Murder Grins and Bears It

by Deb Baker

  Once I locked onto Walter as a probable suspect, I went through the elimination exercise. Assuming Walter killed the warden to prevent him from arresting his current source of income (aka the Detroit boys), I was faced with some logistics problems. The most obvious involved the vehicles. If the warden rode one and Walter rode another, how did Walter get rid of the warden’s ATV once he killed him? He couldn’t ride both of them at the same time.

  And I still couldn’t explain how the warden had gotten himself in our woods when his truck was parked back in Marquette.

  Did someone drop him off? If so, why didn’t that person come forward? Warden Burnett said the ATV had been stolen. Why would Hendricks steal an ATV when he could take one any time he wanted to?

  Did the men come together?

  Maybe one of the Detroit brothers helped Walter. That would take care of the ATV problem. The brother would have driven with Walter and moved the warden’s ATV afterwards.

  But Little Donny never mentioned a third person.

  And the Detroit boys weren’t the swiftest bunch. One of them would have slipped something incriminating to me today or to Cora Mae and Kitty when they double-dated. In spite of Cora Mae’s hormonal imbalance and Kitty’s turtle-like shuffle, both women were quick witted and would have picked up on some inadvertent remark from a horny guy trying to impress a date.

  Little Donny’s accounting of the conversation between the killer and the warden about personal integrity and duty certainly pointed at Walter. He could have tried to talk the warden out of arresting the violators and killed him when he wouldn’t back off.

  Another troubling thought entered the equation. Little Donny had met Walter last year. Granted, it was a brief encounter, with my grandson taking a dive in the dirt when Walter beaded him with his shotgun. Also Walter had lost another tooth or two since then. But Little Donny should have recognized him.

  He hadn’t mentioned that.

  If Walter really was our man, I’d wasted an entire week chasing bird feathers just because the dead man happened to have one stuck to his shoe.

  Birds of a feather flock together.

  I was about to follow that free-association thread of thought when I realized that I had driven all the way home without being aware I was even driving, proof that my skills were improving. I must have put the Trouble Buster on automatic and zoned out.

  Fred jumped down from the truck on the lookout for the flock of guinea hens, off doing their business someplace else. After sizing up the house, which he knew was guarded by the old fly-whacker. he loped around the back where George was still working. Smart dog to choose George.

  Heather was in the kitchen, looking a wreck since her son had vanished in the forest. She’d forgotten the basics of life like bathing, grooming, and sleeping.

  I gave her a big hug and couldn’t help whispering the good news about Little Donny in her ear. I hadn’t planned to - I had decided just the opposite, not to tell her. It just bubbled over and spilled out before I could stop it up.

  “He’s alive?” she whispered back, searching my eyes for confirmation that she wasn’t imagining our conversation. I nodded.

  “It’s our secret,” I said. “You can’t tell Blaze yet.”

  Heather clamped her hands over her mouth.

  “You can’t say anything to anyone,” I repeated. “And you can’t barrel over there either. Play it close to your chest until I have a chance to work this case through. Otherwise he’ll be in a jail cell instead of the comfort of your Grandma’s house.”

  I clamped my hand over my mouth. I really hadn’t planned to tell her where he was.

  She sat down hard on a kitchen chair and rocked back and forth, hugging her arms, while big buckets of tears ran down her face.

  “Now what did you do?” Grandma Johnson said from behind me.

  “She didn’t do anything, Grandma,” Heather said through the tears.

  Grandma humphed. “You need to keep busy instead of weeping around all the time. What are we having for supper? Shouldn’t somebody be starting it?”

  “Chicken,” Heather said, wiping her face with a handful of tissues. “I’m making chicken.”

  “Again? I’m not eating chicken four nights in a row.” Grandma clacked her new teeth. “I made chicken the other day although nobody hardly ate any and we had it last night and in-between we eat chicken leftovers. I’m sick of it.”

  “I made pasties on Thursday,” I reminded her. “There might be a few left we could heat up.”

  “Tasted like road rock.” Grandma looked out the window, craning her neck. She swung her head around and beaded in on me with one cocked eyebrow. “I bet those guinea hens are good eaters.”

  “You leave my guineas alone,” I demanded. In her day, Grandma was a sharpshooter in more ways than one. She had her rapid-fire snake tongue even back then, and she could really shoot a rifle. Chances are she’d lost her edge, but just to be sure, I thought about hiding her glasses.

  “Once I find my pistol, I’m taking one of ‘em down. Don’t know how I could misplace it, but I’m on the lookout. It’ll show up.”

  Annie Oakley shuffled off down the hall.

  My home used to be my retreat from the world, but all that had changed.

  These days I hated coming home.

  chapter 15

  My two partners ambled in wearing their Sunday best, while I was listening to my police scanner and cleaning up the kitchen.

  “Don’t you look great,” I said, standing back and taking in the sight. Cora Mae had on a pair of black stretch pants and a silver and blue camisole that should be illegal outside of a bedroom. Kitty wore blue jeans and a silver baseball cap emblazed with a blue lion that was several sizes too small for her head. “Pin curls and ball caps. What’ll they come up with next?”

  “We’re going over to Walter’s to watch the game with the Smith brothers,” Cora Mae said. “Want to come?”

  “As tempting as that is, I have work to do.” I’d rather eat Drano than spend the day warding off bacterial infection over at Walter’s house.

  “The Detroit Lions are playing the Green Bay Packers,” Kitty said. “It’s their first game together this year. I’m a closet Packer fan, though. It’s going to be hard to cheer for the Lions.”

  “BB and his brothers are from Detroit. It’s only polite,” Cora Mae said. “It’s Sunday, Gertie. No one works on Sunday.”

  “Maybe next time.”

  “We ran into Blaze at the gas station,” Cora Mae said. “It’s a shame they didn’t find Little Donny in Newberry.”

  “I knew they wouldn’t before Dickey and No-Neck left to go there,” I said, feeling hurt that Blaze hadn’t shared his recent findings with me. Instead he felt perfectly fine divulging police information to my friends. Then I remembered my big secret about Little Donny. I had no intention of confiding in Blaze, so I guess we were even.

  Chatter erupted from my police scanner and we listened until we were sure it wasn’t anything interesting.

  “That detective and his partner drove by your house when we pulled in,” Kitty said, helping herself to coffee. “Detective Dickey is a piece of work.” She shook her head. “Nebbish.”

  “Bumptious,” I agreed.

  “An icky schmo,” Cora Mae added, jumping into the contest.

  “I’m your bodyguard,” Kitty said to me. “If you’re working the case today, I’m coming along.”

  “I don’t want to go to Walter’s by myself,” Cora Mae whined.

  Heather trotted out of her room and I couldn’t believe the transformation. She’d cleaned herself up, combed her hair, and applied make up. She had her purse in her hand.

  “I’m going for groceries,” she said. “Do you want anything special?”

  I eyed her glowing face. “Only what we agreed on before,” I said slowly, to remind her to stay away from Grandma Johnson’s house. “You remember, don’t you?”

  “Oh, sure. Bye.” And Heather bounced out, leaving me
less than assured.

  “Sit down,” I said to Cora Mae and Kitty. “I have good news.”

  I told them about Carl and my suspicions and about finding Little Donny. Kitty jumped up and gave me a congratulatory embrace that almost cracked my ribs.

  I broke free, or rather she released me, and I took a step back. In the north woods we don’t go in much for public displays of affection, but Kitty tends to be dramatic, which is why I think she should become a lawyer and put all that pent-up energy to good use.

  “Kitty, you have to stay with Cora Mae today,” I said. “She might need protection more than I do.”

  I told them about the stinging nettle.

  “You think Walter did it?” Kitty said. “It’s possible that one or more of the Smith brothers could be in it, too. I see what you mean, Gertie, about being careful.”

  She glanced at Cora Mae. “We’re sticking together as long as they’re around.”

  I felt relieved. Kitty was a formidable opponent, both intellectually and physically. I didn’t envy the fool who tried to cross her.

  “We should stop by and say hi to Little Donny,” Cora Mae said, standing up and stretching her lean legs.

  “Stay away from Grandma’s house,” I said. “We don’t want extra traffic on Porcupine Trail. Blaze isn’t the brightest, but he might catch on. My plan is to solve this crime before he finds Little Donny.”

  The police scanner cracked into action, spitting static. “Code seven,” someone said over the airwaves.

  “That sounds like Blaze,” Cora Mae said. “What’s a code seven?”

  “Lunch.” I consulted my police radio manual. “He’s out to lunch.”

  Kitty chortled and I grinned. “Out to lunch,” she said. “That’s a good one.”

  “Ten four,” came another voice.

  “The rest of the day is free and clear,” I announced, sure that Blaze would flop on his couch for the Lions game and scarf down enormous bags of peanuts and multiple packages of pre-cooked brats.

  Cora Mae wandered over to the window and I could tell she was getting antsy to go.

  The police scanner crackled again and Blaze’s voice came on. “Are you moving?”

  “Code three,” someone said.

  “Geez, Deputy Sheedlo,” Blaze complained for all to hear. “You have to study up on your codes. Code three is lights and sirens. Is that what you’re trying to tell me? That you’re in pursuit? I thought this was a routine observation.”

  “He’s talking to No-neck,” I said. “Dickey must be around someplace close, too.”

  “Yes, sir, affirmative, I will and no, sir, I’m not,” No-Neck said. “I’ll work on the codes. We’re keeping our distance. Over and out.”

  Kitty clapped her hands. “I want one of these scanners. Where’d you get it?”

  “Cora Mae gave it to me for my birthday.”

  “What’s that yellow thing on your tire?” Cora Mae asked, still standing by the window.

  “What yellow thing?” The three of us shoved our heads against the glass.

  Everything in my yard looked normal. The hens were still in the outer field. Fred was sprawled in the grass, snoozing in the sun. I could hear George hammering away.

  Everything looked the same as always except for my truck.

  “What is it?” Kitty wanted to know. “Looks like some kind of yellow hubcap trim.”

  I knew exactly what it was because I’ve been scrutinizing the law enforcement buyer’s guides I’d swiped from Blaze’s house.

  I’d seen a picture.

  I shrieked and rushed outside. Kitty and Cora Mae were right behind. “How did he do this right under my nose?” I shouted. “He must have crawled up the driveway on his belly, the coward.”

  George appeared, holding a hammer loose in his hand. “I told him not to do it,” he said. “But you know Blaze.”

  I kicked the tire.

  “What is that thing?” Kitty repeated.

  “A tire lock.” I kicked it again with the other foot.

  “She’s been booted,” George said.

  “Look at this,” Cora Mae called from the front of the truck. “A warning sticker. ‘Warning,’ it says. ‘Your car has been immobilized. To arrange for removal, present the proper driving credentials and vehicle registration to your local sheriff.’”

  I kicked the tire again, softer this time because the toes on both my feet were beginning to cramp up. “He can’t do this right in my front yard. Doesn’t he need a warrant to come on my property?”

  “I’m making a few phone calls,” Kitty said, lumbering for the house, sounding more like an attorney every day. “We’ll know if he’s within his rights in a minute.”

  “He’s disowned,” I said.

  “You say that every time he does something that makes you mad,” Cora Mae said.

  “I mean it this time.”

  “You say that, too.”

  “These things are designed to intimidate you,” George said. “It isn’t absolutely foolproof, you know. I could get you back on the road in no time.”

  I calmed down when I considered that possibility. “Okay, let’s do it.”

  “Wait for Kitty to research the law,” George advised. “It’s a criminal act to remove one. Blaze could arrest you.” He smiled. “At least then I’d know right where you were and that you were safe.”

  I grinned back and ignored Cora Mae, who stuck her tongue out behind George’s back, then put her finger in her mouth and pretended to gag.

  Kitty marched out of the house like a woman on a mission. By her smug expression, I ventured a conclusion. “Illegal,” I said.

  “Right,” Kitty said. “But if he catches you driving on the road or parked in town without the proper registration, he can clamp one on. Didn’t you transfer the registration from your other truck? The one you rolled and totaled?”

  “I haven’t gotten around to it yet,” I admitted. “George, how does it come off?”

  George bent down. “If the jaws are loose, we can deflate the tire and slide the tire lock off.” He shoved on the lock. “However, it’s tight.”

  “Now what?” I said.

  George glanced at Cora Mae. “You like tools, right?”

  “Right,” she agreed, rearranging herself into a sleaze pose.

  “Get a chisel out of my toolbox. It’s around the corner of the house. Gertie, do you have a spare tire for the truck?”

  “Sure.”

  “I have to get to the lug nuts by taking off this plate.” He pointed to a metal sheet clamped across the lug nuts.

  Cora Mae sashayed off on her assigned mission, returned, and lingered over handing him the chisel. George went to work. He gave the tire lock several powerful strikes, while the three of us watched his muscles ripple. Another smack and a pin popped out. George jiggled this and that, then peeled the plate away, exposing the lug nuts. While he changed the tire, the Trouble Buster gang had a conference.

  “You need to get over to Walter’s house for the game,” I said to my two cohorts. “Keep your eyes and ears open and don’t get separated from each other. Ask a lot of questions and see what comes up.”

  Kitty and Cora Mae nodded in unison.

  “Whatever you do, don’t let Walter take you stinging-nettle hunting.”

  “Okay,” Kitty said. “We’ll stay together. What about you? If Blaze sees your truck on the road, he’ll take it away permanently.”

  “I already thought of that after George started removing the lock,” I agreed.

  “Let him finish,” Cora Mae said. “He likes to help. Right now you don’t have any other way to get around, anyway.”

  “I have to find some other means of transportation,” I said, chewing my lip. “Something nondescript to throw Blaze off my trail.”

  An idea formed.

  I knew exactly where to find my interim wheels.

  ****

  Little Donny’s Ford Escort had been flat-bedded to the back of Ray’s General Store, whe
re it had joined a multitude of worn-out, broken-down beaters. They’d been collected over the years by our local law enforcement and its contracted towing service, owned by Ray and his son.

  Ray, happy to have an additional source of income and unconcerned by the junkyard appearance out back, also leased an outbuilding to the sheriff’s department, just in case Blaze ever managed to nab a lawbreaker needing temporary confinement.

  Several local residents had occupied the establishment at one time or another, mostly binge drinkers who couldn’t remember where they’d parked their cars and needed a place to bed down without freezing to death on the streets.

  It had a holding cell with a cot and basic plumbing, and a little desk where Blaze could heft his feet for a snooze when he wanted the town to think he was actually working.

  Deputy Dickey hadn’t been able to drive Little Donny’s car once he finished dusting for prints because I had the only key that started the car, and I wasn’t about to raise red flags by handing it over.

  Thus the tow.

  After stopping at Ray’s for several cans of black spray paint and a roll of duct tape, I parked my truck at the back of the junk heap where it couldn’t be seen by anyone entering the makeshift jail. Then I crawled under Little Donny’s car, ran a few strips of duct tape over the worst holes in the muffler to deaden some of the sound, and moved the car behind the junk heap a good distance from my new truck. I went to work.

  I’d learned a few tricks about directional spraying from the mistakes I made on the Trouble Buster truck that used to belong to Blaze. But I couldn’t worry too much about doing a perfect job. I was in a hurry. So if a little white paint showed through the black, I couldn’t help it. Little Donny wouldn’t be too happy about it, but if I got him out of his current pickle, he’d have to forgive me.

  Less than an hour later, I pulled out of the back of Ray’s General Store in my grandson’s newly disguised car. I had to get used to the gearshifts all over again, but no one saw me stall out at the four-way stop. Everyone in Stonely had their eyes glued to the Lions and Packers football game. Other than Herb’s bar, where the game was playing on an overhead television screen to a lively crowd, the town was dead.