by Lee Pulaski
“Good. It’ll be good to see Main Street come back to life. Let me know if you need any help with anything. I’ll have Alexander and Gwendolen hype it up with any customers we have over the next few days.”
“Thank you. Good night.”
Newell and Zachary walked toward the bookstore, where Zachary’s Jeep was parked. There was a slight wind, and with temperatures in the single digits, it felt like little frozen daggers piercing any exposed skin. Zachary was pleased that things turned out all right, but he wouldn’t be completely happy until they got into their warm house.
That desire was put on hold when he saw someone lurking outside The Literary Barn. At first, Zachary thought it might be someone looking at one of the fliers or signs in the windows, but as he got closer, he recognized who it was.
“Newell, look! Isn’t that Sajen?”
Upon hearing his name, Sajen ran across the street and around the back of the grocery store. Zachary gave chase, wanting answers as to why Sajen had taken off, and why he had swiped the snowmobile. Zachary knew it was risky, but he wasn’t about to let the artist continue to play hide and go seek, especially since Sajen was still a suspect in the murder investigation.
When Zachary entered the alley behind the store, Sajen was nowhere to be found. Zachary checked around the dumpsters, but there was no sign of anyone else in the alley.
“Zach? Are you back here?” Newell joined Zachary. “Where’d Sajen go?”
“I don’t know.” Zachary scratched his head. “That was him, wasn’t he?”
“Looked like it. I wonder what he was doing back in town, if he’s hiding out.”
Zachary wondered that, too, but he didn’t say anything. It was just another question to heap on all the other ones he had regarding the murders.
CHAPTER SIX
The alleyway behind the grocery store didn’t look any different in the daytime than it did the night before. Zachary could not tell where Sajen had disappeared to after he’d been spotted outside The Literary Barn. There must have been a reason Sajen reappeared after bolting the way he did a few nights earlier. It seemed odd that he came back, but nothing about Sajen’s behavior since the murders seemed normal. Was he a scared kid, or was he a killer?
Zachary wished it was tourism season, Christmas season or some other busy season so that he didn’t have so much down time to keep churning questions in his head. Being the deep winter time, not as many people were venturing outside unless absolutely necessary, and necessity did not always include new books. He wanted some semblance of normalcy again, but it didn’t seem to be in sight.
Glancing at the time on his cell phone, Zachary figured he’d better get to his shop, figuring he could stew on who killed the Reimers as easily in a warm building than he could in the bitterly cold outdoors. Before he did that, though, he planned to go inside the grocery store and talk with Miles, if he was in. Finding out Miles’ mental state might provide some insight.
As soon as Zachary stepped inside Gresham Market, however, he wished he’d just gone directly to work. Inside were more than a dozen local residents, mostly construction workers and seasonal staffers who were out of work at the moment. The ringleader, standing on a step ladder, was Allen Bidwell, a self-professed redneck who still kept a fully loaded gun rack on his truck and had once suggested that the Native American workers on the construction crew that he worked with were “showoffs” for working harder and faster than their white counterparts.
“The kid has been missing for several days, and the police believe he might have been the one who killed ol’ Beef Jerky and his lady,” Allen said, holding up a flyer. “They haven’t been able to find him for questioning, and because he’s Menominee, the tribal cops haven’t been too cooperative. However, I think if we go in the woods on the rez and look for him, we can bring him back so our law enforcement can do their jobs.”
“I heard he’s hiding out near the lumber mill in Neopit,” one man in the crowd said.
Another man said, “I was told he’s got relatives all over the reservation, keeping him hidden.”
A blonde lady with extra helpings in the chest area and too much eye makeup said, “I was at the beauty parlor this morning, and one of the stylists thinks this kid isn’t on the Menominee reservation at all. They think he might be hiding out with the Stockbridge-Munsee folks.”
“Well, we just need to cover all the bases then,” Allen said. “Let’s get as many able bodies as we can and start looking. A small contingent can go around Bowler and start checking the Stockbridge rez, while the rest of us head up to Menominee country and comb the woods. If he’s out there, we’ll find him, and then we’ll get justice.”
Zachary sighed. These people were just asking for trouble. Risking a confrontation with Menominee law enforcement was bad enough, but the Stockbridge-Munsee reservation was still within Shawano County, and that tribe had an arrangement with the sheriff’s department for mutual assistance. If one of the local yahoos got cross-eyed with a cop out there, they’d be cooling their heels in the county jail sooner than Sajen would.
Zachary’s presence caught Allen’s attention. “Hey, everyone. We’ve got the great detective joining us. Want to help us catch a killer, Zach?”
Putting an Academy Award-winning fake smile on his face, Zachary replied, “We’re out of coffee at the bookstore. I thought this was a grocery store, Allen, but apparently you can come here to get a can of peaches, a lottery ticket and a vigilante voucher, too.”
“Zach, you must want this kid caught as much as we do. We heard he swiped your snowmobile the other day.”
“He also returned it, Allen. Listen, I think Sajen needs to be found, but what you’re proposing sounds like the days when folks would drop a rope from a tree and send people swinging.”
“We’re not going to hang him, if that’s what you’re worried about. If a stray bullet hits him, however, we can’t be blamed for being protective of our lives.” Others in the group spoke affirmatively to what Allen was saying and threw their fists up in a supportive gesture. “Zach, why don’t you close up your shop for today and give us a hand? We all know you make a habit of solving the cases local law enforcement can’t. Help us out, and you can put another notch on your mystery solver card. Get a few more, and you can get that free decoder ring.”
“Oo, if I do that, that’s one thing I can cross off my bucket list—go climb the Rocky Mountains, visit the Eiffel Tower, get Channing Tatum’s autograph, be part of a lynch mob.” Zachary rolled his eyes. “Allen, the sheriff’s department has a volunteer posse that is supposed to handle situations like this. If you really want to help, you should be working with them.”
Allen scoffed. “That posse is a bunch of crotchety old guys put out to pasture because they can’t run like a gazelle during foot chases anymore. If we subject ourselves to their rules, we’ll never find that kid.”
“So it’s better to shirk the laws and be the better strike force. Allen, is this really about the law or about seeing who has the bigger gun?”
Zachary’s quip elicited some snickers from the crowd, but Allen clearly wasn’t amused as he stepped off the ladder. “Look, Zach. We’ve got a fugitive to find. Come with us or don’t. I really don’t care.”
“Well, Allen, unfortunately I have work to do today that can’t wait, but you and the Justice League have fun in the woods today. Watch out for bears.”
“Oh, and I won’t be expecting a thank you when we retrieve your stolen snowmobile,” Allen said as he strode outside like a proud peacock.
“Already got it back, you meathead!” Zachary called out as Allen gave a dismissive gesture and the crowd funneled out of the store. He watched as the people piled into five or six pickup trucks and roared out of the parking lot. He took a step toward the front entrance when he felt a hand on his shoulder.
“Don’t even think about it, mister.” It was Newell.
“Think about what?”
“You were about to hop into your Jeep and
go searching for Sajen on your own, didn’t you?”
“No, I was actually thinking of going back to the house and using the snowmobile. Covers more territory, in my opinion.”
Newell clearly wasn’t amused by Zachary’s sarcasm. “Zach, if you go out there while those trigger-happy yahoos are stalking their prey, it might be you they bring back on their bumper.”
“Newell, if someone doesn’t stop them, it could be Sajen’s carcass they bring back as a trophy, and we don’t even know if he killed Muriel and Osgood.”
“I’m not saying they shouldn’t be stopped, but I think there’s a better way to deter them than you rushing out into the forest after them and going, ‘Whoooooooo!’” Newell made a funny face and wiggled his fingers above his ears as he made the noise.
“Oh, please! I was not going to do that! I was just going to bank on my tracking skills being better than theirs, and that I’d find Sajen first.”
Newell sighed. “Maybe before you go searching, it might be a good idea to call Josh and let him know about the vigilante patrol.”
Zachary’s face fell. “Couldn’t I just take my chances in the woods?”
Newell fished Zachary’s phone out of his coat and handed it to him. “Come on. This’ll be an ideal time to prove Sasha wrong about you and your feelings toward the good Detective Callahan.”
Zachary scowled as he dialed. “You’re sleeping on the couch tonight, you turncoat.” He waited for a response on the phone.
“Shawano County Sheriff’s Department. How can I help you?”
“Could you please connect me with Detective Joshua Callahan?”
“Certainly. Please hold.”
While waiting for the call to forward, Zachary turned to Newell, who had a supportive smile. He knew this was the right thing to do, even though he knew he was in for more of Joshua’s smug and superior attitude.
“Detective Callahan.”
“Josh, it’s Zach.”
“Zach? Well, this is new for you. Usually you visit me unannounced instead of calling ahead.”
“I’m sorry to interrupt, but I’ve already engaged in witty banter this morning with my boyfriend, not to mention the blue collar brigade out hunting Sajen Hawpetoss in the woods, so why don’t we just get down to the heart of the matter?”
“What’s this about a blue collar brigade?”
“You haven’t had your coffee yet, have you?” Zachary’s crack got a kick in the shin from Newell. “Look, Allen Bidwell’s got about a dozen locals all hyped up about the Reimer murders, and they know you guys want Sajen Hawpetoss found for questioning, so they’re scouring the woods on the Menominee and Stockbridge-Munsee reservations trying to find him.”
Joshua snarled. “Vigilantes! It’s bad enough having you poke your nose into murder investigations, but having a bunch of plowboys taking the law into their own hands really makes my life hell.”
“Love you, too, Josh, but perhaps you should rally the troops to stop Allen and his merry band of minutemen before someone gets maimed or killed.”
“I’ll alert the Menominee tribal police, and I’ll see if I can get a couple of deputies to give the Stockbridge-Munsee a hand in Bowler.” Joshua paused. “Look, Zach. I appreciate the tip. It’s better that we work with each other than against each other. Got to go now.”
Zachary stuck his cell phone back in his coat pocket, knowing Joshua meant that line about working with each other to mean that Zachary should report to the sheriff’s department instead of investigating on his own. Fat chance of that happening.
“So,” Newell said, “I’m guessing you feel better, having buried the hatchet with Josh.”
“I don’t think it’s buried yet, but at least he’s taking some smart action for once. Hopefully they can stop Allen and his renegades before bullets start flying. Now that that’s dealt with, would you care to explain why you’re here?”
“Had a customer tell me about the little gathering here at the market, so I figured I should check things out. Then I saw you come in, and I knew you’d be itching to stop them.”
“I was out behind the store, seeing if there was any way to get back on Sajen’s trail that we might have missed in the dark, but nothing. That kid might be an excellent artist, but he should be making a living in Vegas with his disappearing act.”
“I’ll walk you over to the bookstore and then head back to the feed store.”
“Actually, the reason I stepped inside was to see if Miles was around. When Scotty Glenn mentioned he hadn’t been collecting his regular pastry orders, I figured I should see if this absence was a glitch, or if he’d taken off, too.”
“Randa’s right over there. Let’s ask her if Miles is poking about. I’d have expected him to step out of his office with a bunch of rednecks raising a ruckus.”
Zachary shrugged. “Maybe he comes in to work later in the day.”
Newell and Zachary walked over to the counter where Randa, a platinum blonde with big hair and even bigger lips, was stocking the cigarette bins. She was humming something familiar, but Zachary couldn’t put his finger on what the song was.
Randa smiled, showing off pearly white teeth. “Morning, boys. What can I do for you today?”
“We were wondering if we could talk to Miles about something,” Zachary said. “Is he around?”
Randa’s smile vanished. “No, actually, and if you do see my boss, you might want to mention that there are a number of items that need to be reordered, but I don’t have the password to make online orders. Our shelves are starting to look a little barren.”
“When was the last time you saw him?”
“Saturday morning, after he went to that reception at that new art gallery. He was talking up a storm about Muriel Reimer. As you know, he’s always had a thing for the spry Cherries Jubilee. About noon, someone came in and told us about Muriel and Osgood being found dead. Right after that, he said he had to go run an errand, and he hasn’t been back since. I’ve called his cell, his landline. Nothing.”
“Randa, do you know if anyone has seen Miles since Saturday?”
Randa shook her head. “Had other folks wanting to talk with him, too. I don’t know what’s going to happen to the market if we can’t order stuff soon. I miss the days when we called in food orders instead of all this Internet garbage. Makes life a lot harder, if you ask me, even though Miles never let me call in orders, either.”
In Zachary’s view, the fact that Miles did not trust at least one or two of his employees to order the food was what made life harder for the market. Randa had been a clerk at the store for more than fifteen years, but Miles tended to be a control freak.
At that moment, a couple of customers came up with carts full of groceries. Newell and Zachary quietly said farewell and started walking toward The Literary Barn.
“Whatcha thinking about?” Newell asked.
“No one has seen Miles since Saturday. I’m wondering if his unrequited love for Muriel drove him mad and he ran off.”
“Do you think it’s possible he’s the murderer? Seems odd that he took off right after word about the death of her and her husband started wafting around.”
“I don’t think he’s the killer, Newell. If he was, why would he come to work Saturday like normal only to take off after someone started gossiping about the murders? I think there’s something else going on, something I can’t quite put my finger on.”
“So what’s your plan for today?”
“Well, Gwendolen isn’t due to come in until this afternoon. I’m going to see if Alexander wants to stick around a couple of hours longer, and I’m going to go see if I can track down Miles at his home. I might also go out to the Reimers’ homestead and pay my respects.”
“Just promise me you won’t go into the woods to look for Sajen.”
Zachary nodded. “I won’t, but if Rose is there, I’m going to see if she has any idea where he might be. Someone has answers about what happened to Osgood and Muriel, but we won’t know unt
il we find our missing residents.”
“Well, here we are.” Newell turned to Zachary. “What should we do for dinner?”
“I’ve already got a pot roast in the crock pot. It will be warm and ready by the time we get home this evening.” Zachary shivered as a breeze hit him in the fact. “About the only thing around that will be warm.”
“Look on the bright side. Spring is around the corner.”
“Well, right now it’s as elusive as Sajen and Miles. I’ll see you tonight.” Zachary kissed Newell on the cheek.
When Zachary stepped inside the bookstore, he saw red. A lot of it. Alexander, who normally wore button-down shirts and khaki pants, was dressed in blue jeans and a red T-shirt. Murphy, Alexander’s boyfriend, was wearing a similar shirt. A stack of red shirts was sitting on the counter.
“Wow,” Zachary said. “I think this is the first time I’ve seen the two of you in matching outfits. What’s the occasion?”
“The occasion is Red Friday.” Alexander handed Zachary a T-shirt.
“Red Friday?” Zachary looked at the shirt. In big bold letters, it read “RED FRIDAY.” In each letter of “RED,” at a downward angle, it read “Remember Everyone Deployed.”
“I’ve been in contact with a couple of veteran support groups,” Murphy explained, “and they’ve been trying to get support for soldiers like me by selling these patriotic shirts and reminding people that we’re still at war, and there are brave men and women out there defending our freedom and coming back with issues.”
Alexander took over the explanation from there. “Besides providing assistance to soldiers currently deployed overseas, these organizations are working to bring to light issues like post-traumatic stress disorder and other matters soldiers have to contend with once they return home. A couple of the groups have been particularly helpful as I’ve worked on getting Murphy the treatment he needs. Murphy was wondering if it would be possible for The Literary Barn to be a purchase site for the shirts. What do you think?”
