by P. B. Ryan
“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.
o0o
“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.
o0o
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.”
o0o
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 hunting 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 f
ive 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 big,” 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.
o0o
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.
