by Diane Morlan
“You know, Jennifer, you need to talk to Marty. Edwin won’t be any help there so you also need to find a way to get to her when Edwin’s not around.”
“I’ll think about that. But I plan to find Sally at the big tent tonight while she’s watching the Windig Sangers and find out what she knows about Wes. I don’t even know the time Wes was attacked. I guess we’d better find that out first or nobody’s alibi will make any sense. How do I do that?”
Megan suggested, “Why don’t you drop in at Maron County Sheriff’s Department and see if Lt. Jacobs would tell you the details. He probably won’t, but you can’t receive if you don’t ask.”
“Good idea. I’ll drop in when I leave here tonight. What are you doing tonight? Want to go with me?”
“I’d love to, but I’m waiting for a call from Don. I think he’s out west somewhere. Las Vegas, Los Angeles, some Las-town.”
“Okay, I’ll call you tomorrow after I go to church.”
“Don’t get caught breaking into Bernie’s office. I still think you’re nuts.”
“Well, Bernie won’t have me locked up, but I’ll be careful. See you tomorrow.”
I closed up the coffee booth around eight o’clock, an hour before the building closed. It was Saturday night and the Fest Grounds were filled with young adults who wanted beer, not coffee. I grabbed the bags from the Christmas Shop and made my way through the throng of young people to the parking lot.
The old brick building that housed the sheriff’s office, jail and county court rooms and offices sat in the center of town. An old cannon graced the park-like yard in front of the old building. I pulled into the parking lot at the side of the building and climbed the steep stairs of the main entrance, wondering whatever happened to accessibility. I grabbed the door handle but before I could pull it open, it flew outward, almost knocking me over.
“Watch it!” I shouted.
“Ohmygod, I’m sorry. Are you okay?” Detective Decker grabbed me and held me as I tilted backward toward the stairs.
I began to yell at him when I remembered why I wanted to talk to him. “Detective Decker, I’m okay. You can let me go now.”
He smiled down at me but kept one beefy arm around my not so tiny waist. “Can I help you?”
“Well, actually, you know, I have a question for you, I mean ...” Good grief, what happened to my college education? I sounded like an idiot. I told myself to get a grip.
His concern turned to amusement and when he grinned down at me, I grabbed his arm and flung it away. “Detective Jecker, I mean Decker, did you find out the time of death?”
“Whose death? What are you talking about?”
“How many murders are you investigating? This is the first one here in years. I’m talking about Wes Fischer.”
“Did you know Fischer?” He asked while avoiding my question.
“Not while he was alive. But you guys are trying to pin this on my friend and I need to know when he was killed.”
“Playing Jessica Fletcher, Ms. Penny?”
“It’s Jennifer,” I replied, thinking he could’ve said Nancy Drew. Did he have to pick the oldest mystery sleuth besides Miss Marple? “I would like to know if I might have been with Bernie when someone else killed Wes. Unlike you, I know she didn’t do this.”
“You may be a good friend, but that doesn’t make her innocent. Were you with her between midnight and 3 A.M.?”
“No,” I said. “I was home tucked in bed.”
“Alone?” he asked that smirky grin back on his gorgeous face.
I pretended not to hear the question. “Did your Crime Scene people get any DNA?”
Decker chuckled and then he answered me. “Jennifer, you watch too much television. It takes five to ten days to get DNA identification. That is, once the lab techs get to it. The backlog at the Minnesota Crime Bureau Lab is about three months right now. And what would we do with the results once we get them? There has to be a suspect to run them against. Think Sr. Bernadine will let us swab her cheek? ”
“I don’t know,” I sputtered. “What about fingerprints? They would show that Sr. Bernadine wasn’t even in that building.”
“Could be. But, there were thousands of fingerprints in that building. Even if we had some specific prints, we can’t stick them in a scanner and have the computer spit out the killer’s name and picture in thirty seconds. It just doesn’t work that way.”
“This is so frustrating.” I stamped my foot and turned to leave.
“Jennifer, be careful,” he said, hands on hips. “This isn’t a game. There is a murderer out there. You could be in danger playing detective.”
“I’m not playing at anything. I’m just asking a few questions.”
“If you find out anything important, you need to tell me. Don’t put yourself in jeopardy.” He actually sounded concerned.
12
I used my expert multi-tasking skills to I back out of the parking space, call Megan and, when I had the car headed back to the Fest Grounds, write the time of death in my new little notebook while steering the Honda with my leg.
“Megan, why is he acting so concerned about my safety?”
“Maybe he isn’t acting. It’s apparent he’s as attracted to you as you are to him.”
“This is getting so complicated. I don’t have time for this right now. I need to concentrate on getting Bernie out of trouble.”
“Your mind might be telling you that, but your heart and some other parts of your body are trying to convince you of something else.”
I groaned, shaking my head in an effort to get my mind back on the problem. On Thursday night, Polka Daze had closed up at eleven o’clock. There would be no witnesses at a deserted Fest Grounds between midnight and three o’clock in the morning. Trudy might have noticed if Wes left alone or with anyone after the closing ceremony. I’d ask her later.
Right now, I headed over to Primo Gusto to roast extra coffee for tomorrow. On the last day of Polka Fest, vendors always had a brisk business with the out-of-towners picking up items they had been looking at all weekend. I needed to email an order to my supplier for several different coffee beans. Business had been better this weekend than any other festival where I had set up shop. All this because of Wes’ murder. How gruesome.
It was late when I finished roasting, cooling, and bagging the coffee and was almost eleven o’clock by the time I pulled into the Fest Grounds’ parking lot.
The big tent overflowed with people of all ages. There were at least eighty picnic tables plus the bleachers in the back of the tent, all filled with revelers. Over a thousand people enjoyed the music on this sweltering, muggy Saturday night in July. Three colossal barn fans moved the air around but it didn’t feel like it helped much. Drinking beer and a lot of it seemed to be the way people were coping with the heat.
Some of the young guys at one table had built a pyramid with upside-down plastic beer cups. I stopped to look at the tall plastic edifice. One kid reached up to put another beer cup on top and the whole structure tumbled down on their heads. They laughed uproariously in total disregard of the time and effort it had taken to build it.
Young women in dirndls wove through the crowd with palettes of plastic shot glasses, selling schnapps for a dollar. The band on stage played “Edelweiss” while the whole crowd swayed to the music holding beer glasses above their heads. By this time of night most of the music included audience participation. As soon as the song ended, the singers sat down and the band started up with the “Chicken Dance.” People swarmed to the aisle, flapping their arms and clucking.
Laughing, I pressed through the crowd to the beer wagon and ordered a berry wine cooler. It took forever to get through the crowd to the picnic table next to the stage where Trudy, Sally and several other women sat. They shouted a greeting over the loud music and moved together to make room for me to sit down.
One of the women plopped a funnel cake covered in powered sugar on the table. The merrymakers dived into it. I couldn
’t believe these people were eating sweet funnel cake and drinking beer. You gotta love those Germans.
A pretty girl wearing a dirndl and blonde braids sashayed up to our table. She held out a board that had little holes in it. Plastic shot glasses were nestled in the holes. “Root beer shots, anyone? Only one ticket.”
I threw out three tickets and bought one for Trudy, Sally and me. Sally downed hers while Trudy and I sipped ours.
When the next song began, we watched Frank, the Fest Meister and the Polka Princesses marching through the tent, grabbing up people and making a long snaky line. Then the Fest Meister and the Polka Queen turned, joined hands and made a bridge for the marchers to go under. As soon as they cleared the bridge, they turned and put up their hands until all the participants had gone under. Then they turned and marched back through the crowd.
I thought I heard Trudy whisper. “Smarty pants.”
“Did you say something, Trudy?” I asked.
“No. Well, ya, I did,” she said turning to me. “That Frank thinks he’s so important,”
“Why don’t you like him?” I asked.
Trudy pulled herself up and said, “I’ll tell you why. About five years ago, he quit his perfectly good job at the pizza factory and got his brother to quit his job at Stanley’s Supermarket. They put all their savings into that meat market. Frank was such a penny-pincher that Ida, his wife took a part-time job. She told a friend of mine that she just wanted to be able to buy some new clothes. Then Ida died right before they bought the meat market. I think she was just worn out. He thinks he’s better than everyone else. He’s been that way since high school.”
“But the business is successful, isn’t it?”
“Well, yah, because of Al. I think he does most of the work. I think Frank used Ida’s life insurance to buy his share of the meat market. I just don’t like him.”
“I don’t know, Trudy. His private life is his business. I think he’s nice. And he sure is a great Fest Meister.”
I finished my schnapps, feeling weird drinking from a small plastic cup like those used at church for Communion wine.
“Who is taking Wes’ place in the band, Trudy?” I hadn’t realized until now that Wes’ death left the band short one musician.
“For now we just have people from other bands filling in when they can. Before Wes joined the band a girl from Itzeg played the trumpet. But she got pregnant and had to quit. She said for every pound she gained she lost more breath. Couldn’t do the riffs anymore.” Trudy laughed and stuck a piece of funnel cake in her mouth and washed it down with her beer. “The young ones, they come and go. Ray said without Clara and Vic, the band would had never lasted this long. But we keep finding new talent and it helps the young ones get some experience, too.”
During the break between the last band and the grand finale, I asked Trudy about Thursday night. “Did you see Wes talking to anyone after their set?”
“No, not anyone special. Some girls always talk to the younger guys. Of course the Fest Meister and one of the Princesses were talking to him during one of the breaks.”
She tapped her finger on her chin. “You know, I remember there was someone. This good-looking lady talked to him during one of the breaks towards the end of the evening. Must have been around ten-thirty. A tall woman, with amazing reddish-brown hair. Long, thick hair, past her shoulders. They were intense and Wes kept shaking his head and grinning at her. Then she stomped her foot, turned, and marched out of the tent.”
My mouth dropped open. I was too stunned to speak. Trudy had described Marty. Edwin said she got in about eleven but did she leave later to confront Wes? Why? Did he have something on her? Did she want something from him? Shoot, the more questions I ask the more questions that came up. I would never get this figured out.
I sat there thinking for awhile before I became conscious of the fact that I had been munching on funnel cake and drinking my wine cooler. Sort of a tasty combination. Who knew?
I attempted to brush powered sugar off the front of my shirt and slid over closer to Sally, thinking I could talk to her.
Just then, a tall, lanky man threw a leg over the picnic table between Trudy and me. Straddling the picnic table bench he said, “Hey, ladies, I’m here. Have you been waiting long?”
The ladies at the table laughed and, believe it or not, Trudy actually blushed. The lady who had bought the funnel cake just frowned then turned her attention toward the bandstand and ignored all of us.
He pulled his other leg over and deposited his beer bottle on the table. “Has anyone seen my brother?” He asked.
Trudy said, looking around, “He was just here. Over there with the Princesses. I wonder where he went.”
One of the ladies at the table said, “He might have gone to another tent. The Hermann Minnesangers are performing at the next tent right now. Maybe he wanted to hear them.”
“He’s only heard them most of his life,” remarked Trudy.
Grinning at me, the sandy-haired man said, “Hi, I’m Al. Hey, didn’t I almost run over you the other day?”
“Watch out, Jennifer, he’s a heart breaker,” Trudy warned me.
“Don’t believe a word she says,” Al replied. “She’s secretly in love with me, but don’t tell Ray.”
Everyone at the table laughed then went back to watching the bands on stage. I shook my head while checking out this attractive guy with light green eyes and tousled blonde hair. He flashed me an alluring smile.
“Yes,” I replied, “I’m the one who fell in front of your truck. Thanks for helping me pick up my coffee bags.”
“No, problem. I’ve been waiting for a beautiful woman to fall for me.”
“That is the most pitiful pick-up line I’ve ever heard. Aren’t you going to ask me what my sign is?”
“Naw, don’t need to. I know we’re compatible.”
Without that smile, he never would’ve gotten away with such silly lines. But, he was so cute all I could do was laugh.
“Ah, Jennifer,” Al said, holding my left hand between his, probably checking to see if I was wearing a wedding ring. “Lover of peace.”
“What? How do you know what my name means?”
“I know all sorts of things, Jennifer. I know I’d like to go out with you. Can I have your number? Can I call you?” A hank of hair fell over his forehead as he flashed that grinned at me again.
I felt my throat constrict. I hadn’t been asked out since college. My nervous laugh was a wee bit shrill as I squeaked out an answer. “Jennifer Penny. I’m in the book.”
He kissed the back of my hand and then stood up, bowed at the waist and said, “’Til we meet again.” He grabbed his bottle of Leinenkugel and melted into the crowd.
“Wow! What was that all about?” I asked Trudy.
“Oh, that’s just Al. He’s harmless. Well, to us married ladies. You’d better watch out though. He loves the ladies. He has a whole bevy of women who are in and out of the meat market all day.”
“Maybe that’s why his business is successful,” I said, laughing. “He flirts with them and they buy pot roasts just to see him. Pretty simple business plan.”
“I think he does more than flirt, Jennifer,” Trudy warned me. “He’s a real ladies man.”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m not even divorced yet and I’m certainly not interested in getting involved with any man for a long time—if ever.”
“Yah, sure. I’ve heard that before,” Trudy the Sage replied, picking up her cup and draining the last of her beer.
She was probably right. First gorgeous Detective Decker, now this fine-looking guy. Maybe being single wasn’t so bad after all. Jennifer, stop! I told myself. You do not want to go there. And I didn’t come here to flirt with men or try to figure out my life. I was here to help Bernie.
“I don’t mean to eavesdrop,” said the lady who had bought the funnel cake. “But Wes and Al didn’t get along when they were kids.”
“They didn’t?” Trudy and I both
replied at once.
“Man, they were always at each other. In high school Wes made the varsity football team but Al was just a second stringer, a bench warmer. When Wes got kicked out of school for having drugs in his locker, Al got moved up. We all figured that Al ratted out Wes or maybe even planted the dope.”
“You went to high school with Wes and Al?” I asked.
“Yeah, I’m Della. Della Younger.”
“Younger? Are you related to Natalie?”
“Unfortunately. She’s my aunt. My dad is her older brother. How do you know her? Not that anyone in town doesn’t know her.”
“We went to St. Theresa’s together, first through eighth grade. Were you in the same class as Wes and Al?”
“No, I was a year behind them. I dated Al when I was in tenth grade. We broke up because he couldn’t keep his eyes and hands off the other girls in school. I dated Wes in my junior year. He was already out of school. I didn’t go with him for long. He was really possessive and besides he got into trouble all the time. My folks were having a fit about me going with a guy who was on probation. When my mom heard about Wes being killed she said that he probably got what he deserved. Not very sympathetic, my mom.”
“Do you think that Al could’ve killed Wes?” I asked.
“Why? I doubt they’ve even spoken to each other in years. Wes just got out of jail. Besides, didn’t that nun kill him?”
“No, she didn’t.” I bristled. “I’ve known Sister Bernadine most of my life. She could never hurt another human being.”
“Whoa, sorry. I’m just saying what I heard,” Della put up her hands in defense.
“Oh, I know. I’m just so tired of everyone talking about her.” I patted Della on the arm and thanked her for the information.
I turned to Sally to ask her about Wes and Bobby but she shushed me when the music started and the closing ceremony began. The mood changed from merry to solemn. Each band played the National Anthem of the country they represented. There were German bands of course, but also Austrian, Tyrolean, Swiss and several other bands from small countries in Europe. Even the Canadians came down for the celebration. When the Windig Sangers and a couple other American bands started the National Anthem, the entire audience stood with hand over heart and sang along. By the time we got to “home of the brave,” all the revelers at our table had tears on their cheeks.
