by Deb Baker
“I thought you might cancel for the poker game tonight. I’m glad you came.”
“What poker game?” George wanted to know.
“The one Carl’s at.”
“Hum, no one mentioned a poker game to me.”
“Well, maybe you don’t know everything that goes on.”
George shrugged and plopped into my rocking chair. George is a rocker, spending hours at it if he has time. Today there was just enough time for me to fill him in on my trip to Marquette before the rest of the family began to arrive.
Heather and Big Donny slumped out of the guest bedroom, blinking like moles creeping out of the ground to discover sunlight for the first time.
“Finally get some sleep?” I asked.
“Those sleeping pills Blaze got for us from the doctor really work,” Heather said, yawning.
Blaze puffed in, still wearing his sheriff’s uniform and eyed up the oven.
“Mary isn’t feeling too good,” he said. “She decided to stay home rather than risk giving Grandma Johnson the flu. Star has a big date and isn’t coming either.
“Time for someone to knock on Grandma Johnson’s bedroom door and tell her naptime is over,” I said, taking the cookie sheets filled with pasties out of the oven.
No one moved.
“Big Donny,” I said, “go get Grandma.”
He groaned and went down the hall.
“Donny’s going home in the morning,” Heather said, as everyone sat down at the table except Grandma. I walked around the table dishing out steaming pasties. “He has to get back to the office, and this sitting around waiting is slowly killing him. But I’m staying as long as it takes.”
“Once we find Little Donny, it’s only a five-hour drive to get back,” I said, relieved because Big Donny makes me nervous.
Heather burst out crying. “I keep thinking this is a bad dream, and I’ll wake up. But I don’t. Once they find him, he won’t be able to come home, will he?”
“No.” Blaze shook his head. “He won’t.”
“What are these things?” Big Donny said, eyeing up his dinner. “Some sort of Yooper pot pie?”
“They have these in the supermarkets back home,” Heather said, none too politely, and I knew the stress was really getting to her. “Just eat it.”
I squeezed her shoulders. “Don’t worry. I’m on the case and I’ll find the real killer.”
Blaze glared at me. “Deputy Snell and Deputy Sheedlo are doing a fine job under my direction. You can butt out, ma.”
“You already have Little Donny tried and convicted. You’re his uncle and you’re not doing a thing to clear him.”
Grandma Johnson shuffled to the table and made a big deal of pulling out her chair.
“You done it again,” she crabbed. “All bellied up to the table before you come and git me.”
There was a perfectly good reason for that, and it was because Grandma Johnson dishes dirt. Ninety-two years old and a regular spitfire.
“I called you to the table,” Big Donny said. “Don’t you remember?”
“Something’s funny-tasting about these pasties,” she said, ignoring Big Donny and digging in like she hadn’t eaten for a week.
By the silence around the table, I knew she was alone in her assessment. Everyone scooped chunks of potatoes and meat into their mouths, contentment spreading across their faces. Even Big Donny looked satisfied once he got past his initial forkful.
George squirted ketchup on his pasty. “What does Rolly Akkala say about the dead warden?”
I paused with my fork halfway to my mouth.
I hadn’t thought to talk to him. Rolly was the local laughingstock. There were more stories about Rolly’s wardening skills then there were Polish and dumb blonde jokes.
Rolly’s been known to lie down in front of vehicles so his alleged hunting violators can’t drive off. He says he has a dangerous job, but I say he makes it that way with his own stupidity. One day he’ll become road kill, crushed under the tire of someone who’s had his fill of the government.
I’d have to talk to him.
Blaze removed his fork from his mouth and shifted pasty to the side of his cheek. “Rolly doesn’t know a thing.”
“And that crazed dog by the door,” Grandma Johnson said sharply. “Wouldn’t be surprised if it kills us all. Barney’s turning over in his grave for sure. I’m afraid to come down the hall, it’s got so bad. Pretty soon I won’t be able to leave my bedroom.” Her teeth snapped and she glared my way.
That, I didn’t dare inform her, was my plan.
****
I’m not sure I slept at all. Tossing and turning, I watched the alarm clock roll through the early hours of the morning. Two o’clock, three, four-fifteen. At five I pulled my sixty-six-year-old body from bed, my muscles stiff and bunched from stress, with the taste of fear in my mouth.
On this frost-covered dawn morning, I faced the possibility that something awful and unspeakable had happened to Little Donny. With the entire Upper Peninsula searching, how could he still be missing? If he was alive without shelter, last night’s freeze would have killed him. When last I’d seen him he was dressed for hunting in the warmth of the day, not for overnight camping. And what about food? Little Donny couldn’t make it an hour and a half without filling up, let alone four days.
I huddled over my cup of coffee as the sun rose over the east field, wondering where to turn next. Fred stretched out at my feet, and I buried my toes in the warmth of his coat, my usually optimistic mind filled with serious doubt.
****
“I got the job,” I said into the phone.
“What job?” Cora Mae asked.
“Remember,” I said, impatient from lack of sleep. “The census taker job I applied for last month.”
My first job application and interview in over thirty years and I’d landed it. It was only a temporary position but it would bring in a little cash to supplement my Social Security.
“Aren’t you a little busy to take on a new job?” Cora Mae said.
“No, no, this is perfect timing. I can get inside people’s homes and question them about Little Donny. This gives me carte blanche to handle the investigation any way I want to.”
“When do you start?”
“Today. A trainer’s coming right to my house to get me started with the paperwork. She’ll be here any minute.”
****
Rolly Akkala liked to cover his tracks. As our local game warden he managed to rile a lot of people who grew up with weapons, so he kept on the move and changed his routine often. Nobody had been able to find out where he lived, but a few locals had worked for years to discover that pertinent bit of information.
He wouldn’t be easy to track down without help.
The Deer Horn Restaurant was my first stop. Fred howled from the passenger seat as soon as I opened the door to the restaurant. Ruthie, frazzled as usual because she couldn’t keep good help and did most of the work alone, managed to function as hostess, waitress, and supervisor of the cooking help when she lucked out and found someone who could actually cook. Otherwise she did that, too.
“Be right with you, Gertie,” she said, trotting for the kitchen.
“Just a cup of coffee when you have a spare minute,” I called after her and took a stool at the counter.
“What’s that noise outside,” someone said.
“Sounds like a coyote or a wolf,” someone else said.
“In broad daylight? They sure are getting bold.”
I didn’t say a word, knowing the howling would soon die down, like it usually did when Fred lost sight of me long enough.
“I’m looking for Rolly,” I said to Otis Knutson, who spends his life driving freight trains up and down the tracks. Occasionally he stops the train on Stonely’s tracks for a quick bite and to catch up on the local gossip. He sat at the counter next to Carl. Both were munching on the daily special, meatloaf and mashed potatoes.
Otis chuckled. “Last
I heard he was letting the air out of one of those out-of-stater’s tires to slow him down for questioning. He’s fiddling with the valve and while he’s doin’ that the guy gets in his car, doesn’t even know Rolly’s crouched down back there, and he throws it in reverse, runnin’ right over Rolly’s foot. Crushed all the bones. Rolly’s limpin’ around somethin’ awful.”
Carl laughed until he began to snort, even though I’m sure he’d heard the story more than once. “Last I heard he set up a roadblock over on Rock Road and he’s checking for violators. He’s already arrested some goof dragging a buck out of the brush. The fella said it looked like a bear to him when he shot it, but on closer inspection he realized it was a deer and he was draggin’ it out to report it.”
We all knew how dumb city people could be. “Sounds reasonable to me,” I said.
“Only mistake the guy made was he had it all gutted out and ready to hang. And it had a rack on it the size of a young tamarack tree. Would’a been hard to mistake for a bear.”
Ruthie poured coffee all around and whisked off.
“Any word on Little Donny?” Otis asked, scraping the last of the potatoes into his mouth.
I shook my head. “No. I don’t know what to think anymore. Blaze works twenty-four hours a day, organizing search parties. They’ve trampled the woods for miles in every direction and he’s not showing up. Heather hasn’t heard a word. You’d think he’d call her if he’s okay…”
“He’ll turn up sooner or later,” Carl said and stood up. Ruthie brought him a carryout bag. He picked up his check and slowly counted out a few bills.
I eyed the bag and Carl noticed. “Another round of meat loaf for later,” he explained. “You know I hate to cook.”
After Carl left, Otis said, “It’s a good sign, Gertie. If they’re combing the woods without finding him, it’s a good sign.”
“You’re right,” I agreed. “At least they aren’t finding a body.”
“Right.”
The silence between us grew. Otis picked up his check and fumbled through his back pocket for his wallet.
“Time to find Rolly,” I said, draining my coffee and patting Otis on the back. “Anyone know where our local warden’s hiding out?”
A few customers gave me ideas, places to start, but no one knew for sure.
****
I found Rolly’s truck parked on the side of Rock Road. After I put Fred on a leash, we walked around the truck while he sniffed away. He caught a scent and hauled me down a deer trail at a faster clip than I was used to. I’d have to teach Fred how to walk on a leash instead of dragging me on my knees or my face. About the time I thought my arm would disconnect from its socket, we found Rolly. He had a hunter cornered in a tree. Or at least that’s what I thought at first.
Rolly eyed Fred as we pulled up, and Fred, thrilled that he had his man cornered, pulled off his usual drill by howling and going for a grip on Rolly’s pants. I yanked him away at the last second, although I considered letting Fred go about his business. It would have been one small victory over our local government.
“Sit,” I said to Fred, and to my amazement he sat. But he didn’t take his red devil eyes off of the warden.
Rolly had his hands on his hips, exposing his sidearm. “They find that murdering grandson of yours yet?”
“I thought that was your job. You should be out searching for him instead of running innocent hunters up trees.”
We both looked up and so did Fred. The guy was about fifteen feet off the ground.
“He’s stuck up there,” Rolly said.
“Quit standing there doing nothing,” the hunter called out. “Help me down.”
The thing that amazed me was that the hunter’s aluminum tree stand was in a different tree than he was. He was clutching the side of an enormous oak tree, and his tree stand, or what was left of it, sat in a maple about four feet away. Part of the stand lay in a heap on the ground.
“How’d you get over there?” I asked.
“The bottom part of my tree stand fell to the ground when I was inching up and I got stuck in the maple for the longest time on what was left of it.” He had his face plastered against the tree limb and his legs were contorted, one stuck into the crook of a small branch, the other twisted around the enormous tree. “I yelled and yelled, and when nobody came I thought I’d have a better chance of getting down by jumping to this tree.”
He chanced a glimpse at a smaller branch five feet below where he was hanging. “I missed,” he explained.
“I hate my job,” Rolly muttered under his breath.
“Jump,” I called. “I think you can make it without breaking anything.”
“Are you nuts?” the hunter shouted.
“Shimmy down, then,” Rolly said. “Go on, clamp your legs around the tree just like you’re doing now and bear hug your way down.”
With enough encouragement and a final threat of being abandoned in the woods for the night, the hunter managed to climb out of the tree.
“Where you going?” Rolly shouted as the man bolted for the trail. “Get back here and get this tree stand out of my woods, and while you’re at it, I’ll take a look at your bear license.”
After Rolly assured himself that everything was nice and legal, Fred and I followed him to his truck. Rolly had a bulldog’s waddle, the result of thick short legs and a barrel chest. His jaw covered half his head. A pronounced limp reminded me of Otis’ story.
“What happened to your leg?”
“Charlie horse, is all,” Rolly muttered.
“Did you know Warden Hendricks?” I asked when we arrived at the road.
“’Course I did. We’re all like family.”
“Why do you think he was shot?”
“Your grandson was up to something illegal, is why.”
I gave Rolly a squinty-eyed, stern look. “I’m not going to get into it with you over whether Little Donny did it or not. I’m asking you if you know something that would help.”
“Help what?”
“Help me figure this all out and help me find Little Donny.”
“We’d all like to find that kid.” Rolly opened his truck door and pulled himself in. I wedged my body between him and the door so he couldn’t close it.
“I hear Hendrick’s vehicle was back in Marquette. How’d he get down here?”
Rolly stuck a key in the ignition but didn’t turn it. “Stay out of our business, Gertie. The kid did it and it’s that simple.”
“If you know so much, you can explain why he is supposed to have also killed Billy Lundberg.”
“Sure, I can answer that, but you aren’t going to like it. He killed one man and had his first taste of human blood. He’s on a rampage and he’ll kill again, just you wait and see.”
Rolly is perfect for his job - narrow-minded, obsessed with his own book of rules, and a true backwoods fanatic. He doesn’t seem to mind that he’s ridiculed and reviled all across Tamarack County.
“One more thing,” I said. “Tell me about trapping birds.”
“What do you mean?”
“Raptors. If I want one for a pet can I go and trap one?”
“No! No! No!”
I finally had his attention. He gripped the steering wheel and pulled himself around to get a better look at me. “You have to have a special license and to get that you need a sponsor and--”
“Maybe I can buy a bird.”
“No! No! No! They’re protected and you can’t buy them. Get yourself a parrot.”
“Can’t I buy one from someone around here?”
Rolly sighed and began reciting the rules. “The only people that can have raptors are licensed falconers and they can only have two birds unless they’re masters - then they can have three. It’s illegal to buy or sell raptors or their eggs. Every bird has a marker around its leg with a federal identification bearing a serial number and if I catch you with one, I’ll arrest you.”
“Who around here has a bunch of them?”
> “I just explained it to you. No one has a bunch of them. It’s illegal.” Rolly started his truck and I moved away so he could close the door.
“I hate my job,” I heard him mutter before the door slammed shut.
chapter 8
Kitty and I were seated at Cora Mae’s kitchen table comparing notes and planning the next step in our quest to find Little Donny and the real killer. We were on our third pot of coffee and I’d had my two’s-the-limit sugar doughnuts.
The feather decorated the center of the table.
“We sure don’t have much,” Kitty said, eyeing it.
“If we could trace Hendricks’ steps in the last few days of his life, we’d be way ahead of where we are now.” I reached for another doughnut. To heck with limits. “But DNR agents run all over the place. He could have been anywhere.” I picked up the bird feather. “This feather is my only lead.”
“And he doesn’t have any family around here at all?” Cora Mae held a minuscule doughnut crumb between two manicured fingernails and touched it to her tongue. Not an ounce of fat on that woman, but what she goes through to stay that way isn’t worth it, in my book.
“A brother in Florida and an ex-wife,” I said. “But they divorced twelve years ago.”
“Ex-wives can hold a grudge a long time,” Cora Mae observed.
“This ex lives out west and her whereabouts have been confirmed by Blaze’s storm troopers.” I licked sugar from my fingers and watched Kitty polish off her sixth doughnut. “We have to have a lucky break soon.”
“Speaking of lucky,” Cora Mae said, fluffing her hair. “Kitty and I are double-dating tonight.”
I sucked sugar down the wrong pipe and started coughing. Even though Kitty claims she’s a big, as in HUGE, hit with the men, this was my first evidence of it. I wondered if she would comb out her pin curls for it.
“And we’d like you to go too.”
I had tears in my eyes from coughing on doughnut crumbs, or so I pretended. I shook my head violently. It wasn’t even two years since Barney died, way too soon for dating, and if I did decide to date again, it wouldn’t be a triple date.
