Free Ms America and the Whoopsie in Winona by Diana Dempsey Page A

enough to do one of her amazing pole-dancing routines as her talent—she could well win her state. Meaning I’d encounter her again at the national competition, where I will crown my successor.
    I know I’m getting way ahead of myself but my stomach drops when I imagine the horror of Consuela Machado winning the crown and succeeding me as Ms. America. How in the world could I relinquish my beloved tiara to her? And be forced to smile the entire time as if I were thrilled to do so?
    I can’t let myself think about that. It’s too appalling a scenario. With everything else going on in my life, I’m frazzled enough.
    Mario takes his leave vowing to return in an hour to go running with me. He claims he could use the exercise. The man is as well muscled as a Ford Mustang.
    “Normally I wouldn’t approve of you running around in these temperatures with a head cold,” my mother tells me. “But I’m for anything to get you closer to that Mario. You’re healthy. You’d get over the flu.”
    After Pop and Maggie leave for their day trip to Minneapolis, I place a call to Detective Dembek to inquire if the department found anything of interest at Damsgard. She tells me they’re still combing through Ingrid’s computer and desk files.
    “We’ll return Mrs. Svendsen’s Mercedes later today,” she says. “And I let her sister know that we released the body to the funeral home last night.”
    So the burial won’t be delayed, nor the reading of the will. Maggie will be pleased on that count. “Anything good from the surveillance cameras outside the Giant W?” I ask.
    “We’ve identified almost all the people who ran outside right after the shot was fired. Naturally we’re talking to them. We haven’t turned up anything of value yet. Nor were there any fingerprints on the note sent to that boy Kevin.”
    That’s no surprise. “Maybe the shots taken by the Winona Post photographer would be useful.” I remember Trixie swatting at the man with her elf cap when he attempted to photograph Ingrid’s bleeding corpse. “He was taking pictures of the crowd before the ceremony began.”
    “Yes, analyzing those photos is another way to confirm that we did GSR tests on everyone who was present.”
    I’m now enough of an aficionado that I know GSR stands for “gunshot residue.”
    “I’ve also begun to talk with some committee friends of Mrs. Svendsen,” Detective Dembek goes on. “Unfortunately neither Mayor Chambers nor Mr. Fitch from the Giant W have been able to shed any light on the matter.”
    I’ve already concluded that neither of them could be guilty. They were in enough proximity to Ingrid to have shot her but the killer disposed of the gun and surgical gloves in aisle fourteen while the lights were still out. I was standing behind both the mayor and the suit so I know they were on the dais the entire time. I suppose they could have handed off the gun and gloves to an accomplice but that would’ve been hard to pull off.
    Even though Detective Dembek thinks her homicide investigation skills are rusty, I’d say she’s doing a fine job. I bring her up to speed on the visits from Priscilla Pembroke and Peter Svendsen and explain why I’m suspicious of them both. Finally, even though I’m conflicted about it, and even though my father would go ballistic if he knew, I share my concerns about Maggie. “She doesn’t really seem like the type and I know it’s shocking even to consider that she might have killed her own sister—”
    “Murderers are so often next of kin.”
    I have heard that sad fact. “She might say something revealing during tomorrow’s reading of the will. Maybe you should be there.” I know I’ll be in attendance, at least in a manner of speaking. I’ll be eavesdropping from the secret room. I can’t wait.
    We chat for a bit longer then end the call. Trixie waylays me as I’m about to dress for my run. “I found a great place to take your mom to get her out of the house,” she