by Diane Morlan
Mellowed out from the schnapps, wine cooler and a few bites of funnel cake for supper, I slid down the picnic table bench to talk to Sally. Just then, she jumped up and headed for the back of the stage. A young man with a boyish grin came down the steps, flipped open a cooler and took out a long necked bottle of Leinenkugel beer. He popped it open, took a big swig and then grabbed Sally, spinning her around in a circle. I recognized Bobby from yesterday when Jacobs was questioning him.
They were laughing, their noses touching when I got up to make my way out of the tent along with about eight hundred other fest-goers.
When I finally made my way through the crowded exit, I strolled along the roadway toward the parking lot. Metzger’s meat truck made its way through the Fest Grounds. Under the streetlight, I saw Al and sitting next to him was a blonde I recognized as one of the Polka Princesses. A little young for him, I thought. Why do men always seem to chase after the young ones, I pondered.
I peeked into the mid-sized tent. There was a band onstage playing, of all things, country music. This must be the German band from Texas. I listened for a while looking over the crowd. I spied Natalie Younger sitting with a group at a ringside table. Everyone was drinking draft beer from plastic keg cups, except Natalie. She poured her beer into two keg cups from a bottle of Leinenkugel.
What was with people drinking Wisconsin beer? They must have brought it with them because the only beer sold here was Schueller beer, brewed right here in Hermann. She handed one of the cups of beer to the man next to her. His back was to me so I couldn’t see who it was. A man in lederhosen with salt and pepper grey hair. It might be the Fest Meister but from the back it also looked like half the men here at Polka Daze.
Too tired to call Megan, I went over things in my head on my way home. Why did Marty come to the Fest Grounds Thursday night? What about Al? He kept turning up everywhere. Sally didn’t want anything to do with Wes. Why? I wanted to call Detective Decker but what would I say? That Sally didn’t like Wes? That’s not a motive. Maybe I just wanted to talk to the sexy detective. Not paying attention as I drove down the empty street, I daydreamed about Detective Decker and his delicious mouth.
A dark vehicle pulled up next to me. Thinking it wanted to pass, I slowed and pulled a little to the right.
As the vehicle came abreast of my car, it swerved closer to my front fender. I moved over more, barely staying on the pavement. It moved in closer. I hit the brakes and twisted the wheel to the right. My Honda shot up the curb. I braked to a stop at the foot of a massive old Sugar Maple. My head lurched back, hit the headrest then bounced forward. I heard something in my neck pop.
By the time I caught my breath and looked for the vehicle that had forced me off the road, all I could see were two red dots disappearing around a curve.
I dug in my leather purse for my cell phone and called 9-1-1. Again.
13
When a Hermann police officer arrived, she took notes while I told her I thought it was a truck, van or SUV that had run me off the road. “I don’t know the color but it was dark and larger than a car.”
“Have you been drinking?” She asked.
“I was at Polka Daze. I had a wine cooler.”
“Just one?” She raised an eyebrow, my signal that she didn’t believe me.
“Actually, I also had a schnapps shot. And some funnel cake.”
“Okay. Let me get the breathalyzer and check you out. Just for the record.”
The breathalyzer was painless but embarrassing. She told me the number, but it didn’t mean a thing to me. “You’re fine. You passed,” she said.
Thank goodness for that. All I needed was to have to call Megan to bail me out of jail.
We both turned as a shiny Dodge Ram with a flashing light stuck at an angle to the roof came to a screeching halt behind the cruiser. Detective Decker jumped out and grabbed me by the shoulders. “Are you hurt? Do you need an ambulance? Who did this?”
“I don’t know, no, and I don’t know. What are you doing here?”
He stuck his thick hands in the pockets of his tight jeans and kicked a pebble with his shoe. I noticed he wore a wrinkled t-shirt and no socks. “I was listening to the police scanner at home and heard your name.” His head came up and he scolded me. “I told you to be careful and now look what happened.”
“Hey, I was just driving home from Polka Fest. Don’t get all parental on me.” I shot him a look that told him to shut up.
I repeated the whole story again for his benefit. “Now will you help me get my car back on the road?”
“Why don’t you let me take you over to the hospital and have a doctor check you out?”
“I’m fine. All I need is a hot shower and a good night’s sleep.”
Detective Decker gave me that smirky grin again but didn’t suggest that he help me with those chores. “It doesn’t appear your car is damaged but you might want to have it checked out tomorrow. I can’t believe the air bags didn’t go off.”
I thanked the police officer, waved at Decker and drove away. In my rear view mirror, I saw Decker pull out behind me. He followed me all the way home. When I turned into my driveway, he cruised up behind my Honda and got out of his truck.
“Sorry I yelled at you before.”
“Oh, that’s okay. I’ve been married, I’m used to it,” I said, trying to sound cute.
“I hope it hasn’t turned you against all men. I worry about you.”
“Why?” I asked. “You don’t even know me.”
He grabbed my shoulders again, this time more gently. “I’d like to. Can we have dinner soon and start to get to know each other?”
Dinner? What’s with all these dinner invitations? I sure didn’t look like a needed a meal.
It looked like Megan had been right. He was attracted to me. Well, how about that, I thought. I almost laughed out loud and then remembered Bernie.
“I can’t. You think my friend killed Wes and I know she didn’t. You won’t even look anywhere else.”
“What makes you think we aren’t looking at anyone else? Did I ever tell you that?”
No, he hadn’t. I just assumed they were going to pin this on Bernie and I was the White Knight who would need to come to her rescue.
“Who else are you looking at? Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
“You seem to like to jump to conclusions,” he said, a smug look on his pleasing face. “What makes you think I can share confidential information with you?”
“Fine. Don’t tell me. I’ll keep looking for myself.” I turned to walk away when he grabbed my arm and swung me around.
“You are an exasperating woman. I can’t tell you anything about an open case. But I can tell you that you’re right or wrong if you ask me about something in particular.”
“You’re just trying to find out what I know. Okay, ask my about-to-be-ex-husband what his new girlfriend was doing talking to Wes, her ex-husband, by the way, on the night he was killed.”
Good grief, I had begun to sound like Natalie Younger.
“Marty Fischer was at Polka Fest the night Wes was killed? Guess we’ll have to have another talk with her.”
So, they had been looking for other suspects. Good, but it still didn’t take Bernie off the hook.
“Give me your cell phone,” he said.
“What for?” I asked, digging in my purse for it.
He took my phone and punched in some numbers. “If you need me just push ‘four’ and ‘talk’.”
I took back the phone he handed to me. About to say something about a donut run, I decided, for once, to keep my mouth shut.
“Okay, now will you go out with me?” Jerry asked.
“Not until we find out who Wes Fischer’s real killer is and you admit Sister Bernadine is innocent.”
Jerry stuck his hands in his pockets again and looked me right in the eyes. “I’ll hold you to that,” he said. He turned and walked away, wiggling his fingers over his shoulder. Nice broad shoulder. N
ice butt, too.
When I ran the conversation through my head again, I deduced that the deputies had talked to Marty. And she’d lied to them about being at Polka Fest. Maybe she didn’t lie. Maybe she omitted information that would make her look guilty.
The detectives might talk to her again but I needed to know what she had to say. The cops sure weren’t going to tell me anything. And I still had to get a look at Bernie’s grade book and talk to Sally.
Thank goodness I had organized my coffee roasting schedule to delegate the roasting to several college students. I hired three students to come in on the weekends to help me do the roasting. Each Friday I put up a schedule that notes when and how much coffee we need each day for the following week. It also notes where the coffee will go, for restaurants and other establishments that buy my coffee, as well as the fairs and festivals I attend. The students make sure there is enough coffee roasted and bagged to meet the demand. It worked out surprisingly well. Unless, like today, there is more demand than usual.
I had arranged for Sally to take the first shift so she would open the booth at Polka Daze tomorrow morning. That would give me time to snoop around Bernie’s office. I knew she would be at Mass from seven to eight o’clock.
When I pulled off my shirt, I noticed powered sugar sprinkled over the front. Good grief, Detective Decker must think I’m a slob, I thought. Maybe it hadn’t shown up in the dark. I grabbed an icepack from the freezer, pressed it to the back of my neck and climbed into bed. Tonight I was wearing a silky chemise I had dug out of a box in my closet this morning. I set my alarm, again thinking about Jerry Decker while I drifted off to sleep.
14
Sunday
I swallowed a couple ibuprofen caplets before getting out of my car in front of St. Theresa’s Catholic Church, greeting several people I knew attending the ten o’clock Mass this Sunday morning. While the others went straight into the nave, I took a sharp right turn, grabbed a bulletin and glanced over it as I headed down the stairs, looking for the classroom where Bernie and her volunteers teach catechism classes on Saturday mornings.
I had planned to be here while Bernie attended the seven o’clock Mass. It would have been much easier to sneak into her office while she was upstairs. But my neck hurt so bad when I woke up that I took some ibuprofen and went back to sleep.
Oh, crap. An announcement in the bulletin stated that Bernie would be teaching a special class for the next several weeks during the ten o’clock Mass for the second graders who were studying for their First Communion.
Now I had to sneak around the church basement while Bernie taught a group of second graders in the classroom next to her office.
When I came upon a solid door labeled “Sister Bernadine Lenhert, Director, CCD,” I looked both ways, then listened for Bernie.
“Okay, children, settle down. Let’s start with an easy question. What is Holy Eucharist?”
“I know, I know, I know. Pick me, Sister.”
“Alright, Patrick. Tell us what the Holy Eucharist is.”
“It’s communion! See I know.”
“Yes, it’s communion, Benny. But it’s also a sacrament. So, class, what is a sacrament? Mary?”
“It’s something Jesus gave us to get grace.”
“Right, Mary. Do you know what grace is?”
“Yep. She’s my auntie.”
Okay, those kids were going to keep her busy for awhile. I slowly turned the knob on the office door. Knowing Bernie’s trusting manner, I guessed the door wouldn’t be locked. It slid open soundlessly. I slipped into the room, closed the door, leaned against it and began to breathe again.
A trickle of sweat ran down my cheek and not from the morning heat. The only source of light in this crowded little room came from a small window set high on the outside wall. I didn’t dare turn on the lights. Although there was no window in the door, light might seep out under the door and give me away. I gazed around the closet-sized room.
It was a tight fit for the chair between the desk and the wall. Bernie might be skinny enough to fit there but I could only stand next to the desk and reach over. I yanked the drawer handle, almost jerking my arm out of the socket. A throbbing pain snaked up my neck. The ice pack I had put on my neck after the car accident last night hadn’t helped much. The door was locked. Damn. Oops. Guess I shouldn’t be cursing in church.
Bernie’s attempt at security was pitiful. I opened the center drawer of her desk, reached way in the back until I felt the keys. I drew them out and opened my hand. On a red carabineer hung an “O” ring with two keys. The larger key had a tag marked “Supply Cabinet” in Bernie’s neat script. I grinned, looking at the small key, labeled “File Cabinet.”
Footsteps echoed down the hall. I stood stock-still, my breath caught in my throat. They tapped right past the office door without hesitating. I let out a sigh and as I turned to go back to the file cabinet, I dropped the keys.
Down on my hands and knees, I searched under the desk, squeezing between the desk and wall and over the chair legs. The area under the desk was as dark as pitch. I couldn’t see anything. I kept feeling around until my hand finally touched the metal. I grabbed them and got up, wondering why I couldn’t see the bright carabineer under the desk.
I opened the top file drawer, then went over to the door and opened it a crack. I listened for Bernie, to make sure I was still safe in here.
“How many sacraments are there?” Bernie asked.
I heard Benny’s voice shout, “A whole bunch!”
I shut the door and riffled through folders until I found a thick file labeled “CCD Class Attendance Records.” Pulling out the Teacher’s Roll Book for the year of Wes’ arrest, I began to run my finger down the list of eighth and ninth graders. I heard a toilet flush and footsteps came my way again. Two girls giggled and whispered as they walked past the office door. I stood stock still. This fear couldn’t be good for my heart.
When the footsteps faded, I held the book up toward the little window and quickly scanned the attendance record. I gasped when I came to the second name on the ninth grade list—Baumgartner, Sally.
That explained Sally’s attitude toward Wes. But it made Bernie look even more suspicious. Being fearless, Bernie wouldn’t hesitate to confront him and tell him off. Could she have been protecting Sally and things went wrong? No, I refused to believe Bernie could do something like this. But could Sally? I sure would like to find a suspect I didn’t like. Like Marty.
Putting the book back in the folder, I locked the file cabinet. I pulled the desk drawer open and shoved the keys toward the back. Tiptoeing to the door, I opened it an inch and peeked out into the hall, looking for someone waiting to catch me. All clear.
“Very good class. You’re learning. But you have to study this week. First Communion is in eight weeks and you have to know the answers to these questions.”
I dashed down the hallway. My shoes tapped on the steps as I ran up the stairway. When I reached the top, I turned toward the music and knelt down in the back pew. I needed some divine guidance with this problem.
I left Mass before the final blessing, I needed to get an ice pack on my neck. I had just closed the door behind me when I heard my name.
“Why Jennifer, I’m so glad to see you at Mass. Did you leave early?”
Oh, crap, busted. “Hi, Bernie. Yes, I had a little accident last night and my neck hurts. I need an ice pack.” I always think it’s best to lie as close to the truth as possible.
“Jennifer, what happened? Can I help?”
“No, no. I’m fine. I got run off the road last night on my way home from the Fest Grounds after the closing ceremony. But I’ll be fine.”
“I thought the Home Arts building closed at nine o’clock? Why were you there so late? Were you out festing with Megan?”
“No, I just wanted to talk to a few people about…stuff.”
“Jennifer, are you sticking your nose into this investigation? Didn’t the police tell you to stay out of
their way?”
“Yes, and so did you. But I can’t sit around and watch the cops haul you off to jail. I have to do what I can to help.”
“You can best help by keeping your nose out of this. It will all work out. I’m sure no one really believes that I could kill someone. For heaven’s sake, Jennifer. I’m a nun!”
“I know. I said the same thing to the cops. A lot of good that did.”
“Just let it be, Jennifer. There are things that don’t need to come out. Things that could hurt innocent people.”
“Bernie, I’ll do my best to keep from hurting anyone but you have to know that I’m willing do whatever it takes to prove that you’re innocent.”
“You may be willing, Jennifer, but you don’t know how much some of the things you do hurt other people. Please stay out of this. You’re not the police. It’s not your job to prove anything.”
I gave up, said goodbye and walked to my Honda. I’d just have to try and stay out of her way until this was over. I hated lying to Bernie. Not just because she was a nun, but because she was one of my best friends.
When I got to my Honda, I noticed the bags from the Christmas Shop in the back seat. I’d try to remember to take them in the next time I stopped at my townhouse.
Before I went over to the Fest Grounds, I decided to stop at Glessner’s German Store. I knew they would be open on Sunday, because of Polka Daze.
Glessner’s was exactly the opposite of Bavarian Haus. Roomy floor space with open tall display towers spaced so it was easy to move between them around the store. The glass shelves held Hummel figurines, clear glass plates, platters, vases and decanters.
