by Diane Morlan
It was Lt. Jacobs, wanting to reschedule our appointment. We decided to meet at his office at three o’clock.
“Are you going to be there this time, Lieutenant?” I teased. “Don’t want to be stood up twice in one week.”
“I’ll be here, Jennifer,” he said with a chortle. See you in a couple hours.”
I walked back over to Tom and said, “Did you hear about Whitney Wentworth?”
“Ya, I sure did. That’s a shame, isn’t it? Such a cute young thing. I bet her mother is just sick at heart.”
“I’m sure she is,” I replied, realizing that I hadn’t even stopped by to give my condolences to Henrietta Wentworth. “It was my car they found her in.”
“Really?” Tom took a step back from me. “And how did she get in your car?”
“Obviously, someone put her there.”
“Ya, I suppose so. Well, then,” he said clapping his hands together, “Guess you need a vehicle then, doncha’?”
I guess the lure of earning his commission overruled his suspicion of me. “Yes, I do. I’d like to check out that Blazer I test drove last week.” I looked around the lot, puzzled that it wasn’t in the front row of cars.
“Oh, sorry, Ms. Penny, I sold that the other day. I think I told ya’ it wouldn’t last long. Follow me. I have something else that might fit you even better.” He pointed to the end of the first row of cars. “It’s just right for your coffee roasting business. The color is cappuccino frost.” I could see that he was proud of remembering my business.
Looking over I saw what he meant. Parked next to a black sports car was a light brown Chevy Equinox that looked like a cross between an SUV and a station wagon. Although it sure wasn’t anything like the yellow station wagon my mother used to drive.
It was three years old and had only one little ding on the rear door. It would work great for my business. Room enough to haul coffee to restaurants, yet as comfortable as a sedan. After a short test drive and a price tag for a lot less than a new one, I made up my mind.
“I’ll take it,” I told Tom. I suppose I should have tried to dicker with him to get the price down, or have someone go over the vehicle and check it out, but I didn’t care. I liked it and it was within my price range. If I waited, it might not be here. So, I decided to just buy it.
Once, back when I had been married to Edwin, a car ran a red light and smashed into the side of my car. I wasn’t hurt but my poor little Toyota was totaled. It took a couple weeks to get the whole thing settled and I was without a car for that time. Edwin refused to rent a car for me. He said that since I didn’t work I didn’t need a car. The second time I sent him to the grocery store he decided that it was time to get me a car. During those two weeks I felt so stranded. I was home with two kids—a baby and a toddler. I swore that I would never be without a car again.
Funny, I hadn’t thought about that time in years. Nick had been about three. Now he was a comptroller for a riverboat casino in Indiana, just over the border from Chicago. He had bought a condominium on the near north side of the City about the same time I had purchased my little Victorian cottage.
I signed the papers for the Chevy and wrote Ted a check for the down payment. My credit was excellent, so I knew there would be no problem getting a loan.
A few years ago, I applied for a loan to take my coffee roasting business to the next level. I needed to purchase a very expensive coffee roaster and I found out that all the years I had managed our family money meant nothing to creditors. Edwin’s name was on everything and he got the good credit rating. My credit wasn’t bad; it was non-existent. I talked the bank into giving me a 90-day loan and paid it back in 60 days. I got a credit card that I had to back up with cash in their account. I charged $50 worth of purchases every month and paid it off on the due date. In six months I had a decent credit rating and it just got better from there.
I called the bank from the car lot office and got a tentative approval over the phone. I’d stop by later to sign the papers, and then go pick up my new-to-me auto. I sighed with relief. I had been fussing about trading in the Honda, but was timid about taking the big step. Now it was done. I had a moment of buyer’s remorse, and then shook it off. The Chevy was a terrific vehicle. My son would be glad to hear that I had bought an American car. Chevys were Nick’s favorite car.
I thought about stopping off at Mrs. Wentworth’s to pay my condolences about her daughter, then decided to check out the obituaries first to see when the funeral was being held. I could call and see if she needed anything, without bothering her by showing up unannounced.
Looking at my watch, I realized it was almost three o’clock. Darn! I’d almost forgotten about the appointment with Lt. Jacobs. I swung Megan’s car around a corner and headed back the way I had come.
14
The “Glock” was ringing out the hour—three o’clock. The “Glock,” as we called it, was not a high-powered handgun, but a “glockenspiel,”—a German clock on a pedestal that rang out the hour. Little doors opened below the clock face and 6” tall, hand-carved figurines, performed such tasks as sawing wood. A dancing couple waltzed through on one side of the clock and into doors on the other side, all the while moving to the rhythm of a German folk song. There were always a few people watching it, including me.
“I’m sorry I’m late, Lieutenant. Got caught up watching the Glock.”
“It’s okay, Jennifer. I usually stop to watch it at least once a week. It really is quite a masterpiece.”
Then we got down to business and I spent the next hour answering questions for Jacobs, which I’m sure added nothing to the investigation. I only talked about what I had seen and heard at the bar, not mentioning that I had gone there looking for Whitney or any of the snooping I had done yesterday afternoon or my Facebook and yearbook searches.
I left the courthouse, made a quick stop, and then headed home, kicking off my shoes the minute I walked through the door. On the way to the bedroom, I pulled my sweater off and dug through the clothes on the floor for a ratty t-shirt and baggy sweat pants Ah, comfort at last.
Grabbing a paper plate, fork, and a Diet Coke from the kitchen, I headed to the living room along taking the little take-out boxes from Chin’s Chinese with me. I dumped the rice from the smallest box onto the plate and with my fingers, picked up pieces of deep fried, battered chicken and arranged them on top of the rice, topping off the mound of food with sweet and sour sauce. With my feet up on the ottoman, I settled back to enjoy my dinner. It always tasted better when someone else cooked it.
After cleaning my plate, I washed the spoon and fork, put them in the dish drainer and dumped everything else in the trash. I slapped my hands together. Dishes done, kitchen cleaned.
Back in the living room, I dropped back in my favorite rocker and put my feet up. I needed to arrange a ride with Megan to get my new vehicle. Her answering machine told me she was out campaigning for Charlie, drumming up votes. Wondering if she was just taking a nap, I left a message for her to call me in the morning if she got in too late tonight. “And any time after eleven is too late,” I added and hung up.
Decker called to tell me he was working late. “Are you still working on Whitney’s case?” I asked.
“No. We did bring Harold in for questioning. He didn’t have anything new to say. Sister Bernie got him a lawyer and we had to let him go.”
“You’re still looking for whoever did this, aren’t you?”
“Jennifer, are you going to try to do my job again?”
“Of course not. It’s just that Trudy and Bernie are so sure Harold couldn’t have done this. If they weren’t so emphatic, I wouldn’t be questioning you. So, do you have another suspect that’s keeping you working so late on a Sunday night?”
“I’m working on a vandalism incident right now.”
“Vandalism? You’re working late to find a vandal? Isn’t that a little beneath your pay grade?”
“Not really. Someone threw red paint all over the side of the
Sunrise Group Home.”
“For heaven sakes, who would do such a thing?”
“We’re looking into it. It may be connected to Whitney’s death.”
“You mean that someone hates the group home being there so much that they’d kill someone? That’s hard to believe.”
“People’s prejudices run deep. This community that you find so friendly is pretty well closed.”
“What do you mean? People here are very friendly.”
“No, Jennifer, they’re not friendly; they’re nice. Big difference.”
“I don’t see much difference.” I felt my spine stiffen.
“I do. How many black families live here?”
“There’s a few,” I protested.
“And only a few, much less than ten percent of the population. Do you remember the county board meeting when they signed the papers certifying the first group home in Hermann?”
“Oh, yes, that was nasty, wasn’t it? How can people behave that way?”
“You wouldn’t believe how badly people can behave, Jennifer. You should realize that these things happen. You didn’t live your whole life in a small town.”
“No, I didn’t. And I’m one of the people who automatically thought Harold had hurt Whitney.”
“Sure you did, and you had more information than anyone. He said that he couldn’t wake her up.”
“Decker, I have to admit, the reason I think someone else did it is because I don’t think Harold would have hid her, then put her in my car. I don’t think he’s able to plan that far ahead. And why would he be so upset when she wasn’t there? He wasn’t faking. I think if he had killed Whitney, she still would have been there when we came out of Trudy’s place.”
“You’re probably right, JJ.”
“Don’t call me JJ! I hate that nickname. In fact, I hate nicknames all together.”
“No you don’t or you wouldn’t call me Jerry. Or Decker, for that matter.”
“I call you Jerry because that’s all I know you by. Heck, I don’t even know if your real name is Gerald or Jerome.”
“Neither.”
“Neither? How can that be?”
“I’ll tell you if you tell me what that middle J stands for.”
“Forget it. I’ll just call you Decker.”
“That’s not what you called me the other night.” I could almost hear the smile in his voice.
Giggling, I said, “Oh, shut up. Is this turning into a sex call? Do I hear heavy breathing?”
“Nope. Too many people around. I’ll see you tomorrow night for sure.”
“I’ll be looking forward to it. Maybe I can come up with another name for you.”
He chuckled and hung up.
I headed for the bedroom. I didn’t think that I’d have Harold in my dreams tonight.
15
I woke up to a cold, windy, and rainy morning. A second look showed me that it wasn’t just rain. There were white fluffy things floating down too. Here comes a Minnesota winter. Not even Halloween yet and winter is upon us. I thought back when I was a kid and went trick or treating. Our costumes had to be either big enough to wear over our winter coats, which was awful, or hidden under our coats where no one would see them. We ran to the apartment buildings, plenty of inside doors to knock on while we warmed up a little.
I poked around in my purse looking for my cell and hit the speed dial key for her phone. She answered on the second ring. I didn’t waste time with pleasantries.
“Bernie, when can you meet with me today? We need to talk about Whitney.”
“Good morning to you, too, Jennifer. And how are you on this fine fall day?”
“Okay,” I answered with a sigh. “I’m fine. How are you? And when can you meet with me? I’m a very busy woman and I’m trying to help you out.”
“I know, Jennifer. I just want you to look into this, not get all overcome with it like you did last time.”
“I did not get overcome!” I protested. “Do you want me to help or not?” I wasn’t about to be lectured by Sister Bernadine this morning.
I heard her take a deep breath and then she replied. “Yes, I want your help. You seem to be able to put things together rather well. I’m busy right now, though. Let’s see, I have an appointment in a few minutes. Could you meet me here at the office around ten o’clock?”
“At the group home in Itzig?” I asked.
“No, dear. I’m at the Mary’s Haven office here in Hermann. You’ve been here, right?”
“Yes, I was at the reception last year when you first opened the office. I’m on my way to Megan’s right now. I’ll stop by after I pick up my new vehicle.”
Since I had time before meeting with Bernie, I had called Megan to arrange a ride to Hermann Motors so I could pick up my new SUV.
While I was taking my morning shower, I thought about all the Halloweens Megan, Bernie and I had spent together over the years. When we were in fourth grade, Megan had the chicken pox and couldn’t go trick or treating with us. Bernie felt so bad that she brought along an extra pillow case, which is what we always used, thinking we’d have more room for candy than in a plastic bag, and asked at every house for extra candy for our sick friend. Megan was overjoyed with the candy we brought her the next day.
Being Megan, the next year she brought two bags and told everyone that she had a sick sister to get extra candy. Bernie was so angry that she tried to tell the adults at each house that Megan didn’t have a sister. It’s our favorite Halloween story and Megan and I retell it every year to anyone who hasn’t heard it before and to some who have. Bernie still gets upset when we talk about it.
Back in the bedroom, I pulled a turtleneck sweater over my head and smoothed it over my jeans. When I used the blow dryer on my hair, I realized that I was overdue for a haircut. I’d have to try to fit that in sometime this week. When I was dressed and ready, I sat down for a second cup of coffee. I had splurged and brewed up a pot of Jamaican Blue. It was one of the best coffees in the world and only grew in a few mountain areas of Jamaica. I needed the brace of a second shot of caffeine before dealing with Bernie. She wasn’t going to like this meeting.
I picked up the Maron County Herald and paged through it while I sipped my energizing cup of coffee. I saw an ad for a new beauty shop that had just opened on Broadway. They had a special on haircuts.
Last August we had a streak of unusually hot weather and I had my shoulder length hair cut in a short bob. Since I have no talent with hair styling, it was just the right cut for me. I usually just ran into one of the national chains and had whoever was available cut my hair. Sometimes I got a great cut. Other times, not so good. Maybe it was time to have a stylist who could cut it the same way every time. I tore out the coupon for Head’s Up Hair Salon. It stated that they took walk-ins. I’d try to get over there sometime soon.
I folded the paper and after I put on my winter jacket, tucked it under my arm and headed for the door. I braced myself for a blast of winter and was surprised to find that, although it was only about forty degrees out and a little windy, it was a rather delightful fall day—except for the snowflakes that were still drifting down from the cloudy skies.
Megan was in a hurry when I got to her place. She had some errands to run for Charlie and a meeting with the volunteers at eleven o’clock.
“Charlie sure keeps you busy. Can you afford to take off this much work?” I asked.
“I sure can. You don’t think I’m doing all this for love do you?”
You mean Charlie’s paying you?”
“Of course he is. I like Charlie but I don’t work for free.” She winked at me.
“Here you go,” she said, pulling into Herman Motors. “I hate to just drop you off but I have to get over to the printers. Okay?”
“Thanks, Megan. I’ll talk to you later.” I pulled up the hood on my jacket and ran across the lot to the office.
An hour later, I pulled up in front of Bernie’s workplace. Mary’s Haven Group Homes was in
a one-story brick building that also housed offices for an accounting firm, a dentist and a takeout pizza store. When I pulled open the door, a sudden gust of wind caught it and swung the door wide. It banged against the building. Luckily, it didn’t break the glass. So much for a fine fall day.
I was surprised to see Della Younger, Harold’s cousin, sitting behind the reception desk. “Della, I didn’t know you worked here. I haven’t seen you since Polka Daze. How are you?”
“Hi, Ms. Penny. I just started working here a few weeks ago. Sister Bernie asked me to fill in while her regular receptionist was on maternity leave. I need the experience to get a permanent job. Maybe the new mom will decide not to come back and I can stay here.”
“Good luck, Della. Is Sister in?”
“Oh, gee, yes. She’s waiting for you. Go right in.” Della motioned toward a doorway behind her.
I walked through the opening and saw three doors. The first was a washroom, the second a door marked “Accounting” and finally a door marked “Director.” That’s my friend Bernie, Miss Low-Key.
I knocked twice and opened the door a crack to peek in and make sure I was at the right place. Bernie sat behind an outsized walnut desk, her veiled head over the papers she was perusing. She looked up and the frown on her face turned to a smile.
“Jennifer! Come in. Sit. I’ll make some tea.”
No use arguing that I had just ingested two cups of coffee and didn’t need more stimulants or liquid in my system. “Thanks, Bernie. I have a lot of questions. How much time can you give me?”
“All the time you need to help poor Harold out of this mess,” she said, filling the electric teakettle. “And of course, to bring Mrs. Wentworth some closure. It’s been a terrible time for her. She’s lost everything now. I don’t know how she’ll survive this latest tragedy.”
I often thought that Bernie was a little naive. She seems too trusting to me. On the other hand, I love the way she always sees the good side of people. When I complained once about a customer who owed me money, Bernie told me that the woman was a saint, taking care of her dying mother. Yeah, I was humbled.
