Murder Passes the Buck (8 page)

for me with Grandma Johnson, who spends all her spare time dreaming up nasty comments to try out on me.

“
Will you have time to fix the hole in my barn before they come over?
”
I asked.

George laughed and shook his head.
“
No. I
’
ll stop by and take another look at it, but it
’
s going to take a couple of days.
”

“
I have one more little favor to ask.
”
I began to explain why I left the truck at the end of the drive. What I like most about George is that he isn
’
t judgmental. He accepts everyone for what they are and doesn
’
t make me feel foolish.

He helped me pull the truck out of the ditch, then followed me home to look at the repair job.

We were standing in the driveway when Little Donny pulled up next to us driving a blue Ford station wagon. I recognized it. Carl Anderson bought it two weeks ago and had been showing it off to everyone.

Little Donny rolled the window down, and you could tell he thought he had bagged Big Buck, our legendary eighteen-pointer.
“
Look what I shot over at Carl
’
s place.
”

George walked around and looked in the window. I followed. In the back of the wagon, on a wad of black plastic garbage

bags, lay a little spike-horned deer.

“
A little guy,
”
George said.

“
What? He
’
s a good size, isn
’
t he, Granny?
”

“
I can still see the spots on him,
”
I said to Little Donny.

Little Donny turned around in the driver
’
s seat to take a look, and at that exact moment the little spike lifted its head and stared back at astonished Little Donny. You could see that Little Donny would like to have opened the door and beat it out of there, but with George and me looking on, he had to make a stand.

The deer and Little Donny leapt into action together. The deer started pounding on the windows with his hooves. Little Donny flew out of the front seat, opened the back door, and dove in. He grabbed the little buck by the horns and held on.

“
Go git him,
”
George said, and closed the car door behind Donny. I wasn
’
t sure which one of them George was talking to, and I couldn
’
t imagine what Little Donny was trying to do.

The deer
’
s horns were making an awful mess of Carl
’
s brand new station wagon.

“
You call it,
”
George said to me as we stood, watching.

“
The little spike. My money
’
s on the little spike.
”

“
Sure win,
”
George said, then to Little Donny,
“
Watch the horns, they
’
re wicked.
”

When Little Donny
’
s nose started gushing blood, I decided it was time for action. I couldn
’
t send him home to Heather gored by a deer. I dug the stun gun out of my purse, jerked the car door open, aimed at the spike, and zapped.

I could smell that new car smell and something else. I sniffed. Something like burnt wires.

Little Donny let go of the horns. His head hit the car window with a thud like a bird flying into a window. He started twitching.

George opened the back hatch and the deer uncurled itself from the wagon and zigzagged with flying leaps out to the woods.

We helped Little Donny into the house when he could finally stand up. His hair sprung from his head like he
’
d been hit by a bolt of lightning, and he couldn
’
t talk without slobbering.

The good thing is, now I know it really works.

“
Next time you shoot at a deer,
”
I advised him,
“
make sure it
’
s dead before you load it in your car.
”

****

Little Donny sat on the couch, his hair every which way, when the family began arriving. He still couldn
’
t talk, and his eyes were unfocused. George had said a hasty goodbye after making sure Little Donny didn
’
t need medical attention.

Star drove over on her ex-husband
’
s ATV, wearing a fake fur jacket she had dyed orange for hunting season, a pair of muk-luks, and a sassy orange and blue feather hat. Star, my baby, had turned forty-one in September, which she took hard at the time. She obviously is bouncing back. Petite, like me, she looked real spiffy in her new jacket.

She carried in a bowl of creamed rutabaga, set it on the table, and hung her jacket on the coat rack by the front door. By then, I saw Blaze and Mary drive in.

I wouldn
’
t say it out loud, but Mary
’
s the mousiest, plainest-minded woman I
’
ve ever met. You could meet her ten times in a week and never remember her from one time to the next. She named her daughters after her
— Mary Jane and Mary Elizabeth — and they
’
re both just as drab.

“
Can I help?
”
Mary asked after she hung up her coat.

“
I
’
ll let you know in a little while if I need help. Right now you just have a seat in the living room and make yourself comfortable while I pound these steaks.
”

I picked up a hammer and began thumping the meat. Most people, unless they
’
re old timers or are trained by the old timers, don
’
t know how to cook good venison. A steak, in particular, is tricky. First you have to pound it with a hammer on both sides until it has holes clear through it like Swiss cheese. Then salt and pepper it all over, and quick fry it in butter. The butter
’
s important. If you use oil you
’
ll ruin it. Afterwards the cook gets to sop up the pan drippings with a piece of bread.

I consider myself a pretty good cook.

“
What
’
s wrong with Little Donny?
”
Star called to me.

“
Nothing
’
s wrong with Little Donny,
”
I said.

“
His eyes are twitching and he won
’
t say anything.
”

“
He
’
s tired. He had a hard day hunting and all.
”
Maybe I should have laid Little Donny out on the couch, closed his eyes, and said he was sleeping. Leaving him propped up was a mistake.
“
I
’
m going to start frying the steaks. Tell Blaze to mosey over and pick up Grandma Johnson.
”

As we were putting the food on the table, Blaze arrived with his grandmother in tow. We grabbed our seats and dug right in.

“
Why don
’
t anybody ever pick me up till the food
’
s on the table?
”
Grandma Johnson wanted to know.
“
I like to visit too, and I know all a you was here ahead a time.
”

We concentrated hard on our meal, pretending like we hadn
’
t heard.

“
And what did you go and do to your hair? Every time I see you, you
’
ve done something foolish to yourself.
”

My mother-in-law is ninety-two and doesn
’
t appear to be running down. She still keeps her own house, with everyone taking turns stopping in and helping out. If you ask her the secret to living a long life she
’
ll tell you it
’
s what you eat
— lots of vegetables and suck candy. You know, she
’
ll say, that hard stuff like anise and butterscotch.

But I think she stays young taking potshots at me.

“
Come and eat,
”
I called to Little Donny.
“
Won
’
t be anything left if you don
’
t hurry up.

“
Noth righth now,
”
Little Donny said.

“
I
’
ll make you a plate for later.
”

“
Place is going to pot,
”
Grandma Johnson said, swinging her head around like that possessed girl in the
Exorcist.
“
I bet Barney

is turning in his grave over the looks of this place. Did you see the hole in the side of the barn, Blaze?
”

Blaze doesn
’
t like to be interrupted while he
’
s eating, but Grandma Johnson
’
s hard to ignore when she
’
s right in your face. His mouth was stuffed with red potatoes.

I briefly thought about confronting Blaze about the court papers right at the dinner table, right in front of the entire family. But I wasn
’
t sure they
’
d side with me, especially Grandma Johnson.

“
First thing tomorrow I want you to fix that hole for your ma,
”
she continued.

“
Yes, Grandma,
”
Blaze said through his mouthful, glancing at me. I gave him a cold smile.

“
I hear you
’
re helping on one of the cases,
”
Mary said to me.

“
Not anymore,
”
Blaze said.

“
This apple pie is pretty good, considerin
’
how bad your baking usually is,
”
Grandma Johnson said.
“
I used to feel so sorry for Barney, havin
’
to eat what you baked.
”

A piece of apple pie with whipped cream topping called to me from the table. I wanted to smear it in Grandma Johnson
’
s face. Picking up the plate, the urge became stronger and stronger, but Mary must have read my mind because she softly called my

name. When I looked over, our eyes met, and she shook her head. Okay. When Grandma Johnson leaves maybe I
’
ll zap her with the stun gun instead. I set the plate down.

“
I love the pie,
”
Mary said.
“
The crust is just right.
”
She took another bite and hummed. Humming during a meal is a family tradition. If a meal is just right, the whole family takes turns humming. Except of course Grandma Johnson, who never hummed a note in her whole life.
“
Blaze said he had the rifle shell you found out at Chester
’
s hunting shack tested. Isn
’
t that right, Honey?
”

Blaze leaned back in his chair and glared at his wife. Apparently he didn
’
t want me to know how the case was progressing.

“
Well?
”
I asked.

“
Well nothing. There weren
’
t any prints on the shell.
”

“
The next step is to figure out what gun it was fired from.
”
Though I was disappointed, I was still trying to be helpful in case Blaze didn
’
t know the next step.

“
Already did that. It was fired from Chester
’
s own rifle, Ma. Nothing suspicious about it at all. Chester was probably target practicing before hunting season. That shell could have been laying there for awhile.
”