by Diane Morlan
“Yes,” she said a puzzled look on her face. “What’s going on?”
“I’m Detective Decker. I need to ask you a few questions. Would you mind coming down to the Sheriff’s Office with me?”
“I guess it would be alright.” Looking at me she asked, “Has something happened?”
Decker gently touched her shoulder and guiding her toward the squad car, he said, “I’ll explain everything. We need to go now.”
With that, Detective Decker swooped her off to the Sheriff’s Office for questioning. Jacobs left me sitting outside the Home Arts Building again while he questioned a bunch of other people. I shamelessly eavesdropped as Jacobs questioned Trudy’s husband Ray.
“Don’t you think it’s a pretty big coincidence that Wes, a member of your band, was killed right next to your wife’s booth?”
Ray replied, “I don’t know what Wes was doing in there. Trudy had nothing to do with this. She was with me.”
“When was she with you, Ray?” Jacobs asked.
“All night. She came to the big tent about nine o’clock to watch me play and we went home together from there. We didn’t even stop to eat with the rest of the band. Trudy was tired. It was a long day for her.”
“Where does the band usually go to eat, Ray”
“The only place that’s open at that time of night. Dottie’s Diner.”
“And all the other band members went there last night?”
“I don’t know. We went home. Trudy was tired.”
“What about you, Ray? Were you tired, too? Or did you go out for a little drive after your wife went to sleep?”
“No! I never left the house until I came here this morning to drop her off. I don’t even start playing until eleven.”
When he finished with Ray he turned to a sandy-haired lanky young guy.
“Are you Bobby Reinhardt?” Detective Jacobs asked.
Since they were a little closer to me, I leaned forward, tipped my head down and put my hand on my forehead. In this position, I could hear what was being said and hoped I looked deep in thought instead of surreptitiously listening.
Jacobs asked. “So, how well did you know Wes?”
“Not very well.”
“Come on, Bobby. This is Hermann, everybody knows everyone else here.”
“Yeah, well, I knew him. I knew he was a jerk, but I didn’t hang with him or anything.”
Jacobs made a note in his little notebook. “Heard you two banged heads a couple times.”
“Yeah. He was dancing with my sister the other night and it pissed me off. She should know better.”
“What should she know?”
“That Wes is—was—an ex-con. I don’t know why Bridget always goes after those types of guys.”
“What type is that, Bobby?”
“Bridget calls them bad boys. I call them jerks.” Bobby’s lip curled on one side.
“Okay. I heard you also had some words with him about your girlfriend.”
“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?”
“Oh, Megan, it was awful seeing that bloody body. We need to find the fool who killed this Wes guy to get Bernie off the hook.”
“Bernie? You mean both of you are involved in this mess? I don’t know how you get mixed-up in these things, Jennifer. Why do you even have a coffee booth at Polka Daze? You said you go
t an offer to sell Primo Gusto?”
“Oh, I did, but I just don’t know what to do. One day I feel that I can’t refuse the offer that company in Seattle made me, then I don’t know how I can part with it. In any case, my lawyer says to wait until the divorce is final to make a decision so Edwin can’t get any of the profits."
“Didn't he sign off on the incorporation so he couldn't be held liable for your debts?” Megan asked
“Yes and he hasn’t been any part of my business. But, if I sell before the divorce is final, he may be able to get some of the money I receive from the sale.”
"Well, then you'd better wait to sell. You built the business, with him fighting you every step along the way. He doesn't deserve to get any of the profits.”
“I’m not even sure I want to sell. Primo Gusto is like my child. It’s complicated.”
“Isn’t everything? But you were interested in selling before Edwin left you. Maybe you just need it now while you heal. Promise me you won't make a decision until you work out your feelings about the divorce and where you want to go from here.”
"I was getting some pressure from the company in Seattle that made the offer but I put them off until after the divorce, so I have some time to decide what to do,”
“That’s good. Okay, what do we have to do to help Bernie?”
I watched as Megan downed the last of her cooler. I had only taken a few sips of mine.
“When Bernie and I were walking toward our cars after the keg tapping, this guy ran into us. He almost knocked Bernie down. I think it was Wes.”
“Why do you think it was Wes?” Megan asked.
“Because he was tall and he hid his face and who else would try to knock down a nun? When Bernie got to her car she found both tires on the driver’s side were flat. They weren’t cut, just flat. I think Wes let the air out of them.”
“That’s no help. If this Wes dude flattened her tires, it gives her more reason to knock him off. We need to find out what the argument was all about.”
“Okay, so where were you last night? Is Don in town?” I asked. Don Dahlberg was Megan’s current love interest. An airline pilot, he was only in Hermann a few days a week, which is probably why the relationship had lasted for over three months.
