A Fatal Four-Pack

by P. B. Ryan

  “Let’s hit it,” I said.

  Kitty’s tires slid in the melting snow, and the car fishtailed. Kitty spun the wheel and the car straightened out. She tore down the road, hitting the muddy puddles at full speed and sending water flying every which way.

  “I thought you two were supposed to be investigating a murder,” I said, clutching my purse on my lap. I glanced at Cora Mae’s attire. “I didn’t need any help. I had it under control, at least until you pranced in wearing stolen goods. Who’s calling who outrageous?”

  “Now, be nice,” Cora Mae said. “We made phone calls all morning from my house. Didn’t we, Kitty?”

  “You left ahead of me,” I reminded her.

  “Well, we came right back because I forgot something.”

  “We called insurance companies looking for policies,” Kitty said, “but that’s slow going.”

  “I’m pretending I’m Barb,” Cora Mae said. “When I call I say ‘This is Barb Lampi and I’d like to check on my father-in-law’s insurance policy’.”

  “No luck so far,” Kitty told me.

  “Forget the insurance policy. She’s after the land, but why? That’s the baffling part of it.”

  “It’s the gold,” Cora Mae insisted. “She’s found a gold mine.”

  “That’s hooey.”

  “I waited all morning for George to show up,” Cora Mae pouted, revealing the real reason she went back home. “What do you think happened?”

  I told her about George’s missing rifle. “Besides,” I said, “don’t you need to break it first?”

  “Kitty helped me. She backed into it with the bumper of her car and it went right over like it was made of tinker toys.”

  “Didn’t hurt the car at all,” Kitty chuckled. She passed the car ahead of us, ignoring the solid yellow line in the middle of the road.

  They let me off at my house and Kitty insisted on waiting for reinforcements. Once Little Donny arrived, I shooed them away quickly before Cora Mae found out that George was on his way over.

  Five minutes later George pulled in with his tools. After I cleaned up the bedroom and part of the living room, I threw my jacket back on and went out to the shed to watch. George had worked on it earlier so most of it was finished. Little Donny sat on the tractor eating sugar doughnuts out of a white paper bag. I dug in the bag and helped myself.

  “Find your rifle?” I asked George.

  “Someone took it. That’s for sure.”

  Little Donny had sugar all over his face. “Why would anyone steal your rifle?”

  “Bet it has something to do with Chester’s murder.” I answered for George. “I’m trying to connect the dotted lines but they’re zigzagging all over the place.”

  “Two more hours and we’ll be through,” George said. “Then I’m going to cut the last few trees.”

  Most of our Christmas trees were cut and shipped the first week in November, but George likes to save trees for family and friends until later in November. They keep better.

  Watching the snow turn into slop, I had to disagree with him. “Better not cut them until it goes cold again,” I said, “or all the needles will fall off for sure.”

  “A cold spell’s coming in again,” George said. “Tonight.”

  That’s the beauty of Michigan weather. If you don’t like it today, don’t worry, it’ll change again by tomorrow. A twenty- or thirty-degree swing overnight isn’t unusual here. Every day’s a surprise.

  “I’m going out to the blind,” I announced.

  I got my shotgun out of the hall closet and filled my pockets with shells. It must be force of habit since I had no intention of actually hunting. I take out a license every year so a DNR agent won’t come along and wonder what I’m doing in a hunting blind without one. They’re a suspicious bunch.

  The hunting license reminded me to make an appointment soon to take a driving test. I’d have to do it eventually.

  It was almost too warm for my orange hunting jacket, but only a fool would run around in the woods during season without one. I compromised and left my hunting cap on a chair. Orange hair was good enough.

  Looking around at my kitchen, I began planning to move back in. Mary and Little Donny had worked hard to put it back together. A few hours of effort on my part and a little shopping and it would be good as new.

  I looked out at the apple tree and pondered digging up my moneybox before the ground froze.

  o0o

  Just thinking about being home again cheered me up. I whistled a broken tune as I plopped through the puddles on the path to the blind. After replenishing the bait pile, I kicked back without needing to start the heater and dreamed of Barney.

  Barney visited often in the months since his death, and I was used to it now, even welcomed it. Instead of his being old, like he was when he died, in my dreams he was like he was when we first were married. He was lean and muscular, and he had a dimple in his left cheek when he smiled. Sometimes I wonder what I look like to him in my dreams. I never see myself. Probably wrinkly with liver spots starting to pop up all over my hands and arms.

  But Barney didn’t seem to care how old I looked, because he smiled at me, showing his dimple. “I told you, didn’t I,” he said, “that you still have a whole lot of living to do.” He put his arm around my shoulder and I melted into his chest. “Life’s chopped up into pieces, and you and I did it all. We were young together, we raised a family, we settled in for quiet retirement years. We lived a lot of lives together and now you’re carving out another life for yourself, an independent one.”

  If I were a cat, I would have purred. “I was always independent. Never needed you a day in my life, you old coot, but I wanted you. I always wanted you.”

  We sat that way awhile, not saying anything, and then he faded.

  When I woke up it was getting cold in the blind, and I regretted not firing up the stove. I rubbed my eyes and when I looked out the window, I saw movement on the deer trail. Something moved toward the bait pile, hugging the pines. I leaned forward in my chair to get a good look. When it came out into the clearing, I saw that it wasn’t a deer, but a person, dressed in brown work clothes.

  At first I thought it was Cora Mae. Only Cora Mae is dumb enough to trot through the woods dressed like a deer. I suppose during bear season she’ll do woods walks in her fake black fur, too. And she wore Kitty’s black facemask. When I noticed the rifle resting in the crook of one arm, I knew it wasn’t her. Cora Mae hadn’t held a weapon once in her whole life.

  I stood up and opened the door to call out, but the cobwebs were clearing and I remembered how warm it was outside. Even with the temperature beginning to drop, a facemask was overkill.

  My visitor came purposefully toward the blind. Skirting the bait pile, he raised the rifle and fired wildly at me without taking good aim. Wood splintered next to my head, and I jumped back inside, slamming the door. My hand came away from my forehead bloody. God, I’ve been hit, was my first thought, but then I took a better guess and decided the blood was the result of wood slivers. I was pretty sure I wouldn’t be standing taking inventory if I’d been hit. That wasn’t a toy rifle.

  Nobody thinks to put a lock on the inside of a deer shack, but I wished I had one now. I grabbed my shotgun just as another shot penetrated the blind. I could see where it entered next to the window and exited the blind over my head.

  Maybe Barney was wrong about me having a whole lot of living to do. He should have been able to see this coming and warned me ahead of time. Instead I was going out the same way Chester went out—quiet and quick.

  The next shot came in. I heard it at the same time I saw the hole in the wood. With a thud it took out a piece of the back of my hunting chair. My ears rang.

  The blind measured six feet by six feet, which meant the shooter was bound to hit me if he kept it up. I had three choices. I could keep dodging around inside hoping he’d run out of ammo before he clobbered me. I call it the sitting-duck plan. Or I could lie down on the f
loor where I’d be safe from the rifle shots, but then he could just walk in and finish me off. The roll-over-and-play-dead plan. Or I could try to out-fire-power him. I chose number three.

  Peeking through a porthole, I aimed in the direction I’d last seen him and emptied a pocket of shells. I heard rustling in the brush, and I grabbed another box of shells from a shelf on the wall. I fired the entire box. That’s a lot of shells. He’d gotten off a few rounds when I first started firing back, but hadn’t made a peep since.

  I listened for movement and noticed my hands were shaking. Sweat ran down the side of my cheek and I wondered where Little Donny and George were. They must have heard the shooting.

  Blood dripped into my eyes. I used my sleeve to wipe it away. The silence pounded in my ears louder than anything I’ve ever heard. My heart hammered in my head.

  I looked down at the empty boxes at my feet and knew I had only one more chance. One shell left, and I was saving it.

  I couldn’t decide if the shooter was any good or not. I know he took Chester out with one bullet right between the eyes, but he seemed to be having some trouble targeting in on me. That first wild shot he fired proved he could get overanxious and miss. He seemed to need the element of surprise, and this wasn’t a surprise anymore.

  I decided to make a run for it if my last bullet missed its mark. I glanced down at my heavy hunting boots and sighed. I remembered the deed, tucked into the chair, and felt around for it, keeping one eye trained on the window. The paper crunched against my fingers and I pulled it out. No one would ever find it in the blind, and if I died, I wanted my family to know it existed.

  It was why I might die in the next few minutes. I was certain of it.

  I stuffed it into my boot.

  Movement in the brush on the opposite side of the blind caught my eye. I swung the shotgun and sighted in, careful not to shoot wild and waste my last shell. I saw orange, then George’s voice calling, “Gert, are you okay?”

  “Careful,” I yelled. “Someone’s out there with a rifle.”

  “I think he’s gone,” George shouted.

  “I’m not so sure.”

  “I heard a car engine start down the logging road. He’s gone.”

  George was still cautious coming in. I opened the blind door and held onto the door for balance. George took my arm. “I was over by the Christmas trees and heard all the firing. What’s going on?”

  My legs, reduced to soft rubber, wouldn’t support me. “Get me out of here. I’ll tell you later.” I thought we better get out of the woods as soon as possible in case the shooter returned.

  I heard Little Donny call out and his hulking form came into view.

  After handing my gun to George, I mustered the last of my courage and managed to walk out under my own power.

  o0o

  Everyone milled around asking questions all at once. I slouched on Blaze’s couch, an ice pack pressed against my forehead, when I heard Blaze pull into the driveway, lights and siren.

  He ran for the house, forgetting to turn off the strobe lights. In the gathering dusk, they spun through the room like carnival lights.

  Mary and George moved aside to let him through. He sat down next to me and examined my forehead while I told him what had happened.

  “George went back with Carl and Little Donny and poked around,” I finished. “They found George’s missing rifle thrown down on the deer trail.”

  “Looks like whoever he is doesn’t have his own weapon,” Blaze mumbled, deep in thought. “I’m going to need that rifle, George.”

  “It’s out in my truck. I wore gloves picking it up and only handled it by the barrel. Maybe you can lift some prints.”

  “He was wearing gloves,” I said. “You’re probably wasting your time.”

  “Ma, I told you to butt out a long time ago. You almost got yourself killed.” Blaze wrote in his notebook, his fat fingers with the chewed-down nails scribbling away.

  “I’m obviously doing a better job than you are,” I answered smugly. “They aren’t vandalizing your place and shooting at you.”

  “Was it a man or a woman?” Blaze asked the same question everyone else asked and got the same reply.

  “I don’t know. At first I just assumed it was a man, but thinking back, I’m not sure. It’s possible it could have been a woman who knows how to handle a rifle.”

  “Did you notice anything unusual?”

  “Not unless you call dressing up to look like an animal during gun hunting season and firing at an innocent woman unusual.”

  Mary used tweezers to pull out shards of wood embedded in my scalp and forehead. The ice pack had done its job—I didn’t feel a thing. A piece of gauze taped across the wound, a few pain killers, and tomorrow I’d be good as new.

  Mary insisted that George and I stay for supper. We had pork chops, parsley boiled potatoes, canned beans from Mary’s garden, and for dessert we had Jell-O with little pieces of fruit in it. You would have thought after my near-death experience I wouldn’t be hungry, but I did just fine. Being almost killed works up a person’s appetite.

  After supper George drove me to my house to pick up my truck and followed me over to Cora Mae’s. Blaze argued with me over my plan, wanting me to stay with him, but I resisted, not aiming to give him any ammunition for the court hearing. I’d had enough of ammo for one night.

  Circumstances had forced me to temporarily set aside my differences with Blaze. Our meeting tonight had been strictly professional. Tomorrow I would go back to disowning him.

  Before I went to bed I put the stun gun on the battery charger.

  Chapter 12

  Word For The Day

  PROMULGATING (PRAHM uhl GAY teng) v.

  Making widespread.

  “I NEED YOU AND CORA MAE to check every gun shop between here and Escanaba.” Kitty and I sat at Cora Mae’s kitchen table early Friday morning. Cora Mae was making buttermilk pancakes from a box mix.

  Six inches of fresh, heavy snow had fallen through the night, and it was still snowing. Cora Mae and I took turns brushing the accumulation from her front steps with a broom.

  “We’re promulgating this case,” I said, in a hurry to use my word for the day and get it over with.

  “We’re what?” Cora Mae wanted to know.

  Kitty piped up before I could answer. “We’re expanding our search for the killer,” she explained.

  I shook my head. Where was she learning these words?

  Kitty didn’t seem to think anything of it. She acted like she used big words every day. I watched her suck in pancakes without chewing.

  “See what rifles are in the shops for repair,” I said. “Someone’s helping themselves to a lot of weapons, and I can’t figure out why. Maybe a name will jump out at you.”

  “We can go through the yellow pages,” Kitty said. “There can’t be too many gun repair shops.”

  “You better go to them. Maybe Cora Mae can weasel information out of them that they wouldn’t give on the phone.” I sipped my coffee and tried to ignore my head, which throbbed from yesterday’s wound. “Every hardware store repairs guns. Hit every last one of them.”

  Kitty shifted her weight. “This is serious business now. Someone tried to kill you. No more fun and games. We have to get the killer before he gets you.”

  “Let’s go over the facts one more time,” I said, flipping open my notebook. “Chester’s family wins Onni’s family land in a poker game, but Onni retains the mineral rights. Chester’s ready to sell the land to an outfit from Chicago, but is murdered before he can complete the deal. The desperate killer rips apart Chester’s house and my house and we have to assume he’s looking for the mineral rights, which suddenly I own.”

  I glanced up. “Right so far?”

  “Right,” Kitty and Cora Mae said in unison.

  “The killer, “ I continued, “steals George’s rifle and uses it to attempt to kill me. According to Onni, when Barb tried to buy the mineral rights from him, he told h
er I owned them. And finally, Bill said Barb wouldn’t let him sell the land.”

  I dropped the notebook on the table. “This is all adding up.”

  “And?” Cora Mae leaned expectantly over the table.

  “It’s obvious, Cora Mae,” I said. “Barb has a motive; she didn’t want the land sold. And she had the opportunity to steal Chester’s rifle and kill him. We have our killer. And to think I almost believed her.”

  “Killers are smooth-talkers,” Kitty said, like she really knew anything about murderers.

  While we were eating pancakes, Little Donny walked in dressed in hunter’s orange. He settled at the table and Cora Mae slapped a stack of pancakes on his plate.

  “Blaze is driving me to the airport this afternoon,” he said through a mouthful. “I’m heading back to Milwaukee.”

  “I’m sure going to miss you,” I said to Little Donny. “It’s been great fun, even if you didn’t get your buck. Plan on coming next September for bear season. That’s always a good time.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Little Donny said, butter dripping from his chin.

  The phone rang and Cora Mae picked it up. Listening to her one-sided conversation, I knew she was talking to Blaze.

  “A robber? Impossible… Me?… Well, it’s my word against hers and I say I didn’t do it… Can’t two people own the same dress? Hers wasn’t the only one made, you know.”

  Cora Mae had her free hand on her hip and rolled her eyes for our benefit. “Kitty’s license plate number on the getaway car? You’ll have to talk to her about that.” She listened again then covered the receiver and said to me, “Blaze wants to talk to you.”

  “I’m not here.”

  “She’s not here,” Cora Mae said into the phone and hung up.

  Little Donny stayed until the box of pancake mix was empty then gave goodbye hugs all around.

  I slipped on my boots and jacket, and walked with him to Blaze’s Buick. “Maybe you can come for Christmas. Tell Heather to come, too.”

  “Depends on whether or not I have a job.”