Murder Passes the Buck (29 page)

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.

He 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 floor where I
’
d be safe from the rifle, 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.

Just because I
’
m getting old doesn
’
t mean I
’
m ready to lie down and call it quits.

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 shook. 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 on 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.

Everyone milled around asking questions all at once. I was 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.

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.