Murder Grins and Bears It

by Deb Baker

  I changed as quickly as possible, then pierced the tube with a needle and ran a thin layer of super glue across the fingers of my left hand, being extremely careful not to touch them together. I’d done that once, by accident, before I discovered that polish remover would unglue them. That time I ended up at the Escanaba hospital.

  I’ve been there, done that, and since I didn’t have any polish remover in the house, I wasn’t taking chances. After waving my fingers around and blowing on them until they dried, I did the same thing to the fingers of my right hand.

  With any luck, the glue would fill in the whorls in my fingertips and I’d beat Blaze at his own game.

  I wondered if anyone had ever tried this before.

  “They don’t need Heather’s prints either, since she arrived after your shenanigans,” Grandma said to me when I returned to the kitchen. She was in the process of pouring coffee for the deputies, but most of it missed the cups, puddled on the countertop, and ran down the cabinets.

  Dickey Snell stood formally, awaiting my return, but No-Neck had a sugar doughnut in each hand, and his cheeks were packed like a squirrel stowing it away for the first snowfall. Dickey was too anal-retentive to expose his human side, but I caught him glancing longingly at the heaping plate.

  “There,” Grandma said, sloshing the half-filled cups in front of them. “You can fancy it up yourself. Cream and sugar’s on the table.” She pulled out a chair and sat down. “Can you take that dog off our hands?” she asked Dickey. “Before it bites somebody’s leg off.”

  “The dog stays,” I said.

  “Suit yourself. It’s your house. But the thing is vicious. I’m surprised it hasn’t eaten all the guineas yet. It’s going to take a chunk out of someone and you’ll be facing a lawsuit. Probably lose everything you have.” She glanced around the room and humphed. “Not that you have anything worth keeping. Barney’s turning in his grave for sure.”

  I tried not to look at Grandma’s sunken toothless mouth.

  Dickey strutted around the room like a rooster, wearing his green cat-hair-crusted jacket. My cat allergy kicked in and I started sneezing. “You’ll have to wait outside,” I told him between sneezes. “I’m allergic to you.”

  He frowned, and I could see he was thinking about protesting. After several more violent sneezes directed his way, he reconsidered. “I’ll be outside,” he said to No-Neck. “Shout if you need me.”

  No-Neck nodded and picked up my wrist. “I’m going to roll your fingers one at a time. Try to relax.”

  Grandma Johnson watched the procedure with great fascination. “Keep me posted when you get the results,” she said. “I need to know what kind of person I’m living with.”

  Five minutes later the deed was done. No-Neck packed up his equipment and the two deputies disappeared down the road, leaving angry guinea hens in their Chevy dust.

  I called Cora Mae and asked her to bring over a bottle of nail polish remover when she and Kitty picked me up. After that I sorted through my weapons purse to make sure it was fully loaded.

  Today was the day I’d solve the crime. I felt it deep in my bones the same way I could feel a gathering thunderstorm.

  ****

  “Where are you going?” Grandma shouted as I slid into the back seat of Kitty’s rusted-out Lincoln because Cora Mae had the shotgun seat. Fred bounded across the yard, leaped over my lap, and settled next to me, his tongue hanging almost to the floor.

  “Here and there,” I shouted back.

  “Billy Lundberg’s funeral is starting at nine o’clock,” she said, shuffling toward Kitty’s car. She had her purse in her hand and her best hat on her head. “Drop me at Ed Lacken’s Funeral Home in Trenary. Heather will pick me up if you can’t bring me back.”

  “Have Heather take you,” I suggested.

  “She’s moping in her room and won’t get dressed.”

  “I forgot all about the funeral,” Cora Mae said from the passenger seat. “We should stop in and pay our respects, too.”

  “We have something important to do,” I said. “The interception, remember? We aren’t going to Trenary.”

  Ed Lacken operated the only funeral home in our area. Everybody used him. My husband, Barney, and all three of Cora Mae’s deceased husbands had been done up by Ed.

  Grandma eyed Fred. “Get that mutt out of the car.”

  “He’s coming along,” I said, hoping that would dissuade her.

  Kitty started the car and revved the engine. “Trenary’s on the way. We can stop in for a minute. Hop in.”

  Grandma couldn’t decide if a ride next to Fred was worth the effort or not. Then she slid in, wary and alert for trouble.

  She should have been more worried about the car’s driver.

  Just as she closed the car door, Kitty ripped out of the driveway. Grandma slid across the seat against Fred, and Fred plowed into me. We all piled up on my side in a bunch of flailing arms and legs.

  Grandma smelled like cheap perfume and dentures, and Fred smelled like…well…like ripe dog. If I ever smell like either of them, I’ll expect Cora Mae to put me out of my misery.

  “Holy cripes,” Cora Mae said at the next turn.

  “Holy mackerel,” Grandma yelled, trying to straighten herself up and get away from her canine nemesis. “Where’s the fire?”

  Fred, sensing Grandma’s discomfort and wanting to help, licked her face, one long, dead-on slurp. Once she recovered from the assault, she hit him with her purse and wiped her face with her sleeve. “Worthless,” she muttered. “The whole bunch.”

  I imagined I was at the top of the worthless bunch list, although Fred might have notched past me into first place.

  We got to the funeral home in breakneck time. For once in her life, Grandma didn’t spew a continual stream of verbal abuse. She gripped the seat with white knuckles and her cheeks were sucked together like she’d licked a lemon. When we stopped, she crawled out and examined Kitty’s car. “That was some race car driving,” she said, straightening her hat. “Don’t bother waiting for me. I’ll find another ride home. I’d rather walk than go through that again.”

  She shuffled off, wobbling slightly.

  “I thought you told me George was out of town,” Cora Mae said when she spotted his truck in the parking lot.

  “He must have decided to come back early,” I said, watching her jump out of the car. She hurried into the funeral home, actually elbowing past Grandma in her haste and almost bowling the old prune over.

  What was I going to do to keep Cora Mae and her Wonderbra’d boobs away from George?

  “Two minutes and then we leave,” I said to Kitty. “We don’t want to miss the action.”

  “What are we looking for?” Kitty wanted to know, hefting herself out from behind the steering wheel.

  “I’m not sure exactly. We’ll know it when we see it. Latvala promised someone a shipment of something and that sounds big.”

  Kitty gave me a piercing look. “Okayyyy,” she said, doubtfully.

  “I didn’t get a chance to check his largest outbuilding before the alarm went off. I’m guessing it contained a white moving van.”

  Fred had his nose plastered against the car window and a dejected, poor-me ear tilt. The howling would commence the minute we vanished from sight. I could tell.

  “I know,” I said, always pleased when I thought of a solution. “We’ll take turns going in. It’ll take longer, but that way, Fred won’t flip out. One of us can stay out here and watch the road in case a moving van goes by.”

  “Good idea,” Kitty said. “You go first. I’ll stay with Fred.”

  “I’ll make it quick. If you see anything suspicious, lay on the horn and I’ll run out.”

  Funerals are big in the U.P. Weddings, funerals, and senior citizen potlucks are our main sources of entertainment and they draw quite a crowd. Ed Lacken’s parking lot was jammed full. Although we’d had to park farthest from the funeral home, we were closest to the road. Perfect placement for a
stakeout.

  Best of all, I hadn’t seen Blaze’s sheriff truck, which meant he was watching his ward like he should be. I didn’t think he’d get around to moving Little Donny until later in the day. Blaze wasn’t exactly a high-octane performer. He’d take his sweet time, which I was counting on.

  I hustled into the funeral home.

  George met me in the hallway. I scanned the locals gathered in the green room without spotting Cora Mae.

  “She’s on the other side by the casket smelling the flowers,” George said, as though reading my mind. “I managed to slip away. That woman’s like a wood tick.”

  He grinned as we walked in together.

  “I only have a few minutes,” I said. I’d missed George’s company. My new investigation business was threatening to consume all my time. I smiled to realize that now I actually had a personal life to occupy me after spending the last few years deep in mourning. “In a day or two,” I said, feeling awkward but determined to spit it out, “maybe we can sit down someplace quiet and work on my written driving test.”

  I saw Cora Mae pushing her way over.

  “I’d like that,” he said, following my gaze and tensing. “Gotta go. I’ll be over to work on the sauna later and we can talk.” He gently squeezed my arm in farewell.

  George faded into the crowd and Cora Mae abruptly changed direction like she had a Global Positioning System unit lodged in her bosom.

  Surveying the mourners, I saw Dickey and No-Neck and several of Blaze’s other newly-sworn deputies. Shouldn’t these so-called law-and-order protectors be surrounding my grandson to keep him safe? Instead, they lounged around, waiting for the snacks to come out after the funeral.

  Onni Maki shouldered by, his hair wrapped over his bald spot, a pinky ring on his little finger, his eyes focused on Cora Mae. They’d dated briefly - but Cora Mae has dated everybody in the county at one time or another and her territory was widening.

  I thought about offering to pay Onni to distract her from George, but rejected the idea as pathetic.

  Grandma Johnson had joined a group of old battle-axes just like her. They huddled in a gossipy circle, an assortment of outdated hats and flowery handbags, with every single one of their mouths wagging simultaneously. I could only hope today’s hot topic didn’t involve me.

  I made my way to the casket for my last look at Billy. He’d spent years bellied up to the bar at Herb’s, never causing a ruckus or uttering an unkind word. He was like background music you didn’t really hear until someone turned it off. Then you noticed the silence. Most of us could remember back before the booze got him when he still had a wife and kids who would speak to him.

  Standing by the casket, I reflected on his life.

  Then my thoughts turned, as they always did at times like this, to my Barney and our time together.

  I knew exactly what the families of Billy Lundberg and Robert Hendricks were going through with their unexpected losses. After Barney drowned in his waders in the Escanaba River, I didn’t think I could go on without him.

  Everybody has secrets and mine came back to me while standing in Ed’s funeral home next to Billy’s casket. When Barney died, I told everyone he had a massive heart attack while fishing, but that wasn’t true. Blaze and Cora Mae are the only ones who know the truth about the drowning.

  Barney, expert fisherman and all-around sportsman, wouldn’t have wanted to go out with an embarrassing splash, so I concocted my own ending.

  The old familiar pain of loss shot through deep inside of me and I shook it off by telling myself I’d have time later to let memories overtake me. Right now, there was work to do.

  The Detroit boys walked in as I was leaving. They’d slicked their hair down with something greasy for the occasion and they’d shaved away the hunting growth accumulated in the backwoods. I noticed that they cleaned up well.

  After a quick greeting, I got right to the point. “Where’s Walter?”

  “He visits his brother every Monday morning,” Remy said.

  “Like clockwork,” BB said.

  My ears perked up at this because the warden was killed last Monday morning. “I didn’t know he had a brother.”

  “He’s in a nursing home in Escanaba,” Remy explained. “Walter never misses the visit. He left before seven o’clock to have breakfast with him. After that they play poker with a group in the home.”

  “Walter said he hasn’t missed one of their card games since his brother went in,” BB said. “And he wasn’t going to miss today even for Billy’s funeral. He said anybody that dies drunk, dies happy, and there isn’t any need to cry over it.”

  That sounded just like something bourbon-brained old Walter would say.

  “Tell me about the warden’s accent,” I said, switching gears. I’d ponder the new information later. “You didn’t say a word about an accent to me when I asked you for details, but that’s what BB told Cora Mae.”

  “What accent?” Marlin asked.

  “He had an accent,” BB said. “Like he came from someplace else.”

  “I didn’t notice,” Remy said. “I don’t think so.”

  BB nodded. “From down south, or New Jersey, or…”

  “What did it sound like?” I said, annoyed all over again by BB’s lack of experience with regional dialects.

  A look of comprehension crossed Marlin’s face as BB fumbled through his version of the warden’s accent. Marlin gave BB a light punch in the arm.

  “That wasn’t an accent, BB,” he said. “That was a stutter.”

  “Are you sure?” I said, remembering Warden Burnett’s speech impediment.

  “Dead sure,” Marlin said.

  I shuddered at the thought of a renegade warden. I could take on any local Joe the Man resident without a quiver in my hand or a moment’s hesitation. I had a weapons purse filled with an arsenal of reinforcements like my trusty pepper spray and a cattle prod that could zap your socks off.

  But a legally armed DNR agent with ties to the government was another matter.

  What was Burnett doing out in the woods that day and what did it mean?

  I didn’t like the possibilities.

  chapter 19

  While I waited for Kitty and Cora Mae to finish at Billy’s funeral, I leaned against the Lincoln, feeling the warmth of the sun on my face. I was trying to watch the road, watch Fred, and sort through a jumble of disconnected ideas involving Warden Burnett.

  Fred sniffed around the vehicles in the parking lot and selected a Ford pickup with fancy rims. He lifted his leg on the tire. Taking his sweet time, he chose again and did the same thing on Dickey’s Chevy. He seemed to like to spread his authority around.

  I whistled after tire number three, and he ran over and jumped into the back seat. I glanced back at the road just in time to see the Mitch Movers truck roar past, heading south.

  I didn’t have time to blow the horn and wait for my partners to dawdle out. At the truck’s missile-launching rate of speed as it zinged past, I’d have a tough time catching up.

  The key was in the ignition, which saved me a second or two of precious time. I cranked the engine and almost ripped the gearshift off when I jammed it into drive.

  The only thing I hadn’t anticipated was that Kitty would have the seat pushed all the way back. I could barely reach the pedals, but I scrunched down, stretched out, and buried the pedal against the floorboard.

  At times like this I really need Kitty and her NASCAR driving, but I’ll deny ever saying it if I get through this chase in one piece. I’m a rookie and I’ve proven it with several dips into the ditch. My biggest mistake of all was when I rolled and totaled Barney’s truck. Then there was the mailbox disaster and the hole in my garage door when I mistakenly thought I was in reverse.

  Let’s face it. I can’t even pass a written driving test.

  No way could I pull off the stunt Kitty had managed when she forced the van to stop the last time. Pulling alongside a moving vehicle and strong-arming it off the
road is best performed by movie stuntmen and large, overly aggressive women.

  A tiny speck in the distance reassured me that I hadn’t lost my target yet. I never let up on the gas, and the car’s speed climbed steadily until the Lincoln’s frame began to shake. I had to ease off or risk ripping the car apart.

  I continued to gain while I tried to formulate a workable plan. The problem with impromptu car chases is the lack of a foolproof prearranged plan. I had to make it up as I went, and nothing was coming to mind.

  I couldn’t believe my good luck when the van crossed the four-way stop in Stonely and pulled into the Deer Horn Restaurant’s parking lot. The driver strode into the restaurant as I pulled up behind him.

  I ran to the van and peeked through the window into the driver’s seat, but the tinted windows obscured my view. I glanced at the restaurant, then opened the driver’s door and stuck my head inside. He hadn’t left the truck running and he’d pulled the keys.

  After pressing my ear against the van’s side and hearing nothing, I marched into the Deer Horn. I’d have to think of some way to grab the keys away from him and steal the truck so I could discover what this important shipment contained.

  Ruthie looked up from the counter. “Hi, Gertie,” she said.

  The driver, standing at the counter, turned and glanced at me. Then he did a double take. It was the same guy Kitty had run off the road in our overzealous hijacking attempt. The same one I’d zapped with my stun gun.

  He frowned as if he was trying to remember where he’d seen me. If he placed me, I was in trouble.

  “What can I get for you,” Ruthie said to him, and he turned his attention back to her and away from me.

  “A coffee and whatever sandwich you already have made up,” he said, digging in a back pocket for his wallet. “To go.”

  No sign of the keys on the counter. They must be in his pocket.

  “I’ll see you later,” I said to Ruthie, turning away so the driver couldn’t study my face. I didn’t want to refresh his memory. “I thought Carl might be in here.”

  “Haven’t seen him,” she replied, tallying the driver’s bill.