Shake Down Dead

by Diane Morlan

  Trudy looked up. “Oh, no,” she said wagging her finger at me. “Harold wouldn’t hurt a flea.”

  “Then where is Whitney? Can you explain why she would drop her tablecloth and disappear right about the time that Harold smashed her windshield? I think we should call the Sheriff.”

  Pete put his hand up and moved between us. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Let’s look in the house and make a few phone calls. Maybe she left a note or something.”

  4

  A beat up little compact car pulled into the driveway and stopped in front of the garage doors. A young Hispanic woman stepped out of the car and heaved a huge multi-colored market bag over her shoulder.

  “Hello, Trudy. Hi, Pete.” she asked. “Why are you all out here?”

  Pete walked over to her and introduced Izzy Espinoza to Lisa and me. “Izzy is the evening counselor.”

  Turning to Izzy he said, “Jennifer thinks that something has happened to Whitney. Her car’s here but we can’t find her. I figure she got a ride from someone.”

  “And I told Pete that Whitney wouldn’t go anywhere and leave her tablecloth lying on the ground,” I said, pointing toward Whitney’s car.

  Izzy looked at me. “No, she would not leave her precious mantel like that. She say she does not mind to stay with Harold until Pete gets back. Something is wrong.”

  “You talked to her?” I asked.

  “I call her to say I would be late today. She say to me to do my best.”

  We all moved toward the house. Trudy grabbed my arm and stopped Lisa and me from entering the house. “We’d better let them handle this. It’s really none of our business.”

  “Are you sure Harold didn’t hurt Whitney?” I asked again. “He certainly has a temper.”

  “Well, that’s just not possible, Missy.” Trudy shook my arm and yanked me in the direction of her shop... “Harold isn’t dangerous. He’s mentally retarded, not crazy. He has a low I. Q. and thinks like a child, but he’s a grown man and he’s not dangerous! So there, then.”

  “Sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” I wondered when I’d learn to keep my big mouth shut.

  “Well, now you do,” Trudy said slapping her hands together. We walked quietly back into her shop.

  Settling back into our chairs, we picked up our projects. Lisa shook out the centerpiece doily she was working on. It was circular and was now about 15” in diameter.

  “What do you think could have happened to her?” asked Lisa, her hand smoothing out the doily.

  “I don’t know. What I do know is that Harold had nothing to do with it.” Trudy insisted.

  I haphazardly crocheted a few stitches while gazing out the window. I was thinking about the last time I saw Pete Champion. We had a tearful good-by the day before my father moved Mom and me to his hometown in Illinois. I wrote long letters to Pete almost daily, for the first few months. My mom even let me phone him a few times. Those were the days when long distance calls were expensive. Mom used an egg timer to limit my calls to three minutes. I clung to the memory of our relationship, while he moved on and started dating other girls. Finally, I received a short note from him telling me it was best for me if we moved on with our separate lives.

  I started making friends with schoolmates and moved on with life in Illinois without Pete. By the end of the school year, I had made a number of friends and joined the Drama Club.

  My daydreaming was interrupted when I looked through the back window of Trudy’s shop. A blue Chevy Aveo swung into the group home driveway and come to a sharp stop inches from the garage door. Sister Bernadine unfolded herself from the little car—a gift from the parishioners from St. Theresa’s Church on the twenty-fifth anniversary of her taking her final vows. I always wondered how this tall slim woman fit in the teeny car. I still didn’t know how she did it.

  I hadn’t seen much of Sister Bernadine since she became the administrator of Mary’s Haven Group Homes. I put down my crocheting, snatched my jacket from the back of my chair, and headed for the door. Bernie hurried across the yard, her short navy blue veil flying behind her a navy blue sweater covering her white blouse. In her no-nonsense voice she asked, “What the heck is going on here?”

  I started to answer her when the back door of the group home opened and almost everyone in the house tumbled out. Several of the residents were talking at the same time. Most were trying to tell her what they thought had happened. Izzy and Pete were trying to talk over the residents. Finally, Bernie stuck two fingers in her mouth and gave a shrill whistle while holding up her other hand in a stop sign. Everyone froze, including me.

  Bernie took a few minutes to talk to each of the residents, then shooed them back into the house. All but two of them moved slowly toward the house.

  “Izzy, what’s going on?” she asked.

  While Izzy was giving Bernie a rundown of what had happened, Pete maneuvered around Bernie until he was next to me. Bernie reached into the deep pocket of her navy blue skirt and pulled out a bright red cell phone. She hit two buttons and was soon connected to the Sheriff’s Office.

  “Lieutenant Jacobs, this is Sister Bernadine, can I bother you to come out to the Sunrise Group Home? We’ve had a little vandalism here and one of the residents is involved. Thank you.” Pushing another button, she shoved the phone back into her pocket. “Harold must be held responsible for his actions,” she said instructed her staff. “Where’s Whitney? I need her to sign a complaint.”

  I started to explain how we found the car and the tablecloth, which were both still in the backyard. “I’m worried that something has happened to Whitney. Okay, she might leave her car and get a ride from someone, but why would she leave the tablecloth on the ground in a heap? And, why was Harold so sure that she was out here asleep and he couldn’t wake her? This whole scene is odd.”

  Everyone was quiet for a few moments, and then Izzy said, “I need to get supper started. Marsha and John, it’s your turn to help.” She went into the house with the two residents following her.

  “I’m surprised you allow them to cook. Isn’t it dangerous?” I asked Pete.

  Pete explained, “The residents are adults, not big kids. They’re responsible for many of the chores around the house. They do their own laundry and clean their own rooms. Although, sometimes they need a little help and direction from the staff.”

  That’s great,” I said. “I had no idea.”

  “Harold can drive the riding lawn mower. Now we have to hide the key or he’ll drive it over to the convenience store if he has enough cash for a Mountain Dew.”

  We were laughing about that when the unmarked navy blue sedan with the whip antenna pulled in behind Bernie’s little car. Pete had looped his arm casually over my shoulder and I didn’t pull away because I didn’t want to hurt his feelings and, frankly, it felt nice.

  Lt. Jacobs, a large black man in a wrinkled suit, exited the car on the passenger side. When the driver’s door opened and Detective Jerry Decker got out, I tried to slip out of Pete’s arm. Pete hung on. Decker look at me and his dark eyes turned black.

  5

  Decker and I had sort of a casual relationship. Although we’d never promised to date each other exclusively, I took it for granted that he was only seeing me. I’m so busy with my coffee roasting company that I don’t have time to see more than one man. Not that I wanted to. Since my divorce, from Edwin the Louse, Decker’s the only guy I’ve dated.

  I finally pivoted around until I was face to face with Pete and his arm was no longer draped across my shoulders. I knew Decker had seen us laughing together. I’d have to explain later, although I had no idea what I would say.

  “So, what’s going on, Sister?” Jacobs asked.

  Bernie explained that Harold had smashed the window of Whitney’s car and that we couldn’t find her. “I’m sure she’s fine,” Bernie said. “However, I’ve called her home and she’s not there and her mother doesn’t know where she is or when she’ll be back. Henrietta said Whitney often
meets with friends after work and doesn’t always check in.”

  “I’m not so sure she’s ‘just fine,’” I said, explaining about the tablecloth and Harold not being able to wake her up. Since I had no proof that anything had happened to Whitney, no one paid much attention to my remarks.

  “Lt. Jacobs,” Bernie said, flipping her short navy veil over her shoulder. “I actually called you here to help me out. Harold needs to learn a lesson and realize that he can’t go around smashing things when he doesn’t get his own way.”

  “You want me to arrest Harold? I can’t do that!” Jacobs protested, holding up his hands in the universal motion for “stop!”

  “No, I don’t want you to actually arrest him. Just take him down to the station and scare the heck out of him. Whitney will have to decide what she wants to do when she turns up. I’m sure she’ll just want him to pay for the damage.”

  Jacobs turned and walked toward the back door. Harold was peeking out when Jacobs waved his hand signaling Harold to come to him. Harold slammed the screen door and shut the heavy door. We could hear the lock click in place.

  Jacobs chuckled. “Jerry, go in and get him. He’s afraid of me even when he hasn’t done anything wrong.”

  Decker hadn’t said a word to me, or anyone for that matter. Now he nodded to Jacobs, turned and strolled toward the back door, left-hand on his hip, his right hand just above his service weapon. Decker thinks he swaggers when he walks that way. To me, it looks more like ambling.

  Decker rapped on the door and Izzy let him in. A few minutes later, he walked out with Harold in front of him. He held Harold by the arm and steered him to the sedan. Harold was crying and tried to twist out of Decker’s clutches. Decker isn’t especially tall—not that he’s short, more like compact, and he works out regularly, so he’s quite strong. When he puts his arms around me, I feel very safe.

  “Sister, I’ll call you in a couple hours to come and get him.”

  “Oh, Lt. Jacobs,” said Bernie. “Could you please call Pete? Its better if a staff person picks him up.”

  “Sure, Sister. Whatever you say.” Jacobs pulled his sunglasses from his pocket.

  “I want the residents to respect the staff and not think that I can fix things for them.” Bernie explained.

  “Makes sense to me,” Jacobs replied, giving Bernie a two-finger salute, then followed Decker to the dark vehicle. Harold looked to Bernie from the back seat, his face plastered to the window. We could see him mouth the words, “Help me.”

  I walked back to Trudy’s shop. When I entered, I saw that Trudy was alone. “Where’s Lisa?” I asked.

  “She had to leave. It’s her husband’s birthday and she always makes a heart shaped meat loaf for him. Randy gets real lovey-dovey when he gets meatloaf. Go figure.” Trudy laughed.

  While I packed away my project, Trudy asked what had happened out there. I told her about the “scared straight” routine they were running on Harold.

  “Trudy, I’m not so sure they should be blowing off my concerns about Whitney. Something happened to her. I think maybe Harold hurt her.”

  “That’s just silly, Jennifer. Harold wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

  ‘Then why did she leave that darn tablecloth on the ground? And why did Harold say that she wouldn’t wake up? Explain that.”

  “Well, now,” Trudy answered. “I don’t know what happened. I guess maybe something might have happened to Whitney. I just know that Harold didn’t have anything to do with it. He may have smashed her windshield but he would never hurt her. He has a huge crush on her, doncha know?”

  “I didn’t know. . .” I said.

  “Listen, Jennifer, I know you figured out who killed Wes last summer. You’re good at finding things out. Why don’t you check around and see what you can find out about Whitney? You’ll feel a whole lot better when you know she’s okay.”

  “I guess I could make a few phone calls. Where does she hang out? Who are her friends?”

  “I don’t know, Jennifer.” Trudy threw up her arms. “I don’t even like her that much. She’s very spoiled and demanding, ya’ know.”

  “I’ve noticed. Okay, where does she live?”

  While Trudy wrote down Whitney’s address, I tried to figure out how I get caught up in these things. I didn’t care for Whitney, and her haughty mother was a big pain. However, I did want to know what happened to her, because things just didn’t fit.

  A few minutes later, I pulled up in front of the townhouse where Whitney and her mother lived. I hoped that Mrs. Wentworth was sober today. After the condition he was in when she was at Charlie’s rally a couple weeks ago, I suspected it wasn’t a one-time thing. I took a deep breath and rang the bell.

  “Come in,” a voice shouted from inside.

  I turned the knob and opened the door a crack. I stuck my head in and looked around. I saw Mrs. Wentworth was sprawled across the couch, a large glass in her hand, filled with what looked like lemonade. I knew better. Her flask was around here somewhere.

  “Find a glass and have a little drink with me, dear.”

  “Mrs. Wentworth, I’m looking for Whitney,” I said.

  “My dear, I am drooling; you may call me Henrietta.” Taking a gulp of her drink, she said, “I don’t know where that spoiled daughter of mine is. She’s always leaving me here alone. No gratitude.”

  “Darn! I was hoping she was here. Who are her friends? Maybe they know where she’s at. I’m sort of worried about her.”

  Henrietta suddenly sat up and set down her glass. “Let me tell you about those little witches,” she began. “Whitney’s been around that group all her life. They were best friends all through junior high. In high school, they all made the cheerleader squad. They used to love to come to the house and play music and hang out. Now she and her friends leave me alone all the time while they go out and have fun like nothing’s changed.”

  “What about your friends, Henrietta?” I asked.

  “They’re all too busy for me now. I think they are embarrassed for me and just don’t know what to say so they just stay away.”

  “Do you have family around here that you can turn to?”

  “My family? I don’t want to be around them. They’re white trash, mostly. I couldn’t wait to get away from them. I turned my back on my drunken brother when I married Graham, God rest his soul. And things were fine until Whitney was in high school. Edwin decided that Whitney should be kind to my niece, Pamela, and start taking her to some of the social events.”

  She stopped to take a long drink and catch her breath. I felt like I’d unleashed a magpie. I decided to say nothing and just keep nodding. Maybe something she said would be useful.

  “Graham wouldn’t leave it alone. He even made Whitney give Pamela one of her beautiful prom gowns. The one she wore the year before. Then he made Whitney take Pamela along with her cheerleader friends to the prom! Can you imagine how embarrassed Whitney and her friends were to bring Pamela along like a lost kitten?”

  I just shook my head.

  “It’s a good thing my sister-in-law was good with a needle. She was able to alter the prom dress so it fit Pamela. She’s such a skinny girl. Everything just hangs on her. She’s not curvaceous like Whitney.”

  Curvaceous? Whitney? I’d say about thirty pounds past curvaceous. I smiled and nodded.

  “Whitney wore this lovely bisque gown with tiny saffron flowers in the print of the over skirt. You should see it. Oh, you can. Here,” she said digging through a pile of books and papers on the coffee table. She pulled out a yearbook and waved it at me. “This should tell you all about her friends.”

  Not wanting to hurt her feelings, I took the yearbook she pushed into my hands. I thanked her and got up to leave.

  I opened the front door hoping to finally get away, when Henrietta said, “Have you been out to that bar she goes to?”

  “What bar is that, Henrietta?” Why had she waited so long to part with that information?

  “It’s a little
early for her. However she might be there.”

  “Where?” I almost shouted.

  “Oh, it’s that little place out by the house. Or whatever they call my beautiful home now. All filled up with those strange people. How could Graham have done this to me?” She began to cry. I came back and patted her shoulder, then said goodbye. I felt sorry for her but there was nothing I could do to help.

  If Whitney went to a bar in her old neighborhood, she wouldn’t need her car. She could have walked there from Sunrise.

  I was backing out of the driveway when, my cell phone played a little tune. I hit the touch screen knowing who it was before I even read the name. When Jerry Decker called, my phone played an old Chuck Berry song, “Brown-eyed Handsome Man.”

  “Hi, what’s up, handsome?” I asked, trying to sound upbeat.

  “If you’re not busy tonight, do you want to meet for dinner?”

  “Of course I’m not busy. It’s Saturday night. Don’t we always go out on Saturday nights?”

  “I wasn’t sure if we were still on after I saw you cuddling with that blond guy today.”

  “I wasn’t cuddling with anyone. Pete’s an old friend.” I said.

  “Looked like more than a friend to me.”

  “Believe it or not, your choice,” I said, wanting this conversation to end. “Hey, let’s try someplace new tonight.”

  “Is there someplace new around here? Did I miss something?” Decker asked.

  “How about that little place in Itzig? The Cozy Corner Bar & Grill?”

  “Good idea! They have great burgers. I’ve only been out there once. They had a good band, played country.”

  Oh, great, I thought. Country is not my favorite music. I’m more of an eighties gal. Still, on the chance that we might see Whitney so Trudy and I could stop worrying about her, I figured I could put up with country music for one evening. Especially if the food was as good as Decker said it was.