Murder Bites the Bullet: A Gertie Johnson Murder Mystery

by Deb Baker

  “A deputy sheriff’s badge,” I said into the phone after deciding not to replace the detective badge Blaze had confiscated. Just in case he eventually returned it to me. Fat chance, but I didn’t need duplicates, and two different kinds of badges might come in handy sometime.

  “And a beanbag gun,” I added, reading the gun’s description and liking what I saw. Ammo for the weapon consisted of square beanbags filled with buckshot that flattened out when they hit a target, covering a whole lot of surface area. A direct hit could stop a moose, stunning him silly without doing any serious damage. Although in the case of the moose, I’d have to run for my life, because once the animal recovered, it would turn nasty. Those things are mean!

  I gave the required identification number and security password that I had “borrowed” from Blaze. Then I hung up.

  Grandma Johnson came out of her room, dressed for an outing. She wore her favorite pillbox hats, the exact same one she’d worn to infiltrate my home, and she had her purse hooked over her forearm.

  “Pearl is picking me up,” she announced. “We’re going to play bingo, even though I almost had to cancel because of indigestion.” She grimaced and rubbed her stomach. “Tell Kitty not to bring any more sinkers into this house.”

  “Sinkers?”

  “Her doughnuts musta had a pound of grease in them. The one I took sank right down to the bottom of my coffee cup. Which shoulda been a warning to me. Then after I ate it, it hit the bottom of my stomach like a boat anchor and caused all kinds of upset.”

  Pearl pulled into the driveway and pretty soon she and Grandma were out of my hair. Or at least out of one side of my hair. The truck was empty, so Fred had made a run for it. Or else he’d out-waited the hens. Either way, he probably was making his nightly rounds, sniffing out raccoons and opossums.

  Since I had a few hours to kill until dark, I called George and before I knew it he and I were in the sauna with the coals fired up red hot.

  “Is this your way of telling me Cora Mae screwed up your hair?” George said after studying me. I’d dug up another scarf. This time I’d tied it at the back of my head, gypsy style, which wasn’t nearly so old ladyish.

  “I don’t want to get my hair damp, is all,” I answered.

  “Since when?”

  “Since now.”

  “Cora Mae didn’t mess up your color again, did she?”

  “No, the color is okay.”

  “You look good.”

  I blushed as I always did when George paid me a compliment.

  “Anything new with your case?” he asked.

  “Harry Aho’s family thinks Chet Hanson killed Harry,” I said, taking time to appreciate George’s lean muscular body. We still wore towels when we got together to sweat, but we liked to tease each other by dropping a corner here and there. I gave him a sneak peek and watched the grin spread across his face.

  It had taken me a while to get to this stage in our relationship. At sixty-six, not everything on my body is exactly where it should be. But George seems to like me just the way I am. “They want me to prove Chet did it,” I said.

  George shook his head. “Those two families have been feuding since the beginning of time. But I never thought they’d start killing each other.”

  “What do you know about Chet’s second cousin, Frank? He was at the range when Harry was killed.”

  “He’d steal from his own mother. He’s a bad apple.” Then George cocked his head and grinned at me. “Blaze is going to have a fit when he finds out you’ve been hired by the Aho family to investigate.”

  “What else is new?” I gave George a come-hither glance.

  “Come here,” my man said.

  After that, I forgot all about Ahos and Hansons.

  *

  Being an investigator is a whole lot harder than it looks to the casual observer. First, we need to have the proper equipment, some of it very high tech with pages and pages of hard-to-understand instructions. And if we’re lucky, some of those instructions might actually be in English. And we have to know how to use the equipment in creative ways based on each individual case. Then we have to work with people we trust to help us carry out our missions. Finding trustworthy contacts isn’t easy, either. We also have to have well-developed intuition and a rock-solid understanding of human nature.

  Knowing what the other guy will do in any given situation is the key to a successful operation.

  I had the whole ball of wax.

  Right before dusk, I pulled out of my driveway with a knapsack filled with supplies. I made Fred stay home, which he didn’t like at all. But he has a bad habit of howling if I leave him in the truck, and I certainly didn’t want him tromping around in the woods with me tonight. This was close-up detailed work, and I couldn’t risk unexpected problems concerning my favorite canine.

  I stopped and picked up Kitty at her house.

  “I should drive,” she said. “What if Blaze sees you?”

  “Don’t worry about it yet,” I answered. No way was that woman taking over until she absolutely had to. “I’ll need you to take the driver’s seat once I’m on the move. You’ll have to keep a close eye out for trouble. Be prepared to cause a distraction, if necessary.”

  I filled her in on the way over to Chet Hanson’s. “We’re going to place a camera at Chet’s and another one at Frank’s,” I told her. “The cameras are those fancy expensive ones with streaming video.”

  “I’m filled with ebullience,” Kitty said when I finished outlining the plan, trying to catch me up with one of her fancy words.

  “We’ll get you a laxative once we’re finished installing our surveillance equipment,” I said. Maybe that would get her worried about her pronunciation. Although I was pretty sure she’d said it right. Of course that was a wild guess, since no one in this area would use a dumb word like that in ordinary conversation, so how could we possibly know the exact way to say it? But Kitty tended to be right on, a fact that never failed to annoy me.

  I let it go because I was feeling pretty proud of my latest brainstorm to employ cameras.

  I’d borrowed two infrared deer trail scouting cameras from George after I’d weakened his resolve in the sauna. Normally, he doesn’t like to get involved in anything that puts me at odds with Blaze, but I really needed those cameras. They were just the thing for ongoing surveillance of both Chet and Frank Hanson. Here in the Michigan U.P., deer cameras are one of the most popular items a hunter can own. Sometimes we use them to find out what our kids are up to when we leave the house. But mostly we hook them up to trees to establish deer patterns before hunting season. Everybody does what they can to find out where the biggest racks are hanging out.

  Speaking of racks, Cora Mae was still with Chet.

  I saw her when I snuck past a window and took a peek inside. She and Chet were making out on the couch, and they didn’t come up for air. I could have walked right up and watched, that’s how involved they were in each other.

  It only took about five minutes to find a tamarack tree in the perfect location, strap on the camera, and get it rolling.

  Easy as that stupid cake my bossy son thought I should bake.

  Frank Hanson was another story. I should have known my luck wouldn’t hold much longer.

  Chet’s second cousin lives north of Stonely in a little cabin about the size of a hunting blind. I’ve seen bigger outhouses. To compensate, he has a great big satellite antennae on the roof to go along with a fifty-some inch television set he’d crammed inside his crackerbox living area. He also has forty acres behind the cabin that butt up to a state forest, so what he gave up in personal comfort inside, he made up for in total privacy and unlimited expanse of woodlands outside.

  I tiptoed past a rusted out Ford pickup truck and recognized it as one of the vehicles parked near the scene of the crime. But then I already knew that, since Chet had clued me in that Frank had been casing the rifle range.

  I crept along the side of the cabin, feeling a little nerv
ous and sweaty. I cautiously slid an eyeball up to the edge of the window. Frank was inside cleaning his rifle, which seems to be the number one pastime with men in these parts. You can’t sit down in a bachelor’s house without getting sick with cooties from the dirt and built-up grime, but you can eat off the barrel of his gun.

  Frank’s head popped up like he’d heard me, which was impossible. I hadn’t made a sound. His gaze swung my way. I dropped to the ground and waited. Nothing. I was quickly becoming an experienced ground slider, so I tried to gulp without making a sound and inched along just like I’d had to do after breaking loose from the fence. I slowly made my way to the back of the cabin. Behind it, I only had a short crawl from the cabin to the treeline.

  I would have made it, too, if Frank hadn’t installed sensor lights.

  They popped on.

  And flooded the whole area with light.

  I froze.

  A bullet whizzed past, missing, but just barely. I felt the breeze on my face.

  The sound of the shot should have been Kitty’s cue to spring into action, which was the only reason I brought her along. I needed a big diversion and fast. In the meantime, hoping she was on the move, I lifted my body into a crouch, ran on all fours for the back of the cabin, made it in one piece, and flattened against it. Flattened, that is, as flat as a person can with a knapsack on her back.

  My heart thumped in my throat. Swallowing was an effort.

  I expected to hear my truck arriving any second now. Kitty would help me with a getaway.

  I still didn’t hear the familiar sound of an engine.

  Where the heck was Kitty? She’d parked close enough to hear the shot.

  Now what?

  Looking to my right, I noticed that Frank had added a porthole in the back corner of the cabin. That way he didn’t have to bother with fair sportsmanship. He could blast away from the comfort of his home, taking out game without having to work for it. Only, I didn’t like that his latest target was me.

  “Who’s out there?” Frank called from the direction of the porthole.

  The tip of his rifle poked out.

  As always, I had several options. I could turn myself in to Frank and suffer the consequences, which wouldn’t be too severe, other than alerting the entire Hanson clan that I was up to something. Whatever lie I told Frank wouldn’t cut the mustard, and they’d start watching me. They’d be especially attentive if it was true that Chet had shot Harry. Then I might find myself in the same position, facedown at my kitchen table with my brains oozing slowly out of big bullet holes.

  Another option would be for Kitty to show up like she was supposed to. She could lob firecrackers at the front of the house to give me time to escape. But since that wasn’t happening, I decided on the last option.

  I had weapons, too. An investigator has to have a defense arsenal. Heck, every woman alive should have one if she wants to stay that way. I pulled out my trusty pepper spray.

  “I know you’re hiding by the house,” he called out. “Walk slowly into the light. I won’t shoot as long as you cooperate. Otherwise, I’m coming out there after you and you won’t like what I’ve going to give you.”

  Palming the spray, I dropped the knapsack quietly to the ground and edged toward the porthole. Once I was right next to it, my arm shot out like a flash of lightning. At the same time, my thumb pressed down firmly on the canister’s button. A blast of spray rocketed into Frank’s house.

  Then I turned, grabbed the knapsack, and ran as fast as I could.

  Based on the colorful language spewing from the porthole, I’d managed a direct hit.

  I couldn’t help grinning.

  *

  “I haven’t been sleeping too well,” Kitty said as we disappeared into the night, my so-called partner behind the wheel.

  “You were sleeping just fine when I got back to the truck,” I said, totally disgusted. “And slow down before you kill us. I can’t believe you fell asleep when you were supposed to be backing me up.”

  “I said I was sorry.”

  “And watch the road.” Kitty had a habit of driving with her head turned toward the person next to her. I haven’t figured out how she does that without running off the road.

  “I’ll do anything to make it up to you,” she said next.

  “Okay, fine, you can watch Frank’s house until morning,” I decided. “And while you’re at it, you can figure out how to plant the camera.”

  “He’s not going anywhere.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because I let the air out of his tires.”

  “You had time to let the air out of his tires and take a nap.” I considered zapping her with my stun gun.

  “I did the air thing earlier. Even before you picked me up.” Kitty grinned in the dark, watching me instead of the road, but staying on the right side of the centerline. “I’ve been partnering with you long enough to anticipate your every move.”

  “Then you should have known I was eating dirt, dodging real bullets, and risking my life while you sawed wood. Here.” I plopped the knapsack between us. “Plant the camera.”

  “What’s the point anyway? Frank isn’t going to walk out into his backyard and confess.”

  “It’s a camera, Kitty, it doesn’t record voices. It records movement.”

  “Then what’s the point?” She took a sharp corner at breakneck speed.

  “It’s where a good investigator starts. By knowing exactly what the mark is up to every minute of the day and night. And since some of us sleep on the job, we have to go with what we can trust through the night.”

  “What’s the plan for tomorrow?”

  “I’ll let you know tomorrow.”

  Which meant I had absolutely no idea.

  *

  Word For The Day

  WAXED (waksd)

  Treated with wax (ex. waxed paper);

  A process to remove unwanted hair;

  The act of being killed, usually because of a deal gone bad.

  By morning, I’d put together a rough outline for the day – talk to Frank Hanson, since he was at the Aho shooting range when Harry died, ask the widow Diane a few questions, although I hadn’t compiled any yet and I’d have to tread softly, and track Chet’s actions around the time Harry bit the bullet.

  Before I got out of bed, while considering possible suspects, Fred rose from the floor and gave me my morning face wash. The smell of burnt coffee wafted from the front of the house. I adjusted my scarf and went to face the challenges and rewards of a new day.

  Sure enough, Grandma was up and ready to go a few rounds for kitchen domination. “What do you need?” she said, blocking my path to the kitchen.

  “Coffee,” I replied, pushing back, but only a little. Grandma doesn’t have much meat on her bones. She might be lippy, but she isn’t hippy. “I’m making a new pot,” I said. “That one smells old.”

  “I just made it. And get that dog out of here.”

  I glanced out the window. The guinea hens hadn’t arrived yet, so when Grandma went for her flyswatter, I let Fred out and gained temporary control of the kitchen.

  Grandma almost forgot herself and swatted me.

  After a fresh cup of coffee and one of Kitty’s doughnuts, I hit the road with my canine partner, leaving Grandma to plot her next overthrow.

  Blaze’s sheriff’s truck was parked in Diane Aho’s driveway. Since I still hadn’t had time to renew my temps, I blew right by and revised the order of my to-do list. After finding a place to tuck away my truck from Blaze’s view, Fred and I made our way through the trees between the Ahos and the Hansons

  Open land is plentiful in the U.P. Neighbors aren’t right on top of each other like they are in most places. Almost all of us own at least forty acres. Several hundred acres isn’t uncommon at all. We like our personal space.

  Enjoying the smell of fresh earth and the sounds of the woods, I passed a “No Hunting” sign that had been shot full of holes. A bluejay screeched overhea
d and dragonflies fluttered past.

  Summer is my favorite season in the U.P. Lots of sunshine, not too hot, a little breezy, just the right amount of rain. The only downside is bugs. I’d forgotten and left my scarf in the truck, so a gang of horseflies found out and targeted me for a blood feast. I had to keep flapping my arms over my head to keep them at bay.

  Then the no-see-ums struck.

  A cloud of them appeared out of nowhere, but I plowed right through, keeping my mouth shut so I wouldn’t swallow a bunch of them. No-see-ums are really tiny, but they have a big bite that itches just like a mosquito bite, only worse.

  Fred didn’t seem worried at all. He was too busy sniffing and marking. Besides, his thick coat of fur prevented them from getting through.

  Chet Hanson’s house came into view. I hung behind a big maple tree, watching until I was sure he wasn’t outside. Then I moved closer, stopped at the tamarack tree I’d selected for the best possible viewing, unstrapped the camera, and made my way out with at least some of my blood still flowing through my veins.

  Back where I left my truck, Kitty was waiting for me in her white Lincoln. What a beater that car was! She’d banged into more stuff than she’d missed. Mainly because she gets overly excited at times, and she doesn’t care that much about car appearances.

  “How did you find me?” I wanted to know.

  “Process of elimination.” Kitty had her head tightly wrapped in pin curls. If we passed anything with a magnetic field, she was gone for good.

  “I’m about to check out what’s on the camera,” I said. “Hop in.”