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Who killed Polish Lou, the famous Prince of Polka Music? His daughter, musicologist Lottie Kachowski, comes home to the polka heartland of New Krakow, Pennsylvania, to find the answer. Lottie has an unbeatable talent for using music to solve crimes, and she does just that on the trail of her father's killer. But the stakes turn deadlier than ever when another polka legend comes to a tragic end. As the danger rises, Lottie recruits her father's wacky girlfriend, Polish Peg, to help her dig deeper into the wild world of small town polka. The investigation takes some fancy footwork, as Lottie dances her way through a maze of local rivalries and alliances to unearth the darkest secrets of friends and neighbors. At the same time, she fights to keep from getting dragged back into the polka scene she left behind long ago, though her father's will names her his successor as head of his polka empire. Ducking her legacy while catching a killer is the challenge of a lifetime, but with help from Polish Peg, an old boyfriend, and a mysterious cat called Ghost, Lottie might just stand a chance of cracking the case. She puts everything on the line, even as the killer puts her in his sights, and she won't give up. Because when you've got polka in your blood, you just know the bad guy's going to face the music. Don't miss this thrilling tale from the master of mystery, Robert Jeschonek. Expect the unexpected in the first book in the Lottie Kachowski series.
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Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019
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DEATH BY POLKA
A COZY MYSTERY NOVEL
ROBERT JESCHONEK
CONTENTS
Also by Robert Jeschonek
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
About the Author
Special Preview: The Masked Family
DEATH BY POLKA
Copyright © 2023 by Robert Jeschonek
http://bobscribe.com/
Cover Art Copyright © 2023 by Ben Baldwin
www.benbaldwin.co.uk
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved by the author.
A Pie Press book
Published by Pie Press Publishing
411 Chancellor Street
Johnstown, Pennsylvania 15904
www.piepresspublishing.com
ALSO BY ROBERT JESCHONEK
Crimes in the Key of Murder
Six Crime Stories Volume One
The First Detect-Eve
The Masked Family
The Other Waiter
Who Unkilled Johnny Murder?
CHAPTERONE
My father had been in the ground only two hours, and people were already dancing.
As I stood outside the door of the Fire Department banquet hall in the West End of Johnstown, Pennsylvania, I could hear the polka music flowing from within. No music was better loved in this part of town where Polish heritage came before all others.
Not that I could claim to be one of the polka faithful. Not after fifteen years in Los Angeles.
I certainly didn’t look like a polka chick. Sizing up my reflection in the glass door, I straightened my simple knee-length black dress and adjusted the stylish coil of black hair wound on top of my head. If the coil came undone, my hair would fall below the small of my back...which is quite a ways, as I’m over six feet tall.
Satisfied that I was halfway presentable, I reached for the door handle. When I pulled the door open, a wave of polka music washed over me, punctuated by whooping and yipping. As I stepped inside and took off my sunglasses, I could see the hall was packed from corner to corner. Everyone was dancing, singing, drinking, laughing, or some combination of all the above.
The clothes were about the only giveaway that most everyone had been at my dad’s funeral two hours before. Lots of folks were wearing black; some of the women still wore black hats and veils. But some of the dancers spinning around the middle of the hall had actually changed into full polka regalia since the funeral. I counted six middle-aged women in brightly colored skirts that lifted as they twirled across the concrete floor.
I stood at the edge of the mayhem for a while, feeling lost. I knew this was exactly what Dad had wanted, what he’d asked for in his will. They didn’t call him “Polish Lou” Kachowski, Prince of Pennsylvania Polka, for nothing.
So why did the whole scene make me feel sick? Like it was disrespectful to be dancing instead of crying? Like none of those partiers deserved to be there?
Or was it me who didn’t deserve to be there?
“Lottie?” The sound of a familiar male voice made me turn. I found myself staring at Stush Dudek, a gentle giant with a flyaway gray comb-over and the saddest brown eyes I’ve ever seen. “I’m so sorry about your father, hon.”
As family friends go, Stush was one of the oldest and best. Just his being there made me feel instantly better. “Me, too, Uncle Stush.” That’s what I called him, though we weren’t related. “I still can’t believe he’s gone.”
Stush wagged his big head slowly. He always reminded me of a big Saint Bernard. “It’s a terrible thing, Lottie. None of us can believe it.”
Suddenly, I felt tears burning my eyes, and I looked away. Focused on the polka band on the stage at the opposite end of the fire hall. It so happened an old boyfriend of mine was playing an accordion solo just then.
His name was Eddie Kubiak, Jr. I hadn’t seen him in at least fifteen years. Not since I’d moved to Los Angeles.
He still looked about the same except for the fine-lined sideburns, mustache, and goatee tracing the narrow face below his spiky black crewcut. He still played a hell of a solo on the button box, too.
“At least he went peacefully.” Stush gave my shoulder a squeeze with his enormous hand. His dark brown eyes gazed intently into my own. “God bless ya, hon. You know you can lean on me, don’t ya?”
I nodded. “Yes, Uncle Stush.”
Just as he let go of my shoulder, the band finished its song. A deep, gravelly voice boomed over the P.A. system.
It was a voice I remembered well. “Everyone! Everyone!” It belonged to the band’s leader, Eddie Kubiak, Senior. He was Polish Lou’s biggest rival...and Eddie Jr.’s dad, of course. “Time for a toast! Another toast in honor of the great Polish Lou!”
All around the fire hall, red plastic cups and clear plastic shot glasses were raised overhead. Everyone in the band found a drink and raised it, too.
“To a true friend of all Johnstown!” Eddie Sr. lifted a vodka bottle over his glittering red accordion. His pudgy face was almost as red underneath his slicked-back mane of silver hair. “To a true Polish falcon! A true angel of the polka way of life!”
Everyone cheered and downed their drinks.
Eddie Sr. took a long swig from the vodka bottle and shook it like a spear. “He will be missed! Będzie można ominąć!”
How many people were in the fire hall that afternoon? Three hundred? Five hundred? And every last one of them cheered as loud as they could. Cheered so loud it hurt my ears.
I guess I should’ve grabbed a drink and joined the toast, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Because the whole party atmosphere left me cold.
And maybe because I couldn’t bear to admit my dad was really gone.
Instead of throwing back a shot or a swallow of beer, I turned and headed for the door. I rushed outside into the late June heat, tears streaming down my cheeks.
While behind me, the band started playing “The Beer Barrel Polka.”
CHAPTERTWO
The West End Fire Department managed two buildings--the banquet hall out back and the fire house in front. I was so agitated when I got outside that I walked clear around both of them. Didn’t stop till I got to the front of the garage, which was empty. The firemen had pulled out the gleaming red fire truck and two rescue vehicles and parked them along the driveway in honor of the late Polish Lou.
I stopped around the corner of the garage and slumped against the brick wall there. Took some big deep breaths and tried to stop shaking. I needed to pull myself together, if that was even possible on a day like today.
Unsnapping my black clutch purse, I rifled the contents, without thinking, for my cigarettes. It took a full minute to remember I didn’t have any, because I’d quit. Not a puff for the past six weeks.
Though if I’d known beforehand that my dad was going to die in his sleep two weeks in, I sure as hell would’ve picked another time to kick the habit.
Suddenly, everything boiled up in me, and I’d just had enough. With an angry grunt, I chucked the purse through the air; it landed in the middle of a bunch of geraniums in a big cement planter along the driveway.
But that was just the beginning. Throwing the purse seemed to bring everything to the surface.
Overwhelmed with emotion, I plunged my face into my hands and started to cry. I’d been holding it back all day, and enough was enough.
I’d been holding it back longer than that, actually. My life had been on the skids for quite a while. Los Angeles had not been kind.
There was a reason my fiancé hadn’t come with me for my dad’s funeral. And another reason for my being in Johnstown, to boot. I hadn’t come home just to say goodbye to Polish Lou. I had an ulterior motive.
And I hated myself because of it. I was just as bad as all those people whooping it up in the banquet hall at Dad’s expense.
Maybe worse. At the moment, I couldn’t think of too many people I liked less than myself.
“Lottie?” And here came one of them. “Are you all right, sweetie?”
I kept my face in my hands for an extra minute. As if she might go away if I waited long enough. Though I knew there was no chance of that.
She was like a fly that keeps buzzing around you no matter how many times you swat it. The harder you tried to drive her away, the closer she stuck to you.
Her friendly, mid-range voice was deceptive. It concealed the heart of a stalker, the mind of a lunatic. The polka monster from the black lagoon.
My de facto stepmother.
Otherwise known as Polish Peg. “Do you need me to get you something, sweetie? A cup of tea might help.”
Looking up from my tear-soaked hands, I saw the sun streaming through her frizzy, light-brown hair, almost an afro. Her bright green eyes were enormous behind the powerful lenses of her glasses; I thought the red-with-white-polka-dots frames looked like something a clown might wear.
“No thanks.” I sniffed as I rubbed tears from my cheeks with my thumbs. I hated letting Peg see me this way...or any way, for that matter. Ever since she’d buzzed into the picture fifteen years ago, I’d made a point of keeping my distance.
“I think you dropped this.” Peg smiled as she held out my black clutch purse. “I found it in the planter over there.”
“Thanks.” I managed the smallest smile as I took the purse from her grip. “I wondered where that got to.”
Peg looked at me hard from behind those magnifying glasses of hers. She started to say something, then looked away.
I felt intensely uncomfortable, as I always did around Peg, though she’d never really done anything evil. Other than stealing my father away from my mother, that is.
Something about her made me want to run. Maybe she was just too eager to please. Maybe it was her weirdness or her tacky polka style. Maybe something I couldn’t put my finger on.
But she made me want to run. Snapping open my clutch, I fished out the keys to my rent-a-car. “I’d better get going.” I snapped the purse shut and moved to walk past her. “I’m exhausted.”
Just then, Peg the Clown did the unexpected. She caught me by the shoulder as I tried to get past. “Hold on, Lottie.”
I couldn’t believe it. Polish Peg never, ever touched me. “What?” I turned an ice cold glare on her, brimming with contempt.
If it hurt her, she didn’t show it. “Can’t you stay a little, Lottie?”
I hated having her hand on me, but I didn’t pull away just yet. “It’s been a tough day. I really need to get some rest.”
“Please come back to the party, sweetie.” Peg tipped her head to one side. “For your dad, okay?”
No fair playing the dad card, but I wasn’t going to let her guilt me on this. “It won’t make any difference to him whether I’m there or not.”
“Yes it will.” Peg let go of my shoulder. “There’s going to be an announcement.”
I frowned. “What kind of announcement?”
“I don’t even know,” said Peg. “His attorney’s going to present it. Lou left strict orders that all of us be in the room when he does. The whole family.”
Even after fifteen years, I couldn’t bring myself to think of her as family. But I didn’t say it. “Whatever it is, someone can tell me about it later.” I shoved the purse under my arm and marched past her.
At which point, she grabbed my elbow and held on tight. “I won’t have it!”
Spinning, I gaped at her. She’d surprised the hell out of me by raising her voice, which was something else she never did when it came to me. “You won’t have what?”
“Lou...your father asked you to do one thing for him.” Peg’s frizzy ‘fro quivered as she let me have it. “I won’t let you ruin it.
“I think you can carve fifteen minutes out of your busy day to honor your father’s last request. Don’t you?”
I stared at her, wanting so bad to get angry, needing to go off on her for once and for all. But I couldn’t quite do it. Couldn’t give her what she’d had coming for the last fifteen years.
“Okay.” That was all I could bring myself to say. “Fifteen minutes.”
“Thank you.” Peg let go of my elbow and nodded. “On behalf of your father.”
“Let’s just get this over with,” I said, walking back toward the banquet hall, leaving The Clown buzzing in my wake.
CHAPTERTHREE
When I walked back through the door of the banquet hall, I was nearly run over by a pack of charging kids. Twelve of them, to be exact--my twelve little nieces and nephews, otherwise known as the Attention Deficit Disorder Dozen, the ADHD Dozen for short.
That was what I called them, anyway. And believe me, the name fit like a glove. A glove that couldn’t sit still for more than thirty seconds at a time.
“Hey!” I grabbed the last one of the bunch by her upper arm and swung her around to face me. “Where’s the fire, Milly?”
Milly’s bone china face was flushed from running. She panted, letting out puffs of breath that sent her jet black bangs fluttering. “They’re gonna tell us any minute! The big surprise, Auntie Lottie!” Like the rest of the ADHD Dozen, she wasn’t a day over eight. She was the oldest at seven and a half or three quarters, I couldn’t remember which.
I sighed and looked across the hall. The band had stopped playing, though Eddie Kubiak Sr. and Eddie Jr. still stood at opposite corners of the stage with accordions at the ready. Between them stood Basil Sloveski, my dad’s attorney. Basil was a tan little guy in platform shoes and a sharp black suit with a gold pinstripe. His stiff pompadour was the subject of the worst ongoing dye job in history; his hair was so perfectly, light-suckingly black, it looked like he’d been dipped upside-down in a tub of tar.
“What’s it gonna be, Auntie Lottie?” Milly wriggled in my grasp, overcome with excitement. “What do you think?”
There were lots of possibilities, but I didn’t bother running through them. “I guess we’ll find out soon, honey.” With that, I let go of Milly’s arm, and she shot away from me into the crowd like a bottle rocket in a black dress and stocking feet.
Just then, I heard Polish Peg clear her throat behind me. “They’re waiting for us, Lottie.”
For a moment, I’d forgotten she was back there. Turning, I slipped her a scowl. “Waiting for us to do what?”
“Get up there.” Peg stepped up beside me and pointed at the stage. “Lou wanted us both on stage when Basil makes his announcement.”
Already I didn’t like where this was headed. “Us? On stage?”
Peg pushed up her polka dot eyeglasses and nodded. “That’s what the instructions called for. Your dad was very specific. He’d given this a lot of thought.”
“Seriously?” I shook my head. “Not gonna happen. I can hear perfectly fine from back here.”
“Lottie.” Peg fixed me in her fly-eyed gaze. “Please just do this. For your father. Just get it over with.”
I was about to put my foot down for good when I heard my ex-boyfriend Eddie Jr.’s voice over the P.A. system. “There they are! In the back!”
Next came Eddie Sr.’s gravelly bass voice. “Let’s hear it for Polish Peg and Lottie, everyone!” He reeled off some notes on his accordion. “Get on up here, girls! We’ll play your fanfare!”
With that, both Eddies launched into a number, an accordion duet that sounded like a riff from “The Beer Barrel Polka.” All eyes in the room turned on us, and the crowd exploded with applause.
Peg gave me a look that said it all. And I knew she was right; I didn’t have a choice anymore.
Taking a deep breath, I gathered myself up and managed a weak smile. It would have to be enough, because I didn’t feel like smiling even that much.
I looked at Peg and waved for her to go first. She was the celebrity, after all; she’d been co-hosting a radio show with Lou for thirteen years now, co-managing his band, and co-organizing the annual Polkapourri festival. People were crazy about her in Johnstown...people who weren’t in my family, that is. She was practically royalty.
People beamed and applauded as they opened a path to the stage. Peg waved as she passed, walking with her peculiar bandy-legged, boyish swagger.
I followed, wishing with all my heart that I was somewhere else. Wishing that this day, this month, this year had never happened. Things had been going so well for so long, and now here I was, back in the town I’d worked so hard to get away from, at my dead father’s wake.
And I had to go up on stage with Polish Peg for God knew what surprise, when all I wanted to do was find a dark motel room and a carton of cigarettes and cry like a baby for a week.
When I caught sight of my mother near the stage, I knew she was on the same wavelength. My stomach ached just to see the look on her face; I wanted to put my arms around her at that instant and not let go.
Though Lou had left her fifteen years ago for a younger woman, Mom was still deeply shaken by his death. She looked as shell-shocked as she’d been the day he’d walked away from her. She looked utterly and completely lost.
I held her gaze for a moment as I walked past. As crazy as she made me sometimes--especially tag-teaming with my grandmother, Baba Tereska--I still loved her with all my heart. I hated to see her upset like that.
I hated my dad a little, too, for not thinking of her when he planned this polka party nonsense. For not thinking of any of us who just needed to grieve without being part of a spectacle. As usual, he hadn’t been able to resist playing the showman.
It was something he had in common with Eddie Kubiak, Sr. As Peg and I drew up to the edge of the stage, Eddie Sr. cranked out a blistering accordion riff, rocking back and forth with furious intensity. When he’d finished, he flung his arms in the air and shouted over the roaring crowd. “Ladies and gentlemen! Panie i panowie! Let’s hear it for the one and only Polish Peg Bohachik and Lottie Kachowski!”
Eddie Sr. took Peg’s hand and pulled her up onto the stage. Eddie Jr. did the same for me, which was the first time we’d touched in twelve years. He let go and looked away as soon as both of my feet were on the stage.
“And now the moment you’ve all been waiting for!” Eddie Sr. threw his arm around Peg’s shoulders and pumped his fist in the air. “It’s time to experience the last big secret surprise of the late, great Polish Lou!”
CHAPTERFOUR
As I looked out over the crowd in the banquet hall, the Furies glared back at me in disgust. There were three of them, all dressed in black, all with raven black hair, and they were my sisters.
Bonnie, the oldest and tallest, stood in the middle. Her brown eyes framed a big, angular nose that gave her the look of a hawk. Her hair was long, draped over her shoulders, but not nearly as long as mine.
Charlie stood at her side. She was shorter and rounder than any of us, with plump cheeks and dark blue eyes. Her hair was cut in a kind of dowdy helmet ‘do that made her look older than she was, older than any of us.
Then there was Ellie, the youngest. She looked like an anorexic teen, all skin and bones and giant blue eyes so pale they were almost white. Those eyes peering out from her shag haircut with the spiky bangs looked perpetually challenging, always ready to go off.
Which, actually, described her personality. All three of the Furies’ personalities.
Boy did they have capital “T” tempers. They were always, always fighting with each other, shifting alliances, holding grudges on top of grudges.
But today, for once, they were united against a common object of resentment. Me, in other words. I had the honor of having brought them together in harmony. I could see it in their body language as they all clustered together and stared up at me through slitted eyes. I could feel it in the air, and I could guess what had brought it on.
They were mad that I was the only sister called up on stage. It didn’t matter that I didn’t want to be there; I knew my sisters, and I knew this was eating them alive.
It was just the latest in a series of injustices. First, I’d gone off to Los Angeles while they’d all stayed in town and given birth to the ADHD Dozen. Then, I’d gotten engaged, while the best they’d been able to manage was a string of deadbeat baby daddies. Now this.
I knew I’d pay for it later, but I chose to ignore them for now. Basil Sloveski was waving a number ten white business envelope over his giant silver pompadour.
“All right, folks!” The corners of Basil’s eyes crinkled as he grinned. Up close, I could see his whole overtanned face was a web of fine lines. “Without further ado!”
The crowd roared (except for the Furies, who just rolled their eyes) and pumped beers in the air. The ADHD Dozen squirmed their way up front and lined up along the stage, screeching and dancing like idiots.
“How about a drum roll, guys?” When Basil said it, Eddie Sr.’s ancient drummer hopped up on the stage, raised his bony arms in a weight-lifter’s pose with fists curled toward his shaggy white head, and dropped down on the squeaky red stool behind his drum kit.
As the drum roll started, Basil slid a fingernail under the corner of the envelope flap, then dragged his nail along the length of the flap, tearing it open with a ripping sound.
My heart pounded, and I held my breath. As badly as I didn’t want to be there, I was actually caught up in the suspense. Polish Lou’s showmanship had broken through even my tough exterior.
The kids down in front couldn’t stand the suspense either. They were hopping up and down, clawing at the stage, having conniptions. Milly spoke for all of them. “What? What’s it say?”
Basil slipped two tanned fingers into the envelope and drew out a folded sheet of paper. He cleared his throat as he unfolded it, playing up the drama.
Then, he started reading. “Dear fellow polka lovers!” The drum roll continued in the background as Basil’s voice rang over the crowd. “As you know, I’ve been called the Prince of Pennsylvania Polka.”
The crowd roared its approval.
“But now that the Prince is dead, who will rule his kingdom?” Basil paused and looked around the banquet hall for dramatic effect. “Who will be my successor?”
“Who?Who?” squeaked one of the kids down in front.
“Who will carry on the tradition of great polka music as leader of my band, Polish Fly?” read Basil. “Who will continue to broadcast three hours of polkatacular tunetasticness every Saturday morning and Sunday afternoon on my radio show, Kocham Taniec?
“Who will organize the annual Polkapourri festival that has become an institution for Johnstown and the entire tri-state area?
“And who will manage Polish Lou Enterprises now that Polish Lou is gone?” Basil stopped reading aloud, though his eyes kept scanning the page. He got a funny look on his face, a kind of smirking frown, like he wasn’t sure he’d read the letter correctly. Then he shrugged, nodded, and gazed out at the crowd. “I’ll tell you who!
“She will!” With that, Basil swung an arm around and pointed directly at Peg.
The drum roll ended with a rim shot, and the crowd cheered like crazy. Eddie Sr. and Eddie Jr. played wild strains on their accordions. In front of the stage, the kids spun and jumped and gyrated like human popcorn in their little suits and dresses.
Glancing at the Furies, I saw the three of them looked more thoroughly disgusted than ever. One thing they all had in common and shared with me was an undying hatred of Polish Peg.
As for the Clown herself, she beamed and waved with pure delight. If I hadn’t known any better, I might’ve thought she’d just won the Miss America pageant or an Academy Award.
Clapping politely, I turned away and looked for the best place to step down from the stage. The crowd was slightly thinner by the corner, so maybe that would be a good exit point.
Just as I took a step toward the corner, Basil called out behind me. “And she will, too!”
I swear, everyone in the banquet hall gasped at once. Except me.
“That’s right!” said Basil. “I’m talking about you, Lottie!”
At the mention of my name, I spun to face him. “Me, what?”
“You’re the co-queen of Lou’s kingdom, that’s what!” Basil lunged over and grabbed my arm, then hauled it high like I’d just won a prize fight. “Ladies and polkamen! Meet the new rulers of Polka Land! Lou’s own daughter, Lottie...” Basil grabbed Peg’s arm and hefted it overhead alongside mine. “...and his partner, the love of his life, Polish Peg!”
The crowd went berserk. Cameras flashed in my eyes as Eddie Sr. and Eddie Jr. launched into “Hail to the Chief” on their accordions.
Dazed, I leaned forward and looked past Basil at Peg. The look on her clownish face said it all.
She was as surprised as I was. And just about as happy.
Which, let me tell you, wasn’t happy at all.
CHAPTERFIVE
Three hours later, the shock was still setting in. So was the unhappiness.
Mom and Baba Tereska knew it, and they cut me some slack. The three of us sat outside that night, side by side on the squeaky glider on Baba’s front porch. It was a perfect opportunity for the mother/grandmother tag team to nag me to the brink of insanity--but for once, no one hassled me about my poor choices or need for improvement. We were united by our mutual loathing of our common enemy.
“I can’t imagine dealing with that woman on a regular basis.” Mom snorted and shook her head. She still wore her black dress from the funeral, though the veil was gone from her face. “It would be torture.”
“Worse than torture.” Baba Tereska smacked my leg with her withered right hand. Her raspy voice crackled with raw hatred. “More like going to Hell for all eternity.”
Mom nodded and scowled. “Worse than Hell.”
I couldn’t argue with them. “What was Dad thinking? Why on Earth would he put me and Peg in charge?”
“Ask his mother over there.” Mom leaned forward and gestured with her elbow at Baba Tereska. “Ask the woman who brought his sorry ass into the world.”
“At least I didn’t marry him.” Baba snickered and bumped me with her bony shoulder. “If anybody understands his twisted mind, it’s the woman who helped twist it.”
I couldn’t help smiling. Mom and Baba had an unconventional relationship; they were closer than most ex-wives and mothers-in-law I’d known. They also rode each other mercilessly, especially when it came to Polish Lou--but the abuse was always good-natured.
“Maybe he was trying to be fair.” Mom pushed the glider back and forth on its metal track, gazing up at the stars. “Instead of just leaving everything to Peg.”
“If he’d wanted to be fair, he wouldn’t have left his wife and family for that floozy.” Baba banged her knobby knee against my thigh.
“Maybe he wanted to force us to accept her.” Mom reached up and patted her dark brown hair, which was wrapped in a bun at the back. She’d started coloring it since the last time I’d visited, about a year ago.
“Forget it.” Baba jolted the glider to a stop. “He knew we’d never accept Miss Peggy.” She laughed harshly, then started moving the glider back and forth again.
“The heck with Peg.” I fiddled with the black clutch purse on my lap, wishing it were full of cigarettes. “What about me? Why would Dad pick me?”
Baba Tereska gave me a funny look out of the corners of her icy blue eyes. “Maybe he thought you’d be good at it. Managing a business.”
“Like the nightclub you and Luke have in L.A.,” said Mom.
The mention of that place made my stomach knot up in my belly. There was a lot they didn’t know about my club. A lot I didn’t want to think about. “Since I live in L.A., how could Dad expect me to work with Peg back here?”
Mom shrugged. “Maybe he was hoping you’d move back.” Her voice trailed off; she’d been after me for years to give up L.A. and move back to Johnstown.
“Well, that’s not gonna happen.” When Mom and Baba slid the glider forward again, I jumped off, leaving behind my clutch purse. I felt like I needed some breathing room.
“But it won’t be forever,” said Mom. “The will stipulated one week.”
“One week too many.” I muttered the words to myself.
“It’s just until Polkapourri,” said Mom. “Then you can run off again if you want to.”
Standing at the top of the front steps, looking out at Baba’s scrappy little yard in the moonlight, I sighed. When it came to using guilt as a weapon, Mom had no equal.
She was right about the will, though. The “co-queen” arrangement wasn’t designed to be permanent. Peg and I had to work together for one week, during the busiest time of year for Lou’s polka empire. Just one week, till the 25th Annual Polkapourri Festival was over, at which time we could go our separate ways. At that point, if we chose, we could pick someone else to take our jobs and keep things rolling.
Or we could cash in. We could liquidate the empire and split the proceeds fifty-fifty.
That was an outcome that appealed to me in a big way. Except for the part about working with Polish Peg for a week.
“I don’t think I can do it.” I said it over my shoulder without looking back at the women on the glider. “Even if I could stay in town for a week, I don’t think I could take her for that long.”
“You can do anything you put your mind to,” said Mom.
“If we can go fifteen years without killing Miss Peggy,” said Baba, “I think you can manage one week.”
Without thinking, I started chewing on my left thumbnail...then caught myself. It was a habit I’d fallen into since quitting smoking. Better to nibble a nail than light up a cigarette, right? Though I had to admit, both the spirit and flesh were weak that night; if someone had handed me a lit cigarette, I would’ve sucked it down to the filter in one breath right then and there.
“I just don’t understand.” Turning, I leaned against the white wood pillar at the top of the steps and frowned at Mom and Baba. “Why did Dad pick me? Why not one of the other girls?” I was talking about the three Furies, who were all at Mom’s place with the ADHD Dozen at that moment.
“Why not you?” said Mom.
Baba cackled. “He probably didn’t trust any of those sorry specimens to handle it.”
“Hey!” Mom grabbed Baba’s spindly shoulder. “Those are my daughters you’re talking about.”
I started to nibble my thumbnail again, then pulled it away. “It’s like he’s punishing me for something.”
Suddenly, Mom and Baba both got up from the glider. As they closed in around me, I felt the Tag Team springing into action with their old school full-court press.
“Who cares why he did it?” Baba grabbed my wrist and shook it. “You have an opportunity here, girlie.”
“A chance to set things right.” Mom placed one hand flat against my chest, over my heart. “You can make things right for all of us.”
Baba let go of my wrist and reached up to pat the back of my head a little too hard. “There’s nothing wrong with putting your family first sometimes, you know.”
“If you love them,” said Mom.
“The way you do.” Baba scrubbed my scalp with her bony knuckles.
I looked from one woman to the other, about ready to scream. The Tag Team’s tactics hadn’t changed much over the decades; they had a way of putting on the pressure till they got what they wanted. Though I was thirty-five years old, I felt more like ten.
“I believe in you, honey.” Mom smiled. “I know you can do it.”
“And you won’t be alone, kochanie.” Baba Tereska leaned in and planted a dry kiss on my cheek. “We’ll be helping and advising you every step of the way.”
“How can you fail?” said Mom.
“You can’t possibly screw this up,” said Baba.
“It’s a golden opportunity,” said Mom.
“Once in a lifetime,” said Baba.
Suddenly, I crossed the threshold of not being able to take any more. “Enough!” With an exasperated cry, I pushed away from both women, then spun and threw up my arms to keep them at bay. “What if I don’t want to do this? What if my life has to come first this time? My life with Luke in L.A.?”
“Like the will says.” Baba shrugged and coughed. A lifetime of heavy smoking had left her with a permanent wet cough and the early stages of emphysema. “No one in Johnstown will get a thing. Not you, not the family, not even Miss Peggy. The lawyers will sell it all off and ship the proceeds to Polish orphanages.”
I let out a heavy sigh and slumped. I was so sick of dealing with the situation, I couldn’t stand it.
The more I thought about it, the more trapped I felt. Trapped because the family needed me...and also because Polish Lou’s plan was the answer to my problems. As much as I hated the idea of working with Peg, how could I walk away from this chance?
“I’ve got to go.” Snatching up my black clutch purse from the glider, I unsnapped the catch and dug out my rent-a-car keys. “I’m totally exhausted.”
“Do you think we’re done talking about your new job?” said Baba Tereska. “Have we talked some sense into you?”
“Yes, we’re done,” I said. “And no, you haven’t talked sense into me.” With that, I marched to the top of the porch steps, which Mom and Baba were blocking. They stood their ground for a moment with arms folded and eyes narrowed.
Then they parted to let me through. I hurried down the four cement steps to the front walk, already relieved to be clear of the Tag Team. For now.
Halfway down the cracked, uneven walk, I turned and waved. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Mom. I have to take care some things first. I’ll try to call around lunchtime.”
“Don’t worry about me, Lottie Leigh,” said Mom. “You do what you have to.”
I felt a pang of guilt. Mom only trotted out my middle name when she was playing emotional hardball.
Too bad I wasn’t staying for extra innings. “Good night, Mom. Good night, Baba Tereska.” Smiling, I turned and continued down the walk toward my rent-a-car, a red Hyundai four-door parked along the street.
Baba called after me just as I stepped off the curb. “You’ll do the right thing, kochanie! I know you will! Because who wants to be blamed for tearing apart a family?”
“Don’t listen to her, Lottie!” said Mom. “She should talk, after the way her son did a number on us!”
“Good night, Mom!” I said. “Good night, Baba!” Then, I used the remote control to pop the locks on the rent-a-car, a red Hyundai Sonata.
Mom and Baba were still squabbling when I got in the car, shut the door, and drove off into the Johnstown night.
CHAPTERSIX
By the time I got to the DeeLite Efficiency Motel outside town, it was after midnight. I was so tired as I parked in front of my room and trudged inside that I didn’t think I could stay up long enough to slip out of my clothes and brush my teeth.
So I kicked off my shoes and collapsed on the bedspread in my black dress and hose. Didn’t brush, didn’t take off my makeup, didn’t order a wakeup call or turn off the lights. I just didn’t have the energy.
But as soon as my head hit the pillow, my mind started working at quantum speed. The day’s events circled like vultures, and I couldn’t look away.
Was my dad really dead and buried? It didn’t seem possible. Yet the weight of it burned in my gut, dragging me down with terrifying inevitability.
I couldn’t stop thinking about him. Memories of him when he was alive tangled with memories of his body in the casket at the funeral home. Always, the people of Johnstown drifted through the background, sometimes grieving, sometimes grinning, sometimes dancing.
Suddenly, my cell phone started beeping. Though I was wide awake, I almost didn’t answer it. For one thing, it was all the way across the room in my clutch purse on top of the mini-fridge.
For another thing, I had a pretty good idea who was calling. After all, it was just 9:30 on the West Coast, three hours behind Pennsylvania.
I knew who it had to be, I knew what he was going to say, and I wasn’t in the mood to hear it.
I also knew he wouldn’t give up, but I let it go to voice mail anyway. Sure enough, a few seconds after the phone emitted its voice mail “whoosh,” it started ringing again.
I thought about switching off the power for the night, but I knew the caller would just dial the front desk at the motel and have the night clerk patch him through on the land line in my room. He was persistent, which was one of the things I’d loved about him.
At first, anyway.
With a sigh, I dragged myself off the bed as the cell went to voice mail a second time. When it started a third ring cycle, I picked it up and opened the line with the press of a button.
And there he was. My fiancé. “Lottie?”
“Hello, Luke.” I wasn’t feeling enthusiastic about this call, and I didn’t try to fake it. “Is everything all right?”
“Sure, yeah.” Luke was trying to sound laid back, but I knew better. I picked right up on the stressed out undercurrent; it had been there for months now. “How you holding up?”
“Could use a cigarette, actually,” I said. “Make that a carton of them.”
“Don’t fall off the wagon, hon,” said Luke. “You’ve got lots of good reasons not to smoke, remember.”
He was right. I thought of Baba Tereska’s wet cough and the oxygen tank she sometimes used, and I nodded. “I remember.”
“Is everyone treating you okay?” Luke knew I’d been worried about facing the Furies, the Tag Team, and especially Polish Peg.
“They’re treating me fine.” No need to go into detail. Better to get this call over with so I could try to get some sleep. Better to get to the point.
Luke was on the same wavelength. After a moment’s pause, he asked the question I knew had been foremost in his mind. “So, uh...can you get it? The money?”
I closed my eyes. Money was my ulterior motive for being there; it was the reason I’d planned to come home even before Polish Lou had died. Without more of it, the dance club Luke and I owned, called Beat Down, would go under fast.
Unless, of course, Polish Peg and I worked together for one week, and I talked her into liquidating Dad’s polka empire. But I wasn’t ready to talk about that with Luke just yet.
It seemed like a long shot, and I didn’t want to get his hopes up. I also didn’t want him pressuring me to go through with it. The last thing I needed right now was a constant stream of phone calls demanding status reports.
So I decided not to get too specific. “I’ve got nothing to tell you. Today was just the funeral, you know.”
Luke sighed. I could practically see the worried grimace crawling onto his face. “Do you think you might find out tomorrow?”
“No idea, Luke.” I couldn’t keep the irritation out of my voice. “I kind of have to go with the flow here, you know?”
“Sorry.” I pictured him leaning on the desk in the back room of Beat Down, clawing at his blond hair the way he did when he was agitated. “It’s just...we’re running out of time here.”
I was all too aware that the clock was ticking. The only thing I could do about it was work with Polish Peg. And the truth was, I didn’t know if I could stand to do that.
So again, I skipped the details. “You’ll know as soon as I do, okay? I promise.”
Just then, an unexpected sound caught my attention...coming from the door, not the phone. Frowning, I stepped toward it, lowering the phone from my ear.
It sounded like faint scratching against the wood of the door.
Meanwhile, Luke kept talking. “I’ll check in tomorrow then. I’ll call in the afternoon and see how you’re doing.”
Walking to the door, I leaned down and peered out through the spy hole. I couldn’t see anyone on the other side of the door. Anyone human, that is.
“Lottie? Are you still there?”
I put the phone to my ear as I undid the security chain on the door. “I’m here.” Then, I turned the doorknob till the center button of the lock mechanism popped toward me. “But I’ve got to go. I’m exhausted.”
“I can imagine.” Luke sounded sincerely concerned. “Well, you get some sleep, and you’ll feel better in the morning.”
“I hope so.” I kept turning the doorknob, and the latch slid free of the frame. “Good night, Luke.”
“’Night, baby. I love you.”
“Love you, too.” With that, I pressed the button on the phone to end the call. I threw the phone across the room, and it landed on the foot of the bed.
Then, I slowly pulled the door open.
The scratching stopped. Looking down, I saw a shape, low to the ground and white as snow. It scooted back out of the way before I could get a good look at it.
It was some kind of animal, I guessed, which was probably all I needed to know...but curiosity got the better of me. I eased the door open another crack, staring wide-eyed into the dim light from the bulb outside my door. But the animal seemed to be gone; I must’ve scared it away.
Pushing the door wider, I tried for one last look. Just then, a streak of white zipped out of the shadows and through the doorway into my room.
Heart hammering, I gasped and leaped back. Finally, I got a clear look at the thing as it streaked across the carpet and under my bed.
A cat. It was a white cat, and now it was in my room.
The question now was how to get it out again. Though I’m not a cat hater, I’ve never been a cat person, either. I had no idea how to handle this refugee under my bed.
