by Deb Baker
I’d gone through this routine already only about a hundred times. It’s easy to entertain Yoopers, and a good joke stays around for a long time.
“You’re not going to sit with these two old fools,” Ruthie exclaimed as she set plates in front of Carl and Otis.
“I need a laugh today, Ruthie.”
“I hear ya. What’ll it be?”
“Coffee and a grilled cheese sandwich,” I said, eyeing the mounds of meat and potatoes and carrots steaming on the men’s plates.
All the while we ate our lunch, Fred sang a song of sorrow from the back of the truck. He’d let out a mournful yowl, then swing his eyes over at the restaurant window. I gave him a few waves to let him know I hadn’t forgotten him.
“Dog looks rabid,” Carl observed, shifting his eyes to the right, then to the left, then over my head. “Where’d you get him?”
“He’s a retired police dog, search and rescue.”
More like search and destroy, but that was a secret.
When Ruthie poured another round of coffee I saw Blaze’s sheriff truck pull in and park right next to the Trouble Buster.
I thought about hiding in the ladies’ room but I couldn’t leave Fred to fend for himself, not to mention that the restaurant was the size of a hunting shack and my son would find me eventually. I shouldn’t have worried about Fred because Blaze stopped and rubbed his big, black head. Fred could have conducted an orchestra with his tail.
Blaze stood back from my truck and peered at the lettering meandering along the side. He scowled at me through the window.
“Carl,” I said, “you’re going to have to help me out here. Tell Blaze you have been driving me around.”
“You want me to lie to a law enforcement official?”
“It’s only Blaze.”
“But Gertie, he’ll know it’s a lie. My station wagon is out there.”
By now, Blaze had ripped open the restaurant door and was stalking my way. He nodded at the two men and leaned over me, throwing his sheriff’s hat down on the table like a gauntlet.
I’m used to his intimidating ways. It takes more than this overgrown kid to rattle my cage.
I grinned. “Sit down,” I said. “I’ll buy you lunch.”
“Outside. Right now.”
Rather than create a scene in Ruthie’s restaurant, I waited for him to pick up his hat and I followed him out. Behind Otis’ train a stand of jack pines reached for the sky. I saw a hawk riding the air currents, scouting for a meal.
Blaze puffed himself up and his face grew flushed, like he was short of breath. Before he could say anything, Carl rushed out of the restaurant with a carry-out bag in his arms.
“Wait, Blaze,” he called out. “I can explain.”
While Carl bamboozled Blaze, I crept over to the back of the truck, rubbed Fred’s ears, and reviewed the case.
The feather hadn’t amounted to much. I wasn’t any closer to learning the source of the one found on the bottom of the dead warden’s shoe than the day I discovered it.
It had been a long shot anyway.
“I’m having a hard time believing what you’re telling me, Carl,” Blaze said from the other side of the truck. “Your car is right here. How do you explain that?”
“I left it for Otis. He wants to go see his…ah…his…ah mother.”
“Otis can’t leave his train on the tracks while he goes visiting. It’s one thing to stop for a bite to eat, but that isn’t exactly a parking space.”
“Well, I’ll go tell him that then.”
I heard the restaurant door bang shut as Carl hurried back in. Blaze stomped over.
“This is getting embarrassing,” he said. “I could handle the money buried in a box and you spray-painting my truck with yellow paint.” He stopped to glare at his old truck, now mine. “And I didn’t say a word when you took up with Cora Mae, but….”
I stared him in the eye.
“But this truck,” he continued. “And the lettering and you running around without a driver’s license, thinking you’re Lieutenant Columbo. You’ve gone too far.”
“You should be out looking for Little Donny,” I said, louder than I intended. Part of my tactic with Blaze was to never show anger. “You’re more concerned about catching me driving than you are about finding your nephew.”
I poked him in the chest. “Maybe I shouldn’t have to do your job.”
Blaze hitched up his pants.
I turned to the road with my arms crossed.
Carl came back out and Blaze walked over to talk to him again.
I watched a white van moving steadily toward me along M35 and wandered over to the side of the restaurant to get away from all the noisy chatter.
The van pulled to a stop at the only four-way flashing traffic light in town. I saw the name on the side of the vehicle. Mitch Movers.
Right then, I decided to abandon the feather theory and the search for falconers and the bear with the missing red tooth. I vowed to resume my search for Little Donny. Dead or alive, I’d find my grandson.
The truck edged forward and started to gather speed as it passed me.
Then it happened.
A bird feather exactly like the one on the bottom of Warden Hendricks’ shoe fluttered in the wind created by the moving van and landed at my feet. I stared at the back of the van. Another feather spit into the air.
I broke into a run.
“Carl,” I shouted. “It’s time to go. Hurry.”
But by the time I got Carl untangled from Blaze’s law-and-order speech and into the driver’s seat of my truck, it was way too late to catch up with the van.
****
“This sure smells good,” I said, opening Carl’s leftover bag and peeking inside. He had enough food inside to feed a black bear for a week.
“Stay out of my bag,” Carl said, hands on the steering wheel at ten and two o’clock. “And Blaze is still behind us.”
I sighed and turned to check. “Take me home. That’s all we can do.”
Blaze continued on past us when we turned into my driveway. “Stay a while,” I said to Carl. “I’ll take you back when I’m sure he’s really gone.”
“I’ll go in and visit with Grandma Johnson,” he said.
“You always were a brave one. I’ll put your bag in the fridge.”
I found Cora Mae and Kitty leaning against my fence watching George work. His rattlesnake cowboy hat was tipped onto one of the pickets and he’d stripped down to his jeans and boots. George at sixty still had the physique of a young construction worker.
“Thought I’d work on building your sauna,” George said. “The ladies are helping.”
I could see that.
Cora Mae was draped over the fence as close to George as possible without actually impeding his movements. She looked like a lean she-cat, with her black heels and tight black pants and confident expression on her face. It was only a matter of time before she mauled George and hauled him into her den.
“I thought you two were going to search for Little Donny,” I said to Kitty and Cora Mae. “From what I can tell, based on my experienced investigator skills, he isn’t out this way.”
“Some of us,” Kitty said, tipping her head at Cora Mae, “got a little distracted.”
The guinea hens must have been in the outer field when we pulled in because I saw them heading our way, running in a pack. They veered off before reaching us, and I heard a yip from the other side of the barn along with a lot of hen chatter.
I called Fred, and he came bounding for cover with the hens right behind him. He ran in close to me and I flapped my arms like wings to keep the hens at bay.
George grinned. “Those hens sure hate Fred.”
“They just sense that he’s afraid of them,” I explained. “Once he stands up for himself, they’ll back off.”
“What’s new with you?” George asked, coming and standing right next to me. I admired the few boards rising from a foundation that would support my new s
auna.
“Someone around here is smuggling birds illegally,” I announced. “They’re using moving vans to transport them.”
Kitty snapped her fingers. “Mitch Movers, I’ll bet. I’ve seen that white van more than once and wondered where it came from.”
I nodded. “Feathers blew out of the van when it passed the Deer Horn. I was standing right by the road when it happened but I couldn’t follow it because Blaze would have arrested me.”
“Why would he have arrested you?” George wanted to know.
“I don’t have a clue,” I lied.
“Gertie doesn’t have a driver’s license,” Cora Mae squealed and George started laughing.
“That’s easy enough to correct,” he said through his guffaws.
“You haven’t driven with her, have you?” Race Car Kitty said. “It won’t be that easy. And she failed her written test.”
“Well, let me know if you want some pointers,” George offered, giving my arm a little squeeze. A jolt of electricity shot down to my toes and my knees threatened to buckle.
I leaned against the fence. “Let me tell you more about the bird thieves,” I said weakly.
“What kind of birds,” George asked.
“Red-tailed hawks, peregrines, you name it.” I like to add interest to my stories. I might not have all the licenses the government imposes on its citizens but I do have a literary license. “Bald eagles for all I know.”
“But what are they doing with them?” Cora Mae asked.
“You can’t buy raptors in a store,” I explained. “The only way to get one is to capture it in the wild, find a sponsor, and go through a lot of governmental red tape. My guess is, they’re stealing birds and eggs and selling them for a profit.”
“People want them for pets?” Kitty asked.
“No, they train them for hunting. Rabbits, squirrels.” I looked over at my guard hens that were pecking through the gravel in the drive. “Guineas.”
“We stumbled right into the middle of a crime ring,” Kitty shouted in excitement, throwing her beefy arm up in the air in a triumphant gesture.
“We sure did.” I edged closer to George. “Dealing in illegal birds is a dangerous and profitable business, and that’s why they’re hunting Little Donny. He knows who they are. It could even be the Russian mafia.”
“Do you think the dead warden was part of it?” Kitty asked. “That would certainly obfuscate the issue.”
“Kitty,” I said, realizing I needed to expand my word list pronto if I expected to keep up. “Did you go to college?”
“Sure did.”
“Did you graduate?”
“Yup.”
“You need to go to law school and put those fancy words to real use.”
Law classes would keep her busy while I boned up on my vocabulary.
Kitty’s grin spread like butter on hot toast. “I’ll look into it. Maybe I can register for one of those on-line classes. But that will be after this case. I’m your bodyguard, remember, and I take my job seriously.”
George picked his cowboy hat from the picket fence and adjusted it on his head. “I better get back to work.”
“We better get back to work, too,” I said.
“I’ll stay here and be the look-out for Little Donny,” Cora Mae said, attaching to the fence again.
“I have a special project for you,” I told her. “You have to come along.”
No way was I leaving her with George.
chapter 12
My daughter Star’s twin boys, Ed and Red, own Herb’s Bar, which is the only watering hole in Stonely. Since there isn’t much to do in this town other than eat and drink, business starts early in the day at Herb’s.
No one knows exactly why the bar is called Herb’s, because the chain of ownership doesn’t include anyone named Herb. That’s been the biggest mystery in Stonely until recently when Little Donny went missing and a dead warden was pulled off Carl’s bait pile. Then the Herb puzzle took a back seat.
As soon as Kitty pulled open the door of the bar, conversation inside died and everyone who had bellied up to the bar swung around to watch us enter.
It’s a harrowing experience for a newcomer, but I was used to the ways of the clannish Swedes and Finns.
A few people mumbled greetings when they recognized us. Then the customers went back to whatever business had been interrupted by our entrance. If they hadn’t known us, though, the place would have stayed dead quiet for a lot longer.
“I can’t stand all the smoke,” Cora Mae crabbed as soon as she had the chance, still miffed that I had hauled her from the construction site. “And it’s four o’clock in the afternoon.” She scrunched her nose. “Look at the clientele.”
Cora Mae was starting to sound like Grandma Johnson, but she did have a point about the afternoon crowd. Most of them looked like their wells went dry at the beginning of August and they hadn’t bathed since.
“A private investigator has to be flexible,” I said. Kitty slid her solid frame onto a bar stool. She had removed her pin curls for the evening, but, as usual, she hadn’t combed out her hair, causing a spring-loaded reaction with her curls. Her enormous thighs spilled over the seat and her legs were dangerously far apart.
Someone across the bar winked at her and she fluttered a wave. I did a double take, thinking I might be hallucinating.
The twins were working the back of the bar as if they were connected at the hip, sidling around each other in fluid motion while they served customers.
“Hi Granny,” Ed called out, sliding a beer down to me. “What would your friends like?”
The three of us sat in a line at the bar with tall beers in front of us and a hunk of on-the-house beef jerky in our hands.
“Holy cripes,” Cora Mae said, still in complaint mode. “This jerky is going to rip my teeth out.”
“I’ll take yours,” Kitty said, reaching over.
Cora Mae gave her a mean look and cradled her jerky next to her body. This raging hormonal thing always happens when she doesn’t have a steady boyfriend.
“What happened to BB and the other Detroit boys,” I asked, hoping to steer her thoughts away from George.
“They’ll be around later tonight,” she said, perking up a little. “Want to go with us?”
“I’m behind on my work,” I lied, wondering how long I’d be employed if I didn’t wrap this case up quickly. “Did you find anything in the woods today?”
Cora Mae leaned on the bar with one elbow and one Wonderbra’d boob spilled over her arm. Every man along the bar leaned forward, too. “We didn’t get far. It’s a long way from Carl’s bait pile to Walter’s house. Kitty got tired.”
“Me!” Kitty exclaimed. “I thought you were the one complaining all along the trail.”
“I was up for it.”
“You were not.”
By this brief glimpse into my partners’ afternoon hours, I was able to deduce that nothing at all had been accomplished.
“Tell us your theory,” Kitty said, sipping her beer and coming up with a foam mustache. “What do you think happened?”
“I’m convinced that someone is stealing or raising birds and selling them, and Warden Hendricks must have found out.”
“Do you think a local is in on it?” Kitty asked.
“What about Rolly?” Cora Mae suggested.
“Rolly Akkala couldn’t handle a cooked goose,” I said, remembering his fight with the Cooper’s hawk. “Walter Laakso is a possibility. His place is next to the spot where the ATV was discovered, but I didn’t see any signs of trapped birds when we were there the other day.”
“Marlin, Remy, and BB are from Detroit,” Kitty said. “You know how it is in that city. They might be up to more than hunting bears.”
“We’ll keep an eye on them,” Cora Mae said, sweeping her head around the room looking for fresh meat.
The door opened, the noise in the room stopped abruptly, and the customers at the bar eyed Onni Maki coming
in. Then everything started up again.
Onni Maki was shriveled up like a dried-out puffball mushroom and considered himself the most eligible bachelor in Stonely. There aren’t a lot of available men living in the north woods, but I’d rather kiss a porcupine than consider letting that old coot get near me.
“Hi, Ladies,” he said, with his typical leer, dripping gold chains and cheap cologne.
“Not now, Onni,” I said. “Ed, I’m buying Onni a beer. Set it down over there.” I pointed to the far end of the bar.
Helmi Salo called out to him and he redirected, slinking away.
“That white van was coming down M35 from the north,” I said.
“Marquette?” Kitty said.
I nodded. “Or just this side of Marquette. Maple County.”
“What’s next?” Cora Mae said, leaning in. “Do we have a plan?”
“We’re going to spread out,” I replied, lowering my voice. “Start up conversations and see if anyone in here knows anything about suspicious moving vans or illegal birds.”
The three of us spent the next two hours interrogating everyone in the bar. Aside from a few pointers on the best bear bait and several bear facts that I didn’t need to know, nothing much came of it.
“I’m tellin’ ya they can swim right across Lake Superior,” someone said. “Or Lake Michigan for that matter.”
“Naw, no way. How many beers you had?” someone else said.
“How much you want to bet? I’m tellin’ ya the Coast Guard picked up a black bear eight miles out and he was swimmin’ the other way.”
“Naw, no way.”
Multitasker that I am, I had my clipboard and a list of names, and I knocked off three more census stops right there at the bar while keeping my ears open for worthwhile news.
Cora Mae came up empty-handed and Kitty locked in a date for next Saturday night.
****
Johnson family dinners are like shootouts at the OK Corral. Grandma Johnson pumps her semi-automatic venom through her new snapping teeth, Blaze tries to hog-tie me to the kitchen sink since he’s in competition with me and seems to be losing, and Heather and my baby, Star, run blockade.
But first we eat.
