by Diane Morlan
“Decker will have a fit if he catches you.”
“I’ll just talk to a few people and see where it goes. Decker won’t find out that I’m poking around.”
“Oh, yes he will! And you’ll get mad when he accuses you of meddling in police business.”
“How does she get me into these things?” I asked.
“She bullies you, that’s how. You don’t see her trying that with me.”
I laughed at her apt description of Bernie’s tactic. A tactic that she would never allow the students in her Sunday school class t St. Theresa’s to use. “I just hope that Decker and Jacobs find out who did this so I can go back to coffee roasting—which is my real job!” I hoped she got the point that this catering thing was not anything permanent.
11
When the cookies were finally ready, Megan and I got her snazzy new Buick packed and we were off for Mankato. I asked Megan what had possessed her to buy a full-sized four-door vehicle while I played with all the bells and whistles that were included in this flashy new car.
“I was sort of pushed into it,” she explained. “I sell a lot of properties around here. Well, I did before the bottom fell out of the real estate business. My boss told me that I needed a new car to show that I’m successful. I’d been looking at this cool little Cadillac coupe. It was awesome,” she said shaking her head.
“The next day I took an older couple out to Winfield Heights to show them a home. The husband took the back seat and he had a devil of a time getting in and out of my little coupe. So, I went to Hermann Motors and bought this baby the next day. And I love it.” She patted the dash. “Never thought I’d like a big ol’ sedan so much.”
“Did you make the sale?”
“What sale? Oh, you mean the older couple. No, not that place, but I found them a perfect little retirement cottage just outside of Sleepy Eye. That time they didn’t have a problem getting in and out of my car.”
“I’ll sure be glad when this campaign is over, won’t you?”
“Lord, Jennifer, I could do this forever. I think I have a knack for this stuff. I’ve been setting up speaking engagements, town halls and all sorts of things to get Charlie’s face out there. I actually think he can get elected.”
“You do?”
Seeing the astonished look on my face, she said, “Don’t act so surprised. He’s actually a very organized, reasonable person. He’s a sort of take-charge kind of guy and I think he’d run this state just fine. Better than the super-inflated egomaniac we have in now.”
“Meg, are you saying that because you really believe in him or are you head-over-heels in love again?”
“Actually, I really believe in him. Oh, I like him well enough, but the first blush is off the rose. He’s a great guy, but his job, whether real estate or politician will always come first. I need a guy who needs me. I want to be the first thing on his mind.”
“That’s a tall order for any man to fill, Megan. Maybe you need to make sure you are the first one on your mind and stop expecting men to do it for you.”
“Blah, blah, blah, Jennifer. You always say that. I just love men.”
I shut up, knowing that she was telling the absolute truth. She just loved men.
“So, you’re really going to let Bernie brow beat you into investigating the Wentworth murder?” Megan asked.
“Probably,” I answered, grateful for the change of topic. “I was thinking about talking to Whitney’s friends, at least the ones she went drinking with, to see what they had to say. I’ll make an effort for the sake of my friendship with Bernie and Trudy. I figure Decker wouldn’t be looking there so I really wouldn’t be butting in.”
“Sounds like a plan. That might get Trudy off your case. However, Bernie won’t let you stop looking until Harold is off the hook.”
“I know,” I sighed.
By the time we arrived at the Mankato Civic Center, I had a tentative plan to look into Whitney’s life. Charlie was already there, glad-handing people as they arrived. He was a big hit with the women, especially the luscious redhead he was now talking to. Maybe he had a thing for redheads.
The forty-something’s remembered him from his rock star days and the older ladies remember their kids listening to his music. I admit, in tenth grade I had a poster of him and Captain Jack on my bedroom wall. Only then his long blond hair fell to his shoulders, a red bandana was wrapped around his forehead. He wore skintight pants and no shirt. I loved that poster.
Megan found some volunteers to help us bring in the food and set things up. We had a bucket of ice where we kept bottles of water and cans of soda. I spread out the red, white and blue plastic tablecloths and set out the cheese and cracker platters.
Next, I emptied several different kinds of pretzels into bowls. In front of the bowls, I place three smaller bowls and put pretzel dip in them. I was serving three kinds of dip—mustard, cranberry and bacon/cheese. Once everything was set up, all I had to do was sit around and refill the plates and bowls.
The piped in music was playing a Sousa march. It sounded familiar, I just couldn’t place it. I saw Charlie’s mother, Yvonne Jackson, sitting in the front row, where she usually sat at Charlie’s rallies. Today’s housedress was a little more flamboyant. There were fuchsia cabbage roses on a pink background. I walked over to greet her. Just before I got to her, she got up and walked away. I was beginning to wonder if I had said something to offend her. I’d try to find her later and get this straightened out.
I went in search of the person in charge of the music. When I found a guy with headphones, I was surprised to see that it was Charlie’s so-called cousin, Jack. I asked him about the Sousa March. “I don’t know, Lady,” Jack grumbled,” I just play ‘em. I don’t pick ‘em.”
I badgered him some more until he finally looked through some boxes. “Here’s a list of music on each CD. The CD now playing is what Charlie calls ‘walking in music.’ The songs are “The Washington Post March,” “Stars and Stripes Forever,” and “The Foshay Tower Washington Memorial.”
“I know the first two marches; everybody knows them. I’ve never heard of the one about the Foshay Tower. What’s that all about?” I asked.
“I told ya’, Lady,” Jack said. “I just run the equipment. I’m not allowed to do anything useful for Charlie’s campaign.”
I thanked him and went back to the refreshment tables. I knew the Foshay Tower was the tallest building in Minneapolis for many years. I loved Sousa marches and this sounded interesting. I needed to check it out. I could solve this little mystery at least. I told myself that I had a highly refined sense of curiosity. I was not just a snoop.
I filled the pretzel dip bowls while Charlie was being introduced by the Twenty-First Congressional District Representative. I tried to block out the rhetoric, I knew Charlie’s stump speech almost as well as he did. Besides the economic issues, Charlie’s platform was one of high-tech issues.
He told the people of Maron County, “Every child in every school in Minnesota needs to have a laptop computer. This is the wave of the future . . .”
I tried to tune him out while I searched my purse for my cell phone.
“The people of Minnesota have always been ahead in the areas of technology. We are now falling behind. We need to upgrade our election process. The last several elections have been a nightmare . . .” At this point he usually got very animated, waving his hands and pointing toward the middle of the audience.
I was still wondering about that march. I settled in a folding chair and Goggled “Sousa Marches” on my smart phone and found the one about the Foshay Tower. It seems that Wilbur Foshay hired Sousa to write a march for the opening of the Foshay Tower, which was designed in the style of the Washington Monument and was, at the time, the tallest building west of the Mississippi. Foshay gave Sousa a check for $20,000. The march was played only once during Foshay’s lifetime, at the dedication ceremony.
While I waited for the next page to load on my phone, I listened to Ch
arlie say, “We need to make Minnesota a network neutral state. Many people want the internet to be regulated. That means taxed. I’m against this new tax and will veto any bill that includes taxing the use of the internet . . .” Only about ten minutes left of his speech.
I looked back at my phone and read the rest of the article. Six weeks after the grand opening, on November 2, 1929, Foshay’s corporation went into receivership due to the Great Depression. The check Foshay had written to Sousa bounced and Sousa prohibited the playing of the march so long as Foshay's debt to him remained outstanding.
In 1988, a group of Minnesota investors repaid Foshay's debt to Sousa's estate, and the march was permitted to be played in public again.
Charlie must have loved that story to adopt it for his campaign music. Then I remembered why I knew the song. Charlie had played a rocking version of it for the intro song at his rock concerts. The song played while the band was being introduced and took their places on stage. Then they would go into their biggest hit, “White Heat” followed by “City Lights.” Just thinking about that brought back some great memories.
I jumped when the audience started to applaud. The Washington Post March began and the candidate raised his arms, Rocky style while the audience applauded. Charlie was trying to appeal to the under sixty population. The younger people would like the internet free proposal and the forty-somethings would go for the no new taxes and issues concerning lowering the debt. I guess he figured those two groups would give him the majority he needed to win.
I weaved through the crowd moving to the back of the room. People were either leaving or heading for the refreshments. I smiled and nodded to the people filling plates making sure the food and wine kept flowing.
Mindless work usually allows me to daydream. I started thinking about the time Megan and Bernie and I went to see Captain Jack and the Walleyes at this very civic center, when the band first became famous. Charlie always said he felt close to those who had helped him get started and he would never forget his southwestern Minnesota fans. Maybe he would make an okay Governor after all. Or not.
I guess it was hard for me to take an ‘80s rocker seriously. Megan believed in him, but her track record with men was shaky at best.
I was busy refilling bowls and platters for the next twenty minutes. I kept looking around for Megan. She had said she would help me. I finally found a teenage volunteer who was willing to bring food from the kitchen for me when the plates began running low.
12
Megan finally tore herself away from the dignitaries and stopped by my tables. “I found some volunteers to help you pack up.” She tossed her key ring to me. “I’ll catch a ride with Charlie and some friends. Use my car as long as you need it.” And she was gone. As usual, she had skipped out on the clean-up. At least this time she left me her car.
Megan never could prioritize. The most important thing for Megan was the one that looked to be the most fun and cleaning up was not fun. She was kind-hearted and generous and she really meant it when she said that I could keep her car as long as I needed it.
Far be it from me to turn down the use of her beautiful car. Checking the odometer, I saw that it only had nine hundred miles on it. I didn’t think I’d ever driven a car that new. Edwin the Louse, always bought second hand cars. He said that cars lost a third of their value when they were driven off the lot. That’s probably true. However, driving a new car might just make up for that.
I made the drive back to Hermann in record time, for me. My first stop was my warehouse. I thought about getting a bigger sign every time I drove up to the front door. “Primo Gusto Coffee Roasters” was about 2’ x 3’. I liked the idea of a large sign but it wouldn’t make any difference in the long run. I didn’t sell coffee out of this building; I used it to roast and package my coffee.
I dropped off the leftover cookies and serving dishes and set them aside for the next rally I was catering. I greeted my two part-time employees, Mark and Sally, who were roasting and packaging coffee, filling orders.
“How’s everything going?” I asked.
Mark answered, “Just fine, Jennifer. I turned up the thermostat. It was pretty cold in here this morning.”
“Keep it as warm as you want,” I replied. “Winter is close at hand.”
I was thankful to have these young people working for me. Since they both attend the community college, they had decided that Saturdays and Sundays were the best days to do the bulk of the roasting and packaging of coffee. They each came in several times during the week at different hours and completed whatever else needed to be done.
“We’re getting low on some of the beans,” Sally said. “I can put together an order for you and you can call it in on Monday, if you want.”
“Thanks, Sally, I appreciate your help.”
I counted on them more and more since I started catering Charlie’s campaign. I’d be glad when the election was over in a few weeks. Even though the catering was fun and paid well, it was a big hassle. I already had a great income from my coffee business and didn’t need the extra work.
A coffee company in Seattle had been after me for a couple years to sell my business to them. They didn’t actually want my business, they just wanted my customers. I sold my roasted coffee beans to restaurants all over southern Minnesota. A few weeks ago, I picked up several classy restaurants and supper clubs in the Minneapolis suburbs. If things kept picking up I’d have to hire more employees. The money I was offered for my business was impressive but I wasn’t sure it was the best move I could make. Mark and Sally would be out of work and I wasn’t sure what kind of coffee my customers would be buying. I made sure that my customers received good quality coffee and I only purchased Fair-Trade certified raw coffee beans. Fair Trade certification provides farmers a fair price for their beans with a guaranteed minimum rate.
For a while, I thought it was strange that my business was booming during a poor economic time in our country. Then I figured it was because I could underbid my competition and offer a higher quality product for a smaller price. I kept my eye on what the larger firms were charging, and then undercut them by a few cents. By hiring part-time students from the community college, I kept my overhead at a minimum. This also gave my employees an income while in school. The biggest expense I had was an industrial coffee roaster I bought last year.
When I finished at the warehouse, I decided to stop off at the Hermann Public Library to dig a little deeper into whatever I could find about Whitney and her friends. I pulled up in front of the library, and then remembered that I was supposed to meet Lt. Jacobs at five o’clock. Checking my watch, I saw that I had just five minutes to make it to the appointment. I put the Buick in reverse and headed for the Sheriff’s Office.
When I arrived, I walked up to the glassed-in cubicle and told the youthful receptionist that I had an appointment with Jacobs. The sign in the widow told me her name was Bonnie Sue. Her forehead wrinkled and she cocked her head to the side. “He’s not here. Didn’t he call and cancel?”
“No. I was supposed to meet him here at five o’clock.” By now, I was tapping my foot. I kept thinking about all the things I needed to do.
“Well, Ma’am, I’m sorry. It’s just not like Lt. Jacobs to blow off an appointment.”
“Oh, wait!” I practically shouted while rooting in my purse for my phone. “I’m so sorry, Bonnie,” I said after checking my voice mail. “He left a message. I had the ringer turned off. Can you have him call me to reschedule?”
“Sure thing, Ma’am. You’re Jennifer Penny aren’t you? It must have been awful to find Whitney’s body like that.”
“It was. Did you know her?”
“Well, sort of. We were in the same class at school, but I never hung around with her group.”
“What was she like?” I decided that first-hand information was better than old microfiche newspaper articles any day.
“Like I said, I didn’t run with her group.” Bonnie Sue twisted her straw-colored h
air. “They sort of ruled the school. Whitney was the leader, probably because her father was the richest. My friend Pam, got stuck going to their parties and she hated it. They all thought they were so cool. Pam didn’t drink or anything and hated to go with Whitney, but her mother made her.”
“Why would her mother make her do that?” I asked. I needed to get more information about this Pam person.
“Because she was Whitney’s cousin. Their mothers are sisters. Pam’s parents are just regular working people, not highfalutin bankers or anything. But Whitney’s father liked Pam and made Whitney take her to all sorts of places.”
“And Pam didn’t like that?” I hoped she’d keep talking.
“Oh, heck, no. She wanted to hang with her own friends. Whitney hated Pam because her friends liked Pam, too. Whitney was such a snob. Oh, gee, I shouldn’t be talking that way about someone who’s dead, I mean deceased.” She started shuffling papers on her desk and I realized she had said more than she meant to. I thanked her and reminded her to have Lt. Jacobs call me.
I slid into the front seat of Megan’s car. I was a little relieved that Jacobs hadn’t been there. I didn’t want to go over last night and finding Whitney’s body again. I guess I’d have to do it eventually. Tonight I could kick back and relax.
13
First thing Monday morning I took off again in Megan’s fancy car. I did a few errands, and then stopped for a quick bite at the Taco Shop.
After lunch, I was driving down Main Street when I realized that Herman Motors Used Cars was right around the corner. On a whim, I pulled in and got out of Megan’s car. “Ms. Penny! Did you go and buy a new car?” asked Tom, the salesman I had talked to last week.
“No, Tom, I just borrowed this car from a friend. Looks like I’m going to need to decide on a different vehicle sooner than I thought.”
“Why’s that, Ma’am?”
Just then my phone rang. I excused myself and turned to answer the phone.
