Murder Bites the Bullet: A Gertie Johnson Murder Mystery

by Deb Baker

  Kitty crawled out next. Nobody hung around to help her. Even though because of her plus size thighs and the fact that her housedress was stuck to the seat, she wasn’t exactly concealing her…um…assets too well. Right now she was giving me a full-blown view of her underpants.

  She’s smart though, and those online law classes she takes are paying off for our business. “Don’t answer any more questions,” she advised me, still struggling to get out of the truck. The sight of her wasn’t pretty at the moment. Not one bit.

  I jammed my Blublocker sunglasses on the top of my head, so I could glare at my son for that baking comment. “I’m exactly like other women my age! We can bake a cake and have a life. Sometimes I wonder how you grew up to be this way.”

  I didn’t mention that I’d been temporarily displaced from my own kitchen and couldn’t make a cake even if I wanted to.

  “What were you doing over here?” he demanded again, apparently not having heard my quick thinking excuse about needing privacy.

  Kitty was finally upright on the ground. She pounded on the hood of my truck to get my attention. It worked. “That’s the question I don’t want you to answer,” she said. “Don’t tell him what you were doing here until we consult.”

  “I already told him I was taking care of nature.”

  “Behind a firing range hay bale?” Blaze got all red. He needs to watch his blood pressure better. I tell him that constantly.

  “I didn’t notice where I was until it was too late.”

  Kitty gripped my head with both hands, then slapped a hand over my mouth, and turned to Blaze. “No more questions.”

  Cora Mae, as usual, wasn’t helping out at all. I saw her in a circle of deputies. So did Blaze. He marched off to assign duties to his loitering, ogling men. “Stay put,” he shouted back at me.

  “First he takes the Glock away,” I griped to Kitty after she released me. “Now the badge. He’s making my job almost impossible. Here I am, trying to make an honest living…”

  “I’ll file paperwork to get it back,” Kitty interrupted my monologue before I got very far into it. “In the meantime, are we out of a job now that Harry is dead?”

  I sighed and gave it some thought. “Well, we were hired to shut down the range.”

  “And we accomplished that. In a roundabout way,” Kitty said. “So we should be paid in full, right?”

  “Somehow I doubt that’s going to happen.”

  By now some of the shooters were coming our way down the driveway. I assumed they had been questioned and had won their freedom, at least for the time being.

  “What happened?” I said to each of them, but all I got were shrugs and don’t knows. Blaze was playing this one closer to his hairy chest than usual, probably threatening serious consequences if they talked to anyone.

  A stretcher came next, guided by two emergency technicians. I didn’t have to look under the cover to know it was Harry Aho, and he was headed for his final resting place.

  “What happened up there?” I asked the medical guys, but before either of them could say a word, Blaze had me by the arm and was hauling me off for more questioning.

  He’d ask one thing.

  Then Kitty would tell me not to answer.

  Then I’d asked something.

  Blaze would counter with another question.

  When we were all done, neither of us had any more information than we’d started with.

  *

  “He gave me a ticket for driving without a driver’s license,” I said as my partners and I stood by the truck. “Just because my temporary permit expired and I haven’t had time to renew it. Can you believe him?”

  Blaze and I have an ongoing dispute regarding my driving credentials. Because I only started driving recently, I don’t feel I should have to go take a test like I’m some kind of kid. He disagrees, but of course he would, being a cop and all.

  “You failed the written exam,” Kitty pointed out to me.

  “Only twice. And then I passed and got my temps. That proves I’m perfectly capable behind the wheel.” Which was sort of a lie. But I was improving all the time.

  “You should have taken the driving part of the test when you had a chance,” Cora Mae said, sounding all righteous. “You might have to start all over from square one.”

  “Blaze is still watching us,” Kitty warned. “I’ll have to drive.”

  That was the worst possible news, but Cora Mae didn’t have a license either and Blaze knew it. So we were stuck with Hotrod Harriet, at least until we were out of his sight.

  It was hot and humid outside. My truck’s air conditioning was on the blink, so we had to drive with the windows down. G-forces plastered me to the seatback, causing the rest of the doll hair to come loose in one big chunk. It whipped around inside the truck before blowing out the window.

  Cora Mae should get a refund on that worthless superglue she’d used.

  “We’ll have to come up with a better hair repair idea,” she said, her eyes wide while she watched the scenery flash past.

  “Slow down,” I hollered to Kitty, but the words were lost out the window.

  By some stroke of incredible good fortune we survived to pull into my driveway. Since I’d been pinpointed inside Blaze’s crime tape area, Kitty went off to attend to legal schmegal stuff regarding what she called my potential involvement in the murder of Harry Aho. Big deal, I tried to tell her. I had a legitimate reason for being there.

  George was still out back repairing the sauna, so I scampered for the house to cover my hairless head. I wasn’t quite quick enough.

  Here he came, looking hot and sexy in a white T-shirt, tight jeans, and wearing his cowboy hat with the rattlesnake wrapped around the brim. I turned to give him my good side. Fred came loping our way, too. The guineas must have been taking a nap, because they weren’t in sight.

  “I can’t talk to you right now,” I said to George, keeping my bald side hidden. Right then Cora Mae handed me a scarf and I quickly tied it under my chin. What a friend! “Or maybe I do have time for a quick conversation,” I said, backtracking now that I had coverage.

  “I thought we might take a sauna together,” George said. “I’ve finished repairing the hole you made in the side of it.”

  Cora Mae squealed. “Now what did she do?”

  “Hit the gas instead of the brake,” George answered, before bear-mauling me. “That’s my woman. She keeps me busy and on my toes. What are the Trouble Busters up to today?”

  “Harry Aho’s dead,” I told him, noticing Grandma Johnson standing in the doorway behind the screen door, listening in. “I don’t have a single detail yet, other than he was shot and killed. And I only know that because Blaze grilled me like I was to blame.”

  “I knew it!” Grandma shouted. “I’m living with a murderess!”

  Not yet she wasn’t. But that could change any minute.

  “Weren’t you working a case against Harry?” George asked me. “Didn’t you have a paying client?”

  “We did, but I’m still wading through the logistics now that Harry’s dead.”

  George is the only one outside of the Trouble Busters who knows the names of my clients. I trust George completely. Like now, when he didn’t even mention names because of Grandma, who has a big mouth, and we all know it.

  “Who would kill Harry Aho?” Cora Mae asked.

  “A Hanson,” George said.

  “That’s what I was thinking,” I agreed, giving him a grin.

  I love that about George. We connect at a higher level than a lot of couples. Sometimes we don’t even have to talk at all because we know exactly what the other one is thinking. Too bad Grandma Johnson lives with me. Otherwise I’d ask George to move in, live in sin, and enjoy every minute of it.

  “We’ll get together later,” I said to George, with a little smooch. “I’m not done working yet. Cora Mae, let’s take a ride over to visit with our client.”

  “You better not be late for supper again,�
�� Grandma said, shaking a bony finger at me. “Next time, I’m not holding a plate for you, and you can just go to bed hungry.”

  *

  We kicked up dust as the truck bounced down a long gravel driveway leading to Chet Hanson’s place. The weather had been comfortably warm for a change. Cora Mae rode shotgun and Fred sat tall between us, keeping his eyes focused ahead. Sometimes I wonder what goes through his mind. And what he thinks of his life with me. Before we hooked up, when he was a police dog, he had to work much harder. If I had to guess, I’d say he’s pretty content helping us bust trouble.

  “You need new shocks,” Cora Mae mentioned after one particularly bouncy bump. The driveway didn’t seem that rough, so she was probably right.

  “Why don’t you find a mechanic to date?” I suggested. “I could use a free tune up, too.”

  “I’ll get right on that,” she said with what I thought might be excessive sarcasm.

  I wasn’t used to wearing a scarf on my head. It itched under my chin. “I can’t wear a scarf the whole time,” I said.

  “You can pick out one of my wigs,” Cora Mae offered.

  “That’s a good idea.” I considered which one in her extensive collection might suit me best. I also wondered how long before I had hair again.

  Chet Hanson has four forties, which means he owns 160 acres of prime wooded real estate. He came out of his house before I had even thrown the truck into park. Chet, like most Swedes, is a big man with a friendly smile. He also has a lazy eye. One eye looks one place, the other looks someplace else. Right now one of them was focused on Cora Mae’s cleavage.

  His attention didn’t go unnoticed by her, either. She grinned and posed while I got down to business. “The case is wrapped up,” I said. “Not exactly how I imagined it would end, but it’s over.”

  Chet nodded. “You can keep the deposit I gave you,” he said, casting one of his eyeballs toward the ground and shaking his head in dismay. “I wanted to stop Harry, but not this way.”

  “What about his sons? Any chance they’ll keep the range open?” From what I knew of Harry’s kids, they wouldn’t put in a day’s work if they didn’t have to.

  “Those two?” Chet snorted. “No chance.”

  “Did you hear any details of what actually happened to Harry?” I asked, wanting to kick Blaze next time I saw him for not sharing more information with his own mother.

  “He took a bullet to the head while sitting at his kitchen table,” Chet said, that same eye focusing on Cora Mae again. Those two knew each other and had been flirting for the last year, every since Chet’s second wife left him. I could almost see the sex appeal zapping back and forth. “Somebody shot him right in his own home in broad daylight.”

  “One of the target practicers, you think?”

  Chet shrugged. “From what I hear, the sheriff is treating it like a murder, not an accident.”

  “How do you know so much?”

  “Someone was over there scoping things out.”

  Chet should have used a different verb to describe his guy’s action. “Scoping?” I repeated, thinking of the scopes we all had on our weapons.

  “You know what I mean. That was a bad choice of words, I guess. He was just looking around.” Chet turned his head to take in Cora Mae from the other eye’s angle.

  “You hired me to “scope” things out,” I said, a little put out. “Why did you send someone else to do our job?”

  “I didn’t. He took it upon himself.”

  “Want to get together?” Cora Mae said to Chet. I rolled my eyeballs. Over the years, my friend has gone through almost every single available guy in Stonely and now she’s expanded her territory to include all of Tamarack County.

  “What did you have in mind?” he asked her, putting some suggestion into his tone.

  Cora Mae matched him, intention for intention. “Oh, I don’t know,” she said, coyly.

  She did, too, know what she had in mind. Anyone could see that.

  “A little fifteen-two?” she suggested, like she really wanted to play a game of cribbage. “And a coolie?”

  “A beer sounds good,” Chet said, “Come on in.”

  And that’s how I left Cora Mae behind. But before I took off, I said to Chet, “What’s your man’s name, the one who was at Harry’s when he died?”

  “Frank.”

  “Frank Hanson? Your second cousin?”

  Chet nodded absently, more interested in Cora Mae at the moment than the murder next door.

  Fred and I hit the road. He’s the only partner I’ve ever had who never lets me down. Through thick and thin, he’s always been there to keep me company and to watch my back.

  I dug out a dog biscuit to show my appreciation.

  He accepted.

  *

  “We want to hire you,” Harry Aho’s son Gus said to me from across their kitchen table, the same one where Harry had taken a fatal bullet earlier in the day. I checked around for leftover blood, but if there had been any, someone had wiped it clean. Harry’s wife, Diane, was at the stove, looking haggard and worn out, but still able to function in a mechanical sort of way, going through the motions of feeding what was left of her family.

  A window over the sink had clear plastic taped across it. The shot must have come right through that window, not more than six feet from where I sat.

  Fred appeared at the screen door and stuck his nose against it, making sure I was still within sight and sound. Reassured, he plopped down against the door and lowered his head for a nice snooze.

  Diane used a spatula to scoop grilled cheese sandwiches from a griddle, placed them on a plate, and brought it to the table.

  “We’ll pay you good,” Martin said, reaching for a sandwich. “All you have to do is prove Chet Hanson killed my pa.”

  “Help yourself to a grilled cheese,” Diane said to me, so I did. Cheese oozed from the sides of the toasted bread.

  I took a bite and chewed it while I thought. The Ahos weren’t hurting for money unlike a lot of the locals. Harry had dabbled in just about anything that provided income, and rumor had it Diane came into some kind of inheritance a while back, so I guessed she could foot the bill.

  “That’s all you expect?” I said, both boys’ eyes on me, waiting for my response. “Just prove he did it?”

  Harry’s sons nodded in unison. Gus and Martin were Finnish through and through. They had gray eyes set in broad faces with high cheek bones and ash blond hair. And they were strong, which made up for their mediocre IQs. Much more brawn than brain, but now that the head of the family was gone, maybe they’d step up and expend a few brain cells. His boys weren’t known for being ambitious.

  “You should think it over,” I said. “Your emotions are running high right now. Give it some time.”

  “I agree,” Diane said. “No need to overreact.”

  “We want revenge,” Gus said, “and we want it now.”

  “And how am I supposed to prove Chet murdered your dad?” I asked, stalling for time. Up until this morning, I’d been working for Chet Hanson, spying on the very family I was now sharing a meal with. Something about this didn’t feel quite right.

  “Isn’t that your business? Solving cases?” Martin said, glancing out at my truck where Fred, all rested from his catnap, was marking each of the tires as his own.

  “What makes you so sure Chet did it?” I asked, readjusting my attitude. Business was business. I didn’t owe Chet Hanson anything more than what I’d given him. Besides, he might actually be the killer.

  Diane sat down without taking off her apron and sighed like the world was on her shoulders.

  “Tell her the rest, Martin,” Gus said.

  “Chet Hanson threatened to kill Dad when he found out about the shooting range,” Martin said. “He said he’d wipe him off the face of the earth if he went through with the range.”

  “Those were his exact words?”

  “Pretty much. He did it, you can count on that.”

 
Diane seemed to be crumbling next to me.

  “You found Harry’s body, didn’t you?” I asked her.

  Her face scrunched up like she was going to start crying, but being a true-blooded, tough Finn who disliked public displays of emotion, she pulled herself together. “I found him. When I got home, he was sitting right where you are now, with his head on the table and his eyes wide open.”

  I squirmed a little, uncomfortable, considering a dead man had been in the same chair.

  “And nobody saw or heard a thing?” I asked.

  “If they did, they aren’t telling.”

  “I’ll look into it,” I said, standing up. I was still a little uncomfortable switching sides so quickly, but I was running a business. “But I can’t make any promises.”

  “We’ll need a written report on all his activity,” Martin said.

  “No problem,” I said.

  Fred and I drove home. Fred was unwilling to leave the truck with the guinea hens circling it. I left the big baby right where he was with the door cracked slightly open in case he rounded up enough nerve to vacate.

  “Show some teeth,” I said to him. “Instead of running away, stand your ground and nip them if you have to.”

  As usual, he didn’t listen.

  Inside, I went through my police equipment catalogue and placed an overnight delivery order.