Murder Passes the Buck

by Deb Baker

THIRTEEN

  Word For The Day

  HIRSUTE (HURR soot) adj.

  Hairy; shaggy; bristly.

  BRIGHT AND EARLY SATURDAY morning Blaze called Cora Mae’s house looking for me. “He says he knows you’re here,” Cora Mae called out, covering the receiver with her hand. “If you don’t talk to him, he says he’s coming over.”

  “All right,” I said, reluctantly taking the phone.

  “I had George and Carl keep an eye on Cora Mae’s house through the night,” Blaze said. “I deputized them. I’m worried sick since someone took shots at you out by the blind.”

  Great. Now George, one of the prime suspects, was following me around with a badge and a weapon.

  “I’ve got a deputy coming over to watch out for you until we clear this up. Where are you going to be today?”

  “I don’t need some pimply-faced kid chasing after me. I have Kitty.”

  “You don’t have a choice. Where can he count on finding you? He’ll be out in the next hour.”

  “I’m helping out at Kitty’s rummage sale,” I said, resigned to the fact that people would be surrounding me until this murder was solved.”

  “Oh, and one more thing. I checked the Motor Vehicle Department and I know you don’t have a driver’s license. If I catch you driving the truck, I’ll arrest you and then I won’t have to worry about where you are.”

  “I haven’t driven for days,” I lied, peering out the kitchen window at Barney’s truck.

  “I wasn’t going to tell you I’d assigned a deputy to look out for you, but thought he might scare you if you spotted the tail.”

  “Thoughtful of you.”

  I hung up.

  Cora Mae and I headed for Kitty’s house in my truck for the once-in-a-lifetime mother of rummage sales. Just to be on the safe side, we were being very cautious. I bolted the door behind us, checked that all the windows were locked, and had my shotgun loaded and ready. I hoped the gun battle out at the blind proved to my attacker that I wasn’t a sitting duck. If he thought he was going to easily pick off a helpless woman, he didn’t know who he was messing with.

  The temperature had continued to drop overnight, and a foot of new snow fell right before the cold snap hit, forming a crust of ice over the snow. Not the best day for rummaging.

  The rummage sale reminded me of urban sprawl, spread across Kitty’s entire yard. Cars lined the road, mobs of sightseers pushed through the snow and ice, and Kitty, hunkered down in blankets, beamed from behind her shoebox of newly found cash.

  “I’m using your phone,” I said to her. “I forgot to do something.”

  I called Onni, planning to convince him that he was in danger as well.

  “I’m calling to warn you that someone is trying to kill you,” I said into the phone.

  “The only one trying to kill me is Gertie Johnson,” he said. “Who is this?”

  “Er… this is Gertie Johnson,”

  “I’m going to court to get a restraining order against you. Don’t ever call here again.” And Onni hung up.

  __________

  “Hi, Gert,” George said, leaning against a table filled with junk, his snake hat hissing and a toothpick jutting from the side of his mouth. “This is the first rummage sale I’ve ever attended right after a snowstorm. Air sure is nippy.”

  I grunted a response.

  A yellow Lab with graying fur limped over from the side of the road and wagged a crooked tail.

  “Rescue dog,” George told me. “I couldn’t let them put him down. He’s going to be my guard dog.”

  The dog shuffled under the table and plopped down in the snow. He yawned.

  “Mean-looking cuss,” I said, wondering how someone who loves animals as much as George does, could do wrong by his own species. It wasn’t possible.

  “Heard you were over in Gladstone last night,” I said casually.

  George shook his head. “No. Who told you that?”

  “I must have it mixed up.” Wrong answer from George. I felt betrayed, anger and hurt working through my veins.

  George looked at the gauze pad on my forehead. “That was a close call. How are you doing?”

  Abruptly, I walked away, leaving George gaping. One more second and I would have told him what I thought of him, the creepy, lying, cheating, money-grabbing killer.

  A red pickup truck cruised by and I could see a young guy wearing a deputy’s hat sitting behind the steering wheel. He slowed and scanned the crowd.

  “Cora Mae,” I said after stumbling through the snow and piles of sale items to find her. “Let’s get out of here. George is following me and so is that red truck parking down the road.”

  Cora Mae, her arms filled with treasures, turned and craned her neck, searching for him. “I’ll stay and keep an eye on George. Make sure Kitty doesn’t see you leaving alone.”

  I stole through the shoppers, creeping closer to my truck, careful that Kitty and George and the deputy weren’t watching. I ducked down behind a row of cars and made my escape.

  __________

  Calvin and Helen Sandberg lived on the far side of Chester’s land a mile down Rock Road. One lone dog lifted his nose to the sky in a wild howl when I drove in. He was immediately joined by dozens of other dogs staked in the yard. The symphony was brief. Then they circled their chains in unison, watching me eagerly. Those dogs knew something was up.

  I’d never been to the Sandberg place before. By the looks of it, they put all their money into taking care of their dogs, which were spread out as far as the eye could see. Each one had a wood dog house with a flat roof. Some of the dogs were sitting on top of the houses. A pipe was pounded into the ground by each one with a metal swivel and a long length of chain, one end of which was attached to a dog.

  I found Calvin and Helen working in the back of the dog yard and they stopped to greet me. I knew who they were from seeing them in town, but like a lot of Stonely residents, they kept to themselves.

  They were in their mid-thirties and had already earned a reputation for mid-distance sled dog racing. Every year they competed in the U.P. 200 in Marquette. They had at least fifty Alaskan Huskies, and every once in a while I’d see them out on the road training their dogs. I heard those dogs were capable of running all day without quitting.

  Calvin had a gray-speckled beard that hadn’t been trimmed for at least ten years. He wore a brown sock cap pulled down tight around his forehead. Helen had on a furry hat with a long raccoon tail. She kept pushing her thick glasses up on her nose while we talked.

  I explained the purpose of my visit while I sized up the dogs, a diverse bunch of mutts, some with blue eyes, some with brown, and a few with one of each color. I’ve heard they are friendly, hard-working dogs, and I heard right because when I walked over, every tail wagged.

  Suddenly the entire pack broke into a frenzy, howling and circling and straining to break loose. I jumped back and saw Calvin pulling a toboggan-sized sled over from a nearby shed. He draped a black canvas bag over the sled and began attaching it to the sled with straps.

  I was dressed for cold weather, wearing my boots, my hunting cap with the earflaps down, Blue Blockers to cut the glare from the cold sun, and a pair of snowmobile gloves. I wasn’t cold, but I shivered anyhow.

  “Those dogs look wild to me,” I said to Helen, suddenly unsure of this plan. “ And…and…hairy. This might not be such a good idea.”

  “Don’t worry,” Calvin said. “You’ll sit in the basket inside the sled bag to stay warm. All you have to do is sit there, and I’ll drive you around. It’ll be like a horse and buggy ride.”

  “That doesn’t sound hard,” I agreed.

  “What we’ll do,” Calvin explained, “is cross the road onto Chester’s land. There’s a fairly good system of trails through there. Chester gave us permission to use his property to run our dogs and we try to keep the trails open. At least the outer set. We haven’t been on the inside trails much. That’s where we’ll go today.”


  Calvin used a slipknot to tie a rope from the sled to a tree. Then he and Helen harnessed six dogs, brought them over one at a time, and hooked them up in pairs to a long rope on the front of the sled. All fifty of the dogs in the yard were barking and howling an awful racket and the harnessed dogs were wound up tight.

  I crawled into the sled basket and settled in the sled bag. The dogs were frenzied to go and yanking at the lines. I glanced at the rope wrapped around the tree, nervous that it might give out or work loose, but it seemed to be holding the dogs back.

  I thought I heard Calvin call to me to release the rope holding the sled. I reached over and pulled the cord, and the dogs, watching every move we made, lunged into action.

  We careened down the drive, crossed the road at eighty miles an hour, soared over the ditch, and slid onto one of the trails.

  I couldn’t help noticing that Calvin wasn’t behind me driving the team.

  The dogs didn’t seem to care, or maybe they liked it. Less weight to haul. I chanced a quick look back and could see Calvin and Helen running and waving their arms, quickly becoming black dots in the white snow.

  We charged ahead, the dogs settling into what seemed like sixty or seventy miles an hour. I tried to look around as we ran, but everything seemed to be a speed blur. The sled wasn’t tracking nice and steady behind the dogs like you’d imagine. Instead it swerved from one side of the path to the other, hitting every rut and bump in the road.

  “Gee,” I called to the dogs, remembering the word but not the meaning from watching Wide World of Sports. I tried yelling “stop”, but they didn’t even hesitate. We took a soft right curve at the next intersection and began following a less worn path. Forced to work harder, the dogs slowed to a brisk trot, giving me time to assess my situation. I noticed a large claw hook in the basket next to me tied to a rope attached to the sled.

  I picked up the hook and whipped it at the next small tree we passed, hoping it would anchor around the tree and stop the sled. The tree bent in half and the hook came free. I tried the same thing several more times without any luck.

  “Whoa,” I shrieked. Not one dog looked back. Not one seemed about to stop. They were on a mission dead ahead, and nothing was going to stop them. We were going to run all day.

  Taking time to rest from throwing the hook, I looked forward just in time to see Bear Creek in front of us, and a sharp turn in the path directly ahead. The dogs took the turn, the sled bounced on the shoulder of the curve, and I flew out.

  I pulled my face out of the snow just in time to see the dogs disappear around another bend, dragging the sled on its side. I dropped my head on an arm and tried to catch my breath. I sat up slowly, working each leg and arm bone, but nothing appeared to be broken.

  Slowly, I straightened up and looked at the frozen creek. Rocks jutted out of the ice, a sign that this section was shallow. A brisk wind traveled across the creek, sweeping the snow to the banks and stinging my eyes. I walked out onto the ice, hearing nothing but the wind, seeing nothing but swirling snow, feeling nothing but aching coldness.

  The dogs had vanished. I would have to follow the creek or the path back. The creek and its secrets had drawn me here, but the path would take me back to the warmth of my truck.

  It was bitter cold by now, a weather fact I hadn’t noticed while on my wild ride. There’s something about fear that keeps you toasty warm. I wasn’t too cold except for my face, which had taken the snow wash. The wind stung like an angry swarm of wasps. The gauze bandage on my forehead came loose and dangled over one eye. I pulled it loose and dabbed it on my wound. No blood.

  A voice floated on the wind and soon I could see a sled and team heading my way. This one had a driver.

  “You okay?” Calvin asked when he pulled up, real concern in his voice.

  “I’m okay, but what about your dogs?”

  “They’ll make a loop and probably be waiting for us at home. They know their way around in here.”

  “I thought you told me to pull the rope loose. It would have been helpful if you had been on the sled at the time.”

  “I said to wait until I said so and then to pull the rope.”

  “Rumor has it there’s gold in this creek,” I said, remembering what was important. “What do you think of that?”

  Calvin threw out a claw hook like the one I had tried to stop the runaways with, and tromped down on the top of it, driving it into the snow. “I reckon it’s a bunch of bunk, but someone thinks it’s true.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Helen found gold panning equipment in September right over there.” Calvin pointed to a spot near where I had stood on the ice. “When we get back to the house, I’ll show it to you.”

  He jumped off and helped me roll into the sled bag. Calvin pulled the hook out of the snow, called “hike,” and we were off in the direction of the runaway dogs, which really did turn out to be a giant loop.

  Helen had already unharnessed the runaway team when we arrived. I gave the dogs fresh water while Helen went into the house and came back with a paper bag. She pulled out a green plastic pan, tweezers, and a stainless steel hand trowel.

  “At first we didn’t know what they were for,” Calvin said. “Helen’s brother told us.” Calvin shook his head. “Must have been kids because no one else would believe such a thing.”

  “Can I borrow these?” I asked.

  Helen nodded. “Why didn’t you just say what you were looking for in the first place? Would have saved you a spill.”

  __________

  The six vinyl-covered tables at the Deer Horn were filled with deer hunters. I took a seat at the counter, ignoring the stunned expression on George’s face when I walked right past his table.

  “What ya got there?” Carl called to me. “Carryin’ your bedpan with you? These are modern times. Haven’t you ever heard of Depends?” All six tables of hunters turned to check out the green pan I had thrown on the counter. Laughter buzzed through the room like a chain saw slicing timber.

  “Health inspector will shut me down if he sees a bedpan on my food counter.” Ruthie worked the grill, glancing harshly at the pan.

  “Don’t worry, Ruthie, it’s not a bedpan.” I swirled my chair around to face the room. “Leave it to Carl to know all about adult diapers.”

  George leaned back casually in a chair, studying me, his eyes guarded, his expression unreadable.

  I forced my own poker face, careful not to let my opponent guess what kind of hand I held. “George, you know what this is, don’t you?”

  “Sure, Gert, I know. What you aiming to do? Pan for gold?”

  “Thought you might have lost some equipment. I’m thinking about whether to return it or not.”

  I thought I noticed a flicker of realization pass through his smoky eyes then it was gone. “Take your time,” he said slowly. “There isn’t any rush.”

  “You ready to take my order?” I croaked to Ruthie, swinging wildly back to the counter, a tight knot in my throat. As much as the evidence had been stacking in George’s direction, I didn’t really believe it until this very moment.

  “Fella in Rapid River took two ounces of gold out of a gravel pit by Marquette,” someone said. “That ain’t much.”

  “Lotsa gold scammers out there to take a fool’s hard-earned dollars,” someone else said. “The crooks salt samples and swindle folks.”

  “Waitress will be right there,” Ruthie said to someone at another table while she poured a cup of coffee for me. “I’ve heard of mining copper and iron in these parts. Gold, though…” She shook her head.

  My daughter Star sashayed out of the kitchen, cute as a button in a frilly white waitress apron, ponytail bouncing as she walked with plates of food stacked on a tray.

  “Hey, honey,” I said, relieved to take my mind off George’s betrayal by escaping into small talk. I kept my voice light but my hands clenching the coffee cup were white. “What you doing?”

  “I’m helping Ruthie out until hu
nting season’s over,” Star said, setting the tray down and passing out plates at the table closest to the kitchen.

  “How are things with the Italian Stallion?” I asked, remembering the stocky, dark guy she’d been with at the pasty dinner. “I never see you anymore.”

  “He’s gone,” Star pouted. “He was working on a special road crew, and they finished the job and moved on. I’m between men right now.”

  “Maybe you can find some time for me,” I said. “I have my own investigation company now, and Cora Mae and Kitty help out with the legwork. Maybe when you wrap up working here you can help out, too.” I raised my voice. “I have my current investigation pretty much finished up. All I have to do is drive the last few nails in.”

  “Sounds fun.”

  “And I need you to come to court with me.”

  “Blaze asked me, too.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I said no, of course. I’m sticking with you. He has Heather almost convinced she should testify against you, though. Little Donny went home with some stories and she and Blaze are going back and forth on the phone about it.”

  I tried to remember what Little Donny could possibly tell Heather that would hurt me. There was the stun gun incident, but I was pretty sure Little Donny didn’t remember. Oh, and there was the break-in at the Lampis, but we didn’t take Little Donny in. I couldn’t remember anything else.

  By the time Star finished at the table and came around to take my order, George had disappeared from the table of hunters. At first, I thought he might have headed for the bathroom, but by the time I ordered chicken noodle soup and more coffee, I realized he had slipped out of the restaurant.

  With my first spoonful of soup, the restaurant door crashed open and Kitty thundered in. “You’re running around loose again with no one to watch over you. I’m starting to think you don’t want my protection.”

  “Sit down, Kitty. Lunch is on me.”

  That stopped her in her tracks. Nothing appeals more to Kitty than a free lunch.

  “What’s up?” she wanted to know, so between ordering and eating, I told her about finding the gold mining equipment and about George’s admission. After that, neither of us had anything to say, each taking in the ramifications of my discoveries and my conversation with George. Kitty turned the gold pan over and studied the bottom. She set it back down.

  We listened to the hunters bragging back and forth. A few were local boys, but most were from down south around Detroit and a few were from Chicago.

  Times were tough, and some of the locals, needing every dollar they could scrounge up, made their land available to the out-of-towners. They flocked in, driving city cars, station wagons, and minivans, four or five guys stuffed into each one. None of them knew a thing about hunting or gun safety, and they spent a lot of time trying to kill each other, sometimes succeeding.

  They sat in places like the Deer Horn, telling lies to each other, proud that they survived without being killed, then they stuffed themselves back in their city cars and left us alone for another year.

  Since hunting season was winding down with only a few days left, I guessed this group hadn’t bagged a deer yet. Otherwise they’d be long gone by now. They were a scraggly bunch, unshaven and fragrant, like skunk road kill.

  Not shaving or bathing is a common ritual during hunting season and I’ve never understood it. Some say the perfumes in shampoo and soap scare off the deer, but I can’t help thinking B.O. does it better. Barney used to shower with a perfume-free soap, then dress in clothes he’d stuffed in a bag of leaves overnight. That worked great, but of course, no one went out of his way to give sound advice to these city slickers.

  “We’re on to something bigger than we are,” Kitty finally said when her plate was empty. “Don’t you think it’s time to bring Blaze in, tell him what we know? He has resources we don’t have.”

  “You’re right,” I agreed, reluctantly, “but I want a little more time. I’ll tell him tomorrow. What’s going on with your rummage sale?”

  “Cora Mae’s holding down the fort. We better go. I’ll follow you over to my house and you can wait for me there.” Kitty seemed thoughtful and distracted. “I have something I want to check out.”

  “You and your bedpan have a nice day now, you hear?” Carl guffawed as Kitty and I banged out the door.

  __________

  After an afternoon nap on Kitty’s couch, I double-checked my shotgun to make sure it was loaded and put loose shells in both of my jacket pockets for later. Next time George, our local killer, decided to mess with me I’d be ready to fill his rear-end with lead. For the hundredth time, I wished it was anybody but George.

  A knife to my chest couldn’t have hurt more.

  The nap did me a lot of good because when I woke up I remembered that I still hadn’t interviewed Onni. I had a few questions for him as well as advice on dodging bullets. And, from watching television mysteries, I knew I needed more evidence to prove my case against George.

  While Cora Mae gossiped with a few rummage sale stragglers, I checked my supplies—the recharged stun gun in my purse, my weapon vest under my jacket, loaded with extra ammo for my shotgun, the pepper spray, and a Swiss army knife I had found last week in Barney’s dresser drawer. Sifting through Kitty’s front hall closet, I filled my arms with things I might need if I ended up outside on a surveillance mission—a facemask, hand warmers, and a fire starter. I wanted to take a flashlight but couldn’t find one, settling instead on the red-handled fire starter next to the wood-burning furnace. It had a trigger like a gun, and when I pulled it, a large steady flame shot out the end. I stuffed it in my pocket.

  I drove away from the warmth and comfort of my friends, wishing for the first time in a long time that I had some company next to me. But Cora Mae had to stay at the sale and Kitty was nowhere to be found. Even the scrawny deputy kid would be welcome to join me if I could locate him.

  Being a private detective is lonely work.

  __________

  Dusk settled in as I pulled out onto the road. Winter dusk looks like an enormous rain cloud creeping in, and it comes early in the U.P. By four-thirty we start turning on our lights to get ready for another long night. I checked my watch again—almost five o’clock.

  My plan was to drive over to Onni’s house and convince him that George and Barb were trying to kill both of us. Once he believed me, maybe between the two of us we could work this out and devise a plan to stop them. Onni might have valuable information that could help us.

  At the four-way stop in the center of Stonely, I heard a horn blaring behind me and I saw Kitty’s cousin fold out of his purple car and strut up to my window, a cigarette between his lips.

  “Kitty’s missing,” he said, talking around the lit cigarette.

  “No, she’s not. I saw her a few hours ago. She said she had some checking to do.”

  “She’s missing.” He inhaled deeply and blew recycled smoke at me.

  I waved it away. “How would you know? You didn’t even check for her at her house because I just left there and I didn’t see you.”

  “I got worried when she didn’t call. We have a deal. Ever since she took the bodyguard job we check in with each other twice a day. She missed her check-in this afternoon.”

  “She’s fine,” I reassured him. Cars were slowly driving around us. “I’m kind of in a hurry. If I see her, I’ll tell her to call you.”

  “She’s supposed to be guarding you. Why isn’t she?”

  Up ahead, I saw George pull up to the stop sign from the opposite direction and I watched him drive past us. Craning my head out the window I saw his brake lights go on and he began turning around in the road. “Gotta go,” I said, and pulled away quickly.

  Another horn blared behind me and George’s truck appeared in my rear view mirror gaining fast. He flicked his headlights on and off to get my attention and I hit the accelerator and roared away. He stayed with me for a while then began to fall back and
eventually his lights disappeared.

  When I was sure I’d safely lost George, I turned onto Onni’s road, the back truck tires sliding on the road ice. I could see large patches of ice puddled across the road.

  Gunning the engine, I hoped to get past the ice quick, but the truck didn’t cooperate. It spun out of control. The steering wheel felt like a stripped plumbing washer; it just went slack and stopped working. I tromped on the brake and that too felt disconnected from the truck. Everything went sloppy loose and there wasn’t anything I could do but spin the steering wheel like a ride on a bumper car and watch the sights as they spun by.

  The truck did a complete circle, then lurched toward a deep ditch, rolled over, and settled sideways in a broken patch of ditch ice.

  I wasn’t feeling too good. I had hit my head on the top of the truck when it rolled, and I could feel a knot the size of an apple beginning to swell over my eye. I slowly moved my legs and arms and felt my ribs. Everything seemed in working order, so I reached up and forced the passenger side door open since my door was down on the ice. After climbing out, I packed snow on the top of my head to slow the swelling.

  My head seemed to be taking quite a beating lately—wood splinters from the sniper attack, a nosedive into the icy-covered snow, and now this.

  I moaned.

  Any movement took a ton of strength, making me wonder why I felt so heavy and burdened since none of my bones were broken. Then I remembered the loaded weapon vest. I thought about taking it off but didn’t have the strength left.

  For a brief moment I wished I had listened to Blaze and worn my seatbelt. He’s always preaching about seatbelts, but I come from the old days when we tucked them down deep in the seat cushions to keep them out of the way. Nobody in those days actually wore them.

  I crawled up the embankment and sat on the side of the road, assessing my situation. The temperature was dropping quickly. I guessed it must be about ten below, with the wind chill maybe thirty below. Ice crusted on my eyelashes and my hands felt cold and stiff. I couldn’t remember where my hat and gloves were. I crawled back down into the truck and found my hunting hat, but didn’t see my gloves, the facemask, or my purse. I crammed the hat on, flipped the earflaps down, and quickly shoved my hands into my coat pockets. I felt the fire starter deep in my pocket and thought I could harm my hands with it if worse came to worse.

  Looking both ways down the road, I decided to head back to the main road, which was about a half-mile away. Onni’s house was at least a mile in the opposite direction and I didn’t think I had the energy to make it that far. Feeling disoriented, I trudged down the road at a snail’s pace.

  Out of the twilight, I saw lights coming toward me. I squinted, trying to recognize the driver and hoping it wasn’t George. Wouldn’t that be an awful end to the day? Wouldn’t that be an awful end to my life?

  I crept off the road, attempting to hide myself behind a telephone pole until I was sure it wasn’t George. When I was sure it wasn’t a truck, I bolted back into the road and waved frantically.

  The car slowed and stopped and Floyd opened the door. “Good God, Gertie. What are you doing out in this weather? You’ll freeze to death.”

  “I need help,” I said, walking up. “My truck is in the ditch over there.” I pointed across the road. We could barely see the truck sunk in the ditch.

  “Well, git in.”

  I jumped into the car, the warmth from the heater blasting in my face. It felt great.

  “Looks like you left the truck running and the lights are on.” Floyd peered out into the night. “I’ll shut everything off.” He got out, crossed the road, and a few seconds later I saw the lights in the truck go out. “It’s sure cold out there,” he said after he climbed back into the car.

  As we pulled out, I remembered my purse and stun gun were somewhere in the truck, and almost asked Floyd to turn around, but changed my mind. In another few minutes it would be completely dark and no one passing would be able to see the truck. When I got back, everything would be right where I left it.

  “Thank the Lord I saw you. Passed you up in Stonely. Looked like Kitty’s cousin you were talking to. You all right?” Floyd wanted to know. “You have blood all over your face.”

  I reached up and noticed a cut on the back of my hand. “Must be from this,” I said showing him my hand.

  “There’s a rag in the glove compartment,” he said watching the road. “Use that. It’s clean.”

  I wrapped my hand in the piece of cloth. The cold had pretty much stopped the bleeding anyway. It didn’t look serious. I clicked on the overhead light and pulled the rearview mirror over to my side and checked out my face and head. Other than a mess of dried blood, I couldn’t find any injuries other than my head knot.

  My truck was in a lot worse shape than I was.

  I warmed my hands next to the heat register as we drove back through Stonely. “Your house is closest,” I said. “Let’s stop there and I’ll use your phone to call somebody to pull my truck out.”

  “My thoughts exactly.” Floyd turned onto his road. “Come on in and warm up,” he said when we pulled up to his house.

  I heard a sound as I closed the car door, shrill yet muted, like a screech owl in the distance. “What’s that?” I asked Floyd.

  “What’s what?” Floyd said, and I remembered his defective hearing aid.

  “Nothing.”

  “I sure am glad I ran into you,” Floyd said after we entered the house and he hung his coat on a hook by the door. “The good Lord guided me right to you.”

  “Well, that’s nice, but can you guide me to your phone. I’ll be out of your hair as soon as possible. Oh, look at this.” I bent down and picked up a white bobby pin, the exact same kind Kitty had in her hair earlier in the day. “Has Kitty been here?”

  “Say what?” Floyd had his back to me, fumbling through a kitchen drawer.

  “Kitty,” I said as loud as I could. “Has Kitty been here?”

  “Don’t know why you’d think that.” Floyd turned around and grinned, not a warm friendly grin, but rather a hard, cold grimacing grin.

  And I couldn’t help noticing the long-bladed carving knife he held in his hand.