Murder Grins and Bears It Page 3

  ****

  I passed a wild apple tree and picked a small green apple. I’ve always loved to eat apples before they’re ripe. A little salt and an unripe, sour apple is the best thing in the world. I nibbled cautiously around a wormhole. My deceased husband, Barney, used to say that the hole means the worm came out of the apple, not because it went in, but I’ve always had my doubts.

  I’m not taking any chances.

  It sounds crazy, but I felt Barney’s spirit by my side. I loved that man more than anything in the world and thought I’d die when I heard he was gone.

  I couldn’t think of a reason to go on.

  After enough time passed, I realized that my kids were worth living for, but I still had to find something fascinating enough to want to get out of bed every day.

  My new investigation business had accomplished that.

  Just as I was thinking I was good and lost, I spotted yellow crime scene tape ahead. Cinnamon rolls, doughnuts, and bread were dumped in the middle of a clearing, and I saw my coffee can filled with gelled chicken grease next to a large oak tree.

  I rummaged in my everything-but-the-kitchen-sink purse and located a pair of binoculars. Careful to stay well on my side of the tape, I scanned the murder site. In the center of the clearing I saw a dark, wet spot about the size of a double bed where blood must have seeped into the ground.

  By zooming in through the lenses of my binoculars, I could make out large footprints planted smack in the center of the wet area. Little Donny’s rifle, given to him by his grandfather, lay on the ground, not more than three feet from the wet spot.

  I saw what I thought might be bits of brain and bone, but I might have imagined it since I’ve never actually seen those things.

  Peered up into the trees, I spotted Carl’s tree stand. It appeared to be the size of a postage stamp, which left me wondering where Little Donny had staked out. Little Donny, also known in the family circle as Beefy Boy, couldn’t have shimmied up that tree if the mother of bears was on his behind.

  Scrutinizing the perimeter of the clearing, I noticed broken branches off to the left of the tree stand. Behind some brush, I found Little Donny’s hideout. I could tell by the matted ground covering and the doughnut crumbs.

  The scene must have been exactly the same as it was when the murder occurred. Except for the body. Any minute now, crime specialists would descend, like turkey vultures, and pick the area clean.

  I certainly didn’t want to be found snooping around.

  After one last sweep with the binoculars and noticing nothing new, I walked in a wide loop around the back of the yellow tape and noticed something I’d missed before. And it wasn’t inside the taped area.

  Behind the bait pile on the opposite side of the trail the brush was flattened like a herd of deer had bedded down in it. That’s what I thought at first, but then I noticed a faint indentation like a tire mark, a patterned tire crease at the front of the brush and more at the back. Someone had driven a vehicle right through the brush.

  Puzzling over the significance of my find, I kicked through the brush and a flash of red caught my eye. Picking the object up, I rolled it in my palm. It was a very large tooth, a very large, red tooth, larger than a wisdom tooth, and redder than…well, redder than any tooth I ever saw before. Not sure what to do with it, I put it in my pocket.

  I scanned the scene one last time, still very concerned for my grandson. Little Donny was probably at my house right this minute, eating his way through the refrigerator and wondering where his car was. Wishful thinking, I know, but there wasn’t anything more to do here. Time to go home.

  ****

  Earlier, when Cora Mae and I first pulled over to check out the commotion, I thought every sheriff and deputy in the Upper Peninsula must be standing around watching the action. I was wrong. There were even more cops now than before.

  There were more law enforcement officials swarming around than flies on horse pies on a hot summer day, all of them focused on Little Donny’s Ford Escort. I’ve never seen so many uniforms.

  Blaze stood off from the car talking to a large muscular man with a buzz cut who was wearing a brown uniform and a sidearm. His face was as square as a wood block. I walked up behind Blaze and tapped him on the shoulder. Mr. Always-Be-Prepared almost jumped out of his shorts.

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  “Geez, Ma, where’d you come from?” Blaze frowned and bent over to pick up the pen he had dropped when I startled him. I could see his butt crack. His wife Mary better put him on a diet, pronto.

  “I missed my ride home. What’s going on?” I repeated, pointing at Little Donny’s car.

  “I was just explaining the circumstances to Warden Burnett.”

  “Nice to meet you,” I said, extending a hand which buzz cut proceeded to crush. “I’m the sheriff’s mother.”

  “I’m the Marquette D-DNR district supervisor,” he said to me, then turned his attention back to Blaze. “I c-couldn’t get here s-sooner. I was out in the field.”

  Either I had an acute hearing problem or the warden had a bit of a stutter.

  “As I was explaining to Warden Burnett, this car seems to have appeared out of nowhere.” Blaze scratched his head, a motion designed to facilitate thinking, but it wasn’t helping him. “We ran the plates and the damn thing belongs to Little Donny. How the hell did it get here?”

  “Beats me,” I said. “Maybe Little Donny drove it over, seeing how it’s his car.”

  Another deputy, one of Blaze’s favorites, spotted us from his position by the car, hitched his pants up a notch or two exactly the same way my son did, and strutted over like a rooster.

  I groaned.

  Deputy Dick Snell, aka Deputy Dickey, was skinny like a stick and had a face like a coyote, narrow and wily. Animal hair was stuck all over a green blazer that partially covered his wrinkled uniform shirt. At least I guessed it was animal hair, since he didn’t have any to spare on his head. The little he did have was greasy and wouldn’t have stuck to anything unless he duct taped it there.

  He came to a halt next to me and I immediately started sneezing. Cat hair! I’m deathly allergic to cat dander. I backed up a step.

  “Don’t you worry, ma’am,” Deputy Dickey said. “We’re in the process of ascertaining who the perpetrator is. Before long he’ll be incarcerated and you can sleep easy again.”

  I hate it when the local boys go away to college. They get big britches and a vocabulary to match.

  “Who are you ascertaining as the killer right this minute?” I looked at Deputy Dickey and his glance fell to the ground.

  I sneezed and backed up more.

  Blaze butted in. “Ma, let’s talk about it later. Go on home.”

  I watched deputies work over Little Donny’s car and I felt a twinge of guilt over not ’fessing up, but for all I knew Blaze might be gathering new evidence about my competence for another go-around in court. I couldn’t give him ammunition. Imagine him trying to have me declared incompetent. My own son!

  I glanced at Blaze’s new sheriff’s truck. Someone sat in the front passenger seat.

  “I need a ride home,” I said to Blaze. “You go finish up. I’ll wait for you.”

  Distracted, Blaze nodded and went into a huddle with Deputy Dickey and Warden Burnett.

  I sneezed again. When Blaze didn’t notice, I wandered off.

  Carl Anderson crouched in the front seat of Blaze’s truck. When I opened the door, I could smell the rank chicken grease.

  “Spill it, Carl,” I said, standing back from the door to escape the fumes.

  “Man, oh, man, Gertie. It was awful.”

  Carl needed a stiff snort of whiskey to calm his tremors.

  “I never seen so much blood. And that dead fella laying there missing most of his head.”

  “Start at the beginning and tell me everything.”

  “We was sitting out at the bait pile. Little Donny was chowin’ down on doughnuts and pretty soon so was I. M
y stomach started up and before you know it, I had a bellyache you wouldn’t believe. So I took the car and went back to the house for my Tums. I usually carry them, what with my bad stomach, but I forgot this morning. Wouldn’t ya know, just when I need ’em. And you know how I git. Starts with gas rumbling through my intestines and…”

  “Okay, okay,” I interrupted. The last thing I needed was a graphic description of Carl’s bodily functions. “Then what?”

  “Then I drove back and found that guy. What was left of him. It was awful.”

  I thought about giving Carl a pat on the hand or an arm squeeze to let him know everything was going to be okay. But in the warmth of the afternoon the chicken grease fumes radiating from his body were about to knock me flat out.

  “What was Little Donny doing through all this?”

  “When I left, he was leaning against a tree, cradling his rifle in his arm and stuffing a doughnut in his mouth.”

  That’s my grandson.

  “And when I come back,” Carl continued, “his rifle was throwed down next to that dead guy, and Little Donny was gone. I called around for him, but he didn’t answer. Then I went and got Blaze. But I waited here. I couldn’t bring myself to go back in them woods.” Carl looked out at the rows of cop cars. “Looks like the whole state of Michigan’s police force is here.”

  I followed Carl’s gaze. Deputy Sheedlo, another of Blaze’s key deputies, a lardy man with no apparent neck, opened the back of a truck bed and hauled an animal out of a crate. The two of them trotted by, heading for Little Donny’s Ford Escort.

  The animal swung its head in my direction and our eyes met. It was an enormous, black German shepherd with red devil eyes and fangs the size of meat hooks. My blood quit pumping through my overworked veins.

  I wasn’t going to find Little Donny waiting for me at my house, griping at me because I took his wheels. I wouldn’t find him at the refrigerator eating me into the poor house.

  “Omigod,” I whispered to myself, staring at the beast. “They’re searching for Little Donny.”

  chapter 3

  Deputies and volunteers scattered when they saw Devil Fang approaching with Deputy Sheedlo in tow--all except greasy-headed Dickey, who stood waiting with his skinny legs spread wide and his fists clutching the lapels of his green hairy jacket.

  Deputy Sheedlo had his hands full, working a few muscles that he didn’t normally use just trying to keep the enormous canine from ripping the leash right out of his hands. You could see blue veins bulging on the man’s forehead and sweat beads gleaming along his receding hairline.

  Deputy Dickey opened the driver’s door of Little Donny’s Ford Escort and Devil Fang bounded into the car. He did the old sniff-snort around the seat and steering wheel, then No-Neck Sheedlo led him to the edge of the woods and looked back at Dickey.

  Devil Fang was sniff-snorting the ground when Dickey nodded the go-ahead. Sheedlo released the animal from the leash. I was still leaning against the side of Blaze’s sheriff’s truck watching the action when the light bulb went on in my brain. Since I was the last one driving Little Donny’s car, my scent was undoubtedly all over it.

  Quickly I scooted around the outside of Blaze’s new truck, heading for the driver’s door, when I heard the blood-curdling howl. The hairs on my arms stood up.

  I almost made it.

  I ripped the door open and reached for the steering wheel with one hand. I even had one foot firmly planted inside before the dog had me by the back of my suspenders. He clamped on and shook his head back and forth, snarling.

  Deputy Dickey found us that way. I hung on to the steering wheel for dear life while Devil Fang tried to rip me out by my orange suspenders.

  “Get this big, stupid, sorry excuse for a domestic animal off of me,” I hollered. “He ripped my new suspender pants.”

  At a command from Dickey, the animal abruptly let go. I flew face first into the seat of Blaze’s truck, catching a blast of Carl’s pungent chicken-clothes.

  I thought about digging my stun gun out of my purse and zapping Devil Fang till he was knocked silly, then starting in on Dickey Snell, but I didn’t want them to take my stun gun away. It was my chief line of defense until I could get a Glock pistol like a real detective.

  I straightened up and adjusted my pants, noting the tear in the suspender. At least I wasn’t missing chunks of cloth. Or skin. “Who’s in charge of this vicious animal?” I demanded.

  No-Neck Sheedlo dragged him away but it was clear that Devil Fang wasn’t giving up easily. He fought the leash and ground his fangs, all the time glaring at me with those beady red eyes. He struggled against the leash until Deputy Dickey stepped in and helped haul him off.

  “What is going on here?” I asked Blaze who rushed up and had me by the elbow.

  “You okay, Ma?”

  “No, I’m not okay. Do I look okay? A rabid police dog has just attacked me for no apparent reason.”

  “Sit down in the seat and take it easy for a minute.”

  He helped me up into the truck seat next to Carl. I leaned my head back against the headrest.

  “Boy, Gertie,” Carl said. “That was something to see.” Waves of putrid grease slapped against the air.

  “I’m waiting to hear it,” I said to Blaze. “Why is every deputy in the U.P. here and what’s with the dog? Since when does the sheriff’s department use dogs to hunt people?”

  Blaze sighed. “The main suspect right now is Little Donny. I know he must have a reasonable explanation for everything, but he left the scene of a crime, his rifle was the murder weapon – at least it looks that way, and his footprints are running every which way through the pools of blood.”

  “How do you know they’re his footprints?” I wanted to know.

  “Size fourteens.”

  “Oh.” Not many men have size fourteen feet.

  But the smoking gun left at the scene of the crime sounded fishy.

  “A set-up,” I offered. “Little Donny couldn’t kill a horsefly even if he set out to do it, and you know it. Somebody’s setting him up.”

  “Then Little Donny needs to come in and tell us what happened. I’m his uncle. Why wouldn’t he come to me if he needed help?”

  “What if Little Donny’s dead?” Carl said.

  Blaze glared at him. “Well, Carl, that’s quite an idea you have there. But wouldn’t his body be right out in the open for us to find?”

  “He’s probably at my house watching television right this minute,” I suggested.

  “He’s missing, Ma.”

  “He’s nineteen years old, a teenager.” It wasn’t too long ago I was changing his diaper and wiping burp-up off my blouse. ”What if he’s hurt in the woods?”

  “We tracked him quite a ways into the woods before we lost trace of him. He wasn’t bleeding, or at least he wasn’t bleeding hard enough to leave a trail.”

  I didn’t say anything. We had to find Little Donny. It was the first thing Blaze and I had agreed on in a long time.

  “Until he shows up, he’s the most wanted man in the Upper Peninsula,” Blaze finished.

  The image of Little Donny’s chubby, grinning mug plastered on the walls of every post office in the country flashed through my mind. My eyes filled with tears and I looked away before Blaze noticed.

  Little Donny’s mother, Heather, was going to have a heart attack if we didn’t clear this up right away. The boy needed me. His future, maybe his life depended on locating him fast.

  I had to find Little Donny.

  ****

  In all the excitement, I forgot that supper was at my house and Grandma Johnson was cooking. I remembered while Blaze was driving me home after dropping Carl at his little shack of a house.

  I groaned.

  Grandma Johnson is famous for her cooking, and I don’t mean in a popular way. Most of us eat before we sit down at one of her meals.

  Grandma Johnson is ninety-two and her tongue is poisonous, like a rattlesnake. She’s also my mother-i
n-law. I’ve never forgiven Barney for dying and leaving me to deal with her. The two of us get along like milk and orange juice. Mix us together and we curdle for sure.

  “I have to go home and get Mary and her potato-and-cheese casserole,” Blaze said, dropping me at my front door. “I’ll bring her, but she’ll need a ride home from somebody later.”

  “Aren’t you coming, too?”

  “Not with a murder in our backyard and my nephew missing.”

  I didn’t feel too much like eating, either. My body felt as if every organ was tied in double knots.

  After Blaze drove off, I stood on my porch and assessed the damage that my tromping around in the woods all day had done to my grooming. I swatted some of the dog hair off my pants and patted my own hair once or twice. I wasn’t sure why I was bothering, since Grandma Johnson was about to work me over, no matter what.

  I opened the screen door and walked into the living room. The door snapped shut behind me with a bang like my twelve-gauge shotgun going off, but Grandma didn’t hear it. She was watching the local news on television and had the volume cranked up as high as it would go.

  Little Donny’s high-school class picture, smeared across the television set bold as brass, reminded me that he hadn’t changed much in the last year. The announcer finished up as Grandma spotted me at the door.

  “Can’t nobody come by and warn me when something like this happens?” Grandma crabbed. “Breaking news bulletin, they say, and so I run in here from the kitchen, and what do I see? A dead man being hauled out of the woods and my great grandson wanted for questioning. You…” Grandma shook a crooked finger in my direction. “You will be the death of me just like you were the death of my boy.”

  Grandma’s comments are outrageous, figments of a warped imagination. I’ve learned to ignore them.

  All the while she was complaining, she gave me the evil eye. I helped her get up from the sofa after watching her rock back and forth trying to get momentum on her own. She gripped my offered hand with her own, cold and bony like the remains of a scaled fish.