by Deb Baker
“The Detroit boys,” Kitty explained. “Cora Mae’s going out with BB, and I’m going out with Marlin. That leaves Remy without a date. How about it?”
“I’m working tonight at my new census job,” I explained, with a hint of false disappointment in my voice, grasping frantically for a valid excuse. “Any other time and I’d really like to go along. You two have fun.”
“I didn’t know you took a night job,” Cora Mae whined.
“It’s some days and some nights, depending on what area I’m covering.”
“You can set your own hours,” Cora Mae insisted. “You don’t have to work tonight.”
“I want to make a good impression.”
“We’ll miss you,” Kitty said, picking up another doughnut.
This new job was already coming in handy for dodging unpleasant social situations.
****
My job was to visit every household in the town of Stonely as well as the outlying areas, and gather information for the government. I know in the past I’ve said some pretty harsh things about our government and I’m not taking any of my words back. Now, instead of giving them all my money, they’ll be paying some of it back to me.
Our government is run by a bunch of crooks and there’s no getting around it. But the job has some interesting aspects that will enhance my private investigator business. For example, I go out whenever I want to - days, nights or weekends - and I interview household members. Besides the information the government requires on its standard form, I can ask away on any subject I want.
I have my own census worker badge, and I think it will get me in the door better than my new detective badge once I start testing it out.
At the first door I said, “You didn’t send in your census form.” I’d barely completed my sentence before the door slammed shut right in my face. I made a mark on my form the way the trainer taught me.
The second door I knocked on was opened by a large gorilla-like guy wearing a muscle shirt. He let me explain who I was. Then without a word, he started to open the door wider, and I thought I was being welcomed in. Instead, a Doberman the size of Detroit passed through the widening opening and made straight for me. The dog ran me off, snarling and barking at my heels.
I put another mark on my form with a huge exclamation point and decided to discuss dogs with my trainer, since she hadn’t mentioned one word about them as potential problems. I wasn’t trying this one again without Fred as backup.
Jackie Hoholik lived in the next house on my list. She’d been raised by old man Gus, a Finn from the old school. He even had a Finnish accent even though he’d been born and raised in the United States. He must have picked it up from his parents, who immigrated to America in the early 1900s and settled in Calumet.
Jackie was the oldest of Gus’s six girls and he brought her up as though she was a boy. Stocky built with short dark hair, she could shoot an acorn off a stump from across a field. She wins every shooting contest in Tamarack County and keeps the men hopping, trying to outdo her.
She hunts every animal in every season and always bags her limit. And I hear she can drink everyone at Herb’s Bar under the table.
“Hey, Gert,” she said, studying my census badge and opening the door wide. “Come on in.”
“I’m working today, Jackie,” I said just to warn her. “This is a business call.”
“I can see that.”
“You didn’t send in your census form, so I have to ask you a few questions.” I braced for her reaction. If it was anything like the last two, she was about to heave me over her head and throw me out on my backside.
Jackie smiled. “Want a cup of coffee?”
I smiled back with relief. “Sure.”
We ran through my questions quickly – how many people live in the house, what are their ages, blah blah blah. Since I knew she lived alone, it was an easy interview.
“Sorry about your grandson,” she said, refreshing my coffee cup. “Have you found him yet?”
“No. He didn’t do it, you know.”
“I’ve known your family my whole life. You’re all honest and hard-working. I never knew a Johnson to even steal an apple from a tree. I know he didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I need to find out where that warden was the day before he died. All I have is this.” I pulled the feather out of my purse. “Ernie Pelto, the falconer, says it’s a feather from a young red-tail.”
I explained where I found the feather and what Ernie told me about where bird feathers stick to shoes. “He says it’s unusual for a feather to stick unless you’re walking in a whole pile of them, and he says maybe it came from a falconer’s place.”
She opened her eyes wide and stared at the feather. “I have something to show you,” she said.
****
“Put this on.” Jackie handed me a helmet.
We were standing out on her cement driveway next to a motorcycle. She slid onto the bike and revved it up. “Hop on.”
“It’s getting dark,” I said, brightly. “Let’s do this tomorrow.” I’d never been on a motorcycle in my life and I wasn’t excited about starting now.
“I think you want to see what I have to show you. It’s out by my bear blind. You’ll be glad you didn’t put it off once you see what I want to show you. Climb on.”
I lifted a leg and swung it over the back of the bike like I was heaving myself into a saddle. The helmet felt heavy on my head and I worried about tipping over if I leaned too far out.
Jackie turned on the bike’s headlights, and we blew smoke down the dirt road with the G-forces tapping at the helmet and my arms locked around Jackie in a death grip.
“Lean into the turn,” Jackie yelled over her shoulder.
She swerved suddenly and we began to bounce down a trail, leaving the road far behind us. After a while, I began to relax and re-evaluate my opinion about bikes. Instead of parking and walking in to her bear blind like everyone else had to do, we zipped along the tiny path and arrived in microseconds.
I lifted a leg over the back, stood, and pulled off the helmet. Jackie was already substituting hers for a headlamp, like miners used to wear. She flipped on its light, illuminating the surrounding woods. Darkness crept at us from the sides and behind.
“I found it over here,” she said, leading the way.
We passed her bait pile and walked down a deer trail. She stopped and pointed her headlamp into the brush. Stepping closer I noticed we were at the edge of an open field. Something dark and shadowy loomed ahead.
“What is it?” I asked as we neared.
I was looking at a net attached to poles and shaped into a dome. It must have been five feet in diameter. Mice were running around in the netted bottom, scampering over each other, their eyes glowing red in the artificial light.
“It’s a raptor trap,” Jackie said. “We’re looking at it from the back. Here’s how it works - a hawk or falcon flying over the field sees the mice and dives in, triggering those little nooses on the bottom. See them there? The bird’s feet get tangled in the nooses and it can’t escape.”
“Is this legal?”
“As long as you have a license and approval by the DNR, you can trap birds. There’s a limit on it, though. Maybe one or two each season and a certain kind.”
“Quite a coincidence,” I muttered.
“Since you’re looking for falconers, maybe this is your guy. I found another one on the other side of the field yesterday.”
chapter 9
The next morning dawned sunny and crisp, with a fine layer of frosty dew covering the grass. The guinea hens cackled around the yard, throwing a collective temper tantrum when I let Fred out. They boxed him in, complaining loudly and pecking at his toes, until he bolted from the circle and howled for help at the door. For a big, scary dog, he sure is a sissy.
Blaze pulled in at nine o’clock with my alarm hens announcing his arrival. He walked in a circle around my new truck, shaking his head and swiping his feet at the
hens.
“You need to get rid of those dirty birds,” he said when he came in and plopped himself at the table.
“Leave my birds alone.” I poured him a cup of coffee.
Blaze hadn’t slept well. His eyes were red and puffy and his face was the color of plaster paste. “This doesn’t seem real important in the light of all our other problems,” he said. “But I have to remind you not to drive that truck. No driver’s license yet, I checked, and you can’t just stick Pa’s old truck plates on another truck. You have to fill out paperwork to transfer them and submit it at the motor vehicle department.”
“I know all that. But I have a hard time dealing with the employees down there. I did make an appointment for my test, though,” I lied.
“Well, if you need to go anyplace between then and now, I’ll take you or Kitty can drive.”
If only he knew I was putting my life in Kitty’s plump and racy hands every time I scooted into the passenger seat next to her. I never saw anyone stand a vehicle on end taking a corner like Kitty can.
“Warden in Marquette said an ATV was missing.” I refilled my coffee cup.
“What were you doing in Marquette?”
“He’s my grandson,” I said quietly.
Blaze considered that. “The ATV turned up.”
“Where? When?” I perked up.
“About a half mile from Walter Laakso’s place the same day you found Billy. By the road.”
“Prints?”
Blaze shook his head. “None.”
I frowned in thought. “That still doesn’t explain how Hendricks got to Little Donny’s bait pile. Walter’s place is too far away. Hendricks wouldn’t have park the ATV by the side of the road and walk to the pile.”
Blaze pushed back in his chair, drained his coffee, and rose.
“Well, I better get back to it,” he said, putting on his sheriff’s hat and walking out.
“Is that killer dog loose?” Grandma Johnson called from the other end of the hall.
“Yup,” I called back.
****
“They were in the woods together,” I said to Cora Mae as I dodged potholes, heading for Jackie Hoholik’s house. I’d left Fred home to keep Grandma busy. “The dead warden and the killer were traveling through the woods together.”
“How do you know that?” Cora Mae had on one of her man-killer outfits. She hadn’t abandoned the black motif but today she added a tight pink sweater with little black bows all over it. Not exactly surveillance gear, but just try to tell Cora Mae anything.
“They were on the ATV together. It’s the only thing that makes sense. And it looks like Walter might be involved because Blaze found the ATV right down the road from his house.”
“Was it one of Walter’s?” Cora Mae had the truck’s visor down and was reapplying her lipstick in the tiny mirror, holding her arm steady and watching for potholes out of one eye.
“No. It belonged to the DNR.”
“Maybe,” Cora Mae said, “the killer parked a truck near Walter’s, unloaded the ATV, and they both took off on it. Then the killer murdered Warden Hendricks, returned to his truck, and escaped.”
See. Cora Mae is as sharp as a new knife.
“Why didn’t he take the ATV along, Miss Fancy Pants?” I said.
Cora Mae shrugged. “Maybe he didn’t have time.”
“Makes sense.” An open stretch of road lay ahead, so I flipped on the lights and siren. “Still working fine,” I said. “George really knows what he’s doing.”
“I’ll say.”
I pretended not to hear Cora Mae.
Eventually I said, “I thought you were preoccupied with BB Smith.”
She wiggled into a more comfortable position. “We went to Escanaba for dinner. You should have come along. Poor Remy tagged along all by himself.”
“I hope you didn’t forget our new business and your mission. You interrogated them, didn’t you?”
“What new business? This Trouble Buster thing?”
I glanced over in time to see her roll her eyeballs.
Cora Mae continued while smacking her lips. “What do you think we are? The Mod Squad?”
I hit a pothole dead on just to hear her squeal.
“Your hormones are raging out of control,” I said. “And you are forgetting that my grandson is wanted for a murder he didn’t commit.”
Cora Mae caved at that. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“Well, did you get any useful information from them or not?”
“Nothing significant, but I’ll work on BB again tonight.”
I wasn’t surprised that Cora Mae came away empty-handed, considering the Detroit boys’ limited gene pool. Her hands weren’t the only things that were empty.
“What are you doing?” Cora Mae wanted to know when I pulled into Jackie Hoholik’s driveway and cut the lights and siren.
Hopping out of the truck, I pointed to the motorcycle. “Jackie’s working today but she said we could borrow her bike,” I said.
Cora Mae got out, too, and emitted an uncertain chuckle. “Get outta here.”
“I told her I knew how to drive one and she offered to let me use it.”
“That was a total lie,” Cora Mae said. “And Blaze will kill you if he finds out. He’ll have you declared insane and I’ll be forced to testify on his side.”
“There’s no other way of getting down the paths.” I motioned across the road where the trail began and Cora Mae turned and studied it with her hands on her hips. “Unless we walk.” I gazed at her shoes.
“I’m not going,” she said.
“You have to go.” I fitted a helmet over my head and fiddled with the handlebars, trying to remember what Jackie had done to start it. I was pretty sure there was a kick or two in there somewhere. “This is heavier than I thought it would be,” I said, surprised when the motor finally fired up. “Help me hold it up.”
It was a good thing Little Donny had brought his motor scooter with him last year for me to try out or I never would have figured out how to start the thing.
“I’m not going,” Cora Mae repeated while trying to steady the bike, and from the determined look on her face, I suspected I risked losing this round.
“There are two traps set on opposite sides of a wide field,” I said. “I can’t watch both of them by myself.” I played my trump card. “Don’t you want to help Little Donny?”
Cora Mae locked eyes with me and I could tell she was studying her options. “How do I get on?” she finally said, grabbing the helmet I held out.
To be honest, I didn’t know how I was going to hold up both the bike and Cora Mae, but if Jackie could do it, so could I
“Keep alert,” I said. “You have to help me hold it up with your feet.”
The ride began a little wobbly and with a lot of fancy footwork by both of us.
Jackie’s next-door neighbor, the gorilla man, came out his front door with his Doberman, and the two of them watched us fly by. I rounded the corner leading down the trail, thankful for the helmet that acted as a disguise. I managed not to tip over even with Cora Mae screaming in my ear.
The trail narrowed as we whizzed along, and I worked the brake to slow us down when we hit the deer path.
“You can’t get through here,” Cora Mae screamed.
“We did it last night,” I called back, but my voice was muffled by the helmet and the roar of the engine. I doubt she heard me.
Tree branches slapped hard against the helmet and Cora Mae’s arms tightened around my waist until I thought my eyes would bulge right out. So when I pulled up next to Jackie’s blind, I grinned to myself.
Made it.
Now for the stake-out.
“You can stay in the bear stand and watch the first trap from there,” I said, shutting off the engine and hanging my helmet on the handlebars, like I’ve seen real bikers do. “I’ll cross the field and watch the other one.”
Cora Mae’s eyes climbed the tree until they found the
stand. “I think you have that mixed up,” she said. “I’m going to the other side of the field.”
“Suit yourself.”
Jackie had laid out a neat little pile of rotting carp for her bears to snack on. By the stack of fish bones next to it, her stop was a popular bear destination.
I rummaged in my weapons purse and extracted two pairs of binoculars, handing one pair to Cora Mae. “If you see anything, just lay low and watch. Here’s a radio.”
My new two-way radios, another business expense, were about to be put into action for the first time. “Don’t use it unless you have to.”
I walked her to the edge of the field, gave her directions to the second trap, and watched her stumble through the high grasses, attempting to use her arms like sickles.
By the time I decided she was not going to make it on her own and I’d caught up to her, she’d managed to break a heel and had to be helped across to the trap.
“Right here looks good,” I said, breaking loose from her grip on my shoulder and planting her on a log. “Next time, you have to wear hiking boots.”
“I don’t own anything like…” Cora Mae stopped and listened.
I heard it, too.
A car passing nearby.
“There’s a road right on the other side of these trees,” Cora Mae griped. “We could have driven the truck right up and parked alongside the road instead of almost dying on that motorcycle.”
We heard another car pass by.
“But then…,” I said, making it up as I went along, hoping to recover from a potentially embarrassing situation, “the trapper might have seen our truck and driven right past. You stay here and pay attention.”
“Tell me again why we care about birds?”
“Our only lead is a feather. We have to find out where Warden Hendricks was before he died because he was around birds.”
“We need to read up on this detective business. I never expected to be out in the middle of God’s country with a broken heel and bugs everywhere.”
Cora Mae said “God’s country” like it was a dirty word.
