I pulled into the parking lot of the Hidden Pass restaurant and parked in the snow. When Dixie and I got out, the snow sunk up to our ankles. As we trudged through it, snow tightly packed into every crevice of my athletic shoes that it could. We continued to make our way along the rundown brick building. As we rounded the corner at the front of the restaurant, there was a large plate glass window with booths alongside it on the other side. I had to ignore the strange looks of the patrons inside as we entered, stomping off the snow from our shoes. A bright-eyed woman greeted us and escorted us to the front counter where we took a seat, as a young man pushing a mop bucket rushed past us to clean up the snow we had tracked in.
I inhaled deeply of the coffee that was trickling into a pot on the other side of the counter. An older lady brought a coffee pot with her, but before she could flip over my cup, I stopped her. “I could really use a hot chocolate.”
“You sure can fill my cup,” Dixie offered. With a nod, the waitress filled Dixie’s cup, then whirled away, coming back with a hot chocolate with whipped cream on the top, just like I loved it.
The woman set a one-sided menu down for each of us and left, presumably to give us time to make our selections. I glanced about the cafe. Besides the counter where we sat, tables were scattered intermittently throughout, with a jukebox along one wall. The walls were covered with pictures of men and woman who were proudly posing next to wild game that they had obviously acquired during hunting season. There were also trophies atop shelves, all of them archery related. My mouth must have slacked open because when the waitress returned, she remarked, “Yes, those are all archery trophies. Our own Daniel Adams won them all. He’s a national champ, you know.”
“Is that right? So he’s never been beat?”
“Gosh, no.”
“Well, there is always a first time.”
She hitched back on one leg. “You can’t mean that—are you here to compete?”
I tucked my auburn hair behind my ears. “Yes, haven’t you ever heard of a woman competing in archery tournaments?”
“Not really, but I hear there is this woman from Louisiana who is making her way here. Word has it she’s tall as a tree and twice as big.” Her eyes twinkled when she continued. “They call her Louisiana Sassy, if you can believe that.”
Dixie burst out into a fit of the giggles and even though I gave her a dirty look, she couldn’t stop. “That’s rich. Tall as a tree.” She slapped the counter. “You folks sure know how to tell a tall tale.”
I gave myself a once over. I was neither tall as a tree nor twice as big! Instead of getting mad, though, I had to smile myself. “That’s really a stretch.” I held out my hand. “I’m Tammy Lynn Rodrigue, more notably known as Louisiana Sassy.”
“Wherever did you get such a name, dear? I bet with a little makeup you wouldn’t look half bad. You might even find yourself a husband.”
Dixie introduced herself while I was biting my lip hard, suppressing a not-so-nice retort, but my grandmother would come back from the grave is she heard me disrespecting my elders. That’s one of the things they pound into your head when you’re raised in the south. Well, that and to go to church every Sunday. Most Sundays, my momma had to search in the Bayou just to find me. She didn’t tolerate my behavior by a long shot and willow switches were something that I was accustomed to feeling along my backside as a child. Could I help it if I loved to fish and hunt? My dad and I were quite close until he passed a few years back.
The waitress took a notepad from her blue uniform and waved it in front of my face. “I meant no disrespect, Miss Sassy. I guess stories have a way of embellishing themselves over time. I’m Margarita Hickey.”
I straightened up on the stool and said, “So, you’re the owner of this restaurant, then?”
Margarita smoothed her gray hair with a careful pat. “Who’s telling stories about me now?”
“Sheriff Simon Price.”
He cheeks reddened slightly. “Oh, my. Whatever did that man have to say about me?”
“We need a place to stay in town. There’s been a murder hereabouts, and he seems to think we’re involved just because I have arrows with the same color feathers as they found in the victim.”
“The man was killed with an arrow,” Dixie informed her.”
Margarita’s eyes were wide, taking all of it in. “Oh, my, that sure is dreadful news. I hope that won’t hurt business in town. In Bear Paw we depend on the business during the winter extravaganza festival. I’m barely hanging on as it is. I just won’t make another season if things don’t do better soon.”
“And about a place to stay?”
“Save that talk for later. What would you girls like to eat? My chili is the specialty.” Without waiting for an answer, she whisked away and returned with bowls of the said chili, setting them down. She hovered close by, much to my chagrin. Was she that concerned if we liked her chili? I wondered.
I lifted my spoon and sunk it into the bowl, coming back with a spoonful. I blew slightly on it and tried it. I forced myself not to react, but I couldn’t help myself. I dove into my purse, coming back with my spices. I shook some into my bowl and stirred the chili, then handed over the bottle to Dixie, who did the same.
“Oh, my. You don’t care for my chili?”
“It’s not that, exactly. We’re just used to our food tasting a little more flavorful.”
“She means spicy,” Dixie corrected me with a raised brow. “It’s not spicy enough. I don’t suppose you have any Louisiana hot sauce?”
“Oh, no. I’m sorry you don’t like the chili,” she said with a frown. “I suppose there isn’t anything on my menu that you girls would like.”
“Don’t worry. I mean no disrespect, truly. We are used to Cajun food, is all. I don’t suppose you have any gumbo?” I asked.
“Well, no. Is that good?”
Before I had a chance to say a word, an old man at another table said, “I’d sure love me some gumbo. That’s the thing, we just don’t have that much variety in Michigan. When I lived down south, I got so used to the cooking down there. You just can’t get any food like that up north.”
“Up north?” I asked, perplexed.
“It’s a Michigan term,” Margarita explained. “I don’t believe any other state uses that terminology.”
“Of course, up north could be a mile north,” the man added. “It’s funny, actually. Maybe you should let these gals teach you how to make some real Cajun food. It might be a great thing to do during the winter festival.” He blew his nose with a tissue. “Just a thought. Don’t mind me for interrupting you, ladies. I’m Bud Haskel, by the way. I sure hope you give that Daniel a run for his money. I’m all for rooting for the underdog.”
“I hardly consider myself an underdog. I was an archery state champ for Louisiana and I also won the Rolling Hills Bayou Classic, but that was when I was younger. For the last ten years I have only practiced in my backyard, but you could say that archery is something that I’m passionate about. Well, that and Cajun cooking.”
“I can’t wait to taste it,” Bud said. “How about it, Margarita? Are you going to give the girl a go at it? It might even help draw in more business.”
“She never said she was interested, Bud,” Margarita said. “And besides, she has herself a competition to win,” Margarita added with a wink. “It’s sad to hear about that murder. I sure hope it’s not anyone I know.”
“What’s that about a murder?” asked Bud.
“I’m not sure, but we were told the victim was shot with an arrow and the sheriff said we couldn’t leave town,” I said.
“That’s awful presumptuous of him,” Margarita said. “I wonder what Simon has up his sleeve.”
“Oh, do you know him personally?” I asked. “Boyfriend, perhaps?”
Margarita fanned herself. “Why, no. He’s ten years my junior, but he sure is a handsome man, don’t you girls think?”
I smiled. “Not really my type, but I suppose I might say
yes if I were closer to his age.”
“So, what is your type exactly, girl? Or do you already have a man?”
“Nope. I’m as single as they come.”
She dared a look in Dixie’s direction. “No girlfriend either, then?”
“Don’t look at me,” Dixie said. “We’re not like that. I’m not saying there is anything wrong with it if you are, mind you. I just like men, is all.”
“Me, too.”
“Well, then. If you girls are finished eating, I’d be happy to show you to your room. I don’t have too much space, but I can squeeze you in. I have a bedroom with two beds. That shouldn’t make either of you too uncomfortable. Perhaps we can chat later about the murder and what we’re going to do to get you girls off that suspect list. My sister is sort of a sleuth in East Tawas, you know. Eleanor Mason. I don’t get a chance to see her much, but we’re as close as two sisters can be who live hundreds of miles apart from one another.”
We followed Margarita up the stairs to where it opened up into quite a lovely living room. The yellow couches looked quite worn, but they were covered with mauve and cream-colored knitted afghans. There were antique end tables and a china cabinet filled with blue and white china trimmed with gold. I knew real china when I saw it. My grandmother had plenty that was real, for sure, and not my crazy grandmother on my mother’s side. I crossed myself before my mind started going down that dark road. It’s best not to think about the past and what my family has gone centuries trying to conceal.
Next we were led through a sizable kitchen with oak cabinets and a simple table that had only room for two. Once we were in the bedroom, I was amazed at how spacious it was. The two full-sized beds were covered with pink quilts and four pillows each, which made me more than a little happy. In my opinion, the more pillows, the better. Perhaps that’s why I didn’t mind so much being alone, but back home, I never felt alone with the croaking of frogs lulling me to sleep. From the sound of traffic whipping by now, I could see it would be much harder to sleep here. Luckily for me I had packed my alarm clock with a feature where you could set it to play cricket or frog sounds. You can’t take the Bayou out of me.
“I hope you girls like the room.”
“Of course, but please don’t be overly concerned with what we like or don’t. We take a bit of getting used to. I don’t mean to come off so harsh, but I’ve never been a woman to hold anything back,” I said.
“Me, either. I’m not harboring any fugitives, am I? I mean, I sure hope neither of you girls are a hardened criminal, or—”
“We didn’t kill that man the cops found, no. We just arrived and slipped into a ditch.”
“Funny thing was that Daniel Adams pulled us out of the ditch,” Dixie added. “Do you know he had the nerve to suggest we were responsible for the murder? If it hadn’t been for him, I doubt the cops would have gone through our belongings like they did.”
“So they came up on you after—or before—you were out of that ditch?”
“After,” I said. “Does it really matter?”
“Well, if I was the cops and found two vehicles parked alongside the road, I’d want to search them, too. What else would they have to go on?”
I wrinkled my brow. “How about footprints?”
“In the snow, dear? There might not have been any. None to take an impression of, that is. I wonder if a hunter was in the vicinity and possibly killed the victim by mistake.”
“I don’t believe it’s hunting season, or am I wrong?”
Margarita crossed her eyes. “That doesn’t matter to folks around here. Plus, there’s an archery competition soon, and at this point, I imagine that anyone who plans to sign up for the competition might be a suspect.”
That made sense. “I guess that’s a job for the cops to find out.”
“Oh, and you’re going to trust them to find out the truth or arrest you for the crime? You are outsiders,” she pointed out.
I never thought about it that way. “What’s up your sleeve, Margarita?”
“Well, after you girls get your bags up here, we can leave and do a little investigating of our own. Unless you’d rather wait until the sheriff has you behind bars with some trumped up charge,” she suggested.
“Don’t you have to stay here to watch over the restaurant?”
“Oh, no. I have plenty of help here. My cook, Jace Latourney, works in the back and my waitress, Candace Rigly, can handle the front of the house. She’s not only young, but on the hyper side. It won’t get crazy busy until the parade tomorrow. That’s when folks usually roll into the town in large numbers.”
“Is that when the winter festival kicks off?”
“Sure is, and I’ll set you up in the kitchen tomorrow.” I gave her an odd look until she added, “You just have to compete in the chili cook off. I’d hate it if Milton Pabis wins again this year. He’s been trying to get me to sell for years.”
I had no idea why I cared if this Milton won this year again or not, but I kept those thoughts to myself as Margarita was willing to help us out, even though I had no flippin’ idea why or how that sheriff could pin the recent murder on us.
Chapter Three
A half hour later, Margarita had us trapped in the back of her SUV. She had insisted that we stay out of sight, and once we got to our destination, I knew why. She had pulled alongside the garage behind the sheriff’s department.
Dixie and I exchanged perplexed looks. Had the old lady planned to give us up to the law? My heart thumped against my chest when a man hopped into the passenger’s seat up front. He popped a quick look in back and just shook his head as he said, “Now, Margarita, I thought you was coming alone. Who are they?”
“The one with the auburn hair is Louisiana Sassy, the blonde is her friend, Dixie.”
He faced us again. “You have quite a reputation, Miss Sassy.” He grinned.
I shifted nervously in my seat. After all, at the moment I was clearly at a disadvantage. “So they tell me.”
“I’m Jeffrey Albright. I clean the sheriff’s department.”
“Which is exactly why I called him, Tammy. He’s my inside man, so to speak. You know, for when I need information about what’s going on inside the department.”
Dixie giggled. “Oh, so this isn’t the first time you’ve done this in—”
“I’m just a concerned citizen, is all,” Margarita interjected, her beady eyes meeting mine in the rearview mirror.
I nudged Dixie to silence. She obviously didn’t want Jeffrey to know we planned to play investigator. Jeffrey wouldn’t stop grinning at me, and I hoped he wasn’t planning to be my next problem. I had hardly come here to be bothered by some man. I had sworn off ever dating again. Dixie, on the other hand, was all wide-eyed and sucking it up. After all, Jeffrey wasn’t hard to look at, with blond hair and piercing blue eyes.
Jeffrey pulled a cigarette from his parka jacket and lit it up. “So what gives, Margarita?”
“We were wondering who the dead guy in the woods is.”
He faced Margarita. “They’re trying to find next of kin before they’re releasing the name.”
“I didn’t ask you when they planned to release the name, boy. I asked you who it was.”
Boy, she certainly played hardball.
“Oh, hell, why not. It was Clayton Percy. His wife reported him missing late last night.”
I leaned forward. “Did she say why he was out there?” I asked.
“I wasn’t privy to that information, but word around town was the he might be seeing someone on the side.”
“Like who?” Margarita asked.
“Who knows, but I can’t imagine him meeting someone way out in the woods, not with a snow storm coming.”
I gave the light snowfall a quick look. “This doesn’t look like much of snowstorm to me.”
“Nope, but by tonight we’ll have six inches.”
I grimaced at that. How on earth was I gonna get in any practice time in that kind of snow?
<
br /> “That really sucks. Dixie and I sure need proper gear if we’re going to get that much snow.”
“Oh, and what did you expect it to be like here in Northern Michigan?” Margarita asked.
“I hadn’t given it much thought.”
“She’s not a planner,” Dixie said with a smile. “I could tell her that I told her so, but I don’t want to get into a fight in your SUV.”
I glared at Dixie. What I really wanted to do was give her a kick. Okay, so she wasn’t lying, but that didn’t mean she needed to rub it in. I figured that out after we were pulled out of a ditch. I was so unprepared, not for the contest, but to be stuck in the freezing cold in the middle of nowhere. From the looks of it already, Bear Paw was in the middle of nowhere land. The town was small to begin with from what I had seen thus far, which made me wonder if we’d be able to find appropriate clothing.
Jeffrey put out his cigarette and hopped out of the vehicle, warning us to not to tell anyone what he had told us.
Margarita made way for the main road and pulled out, ignoring the blast of horns from a truck that nearly sideswiped us. I held the handle over the door, or as we called them back home, the ‘oh-shit handles,’ holding on for dear life. “Oh, don’t worry girls. That truck wasn’t even that close.”
“It looked too close for comfort to me. Maybe you shouldn’t be driving,” I suggested.
“Humph, you sound just like the girl from the Secretary of State’s office when I had my license renewed. From how she acted, you’d have thought she believed nobody over the age of sixty should have a license to drive.”
My lips formed a straight line. I’m not one to judge someone’s ability to drive, but Margarita needs to be more careful, especially with me in the vehicle. “Where are we off to now?”
“You girls need proper clothing or you’ll never last ten minutes out in the elements.”
“You make it sound like we’re going to be outside at some length.”
“Of course you are. Tomorrow there’s a parade, chili cook off, and ice fishing.”
“All of that in one day?” Dixie asked.
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