Too Dead To Dance (12 page)

“You’ve wasted half my day,
Jennifer. I’m leaving. See you at the lawyer’s on
Thursday.”

I watched him get into his
sports car and then waited for a lull in business before I went up
to the teenager behind the counter.

“Is the manager
in?”

“No, he won’t be here for
another hour. Is anything wrong?”

“Absolutely not, your
service was great. But the coffee could be better.” Pulling a
business card out of my purse, I scribbled a note on it and handed
it to the employee along with a five pound bag of coffee. “Could
you please give him this and let him know I’ll call him in a few
days?”

“Sure. No problem.” He took
the coffee and shoved it under the counter.

As soon as I got in the
car, I called Megan. I tend to do a lot of multi-tasking in the
car. The traffic in Hermann is usually light so I rationalize my
bad driving habits. Megan agreed we needed to find out the time of
death. “I guess we also need to know the cause of death. Gee, there
is so much to this investigating stuff. I had no idea it would be
so difficult.”

“You know, Jennifer, we
don’t need to know who did it, we only need to prove Bernie didn’t
do it.”

“I don’t know how to do
that either. We’ll have to keep plugging along and see what we can
find out. Right now I need to get back to the booth and relieve
Sally.”

When I finally returned,
Sally grabbed her tote bag and hurried out the door. “Off to
class,” she called over her shoulder. Darn! I had been so
distracted I forgot she taught beginners swimming to a group of
elementary school girls every Saturday afternoon in the summer. She
must have a world of patience.

“Hi, Jennifer,” Trudy
called to me from her booth. “What a nice girl,” Trudy nodded
toward the door as Sally exited. “I was so surprised the first time
she came in and started working your booth.”

“You know Sally?” I
asked.

“Oh, yah. She’s been dating
Bobby for several months. Haven’t you seen her around here with
him? She’s at the closing ceremony every night.”

“Bobby? Bobby Reinhart from
your husband’s band? No, I didn’t know.”

“Oh, yah, sure. About a
month after she and Bobby started dating, Sally stopped going to
any of the bands’ gigs. She told Bobby something about not wanting
to be a ‘groupie.’ But I think it had something to do with Wes.
When Wes tried to talk to her, she’d move away as if she hadn’t
heard him. After a few weeks she started to come to our gigs again
but she never did look at Wes. And Wes just kept away from her. I
don’t think she ever said a word to him in the three months she’s
been dating Bobby. They’re such a cute couple.”

I stood there, trying to
process that information. I’d never even met Bobby but he might be
trying to protect Sally. Looking at Trudy I thought, “What’s wrong
with this picture?”

It was too quiet. I didn’t
hear the clicking of bobbins coming from Trudy’s booth. When I paid
attention, I saw her crocheting a charming piece of lace using
thread instead of yarn and a tiny silver hook. “Wow, what are you
making?”

“A doily. Actually, I
prefer to crochet but people like to watch me make bobbin lace so I
usually do that at craft fairs. Crochet is much more
relaxing.”

As I watched the thread
whip through her fingers, I became mesmerized. “It looks intense to
me. I crochet, but only with yarn. I’ve made a few afghans but
nothing as elegant as your doily.”

“You come out to my Lace
Haus and I’ll teach you how to crochet with thread. The stitches
are the same and you’ll get used to working with thread instead of
yarn. Once you get the hang of it, I know you’ll love it,
too.”

“If you say so. I would
love to learn. I’ll take you up on that if I ever get any free
time.” We talked about when that might be while I pumped her about
what she knew about Bobby, the only member of her husband’s band
that I had not met. I would talk to Sally later when she got back
from her swim class.

“Trudy, have you heard any
more about Wes’ murder? I mean do they know time and cause of
death?”

‘I haven’t heard anything
about when but I sure know how.”

“What do you mean?” I
asked, puzzled by this remark.

She reached into a canvas
tote bag and held up a long red knitting needle. “Why, Jennifer,
didn’t you see my other number ten sticking out of his
neck?”

Confused, I asked inanely,
“You knit, too?”

“Yah, and I feel sort of
bad about leaving my needles out on in the open.” Trudy said,
ignoring my perplexity. “I was trying to finish a scarf before
closing. I got the last row bound off just as everyone was leaving
and the Fest Meister was waiting to lock up. I tucked the scarf in
my tote bag, but left the needles on the table.”

I had been so shocked at
seeing a dead body I hadn’t looked at the details. Trudy was much
more observant, but, after all, it was her knitting needle. When
she showed me its twin, I understood how I could have missed it, a
red aluminum needle about a foot long with a pointed end. It seemed
to me this person had not planned to kill Wes or the killer would
have brought a weapon. From what I had heard today, plenty of
people had reason to do away with the scoundrel. Somehow I needed
to figure out who actually followed through.

When Sally returned from
teaching her class, she had barely put down her bag when we had a
rush of customers, so I didn’t get a chance to talk to her. The
booth stayed busy until almost seven o’clock when Sally’s shift
ended. After Sally left, I took a minute to call Megan. We needed
to make a plan.

I told Megan about Trudy’s
knitting needle being the murder weapon and she agreed that the
murder probably wasn’t planned.

“You know, Jennifer, you
need to talk to Marty. Edwin won’t be any help there so you also
need to find a way to get to her when Edwin’s not
around.”

“I’ll think about that. But
I plan to find Sally at the big tent tonight while she’s watching
the Windig Sangers and find out what she knows about Wes. I don’t
even know the time Wes was attacked. I guess we’d better find that
out first or nobody’s alibi will make any sense. How do I do
that?”

Megan suggested, “Why don’t
you drop in at Maron County Sheriff’s Department and see if Lt.
Jacobs would tell you the details. He probably won’t, but you can’t
receive if you don’t ask.”

“Good idea. I’ll drop in
when I leave here tonight. What are you doing tonight? Want to go
with me?”

“I’d love to, but I’m
waiting for a call from Don. I think he’s out west somewhere. Las
Vegas, Los Angeles, some Las-town.”

“Okay, I’ll call you
tomorrow after I go to church.”

“Don’t get caught breaking
into Bernie’s office. I still think you’re nuts.”

“Well, Bernie won’t have me
locked up, but I’ll be careful. See you tomorrow.”

I closed up the coffee
booth around eight o’clock, an hour before the building closed. It
was Saturday night and the Fest Grounds were filled with young
adults who wanted beer, not coffee. I grabbed the bags from the
Christmas Shop and made my way through the throng of young people
to the parking lot.

The old brick building that
housed the sheriff’s office, jail and county court rooms and
offices sat in the center of town. An old cannon graced the
park-like yard in front of the old building. I pulled into the
parking lot at the side of the building and climbed the steep
stairs of the main entrance, wondering whatever happened to
accessibility. I grabbed the door handle but before I could pull it
open, it flew outward, almost knocking me over.

“Watch it!” I
shouted.

“Ohmygod, I’m sorry. Are
you okay?” Detective Decker grabbed me and held me as I tilted
backward toward the stairs.

I began to yell at him when
I remembered why I wanted to talk to him. “Detective Decker, I’m
okay. You can let me go now.”

He smiled down at me but
kept one beefy arm around my not so tiny waist. “Can I help
you?”

“Well, actually, you know,
I have a question for you, I mean ...” Good grief, what happened to
my college education? I sounded like an idiot. I told myself to get
a grip.

His concern turned to
amusement and when he grinned down at me, I grabbed his arm and
flung it away. “Detective Jecker, I mean Decker, did you find out
the time of death?”

“Whose death? What are you
talking about?”

“How many murders are you
investigating? This is the first one here in years. I’m talking
about Wes Fischer.”

“Did you know Fischer?” He
asked while avoiding my question.

“Not while he was alive.
But you guys are trying to pin this on my friend and I need to know
when he was killed.”

“Playing Jessica Fletcher,
Ms. Penny?”

“It’s Jennifer,” I replied,
thinking he could’ve said Nancy Drew. Did he have to pick the
oldest mystery sleuth besides Miss Marple? “I would like to know if
I might have been with Bernie when someone else killed Wes. Unlike
you, I know she didn’t do this.”

“You may be a good friend,
but that doesn’t make her innocent. Were you with her between
midnight and 3 A.M.?”

“No,” I said. “I was home
tucked in bed.”

“Alone?” he asked that
smirky grin back on his gorgeous face.

I pretended not to hear the
question. “Did your Crime Scene people get any DNA?”

Decker chuckled and then he
answered me. “Jennifer, you watch too much television. It takes
five to ten days to get DNA identification. That is, once the lab
techs get to it. The backlog at the Minnesota Crime Bureau Lab is
about three months right now. And what would we do with the results
once we get them? There has to be a suspect to run them against.
Think Sr. Bernadine will let us swab her cheek? ”

“I don’t know,” I
sputtered. “What about fingerprints? They would show that Sr.
Bernadine wasn’t even in that building.”

“Could be. But, there were
thousands of fingerprints in that building. Even if we had some
specific prints, we can’t stick them in a scanner and have the
computer spit out the killer’s name and picture in thirty seconds.
It just doesn’t work that way.”

“This is so frustrating.” I
stamped my foot and turned to leave.

“Jennifer, be careful,” he
said, hands on hips. “This isn’t a game. There is a murderer out
there. You could be in danger playing detective.”

“I’m not playing at
anything. I’m just asking a few questions.”

“If you find out anything
important, you need to tell me. Don’t put yourself in jeopardy.” He
actually sounded concerned.

12

I used my expert
multi-tasking skills to I back out of the parking space, call Megan
and, when I had the car headed back to the Fest Grounds, write the
time of death in my new little notebook while steering the Honda
with my leg.

“Megan, why is he acting so
concerned about my safety?”

“Maybe he isn’t acting.
It’s apparent he’s as attracted to you as you are to
him.”

“This is getting so
complicated. I don’t have time for this right now. I need to
concentrate on getting Bernie out of trouble.”

“Your mind might be telling
you that, but your heart and some other parts of your body are
trying to convince you of something else.”

I groaned, shaking my head
in an effort to get my mind back on the problem. On Thursday night,
Polka Daze had closed up at eleven o’clock. There would be no
witnesses at a deserted Fest Grounds between midnight and three
o’clock in the morning. Trudy might have noticed if Wes left alone
or with anyone after the closing ceremony. I’d ask her
later.

Right now, I headed over to
Primo Gusto to roast extra coffee for tomorrow. On the last day of
Polka Fest, vendors always had a brisk business with the
out-of-towners picking up items they had been looking at all
weekend. I needed to email an order to my supplier for several
different coffee beans. Business had been better this weekend than
any other festival where I had set up shop. All this because of
Wes’ murder. How gruesome.

It was late when I finished
roasting, cooling, and bagging the coffee and was almost eleven
o’clock by the time I pulled into the Fest Grounds’ parking
lot.

The big tent overflowed
with people of all ages. There were at least eighty picnic tables
plus the bleachers in the back of the tent, all filled with
revelers. Over a thousand people enjoyed the music on this
sweltering, muggy Saturday night in July. Three colossal barn fans
moved the air around but it didn’t feel like it helped much.
Drinking beer and a lot of it seemed to be the way people were
coping with the heat.

Some of the young guys at
one table had built a pyramid with upside-down plastic beer cups. I
stopped to look at the tall plastic edifice. One kid reached up to
put another beer cup on top and the whole structure tumbled down on
their heads. They laughed uproariously in total disregard of the
time and effort it had taken to build it.