole Agent Wyatt's unused napkin and poked him, mouthing for a pen. He looked really irritated but managed to produce one from his coat pocket.

  “It's really weird,” Bernardo continued. “She put down The Wheel of Life.” He chuckled at this. “Sounds like a fancy way of saying, 'manure spreader', you ask me.”

  Bernice snorted but killed her good humor when Agent Wyatt cleared his throat obnoxiously. “You're probably right. Thanks, Bernardo. Why don't you go ahead, rotate the tires and top off the fluids while you're at it. We'll see you at five.” She hung up the phone and scribbled on the napkin.

  As she offered back Agent Wyatt's pen, she was presented with a tall sitting man with crossed arms looking very vexed at her. She put the pen on the ta
ble and stuck her tongue out at him, just as the waitress was coming with their check. “Ma'am,” Bernice asked on impulse, “you got a yellow pages we could borrow quick?”

  “Yah, I'll be right back.” The waitress looked less than thrilled to be waiting on either one of them at the moment.

  “Anyone ever tell you that you're a rude dining companion?” Agent Wyatt still looked vexed.

  The waitress plopped the heavy yellow tome on the table. She scooped up Agent Wyatt's credit card and left.

  “Darlene would be in absolute agreement with you,” was Bernice's only explanation. She flung the flimsy pages of the phone book with intense concentration.

  Just as Agent Wyatt was about to replace his pen, Bernice snapped it up from the table and scribbled more on his napkin. He huffed at her in abject disgust.

  The waitress delivered the credit card and receipt and retrieved the phone book in the process.

  Despite Agent Wyatt's lack of good humor, Bernice smiled oh so sweetly and presented his pen.

  “This day is just getting better and better,” he grumbled, snatching it back.

  She continued to smile and even cooed at him, teasing, “You know what you need?”

  The loaded question only darkened his features as he watched her and waited.

  She held up the scribbled napkin and displayed it like a map to a buried treasure. “You need a day at the Spa.”

  Chapter 9

  Bernice had really hoped that filling him in on their way to the Wheel of Life Wellness Center would remove the unattractive scowl that clung stubbornly to Agent Wyatt's face. If only things came that easily.

  “So we're on this ridiculous errand because you somehow believe that this Jessica was a business partner with Herb?”

  “Oh, I think she was more than a business partner. I think they were having an affair.”

  The scowl remained. “Well, I kind of figured that part out. She was screwing him for free auto repair. That doesn't make them partners.”

  Bernice joined him in the ugly faces contest. “A woman like that does not frequent a dirty repair shop just to get favors from the marginally attractive manager.” She looked away out the window, replying more carefully, “I've heard from more than one person that Herb came into a lot of money right before he disappeared.”