Murder Passes the Buck (17 page)

wanted to know.

“
Same person who broke into Chester
’
s,
”
I said, making a conscious effort to keep my eyes on the road rather than on Kitty
’
s food fest.
“
Wipe your mouth, Cora Mae. You have sugar everywhere.
”

“
But to slash your furniture and break up things,
”
Kitty continued.
“
It
’
s a warning. Someone
’
s scared or worried.
”

My take on the situation exactly.

At the Register of Deeds I had to drive around the block six times before I found an easy place to park. I figure I
’
m not ready for parallel parking between cars.

Cora Mae swiped powdered sugar from her lap as Kitty headed for the door. I made a feeble attempt to brush the excess from my truck seats.

“
No more eating powdered doughnuts in my truck,
”
I called to Kitty
’
s disappearing back, and had to hurry to catch up.

“
Howdy.
”
A large, round-faced woman worked a mouth full of gum.
“
What you need?
”

“
I
’
m representing Chester Lampi
’
s family,
”
I said, business-like.
“
He
’
s dead, and I need to look at his property records. For the family. These are my associates.
”

“
Records are public property. Anyone can look through
‘
em,
”
she chomped.
“
We ain
’
t

computerized though. There
’
s the books.
”
She waved at a room full of blue bindings.
“
Help yourself.
”

It took a while to figure out the filing system, property listings in one section, deeds in another.

“
Looky this,
”
Cora Mae shrilled over my shoulder.
“
This says Onni Maki owns one lousy acre. I didn
’
t think that was possible in Stonely. I
’
m sure he said he owned a ton of land. This can
’
t be right.
”

I looked it over.
“
One acre
’
s what he
’
s got.
”

“
One miserable acre.
”
Cora Mae was obviously disappointed. If she was expecting a hot date
and
wealth she was looking in the wrong town.

“
No wonder he
’
s taking Viagra,
”
she said.
“
Doesn
’
t have anything else going for him.
”

“
Who owns all the woods next to him?
”
Kitty said from a chair across the table.

“
Don
’
t know.
”
I scanned the printout, surprised at what I saw.
“
It appears that Chester Lampi owns, or owned, the woods.
”

“
No, Chester
’
s place is at least five miles from Onni
’
s.
”

Getting used to the columns of numbers, I cross-referenced several pages, wrote down a few numbers and added them up. Then walked over to Bubble Gum.

“
Could you come and check my numbers,
”
I said.
“
I must have made a mistake. I need you to tell me.
”

Cora Mae slumped in her chair as if her ship had just come in and it was filled with cow manure. Bubbles sighed heavily, like I
’
d interrupted something way more important than this. She got up slowly, walked over to the files, and studied the page. Looking at my chicken scratches, she said,
“
Nope, you didn
’
t make a mistake. That
’
s right.
”

“
You
’
re telling me that Chester Lampi owned four hundred acres of land around Stonely? And we didn
’
t know about most of it?
”

“
Yeah,
”
said Bubbles,
“
but they ain
’
t connected. See, eighty
’
s right here.
”
She pointed to a map on the page.

“
That
’
s the two forties he lives on,
”
I pointed out to Cora Mae, who was regaining interest.

“
And three hundred and twenty is over here,
”
Bubbles finished.

“
Next to Onni.
”
I was talking to myself out loud.
“
He sure owned a lot of land; a regular land baron.
”

I mulled over this new information, feeling it was connected somehow. This wasn
’
t exactly prime real estate property on the

outskirts of Chicago. It was in God-forsaken country where you can get a lot of land for your buck. Even though four hundred acres is a lot of acres, it shouldn
’
t be worth killing over. I couldn
’
t see Chester
’
s son, or anyone else for that matter, killing him for his land.

Which led me to new questions. Why didn
’
t Bill live on some of this land? Instead he lived on a small patch of his own. I checked the records. Bill Lampi owned the property and house we visited. Forty acres to be exact, and he
’
d owned it for seven years.

“
What
’
s this part of the deed mean?
”
I asked Bubbles, who was having a bubble-blowing contest with Cora Mae. Cora Mae
’
s Juicy Fruit lost the contest.

Bubbles popped the winning bubble across her face, sucked it in, and studied the document.
“
Title
’
s not free and clear. Mineral rights are owned by someone else.
”

“
Who owns them?
”

“
You have to look in that other book.
”

I opened another thick binder and paged through.
“
I need help. I can
’
t find it.
”

Bubbles sighed heavily and found the page for me.
“
Onni Maki owns the mineral rights to Chester
’
s land,
”
I muttered out loud.

Kitty leaned over the table.
“
That
’
s odd. Chester owns the land and Onni owns the

mineral rights? How did that happen?
”

“
I
’
d like to know that, too,
”
I said.
“
Cora Mae, your date with Onni
’
s tomorrow. You have to pump him for information.
”

Cora Mae groaned.
“
I
’
m not interested in Onni anymore.
”

“
It
’
s not all rich rewards,
”
I said to both of them.
“
Being an investigator means making sacrifices.
”

We finished up and I teetered across the street to an army surplus store, my associates, even hefty Kitty, outpacing me. Cora Mae
’
s teensy boots were killing my feet.

Glass cases framed the service desk and held the goodies we needed. A young boy with a large red pimple on the end of his nose and a mouth full of metal braces stood at the case.

“
I
’
d like to look at those handcuffs,
”
Cora Mae said to him, pointing.

“
What do we need handcuffs for?
”
I said.

“
I
’
m just looking. Can
’
t I look?
”
Cora Mae ran her fingers along the handcuffs like she was stroking a man
’
s hairy chest.
“
I didn
’
t know you could buy handcuffs.
”

“
We
’
ll take three pepper sprays,
”
I said to the clerk,
“
and where are your stun guns? Cora Mae, you need a stun gun. You, too, Kitty.
”

“
Don
’
t carry stun guns,
”
the clerk said.

“
Why not?
”

“
Illegal.
”

“
Oh,
”
I said, clutching my stun gun-loaded purse tight against my body.
“
Three of those whistles on a rope.
”

He rang our order up and put our purchases in a bag.

“
You can throw these in, too,
”
Cora Mae said, handing him the handcuffs.
“
Never know when you
’
ll need a pair.
”

On the way out of town, I spotted a sporting goods store and we stopped in for ammo. I bought more buckshot and a few slugs, then spotted a fly-fishing vest with all kinds of little pockets, and bought that, too. When we got back to the truck, I took off Cora Mae
’
s plaid coat and put on the vest. Then I filled the pockets with ammo and the pepper spray, and put the rope with the whistle around my neck. With Cora Mae
’
s coat back on, you couldn
’
t tell that I was a walking arsenal.

I dropped Cora Mae at her house, but couldn
’
t get rid of Kitty. She stuck like a spider on duct tape.

“
How can I protect you if I
’
m not with you,
”
she reasoned.

I had to figure out a way to ditch her soon.

We drove over to check out the damage to my home. Blaze
’
s
sheriffs
truck was parked in my driveway. I parked behind his truck and walked around it.

Kitty whistled.
“
What happened to his truck?
”

In the light of day the paint job didn
’
t look as good as it had in the barn. That
’
s the trouble with working without natural sunlight. I should have pulled the truck out into the sun instead of spraying it inside. I noticed that I had sprayed too much in some areas and the paint had dripped down the side of the truck. The rust spots were a
d
eep yellow, the color of a pumpkin just starting to ripen, while the rest of the truck was canary yellow.

The whole thing reminded me of an overused paint rag. I wasn
’
t about to mention it to Blaze in case he hadn
’
t noticed. He isn
’
t very observant. Maybe a darker yellow paint would fix it right. When I found time away from my investigation work, I
’
d have to work on it.

Once this court stuff was dropped.

The damage inside my house looked worse in the light of day, too. I stood in the doorway wondering how it could ever be cleaned up when Blaze came around from the back of the house.