by Diane Morlan
I dropped the bags. Luckily, I was standing on the grass not the driveway and the bags thumped but I didn’t hear any glass breaking. Megan rushed to my side of the car.
“What’s wrong?” She asked, grabbing the note from my hand. Megan read the note then looked at me. “Who wrote this? Where did it come from?”
“I don’t know who wrote it. It was in one of these bags.” I picked up my parcels and walked across the street.
Megan trailed behind me. “Where are you going? What are you going to do about it?”
Stopping in the middle of the street, I turned and answered. “I’m going to put these bags in my house. Then I’m going over to talk to Marty. Are you coming with me?”
“Of course, I’m with you all the way. Shouldn’t you call Decker and tell him about it?”
“No. He’ll just tell me to keep my nose out of it before I get hurt.”
“Maybe he’s right. This is getting ‘way too scary.”
“I don’t care. I’m angry.” Waving the paper in her face I replied between clenched teeth, “How dare someone break into my car and leave a note like this for me. Who does this person think he is?”
Megan took the bags from me and said, “I’ll put these in your house, get the car and we’ll go to Marty’s.
16
We drove the familiar route to Winfield Heights, a newer subdivision on the east side of Hermann. When we pulled into the driveway of the house on Willow Street where I had lived for the past four years, a pain ripped through my chest and I had to blink fast to hold the tears back. I spied the red and white “For Sale” sign stuck on a post in the front yard and my lips quivered.
“I thought Edwin had listed the house with you,” I said to Megan.
“Nope. He went with Hermann Realty. You know, now that I think about it, I’m pretty sure Marty’s brother works there.”
“Well, that’s just great. I’m not using my part of the profits to pay for the realtor. He’ll have to fight me for it.”
We climbed the three steps to the little front porch and rang the bell.
I remembered when we had moved here, Edwin was unhappy with his transfer. He felt as if he'd been demoted, even though he was now head of the accounting department with a substantial pay raise. He’d lived all his life in Chicago suburbs and believed we were now living among hicks, in a small town with no “culture.” Not that he ever attended anything cultural in Chicago, unless you count an occasional Bears game when someone gave him tickets.
While he grumped and groaned about everything for the first year, I spent that time turning our new two-story home into a “House Beautiful.” I had wanted us to buy a classic old Colonial Revival right in the heart of Hermann but Edwin wanted to live in a “classier” part of town. And since I believed that he made the forty mile commute so I could live near my friends, I gave in. I usually gave in to Edwin. I didn’t seem to have any trouble standing up to friends and strangers but for some reason Edwin intimidated me.
I finally gave in to his brow beating for this two-story home with a three-car garage stuck right in front as if the cars, not people were most important. Edwin had a patio built in the back yard and declined to sit on the tiny front porch. He said he refused to look like Farmer Brown, sitting in a rocker, drinking moonshine. Instead, he sat on his patio drinking inexpensive Merlot, which he hated but was all the rage at the time.
I rang the front door bell again and waited for Marty to answer. I was sure she hadn’t accompanied Edwin to church. He was trying to keep the fact that Marty was living here low key. I thought if his reputation was so dear to him perhaps he shouldn’t behave like a louse.
When Marty opened the door, wearing a jewel colored wrap and looking good, even with her hair all tousled, I regretted not thinking of how we wanted to approach Marty about the questions I needed answered.
“Uh, hi,” I said, trying to sound upbeat. Too bad it sounded squeaky. “Could we talk to you for a few minutes?”
Marty stood up straighter, took a deep breath and said, “Look, Jennifer, Edwin’s not here. Can’t you just wait for a few days until I’m out of here before you come back? I’ll be gone soon.”
“Marty, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Why are you leaving?”
“Oh, crap. Come on in.” Marty opened the door wider and turned. She walked down the hall to the kitchen where I had spent so much time in the past four years.
I peeked into the rooms as we passed them. The dining room looked the same as always, but the living room was different. It held the same furniture but it had been rearranged. In fact, I had to admit, it looked better with the sofa on the outside wall and the armchairs cozying up to the fireplace. I had never been able to make that room look comfortable and Marty accomplished it by just moving the furniture around. I was impressed.
I sat down at my ‘50’s style red and white kitchen table. Marty sniffled. “Edwin and I had a terrible fight. He accused me of taking advantage of him. I only put a few things on his charge card and if he didn’t want me to use it, he shouldn’t have left it on the counter. Then he accused me of sneaking around behind his back.”
“I’m sorry Marty. I don’t want Edwin back. I’m here because my best friend is being accused of killing your ex-husband. Is there anything you know that could help us clear her?”
“Why should I care about your friends? Wes was a bully. Maybe she did us all a favor. Where the hell am I going to live? I gave up my apartment to move here. Damn. I should’ve known better. Men are such nincompoops.”
I did my best to keep a straight face as I returned the conversation to the reason we had come here. “What were you and Wes arguing about the night he was killed? I heard you talked to him at Polka Fest.”
“So, it was you who told Edwin that I didn’t come right home from Jazzercise. He’d just gotten the Visa statement and it put him over the top. Now I have to find a job and a place to live. Thanks a lot.”
“Was Wes involved in the bank robbery where David Baumgartner was killed?” As long as she hadn’t thrown us out, I figured I may as well ask.
She heaved a big sighed and then her shoulders relaxed. “I don’t know. I always thought Wes had been in on that bank robbery. He wouldn’t admit it and I sure didn’t see any of the money. But he was acting real crazy. He’d peek out the front window while standing behind the curtain. He’d jump a foot if the phone rang and wouldn’t let me answer until he checked the caller ID. He got locked up about two months later. I thought that it was because of the stalking that made him so crazy.”
I was about to ask another question when she started talking again.
“When he was sent to St. Cloud Penitentiary he told me to wait for him and all of our problems would be over when he got out. He kept hinting that when he was paroled we would’ve a great life together. That’s when I started to connect him to the bank robbery. And that’s what I was talking to him about Thursday night. If he had some money, I deserved my share for putting up with him. But he was still mad because I didn’t wait and divorced him while he was in prison. What a jerk.”
I decided not to tell her she had a habit of falling for jerks. Before I could think of anything else to ask her, she stood up and told us goodbye. We followed her to the door and before I could thank her, she shut the door. At least she didn’t slam it.
“Wow,” said Megan. “That was sure gutsy. Sweetie, I didn’t know you had it in you. Way to go.”
I walked over to the attached garage and peeked through the window. “What are you doing? Let’s get out of here before she decides to call the cops.”
“She’s not going to call anyone. She drives a navy blue Blazer. She could be the one who ran me off the road last night.”
We walked back to my Civic. I leaned down to open the door and pain streaked up the back of my neck. I hadn’t needed any painkiller since before Mass this morning. I cried out and Megan grabbed my arm.
She helped me into the passenger seat of my c
ar.
Megan slid behind the wheel and backed out of the driveway.“We’re going to the hospital.”
“Don’t be silly, it’ll go away. I just need some ibuprofen.”
“You need more than that. For starters, you need an x-ray.”
Against my protests, Megan drove to Hermann Hospital. While we waited on stiff green chairs, Megan suggested that we make a list of suspicious people.
“A suspect list? What a great idea!” I fished around in my purse and came up with my new little notebook.
Megan looked at the notebook and I saw the sides of her mouth turn up. “Leave me alone,” I said.
“A regular little Nancy Drew, aren’t you?”
“Shut up.” At least she referred to me as a young detective and not Jessica Fletcher.
We started the list off with the band members. “I don’t know if anyone besides Bobby had a gripe with Wes, but they all knew him. And the Fest Meister said that the band is up to something.”
“What does that mean?” asked Megan.
“I don’t know but I plan to find out. It was something between Ray and Clara and Vic. I think Wes and Bobby were excluded.”
“Who else?” asked Megan.
“I don’t know. The Fest Meister said that Wes was a stinker and lots of people had it in for him. I think we need to find out who some of those people are.”
Of course, we happily added Marty.
“Who else? We can’t add Al, you were with him. How about Bobby? Maybe Bobby and Sally were together but they both could’ve… What am I saying? Sally is too sweet to hurt anyone.”
Megan took a deep breath and said, “About Al…”
"Go in there and a nurse will help you,” the receptionist said, interrupting our conversation. In this small hospital, there were only three examination areas. The curtains were open on two of them. My feet dangled as I sat on the gurney assigned to me. My head pounded while electric shocks shot up and down my neck. Soon Lisa Vetter came in, closed the curtains around Megan and me and stuck a thermometer in my ear.
“Are you the one who sent the cops after my husband this morning?” she asked, clicking the thermometer, and then reading the results a few seconds later.
“I’m so sorry, Lisa. But I had no choice. The police wanted to know what happened last night and Randy was Bernie’s alibi.”
“No he wasn’t. The police think Randy helped her kill that guy.”
“Did they say that?” I asked.
“No, but I could tell that’s what they were thinking. I don’t like Randy being involved in something as nasty as murder.”
“I don’t like my friend, Bernie, being a suspect either. I thought Randy would help the police stop accusing her and look for the real killer.”
“Well, it didn’t work out that way, did it? You can bet all the neighbors were checking out the police car in the driveway. Is this what he gets for being nice to a nun? I guess no good deed goes unpunished.”
Megan looked up from the magazine she was paging through. “How can they think Randy is involved? He was with you when it happened. He fixed her car on Friday morning, didn’t he?”
“No. He went over on Thursday night and aired-up the two flat tires, then called Bernie. She asked him to pick her up and bring her over to the Fest Grounds. She didn’t want to leave her car there all night.”
“Okay,” I said. “So, Randy followed her home and can vouch for her whereabouts, right?”
“Wrong.” Lisa sighed then shook her head. “Randy wanted to follow her home. But she said that she needed to check out something and that Randy should go ahead and go home. He offered to go with her but she refused. She said it was something she had to take care of herself.”
“What time was this, do you know?” I asked.
“I don’t know. No, wait. Jim said that when he pulled out to leave he got caught up in the traffic from people leaving the parking lot. So, it must have been right after the closing ceremony at the big tent. That’s when most people leave, isn’t it?”
“Why on earth would Bernie be going to the Fest Grounds when everyone else was leaving?” I asked.
No one answered.
I apologized again and Lisa said it was okay but I could tell she was still in a snit with me for getting her husband involved.
17
Almost two hours later, we walked out of the hospital. Megan drove because I couldn’t move my neck without twisting my whole torso. The foam neck brace helped the pain and Lisa promised the medications the doctor had prescribed would do the trick. In my hand, I held a prescription for thirty tablets of Tylenol 3 with codeine. We stopped to get the prescription filled at Richter’s Drug Store.
While waiting for the pharmacist to fill my prescription, we sat down on the cold plastic chairs. Megan started digging in her enormous black purse, even bigger than mine. She leered wickedly at me and pulled out a sweating bottle of blue wine cooler.
“Where did you get that? Put it away before we get in trouble.”
She cracked the twist cap and took a long swig then handed the bottle to me. “I swiped it from Edwin’s fridge. He’ll never miss it. I was going to drink it at the ER but I thought someone might try to detox me or send me to A.A. Go ahead, take a swig.”
“We can’t drink here,” I protested.
“Why not? I don’t see a sign with a martini glass and a red line through it.”
“We could get arrested, Megan. Put it away.”
“Oh, bull. There’s no law against drinking at the drug store.”
Laughing, I took a swig. It felt so naughty, but fun. No wonder I loved Meg so much. She always got me to do inane things I would never have thought of myself.
Medications in hand, minus the two pills I had swilled down with the last of the wine cooler, we pulled out of the parking lot towards the Fest Grounds. We didn’t get far. Three sawhorses blocked the road and we could hear the sirens in the distance announcing the beginning of the parade.
When we realized this side of town would be at a standstill until after the parade, Megan turned the car around and pulled back into the parking space we had just vacated.
Leaving the car parked at Richter’s Drug Store, we pulled a couple folding canvas chairs out of the trunk, a staple in most cars in Minnesota in the summer. We walked around the corner and found two young men to help us put up our chairs before they sat back down on the curb.
We settled in right before we had to stand for the color guard and the beginning of the parade. After they went past, I gratefully sat down feeling light-headed and woozy from the pills and the wine.
Like most small town parades, it started with all the fire trucks in the area driving along with sirens blaring, which made my head hurt all over again. Next came several convertibles carrying the elite of Hermann—the mayor, and other city dignitaries.
I waved at them and called out the names written on signs pasted to the side of the cars. Megan tried to shush me, saying “You probably shouldn’t have mixed the meds with wine cooler. It’s making you goofy.”
“Like it was my idea. Leave me alone, I’m just having fun. You sound like Edwin.”
Megan laughed and shook her head. “You go, girl. Have fun.”
Several businesses followed in their vehicles, including the Metzger’s Meat Market red panel truck with a fat little butcher holding a string of sausages painted on the side. “There’s your sweetie, Al,” I told Megan and everyone else within earshot. “Did you know he almost ran me down at the Fest Grounds Friday morning?”
Megan was trying to shut me up, or at least quiet me down when I was smacked in the side of the head with a Dum-Dum Sucker. “Ouch!” I hollered, picking up the lollipop. “Grape! My favorite.” I ripped the wrapper off and stuck it in my mouth.
Most of the entries in the parade, including Frank and Al Metzger, had several kids walking along side of their vehicle or float, throwing candy to the delight of the plastic bag bearing children who ran to grab their shar
e. Al Metzger, looking as cute as he did last night when he was flirting with me, waved and called out to people by name, laughing.
Megan and I looked at each other and shrugged our shoulders. I still didn’t approve of her cheating on Don but she was my friend, no matter what. Al’s brother, Frank sat shotgun waving at the folks on the other side of the street. Behind him was Ben’s Furniture Barn delivery truck, followed by Pizza Palace’s drivers in cars with the lighted triangular logo stuck to the top.
The Hermann Carnegie Library’s Book Cart Precision Drill Team has always been my favorite entry in all our town parades. I clapped my hands as I watched them march down the street toward us. The book carts were decorated with swaying silver tinsel and signs announcing the library’s web site—www.hermannlib.org.
The eight ladies pushing the carts were the two reference librarians, the three library assistants and three of the women who ran the “Friends of the Library” organization that helped the library with much needed funds for new books. The library had tried to find a man for the last open librarian position, but none applied.
The ladies were dressed in colorful flowered skirts and big floppy straw hats decorated with flowers that matched their skirts. Their matching white t-shirts sported the slogan, Do You Know Where Your Library Books Are? They marched down the street in strict order, occasionally sashaying in and out making a figure eight. Then they moved to the curb, still pushing the fancy book carts and shushed the crowd in exaggerated form. We all laughed and applauded our library’s drill team.
Following the librarians, the Hermann High School band marched up the street, the students sweating in their heavy uniforms in the mid-summer sunshine. Hot and thirsty myself, I wished someone would squirt cold water into my mouth the way the volunteer mothers did for the strutting kids.
The two young men on the curb laughed and drank Cokes from a cooler at their feet. Megan finally sweet-talked them into sharing their stash, promising them a pound of fresh roasted coffee after the parade. Good thing I had fifty pounds in the back seat of my car.
