by Diane Morlan
“No. I’m not a beer drinker. It all tastes nasty to me.”
Pete said, “Well, there you go.”
9
I asked Pete if Whitney had been located yet. “Not that I know of,” he said. “I left about an hour after you did. I was off duty; just hung around to see what would happen to Harold.”
“Jennifer,” Decker admonished me. “Are you still on this kick? I’m sure she’s home by now.”
“Well, she wasn’t just before you picked me up. I called her mother again and she said Whitney wasn’t there.”
“What do you mean ‘again’?” asked Decker. “How many times did you call that poor woman?”
“Only once,” I replied, looking down to my hands in my lap.
“Then what did you mean when you said ‘again’?”
“I sort of stopped by on my way home.”
Decker’s eyes were piercing and I was getting really nervous. I knew he was going to lecture me.
“The Wentworth’s condo isn’t anywhere near where you live,” he snapped. “What did you say to that poor woman? You probably scared her half to death!”
“I did not! And stop calling her ‘that poor woman.’ She’s anything but poor. Mostly she’s half in the bag. She said that Whitney usually meets some friends here on Saturday nights.” I hated it when Decker made me feel like a little kid out after curfew.
“Oh, so that’s why you wanted to come here.” Decker looked around. “I should have known. You hate country music.”
“And I thought it was because you wanted to see me.” Pete gave Decker a smirk and I could see Decker’s face darken.
“Pete, I didn’t know that you frequented this place!” I exclaimed. “I’m concerned about Whitney. Do you usually see her here on Saturday nights?” I was trying to ignore Decker for a while until he cooled down.
“Yeah, most of the time,” Pete said. “But I haven’t seen her tonight.”
“What about the friends she usually meets?”
“Oh, the Plumpers?” he asked with a grin.
“What are you talking about?” I asked.
He had the decency to be embarrassed when he answered, “You know, um, the three of them are sort of overweight—you know, plump. I didn’t make it up. A guy I know started it.”
“Shame on you and the friend who gave them that name.” I said, looking daggers at him. “I hope there are some eighteen-year-olds that call you ‘That old guy!’ Now, are any of them here?”
“Yeah,” Peter replied sheepishly. “Two of the usuals are up at the bar. At least they were when I first got here. The other gal wasn’t here.”
He pointed to the end of the bar where the two women were sitting. They had a birds-eye view of the entire place, especially the front door.
The women were a little plump, which was no reason to give them a derogatory name. I wasn’t sure they were the two women whose pictures I had seen on Facebook. They were much older, which was to be expected. One girl was chubby. The other woman was decidedly overweight. They both wore make-up the same as the high school pictures. Was blue eye-shadow “in” again? I didn’t think so. They were both drinking tall drinks, which were dark brown. No beer for these gals.
“Do you know their names?” I asked Pete.
“Not a clue.” He answered.
“Okay, Jennifer. Let’s go, I have to get up early tomorrow.” Decker stood up, picked up his beer and downed the little left in it.
“Thanks for the drink,” he said to Pete.
Pete wave away the ‘thank you’ and said, “No problem, Jerry. See you around, JJ.” He got up and moseyed toward the bar.
Decker reached out and took my hand helping me to my feet. I got the message and didn’t protest. I knew he had had enough of my “detecting” for one night. In addition, I was sure he would tell me that I shouldn’t be sticking my nose into other people’s business.
We made our way through the crowd, which was more dense and louder than when we had arrived. We stopped to pay the check and Decker, not to be outdone by Pete, added a generous tip to the charge slip just before he signed it. I looked back and saw Pete slip onto a bar stool next to the two women we had just been talking about.
Outside, I pulled on my sweater when the cold evening air hit me. Decker put his arm around me and we strolled to my car.
“Jennifer,” someone called to me.
I looked around and saw Megan and Charlie walking toward us. Behind them was Charlie’s big old white van with red and blue stars and stripes and “Jackson for Governor” lettered on the side.
“Are you leaving?” Megan asked. “Come on in and join us for a drink.” She was wearing a red and white striped knit blouse and blue jeans, her favorite colors since the campaign began.
“Can’t, Megan. It’s getting late and I have to get up early tomorrow to make cookies for Charlie’s rally in Mankato.”
Charlie’s blue eyes twinkled and he tossed his blond locks off his face. I always thought he styled his hair that way so it would fall over his eyes. It was sort of sexy. “That’s a good enough excuse for me. See you at the Civic Center bright and early, Jennifer.” Charlie was casually dressed tonight. Instead of his usual suit and tie, he wore a chambray shirt with snaps instead of buttons and a pair of tight black jeans. That would get my vote, I thought. They waved to us and opened the door to the bar.
We zigzagged across the parking lot, making our way to my vehicle with Decker’s arm still around my waist. When we reached my car, I turned and leaned against the front bumper. The way Decker kissed me; I figured he wasn’t mad at me anymore.
Was I in for another disappointment? Decker liked to tell me what to do, just like Edwin the Louse. Well, not just like Edwin. Edwin wanted to control my whole life. Decker just wanted me to stop sticking my nose into what he considered other people’s business. He must have forgotten that I was the one who helped him find the real killer last summer when he was accusing Sister Bernadine of murder. Wait, to be honest, Decker really didn’t think Bernie had killed Wes, but he didn’t tell me that at the time.
We came up for air and I stood up straight and smoothed down my hair. “Why does that guy call you JJ?” Decker asked.
“Oh, it’s just a silly nickname from high school. Forget about it.”
“What’s your middle name, Jennifer?”
“Never mind! It’s not important.”
I turned to grab my purse and glanced into my car. Jumping back I hissed, “Decker! There’s someone in my car!”
We looked again and saw a woman sitting on the passenger side of the front seat. It was Whitney! I hadn’t bothered to lock the doors. I seldom did when was I was around Hermann. I yanked on the handle, ready to bawl her out for making us all so worried about her.
The door swung open and Whitney drifted to the right and fell in my arms. I took one look at her face and screamed, dropping her so she was half in and half out of the car. I knew she was dead.
Decker ran around the front of the car and turned me away. He must have pulled Whitney’s body up in the car seat again. When he put his arm around me and walked me away from the car, I took a peek and saw that she was again sitting in the passenger seat of my car. I turned and stood facing the woods, hands over my face, crying while Decker called 911 and got through to Jacobs.
Within five minutes, the flashing lights and screaming sirens sped down the road towards us, surrounding the parking lot. The sirens wound down to one final beep while the light bars on top of the squad cars continued to flash red and blue like a disco dance floor from the eighties. Decker walked me over to Jacob’s squad car and I sat in the back with the door open, still trying to stop shaking.
"Now do you believe me?" I yelled at Decker between sobs. I was trying to stop crying and had only managed to get the hiccups.
"Yes, I'll never doubt you again," he answered. "And not only that, I need to talk to you a little later. I'd like to know what you found out this afternoon when you were snoop�
��I mean—what people said at the group home before I get there. Okay?”
"Sure, now you want my help. Then you'll start yelling at me to butt out again." Why was I yelling at him?
"No, I won't, Jennifer.” Decker talked to me in a soft voice. “I promise. I’m going to have to talk with Harold again, though."
His low gentle voice calmed me down and I replied without yelling at him. "Do you think Harold did this to Whitney? Trudy said he wasn't dangerous. And you heard what Pete said."
"Yes, I heard what they both said. He was mad enough to break her windshield with that bat. From the looks of the back of her head, someone clobbered her with something very much like a baseball bat."
"Oh, Lord, Trudy and Bernie will both be jumping all over you if you accuse Harold of this."
"Yeah, well, I'll deal with that when it happens."
“Where was she for all that time? I mean did someone kill her and hide her somewhere, then drag her here and stick her in my car? And why would someone do that?”
“That’s what we have to figure out, Jennifer,”
I sat back in the seat and leaned my head back. Even though I wasn't crazy about Whitney, I sure didn't want her to die. I realized that Bernie had said the same thing to me last year when she found out that Wes had been killed. I wondered if most people felt this kind of guilt when someone they didn't like died unexpectedly.
I was sitting there thinking about Whitney when I heard Lt. Jacobs’ voice. “Jerry, did you, by chance, pick up that bat Harold used to smash Whitney’s window?”
“No, I didn’t think it was important. It might still be out there. I’ll have a deputy run over there and pick it up.” Decker turned and walked over to one of the squad cars.
My first thought was that Harold had hit Whitney when she saw him smashing her window. That must be what he meant when he said she wouldn’t wake up. Whoa! Wait a minute. We went out to the back yard with Harold. If he had hidden Whitney’s body, why would he tell us about it?
I went looking for Decker and found him talking to a Deputy. “Jerry, can you find me a ride home. I’m really tired.”
“Sure. I’ll take you,” he said, walking me over to his truck.
“Can you leave? Don’t you have to take statements or something?” I asked.
“Yes, all in good time. Right now, I need to get you home. They’ll still be here when I get back.”
I curled up in the seat and rested my head on the window. “I suppose I won’t be getting my car back very soon.”
“It could be weeks. Are you sure you want it back?”
“Ewe! I didn’t think about that.”
“You may want to start shopping around for that that SUV you were talking about.”
“Great! Just what I need, one more thing to worry about. Crap! How am I going to get refreshments to Mankato for the rally tomorrow?”
Decker, bless his heart, took over. “I’ll call Megan and make sure she picks you up and helps you get everything to the rally. After all, it’s her boyfriend who’s running for office. Man, I can’t believe Charlie actually thinks that someone will vote for him. Must think he’s Jessie Ventura.” I heard Decker chuckle as I drifted off to sleep.
I barely remember Decker helping me into the house. I woke up about three hours later and realized I was in a sexy black nightgown and I was freezing! Decker must think women actually wear these things to sleep in. Silly guy. I pulled open the middle drawer of my dresser and pulled out my old standby—red and blue flannel nightshirt that came to my knees. That was more like it. I set the alarm for seven and turned off the light. I’m sure I was asleep before my head hit the pillow.
10
Lt. Jacobs called Sunday morning while I was putting the first batch of cookies in the oven. These chocolate coffee-flavored cookies were always a big hit at the rallies. Megan had come up with the recipe. We called them “Campaign Cookies” and gave out the recipe to everyone who asked.
“Jennifer, how are you feeling this morning?” Even though I knew that wasn’t why he called, I played along.
“I’m much better, Lieutenant. When do you need me to come in and give a statement?”
Jacobs chuckled. “Can’t fool you, Jennifer. Can you come in today?”
“I’m catering a rally for Charlie Jackson this afternoon. I think I can make it about five o’clock.”
“See you then,” Jacobs said and hung up.
I decided that I didn’t want to think about meeting with Jacobs and going over all the horror of last night.
I needed to concentrate on making eight dozen cookies. Why had I let Megan talk me into this? I thought for the hundredth time.
Speak of the devil, and she walks in the back door. “What do you want me to do?” announced my friend. “I’m here to help.” Today she had on a blue top with white stars. Instead of jeans she wore pleated khaki slacks. She teetered on the three inch heels of her short navy dress boots with zippers up the side. You couldn’t buy those shoes in Hermann. Megan had been to the Mall of America again.
Megan tied on an apron and I handed her a bowl of cookie dough, two tablespoons and a cookie sheet. With the two spoons, she scooped the dough on one spoon and pushed it off onto the cookie sheet. When she finished, nine little heaps of cookie dough rested on each sheet.
When the timer went off, I took those cookies out of the oven and let them rest for a minute before putting them on the cooling rack. Then I picked up the cookies that were cool and stacked them in a container to transport them to the rally. Megan was just putting another pan in the oven when the phone rang.
I snatched it up with one hand and kept stirring the second batch of cookie dough while I stuck the phone between my ear and shoulder. “Jennifer’s kitchen,” I said, expecting it to be Decker.
“Ah, Jennifer am I bothering you?” asked Trudy.
“No problem, Trudy. I’m just making cookies. What’s up?”
I heard Trudy sob, then she said, “They came and got Harold.”
“Who did?”
“The cops came and got him. Lt. Jacobs and your boyfriend.”
“Trudy, they must have had a reason. Do they think he killed Whitney?”
“They wouldn’t answer my questions but, I’m sure that’s what they were thinking.”
“Trudy, maybe he did.”
“He most certainly did not!”
I sighed. “Trudy, why are you so sure that Harold is innocent?”
“Oh, I don’t know, Jennifer,” Trudy spat out. “Maybe for the same reason that you knew Sister Bernadine didn’t kill Wes Fischer last summer.” Her sarcasm dripped through the phone.
Ouch! She had me there. “What makes you think that Harold didn’t hurt Whitney?” I asked. I thought maybe turning the tables would get her to think straight.
“Well, for one thing, Miss Smarty-pants, where was she from the time she left the group home until they found her in your car? Do you really think Harold could hide her, and then plant her in your car?”
“He’s strong enough to, Trudy,” I insisted. “I’m sure he has the strength to lift someone.”
“A lot you know. Even if he could lift someone, even someone as heavy as Whitney, he couldn’t carry her very far. He has balance problems. He wasn’t even able to carry a basket of leaves to the back yard last week. He stumbled and dropped the basket both times before Pete found something else for him to do. And, another thing, what makes you think that he would have the presence of mind to hide a body and then put it in a car, where it was sure to be found? And why your car?”
She had me there. I too doubted that Harold would think to hide the body, and then move it. Again, why had he come in yelling that she wouldn’t wake up? Had someone else hidden her only to put her in my car later? Why my car? I barely knew Whitney. Did someone want to not only get rid of her but also blame me?
“Jennifer, you have to help.” said Trudy, interrupting my thoughts. “Harold didn’t do this. You’re so good at figuring out thes
e things. Snoop around and see what you can find out. Whitney wasn’t very well liked, you know. She was spoiled and willful, so there must be a lot of people who would be glad to see her gone.”
“I’ll think about it, Trudy. Right now I need to get back to making cookies for the rally this afternoon.”
“Okay, call me tonight and we’ll talk some more.” I could hear Trudy sigh on the other end of the line.
I reluctantly agreed and hung up. I really didn’t want to think about this right now. The phone rang again almost as soon as I hung up with Trudy. This time I checked the caller ID. I rolled my eyes at Megan and mouthed, “Sister Bernadine.”
“Hello, Bernie.”
“Jennifer, I need you to help me find the person who killed poor Whitney.”
“No, Bernie, I’m going to take your advice from last summer and keep my nose out of police business.”
“Last summer was different. I was capable of defending myself. Poor Harold isn’t able to do that. By the time they get done questioning him, he’ll confess to anything.”
“Maybe that’s because he’s guilty.”
“He most certainly is not, Jennifer!” Geez, she sounded just like Trudy. Maybe if those two women were so sure he hadn’t killed Whitney, I should look into it.
“I don’t know, Bernie. I’m so busy. Besides Decker and Jacobs will have a fit if I butt in again.”
“Please try to find the time,” Bernie pleaded, “and you leave Jerry and Delmar to me.”
“Delmar? You call Jacobs by his first name?”
“Well, of course, he’s a friend.”
“Let me think about it,” I said, giving her the same excuse that I gave Trudy.
“There’s nothing to think about. Just talk to people and find out who wanted Whitney dead. There might be a long list. She wasn’t very well liked, you know.”
“Yes, Bernie.” I agreed and we said our good-byes.
As soon as I hung up the phone, Megan said, “Don’t tell me that you agreed to investigate Whitney’s murder?”
“There’s no arguing with Bernie when her mind is set. It’s easier just to go along. I’m not investigating anything. I’m not a cop.”
