"What about Sheriff Evans?” I looked up at Hazel for the answer.
"No word. Come to think of it, he hasn't returned my call from this morning. I'm going to give Betty at the station a call and see what she has to say about it." Jake continued to search on the computer while Hazel made the phone call.
"Hi, Betty, it's Hazel Andrews. Sheriff Evans never got back with me today and that's just not like him. I was hoping he'd have some news for me by now. He's out sick, you don't say?” Hazel looked at me and rolled her eyes. She wasn't too pleased that the sheriff had taken a personal day, even though it was apparent to me that he had needed one. Hazel wasn't going to cut him any slack.
"Well, the thing is, I know he had Roseanne’s ex-husband in there and I wanted to know if he's been charged with her murder. You don't know what I'm talking about? Are you sure? Well, Gwen saw him after he was brought in. She said he was handcuffed and everything. What do you mean no one else has been questioned yet? Why not? Because there aren’t any other suspects? Well if Hank wasn't brought in for Roseanne, what was he doing there? Yes, go on. I'll hold.”
Hazel covered the receiver with her hand. “I swear that woman doesn't know her ear from her elbow.” The woman came back on the other line. "Yes, I'm still here. Assault? No. On who? Daniel?” Hazel couldn’t believe it. My ears perked up.
"I hadn’t heard. He punched him right in the face? My word, you’re certain? This isn’t just some gossip now? What in the world was he thinking? Yes, that's the same guy. Hank Peterson. He was Roseanne's ex. When Gwen said she saw him at the station, handcuffed and all, I just assumed it was because of Roseanne. Well I'll be. Yes, be sure to tell Sheriff Evans. I’m sure he’ll be interested in the connection, too.” Hazel hung up the phone and turned to me and Jake.
"You won't believe it, but Hank punched Daniel Struble right in the middle of a restaurant yesterday morning."
"I was there," I blurted out.
"You were?" Jake asked.
"Yeah, I was meeting some friends for brunch at Sanchez’s, and Daniel walked in. He was kind of doing a little campaign stumping, shaking hands with everyone and talking with various people, when some big dude sitting at the bar just hauled off and swung at him. Daniel went on the defense and tried to cover himself, but a couple of punches sneaked in. It was crazy. I had no idea that was Hank."
"My word, I didn't even know they knew one another. What a bizarre, small world.” Hazel shook her head.
"Oh my goodness," I slapped my hand over my mouth. "Stormy." I looked at Jake to see if he was following my train of thought. "Roseanne's friend said that Stormy was seeing two guys, one was her ex-husband and the other was some new guy. You don’t know Daniel's birthday, do you?"
“No, can't say that I do."
"Well, that can't be too hard to find out." Jake was already back to typing away on his keyboard. “Daniel Struble. Residing in Asheville, North Carolina. Got him right here. Birthdate ..." Jake's voice trailed off while he used his index finger to trace a line of text on his computer screen. "Bingo, born on the Fourth of July."
"You're telling me that my girl was dating Daniel and she was considering going back to her ex? Oh, my girl was always such a fool." Hazel looked up at the sky as if asking Roseanne what she had been thinking.
"We need to talk to Hank. Can you call Betty back and see if she can tell us where he is? Is he still in the jail or was he released?"
"Sure thing, let me ring her right now."
Jake suddenly looked like he struck gold. "Wait, Daniel’s an immigrant from Germany, right?”
“And these are German World War II medals,” I filled in, following his thought.
“What if Daniel's the one who broke in looking for these?” Jake finished.
"You mean like Roseanne stole them from him?" I asked.
"Or she could've been blackmailing him. He's running for office, isn't he, Grandma?"
"U.S. Senate. That's all Greta's talked about. She so proud of her boy."
"Yeah, so what if Roseanne stole these medals and was using them to blackmail Daniel. to keep from people finding out his family's past. I highly doubt anyone would vote for someone with strong Nazi ties,” Jake said.
“But weren’t they dating?” I questioned.
“Oh honey, Roseanne would have turned on him in a heartbeat if she thought she could get some cash out of it,” Hazel said. “I just don’t know where I went wrong with that girl. Lord knows I didn’t raise her that way.”
“Well if that’s the case, then yeah, you’re absolutely right. That would be a politician’s worst nightmare." I liked to think people were more forgiving, but we all knew how a political foe could manipulate that type of the scandal.
"So what's next? How do we prove any of this is even remotely possible?” I asked.
“Let me do a more in-depth search here and see what else I can find out. Hopefully it won't be too hard to trace Daniel’s family tree.”
Jake was right. The Internet was going to be our best bet. It wasn't like we could go down and ask Greta for the details, even if she wasn't in the hospital. We didn't want Daniel to get wind of what we were doing.
While we were searching, Hazel was able to get Hank's current residence from Betty and give us the address.
"He's renting a room in Midtown. It's not too far from here."
Hazel's comment jolted something else from my memory. "Midtown? As in the area up the street from Miss Sue’s?”
"Yeah, it's not too far from her. Why do you ask?"
"Well, don't tell Miss Sue that I told you because she already has some major guilt over it, but she told me that she saw Roseanne the night she died coming from Midtown."
This was news to Hazel. "She did?"
I nodded. “I told her to tell Sheriff Evans about it, and I believe she did. She told me she thought Roseanne looked drunk and she didn't report it because …"
"Because that wasn't unusual for her." Hazel finished my sentence for me.
"Right. It wasn't until after the fact that Miss Sue realized that she probably needed help.”
“It’s not her fault,” Hazel said, although I saw her dab at a tear.
"So wait, who do we think killed her? Daniel or Hank?” Jake asked.
"It seems like Daniel had the motivation, but Hank is closer to the scene of the crime. If we can put him at the time and place, then it might be a toss-up."
“Let me get to work tracing Daniel’s family,” Jake said.
"Do you want me to go and try to talk to Hank?” I asked.
"Absolutely not,” Hazel said. “No way am I letting you go anywhere near him by yourself. Your Gran would skin me alive, and I wouldn't blame her.”
"I agree with Grandma here, but we do need to talk to him. I guess let's go do that now and then get back to this.”
"Jake, I know you’re grown now, but don't forget Hank’s a nasty drunk." Hazel was dead serious, and I believed her.
"Don't worry, I haven't forgotten."
I had to admit that I was nervous as we made the short jaunt into town to where Hank was renting out a room. The address Betty had provided us with led us to the corner house on Jane and Fremont. At one time, I would’ve bet that the home had been described as beautiful or even stunning before it had been left to fall into disrepair. The painted white clapboard siding was heavily peeled, and half of the once hunter green shutters were missing a couple of key screws, leaving them to hang precariously. The ivy that I was sure at one time scaled the porch beautifully now overran it, making a tangled jungle that choked out the porch’s spindles. Unfortunately, Betty hadn't known which unit was Hank’s, so we were forced to knock on the main door. A little old lady that made all the residents at Pleasant View look youthful answered the door. The old woman had on a long black frock and a heavy wool sweater despite the still-warm temperatures. Her skin was paper thin and so pale that you could see the blue of the veins running up her forehead.
A strong odor of cat pee pou
red out onto the porch. I stepped back and internally attempted to plug my nose and remind myself to take shallow breaths. An orange tabby cat poked its head out from behind her. Two more cats sat on the front window, watching us intently and flicking their tails.
It was going to have to be all Jake this time. The smell was just too much for me. I turned my head to breathe. When I did, I noticed a small black cat that had been hiding out in the ivy peek out. I gave him a smile. He poked his head further out into the open, but quickly ducked it back in when I stuck my hand out.
“Can you tell us what room Peterson is renting?” Jake asked.
The old lady pulled her sweater tighter around her small frame. She was so fragile looking, I wondered what she could possibly do if someone decided to skip rent. That question was answered by a man who made his presence known in the background.
"Mama, someone bothering you?" The man's voice boomed from the background. The lady turned and held up her bony hand to her son to tell him that she had everything under control. I followed her line of sight to see a rather heavy, middle-aged man sitting in only his underwear on a circa 1970s floral couch. The entire scene was disturbing. I found myself wishing I could bleach the memory from my brain.
“You with the police?” the woman asked, her voice low and shaky.
“No ma’am,” Jake replied.
She took in my jeans and sweater. I didn’t think we looked anything like the police. “Good, because I don’t want any trouble in my building.”
“Don’t worry, I promise we won’t give you any.” Jake flashed her his best Boy Scout smile. Personally, I was thinking that if she hadn’t wanted any trouble, then she shouldn’t have rented a room out to Hank Peterson. This was another reason Jake was doing the talking.
The lady didn’t seem impressed, but she answered him anyway. “He's in the basement. Unit B.”
“Thanks so much,” Jake said.
I gave a wave goodbye and hurried to get off that porch and into the fresh air once more.
“Holy cats,” I said. Another feline scurried out of our way and into the overgrowth.
“Literally,” replied Jake as we wound our way around the side of the house to the entrance of the lower unit. The letter B was stained on the side of the door in dirt, the actual metal letter having long since fallen off.
Jake lifted his hand up to knock on the door and then put it back down. Turning to me he said, “Maybe you should knock? He might be nicer to a woman."
“Um, okay.” Jake’s comment was not making me feel any better. Why in the world did I ever suggest that I would come here alone? Thank heavens some people had common sense. I put on a brave face, set my shoulders back, and rapped on the door.
“Mr. Peterson, are you home?”
I'd like to tell you that Hank politely told us to go away, but that wasn’t the case.
“Does he kiss his mother with that mouth?" I said under my breath to Jake.
"His mama left him a long time ago.”
“Shocking.” My voice was heavy with sarcasm.
Jake gave it a go. “Uncle Hank, it's Jake. Open up."
“I ain’t nobody’s uncle,” was the reply, but we could hear footsteps coming toward the door. Hank opened the door part of the way, leaving the metal security chain in place. A black, beady eye peered out.
“What do you want?” The stench of alcohol punctuated the air. Gin. I held my breath.
“I wanted to talk to you about Aunt Roseanne,” Jake said.
“Good ol’ Rosy. Surprised she lived as long as she did.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“As an addict.” Hank looked at me like I was slow.
I cleared my throat. “I see. We’re just trying to figure out what happened that night. The night she died.” I was struggling for the right words here. “And I thought—”
“You thought what, princess? You want to stop in and have a little chat with Uncle Hank?” He laughed a nasty, drunk roll. It was husky and thick, and turned into a smoker’s cough at the end.
“We know she was here the night she died.” Jake was bold.
“You do now, huh?” Hank’s eyes darted around the yard, wondering just who had been watching him. I noticed he didn’t contradict it.
“I can tell you she left here just fine.” His voice gave another laugh, a sick chuckle this time. Hank lifted a bottle straight to his lips. No brown paper bag. Just a straight fifth. I took a step back.
“Did she seem off at all?” Jake asked.
“Rosy was always off. High as a kite. I liked it.” Hank licked his lips.
“Had she been using that night?” I asked.
Hank wasn’t going to answer that. Probably because it incriminated him too.
Instead he said, “She was talking nonsense.”
“What do you mean?” I was trying to determine if she had already appeared drunk as Miss Sue had reported.
Hank looked at me with disgust. “Talking about dreams.” He spit out the word as if it were a disease.
“Oh.” I was thinking that wasn’t so bad.
“Don’t say oh like that. That man didn’t need to fill her head like that. Rosy needed to keep her place. She wasn’t ever gonna be anybody. I told her men like that don’t marry the maid.”
“Daniel?” I asked.
“Don’t say his name!” Hank’s temper flared, hot and bitter. Like a snake, he seemed ready to strike. I was grateful the chain was still in place.
“Why’d she come over here Tuesday night?” Jake asked.
“To make some money.” Hank smirked. It sent chills down to my toes. “Don’t worry. She earned every penny of it.”
And Roseanne married this guy because why? I could feel my temper building. Jake grabbed my hand and squeezed. He knew I was ticked. He also knew it would be suicide to provoke Hank. I had to think rationally and bite my tongue.
“What do you think happened to her?” Jake asked. I fully expected Hank to accuse Daniel.
“Drug overdose. Too much of the wrong stuff.” Hank chuckled that sick laugh again. He wasn’t crying over her death, that was for sure.
I was absolutely done here. The only thing keeping me in place was Jake’s hand. Thankfully, Jake wrapped the conversation up, and we were back in the truck a minute later.
“Was he serious? Did he mean your aunt slept with him for money?” I clicked my seatbelt back into place.
“Maybe, but I don’t think so. I think it was all about the drugs.”
“You think she was selling them to him?”
“Absolutely. Hank’s the one that got her using. He’s a bigger druggie than she was.”
So many vile thoughts about Hank filled my head. I didn’t know what insult to lead with.
“Did you notice Hank didn’t know the cause of death?” Jake asked.
“He also didn’t seem to care one bit that she was dead.”
“True love, I tell you what, it sure lasts forever.” It was Jake’s turn to act sarcastic.
“I’m surprised he even cared enough to punch Daniel,” I said.
“Hank never turns down an opportunity. He was probably just annoyed with Daniel for trying to make Roseanne a better person.”
“There you go again, giving people more credit than they deserve.” I doubted Hank had put that much thought into it.
“No, you’re probably right. He probably just didn’t want Roseanne to stop selling him weed.”
11
We went back to Hazel’s so Jake could continue the research. Hazel had remembered Greta’s husband’s name—Joseph Struble—and Jake used that to search the databases, but nothing came up. In fact, not one German soldier on either side of the family tree.
“I’m not getting anything here,” Jake hit enter repeatedly, as if hoping each page refresh would yield a different result.
“Maybe we should try another angle?” I said.
Hazel joined us at the dining room table. She brought out a plate of froste
d sugar cookies. Pumpkins with orange and green royal icing. With the way Hazel fed us, I was thinking all of research should take place at her house.
I thought back through the dossier Ruthie had provided. Was there anything in Roseanne’s history that needed a second look?
“What about her job?” I asked.
“Aunt Roseanne was working?” Jake looked surprised.
“I was able to get her a job cleaning houses here in Pleasant View. She just started about two weeks ago.”
I remembered the first time I had seen Roseanne with her sweatpants and bleached shirt. She had told Gwen she had just gotten off of work. That made more sense now. As did Hank’s comment, Guys like that don’t marry the maid.
“Do you know who she cleaned for?” I asked.
“Now that I’m not too sure about, but the property manager, Vicki, would know. I’m sure she’s in now.”
“Want to run up?” I asked Jake.
“Yeah, I’m not getting anywhere here. Might as well give my eyes a break.”
It only took us a couple of minutes to drive to the property office. Truthfully, we probably should have walked, but too late now. As we parked, Jake’s cell phone rang. He looked at the display. “Sorry, it’s work. I have to take it.”
“No worries. I’ll go in and see what I can find out.” I didn’t want to waste too much time. It was almost five o’clock. I wasn’t sure how late Vicki would be in her office.
I pushed the office building’s glass-front door open. A half-walled reception desk greeted me, but not a receptionist. To my left, I could hear someone talking.
“I understand you’re worried. Right now, we’re treating these like isolated events. Well, it’s always a good thing to keep your doors locked. Yes, locked. Well, you know, most people lock their doors nowadays. Yes, I’m serious.”
I cocked my head around the corner.
Vicki was swamped. I could tell just by walking into the property manager’s office. Her desk was covered with papers, un-opened mail, and Post-It Notes.
As soon as she hung up the phone, it rang again. I could see more than one light lit up on the phone’s multi-line panel, too.
Mourning After Page 14
