Dancing with Murder

by Robert T. Jeschonek

  "You're sure we need to do this?" Peg grimaced. "We can't just hire a private detective or something?"

  "I don't think there is one in town," I said. "Plus which, only the police can help us get what we need the most."

  "What's that?"

  "A toxicology report on Dad." I felt a nervous flutter in my stomach at the thought of what it would take to get that report.

  Just then, I noticed Stush standing beside the table again, this time with a tray of food. When I looked up, he had a blank expression on his face, but he quickly broke into a mammoth grin. "Deliciousness has arrived."

  "Looks wonderful as usual." Peg took a deep whiff of the steaming stuffed pepper soup when it touched down in front of her. "Smells incredible, too."

  Stush lowered my chicken and waffles halfway to the table, then stopped and held it before me. "You'll clean your plate this time, hon?" He raised his eyebrows and spoke in a chiding tone.

  I nodded and smiled. "Yes, Uncle Stush."

  "You'd better, or you won't get any babka for dessert." He lowered the plate the rest of the way, then pointed at his eyes with his index and middle finger. "I'll be watching you, sweetheart."

  "I know you will, Uncle Stush."

  He patted my head lightly. From anyone else, the gesture--and some of what he said--might strike me as patronizing or sexist...but coming from Stush, they just struck me as affectionate. I'd known him all my life; he was like family, in a good way.

  I watched as he wandered off, tray in hand, and then I turned back to Peg. She'd already started her soup and had a spoonful in transit.

  "So we're agreed?" I said. "We'll talk to the police?"

  Peg sighed. "Okay." She blew on her spoonful of soup. "But it won't be fun."

  *****

  Chapter 23

  Otto Duranko could not have been any nicer. From the moment we walked into his office, he was welcoming, jovial, and perfectly courteous. He instantly put me at ease.

  Peg was another story. She sat stiffly in one of the padded green chairs in front of his desk, kneading her polka-dotted red cloth sling purse, big eyes gaping from behind her matching magnifying glasses.

  I couldn't blame her. He wasn't giving her any reason to tense up--any visible reason--but they had major history between them. I know how I'd feel, sitting across from my ex, asking for his help investigating the murder of the man I'd left him for.

  Not fun at all.

  "So good of you to join me, ladies." Otto dropped his tremendous girth into the big black leather chair behind the desk. Rolls of fat strained at his khaki uniform shirt and bulged over and under the chair's chrome frame and black plastic armrests. "I feel like a thorn between two roses."

  I smiled. "Thank you for seeing us."

  Peg just grunted in assent. "Mm-hm." Clearly, it was up to me to do the heavy lifting, at least for now.

  "How long has it been, Lottie?" Otto folded his hands on the desk in front of him. "Not counting your dad's wake, that is."

  "Too long." I nodded. "Time flies, doesn't it?"

  "It certainly does." His small blue eyes peered at me through silver wire-framed glasses with little oval lenses. "My condolences on your loss." He spared a glance at Peg. "Both of you."

  Peg grunted again. "Mm."

  I wanted to tell her to jump in any time now, but of course I couldn't. "Thank you, Chief Duranko." I gave him a small smile.

  "So." Otto smiled back with utmost pleasantness. "To what do I owe the honor?" There wasn't a trace of malice in his high-pitched voice. That voice was another talked-about part of his legend, along with his weight and tendency to shoot first, ask questions later. People said they'd mistaken him for a woman over the phone; listening to him, I could believe it.

  I cleared my throat and leaned forward. "It's about my father, actually. About his death."

  Otto nodded. "Go on."

  I suddenly felt uncomfortable and shifted in my chair. "I, uh...I think there could have been..." Now that I'd come to the tricky part, I was having trouble getting the words out. "What I mean to say is..."

  "He was murdered." Peg's voice took me by surprise. "We think somebody killed him."

  Otto blinked his little blue eyes in her direction. "It was a heart attack, wasn't it?"

  "He went to the cardiologist two weeks before," said Peg. "Clean bill of health across the board."

  Otto shrugged. "That doesn't mean anything."

  "Certain poisons can mimic a heart attack."

  Otto frowned. "That's kind of a stretch, isn't it?"

  "Well, there's more." Peg reached into her bag and pulled out a double-folded sheet of paper. "This came in the mail the day before he died." She got up and handed the paper over the desk.

  Otto unfolded the letter and pressed it down on the desk blotter. He took his time reading; his eyes bobbed from the bottom of the page to the top twice, then once more for good measure.

  This time, it was his turn to grunt. "Hm." He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes with his thick fingers. Then, he leaned back; his chair creaked as it tipped toward the wall. "Why am I just now seeing this?"

  Peg hesitated. Her past with Otto had held her back, of course, but she wouldn't tell him that.

  Better for me to get back into the mix. "We wanted to be sure before we came to you," I said.

  Otto scrubbed a hand over his bristly gray crewcut. "And are you?"

  Kinda sorta was what I thought, but what I said was, "Yes, we are. We're convinced." Sounding confident was a must.

  "Why is that?" said Otto. "Have you found more evidence?"

  Peg tapped a finger on the corner of his desk. "Lou was severely depressed for a month before he died. Something was bothering him. Something was going on."

  Otto folded his arms over his chest and rocked his chair back and forth. "Such as?"

  "Something bad." Peg tapped her finger on the desk. "Something to do with that letter, I'll bet."

  Otto sighed. I could tell he wasn't getting on board with us.

  So I tried to sweeten the pot. "My sister said he was acting strange. He left a job unfinished at her house."

  Otto rocked his chair. The way it squeaked sounded a little like nails scratching a chalkboard.

  "My other sister said she saw him having a big argument with someone outside the Falcons." I blurted it out even as I thought better of it. At least I left out Eddie Sr. for the moment...but I realized as I said it what Otto's next question would be. Who did he argue with?

  Except that wasn't what Otto said next at all. Leaning forward, he plucked a little white cloth from his desk and used it to clean the lenses of his glasses. For a long moment, he frowned at his glasses and didn't say a word.

  Then, he sighed. "What do you want me to do, ladies?"

  "We'd like a tox screen on my father," I said. "We want to find out if he was poisoned."

  Otto's brows shot upward. "Is that all?"

  Peg tapped the desk. "What do you have to lose, Otto?"

  He snorted and kept polishing his glasses. "Do you have any idea how much red tape it takes to exhume a body? How much time, effort, and taxpayer money are involved? How many asses I have to kiss to make it happen?"

  Peg smacked the desk with the flat of her hand. "Do you have any idea what a hero you'd be if you solved the murder of the Prince of Pennsylvania Polka? The murder no one else even thinks happened?"

  "Hm." Otto held up his glasses and checked them against the fluorescent ceiling light. He rubbed one lens a little more, checked again, and put the glasses back on. "Margaret, I think you've got a zebra problem."

  She sighed and threw herself back in the chair. "How's that?"

  "Say we hear hoofbeats approaching." Otto drummed his hands on the edge of the desk. "What do we expect to see? Horses, right? Because that's usually what makes the sound of hoofbeats."

  Peg looked at me and shook her head. We could see where this was going.

  "How often do we see zebras instead? Not that often, rig
ht? Because they're not nearly as common, are they?" Otto leaned as far forward as his massive belly would let him. "Same thing goes for heart-attack-mimicking poisonings, ladies. Which is why, when something walks and talks like a heart attack, we figure it's a heart attack. Because that's almost always what it is."

  Peg stared at him for a long moment, and he stared back. Their expressions were unreadable--to me, at least--but the tension in the air was thick.

  Fifteen years ago, she'd left him for another man. Now here she was, asking him for help to find that man's killer...and he was refusing. Was it because of the complications he'd mentioned, or what had happened fifteen years ago? Did he hate her that much? Or was there more to it than that?

  He'd never remarried. Was it because he'd never gotten over her? Did he have feelings other than hate for her?

  Peg leaned forward and touched his desk again. "Please, Otto." Her polka-dotted purse slid from her lap to the floor, and she didn't bother to pick it up. "Please help me. I know somebody killed him. I can feel it in my gut."

  "Anything's possible, Margaret." He reached over and patted her hand. "Except digging up your dead boyfriend."

  Peg snatched her hand away. "You're loving this, aren't you? I come in here begging for help, and you just spit in my face."

  Otto spread his arms wide. "There's no spitting! I'd tell anyone the same thing in this situation."

  "Maybe." Peg got up from her chair. "But you wouldn't get this much satisfaction out of it, would you?"

  "That's not how it is, Margaret." Otto got up, too. "Stop acting like everything revolves around you."

  "How long, Otto? How long are you going to hold on to this grudge against me? How long are you going to keep punishing me?" She grabbed her purse from the floor. "Isn't it about time you got over it?"

  With that, Peg yanked open the door and stormed out of the office. She left Otto bug-eyed behind the desk, heaving with rage, face knotted in a snarl.

  She left me there, too, backing away from him. "Um, thanks." I shrugged and tossed off a weak little wave. "We'll let you know if anything else turns up."

  Then, I spun and hurried after Peg.

  Otto must have thrown or hit something after I left, because I heard something heavy hit the wall.

  *****

  Chapter 24

  Peg didn't say another word till we were back in her white Oldsmobile. "I told you it wouldn't be fun."

  "At least we tried." I buckled my seat belt fast; she was already speeding out of the parking lot. "We couldn't not try."

  "I knew he wouldn't help me." She clenched the wheel in both hands and hunched forward, glaring at the road ahead. "He waited fifteen years to stick it to me like that."

  Peg was driving sixty in a twenty-five-mile-an-hour zone. I needed to get her to calm down and refocus. "So now we know what we need to do next, don't we?"

  "Zebras." She hissed the word through clenched teeth. "I'll show him zebras."

  I stared at her, struck by the strangeness of the scene. I'd never seen her like this before, bursting with white hot anger, almost out of control. She'd always come across as goofy and annoying, clownish and shallow, incapable of being outraged or dangerous. But she wasn't that way at all, not shallow or any of the rest of it.

  For the first time, I was starting to get a full picture of her.

  Not that it would matter if she ran the car off the road into a tree and killed us both. "Like I was saying." I cleared my throat and raised my voice. "Now we know what we need to do next."

  Peg just kept the hammer down. "If he'd called me Margaret one more time, I'd've kicked his family jewels to kingdom come."

  I raised my voice again. "We need to talk to Eddie Jr."

  That got her. "Don't you mean Eddie Sr.?"

  "Eddie Jr. first," I said. "Maybe we can find something out without tipping off his father right away."

  Peg sighed and let off the gas a little...which was good, since we'd just run three stop signs and were coming up on a traffic signal. "Seems like that's our only lead right now."

  "Maybe Eddie Jr. knows something." I relaxed as she slowed to a stop at the signal. "He's a nosy enough guy, that's for sure."

  Peg grunted. "Maybe we'll have better luck with your ex than we did with mine."

  *****

  When we marched into Polka Central, Eddie Jr. was on his way out. He rushed toward us, looking harried, no smile in sight, which wasn't like him.

  "What's going on?" Peg let the door fall shut and stood in front of it.

  Eddie stopped and shook his head. "I've gotta go find my dad."

  I frowned. "Pick him up at the doctor's, you mean?"

  "I mean find him." Eddie threw his hands up in exasperation. "He never called me to pick him up. According to the doctor's receptionist, his appointment was done three hours ago."

  "He probably went to the Falcons for a drink," said Peg.

  "Nope." Eddie rubbed the fine line of his stubbly sidemusgoat from ear to chin. "I already called there."

  "One of his buddies probably picked him up." Peg hiked a thumb over her shoulder. "Maybe took him to Stush's Diner or the American Legion."

  Eddie Jr. shook his head. "Not there, either. I don't know. I can't just sit here." Reaching into his shirt pocket, he pulled out a pale yellow sticky note with something written on it in blue ink. "By the way, there's a problem."

  Peg took the note, read it, then handed it over to me. "It's all yours, Lottie."

  "What's the problem?" All I saw on the sticky note were the words "Father Nowakowski" and a local phone number. "What am I supposed to do?"

  "The annual ring-around-the-rosie." Eddie Jr. spun a finger in the air. "He keeps asking for more, we keep telling him no, he keeps asking for more, and around and around we go."

  Peg sighed. "Father Nowakowski wants a bigger cut of food and beverage sales for St. Casimir's."

  "Or he won't let us use the parish festival grounds for Polkapourri," said Eddie. "The man plays hard ball."

  "We always give up a percentage point or two," said Peg, "but not this year. It's up to you to hold the line."

  I frowned. "Why are we holding the line all of a sudden?"

  "Time for a fresh start." Peg's eyes narrowed behind her massive lenses. "I'm tired of being pushed around."

  "'Scuse me." Eddie Jr. bumped Peg on his way to the door. "Gotta go find my dad, remember? I'll make up the time tomorrow."

  Peg stepped aside. "Call and tell us when you find him, Ed."

  "Will do." Eddie scooted outside, leaving the door standing open behind him.

  She pulled it shut, then turned to me and shrugged.

  I shrugged back. "So much for talking to Eddie Jr. about Eddie Sr."

  "We'll catch up with him later." Peg started across the gym floor toward the stage. "Back to Polkapourri business in the meantime."

  I took another look at the sticky note as I fell into step behind her. "Maybe it would be better if you called the priest yourself, huh?"

  "Why would I do that," said Peg, "when I've got a nightclub owner fresh from Los Angeles ready to play extreme hardball with him?" She looked back over her shoulder and winked at me. "You're an unknown quantity, Lottie. I'm calling you The Intimidator."

  "Thanks, I guess." She didn't know my L.A. business was failing, and of course I wasn't going to tell her.

  Peg bounded up the steps to the stage. "While you're doing that, I've got my own battle to fight...and it stinks worse than yours."

  I climbed the steps behind her. "Who do you have to fight?"

  "The sewage bureau." Peg laughed as she whisked through the gray curtain and disappeared into the office area.

  *****

  Chapter 25

  Father Nowakowski played hard-to-get. I made three calls to the St. Casimir rectory without reaching him. Each time, his secretary suggested I call back soon, since Father Speedy (as she called him) was nearly done meeting with the Holy Name Society.

  On the fourth and f
ifth calls, no one answered the phone. Call number six was picked up by Sister Alphonsus, an old woman with a high-pitched voice and Italian accent. Yes, she said. Father Speedy was done with his meeting, and she'd just seen him walk past. Please hold, and I'll bring him to you.

  But the only thing the good Sister brought me was a dial tone.

  Peg was working at the desk next-door and seemed to get the picture. "How're you making out there, hon?" Her voice was tinged with sarcasm and amusement.

  I gave her the sweetest smile I could muster. "Just fine, thanks." Then, I dialed again.

  This time, I got the answering machine. Same again on the next two calls.

  Then, the secretary returned. "He'll be right back, dear. He's on the other line with the bishop."

  I kept my voice calm and pleasant, though my irritation level was soaring. "Can you have him call me back, please?"

  "Oh, certainly. What's your number, did you say?"

  I gave her the number twice, and she promised he'd call back within minutes. Forty-five minutes later, he still hadn't called.

  "Hey, Peg." It was time for some sarcasm of my own. "If they call this guy Speedy, why's he so slow returning a damned phone call?"

  Peg grinned and waved her phone receiver at me. "Turn it to your advantage! He's no match for The Intimidator."

  I stopped in the middle of dialing and hung up. She was absolutely right.

  Father Speedy Nowakowski was trying to make me sweat. He probably wanted to make me come to him, so he could face me down with a home field advantage.

  So fine. I decided to give him what he wanted.

  Scooping up my car keys and butterscotch purse, I sprang from the chair. "I'll be back." I said it like a killer cyborg from the movies as I headed for the gray curtains. "Just as soon as I run an errand."

  "Give my regards to Father Speedy," said Peg. "Not really."

  I marched through the curtains without asking how she knew where I was going. Because I guessed it was pretty obvious.