by Jan Dunlap
“Besides, you’re jumping to a big conclusion, here. We don’t know that Sonny’s death was the result of foul play,” I reminded him. “I didn’t see any gunshot wounds or blood. Maybe he died from natural causes. A bad heart. Lung disease.”
“And so he dressed himself as a scarecrow and conveniently lay down to die off a back path at the Arboretum,” Luce observed. “I don’t know if you can get any more natural than that, Bobby.”
I threw her my evil eye. “Finish your omelet,” I told her. “Good wives should be seen, not heard.”
“Yeah, right,” she said. “Go, Tarzan.”
“I’m not suggesting anything,” Alan said, loading his fork with more meatloaf. “I’m just saying that events have consequences, and sometimes people do crazy things for crazy reasons. I’m a history teacher, and history is about sequences of events that unfold over time, and some of those sequences begin with the most unlikely scenarios. Not to mention that the economy’s bad, and when people lose jobs, which they do when a big construction—make that utility—project gets dumped, tempers flare, and people can get desperate. They look for someone to blame. It’s human nature, Bob.”
“Yeah, but I don’t decide to kill a person if I think he’s to blame for something,” I pointed out. “I’m a counselor—I believe in negotiation and compromise, resolving issues and moving forward. But even if I didn’t, I sure wouldn’t have the patience to wait three years to get revenge.”
Alan swallowed the last bite of his lunch and washed it down with a slug of coffee. Baby Lou pursed her lips, her eyes still shut. For all she cared about our conversation, Alan might as well have been cradling a sack of potatoes in his arms.
Except that my niece was a whole lot cuter.
And smarter.
Plus, she already had a life list of four birds: Canada Goose, Wild Turkey, Green Heron, and American Crow.
Not bad for a four-month-old.
“Now, see, that’s one of the big differences between you and your sister,” Alan noted. “If Lily ever decides I’m to blame for something, I’m immediately going into a witness protection program and getting a complete identity change, because she’d kill me in a minute if she thought something was my fault.” He smiled broadly. “And that’s why I’m perfect. To keep my wife happy, I never make a mistake.”
“Yeah, right,” I said.
I turned to my own wife beside me who was suddenly choking on her American fries.
“That’s not what I hear from Lily,” she laughed between coughing jags.
I looked back at Alan. “Busted, buddy.”
He fluttered his dark eyelashes at me. “I feel so … fragile.”
I snorted.
“You and the Bonecrusher,” I said. “Luce thinks the reason that Mr. Lenzen isn’t spilling the beans about our mystery man’s true identity is because he’s guarding the big guy’s privacy or helping him hide old baggage. I think Mr. Lenzen just likes that ‘I know something you don’t know’ feeling.”
“Wow, is that mature,” Luce commented.
“We’re talking about a high school assistant principal here,” I reminded her. “I think it’s in the job description: ‘Lofty attitude preferred. Must enjoy taunting colleagues.’”
“I thought that was your job description, Bob,” Alan said. “Lenzen’s job is to curb enthusiasm and reprimand smart-aleck counselors.”
“How’s brunch?” Red asked, suddenly appearing at our table with a coffeepot in her hand. “Anybody need a refill? Bob? Alan?”
“I’m good,” Alan said. “The meatloaf was great.”
Red leaned towards me, her eyes wide. “We just heard a report on the radio in the kitchen,” she said, her voice pitched low. “It’s about the body you found. You didn’t tell me it was Sonny Delite.”
I looked at Red in surprise. “You know him?”
She nodded, her eyes still wide. “He and his wife were regulars whenever he was in town. I can’t believe it was him you found.”
The bell over the deli’s front door jingled as another customer walked in, and Red automatically turned her head to smile at the newcomer.
“Oh, my gosh,” she breathed, her smile frozen in place as she visibly blanched. “What the heck is she doing here?”
Luce, Alan, and I all turned to see who Red was talking about. A trim blonde woman, probably mid-fifties, stood just inside the door, her face red and blotchy.
“Who is it?” I asked.
Red turned back to me, her eyes wider than ever.
“Prudence,” she said. “Mrs. Sonny Delite.”
Chapter Three
Red walked over to Sonny’s wife—widow, I mean—but as soon as she got close to the woman, Mrs. Delite swung her hand back and slapped Red hard across the cheek.
I was on my feet in the next instant, heading to Red’s defense.
I couldn’t believe it. I was going to have to break up a girl fight, and I wasn’t even at work.
“Hey!” I shouted at Mrs. Delite. “What do you think you’re doing?”
She took another swing at Red, but this time, our waitress was ready. Red backed away from the punch and caught Mrs. Delite’s hand as it swept through the empty air where Red’s chin had been. Without missing a beat, Red spun the woman around and leaned her against the wall, her arm twisted behind her back.
“Think about what you’re doing,” I heard Red hiss into Mrs. Delite’s ear. “Put a lid on it, Pru.”
Prudence apparently did think about it and decided to comply, because I watched the woman suddenly sag against the wall, all the fight drained out of her.
Wow. I’d always assumed that waitresses knew how to manage surly customers, but this was an eye-opener. I wondered what it would take to get Red to join me on the cafeteria lunch monitor shift at Shakopee. She’d be dynamite to have covering my back during a food fight.
“You need any help, Red?” I asked, even though it was clear she didn’t. In fact, judging from the spontaneous demo I’d just witnessed, Red was no shrinking violet when it came to defensive maneuvering, nor was she a slouch in the hand-to-hand combat department, either. My guess was that her stint with Uncle Sam had taught her more than how to track a few bunny rabbits in the woods.
Memo to me for future reference: don’t ever complain about service at Millie’s when Red was working.
“She’ll be fine, Bob. Thanks,” Red replied. “She’s just distraught. I happen to know that she doesn’t deal with stress very well. Obviously,” she added with her trademark grin.
She turned her attention back to Mrs. Delite.
“Okay, Prudence. I’m going to let you go, now. Why don’t you just take a table, practice some deep breathing to calm yourself, and I’ll bring you a menu.”
Over Red’s shoulder, I saw Mrs. Delite nod.
Both Red and I stepped back, and Sonny’s widow turned to face us, her eyes still filled with desperation.
I took another step back.
Okay, then, I thought. Crazy woman in first throes of grief. If you don’t have a stun gun to protect yourself, back way up and give her some space.
The bell over Millie’s front door jingled again, and I turned to see who it was. Two policemen walked in, one of them holding out a stun gun.
“Smart man,” I told him. “You must be with her,” I added, pointing at the new widow as Red ushered her across the deli to a table along the back wall.
“You’re under arrest,” he said to me.
“What?” Alan’s deep voice rose behind me as he stood up from his chair at our table.
The patrol officer and I looked at Alan.
He had a burp rag over one shoulder, dark circles under his eyes, and a sleeping Baby Lou in his arms who was drooling creamy formula over his sleeve. He didn’t exactly look threatening, unless you were contemplating having children.
In that case, he looked terrifying.
“Sit down, Alan,” Luce said to him, directing him back to his seat with her fork. “Bobby
can handle this.”
Alan dropped carefully back into his chair so as not to disturb his daughter’s nap. “Thank goodness Louise is sleeping,” he said, “I’d hate for her to see her uncle getting arrested.”
“Are you really arresting me?” I asked the officer. I held up my palms in defense. “I didn’t even touch anyone. I was just trying to help out.”
“And doing a bang-up job at it, too,” said a third policeman as he walked into Millie’s.
“Hey, Rick!” Luce greeted the newcomer.
The policeman walked past me and over to Luce, where he leaned over to drop a kiss on my lovely wife’s cheek.
“It was his idea,” the patrolman in front of me said, nodding towards Rick. “Says he’s a close personal friend of yours, and that you’ve always wanted to be arrested.”
“You’re a jerk, Stud,” I said to Savage High School’s own Officer Rick Cook, my birding pal and regular pick-up basketball opponent. “Quit hitting on my wife.”
He ignored me as he admired Baby Lou and dropped a kiss on her tiny forehead, too.
“And my niece,” I added.
“Don’t worry, Bob,” Alan assured me. “Rick knows that if he messes with my daughter, I’ll break every bone in his body.”
“Are you kidding me?” Rick asked. “Your wife would take me apart first. By the way, I like the burp rag over the shoulder. It’s a good look for you.”
I glanced across the diner to the table where Red had seated Mrs. Delite. The woman seemed to have collected herself and was quietly sipping a steaming cup of tea with the two policemen seated across from her.
“What was that all about?” I asked Rick, sitting back down at our table and tipping my head in Mrs. Delite’s direction.
“Not sure,” he responded. “I heard your name on my scanner this morning, hightailed it out to the Arboretum and got there after you left, about the same time as Mrs. Delite showed up.”
He pulled out the fourth chair at our table and sat down.
“She insisted she had to see the man who found her husband, and since you’d told Kurt—he’s the silver-haired officer with Mrs. Delite over there—you were heading here, we hopped in the squad car, and here we are.”
I thought I had recognized the older policeman from earlier this morning when the local authorities had descended on us at the Arboretum, which was why I didn’t think much of it when he said he was going to arrest me. Both Luce and I had given full accounts of finding Sonny’s body and confirmed each other’s whereabouts for the last twelve hours. If the police had suddenly found evidence that I’d killed Sonny Delite, I was sure curious to hear what it was.
“So you came along for moral support?” I asked Rick. “Or just to play a practical joke on me?”
“A little of both,” he replied. “Not much going on in Savage this morning. You’re where the action is, Bob. Again. Lenzen is going to love this,” he grinned, tipping his chair back on two legs.
“Don’t remind me,” I told him.
It had been over a year since the last time our assistant principal had threatened me with suspension because of my involvement with murder cases, and I wasn’t looking forward to sitting through another lecture from the man.
Yes, I knew that staff being connected with murders in any way at all was frowned upon.
Yes, I knew that staff should always be mindful of public image.
No, I wasn’t a serial killer masquerading as a high school counselor.
Although, maybe I could turn that around and use the idea for my costume this year at the annual faculty Halloween party. Usually, I had my costume figured out at least a month early, but this year, I’d been so busy helping students make schedule changes, I hadn’t had the time to think about the party. A serial killer costume would be pretty easy to put together, too. I bet I could borrow a hockey mask from our athletic department. Or maybe a buzz saw from the construction trades class.
I realized that Rick was waiting for me to say something else, so I put the serial killer costume idea on the back burner.
For now.
“So Mrs. Delite wants to talk with me,” I confirmed with Rick.
He nodded.
“Any guess as to why she slapped Red?”
Rick shrugged. “Beats me. Maybe she didn’t like the service the last time she was here.”
“She just lost her husband,” Luce sympathized. “I think it’s safe to say that the woman is extremely distraught.”
“Good point,” Rick said. He turned to me. “Hey, aren’t you a counselor? Maybe you should go counsel, or something.”
I opened my mouth to make a smart reply, but Luce cut me off. “You know, that’s not a bad idea, Bobby,” my wife said. “I’m sure Mrs. Delite could use a comforting word right about now. You’re always so good about that kind of thing. I think you should go talk to her.”
That was my wife, all right: all heart. I sighed in resignation.
“I’ll see what I can do.”
I took another look across the room at Mrs. Delite. She sat silently at the table, her eyes gazing vacantly ahead.
“Do you think she’s going to slap me?” I asked Luce. “I haven’t been trained in defensive moves like Red has.”
“Go talk to her,” my wife commanded me.
“Arf,” I replied.
Luce pushed me out of my chair.
I rehearsed a few opening lines in my head.
“Hello, I’m the man who found your husband. I have to ask, though—who dressed him this morning? He was a dead ringer for a scarecrow. Oops—poor choice of words. Can I suggest the Reuben sandwich for lunch?”
I wound through the four tables between my own and Mrs. Delite’s. Millie’s isn’t a big place, but that’s one of the reasons I’d always loved it. Not only is the food delicious, but the whole place has that cozy feel of a small town diner where you know everyone’s name, and they know yours. You go there a few times, and Chef Tom and his staff take such good care of you, you’d think they were family.
Only nicer.
In all the years I’d been going to Millie’s, Red hadn’t kicked me in the shins even once the way my sister routinely did.
Although I bet she could. After watching her handle Prudence Delite, I wondered what other hidden talents our favorite waitress possessed.
I extended my hand to Mrs. Delite.
“I’m Bob White. I’m so sorry for your loss. I knew your husband, and he was a fine man.”
She looked blankly at my hand, then lifted her puffy eyes to my face.
“Actually, he wasn’t,” she corrected me, her voice soft and her eyes teary. “He was a lying, cheating, egotistical excuse for a man. But I loved him. I really did. I would have done anything for him. Anything at all.”
I opened my mouth to reply, but nothing came out, so I closed it again.
I glanced at the two policemen, but they both had their eyes glued to the blue-and-white checkered tablecloth.
Smart men.
“So, maybe, condolences are not in order?” I carefully suggested.
What was I supposed to say? Congratulations, the louse is out of your life?
“Oh, Prudence, you don’t mean that,” Red said, appearing beside me and sliding a plate of eggs and ham in front of Mrs. Delite. “She doesn’t know what she’s saying, Bob. She adored Sonny. She’s clearly in shock.” She patted Mrs. Delite’s shoulder. “Pru, you eat up, okay? It’s all organic, and your morning tea’s almost ready.”
The new widow obediently picked up her fork and knife … and just stared at her platter.
I noticed the two policemen sliding looks at Prudence, and then at each other. Officer Kurt tapped me on the arm.
“That’s why we’re accompanying her,” he explained in a lowered voice. “She was just about hysterical at the Arboretum, and we didn’t want her driving herself anywhere, so we offered to bring her over to talk to you. When a woman’s that devoted to her husband, we always worry a little about her �
�� hurting herself, if you know what I mean.”
He looked gratefully at the plate of chocolate chip-banana pancakes that Red laid at his place.
“And I really needed some pancakes,” he added.
I looked back at Mrs. Delite to find her staring at me.
“I’m glad you found him,” she said, sniffing as she dabbed a tissue at the corners of her eyes. “At least I know where he is, now. That was always so hard on me, when he would be gone for days at a time … championing some environmental cause like it was a life-or-death quest. I felt so alone. And now, without him, I just don’t …”
“I called him Don Quixote,” Red interrupted in a bright voice, clearly trying to divert the conversation and the direction of Prudence’s thoughts. “You know, jousting at windmills. That was his latest crusade, in fact: wind turbines. He told me all about it when they were in here for lunch yesterday.”
The deli’s doorbell chimed, and Red glanced to see who had walked in. She gave a little wave and turned back to me to finish her comment.
“Did you know that wind energy companies have to get environmental approval before they put up wind farms these days? Apparently, if the turbine towers are located near nesting spots or migratory routes, they can kill a lot of birds.” She shook her head. “Really, it seems like if it’s not one thing, it’s another, with alternative energy sources. Maybe we should all just go back to lighting candles, using iceboxes, and staying home.”
Sonny’s widow threw an anguished look at Red.
“You just hang in there, honey,” our waitress consoled Prudence. “We’ll get you through this. Remember, you just take one step at a time.” She hustled away to help another table of new customers.
Mrs. Delite let out a heavy sigh. “One step at a time,” she softly repeated.
“Sonny was working with wind energy?” I asked her, hoping to keep her distracted from more tears.
She nodded and sniffed again.
“That’s why we were here in town, Mr. White,” she told me. “We were attending the Study of Alternative Sustainable Sources conference at the Arboretum. Sonny was supposed to lead a session,” she paused to take a deep shuddering breath, “this afternoon, about the ecological impact of wind energy farms.”