by Diane Morlan
The two detectives finally came out of the building and walked over to Trudy and me. Detective Decker took out a small notebook and said, “Ladies, I need you to give me the names of people who knew the deceased.”
“Well, let’s see,” Trudy answered. “Besides my husband, Ray, there’s the other guys in the band. Clara Schmidt, our drummer and her husband, Vic. He plays the clarinet. Then there’s Bobby Reinhart. He plays the euphonium.”
“What the heck is that?” asked Detective Decker.
“A euphonium? It’s a small tuba. Don’t know much about music, do ya?” Trudy shot back.
Detective Decker sat down next to Trudy. As she mentioned names, he jotted them down in his pocket-sized notebook.
I sat there trying to look nonchalant. After all, I didn’t actually see anything. What other people had told me didn’t count. Isn’t that hearsay? If I didn’t say anything then I wouldn’t be lying. But Jacobs was too smart to let me get away with that.
“What do you know about this, Ms. Penny?”
“Nothing. I never saw that man before I almost fell over him. And please call me Jennifer.”
“Okay, Jennifer, talk to me. I heard a friend of yours had a fight with this guy yesterday.”
Where the heck had he heard that? He just got here. I looked at Trudy and she looked away, her neck and face turning pink, then red.
Standing, I touched my index finger to my lips, looking around as if to be thinking. “You must mean Sister Bernadine. I heard she had a little tiff with this Wes guy yesterday, but it was nothing.”
“Where can I find her?”
When Jacobs stared at me with eyes as dark as, I caved. Still trying to keep from telling him anything I said, “Gee, she could be anywhere. She works at the church and she volunteers at the battered women’s shelter. She has a sister in Mankato somewhere. I don’t really know.” I smiled up at him through my bangs, trying to look innocent.
“Jennifer, give me her phone number. Stop being difficult.”
“Okay, but please let me call her.” I didn’t want a cop to break the news to her. I opened my cell phone and pressed her speed dial number. When the call went to voice mail I said, “Bernie, you need to come over to the fairgrounds. There’s a problem at the Home Arts building. Come over as soon as possible. It’s important.” I hung up.
“She didn’t have anything to do with this, you know.” I gave Jacobs one of my sweetest smiles. He snorted and shook his head. He pointed to the park bench. “Sit.”
As I sat down I noticed Detective Decker with Trudy, talking to the musicians in Trudy’s husband’s band. I hoped Decker hadn’t seen my dewy rear. I wondered if I could sit here until he left. Fat chance of that.
Turning my head, I looked up at Lieutenant Jacobs and said. “I gave Sister Bernadine a ride home last night so she wasn’t even around here. Besides she’d never do anything to hurt another person. For heaven’s sake, she’s a nun!”
“Did you two come here together last night?” He asked, sitting next to me.
“No, I ran into her after I left my coffee booth.”
“Why did you need to give her a ride? How did she get here to begin with?”
Darn, I thought, this is one smart man. He handed me a sweaty bottle of water. I rolled it across my forehead and then twisted off the cap and took a long pull from the much-appreciated water.
“Okay, Jennifer, tell me everything. Let’s start at the beginning. What happened here yesterday?”
I took a deep breath and began to tell him about yesterday’s events.
3
Thursday
When Natalie Younger had strolled into the Home Arts Building with her little white clutch purse tucked under her arm, my first thought was to hide under the table. The woman drove me nuts. The fastest phone in the Midwest, she never heard a piece of gossip she didn’t hurry to pass on.
My coffee booth at the Polka Daze Festival sat in the prime location, across from the wide double doors. Most people, like Natalie, turned right and circled the perimeter. They checked out the crafts and merchandise for sale and then ended up at my booth near the end of the circuit.
Today you could buy handmade earrings, hand-blown glass figurines, and hand-painted and shellacked little wooden boxes. A crowd of on-lookers stood in front of a booth watching as a lady demonstrated how to make tiny dumplings called spaetzle.
A plump lady making lace in the booth next to mine called over to me. “Did you lose something, dear? Why is your head under the table?”
I straightened up while running my hand through my short chestnut hair. When ruffled, it tends to stand up on end. My friends say it makes me look like a frightened porcupine.
In the spirit of Hermann, Minnesota’s annual Polka Daze, the woman wore a blue and white dirndl, the traditional German dress. She looked ready to grab a bucket and milk a cow.
In contrast to my red “Kiss Me I’m German” t-shirt, her crisp cotton print dress flowed all the way to the floor with a white lace-edged bib hugging her ample bosom. Her hands zipped along, as she flipped wooden bobbins wrapped with white thread, making lace, her head nodding while I explained.
The front table of her booth was a cascade of lace. Doilies, table runners, lacy collars, baby dresses, shawls and wraps, even a tablecloth and a bedspread, all lacy and made of crochet thread, pearl cotton thread and fingerling yarn in a rainbow of colors.
I kept an eye on Natalie’s progress toward my booth. “I’m hiding from a lady I just saw. She’s a terrible gossip and I know if she stops at my booth, she’ll talk my ear off.”
“Oh, I see. You’re against gossip. Is it a religious thing?”
“Heavens, no! I love gossip. I mean, you know, I like to know what’s going on. Isn’t that shameful? But, Natalie’s so negative. She never talks about the good things that happen to people. It’s depressing to listen to her for more than a few minutes, but Lord forgive me—I'm easily sucked into a conversation with her. When my marriage went to the dogs, she blathered to everybody in Hermann that I was a terrible wife.”
Behind her booth a sign on the wall proclaimed “Trudy’s Lace Haus, Itzig, MN.” I hadn’t been to the tiny town of Itzig in twenty years. “Is Itzig still the smallest town around here?”
“Ach, yah. Two hundred twelve people. If we were in Europe it would probably be called a hamlet. But we’re only eight miles west of Hermann, so we shop here. We think of Hermann as ‘the big city,’” she laughed.
I laughed along with her. Hermann’s population is under 12,000, not what most people would consider a city of any kind.
While we chatted, Natalie bounced up to my booth. I stood behind my table, now only half filled with Primo Gusto Coffee Roasters bags lined up like dominos. Turning toward her, trying to look business-like, I hoped she hadn’t heard me complaining about her.
“Jennifer! What are you doing here? Is business so bad you have to hawk your coffee at a craft fair?”
I looked at her, so perfectly groomed with every hair in place. She was wearing cool green Capri pants and a white top with an appliquéd sailboat on it. Natalie looked as if she’d just finished posing for a Macy’s ad.
Unlike me, she had no coffee stains on her blouse nor did she appear rumpled in the heat. How do people like her stay so fresh and crisp? For cripes sake, she was wearing pumps at a fairgrounds! Who does that? I looked down at my soiled sneakers and recognized another reason I couldn’t stand her.
“Actually, Natalie,” I replied through clenched teeth, “It’s a great way for me to expand my customer base. This Columbian coffee is dark and strong. I call it ‘Dunkle Starke.’ Would you like a cup?”
“I suppose. Did you hear about Sister Bernadine?”
“Sister Bernadine? Did something happen to her? Is she okay?”
“Oh, she’s fine, just running off her big mouth again.” Natalie said. “She got into a loud fight with one of the musicians in the Windig Sangers Band and the guy called her the ‘B’ word.
Then she said even though he’d always been a less than honest person, she’d continue to pray for him. He got really mad, shook his fist at her, and told her he didn’t need her prayers and if she didn’t keep her nose out of his business, she’d be sorry. It’s a terrible thing to say to a nun, don’t you think?”
I gazed at her and shook my head. She sure could say a lot without taking a breath.
“How do you like this coffee?” I asked, trying to change the subject. I knew the nun’s temper and I didn’t want to hear anymore. “It’s a favorite of the people here at the festival. I just roasted the beans last night.”
Natalie took a sip from the paper cup. “This is actually good, Jennifer. I had no idea you knew what you were doing. Although it’s way too hot for coffee today.” She ran her index finger across one of the coffee bags, and looked at her fingertip. Guess she thought my coffee was dusty. “I’ll take a pound of this.”
While I put her purchase in a bag and wrote up the receipt, Natalie kept on yakking.
“I think you should talk to Sister Bernadine. That man looked downright mean. She never did know when to keep her nose out of other people’s business. Did you hear about Mrs. Reinhart, the high school counselor? Her daughter, Nancy is pregnant. I can’t imagine how embarrassing that must be for her. So, is your divorce final yet?”
“Not yet. I’d rather not talk about it, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course not, I understand. Are you still staying at Megan’s? I know she’s your best friend but I can’t imagine living with her. She’s such a smart aleck, it would drive me nuts.”
“No, I’ve moved into a townhouse across the street from her.”
“Oh, how nice. I heard that Edwin is seeing a younger woman. Marty something or another. Do you know her?”
“You know, Natalie, I’m kind of busy, can we talk about this another time?”
Natalie looked around to see if there were people behind her waiting. There wasn’t another customer in sight. Pursing her lips she said, “That’s fine, Jennifer. I suppose it’s hard to talk about it. I have to be going anyway. See ya.”
She grabbed her coffee, stuck it in a canvas tote with a slogan stating, “Everyone Loves a German Girl” over a black, red and yellow heart and swept through the double doorway. I turned toward Trudy, sitting in her bobbin lace booth, shrugged my shoulders and handed her a cup of coffee.
She took a tentative sip. “My, this is sure good coffee. I’m Trudy Neumann. I couldn’t help overhearing your friend. My husband, Ray, is the leader of the band she was talking about. She didn’t mention the person the nun had the argument with, did she?”
I thought for a moment, introduced myself and then said, “I’m sure Natalie didn’t know or she’d have made sure to mention it. I’m still amazed she liked my coffee. She’s told our friends I have a strange little hobby. If she only knew how much income this ‘little hobby’ generates!”
“Probably more than my little lace shop. It’s in a converted garage and is plum full of threads and needlework supplies.”
“I’ll drive over and check it out soon. Do you have classes?” I asked.
“Yah, Lots of classes. Customers need an excuse to drive over to Itzeg for supplies. I teach the crochet and tatting classes. Also bobbin lace making like I’m doing here today. My friend, Clara, she teaches needlepoint and counted cross stitch. We found a Swedish lady to teach hardanger and huck embroidery. We have it all covered except for knitting. I knit some but not enough to teach a class. If you give me your email address, I’ll put you on my newsletter list. Well, Clara will put you on the email list. I don’t know anything about those computers.”
“That sounds good to me,” I replied and scribbled my email address on a scrap of paper and handed it to Trudy.
“Ah, my dear,” she said. “There’s a price tag in your hair.”
I ran my hand through my hair again and my fingertips caught on a cellophane sticker. “Guess my hair cost $12.95.” I groaned, certain Natalie would find my messiness amusing.
“Is this the first year you’ve had a booth here? I don’t remember you from last year,” Trudy asked.
“Yes, this is my first year here or at any of the festivals around here. Mostly I’ve been selling my coffee to restaurants. But I just started an internet website and I thought these festivals and fairs would be a good way to get more individual customers.”
“Oh, there we go again, talking about computers. Sometime I think I live in a different world.”
“It’s really not so hard to learn, Trudy. They give free classes at the library. You should take one. Then you won’t feel so out of touch.”
“What a good idea. Maybe I will. Thanks, Jennifer.”
Trudy and I chatted between customers and browsers. “Ray and I live in Itzeg. We’re not on the farm anymore. Ray still farms but the house got too big when the kids moved out, so we moved to town.”
“It sounds like music is important to your family.”
“Oh, yah, Ray’s been playing in polka bands forever. In fact, we met at the Itzeg Germanfest, thirty-five years ago. My, the time goes by fast.”
“Oh, I remember Germanfest,” I said. “Does the festival still bring in more people than the population of Itzeg?”
“Yah, but there’s good things about living in a little village. I think our kids were safer there. At least none of them got in any trouble when they were growing up. They loved Ray’s music and still reminisce about all the fun they had as kids going to all the gigs with me and Ray.”
“I’m sure they have wonderful memories. Are they all grown up now?”
“Yah, and the girls all moved to Minneapolis. The oldest is in a rock band. Not my style but she loves it. I guess Itzeg was too small for them. But my boy, Charlie, he works the farm with his dad. He lives here in Hermann. I guess boys need their privacy.” Trudy brought her finger to her lips and looked up as if she was trying to remember something. “Ya know, I think Sister Bernadine might have been arguing with, the newest member of Ray’s band.”
“What makes you think that, Trudy?”
“I’m not sure but he’s somewhat of a hothead. Before we even set up this morning, I saw him arguing with the Fest Meister. And last weekend the band played at the local Elks Club. Wes blew up at Bobby, another guy in the band, for cutting in on him while he was dancing with this little blonde cutie. They weren’t supposed to be on the dance floor anyway, so Ray bawled out both of them.”
Trudy laughed. “Turns out the girl was Bobby’s sister, Bridget, and he didn’t want Wes anywhere near her. Right now Wes is bunked in at his mother’s house until he gets it all together, whatever that means.”
We were snickering when a slightly balding man with salt and pepper hair and a beer belly protruding over his lederhosen, came up to Trudy’s booth and handed her a Styrofoam box.
I was thinking about how silly these men looked with their knobby knees and hairy legs in the short pants. I wondered if the leather pants chaffed.
“Here’s your dinner, Honey. Are you sure you don’t want to just shut down and go home when the building closes at nine? I can get a ride with Vic and Clara.”
“And miss your accordion solo at the nightly closing ceremony? Not on your life!”
He patted her shoulder, and grinned my way. “She’s totally devoted to me.”
Trudy said, “Jennifer, meet my husband, Ray.”
Ray shook my hand. “Nice to meet ya. Has Trudy been talking your ear off?”
“Not at all. She just told me what a great band you have.”
“Yah, she’s my biggest fan.” We chatted for a few more minutes, and then Ray left to return to the band and their evening performance.
Around the dinner hour only a scattering of customers were strolling through the building. I sold a few more pounds of coffee and Trudy had a flourish of business with some women who spoke broken English until Trudy answered in German. They laughed and chatted in the mother tongue while Trudy
tallied up their purchases.
After they left, Trudy turned to me. “Those women were either musicians or spouses with one of the bigger bands. They’ll go to several other festivals around the country before going back to Germany.”
“I see,” I replied. “Perhaps that’s why they didn’t buy any coffee. It probably wouldn’t be very fresh by the end of summer when they return to Germany.”
“No, they just want to save their money to buy jeans. They each buy a suitcase full of blue jeans to take back to Germany every year. I guess jeans are very expensive there and all the teenagers want them. They sure didn’t mind drinking your samples, did they?”
“Maybe they’ll find it so delicious that they’ll come back and buy some from me.”
“Yah, sure they will.” Trudy laughed.
Sally Baumgartner, my most reliable part-time worker, came to relieve me around five o’clock. As usual, she bounced in with a greeting for everyone, ready and able to do whatever I asked of her.
“Hi, Sally. Is that a new vest?” I asked.
“Yes, it’s new,” she answered. “Do you like it?”
“Of course I do. Where do you get them? They’re so attractive and unusual”
“My grandmother, who was born in the Ukraine, makes them for me. I used to think they were awful and refused to wear them. Lately I noticed how beautiful and unique they are and got the idea of making them part of my personal style.”
“They certainly are unique and this one really looks great with those earrings.”
Her chunky wood earrings, dangling almost to her shoulders, were a perfect complement to the brown vest embroidered with bright red and yellow flowers.
“I made the earrings. Do you really like them?”
“I do. I don’t know where you find the time to make jewelry with all your activities. You’re the busiest girl I know.”
Sally blushed a little, obviously pleased with the compliment. “I guess we just make time for the things that we find important.”
“Well, not to put more on your plate but have you ever thought of asking your grandmother to teach you to make those vests? You could sell the vests with matching earrings at festivals like this. It might pay your way through college.”
