Free Too Dead To Dance by Diane Morlan Page A

punched his number into my cell, it went right to
voice mail. Nick must have turned it off. I left a brief message
asking him to call me when he got a chance. And since I was still
sitting at the computer desk, I sent him an email briefly
describing the events of the day and asking him if he’d ever run
into Wes during his summers in Hermann.
    I set the phone down and
jumped as it immediately rang. Caller I.D. showed it was Bernie, at
last. “Are you okay?” I asked without even saying
“Hello.”
    “I’m fine, Jennifer. Just
tired and cranky. I wanted to let you know I finally got out of the
sheriff’s office. Right now, I’m on my way over to the rectory.
Father Werner wants to meet for ‘a little talk.’ I can only imagine
how unpleasant that'll be.”
    “Can’t you put him off
until tomorrow? You must be bushed.”
    Father Werner, old,
stubborn and cantankerous, ruled his dwindling realm with a heavy
hand. Most of the people involved in the parish were volunteers.
Only Sister Bernadine and three administrative assistants were on
the payroll.
    “No, you know how he is.
I’d just as soon get it over with, or I’ll worry about it all
night. After he bawls me out, I can go home and get some sleep.
I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
    I couldn’t think of
anything to say, so I thanked her for calling and let her go. I dug
receipts from expenses and sales out of my purse. As usual, I had
been stuffing them in my purse for the past week. I needed to enter
them into my ledger so my accountant didn’t give me another
lecture.
    I knew I needed to send out
“past due” notices to several restaurants whose payments were
overdue but it was a task I didn’t relish. A few businesses were
always late in paying me. The restaurant business could be dicey.
One day they are the “in” place to go until next week when diners
move on to another place. Also, when the economy fluctuates dining
out is the first thing people cut in order to save money. I’m good
about making arrangements with these businesses and had kept my
customers while they went through tough times.
    I heated up some left over
sweet and sour pork in the microwave and half-heartedly ate some
supper. My drink of choice is hot coffee with a dollop of cream.
Although in theory I’m generally against caffeine-free anything, I
chose to go the caffeine-free coffee route this late in the evening
or I’d never get to sleep. I kept thinking about Bernie being so
stubborn. Why was she being so secretive about the fight with
Wes?
    And what about this
Detective Decker? Why was I so attracted to him? I went back to the
computer and Googled his name. I found several articles in the
Chicago Tribune about him. Sergeant Decker received several awards
for bravery from the Chicago Police Department. He’d been involved
in the Chicago Boys Club and several other local youth
programs.
    It appeared that he was
quite involved in his job and his community. Why would he leave
there to move to Hermann? Further down I noticed a story about a
trial that took place about a year ago. One of the witnesses was
Detective Jerome Decker. What had happened to Sergeant Decker, I
wondered. Checking Wikipedia, I found that in Chicago a Detective
isn’t a ranking officer. It appeared that Detective Decker had been
demoted. Curious, very curious.
    My eyes were starting to
cross, I was so tired. I’d have to search for more information
about Detective Decker another time. I turned off the computer and
went to my bedroom. I donned my Betty Boop pajamas and thought
about what I would be wearing if Jerry Decker were here. “Stop!” I
told myself, I didn’t need those images in my head keeping me
awake.
     
     
     
    9
     
    Saturday
     
    Reaching into the trunk of
my Civic, I pulled out the folding crate cart I had picked up at
Office Max on my way to the Fest Grounds. I swore I’d never use one
of these wire “granny” carts my mother had embarrassed me by
pushing all over town. I was grateful