Dancing with Murder

by Robert T. Jeschonek

  Instead, she was sprawled in a desk chair, head lolling over the backrest, arms hanging over the sides. The chair was tilted back, her legs propped amid piles of paperwork on the desk in front of her, the toes of her sneakers splayed sideways.

  She looked lifeless. Had the killer snuffed her out as well as Dad? Had she been getting too close to the truth? If so, where did that leave me? Would I be the next victim?

  I ran to her through the obstacle course of junk, boxes, and newspapers on the floor.

  "Oh, God." For a moment, I was afraid to touch her. I stepped back, then forward, then back again, kneading my hands.

  Then, with a single sound, the tension broke. All it took was one loud snore from Peg, and I knew she was still alive.

  She looked ridiculous with her mouth hanging open and her curly clown afro flopped back, but she was alive. And I was relieved.

  It took a long moment for my heart rate and breathing to get back to normal. Then, I stepped forward, put one hand behind Peg's chair to brace her, and brushed her upper arm with the other. "Time to wake up, Peg."

  She twitched and mumbled something in her sleep. I gave her arm a squeeze and spoke louder. "Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey."

  With a sudden, sharp intake of breath, her eyes shot open. She made a garbled sound in her throat and thrashed in her chair, nearly toppling backward. Good thing I was bracing her at the time.

  "Easy does it." I gave her shoulder a firm squeeze. "It's just me. Lottie."

  Peg gaped at me with a glazed expression. Then, she shook her head hard, and comprehension seemed to dawn. "Lottie? Where's Lou?"

  In that moment, my heart truly went out to her. I felt genuine sympathy for that woman whom I'd hated so much for so long.

  "He's not here right now, Peg." Why not give her another minute before the facts of Lou's death returned to her? "How about if I get you some coffee?"

  Peg dragged her legs off the desk, pulling stacks of paperwork down with them. Her sneakers hit the floorboards heavily. "Okay, Lottie. Coffee sounds good."

  *****

  Chapter 21

  "Remind me not to fall asleep in my desk chair again." Peg grimaced as she stood up and rubbed her neck. "My chiropractor is getting a call from me today for sure."

  The coffee maker was bubbling away on one of the desks. I sat in the chair in front of it and watched the glass pot fill. The trickle of black liquid became a steady drip, and the drip gave way to one last drop.

  Lifting the pot by its black plastic handle, I filled two chipped cups with steaming coffee. Both white cups were stained brown inside and emblazoned with the Polish Fly logo of a housefly playing a pierogi-shaped accordion.

  "Cream and sugar?" Even as I asked, I saw that neither was in plain sight.

  Peg shook her head slowly, looking miserable. "If you want sugar, I think there're some packets in the drawer. I doubt there's creamer, though."

  I liked a little of both, but I could get by without them. "Caffeine is served." I handed her a cup and reached for my own. "So what's with the all-nighter?"

  She wrapped both hands around the cup and lifted it to her lips. "I hate going home alone to that empty house." Closing her eyes, she took a long drink. "Plus, I was looking for clues."

  I had a sip of my own coffee, which tasted terrible--strong and bitter enough to peel paint. I found myself wishing for some cream to cut it, after all. "What kind of clues?"

  Peg staggered over to the desk where she'd slept and pointed an elbow at the stacks of papers and folders piled haphazardly on it. "Any kind." She reached down and flipped through the corner of the top inch of one of the stacks. "Accounts payable, accounts receivable, tax returns, insurance policies." She flipped through the top of another pile. "Radio show manifests, band schedules, fan mail, hate mail, you name it."

  I took another tiny sip. Still awful. "Find anything?"

  She shook her head, then winced. "Just the world's biggest crick in my neck." Bowing her head, she slowly turned it from side to side. I heard it crack all the way across the office space.

  Sniffing at my coffee, I scowled and put it down on the desk. "I talked to my sisters last night. Bonnie said Dad was installing a spigot for her a few days before he died."

  Peg nodded. "I remember him mentioning that."

  "Bonnie said he kept checking his watch. He said he had to meet somebody, but he didn't say who it was. Then he left without finishing the job."

  "That isn't like him." Peg frowned. "What else did he say?"

  "Nothing she can remember." I pushed the awful cup of coffee away from me. "But Charlie said she saw Dad arguing with Eddie Kubiak, Sr. outside the Polish Falcons a week before he died."

  Peg stopped cracking her neck. "What were they arguing about?"

  "Something to do with strikes." I shrugged. "Charlie didn't hear much of what they said."

  "Strikes as in bowling?"

  "Who knows?" I opened the middle desk drawer, looking for packets of sugar or creamer...finding nothing but a tray full of pencils, paper clips, and loose change.

  Peg drank more coffee and drifted toward me. She was getting steadier on her feet by the minute. "Charlie didn't hear anything else?"

  I shook my head. "Nada."

  "Those two were always fighting about something." Peg let out a weary sigh. "Eddie never forgave him for leaving his band and hitting it big with his own."

  I thought about it for a moment. Was it possible? "You don't think Eddie Sr..."

  "Hated him enough to kill him?" Peg waved her arm through the air. "Anything's possible, right? He wasn't exactly crying at Lou's funeral, was he?"

  I frowned. "But I thought they had a truce."

  Peg put her cup down on the desk. "They tolerated each other. They had to. Lou ran Polkapourri." She reached for the coffee pot and poured herself a refill. "But there was a lot of water under the bridge between them."

  I was having trouble picturing Eddie Jr.'s dad killing my Dad...but somebody had done it. More than likely, in a town as small as New Krakow, it was somebody I knew.

  "Speaking of Polkapourri, we've got work to do." Peg sat on the corner of the desk and drank the rest of her cup of coffee in one gulp. "We're in crunch time mode from here on out."

  I slumped in my chair. "With Dad's killer on the loose? You've got to be kidding."

  She shook her head. "According to Lou's will, it's up to us."

  "So is finding whoever murdered him."

  "We'll just have to do both at the same time." She walked to the next desk, the one with the new laptop computer, and sat down.

  At that moment, the front door of Polka Central slammed shut, and we both looked up.

  Eddie Jr.'s voice called out beyond the curtain, in the gymnasium area. "Peg? Lot? Marco? Marco?"

  Peg dropped her voice. "We probably shouldn't discuss the murder with him just yet."

  I nodded in agreement.

  Eddie Jr. was still calling out. "Marco? Marco?"

  She shot me a quick, sad smile, then shouted an answer to Eddie Jr. "Polo!"

  "There you are!" I heard Eddie's footsteps run across the gym floor and up the stairs to the stage. "Thought you could hide from me, huh?" His feet thumped over the stage boards, and then he thrust his head between the gray curtains. "A-ha!" He gave us a look of exaggerated villainy, complete with bulging eyes. "No one expects the Polish Inquisition!"

  Peg's smile faded fast. Suddenly, she was all business. "I was just getting ready to call in Glynne on her day off. I thought you were only going to be a half hour late."

  "Sorry. It took longer than I thought." Eddie walked through into the office area and cast a look in my direction. He was carrying a tall paper cup of some kind of coffee or tea from one of the chains. "I had to drive Dad to the doctor. His car's in the shop."

  I nodded. "Nothing serious, I hope."

  "For the car, but not Dad." Eddie strolled over, sipping his drink, and nodded at the coffee pot on the desk. "Please tell me you didn't drink
that."

  I held up a thumb and forefinger, pinched close together but not touching. "Just a little."

  Eddie grabbed my shoulder and shook it. "Then for God's sake, woman, we need to get that stomach pumped stat. Peg's coffee can be fatal."

  "I made it, actually." I shrugged. "But it is pretty awful."

  "I swear there's a curse on this place, Lot." Eddie raised his eyes heavenward and spoke dramatically. "No matter who makes the coffee, it always sucks."

  Peg cleared her throat and got up from the desk. I could see she'd straightened her hair and red polka-dotted glasses. "Lottie and I were just talking about Polkapourri, and how we're in the middle of crunch time mode. Not to mention Kocham Taniec and Polish Fly."

  Eddie leaned down and smirked. "In other words, time to break out the hammocks and piña coladas." He said it in a Groucho Marx voice and waggled his eyebrows and an imaginary cigar. "Allow me to be the first to fluff your pillows, ma'am."

  "As I was saying." Peg's tone was completely no-nonsense. "We've got lots of work to do, and not enough time to do it. So let's get cracking."

  "Okay, boss." Eddie stopped clowning. "What's first on the agenda?"

  She pointed at him. "Confirm all bookings for Polkapourri. You need to lock in every band and find replacements for whoever bails out."

  Eddie gave her a crisp salute. "I'm on it, boss."

  "Plus, you need to contact the new leader of Polish Fly and set his first practice session with the band for tomorrow night."

  "New leader?" Eddie raised his eyebrows. "Who's that?"

  "You." Peg planted her hands on her hips and thrust her chin forward. "Got a problem with that?"

  Eddie's jaw dropped open. "But that means Dad and I will be leading different bands at Polkapourri."

  Peg nodded. "And I want both bands scheduled for the same set to close the festival."

  I watched Eddie's face as the full import dawned on him. Lou had started Polish Fly after leaving Eddie Sr.'s band decades ago. The two groups had been arch rivals ever since, though Polish Fly had found the most success. It was like Mick Jagger's son was joining the Beatles...but with polka.

  I wondered how Eddie Sr. would feel about that. Hurt? Angry? Betrayed?

  Or was it what he'd wanted all along?

  Eddie Jr. shook his head slowly. "This could get ugly."

  "It could also be just what we need to give Polkapourri a shot in the arm." Peg clapped her hands together. "Unless you don't think you can handle it."

  Eddie sighed and rolled his eyes. "I didn't say that."

  "As for you, Lottie..." She picked up a thick red folder and threw it down on the desk in front of me. "You have an even more important job to do for Polkapourri this morning."

  "Okay." Booking bands and dealing with artists was right up my alley. I figured my experience with the club would come in handy. "What's the job?" I might even manage to enjoy my work a little.

  Or not. "Permits." Peg patted the red folder. "Could you contact the appropriate city offices and make sure they've all been renewed?"

  I opened the folder and flipped through the pile of pages inside--one permit after another after another, all crammed with fine print. "You mean they might not be? With the event less than a week away?"

  "Always good to double-check," said Peg. "We had a major problem with a beer-selling permit last year, and it nearly shut down the festival."

  "All right then." I pulled out the first page and started reading. "Consider it done."

  "Great." Peg dipped down and whispered in my ear. "And we'll talk about that other matter at lunch."

  I nodded and kept reading.

  "What about you, boss?" said Eddie. "What are you working on?"

  "Spreadsheets, e-mail, websites, you name it." Peg sat down in front of her laptop and started typing. "Making up for lost time on the computer front."

  As her fingers rattled away on the keyboard, I looked up from the folder of permits. She seemed pretty energized. The coffee must have done the trick.

  If I hadn't known better, I might not have realized how upset she was about losing Polish Lou. I might not have guessed there were storm clouds under the surface.

  And a murderer on the loose.

  *****

  Chapter 22

  I couldn't wait for lunch to roll around so we could get back to the most important work at hand: looking into Dad's death.

  Peg drove us in her musty-smelling white Oldsmobile to Stush's Diner, and we grabbed a corner booth. We got there early, ten till twelve, so the lunch rush was just kicking into gear.

  "Ladies!" Stush made a beeline for us before our butts hit the seats. "So good to see you both again so soon!"

  "Thanks, Uncle Stush." I smiled and scooted into the booth. "Good to see you, too."

  Peg was looking across the diner, at the wall-mounted white dry-erase board on which the specials were scrawled. "How's the stuffed pepper soup today?"

  "Fabulous." Stush pressed the fingertips and thumb of one hand together, then kissed them all at once and fanned his hand open wide. It was the kind of gesture you might expect from a French chef talking about his exotic cookery. "Made fresh this morning, as always."

  "I'll have a cup of that and half a club sandwich." Peg nodded and sat down across from me.

  "What about you, hon?" Stush trained his sad brown eyes on me. "We've got loaded baked potato soup today. And we only have chicken and waffles once a week, you know."

  I had a soft spot for both, and he knew it. "Chicken and waffles, please."

  "You got it, hon." Stush reached down and gave my shoulder a firm squeeze. He'd always had quite a grip to go with those huge hands of his. "Hot coffee's on the way, too, my dears."

  "Dziêkujê, Stush," said Peg, which meant, Thank you.

  Stush smiled and bowed. "Proszê bardzo." I didn't know much Polish, but I knew that meant, You're welcome.

  Then he shuffled off to the kitchen, leaving Peg and I to get down to business.

  I took a look around. There was no one in an adjacent booth yet, but I leaned forward and kept my voice down anyway. "So what do we do next?"

  Peg adjusted her owl's-eye glasses, lifting the polka-dotted frames up the bridge of her nose. "Talk to Eddie Sr.? Ask him about the argument he had with Lou?"

  "Maybe." I frowned. "But if he had something to do with Lou's death, won't we be tipping our hand? We might lose any chance we have of getting the truth out of him."

  She sighed heavily and slumped, resting her elbow on the table and propping her chin on her hand. "Then what do you suggest we do?"

  It was the very question I'd been thinking about all day. "Go to the cops?"

  Peg's gaze drifted, staring off into space. "But we don't have much evidence, do we? Just one of many anonymous death threat letters. The rest is hearsay, right? I noticed Lou was acting strange, and your sister Charlie overhead him fighting with Eddie Sr. at the Polish Falcons."

  I shrugged. "Maybe the police could find more evidence if they knew what we know."

  "I'm still not crazy about the idea." Peg winced and rubbed the back of her neck. "I don't know how receptive they'll be."

  "You mean because..." I stopped when I noticed Stush standing beside the table watching us. He had a full cup of steaming coffee in each giant paw.

  Grinning, he put the cups down in front of us, then tossed a handful of liquid creamers over the table like tumbling dice. "Enjoy your java, ladies."

  "Thanks, Stush." As he turned and ambled away, I leaned toward Peg and lowered my voice again. "You mean the cops won't be receptive because of the lack of evidence?"

  "That," said Peg, "and the police chief is my ex-boyfriend."

  My eyes shot wide open. I leaned back, then forward, then back again. "Otto Duranko was your boyfriend?"

  She sighed and nodded. "He left his wife for me. Then I left him for Lou."

  I was having trouble wrapping my head around the idea...and the images that came with it. Otto was in his
sixties, at least, and had always been extremely overweight--half a ton or more, if the rumors were true. He had a reputation of being a big softy...and, at the same time, having an itchy trigger finger to end all itchy trigger fingers.

  "Seriously?" I leaned forward again. "Otto Duranko?"

  "He's never forgiven me," said Peg. "You wouldn't believe the number of speeding and parking tickets I get."

  I shook my head hard to banish the images of Peg and Otto's romance. "What if I spoke to Otto without you?"

  "He wasn't a fan of your father's." Peg reached for her coffee. "Lou was the man who stole me away."

  "Well, that sucks." I grabbed a creamer container, peeled it open, and poured the contents into my cup, then stirred.

  "Tell me about it." She rolled her eyes while sipping her coffee. "Now you know why I haven't gone to the police about Lou yet."

  I mulled things over as I added a packet of sugar and raised my cup for a drink. The Otto situation could be a minor bump in the road--or a major road block. Grudge or no grudge, he had a job to do...but bad blood like this could kill his motivation to succeed on our behalf.

  Even so, law enforcement could open doors that we couldn't...had access to resources we didn't. It would be better to include them in the equation if we had the chance. "I think we need to try to talk Otto into it. If he says no, he says no."

  Peg tossed her head forward and swung it from side to side, clawing at her afro with both hands. "That won't be all he says." She let out a heavy sigh and dropped her forehead to rest on the table.

  If someone had told me a few days ago that I'd feel sorry for Polish Peg, I'd've said they were nuts. But I did. "Hey, don't worry about it." Reaching across the table, I patted her head through the 'fro. "Like I said, I'll go it alone."

  She let out another great sigh. "No, no." When she lifted her head off the table, her face was flushed from the blood that had rushed into it. "We'll both do it. Maybe I can still push some of his buttons."

  "Button-pushing is good." I sipped my coffee.