Shake Down Dead (8 page)

“Jennifer, you have to help.” said
Trudy, interrupting my thoughts. “Harold didn’t do this. You’re so
good at figuring out these things. Snoop around and see what you
can find out. Whitney wasn’t very well liked, you know. She was
spoiled and willful, so there must be a lot of people who would be
glad to see her gone.”

“I’ll think about it, Trudy. Right now
I need to get back to making cookies for the rally this
afternoon.”

“Okay, call me tonight and we’ll talk
some more.” I could hear Trudy sigh on the other end of the
line.

I reluctantly agreed and hung up. I
really didn’t want to think about this right now. The phone rang
again almost as soon as I hung up with Trudy. This time I checked
the caller ID. I rolled my eyes at Megan and mouthed, “Sister
Bernadine.”

“Hello, Bernie.”

“Jennifer, I need you to help me find
the person who killed poor Whitney.”

“No, Bernie, I’m going to take your
advice from last summer and keep my nose out of police
business.”

“Last summer was different. I was
capable of defending myself. Poor Harold isn’t able to do that. By
the time they get done questioning him, he’ll confess to
anything.”

“Maybe that’s because he’s
guilty.”

“He most certainly is not, Jennifer!”
Geez, she sounded just like Trudy. Maybe if those two women were so
sure he hadn’t killed Whitney, I should look into it.

“I don’t know, Bernie. I’m so busy.
Besides Decker and Jacobs will have a fit if I butt in
again.”

“Please try to find the time,” Bernie
pleaded, “and you leave Jerry and Delmar to me.”

“Delmar? You call Jacobs by his first
name?”

“Well, of course, he’s a
friend.”

“Let me think about it,” I said, giving
her the same excuse that I gave Trudy.

“There’s nothing to think about. Just
talk to people and find out who wanted Whitney dead. There might be
a long list. She wasn’t very well liked, you know.”

“Yes, Bernie.” I agreed and we said our
good-byes.

As soon as I hung up the phone, Megan
said, “Don’t tell me that you agreed to investigate Whitney’s
murder?”

“There’s no arguing with Bernie when
her mind is set. It’s easier just to go along. I’m not
investigating anything. I’m not a cop.”

“Decker will have a fit if he catches
you.”

“I’ll just talk to a few people and see
where it goes. Decker won’t find out that I’m poking
around.”

“Oh, yes he will! And you’ll get mad
when he accuses you of meddling in police business.”

“How does she get me into these
things?” I asked.

“She bullies you, that’s how. You don’t
see her trying that with me.”

I laughed at her apt description of
Bernie’s tactic. A tactic that she would never allow the students
in her Sunday school class t St. Theresa’s to use. “I just hope
that Decker and Jacobs find out who did this so I can go back to
coffee roasting—which is my real job!” I hoped she got the point
that this catering thing was not anything permanent.

11

When the cookies were finally ready,
Megan and I got her snazzy new Buick packed and we were off for
Mankato. I asked Megan what had possessed her to buy a full-sized
four-door vehicle while I played with all the bells and whistles
that were included in this flashy new car.

“I was sort of pushed into it,” she
explained. “I sell a lot of properties around here. Well, I did
before the bottom fell out of the real estate business. My boss
told me that I needed a new car to show that I’m successful. I’d
been looking at this cool little Cadillac coupe. It was awesome,”
she said shaking her head.

“The next day I took an older couple
out to Winfield Heights to show them a home. The husband took the
back seat and he had a devil of a time getting in and out of my
little coupe. So, I went to Hermann Motors and bought this baby the
next day. And I love it.” She patted the dash. “Never thought I’d
like a big ol’ sedan so much.”

“Did you make the sale?”

“What sale? Oh, you mean the older
couple. No, not that place, but I found them a perfect little
retirement cottage just outside of Sleepy Eye. That time they
didn’t have a problem getting in and out of my car.”

“I’ll sure be glad when this campaign
is over, won’t you?”

“Lord, Jennifer, I could do this
forever. I think I have a knack for this stuff. I’ve been setting
up speaking engagements, town halls and all sorts of things to get
Charlie’s face out there. I actually think he can get
elected.”

“You do?”

Seeing the astonished look on my face,
she said, “Don’t act so surprised. He’s actually a very organized,
reasonable person. He’s a sort of take-charge kind of guy and I
think he’d run this state just fine. Better than the super-inflated
egomaniac we have in now.”

“Meg, are you saying that because you
really believe in him or are you head-over-heels in love
again?”

“Actually, I really believe in him. Oh,
I like him well enough, but the first blush is off the rose. He’s a
great guy, but his job, whether real estate or politician will
always come first. I need a guy who needs me. I want to be the
first thing on his mind.”

“That’s a tall order for any man to
fill, Megan. Maybe you need to make sure you are the first one on
your mind and stop expecting men to do it for you.”

“Blah, blah, blah, Jennifer. You always
say that. I just love men.”

I shut up, knowing that she was telling
the absolute truth. She just loved men.

“So, you’re really going to let Bernie
brow beat you into investigating the Wentworth murder?” Megan
asked.

“Probably,” I answered, grateful for
the change of topic. “I was thinking about talking to Whitney’s
friends, at least the ones she went drinking with, to see what they
had to say. I’ll make an effort for the sake of my friendship with
Bernie and Trudy. I figure Decker wouldn’t be looking there so I
really wouldn’t be butting in.”

“Sounds like a plan. That might get
Trudy off your case. However, Bernie won’t let you stop looking
until Harold is off the hook.”

“I know,” I sighed.

By the time we arrived at the Mankato
Civic Center, I had a tentative plan to look into Whitney’s life.
Charlie was already there, glad-handing people as they arrived. He
was a big hit with the women, especially the luscious redhead he
was now talking to. Maybe he had a thing for redheads.

The forty-something’s remembered him
from his rock star days and the older ladies remember their kids
listening to his music. I admit, in tenth grade I had a poster of
him and Captain Jack on my bedroom wall. Only then his long blond
hair fell to his shoulders, a red bandana was wrapped around his
forehead. He wore skintight pants and no shirt. I loved that
poster.

Megan found some volunteers to help us
bring in the food and set things up. We had a bucket of ice where
we kept bottles of water and cans of soda. I spread out the red,
white and blue plastic tablecloths and set out the cheese and
cracker platters.

Next, I emptied several different kinds
of pretzels into bowls. In front of the bowls, I place three
smaller bowls and put pretzel dip in them. I was serving three
kinds of dip—mustard, cranberry and bacon/cheese. Once everything
was set up, all I had to do was sit around and refill the plates
and bowls.

The piped in music was playing a Sousa
march. It sounded familiar, I just couldn’t place it. I saw
Charlie’s mother, Yvonne Jackson, sitting in the front row, where
she usually sat at Charlie’s rallies. Today’s housedress was a
little more flamboyant. There were fuchsia cabbage roses on a pink
background. I walked over to greet her. Just before I got to her,
she got up and walked away. I was beginning to wonder if I had said
something to offend her. I’d try to find her later and get this
straightened out.

I went in search of the person in
charge of the music. When I found a guy with headphones, I was
surprised to see that it was Charlie’s so-called cousin, Jack. I
asked him about the Sousa March. “I don’t know, Lady,” Jack
grumbled,” I just play ‘em. I don’t pick ‘em.”

I badgered him some more
until he finally looked through some boxes. “Here’s a list of music
on each CD. The CD now playing is what Charlie calls ‘walking in
music.’ The songs are “The Washington Post March,” “Stars and
Stripes Forever,” and “The
Foshay
Tower Washington Memorial
.”

“I know the first two marches;
everybody knows them. I’ve never heard of the one about the Foshay
Tower. What’s that all about?” I asked.

“I told ya’, Lady,” Jack said. “I just
run the equipment. I’m not allowed to do anything useful for
Charlie’s campaign.”

I thanked him and went back to the
refreshment tables. I knew the Foshay Tower was the tallest
building in Minneapolis for many years. I loved Sousa marches and
this sounded interesting. I needed to check it out. I could solve
this little mystery at least. I told myself that I had a highly
refined sense of curiosity. I was not just a snoop.

I filled the pretzel dip bowls while
Charlie was being introduced by the Twenty-First Congressional
District Representative. I tried to block out the rhetoric, I knew
Charlie’s stump speech almost as well as he did. Besides the
economic issues, Charlie’s platform was one of high-tech
issues.

He told the people of Maron County,
“Every child in every school in Minnesota needs to have a laptop
computer. This is the wave of the future . . .”

I tried to tune him out while I
searched my purse for my cell phone.

“The people of Minnesota have always
been ahead in the areas of technology. We are now falling behind.
We need to upgrade our election process. The last several elections
have been a nightmare . . .” At this point he usually got very
animated, waving his hands and pointing toward the middle of the
audience.

I was still wondering about that march.
I settled in a folding chair and Goggled “Sousa Marches” on my
smart phone and found the one about the Foshay Tower. It seems that
Wilbur Foshay hired Sousa to write a march for the opening of the
Foshay Tower, which was designed in the style of the Washington
Monument and was, at the time, the tallest building west of the
Mississippi. Foshay gave Sousa a check for $20,000. The march was
played only once during Foshay’s lifetime, at the dedication
ceremony.

While I waited for the next page to
load on my phone, I listened to Charlie say, “We need to make
Minnesota a network neutral state. Many people want the internet to
be regulated. That means taxed. I’m against this new tax and will
veto any bill that includes taxing the use of the internet . . .”
Only about ten minutes left of his speech.

I looked back at my phone and read the
rest of the article. Six weeks after the grand opening, on November
2, 1929, Foshay’s corporation went into receivership due to the
Great Depression. The check Foshay had written to Sousa bounced and
Sousa prohibited the playing of the march so long as Foshay's debt
to him remained outstanding.

In 1988, a group of Minnesota investors
repaid Foshay's debt to Sousa's estate, and the march was permitted
to be played in public again.

Charlie must have loved that story to
adopt it for his campaign music. Then I remembered why I knew the
song. Charlie had played a rocking version of it for the intro song
at his rock concerts. The song played while the band was being
introduced and took their places on stage. Then they would go into
their biggest hit, “White Heat” followed by “City Lights.” Just
thinking about that brought back some great memories.

I jumped when the audience started to
applaud. The Washington Post March began and the candidate raised
his arms, Rocky style while the audience applauded. Charlie was
trying to appeal to the under sixty population. The younger people
would like the internet free proposal and the forty-somethings
would go for the no new taxes and issues concerning lowering the
debt. I guess he figured those two groups would give him the
majority he needed to win.

I weaved through the crowd moving to
the back of the room. People were either leaving or heading for the
refreshments. I smiled and nodded to the people filling plates
making sure the food and wine kept flowing.

Mindless work usually allows me to
daydream. I started thinking about the time Megan and Bernie and I
went to see Captain Jack and the Walleyes at this very civic
center, when the band first became famous. Charlie always said he
felt close to those who had helped him get started and he would
never forget his southwestern Minnesota fans. Maybe he would make
an okay Governor after all. Or not.

I guess it was hard for me to take an
‘80s rocker seriously. Megan believed in him, but her track record
with men was shaky at best.

I was busy refilling bowls and platters
for the next twenty minutes. I kept looking around for Megan. She
had said she would help me. I finally found a teenage volunteer who
was willing to bring food from the kitchen for me when the plates
began running low.