Murder Talks Turkey Read online

  “What are friends for?” she had replied, looking a trifle confused.

  I turned onto Ludington Street, parked the truck, and swung through the hospital’s revolving door. The gift shop was still open, so I purchased a small display of flowers, asked for Angie Gates’ room number, and took the elevator up.

  She was asleep. I cleared my throat loud enough to wake her up and placed the flowers on her bed stand, busying myself with the arrangement while she blinked away the sandman.

  “You were at the credit union this morning,” Angie said, her voice gravely. She scooted up into a sitting position, grimacing with pain and gingerly touching her head. “Thanks for the flowers.”

  Angie Gates was a hard-baked thirty or thirty-five years old. Although she was pretty enough, she’d smoked and partied too much, and it showed. I’ve seen that a lot, people adrift, waiting out their time on earth to pass, trying to rush the end.

  “How are you doing?” I asked. “That was quite a clonk to your head.”

  “Concussion,” she said. “I’m quitting that job the minute I’m released.”

  “Tough break. We never had a robbery before.”

  “I didn’t like the work much anyway. I’m going back to waitressing. I can make more in tips in one day than I can all week counting out money that isn’t mine.”

  “I wish you’d reconsider. Give it another chance.” I felt bad for the woman.

  A nurse came in and fussed over Angie, taking her blood pressure and temperature and checking the IV. When she left the room, I said, “The robber’s name was Kent Miller.”

  “Never heard of him, but I’ve only been in the U.P. about a year.”

  “He was from the Soo. No one around here knew him. The pillowcase was full of Monopoly money.”

  “I heard.”

  “What do you make of that?”

  Angie shrugged. “Someone was trying to cover up something.”

  “A cover up?” I hadn’t thought of that.

  “Sure. I saw it on TV. The money’s already gone due to an inside job, and the pressure’s on to account for it, so the real thief plans a robbery that isn’t really a robbery. In the television show, the fake robber got away.”

  I thought over Angie’s theory and decided it had merit. If she ever wanted to work for manicures instead of money, I’d hire her in a minute.

  “Who’d do a thing like that?” I asked. The credit union staff had been entrenched in Tamarack County forever. Except Angie. But she had sounded the alarm. Aside from Dave Nenonen, who managed the business, the only other employees besides Angie were two part-timers-Dave’s wife and June Hopala. June worked to supplement her social security. Both the Nenonens and the Hopalas went way back.

  Angie must have thought my question was rhetorical, because she didn’t answer. Rhetorical was my word for tomorrow. I was one step ahead of myself, and I felt proud that I was doing my thinking in higher language.

  “I heard you saved the day,” I said.

  “I should get a medal for bravery,” she said, somewhat sarcastically. “Fat lot of good it did me. All I have to show for my effort is a big knot on my head and a huge hospital bill.”

  “The credit union should pay your bills.”

  She snorted like she didn’t believe it.

  I drove home from the hospital with the pretend robbery theory rifling through my thoughts. But the credit union robbery wasn’t even my problem. Let Dickey figure it out. Tomorrow I would be on a surveillance run, tailing Tony Lento. The Trouble Busters had to bust this guy and prove our worth, if we wanted to stay in business.

  Chapter 5

  Word For The Day

  RHETORICAL (ri ‘tor i KL) n.

  A question to which no answer is expected.

  Alternate Word

  Ereption (E rep tion) n.

  Snatching away

  I POSITIONED MYSELF OUT OF range, behind a large maple tree. The rules of safe turkey hunting were like the facts of life to me. Stay one hundred yards away from another hunter, don’t use a gobbler call unless you want hunters to show up instead of turkeys, and never wear red, white, or blue clothes. Those are the primary colors of a gobbler’s head. Save the patriotic garb for the Fourth of July parade or you won’t be home for supper.

  The American wild turkey is the most difficult game in North America to hunt. That’s according to the Michigan DNR’s hunting guide. Turkeys have eyes, ears, and a sense of awareness that is ten times faster and better than anything we have.

  And, believe it or not, they really can fly. How else would they dodge night predators? They roost in trees in great big extended-family flocks. Depending on the time of year, turkeys congregate in hen flocks, bachelor flocks, and mating flocks.

  Turkey season was in high gear, but I hadn’t heard one shot yet this morning. The turkeys must be holed up safe and sound, busy watching the calendar for the end of hunting season.

  I chose a tree with a substantial trunk to hide every last part of my body from view. I wore camo, so I blended in, and thick gloves and boots because our April mornings can be a “mite” chilly. The outdoor thermometer registered a brisk thirty-six degrees when I left home, creeping out undetected. Kitty never missed a snore from the couch, and Grandma and Blaze were still bedded down.

  Tony Lento should be arriving any minute.

  I could see my breath in the cold air, so I covered my mouth with my glove when I peeked out to watch Tony’s spot. Lyla had walked me out here when she hired the Trouble Busters and assured me that Tony would be behind bales of straw some hundred yards away from the tree I hid behind. He hunted every morning, she’d said, like clockwork.

  My job was to find out what species he was hunting.

  Lyla had sworn me to secrecy. A private investigator has to be discrete. We wouldn’t stay in business long if our clients couldn’t trust us. So the rule was, no telling anyone outside of the three partners. No telling now and no telling later. While I waited, I worried about Kitty’s blabbermouth. Our lips were supposed to be sealed till our deaths, and if Kitty couldn’t keep it reined in, she’d make a quick departure from this world.

  Which is what I promised her, if she whispered one word about our client to anyone.

  There isn’t a turkey flock in the U.P. as large as Kitty’s hen flock. She’s the queen hen because she knows more good gossip than anyone else in Tamarack County.

  Kitty rules her roost of biddies from a formidable physique. She wears a bunch of pincurls in her gray hair, rarely combing them out, and she’s built like a semi. That’s why she makes the perfect bodyguard when I get into trouble, or when I need her to watch over my kooky family.

  A branch snapped to my left, and I almost let out a yelp. Good thing I was nearly frozen to death, or I might have screeched. Another branch broke. Leaves shuffled under someone’s heavy boots. Any turkey worth half his salt was in the next county by now.

  I cautiously eased one eye out from behind the tree to get a good look at Tony’s makeshift turkey blind.

  A mean, snarky, green-uniformed creep named Rolly Akkala glared back at me from the straw bales.

  “What the hell are you doing behind that tree,” the local game warden asked. “Why aren’t you in your own blind? Come out here. Lord, I hate this job. You nearly scared me to death.”

  His demise would make all of Stonely happy enough to throw a party at Herb’s Bar. A Rolly Akkala’s Bit the Dust party would draw more revelers than a Packers versus Lions football game.

  I popped out from behind the maple. My cover was blown, thanks to the warden. Rolly walked toward me. He had tree-stump legs, a barrel chest, and a jaw like a bulldog.

  “Cough it up,” he said, holding out his hand.

  “What?”

  “Turkey license.” He snapped his fingers two times then extended his hand, palm up. “Let’s see it.”

  “I don’t have a license,” I said. “I’m not hunting.”

  I was hunting all right but not for the fe
athered kind of turkey.

  Rolly rolled his eyes. “I’ve heard that one before.”

  “I’m really not.” I spread my arms wide. “Do you see a gun?”

  “Just in case you get any ideas, I’ve got one right here on my side,” Our warden said, tapping his holster. “Good thing, too, with the likes of you hunting illegally.” He walked around the maple tree, parting brush with his foot. “Your weapon’s around here someplace. Put your hands up against the tree and no monkey business.”

  Just then Tony Lento walked into our friendly gathering. “What’s going on?” he said. Tony carried a shotgun under his arm and his standard I’m-a-great-guy grin.

  “I don’t need to look at yours, Mr. Lento. I’m sure you’re within the law.”

  “Well, Rolly,” Tony said. “I have it right here. Take a look anyway.” He held out his turkey hunting license. “Everybody should be treated the same. Hello, Gertie.”

  “Hi, Tony.”

  “Didn’t I tell you to put your hands up against that tree?” Rolly said to me. “Help me search the ground for her weapon, Mr. Lento, and shoot her if she moves.”

  By the time the surrounding woods and my physical person had been thoroughly searched by the warden, half the day was gone.

  Not only that, Tony had given up on getting a good shot after the brouhaha with Rolly. He’d chucked it in for the rest of today, leaving me hugging the tree, unable to follow after him.

  Someday, someone is going to clean that warden’s clock.

  After Rolly satisfied himself that I wasn’t armed, I traipsed out of the backwoods-cold, hungry, and having lost my man.

  ____________________

  Grandma Johnson sat at the kitchen table having coffee with her friend Pearl, who claimed she had saved us at the credit union by whacking the robber with her purse to give the rescuers a clear shot. She was experiencing a bit of fame among the old age set and she wasn’t about to miss out on the glory.

  Fred had been banished to the great outdoors. He and Grandma don’t see eye to eye, which is all the more reason for me to like my dog. He came inside with me, all ten tons of black hair and red eyes. Pearl squealed. So did Grandma. “Get that thing outta the house,” she said.

  “Where’s Kitty?” I swung my head. Fred plopped down by the door, ready to bolt if Grandma grabbed the fly swatter. “And where’s Blaze?”

  “That lippy friend of yours took Blaze along to the sheriff’s station.” Grandma clacked her false teeth in agitation. “Don’t send her over to babysit me no more.”

  “She wasn’t here to take care of you,” I said. “She was here to make Blaze comfortable.” Who would want to keep this old battle axe safe from harm? If she tried to stick her fingernail file into a light socket, I wouldn’t say a word to stop her.

  Pearl piped up, “Blaze said they stole the money.”

  “Blaze has a few mental problems,” I said.

  “Says who?” Grandma asked, staring at me with eyes beadier than Fred’s.

  “Says the doctors. He thinks he has millions stashed away, and thieves are after it.”

  “He told me about that,” Pearl said. “Such a shame. But this is different money. This news came from one of the deputies.”

  “Never did like that Dickey Snell,” Grandma said, stating the only fact we’ve ever agreed on. “Gertie’s going to drive us over to Trenary for bingo tonight. Now that she has her driver’s license.”

  “That’s an easy one to get,” Pearl said.

  “Took her long enough,” Grandma said.

  I haven’t informed my mother-in-law of my status, because she doesn’t need to know everything about my personal life. After enough crabbing and threatening from Blaze, I went to Escanaba and passed my written test. I’m official now. Except, I’m supposed to have a fully licensed driver in the car with me at all times. The rules they make! I have a temporary license for six months, then I get the real one.

  “What did Dickey say?” I asked, still wondering about Kitty and Blaze. Kitty knew better than to take Blaze down to the sheriff’s office. But what if something important was happening?

  “The money’s missing,” Pearl said again. “It’s gone.”

  “Serves Blaze right,” Grandma said, picking up her cup from a pool of spilled coffee and taking a drink.

  “I’m not talking about Blaze’s hidden fortune,” Pearl said, slurping coffee between words. “By the way, I hope Blaze is right. A millionaire! In Stonely! Imagine that. But I’m trying to tell you the credit union money is what’s missing.”

  “That’s impossible,” I said. “There was only one robber and he had a pillow case filled with play money.”

  “And he had my hard earned cash,” Pearl said. “Don’t forget that. It’s why I clocked him with my purse.” Pearl did a swinging motion, a re-enactment of events before continuing. “A hundred thousand. That’s what Deputy Snell said. All missing.”

  “Serves ‘em all right,” Grandma said.

  “Come on, Fred.” I grabbed Fred’s leash from a hook by the door and hurried out with him at my side.

  Something had happened, and I was missing it.

  Chapter 6

  “LET HER OUT,” DICKEY WAS saying to Blaze when I slipped into the sheriff’s office. Fred howled from the truck, which is what he always does when I leave him behind. He sounded like an entire wolf pack.

  Kitty, pin curls and all, sat on a cot behind the jail bars. “Why did you him lock you up?” I wanted to know.

  “It seemed easier than fist fighting with him,” she replied. “I planned on defending myself only if he got out a rope and started making a noose.”

  “Release her this moment.” Dickey was puffing up like a Tom turkey.

  Blaze jiggled the keys and leaned back in the sheriff’s chair. “She broke the speed limit on the way over. Probably broke the speed of sound, if that’s possible. She’s a menace to society, and she’s staying locked up until traffic court convenes.”

  Sounded good to me. Kitty liked to blow through town like a tornedo, taking corners on two wheels, and practicing other tomfoolery usually reserved for delinquent teenagers. I gripped the bars and pressed my face against the cold steel. “Anything rhetorical to say about your situation?” I said to her, using my word for the day.

  “We need an ereption of those keys,” Kitty said, using hers. Badly, I might add.

  “You quit that foul talk,” Blaze shouted. “Or I’ll keep you locked up for the rest of the week. I’ll throw away the key.”

  I grinned. “Could you repeat that, Kitty? I didn’t quite hear you.”

  Kitty swung her eyes at Blaze, then whispered, “Get me out of here. Please.”

  “In a minute,” I said, turning to Dickey. “I heard money is missing from the credit union.”

  Our stand-in sheriff nodded his head. “A significant amount of money has been taken.”

  “How do you account for that? The robber was stopped dead in his tracks.”

  “An accomplice.”

  “The guy was in the bank alone.”

  “An inside job.”

  Dickey Snell had figured that out on his own. Amazing. College boys are known for big words, not common sense. Blaze must have helped him with that deduction.

  The howling outside subsided somewhat.

  “The next time I find Blaze inside this facility,” Dickey said. “I’m putting him behind bars for trespassing.”

  “You do that,” I replied, looking tough, “and you have me to answer to.”

  Dickey snorted.

  “Remember me,” Kitty called from behind bars. “I have to go, you know, and I’m not using this open-

  “Okay,” I said. “Blaze, give me the keys and I’ll watch her. You have to check out your house.”

  “Why do I have to do that?”

  “You know why.” I made the universal money sign by rubbing my thumb across my fingers to remind him of his hidden millions. “You have to make sure it’s all accounted
for. I’ll drive you over.”

  Blaze caught my drift and bolted for the door, tossing the keys at me. I hated to see the look of concern on his face, but short of wrestling him to the ground, it was the only way.

  Before I let Kitty out, I made her say ereption six times as fast as she could. “That was for doing such a poor job of watching my son,” I said.

  “This is your last official warning,” Dickey said. “Keep him home.”

  ***

  Hunting seasons always remind me of my Milwaukee grandson, Little Donny, because he usually comes for every one of them. He loves the wildness of our land and he fits in well with the people here, even though he’s had some unusual experiences and hasn’t managed to shoot anything.

  One time, Little Donny stunned a buck and loaded him in Carl’s station wagon. Then the buck woke up. What a mess that made of Carl’s wagon before we got the car door open and let the deer run off.

  Nineteen-year-old Little Donny has a new job in Milwaukee so he can’t get time off to turkey hunt this year. I really miss him.

  I named my kids for the horses I never had, but always dreamed of having. Blaze, Star, and Heather. The girls like their names, but Blaze has a little residual resentment over his. Heather lives in Milwaukee and Star lives just down our road behind me. She’s my youngest and has twin boys, Red and Ed, who own Herb’s Bar, the only watering hole in Stonely.

  I’d promised Kitty a reprieve from her daycare duties, and I knew just what to do to accomplish my mission without compromising my sleuthing schedule. I walked into the tavern, noting that the four o’clock crowd had arrived ahead of me. The bar went dead silent when I stepped in, but conversations resumed as soon as they saw it was only me.

  Star was behind the bar with Red, who was named for his brilliant shock of red hair.

  “I need help,” I said to Star after she plunked a diet pop down in front of me. “Mary’s gone for a few days and I can’t handle my new business and take care of Grandma and Blaze at the same time.”

  “I get off in thirty minutes, I’ll come over.”