Shake Down Dead (9 page)

12

Megan finally tore herself away from
the dignitaries and stopped by my tables. “I found some volunteers
to help you pack up.” She tossed her key ring to me. “I’ll catch a
ride with Charlie and some friends. Use my car as long as you need
it.” And she was gone. As usual, she had skipped out on the
clean-up. At least this time she left me her car.

Megan never could prioritize. The most
important thing for Megan was the one that looked to be the most
fun and cleaning up was not fun. She was kind-hearted and generous
and she really meant it when she said that I could keep her car as
long as I needed it.

Far be it from me to turn down the use
of her beautiful car. Checking the odometer, I saw that it only had
nine hundred miles on it. I didn’t think I’d ever driven a car that
new. Edwin the Louse, always bought second hand cars. He said that
cars lost a third of their value when they were driven off the lot.
That’s probably true. However, driving a new car might just make up
for that.

I made the drive back to Hermann in
record time, for me. My first stop was my warehouse. I thought
about getting a bigger sign every time I drove up to the front
door. “Primo Gusto Coffee Roasters” was about 2’ x 3’. I liked the
idea of a large sign but it wouldn’t make any difference in the
long run. I didn’t sell coffee out of this building; I used it to
roast and package my coffee.

I dropped off the leftover cookies and
serving dishes and set them aside for the next rally I was
catering. I greeted my two part-time employees, Mark and Sally, who
were roasting and packaging coffee, filling orders.

“How’s everything going?” I
asked.

Mark answered, “Just fine, Jennifer. I
turned up the thermostat. It was pretty cold in here this
morning.”

“Keep it as warm as you want,” I
replied. “Winter is close at hand.”

I was thankful to have these young
people working for me. Since they both attend the community
college, they had decided that Saturdays and Sundays were the best
days to do the bulk of the roasting and packaging of coffee. They
each came in several times during the week at different hours and
completed whatever else needed to be done.

“We’re getting low on some of the
beans,” Sally said. “I can put together an order for you and you
can call it in on Monday, if you want.”

“Thanks, Sally, I appreciate your
help.”

I counted on them more and more since I
started catering Charlie’s campaign. I’d be glad when the election
was over in a few weeks. Even though the catering was fun and paid
well, it was a big hassle. I already had a great income from my
coffee business and didn’t need the extra work.

A coffee company in Seattle had been
after me for a couple years to sell my business to them. They
didn’t actually want my business, they just wanted my customers. I
sold my roasted coffee beans to restaurants all over southern
Minnesota. A few weeks ago, I picked up several classy restaurants
and supper clubs in the Minneapolis suburbs. If things kept picking
up I’d have to hire more employees. The money I was offered for my
business was impressive but I wasn’t sure it was the best move I
could make. Mark and Sally would be out of work and I wasn’t sure
what kind of coffee my customers would be buying. I made sure that
my customers received good quality coffee and I only purchased
Fair-Trade certified raw coffee beans. Fair Trade certification
provides farmers a fair price for their beans with a guaranteed
minimum rate.

For a while, I thought it was strange
that my business was booming during a poor economic time in our
country. Then I figured it was because I could underbid my
competition and offer a higher quality product for a smaller price.
I kept my eye on what the larger firms were charging, and then
undercut them by a few cents. By hiring part-time students from the
community college, I kept my overhead at a minimum. This also gave
my employees an income while in school. The biggest expense I had
was an industrial coffee roaster I bought last year.

When I finished at the warehouse, I
decided to stop off at the Hermann Public Library to dig a little
deeper into whatever I could find about Whitney and her friends. I
pulled up in front of the library, and then remembered that I was
supposed to meet Lt. Jacobs at five o’clock. Checking my watch, I
saw that I had just five minutes to make it to the appointment. I
put the Buick in reverse and headed for the Sheriff’s
Office.

When I arrived, I walked up to the
glassed-in cubicle and told the youthful receptionist that I had an
appointment with Jacobs. The sign in the widow told me her name was
Bonnie Sue. Her forehead wrinkled and she cocked her head to the
side. “He’s not here. Didn’t he call and cancel?”

“No. I was supposed to meet him here at
five o’clock.” By now, I was tapping my foot. I kept thinking about
all the things I needed to do.

“Well, Ma’am, I’m sorry. It’s just not
like Lt. Jacobs to blow off an appointment.”

“Oh, wait!” I practically shouted while
rooting in my purse for my phone. “I’m so sorry, Bonnie,” I said
after checking my voice mail. “He left a message. I had the ringer
turned off. Can you have him call me to reschedule?”

“Sure thing, Ma’am. You’re Jennifer
Penny aren’t you? It must have been awful to find Whitney’s body
like that.”

“It was. Did you know her?”

“Well, sort of. We were in the same
class at school, but I never hung around with her
group.”

“What was she like?” I decided that
first-hand information was better than old microfiche newspaper
articles any day.

“Like I said, I didn’t run with her
group.” Bonnie Sue twisted her straw-colored hair. “They sort of
ruled the school. Whitney was the leader, probably because her
father was the richest. My friend Pam, got stuck going to their
parties and she hated it. They all thought they were so cool. Pam
didn’t drink or anything and hated to go with Whitney, but her
mother made her.”

“Why would her mother make her do
that?” I asked. I needed to get more information about this Pam
person.

“Because she was Whitney’s cousin.
Their mothers are sisters. Pam’s parents are just regular working
people, not highfalutin bankers or anything. But Whitney’s father
liked Pam and made Whitney take her to all sorts of
places.”

“And Pam didn’t like that?” I hoped
she’d keep talking.

“Oh, heck, no. She wanted to hang with
her own friends. Whitney hated Pam because her friends liked Pam,
too. Whitney was such a snob. Oh, gee, I shouldn’t be talking that
way about someone who’s dead, I mean deceased.” She started
shuffling papers on her desk and I realized she had said more than
she meant to. I thanked her and reminded her to have Lt. Jacobs
call me.

I slid into the front seat of Megan’s
car. I was a little relieved that Jacobs hadn’t been there. I
didn’t want to go over last night and finding Whitney’s body again.
I guess I’d have to do it eventually. Tonight I could kick back and
relax.

13

First thing Monday morning I took off
again in Megan’s fancy car. I did a few errands, and then stopped
for a quick bite at the Taco Shop.

After lunch, I was driving down Main
Street when I realized that Herman Motors Used Cars was right
around the corner. On a whim, I pulled in and got out of Megan’s
car. “Ms. Penny! Did you go and buy a new car?” asked Tom, the
salesman I had talked to last week.

“No, Tom, I just borrowed this car from
a friend. Looks like I’m going to need to decide on a different
vehicle sooner than I thought.”

“Why’s that, Ma’am?”

Just then my phone rang. I excused
myself and turned to answer the phone.

It was Lt. Jacobs, wanting to
reschedule our appointment. We decided to meet at his office at
three o’clock.

“Are you going to be there this time,
Lieutenant?” I teased. “Don’t want to be stood up twice in one
week.”

“I’ll be here, Jennifer,” he said with
a chortle. See you in a couple hours.”

I walked back over to Tom and said,
“Did you hear about Whitney Wentworth?”

“Ya, I sure did. That’s a shame, isn’t
it? Such a cute young thing. I bet her mother is just sick at
heart.”

“I’m sure she is,” I replied, realizing
that I hadn’t even stopped by to give my condolences to Henrietta
Wentworth. “It was my car they found her in.”

“Really?” Tom took a step back from me.
“And how did she get in your car?”

“Obviously, someone put her
there.”

“Ya, I suppose so. Well, then,” he said
clapping his hands together, “Guess you need a vehicle then,
doncha’?”

I guess the lure of earning his
commission overruled his suspicion of me. “Yes, I do. I’d like to
check out that Blazer I test drove last week.” I looked around the
lot, puzzled that it wasn’t in the front row of cars.

“Oh, sorry, Ms. Penny, I sold that the
other day. I think I told ya’ it wouldn’t last long. Follow me. I
have something else that might fit you even better.” He pointed to
the end of the first row of cars. “It’s just right for your coffee
roasting business. The color is cappuccino frost.” I could see that
he was proud of remembering my business.

Looking over I saw what he meant.
Parked next to a black sports car was a light brown Chevy Equinox
that looked like a cross between an SUV and a station wagon.
Although it sure wasn’t anything like the yellow station wagon my
mother used to drive.

It was three years old and had only one
little ding on the rear door. It would work great for my business.
Room enough to haul coffee to restaurants, yet as comfortable as a
sedan. After a short test drive and a price tag for a lot less than
a new one, I made up my mind.

“I’ll take it,” I told Tom. I suppose I
should have tried to dicker with him to get the price down, or have
someone go over the vehicle and check it out, but I didn’t care. I
liked it and it was within my price range. If I waited, it might
not be here. So, I decided to just buy it.

Once, back when I had been married to
Edwin, a car ran a red light and smashed into the side of my car. I
wasn’t hurt but my poor little Toyota was totaled. It took a couple
weeks to get the whole thing settled and I was without a car for
that time. Edwin refused to rent a car for me. He said that since I
didn’t work I didn’t need a car. The second time I sent him to the
grocery store he decided that it was time to get me a car. During
those two weeks I felt so stranded. I was home with two kids—a baby
and a toddler. I swore that I would never be without a car
again.

Funny, I hadn’t thought about that time
in years. Nick had been about three. Now he was a comptroller for a
riverboat casino in Indiana, just over the border from Chicago. He
had bought a condominium on the near north side of the City about
the same time I had purchased my little Victorian
cottage.

I signed the papers for the Chevy and
wrote Ted a check for the down payment. My credit was excellent, so
I knew there would be no problem getting a loan.

A few years ago, I applied for a loan
to take my coffee roasting business to the next level. I needed to
purchase a very expensive coffee roaster and I found out that all
the years I had managed our family money meant nothing to
creditors. Edwin’s name was on everything and he got the good
credit rating. My credit wasn’t bad; it was non-existent. I talked
the bank into giving me a 90-day loan and paid it back in 60 days.
I got a credit card that I had to back up with cash in their
account. I charged $50 worth of purchases every month and paid it
off on the due date. In six months I had a decent credit rating and
it just got better from there.

I called the bank from the car lot
office and got a tentative approval over the phone. I’d stop by
later to sign the papers, and then go pick up my new-to-me auto. I
sighed with relief. I had been fussing about trading in the Honda,
but was timid about taking the big step. Now it was done. I had a
moment of buyer’s remorse, and then shook it off. The Chevy was a
terrific vehicle. My son would be glad to hear that I had bought an
American car. Chevys were Nick’s favorite car.

I thought about stopping off at Mrs.
Wentworth’s to pay my condolences about her daughter, then decided
to check out the obituaries first to see when the funeral was being
held. I could call and see if she needed anything, without
bothering her by showing up unannounced.

Looking at my watch, I realized it was
almost three o’clock. Darn! I’d almost forgotten about the
appointment with Lt. Jacobs. I swung Megan’s car around a corner
and headed back the way I had come.

14

The “Glock” was ringing out the
hour—three o’clock. The “Glock,” as we called it, was not a
high-powered handgun, but a “glockenspiel,”—a German clock on a
pedestal that rang out the hour. Little doors opened below the
clock face and 6” tall, hand-carved figurines, performed such tasks
as sawing wood. A dancing couple waltzed through on one side of the
clock and into doors on the other side, all the while moving to the
rhythm of a German folk song. There were always a few people
watching it, including me.