Dancing with Murder

by Robert T. Jeschonek

  For a long time, I sat in the car, paralyzed with indecision. Should I go to the police department and the parking authority, officially withdrawing Polkapourri from St. Casimir's festival grounds? Should I run to Father Speedy, tell him the truth, and beg him to let us stay?

  I decided on a third option, instead.

  Sliding the key into the ignition, I switched on the car and pulled away from Polka Central. Instead of driving toward St. Casimir's or the police department or parking authority, I headed for neutral turf...a place that wouldn't force me to make a hard choice. I might be nagged to the point of insanity, but I wouldn't immediately have to pick the rock or the hard place.

  Why face up to the consequences of my poor choices when I could avoid them altogether at Baba Tereska's?

  *****

  Chapter 31

  No one answered the door at Baba Tereska's, so I walked around back. There she was, in her vegetable garden, down on her hands and knees.

  I stopped and watched for a moment as a wave of déjà vu rippled through me. I remembered seeing her like that so many times before; she'd been my babysitter often when I was little, and she'd almost always spent the days working in her vegetable garden and flower beds.

  Speaking of the flowers, the air was thick with their sweet fragrance. The beds along the back of the house and the edge of the yard were bulging with pansies, petunias, carnations, begonias, and wild roses. I closed my eyes and breathed in their perfume, savoring the rich mixture of scents and the rush of childhood memories they evoked.

  "Well, hello there, kochanie." Baba Tereska's voice broke my blissful trance. "Have you come to help with the weeding?"

  My eyes snapped open, and I grinned. "Do I have to?"

  "Of course not, honeybunny." Baba tipped back her ratty straw hat and pointed her chin in the direction of the garden shed under the big spruce tree. "You know where the lawn mower is, don't you?"

  I couldn't help but laugh. As hard on me as she could be, she had a playful side that cracked me up, too. "I think I'll hold off on mowing the lawn," I said. "At least until I get the house painted."

  "Don't forget about the sidewalk," said Baba. "Those slabs aren't going to repair themselves."

  "Don't I know it." I laughed again, glad that I'd decided to visit Baba. A little time with her was just what I needed. Sometimes, it was better to walk away from my problems...and hopefully, come back later with a fresh perspective.

  Baba sighed, and then she coughed. It was that same old deep, wet cough, the one she'd had for what seemed like forever. "I suppose you'll be wanting lunch, now that you're here?"

  "I hadn't thought about it, really."

  "Typical freeloader." She shook her head, looking disgusted. "I guess you expect me to make your favorite food, eh? Tuna casserole with potato chips on top?"

  My eyes lit up. "You're making tuna casserole?"

  "In your dreams." Baba cackled and clapped her dirt-caked orange gardening gloves together. "How about scrambled egg and fried baloney sandwiches with ketchup instead?"

  Healthy it wasn't, but a guilty pleasure since childhood, it was. "Perfect! I mean, I guess I could force one down."

  "No no no." Baba wagged her head. "You misunderstood. What I meant was, how about if you make a sandwich for me?"

  I laughed again. "You got it, Baba."

  Her hand was shaking a little when she reached up for a lift out of the dirt. I took hold of her forearm with both hands and pulled up steadily.

  It was then, for the first time since I'd come back to town, that I realized how heavily her age was weighing upon her. Even with help, she rose slowly and with difficulty.

  Baba shoved a foot under her, then grunted as she pushed up. Once she'd gotten both feet on the ground, she paused halfway, bent over and breathing hard. She unfolded from there with deliberate slowness; I could hear the bones cracking as her spine straightened.

  I held on to her arm as she stood before me, beaming under her straw hat in the mid-morning sun. Her tiny body swam in the pink sweatshirt and red sweatpants she wore, a miniature version of the grandmother I'd known growing up.

  Not that the fire of her personality was any less bright. "I knew it." She scowled up at me, her icy blue eyes locking on to mine. "I knew you couldn't do it."

  I frowned. "Do what?"

  "I knew you couldn't last the week with that woman." She smiled and nodded. "Did she fire you, or did you quit?"

  "What makes you think either one happened?"

  "Why else would you be here instead of at work?" She smirked like she'd gotten one up on me. "The big polka party's in three days, isn't it?"

  I sighed and shook my head. "I didn't quit or get fired. Just took an early lunch."

  "Okay, okay." Baba narrowed her eyes. "If you say so."

  I helped her walk out of the garden, and then she shook off my grip. She headed for the back door of her house on the way to make lunch, and I trailed after her. The same scene had been repeated many times in the past; except for the difference in our ages, it could have been twenty-five years ago.

  "So your new job is treating you well, then?" Baba said it without looking back over her shoulder. "You like working for Miss Peggy?"

  I decided to gloss over the ugly parts for the moment. "It's going fine, Baba. We're getting along fine."

  Baba chopped her hand through the air and snorted in disgust. "Now I know you're full of crap."

  I couldn't help smirking. It was good to see, as old as she'd gotten, that she was still the same Baba Tereska.

  Baba peeled off her gardening gloves as she walked. When she reached the back steps, she turned and shook them at me. "Watch your back with that woman. Don't be like that father of yours and get taken in by her."

  "I won't, Baba." I shook my head earnestly. "I promise, I'm keeping an eye on her."

  "She's a menace." Baba leaned toward me, shaking the gloves fiercely. "A disgrace. I put nothing past her."

  "Yes, Baba." I was thirty-five years old. How was it she could still make me feel like I was twelve?

  Baba handed me the gloves, then turned and worked her way up the cement steps, making the most of both handrails. She pulled open the screen door at the top and moved aside, holding it for me as if I needed the help more than she did. "Beauty before age," she said.

  I'd learned long ago not to argue with her. "Thank you, Baba." I smiled and walked inside instead of trying to insist she let me be the one to hold the door. It would've been a waste of time, anyway.

  She came through after me and pointed at the gloves. "Just put those on the stool there." She jabbed her finger at a waist-high wooden stool just inside the doorway.

  The stool had been there for as long as I could remember. As I placed the gloves on top of it, a blur of memories flickered through my mind--so many other moments when I'd put things there or sat on that stool or just walked past it.

  Baba went to the sink and washed her hands with hot water. Clouds of steam rose around her, billowing in the sunlight streaming in from the window. "So if your job is going fine, and you're getting along fine with Miss Peggy, tell me what the problem is, kochanie."

  I sighed loudly. "Why does there have to be a problem, Baba? Maybe I just came for a simple visit. I never get to see you when I'm out in L.A., do I? I don't even call that much."

  "Too busy shacking up with that not-much-of-a-man of yours." She switched off the spigot, tore a paper towel from the roll on the side of the cupboard, and dried her hands. "How long have you two been living in sin now?"

  I winced. She was as good at nagging as she was at making me feel at home. "Three and a half years. And it's not a sin."

  Baba hobbled to the refrigerator and swung open the door. "When's he going to make you an honest woman, huh?"

  I hated feeling like I had to justify my relationship. "We're not talking about marriage, Baba. Things are fine the way they are."

  "Fine, fine." Baba pulled out a gray carton of eggs and placed it on the c
ounter beside the stove. "Everything's fine with you, isn't it? Why do I get the feeling I'm not hearing the whole story?"

  "He hasn't asked me to marry him, okay?" I pulled out a chair and sat down at the kitchen table. "And I haven't been trying to get him to ask."

  Baba stopped in the middle of reaching into the fridge and looked at me. She raised one eyebrow and nodded. "So that's how it is."

  I wished I could take back what I'd said. I'd just given her the ammunition she needed for a really good nagging.

  It was one of her favorite subjects, to boot. She and my mother been telling me for years that I'd never get married and start a family if I didn't change my ways. With each year that went by without a wedding, their commentary had gained momentum...not that I cared or paid any attention. Now that Baba smelled blood in the water, trouble in paradise, I expected her to pounce.

  Which is why what she said next surprised me so much. There was no finding fault with me, no telling me I needed to try harder if I wanted a ring on my finger.

  Just this: "Don't stay with someone you don't love, kochanie."

  My mouth fell open. I couldn't believe what I'd just heard. Instead of pushing me to hold on to my man for all I was worth, instead of reminding me that I wasn't getting any younger and my options were dwindling, she told me not to stay with someone if I didn't love him.

  She left me a little shell-shocked. I sat there and gaped at her as she reached for a package, wrapped in white butcher's paper, and drew it out of the fridge.

  When she turned to face me again, she smiled wryly. "Now don't look so surprised, kochanie."

  "I never said I don't love him, Baba."

  Her expression changed to one of innocent dismay. "You didn't?"

  I shook my head and tapped a finger on the table. "Just because he hasn't proposed, and I'm not trying to get him to, that doesn't mean we don't love each other."

  "That's good to know." Baba smiled, pulled a yellow tub of margarine out of the fridge, and closed the door.

  "We've been together three and a half years." I knew I sounded defensive, but I couldn't help it. "That counts for something, doesn't it?"

  Baba pried the lid off the margarine, then put it down on the counter. She tugged open a drawer and pulled out a butter knife, then balanced it on top of the margarine tub. "So you do love him, then?"

  I opened my mouth to answer, then closed it again. She'd caught me off guard with her blunt question...one of her specialties. That wasn't what surprised me most, though.

  I expected to come back quickly with an easy reply, one that came without thinking. I should've told her, without hesitation, that our love was true and solid.

  But the quick answer wasn't coming. That was what surprised me the most.

  Was I having doubts?

  As if on cue, one of my phone's special ringtones sounded, signaling that a text message had arrived. I grabbed the phone, fully expecting to see a text from Luke on the screen.

  But the text wasn't from Luke at all. He was still off the radar.

  This message was from Peg instead. And it wasn't good. As I read it, I slumped in my chair, instantly losing all the good vibes I'd been soaking up at Baba's place. All the negative craziness came flooding back in a heartbeat.

  "Kochanie?" Baba stared at me with a worried expression. "What is it? What's wrong?"

  I turned the phone facedown on the table and rubbed my eyes. I thought about lying, but then the words came tumbling out. "I made a big mistake, Baba. Now it's catching up to me."

  Baba had a frying pan in her hands. She put it on the stove and sat down across from me. "What kind of mistake, sweetheart?"

  "I told Father Speedy we were moving Polkapourri to Valhalla. But we aren't. I was bluffing to get him to back down on the higher percentage he was asking for."

  Baba leaned her elbows on the table and met my gaze with her icy blue eyes. "It didn't work out, I take it?"

  I shook my head. My throat tightened with strong emotion as I told the whole truth for the first time. "Father Speedy wouldn't back down. Peg thinks I already made the deal with Valhalla. Nunzio Caputo told me Dad's going to hell. And now...and now..." I drew a deep breath and let it out slowly, fighting to steady myself.

  Baba reached across the table and held my hand. "Now what, miód?"

  "I need to get to Polka Central right away." I closed my eyes and shook my head. "A bunch of big shots just showed up to talk about Valhalla. They brought a lawyer."

  Baba clucked her tongue. "Poor kochanie."

  "I don't even want to go over there." I opened my eyes and stared at the table. "I've got more important things to deal with right now." I caught myself, worried that I might have put her on the scent of Dad's murder investigation.

  But either she didn't sniff it out, or she just let it pass. "I wish I could help you, kochanie. I wish I could make it all better."

  "Thanks, Baba. So do I." I sat there a moment longer, putting off leaving. More than anything, I wished I could stay and watch Baba make scrambled egg and fried baloney sandwiches with ketchup, just like in the old days. I wished I could eat and laugh with her, taking my sweet time with no meetings to rush off to, no missing boyfriends or white lies to worry about.

  But I knew I had to go. My escape at Baba's couldn't last.

  I slid my hand from her grip and pushed my chair back. "Sorry I can't stay for lunch, Baba. They're waiting for me at Polka Central."

  "Don't worry, Lottie." She smiled. "It'll all come out in the wash."

  "That's what I'm afraid of." Walking around the table, I bent down and kissed her withered cheek. "Thanks for the company, Baba. And the almost-sandwiches."

  "Any time." She made a sound in her throat that sounded like a laugh, and then she reached out and grabbed my wrist. "Now go clean up your mess. Quit running away from your problems, kochanie."

  She was holding on too tight, and I winced. How could such a frail old woman still have so much strength? "Yes, ma'am."

  Baba released me and waved at the back door. "Now get out of here before I call your boss and tell her where to find you."

  *****

  Chapter 32

  When I pulled up in front of Polka Central, there was nowhere to park. The street was lined with cars on both sides, expensive models and economy cars wedged bumper to bumper along the curbs.

  I had to drive around the corner and pull in half a block away. As I walked back to the building, a TV truck from the local station, WNKK, rolled slowly past. A cameraman with shaggy black hair and beard was at the wheel, and a cute brunette reporter in a dressy blue jacket sat beside him. She looked right at me and said something to the cameraman as they passed.

  The front door of Polka Central was wide open. I could hear voices inside as I approached.

  Just as I reached the front steps, Glynne slipped through the doorway, looking over her shoulder. When she faced forward, she saw me waiting below, and her eyes widened.

  She scooted down the steps, grabbed my arm, and whispered in my ear. "Get out of here while you still can. They're out for blood!"

  I whispered back at her. "What are you talking about? Where's Peg?"

  "Taking a pounding." Glynne gave my arm a rough shake. "You need to amscray if you don't want the same treatment. Because I guarantee they'll go after you if you walk through that door."

  Then, she let go of my arm and jogged off, heading for her little purple Honda, which was wedged between SUVs down the street.

  And I paused at the foot of the steps, trying to decide what to do next. I thought about turning around and leaving, but instead, I put my foot on the bottom step. I took a deep breath, let it out, then went the rest of the way up the steps. My stomach churned and my heart pounded as I walked through the doorway into Polka Central, determined to face the music.

  Just as I walked in, people applauded...but they weren't clapping for me. They were all facing away from me, looking toward the stage.

  There were about two dozen o
f them, all men, most in their fifties or sixties. I didn't recognize any in the back, but as I worked my way around the edge of the crowd, I spotted familiar faces up front...all of them bad news.

  Father Speedy, Nunzio Caputo, and Dad's blacksheep brother, Uncle Dupa, all stood at the foot of the stage, facing the crowd. Basil Sloveski, the attorney, was off to one side, leaning back against the stage.

  Between the four of them and the rest of the crowd stood Peg. Her eyes were wider than ever behind her huge glasses; the expression on her face was one of extreme agitation.

  I started to move toward her, then changed my mind and hung back instead. Maybe I could get an idea of what was going on first.

  Father Speedy spoke up, aiming his comments at Peg. "I don't see what you're getting excited about. You're moving Polkapourri out of town. What do you care if we replace it with a new polka festival?"

  Uncle Dupa pumped his fists in the air and shouted. "Who wants a Polkagasm?" With his scraggly gray ponytail, black leather vest, and tie-dyed t-shirt, he looked like a cross between a biker and a hippie.

  The crowd roared and clapped its approval. My stomach twisted when I recognized some of the applauding audience members as musicians from Polish Fly.

  "Not that we're married to that name." Father Speedy cast a disapproving look in Dupa's direction. "But can't you see we have every legal right to hold our own festival?"

  "That's right, Peg." Basil patted his shoe-polish-black pompadour and shrugged. "Legally, you can't stop us."

  "Why would you even try?" Nunzio Caputo spread his arms wide. "A little competition never hurt anyone. If anything, having two polka festivals in the region will only mean more money to go around."

  "There isn't room for two festivals at the same time." Peg snapped out the words. "The fan base can't support that!"

  "Don't worry. You can draw more than enough fans from Pittsburgh...right, Lottie?" Suddenly, Father Speedy's gaze shot over and locked onto me.