Murder Bites the Bullet: A Gertie Johnson Murder Mystery

by Deb Baker

*

  Martin Aho, brother to Gus, son to Diane and the deceased Harry, worked at a lumberyard in Escanaba. Sawmills from olden times are long gone, right with trees the size of which we’ve never seen since. In the old days, floating sawmills and logging camps kept our ancestors from starving to death. Today, we still like our hardwood.

  Taking M35, I drove along the bluff overlooking Gladstone, then along scenic Lake Michigan into Escanaba and parked the truck in the visitor’s lot.

  Martin was climbing into an enormous logging truck right as I walked up.

  He recognized me and hopped back down.

  “I’m following up on a few leads,” I explained, making stuff up as I went along. “And I need you to substantiate some claims and fill in some details. Gus said you and he were going to continue running your dad’s moonshine business over in the state park.”

  “That’s nothing new,” Martin said, growing wary. “The sheriff knows all about it, and he looks the other way.”

  “Don’t we all when it comes to homemade liquor?” I said to reassure him. “I’m not complaining one bit. What you do is your business. But Frank Hanson was in on it too. Right?”

  Martin didn’t say anything for a minute. Then, “Gus told you that?”

  I nodded, even though Gus hadn’t. “It really surprised me.”

  “I don’t know why Gus would say a thing like that.” Martin leaned against the semi. “Hansons and Ahos don’t do business together.”

  “You aren’t making my job any easier by being evasive. I know Frank was in communication with you or your brother or both.”

  “All I have is what Gus told me.”

  “And that was?”

  “Frank said he had information about the person who killed our dad. And he was willing to share the name for a fee.”

  “Did he see it happen?”

  Martin shrugged. “He was a creep. You couldn’t believe a thing that came out of his mouth.”

  I studied Martin’s big, sturdy frame. “Maybe you shot him in retaliation.”

  “Whoa there!” Martin put his hands up in the air like I was drawing on him. “Nothing of the sort. I already went over this with the sheriff and he checked out my whereabouts. I’m clean.”

  “I suppose Ida Johnson vouched for you.”

  “Hunh?”

  “Never mind. Your mom fired the Trouble Busters.”

  “Did you prove that Chet Hanson did it?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Then I guess you ran out of time.” He climbed back into his truck.

  I stood watching him pull out, shifting through all those gears, and while I did that, I had a few choice thoughts about my son. Martin had an alibi. If Blaze had shared information with me like he should, I wouldn’t be wasting all this time retracing his steps.

  Before Fred and I took off in my truck, I made sure the bean bag gun was fully loaded and operational. Then I tucked it under my seat where it would be handy if I needed it.

  *

  “You’re cracking up,” I said into the cell phone, the one that everybody but me thought I should own. I’m a technically challenged adult, I tried to tell them. Most of the time, I don’t even turn it on unless I need it. Unless I’m in the middle of an investigation, like now.

  “Can you hear me,” Cora Mae said.

  I pulled off the road because that’s what you have to do in the Michigan Upper Peninsula if you want to stay connected. “That’s better.”

  “I sent Chet to pick up Kitty,” she said.

  “Why does she need to be picked up?”

  “She went to that boot camp you sent her to and ended up on the ground, passed out cold. I can’t believe you sent her off to do such a thing, considering her size.”

  “I specifically told her not to exercise. Besides, you had a chance to trade. Is she okay?”

  “One of the drill sergeants was a nurse. He checked her out. She’s fine, but he advised her not to drive right away. Chet will take her home, get her settled, and stop at the store for me. I searched his house like you asked me to. And guess what? I found something.”

  “What?”

  “A purple umbrella.”

  “A purple umbrella?”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “I was expecting love letters, or pictures buried in his underwear drawer, or hot dates written on his calendar. Or panties.”

  “I found panties inside the umbrella!”

  This was getting stranger by the minute. Here I was, sitting on the side of M35 with people I knew driving past and waving, all of them understanding exactly why I was parked. We’ve all been here, done this. At least those of us who have been forced to carry a cell phone.

  “A purple umbrella with panties inside is a good start,” I told her. “But it doesn’t give us the next lead. And we don’t have fancy DNA equipment.” Although that was a thought. I wonder how much it would cost for a machine.

  “There were initials engraved in the umbrella handle,” Cora Mae announced. “Are you ready?”

  “Cora Mae, I’ve been ready for awhile now!”

  “The initials are D.A.”

  Diane Aho! “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” I said.

  “You mean that Diane Aho had an affair with my Chet?” Cora Mae didn’t sound exactly thrilled at the idea. “Those were some pretty fancy panties, too. I think she left them there intentionally, so if he opened the umbrella, he’d think of her. I wish I’d come up with that. I better try to outdo her.”

  “I’ll call you back,” I said before Cora Mae could launch into details. If she put half as much effort into her investigator job, she’d be the best in the business. “Keep your phone on.”

  I pulled back onto the road, thinking hard. There’s something about driving my truck that brings creative thoughts into my head. Maybe it’s the monotony of the road ahead that clears my mind of all the clutter. This time was no different. For every question I posed to myself, I came up with a pat answer.

  Like had Diane been cheating on Harry with Chet?

  You bet she was.

  Seriously though, would she actually kill her husband?

  Maybe, to be with Chet. Passion is a powerful emotion. Besides, Harry Aho would have killed her first for even looking at a Hanson. She just beat him to it.

  What about Frank Hanson? Did she kill him too? And if so, why? Had he seen something or found out something he shouldn’t have?

  And why hire the Trouble Busters to find evidence against Chet if Diane had killed her husband to be with Chet?

  Then I remembered that she hadn’t hired us. Her sons had. She’d actually wanted them to hold off, but they wouldn’t listen. The last thing she’d want is for anyone to find out she’d been sneaking around with Chet.

  But she wasn’t with Chet Hanson now. Cora Mae was. Were those two laying low because of Harry’s murder? Maybe Diane had asked Chet to stay away a respectable amount of time, at least until after the funeral.

  Then why was he seeing Cora Mae?

  Did Diane know?

  I thought back to the report I’d given her. How she’d studied it? Had I imagined it, or had there been a certain harshness in her voice after she read the part about Cora Mae? I didn’t like where my analysis was taking me. This wasn’t good. Not good at all.

  Diane Aho had an umbrella just like Mary Poppins.

  Only Diane was more like Scary Poppins.

  I must have been a little under a mile from home, when I saw Diane’s car go by. And it was heading in the direction of Chet’s place. Of course, that was the way to her house, but still... My heart pumped faster. I had a ginormous lump in my throat. Because I’d seen the expression on Diane’s face as she passed, and if looks could kill…

  If she’d murdered her husband to be with another man, imagine what she might do about another woman coming between her and Chet.

  And Cora Mae was over at Chet’s right now all by herself.

  I jerked the wheel to make a U-turn,
but I misjudged. The truck slid sideways into the swampy ditch and got hung up at the base of a tamarack tree. The truck leaned dangerously, making me wonder where a vehicle’s tipping point really was. My heart thumped hard. I didn’t want to find out.

  Fred was standing up on the seat, first looking at the ditch then back at me. He’s good at picking up on emotions, so he sensed our dilemma.

  I tried calling Cora Mae. She didn’t answer. Worse, she never set up her voice message service, so she wouldn’t get my warning that way.

  Fred and I abandoned the truck after a few more efforts to get out that only dug us in deeper. We ran along the road, racing for my house with Fred in the lead. At this point, my only choice was to start making phone calls and hope somebody else made it to Chet Hanson’s house in time to protect Cora Mae.

  That is, if she really was in danger.

  Instinct told me she was.

  I kept punching in Cora Mae’s number as I rushed along. She picked up on try number nine. “You need to go home,” I shouted.

  “I don’t have a car. And you sure are bossy.”

  “I can’t explain now, but it’s important.”

  Cora Mae sighed heavily. “Fine. Oh, look, a car is pulling in now. I’ll try to hitch a ride. Bye.”

  And my dopey friend hung up.

  And she ignored, or didn’t get, the next calls I made to her.

  I have to admit, I’m not in the greatest shape for a marathon. Even a short one like this. But I kept moving, fueled by sheer adrenalin and panic. The first good news all day was that Blaze’s sheriff’s truck was in my driveway.

  I ran in the door and doubled over in front of Blaze and Grandma, who were sitting at the kitchen table. “Help,” I croaked.

  Blaze jumped up and looked out the window. “Where’s your truck?”

  “Ditch,” I gasped. “No time…”

  “She’s gonna kill some innocent person out on the highway,” Grandma said to Blaze. “If you don’t get her off the road.”

  “I ought to impound the truck,” Blaze said, agreeing with the other side as usual. “Where is it?”

  “Cora Mae’s in trouble,” I managed a whole sentence, but it wasn’t easy.

  “Tramp,” Grandma said. “Imagine having a baby at that age!”

  And that’s when I realized I’d get no help from the home front.

  *

  Maybe it was the lack of oxygen flowing to my brain. Or maybe I’d just had enough b.s. from my family and didn’t care anymore. Or maybe it was the only way I could think of to save my best friend.

  At any rate, I ran back outside. What choice did I have? Blaze and Grandma were prejudiced against me and would never listen to reason until it was too late.

  Blaze always leaves his keys dangling in the ignition when he comes over, and this time was no exception. So I commandeered his police vehicle. As I squealed out of the driveway, Fred came running from the back of the house, but I didn’t slow and wait for him.

  I’d put enough friends in danger in spite of my promise not to do that anymore. If I could keep my four-legged buddy safe from harm, at least I wouldn’t be batting zero. I’d almost killed Kitty sending her on a heart-stopping mission, not to mention almost getting her killed during our last business gig. It’s possible that I’d already killed Cora Mae. Things couldn’t be any worse.

  I hated to stop for anything, but this was too important. I pulled up next to my truck in the ditch, careful not to repeat my last mistake by getting too close, jumped out, ran over, and grabbed my bean bag gun from under the seat.

  Then I opened the stolen vehicle up wide.

  *

  I barreled into Chet’s driveway. Diane’s car was there. With the driver’s door still open like she’d been in a big rush.

  I didn’t see any blood trails, which is always a good thing.

  I ran through the house calling Cora Mae’s name. She wasn’t there.

  They had to be in the woods. Was Cora Mae dead? Was Diane burying her body right this minute?

  First, I had to disable Diane’s car in case she came back before I found her. She couldn’t get away. I really didn’t like what had to come next. I got back in Blaze’s vehicle, backed it up, put it in drive, and floored it, ramming right into Diane’s car and pinning it against a tree.

  Regarding car damage, I have to admit I’ve done my share. Like the time my first truck hit black ice and spun out. Totaled. Or the time I drove off a bridge with one of Walter’s old beaters. Totaled too.

  I was almost positive that Blaze’s was salvageable. I pocketed the keys, grabbed the bean bag gun, and headed for the trees. All kinds of emotions hit me – shock that my friend was in such trouble, fear that I might be too late, and a growing anger that I didn’t even try to keep under control. Nothing gets the adrenaline flowing like good old rage.

  Sticks and dried leaves crunched underfoot, but I couldn’t help that. Moving quickly and silently was almost impossible. I stopped and listened. Nothing. No sounds at all other than my own breathing.

  Where the heck were they?

  Deeper into the woods now, I angled off toward the Aho property. The underbrush grew thicker and the going got rougher. I stopped to listen again. Just as I was about to try a different route, I saw a flash of color off to my right. A squeaky sound came from the same direction. Moving closer, I spotted Cora Mae. She was sitting with her back against a tree trunk, and she was tied up. Her mouth had tape across it, but she’d seen me and was trying her best to tell me something.

  I started to charge in, relieved to find her all in one piece. But then I noticed her eyes kept darting off to the side like she had something really important to say.

  When I looked over that way, an enormous pile of leaves erupted from the ground. I barely had time to aim and fire. Instead of a fatal impact, the sound of gunfire reverberated through the woods, hers and mine.

  The pile of leaves moved off a few yards and dropped down into a heap.

  I ran behind Cora Mae’s tree, ignoring her muffled mumbo-jumbo, then decided my choice of positions was a bad idea. I was supposed to lead Diane away from my friend, not put Cora Mae in the direct line of fire. I scooted to another tree, getting some distance between the two of us. I couldn’t help noticing that the leaf pile had disappeared into the rest of the forest’s floor.

  That guerrilla suit was better than camo. If I came out of this alive, I wanted one.

  Cora Mae was having a fit behind the tape. I was grateful that I couldn’t hear what she had to say, because she had to be really mad at me, thinking I’d abandoned her. I continued to move away, keeping trees between me and Diane, figuring that Diane would have to chase me. If I escaped, her little show was all over. If she ended up stopping me, she’d go back and take care of Cora Mae.

  My goal was to make sure that didn’t happen. Staying alive and well was top priority at the moment. Even though I’d brought a non-lethal bean bag gun to a real killer gunfight, I had to stay hopeful.

  By now, I couldn’t see Cora Mae anymore. I wished that I’d headed back toward Chet’s house rather than deeper into the woods, but I hadn’t been in a position to pick at the time.

  Where was crazy Diane? Both times, when she’d killed Frank and now, I’d seen enough to know she blended into her surroundings better than any deer or turkey could. But if she intended to catch me, she’d have to take a risk and move my way. Piles of leaves didn’t usually do that, so all I had to do was watch for blowing leaves in a windless forest. Right?

  It was time to stop behind a tree and prepare to face the music.

  Which started up.

  It really did.

  If you could call it music.

  Ground squirrels make all kinds of sounds, and if you live around them, you tend to learn to interpret the different calls. A rapid-fire chirping alarm was a signal to other ground squirrels, a warning that something had startled and frightened one, and that the others should go to ground.

  The squir
rel kept it up. I didn’t need a rodent to warn me. I already knew I was in big trouble

  Movement flashed out of the corner of my eye.

  But when I glanced sharply in that direction, I couldn’t see anything out of place.

  I had to trust my instincts, and they were yakking at me louder than Cora Mae ever could. So I aimed the bean bag gun where I thought I’d seen the motion. I fired.

  The ground squirrel gave a few more sharp chirps.

  Then everything went dead again.

  *

  Nothing moved. Sweat ran in a steady stream down the side of my ponytailed head, a reminder that wigs can be super hot under stressful conditions.

  Had I hit anything?

  I didn’t know.

  Now what? Just sit tight and wait?

  I’ve never been a very good waiter, so I fired a few more rounds in the same direction, planting them into the ground. Then I started back for Cora Mae.

  A branch snapped. The earth rose up again. This time I got in a direct shot, heard the thud, a moan. And the pile of debris keeled over backwards.

  Carefully, I inched forward to see how much damage I’d done.

  Diane had taken the hit right in the face. Her nose was squashed flat, which always means a bunch of blood. She was out cold and the blood was flowing.