Shake Down Dead

by Diane Morlan

  ers the info on thefjfjfjfjfjfjfjfj “Nope, that should do it.” Decker got up from his chair and held his hand out for me.

  We said good bye to each of them, shaking hands again.

  When we were back in the truck Decker said, “She never said a word.”

  “What?” I asked. I had no idea what he was talking about.

  “The lawyer. She never spoke a word to us. Isn’t that odd?”

  “Maybe she charges by the word and Charlie’s a cheapskate.”

  Decker, bless his heart, laughed at my terrible joke.

  “Hey, it’s 8:00 on a Friday night. Let’s go to a movie.” He wanted to go out on a date. Cool!

  We pulled into Hermann’s answer to a multiplex. The owner of the Hermann Cinema had remodeled the once large auditorium into three separate theaters. They weren’t big but the people of Hermann had some choices and the cinema was bringing in more people and selling lots of popcorn. Decker bought me a big bucketful of that fluffy buttered heavenly food. He shook his head as he watched me salt the popcorn, then shake a little mound of salt in a napkin which I twisted to hold in the salt. I tucked the napkin in my pocket.

  “What?” I asked. Not waiting for an answer I said, “The salt is only on the top layer. I need it for later.”

  Shortly before we got our refreshments we had a lively discussion about which movie to see.

  “Let’s see that alien movie,” Decker said. “I heard it was really good.”

  I’d rather see that romantic comedy. You like comedies, don’t you?”

  “Not really. It’s a chick flick. How about this one that takes place during World War II?”

  “Works for me,” I replied. I actually wanted to see this movie but if he knew that it was a love story along with the action, Decker may not have agreed to it. Sometimes it’s just too easy.

  26

  Decker and I slept in Saturday morning. When we finally got up he offered to make breakfast which was more like lunch, given the time.

  I had just stuck a huge forkful of omelet in my mouth when Decker held up the coffee pot. I nodded and he refilled my cup, then his own. I loved his omelets. He filled them with all kinds of veggies—onions, green peppers, mushrooms, and who knew what else.

  When we had eaten most of the meal, we slowed down enough to talk to each other.

  “Okay, Decker, so why didn’t that lawyer say anything last night?”

  “I’ve been thinking about that. Maybe she wasn’t a lawyer.”

  “Then who was she—? Oh. I see.”

  “Has Megan ever said that her relationship with Charlie was exclusive?”

  “No, but I don’t think that Megan is still into Charlie. She told me what she really enjoyed was running the campaign. You know, making arrangements, finding venues for his rallies, that sort of stuff.”

  “Then this woman could be Megan’s replacement.”

  “Who knows? It’s just an idea. Whoever she was, she didn’t have anything to add to the conversation.”

  “What about the cleaning lady?” I asked. “Or, should I say, the lady cleaning the restroom? I’m sure Pam wasn’t talking about the college person that Charlie described. And she stayed in the bathroom the whole time Pam was there, so it’s possible that Whitney didn’t know she was there. She could have overheard the whole thing.”

  “That’s a possibility. Another is that Charlie could have been listening to them from his office. He could have cracked the door and they might not even have known that he was there.” Decker said. “He’s still my best suspect—or should I be PC and say, ‘Person of Interest?’”

  I laughed at Decker’s attempted joke. Actually, he was so straight forward that he was often anything but politically correct.

  “So, who’s on the agenda today?” Decker asked.

  “I don’t know. Have we talked to everyone? The more I talk to people the more I’m pretty sure anyone could have killed Whitney. And with good reason.”

  “You’re not sticking up for her murderer, are you?”

  “No.” I sighed, and then said, “I just think that she wasted her life on things that were useless and in doing that Sister Bernie is the only one with anything good to say about her.”

  “Don’t forget the residents of the group home. I’m sure they appreciated all of her efforts for them.”

  “Yes. I did forget about them. I’m glad Harold is off the hook,” I said.

  “I talked to Bernie yesterday. She said that although the authorities don’t believe Harold killed Whitney, most of the people in Itzig still think he’s dangerous. We need to find the killer so he’s vindicated.” Decker said.

  “Then we’d better get to it,” I said, slapping my hand on the table. “There has to be someone we haven’t talked to.”

  “I don’t think so. If we haven’t interviewed them, Jacobs has. Is there anyone we need to speak to again?”

  I was so full and content, I didn’t want to move. The caffeine hadn’t kicked in yet, so I poured another cup of coffee. When I offered to refill Decker’s cup, he declined.

  I reluctantly dug in my purse and pulled out my little notebook with the red cover. I flipped through it and found the names of Whitney’s high school friends: Olivia Zimmerman, Gina Lang, and Kimberly Adler.

  “Gina’s my new hairdresser. Check,” I said, making an “X” in front of her name. “Did you follow up on Olivia Zimmerman?”

  Decker looked up from the newspaper he was reading and said, “Who?”

  “Whitney’s high school friend, Olivia Zimmerman Reese. She lives in Sleepy Eye. I think she might be one of the women Pete pointed out at the Cozy Corner the other night.”

  “I thought you said she was married.”

  “She is,” I answered. “At least as far as I know. I’m not sure she was one of them. That’s why someone needs to talk to her. I’ll call and see if she’s home.

  “Don’t bother,” Decker said. “Jacobs talked to all the girls on the list.”

  “Girls? They’re hardly girls anymore.”

  “Yeah, but they were when they were in high school and that’s where Whitney met them. And if she blackmailed any of them it was probably from something they did in high school—when they were girls.”

  “Okay. Check, check, check. Decker, who is ‘d.yng’ and what did she steal?”

  “What are you talking about?” Decker said, putting down the paper and paying attention to me.

  “The list on Whitney’s phone. It says ‘d.yng thft.’ Do you know who it is?

  “Yes, Jacobs said it was Della Younger, Harold’s niece.”

  “Oh, no. Is this going back to Harold again? I thought he was eliminated as a suspect.”

  “He is. Jacobs said that he talked to Della and found that she had been caught shoplifting when she was sixteen years old. She got probation and community service. Apparently, Whitney thought that Sister Bernadine would fire her if she found out. Della said she laughed in Whitney’s face. Jacobs said that the community service she was assigned to was sorting donated clothing at St. Theresa’s Thrift Shop. Guess who her boss was?”

  “Bernie,” I guessed.

  “Yep. Now can I please finish reading the paper?”

  “What’s so interesting in that stupid paper? I’m trying to find a killer here, okay?”

  Decker smiled at me. I was trying to insult him and he smiled!

  “Here, look at this,” Decker answered, pointing to an article in the paper. Instead of handing me the paper, he began to read the article to me. I hate to be read to. “Mort Kelly, Librarian at Hermann Public Library will present a genealogy seminar on ‘Filling in the Branches of Your Family Tree.’ The seminar will begin at 2:00 PM on Sunday at the Hermann Public Library. Refreshments will be served. Please call ahead to reserve your place.”

  “Are you interested in your family tree?” I asked. Why was he so interested in genealogy all of a sudden?

  “No, I know where I came from. My family all live in the
same neighborhood on the south side of Chicago. This Mort guy, didn’t you meet him?”

  “Yes, I talked to him Thursday. Why?”

  “Well, I was thinking. Charlie sure looks like our guy, but we don’t know why Whitney was blackmailing him. The only thing we know is that he might have a love child out there somewhere. Maybe this librarian could see if there’s a kid out there who belongs to Charlie.”

  “I see, yes,” I said. “Except that I think genealogy traces your family backwards, not who comes after you.”

  “Why couldn’t he do it the other way? I think it’ll work. Can you ask him?”

  “Sure, I can give him a call. Did you ever find the vandals who threw that paint on Sunrise House?”

  “Jacobs got them. They’re a couple twelve year olds in Itzig. Apparently, they heard their parents complaining about the residents and thought it would be okay to vandalize the house. Jacobs is dealing with it outside of court.”

  “What do you mean? What is he doing?”

  Decker laughed. “He made a deal with them to keep the whole thing out of the legal system. The parents and the kids will clean up the paint and whatever damage they did to the house. Then they are all responsible for all the yard work at the group home for the next six months. That includes the leaf raking, snow shoveling, and grass cutting.”

  “That is so good. It will be good for the parents and the kids. And they’ll spend some positive time with each other. Jacobs is a genius,” I said laughing with Decker.

  “Speaking of Jacobs, I’m meeting with him later this afternoon. We’re going to go over everything we each have on the case and see if we missed anything. What are you doing?”

  “I have to get over to the warehouse. It’s Saturday and we’re roasting and packaging all day. I’ll make time to stop over at the library and check out those things with Mort Kelley later today.”

  “That sounds good. Let’s meet here and go out to dinner. What time?” he asked.

  “The library closes at five-thirty. I should be back here by quarter to six.”

  I picked up my purse and jacket, leaned down to kiss Decker goodbye and said, “See you later, Handsome.”

  27

  I pulled into the library parking lot and looked at my watch. It was a little after five in the afternoon. We had worked later than I thought we would but got all the orders filled for me to deliver Monday and Tuesday. It had been sprinkling but just when I unbuckled my seat belt, it started to pour.

  Picking up my umbrella, I opened it through a crack in the door then slide out of the car and under the umbrella. I had taken only two steps when my right foot splashed into a puddle. The wind picked up and was now trying to turn my umbrella inside out. I pulled on the brass handle of the library door and rushed inside.

  I set my umbrella down near the door hoping I wouldn’t forget it later. This was the third umbrella I had bought this year. It seemed the only time I remembered them was when it was still raining when I left. This storm didn’t look like it would end anytime soon.

  The library was almost deserted. I only had a half hour before they closed. This wouldn’t take long. I just wanted to ask Deb if she had seen anyone around Pam when she got on the elevator. Maybe I’d catch a break, but I wouldn’t bet on it.

  Deb, a thirty-something buxom woman with hair an impossible shade of red, was checking out books for a teenage girl. I peeked at the titles; all three were vampire love stories. I wasn’t surprised. When she finished, I asked her if she had a few minutes.

  “Sure, if it doesn’t take too long. I start closing the library in about ten minutes.”

  I’ll be quick,” I promised. “All I want to know is if you saw anyone around Pam the other day when she was attacked in the elevator.”

  “No, just some boys who were looking at sci-fi books. Except for Mrs. Jackson.”

  “Mrs. Jackson? Charlie’s mother?” I asked.

  “Yes, she’s here all the time. She thinks she’s helping her son get elected.”

  “What does she do when she’s here?” I asked.

  “Mort and I are qualified to register voters. Yvonne wants to make sure that everyone over 18 is registered to vote for her son. She comes in sometimes just to ask how many people have registered since the last time she was here. Like we keep track for her. She used to go around and ask our patrons if they were registered. If they weren’t she’d bug them until they filled out the paperwork. We warned her several times not to do that. Finally, Mort told her if she did it again, she would be banned from the library. She was ticked off but she quit. Oops, I have to make the closing announcement now.”

  “Okay, thanks Deb.”

  She walked over to the PA system and spoke into a telephone receiver. “The library will be closing in fifteen minutes. If you have books to check out, please bring them to the Circulation Desk now. The library is closed on Sunday but will reopen Monday at nine a.m.”

  Mort came up to the desk and asked, “Hi, do you need to see more microfilm?”

  “No, I’m looking for different information this time.”

  He hand went into his pocket and an M&M went into his mouth. “What can we help you with?”

  Deb walked over and said to Mort. “Jennifer was asking about people in the library when Pam was attacked. I told her that Mrs. Jackson was here.”

  “Was she? I didn’t notice.”

  “What about Whitney Wentworth? Was she a patron? She was Pam’s cousin, you know.”

  Mort answered while Deb was counting the money in the cash drawer. “Sure, she came in occasionally. She would stop and talk to Pam if she was here. Whitney was interested in Hermann history. We have a fine collection of information about Hermann; would you like to see it?”

  Deb stepped and said. “I don’t think she’s looking for that kind of information, Mort.”

  “Actually,” I said, “It might be useful to know what she was looking for. Do you remember, Mr. Kelley?”

  “Oh, call me Mort. Mr. Kelley was my father.” Mort chuckled at his little joke while another M&M went into his mouth. “Well, let me think. She was looking for information on Charlie Jackson. I think she was trying to decide whether or not to vote for him.”

  “I’m not sure that’s why she wanted the information,” I said.

  I looked around and saw that I was the only patron left in the library. Then I heard a door creak. Deb was over at the bank of computers that were there for the public. She was shutting them down.

  “Did you hear that?” I asked Mort.

  “It’s just the after-hours creaking. Happens all the time.”

  All of a sudden, the pieces started clicking into place. “Mort, I have an idea.”

  “What can I do to help?” he asked.

  “I’d like to do some snooping into Charlie Jackson’s family tree. Will you help me?”

  “Of course, let’s go over to the reference desk,” Mort replied. He quietly whistled as he walked ahead of me.

  When we got to the desk, he pulled over a chair so I could also see his monitor. I sat down and Mort asked, “What are we looking for?”

  “I want to find out Charlie Jackson’s father’s name. Can we find Charlie’s birth certificate?”

  “I don’t know. Where and when was he born?” Mort questioned me.

  “According to his campaign information, he was born here in Hermann. Around fifty years ago.”

  ‘”He’s too young. I mean they don’t have a database for birth certificates. The census records are only available after 72 years, so we can only look up people who were alive in 1930. If Charlie’s father was born before then we might be able to find him. But we need his name.”

  “I don’t know the first name. Where can we find that?”

  Mort snapped his fingers and started typing. “Let’s look at Charlie Jackson’s website. Maybe there is information we can use there.”

  He hit the enter button and Charlie’s face showed up. Mort clicked around the site and came up
with just what we needed. “Here we go,” Mort said, reading aloud what I was also reading on the screen. “Charlie’s mother was born and raised on a farm near Ames, IA. She moved here after Charlie’s father died. Charlie’s father, Ronald J. Jackson, was in the Army and was killed in Vietnam just before Charlie’s birth. Yvonne moved here to live with her aunt and uncle.”

  “Does that help?” I asked.

  “It sure does,” Mort answered, his fingers flying across the keyboard. He keyed in an address for a website, explaining, “I’m checking on his military record. Fold3.com is a website dedicated to military records. Oh, oh. I don’t see any Ronald J. Jackson from Iowa.”

  “What does that mean?” I asked.

  Mort shook his head. “There are no records for Ronald Jackson, or Ronnie Jackson. I don’t think he exists.”

  “Is there someplace else you can check? Maybe he wasn’t from Iowa.”

  “Let’s look at Social Security death records for the year Charlie was born.” Mort was clicking away again. He started that low whistling again. This time I recognized a Donna Summer tune, “Last Dance.” Mort was definitely a fan of Disco music. Probably the only person west of the Mississippi who liked that type of music.

  I looked at my watch. It was five twenty-five. “Are we going to have enough time?”

  “Oh, sure. Deb will lock up and we can leave when we’re finished.”

  Just then Deb walked up and said, “I’m going to leave in about ten minutes. I’ll lock up. Remember to turn off the lights when you leave, Mort.”

  He nodded and waved to her. “See you Monday.”

  “I hate to have you stay past closing time. I can come back later.”

  “Oh, no, no. You’ve got me interested now. Let’s keep looking. Ah, here are the records for that year.” Scrolling down, he whizzed past hundreds of records. He slowed down when he got to the J’s. “I don’t see any Jacksons in Iowa who died that year. That’s very odd.”

  “Wait a minute. Can you check the census records for Jacksons in Iowa in 1930?”