Shake Down Dead (7 page)

“Do you know their names?” I asked
Pete.

“Not a clue.” He answered.

“Okay, Jennifer. Let’s go, I have to
get up early tomorrow.” Decker stood up, picked up his beer and
downed the little left in it.

“Thanks for the drink,” he said to
Pete.

Pete wave away the ‘thank you’ and
said, “No problem, Jerry. See you around, JJ.” He got up and
moseyed toward the bar.

Decker reached out and took my hand
helping me to my feet. I got the message and didn’t protest. I knew
he had had enough of my “detecting” for one night. In addition, I
was sure he would tell me that I shouldn’t be sticking my nose into
other people’s business.

We made our way through the crowd,
which was more dense and louder than when we had arrived. We
stopped to pay the check and Decker, not to be outdone by Pete,
added a generous tip to the charge slip just before he signed it. I
looked back and saw Pete slip onto a bar stool next to the two
women we had just been talking about.

Outside, I pulled on my sweater when
the cold evening air hit me. Decker put his arm around me and we
strolled to my car.

“Jennifer,” someone called to
me.

I looked around and saw Megan and
Charlie walking toward us. Behind them was Charlie’s big old white
van with red and blue stars and stripes and “Jackson for Governor”
lettered on the side.

“Are you leaving?” Megan asked. “Come
on in and join us for a drink.” She was wearing a red and white
striped knit blouse and blue jeans, her favorite colors since the
campaign began.

“Can’t, Megan. It’s getting late and I
have to get up early tomorrow to make cookies for Charlie’s rally
in Mankato.”

Charlie’s blue eyes twinkled and he
tossed his blond locks off his face. I always thought he styled his
hair that way so it would fall over his eyes. It was sort of sexy.
“That’s a good enough excuse for me. See you at the Civic Center
bright and early, Jennifer.” Charlie was casually dressed tonight.
Instead of his usual suit and tie, he wore a chambray shirt with
snaps instead of buttons and a pair of tight black jeans. That
would get my vote, I thought. They waved to us and opened the door
to the bar.

We zigzagged across the parking lot,
making our way to my vehicle with Decker’s arm still around my
waist. When we reached my car, I turned and leaned against the
front bumper. The way Decker kissed me; I figured he wasn’t mad at
me anymore.

Was I in for another disappointment?
Decker liked to tell me what to do, just like Edwin the Louse.
Well, not just like Edwin. Edwin wanted to control my whole life.
Decker just wanted me to stop sticking my nose into what he
considered other people’s business. He must have forgotten that I
was the one who helped him find the real killer last summer when he
was accusing Sister Bernadine of murder. Wait, to be honest, Decker
really didn’t think Bernie had killed Wes, but he didn’t tell me
that at the time.

We came up for air and I stood up
straight and smoothed down my hair. “Why does that guy call you
JJ?” Decker asked.

“Oh, it’s just a silly nickname from
high school. Forget about it.”

“What’s your middle name,
Jennifer?”

“Never mind! It’s not
important.”

I turned to grab my purse and glanced
into my car. Jumping back I hissed, “Decker! There’s someone in my
car!”

We looked again and saw a woman sitting
on the passenger side of the front seat. It was Whitney! I hadn’t
bothered to lock the doors. I seldom did when was I was around
Hermann. I yanked on the handle, ready to bawl her out for making
us all so worried about her.

The door swung open and Whitney drifted
to the right and fell in my arms. I took one look at her face and
screamed, dropping her so she was half in and half out of the car.
I knew she was dead.

Decker ran around the front of the car
and turned me away. He must have pulled Whitney’s body up in the
car seat again. When he put his arm around me and walked me away
from the car, I took a peek and saw that she was again sitting in
the passenger seat of my car. I turned and stood facing the woods,
hands over my face, crying while Decker called 911 and got through
to Jacobs.

Within five minutes, the flashing
lights and screaming sirens sped down the road towards us,
surrounding the parking lot. The sirens wound down to one final
beep while the light bars on top of the squad cars continued to
flash red and blue like a disco dance floor from the eighties.
Decker walked me over to Jacob’s squad car and I sat in the back
with the door open, still trying to stop shaking.

"Now do you believe me?" I yelled at
Decker between sobs. I was trying to stop crying and had only
managed to get the hiccups.

"Yes, I'll never doubt you again," he
answered. "And not only that, I need to talk to you a little later.
I'd like to know what you found out this afternoon when you were
snoop—I mean—what people said at the group home before I get there.
Okay?”

"Sure, now you want my help. Then
you'll start yelling at me to butt out again." Why was I yelling at
him?

"No, I won't, Jennifer.” Decker talked
to me in a soft voice. “I promise. I’m going to have to talk with
Harold again, though."

His low gentle voice calmed me down and
I replied without yelling at him. "Do you think Harold did this to
Whitney? Trudy said he wasn't dangerous. And you heard what Pete
said."

"Yes, I heard what they both said. He
was mad enough to break her windshield with that bat. From the
looks of the back of her head, someone clobbered her with something
very much like a baseball bat."

"Oh, Lord, Trudy and Bernie will both
be jumping all over you if you accuse Harold of this."

"Yeah, well, I'll deal with that when
it happens."

“Where was she for all that time? I
mean did someone kill her and hide her somewhere, then drag her
here and stick her in my car? And why would someone do
that?”

“That’s what we have to figure out,
Jennifer,”

I sat back in the seat and leaned my
head back. Even though I wasn't crazy about Whitney, I sure didn't
want her to die. I realized that Bernie had said the same thing to
me last year when she found out that Wes had been killed. I
wondered if most people felt this kind of guilt when someone they
didn't like died unexpectedly.

I was sitting there thinking about
Whitney when I heard Lt. Jacobs’ voice. “Jerry, did you, by chance,
pick up that bat Harold used to smash Whitney’s window?”

“No, I didn’t think it was important.
It might still be out there. I’ll have a deputy run over there and
pick it up.” Decker turned and walked over to one of the squad
cars.

My first thought was that Harold had
hit Whitney when she saw him smashing her window. That must be what
he meant when he said she wouldn’t wake up. Whoa! Wait a minute. We
went out to the back yard with Harold. If he had hidden Whitney’s
body, why would he tell us about it?

I went looking for Decker and found him
talking to a Deputy. “Jerry, can you find me a ride home. I’m
really tired.”

“Sure. I’ll take you,” he said, walking
me over to his truck.

“
Can you leave? Don’t you
have to take statements or something?” I asked.

“Yes, all in good time. Right now, I
need to get you home. They’ll still be here when I get
back.”

I curled up in the seat and rested my
head on the window. “I suppose I won’t be getting my car back very
soon.”

“It could be weeks. Are you sure you
want it back?”

“Ewe! I didn’t think about
that.”

“
You may want to start
shopping around for that that SUV you were talking
about.”

“Great! Just what I need, one more
thing to worry about. Crap! How am I going to get refreshments to
Mankato for the rally tomorrow?”

Decker, bless his heart, took over.
“I’ll call Megan and make sure she picks you up and helps you get
everything to the rally. After all, it’s her boyfriend who’s
running for office. Man, I can’t believe Charlie actually thinks
that someone will vote for him. Must think he’s Jessie Ventura.” I
heard Decker chuckle as I drifted off to sleep.

I barely remember Decker helping me
into the house. I woke up about three hours later and realized I
was in a sexy black nightgown and I was freezing! Decker must think
women actually wear these things to sleep in. Silly guy. I pulled
open the middle drawer of my dresser and pulled out my old
standby—red and blue flannel nightshirt that came to my knees. That
was more like it. I set the alarm for seven and turned off the
light. I’m sure I was asleep before my head hit the
pillow.

10

Lt. Jacobs called Sunday morning while
I was putting the first batch of cookies in the oven. These
chocolate coffee-flavored cookies were always a big hit at the
rallies. Megan had come up with the recipe. We called them
“Campaign Cookies” and gave out the recipe to everyone who
asked.

“Jennifer, how are you feeling this
morning?” Even though I knew that wasn’t why he called, I played
along.

“I’m much better, Lieutenant. When do
you need me to come in and give a statement?”

Jacobs chuckled. “Can’t fool you,
Jennifer. Can you come in today?”

“I’m catering a rally for Charlie
Jackson this afternoon. I think I can make it about five
o’clock.”

“See you then,” Jacobs said and hung
up.

I decided that I didn’t want to think
about meeting with Jacobs and going over all the horror of last
night.

I needed to concentrate on making eight
dozen cookies. Why had I let Megan talk me into this? I thought for
the hundredth time.

Speak of the devil, and she walks in
the back door. “What do you want me to do?” announced my friend.
“I’m here to help.” Today she had on a blue top with white stars.
Instead of jeans she wore pleated khaki slacks. She teetered on the
three inch heels of her short navy dress boots with zippers up the
side. You couldn’t buy those shoes in Hermann. Megan had been to
the Mall of America again.

Megan tied on an apron and I handed her
a bowl of cookie dough, two tablespoons and a cookie sheet. With
the two spoons, she scooped the dough on one spoon and pushed it
off onto the cookie sheet. When she finished, nine little heaps of
cookie dough rested on each sheet.

When the timer went off, I took those
cookies out of the oven and let them rest for a minute before
putting them on the cooling rack. Then I picked up the cookies that
were cool and stacked them in a container to transport them to the
rally. Megan was just putting another pan in the oven when the
phone rang.

I snatched it up with one hand and kept
stirring the second batch of cookie dough while I stuck the phone
between my ear and shoulder. “Jennifer’s kitchen,” I said,
expecting it to be Decker.

“Ah, Jennifer am I bothering you?”
asked Trudy.

“No problem, Trudy. I’m just making
cookies. What’s up?”

I heard Trudy sob, then she said, “They
came and got Harold.”

“Who did?”

“The cops came and got him. Lt. Jacobs
and your boyfriend.”

“Trudy, they must have had a reason. Do
they think he killed Whitney?”

“They wouldn’t answer my questions but,
I’m sure that’s what they were thinking.”

“Trudy, maybe he did.”

“He most certainly did not!”

I sighed. “Trudy, why are you so sure
that Harold is innocent?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Jennifer,” Trudy
spat out. “Maybe for the same reason that you knew Sister Bernadine
didn’t kill Wes Fischer last summer.” Her sarcasm dripped through
the phone.

Ouch! She had me there. “What makes you
think that Harold didn’t hurt Whitney?” I asked. I thought maybe
turning the tables would get her to think straight.

“Well, for one thing, Miss
Smarty-pants, where was she from the time she left the group home
until they found her in your car? Do you really think Harold could
hide her, and then plant her in your car?”

“He’s strong enough to, Trudy,” I
insisted. “I’m sure he has the strength to lift
someone.”

“A lot you know. Even if he could lift
someone, even someone as heavy as Whitney, he couldn’t carry her
very far. He has balance problems. He wasn’t even able to carry a
basket of leaves to the back yard last week. He stumbled and
dropped the basket both times before Pete found something else for
him to do. And, another thing, what makes you think that he would
have the presence of mind to hide a body and then put it in a car,
where it was sure to be found? And why your car?”

She had me there. I too doubted that
Harold would think to hide the body, and then move it. Again, why
had he come in yelling that she wouldn’t wake up? Had someone else
hidden her only to put her in my car later? Why my car? I barely
knew Whitney. Did someone want to not only get rid of her but also
blame me?