Murder Bites the Bullet: A Gertie Johnson Murder Mystery Page 4

  It took a few minutes to get it functioning correctly. And that was with the “help” of an instruction booklet. Then we crowded in on Fred, who sat between us like he was waiting for the show to start, too.

  Since the camera only operated when it sensed motion, we didn’t have to sit through any long, empty, boring dead time.

  The first thing we saw was Cora Mae streaming at us.

  And she didn’t have any clothes on. Not a stitch.

  “Not bad for her age,” Kitty pointed out as though she was an expert on fit, taut bodies. No way did either of us look like that. Of course, Cora Mae hadn’t had any children to mess up her figure. I vowed to start exercising more and eating less.

  Then here came Chet across the screen, butt naked too.

  “Would you look at that!” Kitty couldn’t contain herself. She probably hasn’t seen a nude male body for years. If ever. She often boasts that she has her fun, but I haven’t seen signs of it.

  Me? I was totally disgusted, which is turning out to be a regular condition of mine. Nothing was going right in this case. All I had for my troubles was a close encounter with the business end of a rifle, courtesy of Frank Hanson, and a porno flick starring Cora Mae.

  All thanks to ineffective business partners who weren’t taking their jobs serious and should be fired for negligence.

  Live and on camera, Chet caught up with Cora Mae. I shut it off.

  “Don’t stop it now,” Kitty said, trying to grab the camera from me. “Give that thing to me.”

  “We can’t invade our friend’s privacy like that.”

  “Maybe you can’t. But I don’t have a problem with it.”

  “No.”

  “Give me that thingamabob,” Spelling Bee Kitty said.

  “This doohickey,” I said, holding the camera out of reach and one upping her with my vocabulary words, “is off limits.”

  We wrestled a little until Fred growled in frustration.

  All I knew for sure was that I wanted to wax Cora Mae’s backend.

  *

  I decided on some tough love.

  “We happen to be working a case,” I said to Cora Mae when we all met up at my kitchen table. “You don’t get time off to lollygag, or I’ll find new partners.”

  “Hey,” Kitty said, when she saw my gaze shift to her. “Are you talking about me, too?”

  “You fell asleep on the job!”

  “I was working,” Cora Mae said.

  Kitty snorted. We hadn’t told Cora Mae about the camera yet.

  Grandma Johnson piped up and said, “Delivery truck just pulled in. Maybe it’s my new pistol.”

  My mother-in-law used to have a handgun, but I confiscated it when she lost most of her eyesight along with a big chunk of her marbles. I sleep better knowing it isn’t in her hot, trigger-happy hands. Besides, the delivery turned out to be for me.

  I pocketed the new deputy sheriff badge and went to work unwrapping my new beanbag gun and ammo. As with everything, it had to be assembled, so I called George. While we waited for him to arrive we polished off a pot of coffee and the rest of Kitty’s doughnuts. Grandma took her share in spite of her crabbing about the amount of grease in them.

  “Are you and Chet going together?” Kitty asked Cora Mae around bites of doughnut.

  “We haven’t had time to discuss it,” Cora Mae said.

  “I bet.” Kitty snorted again.

  George showed up. The first question he had came after he looked at the picture on the box, “It this a riot gun?” he asked me.

  I assured him it wasn’t, although I was pretty sure it was.

  Once he had the thing assembled, we all went out in back of the house so I could test it, including Grandma Johnson who had never seen anything like it “in all her born days.”

  “We need someone to volunteer to take a hit,” I said.

  George hooted. “Who’d offer to do that?” he said.

  “Cora Mae might,” I said.

  “No, she really wouldn’t,” Cora Mae said.

  “Kitty?” I thought if anyone could withstand the test, she’d be the one, considering her size.

  “I think I’ll pass,” she said.

  “Hit the dog,” Grandma suggested.

  George had an idea that made more sense than anything. “Let’s just practice with a can on top of the fence,” he said. “What you want to do, Gertie, is figure out its range so you know how close you should stand when the time comes, which has me a little concerned. Can you tell me one more time why you need this thing?”

  That was his second question. I hadn’t told him why in the first place, but I did now. “Just another tool of the trade. I’ll probably never need it.”

  I couldn’t help noticing the big cheesy grin on his face as I loaded up the square beanbag bullets and beaded in on the empty coffee can he’d placed on top of the picket fence.

  From about twelve feet away, it wasn’t too accurate, curving like a bowling ball heading for the gutter. I missed by a long shot.

  “Move up,” Kitty advised. “The closer, the better.”

  So I did.

  This time the beanbag bullet hit a little below the can, taking out that whole section of fence.

  “Okay, then,” George said calmly. “I have a suggestion in case you ever consider using this gun on a real human being.”

  “What’s that?” I asked, pretty amazed at the power of the weapon in my hand.

  “Don’t fire it at point blank range, or you’ll kill the guy.”

  “Hit the dog next,” Grandma hollered.

  *

  After that bit of excitement, my two partners took off to keep an eye on Chet Hanson. Cora Mae didn’t complain at all when I gave her that assignment. The beauty of this plan was that Cora Mae had already successfully infiltrated the suspect’s perimeter. At first, I hadn’t been so appreciative, but looking back, it was a smart move on her part.

  “We’ll feel around,” Cora Mae said, all rosy and twinkly. “See what we discover.”

  Kitty snorted again.

  “What’s the matter with you?” Cora Mae asked her. “Why do you keep snorting every time I open my mouth?”

  “No reason. Let’s go,” Kitty said. A few minutes later they peeled out.

  Grandma stomped back to the house, muttering under her breath about dangerous fruitcakes with weapons of mass destruction.

  I gave George a big kiss, then went in and changed from a scarf into the blonde ponytail wig Cora Mae brought over for me. I felt like Sandra Dee. The wig would throw off Frank Hanson in case he’d gotten a good look at me last night.

  One thing going for me besides the wig was that I doubted Frank knew who I was. We didn’t travel in the same circles. His type showed up at the bars late and hung around until closing. My crowd liked to see the sunrise, so they did their drinking early, like in the late afternoon.

  My canine pal and I headed out.

  Frank Hanson was home. And his car’s tires really were flat as pancakes. I wish Kitty had talked to me before acting on impulse. Sure, we had him stuck at home where we didn’t have to worry about tracking him down, but if he had wheels he might lead us right to some evidence that would implicate him or Chet.

  “I hear you were at Harry’s place yesterday when he was murdered,” I said after he answered the door.

  “Why do you care?”

  I flashed my deputy sheriff badge. “I’m newly deputized. I have credentials. Blaze needs all the help he can get.” Which was completely true. My son isn’t exactly Columbo.

  Frank didn’t invite me in. Instead, he came out and closed the door behind him, which made me suspicious that he had something to hide. “I already told my end of it,” he said, none too friendly.

  “You’ll have to tell it one more time. Where were you when it happened?”

  “Shooting at the range. At least I think that’s where I was. That’s my best guess, considering nobody said exactly when it happened. Shots were going off left and
right. The one that hit him could have come before I even got there.”

  “Your family had it in for him.”

  “Who says?”

  “Your cousin Chet Hanson says, that’s who.”

  Frank wasn’t giving up anything he didn’t have to. “Whatever.”

  “Where was Chet while all this was going on?”

  “You’ll have to ask him. I’m not his keeper.”

  “Anything else you want to tell me?”

  “Last night somebody attacked me right here in my own home. I want to make a report. I was going to let it go, but since you’re here -”

  “Oh, okay.”

  So I went back to the truck and rummaged around for a scrap of paper and a pen for him to write his complaint. Then I had to hold a straight face while Frank bald-faced lied right there on the back of the grocery receipt. He had some of the facts right, the ones that helped his case, but he forgot to mention his own part. Like firing at me just for being in his yard. Not only that, I did not throw teargas into his house like he wrote down.

  When he finished, he said, “You should stop suspecting my family and take a good look at the Ahos. Especially that crazy wife of his.”

  “I’ll take it under advisement,” I said, trying to sound as professional as possible.

  “She hated his guts.”

  I could have said that I know a lot of women who hate their husbands’ guts. That doesn’t mean they would take such drastic measures. Instead I said, “Is that right?”

  “She’s been feeding him crappy for years, hoping he’d keel over with clogged arteries. Maybe she got tired of waiting.”

  Fred started howling from the truck. Once he gets going, it’s impossible to stop him.

  “I’ve got to go,” I said. “By the way, you have a flat tire.”

  “Really?” Frank glanced at his car. “You’re right, I do.”

  My ponytail bounced all the way back to my truck.

  *

  I was cruising down highway M35, minding my own business, when I spotted red lights flashing behind me. Blaze! I didn’t have time for this. You’d think my son would cut me some slack, appreciate me just a little bit more for all the help I give him. Instead he acts like I’m at the top of his most wanted list.

  I refused to pull over. Why should I? I hadn’t done anything wrong. He came alongside, making demands through that fancy PA he added to his siren. I could see him talking into the mic. “Pull over,” he hollered. “That’s a police order.”

  So I did, mainly to save him from smashing into some tree.

  I barely had time to hide the beanbag gun under the seat before he wrenched open my driver’s door, almost tearing it right off the hinges.

  “Watch your blood pressure,” I advised him. “You get worked up too easily. Deep breaths.”

  “What’s with you?” he yelled. “Not an ounce of respect for the law.”

  “I need to drive,” I said, realizing he was still on that stupid driving permit kick. “It’s part of my job.”

  “Then get a license like everybody else.”

  “There you go, comparing me to everybody else again.”

  “What’s that on your head?” Blaze finally noticed my cute new ponytail. “Please don’t tell me you’re running around in disguise.”

  I hadn’t thought of that, except to fool Frank, but I liked the idea. A new do, a new badge, life was good. My son must have read my mind and didn’t like what he read, because he actually banged his head on the hood of my truck.

  “Don’t dent my truck,” I said.

  He stopped banging, but left his head where it was for a few seconds, then he raised up and said, “I’m giving you one week to take care of this. If you haven’t by then, I’m impounding your vehicle until I see the proper paperwork. I’d put you in jail right this minute, but you’d drive me crazy.”

  “Fair enough,” I said. I wanted to tell him I was working the same case as he was, but I didn’t want to trigger another blood pressure spike.

  “Any new leads on Harry Aho’s murder?” I asked now that the minor details were behind us.

  He headed for his cruiser, but paused. “I’ve got some ideas.”

  “Care to share?”

  “Not really.”

  Okay, then, I could have predicted that answer.

  But at least I had bought some time, and he wouldn’t be pestering me about my driving.

  *

  “Diane Aho never made any secret out of her feelings for her husband,” Kitty said when I found her and Cora Mae at their stakeout, eating fried chicken out of a bucket and acting like they were on a picnic. Besides having her mouth full most of the time, Kitty always had her ear to the grapevine. Not much got past her.

  “I’m going over there right now to question her,” I said.

  “You are so cute in that wig,” Cora Mae said.

  Kitty rolled her eyeballs, like now she’d seen everything. Me? I couldn’t take my eyes off Kitty’s spy apparel.

  “Where did you find a camouflage housedress?” I asked, staring at her. She looked like a gigantic pile of leaves.

  “Online,” she said. “I have one with fall colors too.”

  “Will we still get paid?” Cora Mae asked, now that compliments were over. “Even if Chet Hanson didn’t do it? Which I know he didn’t. He’s a very gentle man.”

  Images of a naked Chet stampeding after my friend, popped into my head. Gentle wasn’t an adjective I’d have used to describe him. But Cora Mae knows him way better than I do and I have to go with her assessment.

  I wasn’t sure of the answer to Cora Mae’s question. Would we get paid if Chet was innocent? “We’ll find out soon enough,” I guessed. “I told Gus and Martin I’d look into it. We probably should commit one way or the other. I’ll stop and tell them we’ll take the case.”

  What’s next?” Kitty asked.

  “I pointed out Frank’s flat tires to him. He hadn’t tried to go anyplace, but that might change soon. Why don’t you two watch him for awhile. I’ll reset the camera in Chet’s backyard and pay a little visit to Diane.”

  “Camera?” Cora Mae sounded confused. “What camera?”

  Kitty snorted. Even I was getting tired of listening to her make that sound. “I’ll tell you all about it on the ride over to Frank’s,” Kitty said to her.

  “And if you get a chance, set up the other camera over there like I asked you to do last night,” was the last thing I said before they took off.

  Fred insisted on going with me. No way was he waiting in the truck again. So I crept through the woods and replanted the camera while Fred tracked down a red tailed squirrel and ran it up a tree. Chet was easy. Next time I had to do Frank’s I was going to loop more in the trees. My mistake had been trying to sneak past the house.

  After taking care of the camera, I went over to visit Harry’s widow.

  Diane had put chains across the drive to discourage anybody who might think they could still go in and shoot up targets, so I had to walk into her house. Fred loped along, happy to be out and about and away from the hens and Grandma. Since he was a lifelong police dog, investigation is in his blood, and I’m proud that I’ve been able to give him some work on the side. Total retirement isn’t for either one of us.

  Diane was in the kitchen again, making me wonder if she was imprisoned there by some invisible chain I couldn’t see. She sat at the table eating a salad. Since I’ve developed an eye for detail, I noticed it was iceberg lettuce, two tiny tomatoes, no salad dressing.

  “No, thanks,” I said when she offered me part of her food. “I just wanted to see how you were doing.”

  Diane shrugged.

  I sat down across from her. In the killing chair again. “That sure is rabbit food on your plate,” I piped up and said. Diane wasn’t exactly wispy. She had the build of a hardworking northern woman.

  “I can eat different now that Harry’s gone.”

  “He liked more substantial fare?”

/>   “Heart cloggers.”

  Frank had been at least partially right. Whether Diane hoped to kill Harry through his stomach, or if he demanded that she serve the stuff, remained to be seen. “Tell me about Harry’s quarrel with Chet Hanson,” I said.

  “Does this mean you’ve decided to work for my boys?”

  I nodded.

  “That’ll make them happy,” she said. “I wasn’t there when Chet and Harry argued over the rifle range. Martin was. My sons can be impulsive. I tell you, I suspect Frank Hanson killed Harry, not Chet. But you think my boys will listen? They’re just like their father, get an idea in their heads, and they just won’t quit.”

  “Chet’s the one with the adjoining property. He must have been real mad,” I said.

  “They’d been battling it out ever since Harry applied for the rifle range permit. The Hansons got their way in the end. The shooting range isn’t going to reopen.”

  “We know where Frank was. Right here at the range. Any idea where Chet Hanson was when Harry died?”

  Diane looked up from her salad, which she had been picking at. Her gaze shifted over my head, to the window above the sink. “Why are you asking me where Chet Hanson was? It’s not my job to keep track of him.”