Murder Passes the Buck (34 page)

“
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 restroom, 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 five 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, some 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 bigger than we are,
”
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.

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 wouldn
’
t have hurt much 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.

While Cora Mae gossiped with a few rummage sale stragglers, I checked my supplies
— the recharged stun gun in my purse, my weapon vest under my jacket, loaded with extra ammo for my shotgun, the pepper spray, and a Swiss army knife I had found last week in Barney
’
s dresser drawer. Sifting through Kitty
’
s front hall closet, I filled my arms with things I might need if I ended up outside on a surveillance mission — a face-mask, hand warmers, and a fire starter. I wanted to take a flashlight but couldn
’
t find one, settling instead on the red-handled fire starter next to the wood-burning furnace.

It
had a trigger like a gun, and when I pulled it, a large steady flame shot out the end. I stuffed it in my pocket.

I drove away from the warmth and comfort of my friends, wishing for the first time in a long time that I had some company next to me. But Cora Mae had to stay at the sale and Kitty was nowhere to be found. Even the scrawny deputy kid would be welcome if I could locate him.

Being a private detective is lonely work.

Dusk settled in as I pulled out onto the road. Winter dusk looks like an enormous rain cloud creeping in, and it comes early in the U.P. By four-thirty we start turning on our lights to get ready for another long night. I checked my watch again - - almost five o
’
clock.

My plan was to drive over to Onni
’
s house and convince him that George and Barb were trying to kill both of us. Once he believed me, maybe between the two of us we could work this out and devise a plan to stop them. Onni must have information that could help us.

At the four-way stop in the center of Stonely, I heard a horn blaring behind me and I saw Kitty
’
s cousin fold out of his purple car and strut up to my window, a

cigarette between his lips.

“
Kitty
’
s missing,
”
he said, talking around the lit cigarette.

“
No, she
’
s not. I saw her a few hours ago. She said she had some checking to do.
”

“
She
’
s missing.
”
He inhaled deeply and blew recycled smoke at me.

I waved it away.
“
How would you know? You didn
’
t even check for her at her house because I just left there and I didn
’
t see you.
”

“
I got worried when she didn
’
t call. We have a deal. Ever since she took the bodyguard job we check in with each other twice a day. She missed her check-in this afternoon. I stopped at her house a few minutes ago. No Kitty.
”

“
She
’
s fine,
”
I reassured him. Cars were slowly driving around us.
“
I
’
m kind of in a hurry. If I see her, I
’
ll tell her to call you.
”

“
She
’
s supposed to be guarding you. Why isn
’
t she?
”

Up ahead, I saw George pull up to the stop sign from the opposite direction and I watched him drive past us. Craning my head out the window I saw his brake lights go on and he began turning around in the road.
“
Gotta go,
”
I said, and pulled away quickly.

Another horn blared behind me and George
’
s truck appeared in my rearview

mirror, gaining fast. He flicked his headlights on and off to get my attention and I hit the accelerator and roared away. He stayed with me for a while then began to fall back and eventually his lights disappeared.

When I was sure I
’
d safely lost George, I turned onto Onni
’
s road, the back truck tires sliding on the road ice. I could see large patches of ice puddled across the road.

Gunning the engine, I hoped to get past the ice quick, but the truck spun out of control. The steering wheel felt like a stripped plumbing washer; it just went slack and stopped working. I tromped on the brake and that too felt disconnected from the truck. Everything went sloppy loose and there wasn
’
t anything I could do but spin the steering wheel like a ride on a bumper car and watch the sights as they spun by.

The truck did a complete circle, then lurched toward a deep ditch, rolled over, and settled sideways in a broken patch of ditch ice.

I wasn
’
t feeling too good. I hit my head on the top of the truck when it rolled, and I could feel a knot the size of an apple beginning to swell over my eye. I slowly moved my legs and arms and felt my ribs. Everything seemed in working order, so I reached

up and forced the passenger side door open since my door was down on the ice. After climbing out, I packed snow on the top of my head to slow the swelling.

My head seemed to be taking quite a beating lately
— wood splinters from the sniper attack, a nosedive into the icy-covered snow, and now this.

I moaned.

Movement took a ton of strength, and I wondered why I felt so heavy and burdened since none of my bones were broken. Then I remembered the loaded weapon vest. I thought about taking it off but didn
’
t have the energy.

For a brief moment I wished I had listened to Blaze and worn my seatbelt. He
’
s always preaching about seatbelts, but I come from the old days when we tucked them down deep in the seat cushions to keep them out of the way. Nobody actually wore them.

I crawled up the embankment and sat on the side of the road, assessing my situation. The temperature was dropping quickly. I guessed it must be about ten below, with the wind chill maybe thirty below. Ice crusted on my eyelashes and my hands felt cold and stiff. I couldn
’
t remember where my hat and gloves were. I crawled back down into the truck and found my hunting

hat, but didn
’
t see my gloves, the facemask, or my purse. I crammed the hat on, flipped the earflaps down, and quickly shoved my hands into my coat pockets. I felt the fire starter deep in my pocket and thought I could warm my hands with it if worse came to worst.

Looking both ways down the road, I decided to head back to the main road, which was about a half-mile away. Onni
’
s house was at least a mile in the opposite direction, and I didn
’
t think I had the strength to make it that far. Feeling disoriented, I trudged down the road at a snail
’
s pace.

Out of the twilight, I saw lights coming toward me. I squinted, hoping to recognize the driver and hoping it wasn
’
t George. Wouldn
’
t that be an awful end to the day? Wouldn
’
t that be an awful end to my life?

I crept off the road, attempting to hide myself behind a telephone pole until I was sure it wasn
’
t George. When I was sure it wasn
’
t a truck, I bolted back into the road and waved frantically.

The car slowed and stopped and Floyd opened the door.
“
Good God, Gertie. What are you doing out in this weather? You
’
ll freeze to death.
”

“
I need help,
”
I said, walking up.
“
My