A Fatal Four-Pack

by P. B. Ryan

  I headed over, but the room was filled with people I knew and I slowed down to greet them. Most of these people had been at Barney’s funeral—Elma and Waino Latvala, the entire Sheedlo family, Lila Carlson, and all of them were hoping for a little extra information about Chester’s death. After all, as the sheriff’s mother, I might have some extra juicy tidbits to pass around.

  I wanted to talk to Chester’s son before I shocked everybody with the truth of the matter. “I’m not at liberty to discuss it right now,” I told each of them.

  People buzzed around, spreading my mysterious comment to those who hadn’t heard. Kitty piped up and said, “You’re causing quite a stir.”

  “I hate it when I do that.”

  By the time I finished fending people off, Bill Lampi wasn’t hiding out behind the flower arrangements any more. I looked around for him.

  I saw Onni Maki slither by. He grinned like a cat that had just swallowed the canary. He wore a green suit that matched the walls of the room, a paisley shirt, and a thick gold chain around his neck. His thinning hair was wrapped around the top of his head to hide a large bald spot, and when he swept his hand through his hair to make sure it was in place, I noticed a gold ring on his pinky finger.

  Cora Mae was gaining on him from behind, her Wonderbra pointing the way. She had a grin on her face, too, like a timber wolf closing in on a bunny rabbit.

  I wasn’t sure which one to feel sorrier for.

  Ed Lacken, the funeral director, stood by the door, looking stiff and proper, his face pinched and red like his bow tie was on too tight.

  I poured pink punch into a paper cup and wandered into the bathroom. I set the punch on the sink and went into a stall. I needed to be alone.

  Barney had died fourteen months, ten days, and sixteen hours ago, and standing in the funeral home remembering his funeral brought back some of the pain I was trying to forget.

  My sad secret—that Barney hadn’t really died of a heart attack like I’d told everyone at his funeral—weighed heavily on my heart. The few people who knew the truth, Cora Mae, Blaze, and the funeral director, were sworn to secrecy. It’s the way he would have wanted it.

  The truth is, Barney drowned in his waders. He went out trout fishing on the Escanaba River, and his body was found floating downstream six hours later. He must have stepped into a deep hole, the waders filled up with water, and he sunk like a boat anchor.

  After discussing it with Blaze, we decided Barney wouldn’t have wanted people to know he went that way. Sure, he was doing what he loved, but he also prided himself on his outdoor skills, and stepping in a hole wasn’t a dignified way to end a great fishing career. Barney would have considered stepping in a hole a stupid thing to do.

  I’ve relived what I imagine were the last few minutes of his life over and over and over again, and I was trying not to go there right now.

  I gave myself a few minutes, then came out of the stall, splashed cold water on my face, and rejoined the group.

  Bill Lampi, dwarfed by the flower arrangements, stood alone at the foot of the casket, so I hurried over.

  He was a small man, about five foot five, wasted-away thin like he had chronic wasting disease. A pair of oversized coke-bottle glasses magnified his eyes so they appeared owlish, three times larger than they really were. He wasn’t big and strapping like most Finns.

  I offered my sympathies to him, and he broke down. He didn’t take his glasses off, just wiped the tears away as they slid through the frames. His father obviously meant a lot to him.

  I put a hand on his bony shoulder and said, “I’m going to do everything I can to catch the maniac who did this and bring him to justice.”

  Bill Lampi continued to cry until his brain processed my comment, then he stiffened and abruptly quit crying. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean whoever killed your father is going to be sorry. I’m after him.”

  “There was no suggestion of foul play. No one told me Pa was murdered.” His voice was shrilling up, hitting high notes. “Was Pa murdered?”

  A tall blonde with legs that ended pretty near up to my neck appeared from nowhere and wrapped her arms around Bill. His face slid into her cleavage, which was monumental. All I could think was, wait till Cora Mae gets a load of this woman.

  She turned to me. “I’m Bill’s wife, and I want to know what you think you’re doing?” In spite of a soft southern lilt, she managed to give the words a frosty northern edge.

  Friendly would not be the word that came to mind if I had to describe her. “Just offering my condolences to the family,” I said.

  “Oh, Barb,” Bill’s voice was muffled down in the valley. He raised his head and bellowed, “She says Pa was murdered.”

  The room went dead quiet starting with the Elma and Waino Latvala corner of the room because that group was closest and had been eavesdropping on me all night. The silence spread like one of those football stadium waves. Waino stuck one finger in his ear and with a turning motion adjusted the volume on his hearing aid.

  “Your pa wasn’t murdered, sweetheart,” She said, warning me with eyes as cold as icicles. “Just a busybody, trying to make trouble where there isn’t any. Don’t you pay any attention.”

  I studied Barb. She was a beaut for around here, if you like obvious dye jobs and makeup plastered on with a trowel. Apparently most of the men in the room did, because I began noticing the entire room was craning one giant neck in our direction, and the men weren’t looking at me.

  Blaze pushed through the crowded room, scowling as usual, the smell of his cheap cologne swirling around him.

  “Figures you’re involved,” he said. He took my elbow and moved me away.

  Looking back, I saw Barb watching me. If looks could kill, I’d be six feet under. Then the voices started up again, louder than before, filling the room with speculation and anticipation. This was bigger than any of them could have ever hoped for. The phone lines would be burning up tomorrow.

  Ed Lacken came by before Blaze could chew me out and asked us to take our seats for the service. I wanted to sit up front because I had a speech to make, but Blaze had a grip on me that I couldn’t shake. “The front row is for family,” he said. “You sit here.” He pointed to an empty seat next to Little Donny. Sitting behind me, Cora Mae swiveled her body in Onni’s direction. Kitty took up two seats, her legs spread wide.

  Ed Lacken started out by saying what a fine man Chester had been and what a loss to the community. Then he asked if anyone wanted to say a piece. Floyd rose from his seat with a bible and headed up.

  Great. A sermon.

  “Chester was a God-fearing, law-abiding, upstanding family man,” he thundered. “And we should all be proud we got to know him.”

  As far as I knew, Chester hadn’t been to church once in his whole life. If he had a relationship at all with God, he kept it to himself. As far as law-abiding went, he made moonshine in his cellar and sold it to the neighbors, and spit on the federal government and its interfering ways just like the rest of us. I wasn’t sure about the family man part; Floyd may have got that right.

  Floyd paused with an arm raised to the heavens and shouted to the funeral director. “How much time I got to say my piece?”

  “Whatever you need.” Ed shouted back at him because everyone knows what a defective hearing aid Floyd wears. Personally I think if he’d remember to change the batteries, he’d be fine.

  Floyd blah-blahed until I feared he’d never shut up, but eventually he sat down with a winded huff.

  I glanced over my shoulder searching for Blaze. Cora Mae and Kitty turned around to see what I was looking at. Blaze, standing in the doorway, seemed in deep conversation with someone in the hall so I trotted up to the front.

  “I didn’t know Chester all that well,” I began. I needed to talk fast to get it out before Raging Bull could react. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him snorting his way down the aisle. “But I know he didn’t deserve what he got, and I know he wasn’t
shot with God’s gold bullet like Floyd thinks. He…”

  “…will be sorely missed,” Blaze finished for me, arriving at my side.

  “I’m not quite done,” I whispered to him.

  Blaze grinned out at the crowd. Through clenched teeth he said, “Ma, you’re done.”

  “Thank you,” I said to the crowd and walked back to my seat as gracefully as possible considering Blaze’s arm grip.

  “That sure was a fine funeral,” I said after the service as Blaze helped me into my coat. Everyone was milling around drinking coffee and eating ginger cookies. “I’d like to stay a little longer.”

  “I’m putting you out in the truck while I round up your partners in crime. Thanks to you I’ll be working overtime tonight.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Damage control.”

  o0o

  Blaze found Cora Mae and Kitty, loaded them into the truck, and planted himself well away from the side until I pulled onto the road. He didn’t say a word about my driving, which was a relief.

  “Is his hand actually on his gun?” Cora Mae asked, squinting to see in the dark. “He looks like he’s ready to draw and fire.”

  I leaned around Cora Mae to take a look. “Showing off, I guess.” Leaning back I said, “I didn’t get to talk to Bill Lampi long enough to find out anything. Blaze comes along every time I’m getting somewhere and ruins it. Did you get a load of Bill’s wife?”

  “Sure did,” Cora Mae said. “She’s wearing falsies. I’m sure of it.”

  “I didn’t think to look. Leave it to you to latch on to the important things.” If Cora Mae’s eye for detail extended past the subjects of sex and lust, she’d be an integral part of our investigation team. I’d have to work on developing it.

  “Do you know anything about her at all?” I wanted to know. “I mean, besides the falsie thing.”

  Kitty leaned into the center of the truck cab, scrunching Cora Mae over into the steering wheel. It was all I could do to keep my hands on the wheel and the truck on the road.

  “Bill got her a job over at the Highway Department where he works,” Kitty said. “She’s the one waves the little flag at cars when they’re doing road construction. Guys can’t keep their minds on work, I hear. I can’t understand a thing she says. That southern accent, you know.”

  “Changing the subject,” Cora Mae continued, “guess what lucky guy has a date for next Tuesday night with yours truly?”

  “Got him, hunh?”

  “Piece of cake. Onni didn’t stand a chance. He’s coming to my place and I’m going to make him something to eat and we’re going to rent a movie.”

  “Sounds like a cheap date to me. I’d make him take you out,” Kitty suggested. She shifted her hips and everyone in the truck had to readjust. “Either of you have anything for my rummage sale?” she asked.

  “Who has a rummage sale in November? That’s what I want to know,” Cora Mae said.

  “I’m desperate for cash. It’s the only way of making some quick dough. You know I lost my job. Gertie, did you put together a few boxes like you said you would?”

  “They’re in the shed, mostly books, odds and ends. I’ll drop the stuff off.”

  Then I told them about Blaze and the guardianship hearing. I remembered too late that Kitty is Stonely’s walking newspaper and there’s no way this isn’t going to be all over town.

  “Impose harm on others?” Kitty hooted. “Where is he coming up with that?”

  Cora Mae was angry. “How your own son who lives on your land free could do this… makes me glad I never had kids.”

  Aren’t friends wonderful? They always stick up for you and say just the right things. Sharing my problems with them made me feel better instantly.

  “We have to fix you up before you go to court,” Cora Mae said next.

  “What needs fixing up? I’m fine just the way I am.”

  “Oh, Gertie, you’re a little…” Cora Mae was struggling for the right word.

  “A little what?” I wanted to know.

  “Aggressive.”

  “Aggressive!” I shouted. “What’s that supposed to mean? I’ve never been aggressive a day in my life.”

  “Keep your eyes on the road.”

  What do you think, Kitty? Am I aggressive?”

  “Nothing’s wrong with being outspoken,” Kitty said. I glanced across Cora Mae and saw Kitty’s pin-curl-less corkscrews bobbing.

  “But you need a wardrobe overhaul,” Kitty added.

  “Something soft and pink with ruffles to wear to court,” Cora Mae agreed.

  “I’ll eat rabbit pellets before you get me into something pink with ruffles,” I said.

  I dropped Cora Mae off first. As soon as she slammed the truck door and walked away, Kitty said, “I know why you did that back there.”

  “What? Back where?” I turned around and looked out the back window of the truck.

  “The scene you made with Chester’s son. I think you did that on purpose.”

  I opened my eyes wide in mock surprise. “Now why would I do that?”

  “Maybe to flush out the murderer. You think he’ll sit tight as long as everyone thinks it was an accident. You think if he knows you’re starting to nose around, he might get scared and do something foolish.”

  “A picayune act,” I said, pleased I had found an opportunity to use my new word.

  “On the contrary,” Kitty said. “It was a fulgent act and very apropos considering the circumstances.”

  I stared at her. She didn’t seem to notice. Fulgent? I cleared my throat “Do you think he was murdered, too?”

  “Probably not, but I’d really like to ride with you.”

  “Ride with me?”

  “I hear you and Cora Mae are starting an investigation business and I’d like to join.”

  I thought about having to stuff Kitty into the cab of my truck every time we went to interrogate a suspect. A private eye has to blend into the woodwork. Kitty is like a semi coming down a logging road with the logs flying off the back end. You can’t miss her.

  “I’ll think about it but this isn’t a club,” I said in my least aggressive tone of voice. “You can’t just join anytime you want to.”

  Besides, I didn’t want to have to start carrying a dictionary around with me.

  Show off.

  Chapter 5

  Word For The Day

  IMPETUOUS (im PECH oo uhs) adj.

  Acting suddenly with little thought;

  Impulsive.

  EVEN THOUGH I WAS angry at Blaze and still looking for the right time to talk to him about the whole incompetence court thing, I still was capable of worrying about him. His color wasn’t good these days, his face resembled an overripe tomato, and his breathing seemed labored like he’d just run five miles. It could be all that weight he carried. I decided to talk to him about that soon. A little dieting wouldn’t hurt, and he should get a physical to make sure the old thumper operated smoothly.

  Maybe he had a medical condition that caused him to behave irrationally, which would explain the court hearing. Or maybe it was the stress of his job.

  I wanted to make things right with him. The constant feuding wore me down and interfered with my effectiveness as an investigator. I wanted a truce and I wanted the hearing cancelled, and I knew just how to do it.

  He and Mary always go into Trenary for breakfast on Saturdays at Buck’s Inn with some of their friends.

  Bright and early I drove to Ray’s General Store and stocked up on a few supplies I knew I’d need. Then I watched out the window for Blaze’s blue Oldsmobile, which is the family car he drives when he isn’t on duty. My kids, both Blaze and Star, have to drive right past my house to get out to the road, which as I’ve mentioned before is convenient for keeping an eye on them. I walked out on the porch and waved when Blaze and Mary went by, then ran for Barney’s truck.

  I pulled into Blaze’s drive and parked in front of his mobile home. His sheriff truck was parked in t
he pole barn, the barn door wide open, inviting me in. I pulled out a can of spray paint I’d purchased from Ray’s and compared the yellow can cover to the color of Blaze’s rusted-out sheriff’s truck.

  Close enough, I thought, and began spraying.

  It was colder outside than the can recommended for use, so I had to warm it inside my jacket every once in a while, and I had to keep shaking it as I worked. I only intended to spray the rusted-out areas, but the color match wasn’t as good as I’d originally thought.

  I ended up spraying the entire car.

  The whole painting idea had seemed like a good one at the beginning and I implemented it with the best of intentions. I really thought I could spot-paint the rust spots and make his truck look like new. I really did. But things got out of hand and every over-spray I tried to correct spread like an oil spill on Lake Michigan.

  I finished up with a sigh of frustration, my arms sore, my spirits dampened.

  I hadn’t been able to find any masking tape in the barn to protect the silver trim and door handles, which turned out to be a problem. They now were yellow. I had protected the windows as I sprayed by holding up a piece of cardboard I’d ripped from a box. I took a can of paint thinner from a shelf and dabbed with a rag at a few yellow splatters on the window glass.

  When I left the barn the ground had a light dusting of fresh snow, like powdered sugar on a doughnut hole. The sun peeked out of the clouds, reflecting off the snow. I dug in my pocket for my Blue Blocker sunglasses and put them on. I leaned against the barn, breathing the fresh air.

  In the shadow I cast on the side of the barn, I could see my earflaps, and they looked like bird wings poised for flight. I bobbed up and down, pretending I was an eagle. That’s where I stood, my earflaps flapping, my sunglasses shielding me from the sun, and an empty can of yellow spray paint in my hand, when Blaze and Mary pulled up.

  Next time I come back to this world, I plan on coming back as a bird. I’d be safely overhead right now if I could fly. Instead, feeling awkward and helpless, I prepared to “wing it” the only way I knew how.