Murder Grins and Bears It (26 page)

Kitty glanced up at the moving van streaking
past and her mouth dropped open and stayed there. She couldn’t see
me through the tinted windows so she had to assume I was one of
“them.”

I hate my old lady reflexes.

By the time I found the automatic window
control, slid it down, and called out to them, we had passed into
Maple County, and the only one who heard my cry for help was my
buddy, Fred.

He stretched and kissed my face.

chapter 21

We soared over the ruts at such speed that
we didn’t even feel the bumps and bangs. If I pulled the entire
transmission off the van, I didn’t care as long as I got there
before anything bad happened.

“
Smell this,” I said to
Fred, rubbing the bed sheet against his nose. He knew the drill.
Fred sniffed and snorted even more when I attached his leash, a
tricky maneuver while keeping a watchful eye on the road, but I’ve
always been a multitasker. What woman isn’t?

Ted Latvala’s house loomed directly ahead.
My palms on the steering wheel felt sweaty. I glanced at the Glock
resting between my legs.

Joe the Man lived close enough to Latvala to
offer support - if he was sober - but I couldn’t risk a moment’s
delay. I had visions of a revolver slowly rising in a cold, steady
hand and a grimace on my grandson’s face as he squeezed his eyes
shut and waited for the end.

I shook the image off.

The plan was simple and ill-prepared, as all
my plans were. I’d drive in slowly like I belonged there. Unless
someone came right up to the van, I wouldn’t be recognized.

I’d do anything to get Little Donny back in
one piece, even if it meant shooting a gaping hole right through
the windshield and picking off every single one of them.

All those years of target practice were
about to pay off. At the beginning I’d crabbed and complained that
the family should take up a more meaningful hobby, but they’d voted
me down. Every Sunday afternoon when the kids were small, we’d have
“family time” with a weapon slung over our shoulders and a box of
ammo at our feet. BB guns, pellet guns, and tin cans at first.
After that, as the kids grew, we graduated to shotguns and
pistols.

Fred began to make whimpering noises,
licking his lips and working himself up for the hunt. His entire
hundred-pound mass, seated patiently on the passenger seat during
most of the drive, heaved into a standing position as though he
could sense that we were near our destination.

I was about to see him in action.

I forced my foot onto the brake and slowed
for the turn into the weapon-making camp. I’d only attract unwanted
attention if I barreled in at seventy miles an hour with two wheels
off the gravel.

We crept past the side of the house without
seeing anyone. A light was on in the welding workshop and the large
building’s bay doors were open, so I cautiously pulled in next to
another, identical moving van, ready for trouble.

No one was there.

I hopped out and opened the other van. The
smell hit me first. It was loaded with feathers and bird droppings.
Illegal bird sales and gun trafficking. What an operation. They
truly believed in diversification.

I wound the end of Fred’s leash around my
wrist. I didn’t have to coax him out of the van, but when I started
in the direction of the workshop, he locked his legs and
resisted.

I tried pulling the lug. He wouldn’t budge.
I looped the leash around the top post of a wood fence running next
to the building and hoped he wouldn’t start howling. As long as he
had me in his sights, I thought he’d stay quiet.

Crouching down, I ran for the back of the
workshop and peered in, careful not to touch the windows that were
wired to set off an alarm.

Ted Latvala, wearing safety goggles, worked
on something at a table. Sparks flew. Faintly, I could hear country
and western music playing from a radio on a shelf above his
head.

Little Donny wasn’t inside.

Latvala began to whistle along with the tune
on the radio. Either he didn’t know that his partner in crime was
systematically picking off witnesses or he didn’t care.

A bolt of fear shot through me. What if
Little Donny wasn’t even on the property?

Don’t think that.

Maybe they had him in the house. I ran back
to Fred and turned toward the house. He wouldn’t budge.

Then I realized why. Fred was supposed to
tell me where Little Donny was, not the other way around. If my
canine partner insisted that Little Donny wasn’t in the house, that
was that. I had to trust him.

“
Okay, Fred,” I whispered,
clutching the leash. “Tell me where he is.”

At first, Fred didn’t move. Then he sniffed
the ground. Slowly, he made his way back into the building housing
the vehicles. Back out again.

“
Please, Fred,” I said,
softly. “Find a trail.”

He worked his way around to the back of the
building, taking his time, checking out every little patch of
ground. I saw the expression on his face change. His body became
rigid and he began to move.

Fred dragged me toward the woods at a fast
clip and headed down a deer trail. The way we were thrashing
through the pines and hardwoods I knew one of two things would
happen soon. Either Fred would sweep me off my feet and pull me
along on the ground until I lost my end of the leash, or Burnett
would hear us coming a mile away and set up an ambush.

The crazed dog dug in his hind legs and
strained ahead like one of the local sled dogs during our annual
mid-distance race. I wouldn’t have had much luck controlling him
even if his weight didn’t hover close to mine. Beefy No-Neck hadn’t
done much better at handling him.

Fred swept me off my feet just like I’d
feared and I crashed to the ground, skimming through last season’s
layer of dried leaves and a few of this year’s. Fred paused when he
started pulling my additional weight and looked back. We slowed and
he gave me a moment to regain my footing. Then we were off
again.

Where several deer paths merged, Fred lost
the trail. He ran in circles while I got my bearings and caught my
breath. I could tell when he found it again because his ears
straightened up and his head swung eagerly toward a trail to our
left.

By then I had his leash wound around a young
maple. “Sorry, Fred,” I whispered. “But you have to wait here.
You’re enthusiasm will get us killed.”

The howling started as soon as I disappeared
out of sight and a minute later I heard a voice ahead.

“
What’s that?” I heard
Little Donny say. “Wolves?”

I sidled up behind an old oak tree and saw
Warden Burnett sitting on an ATV, a revolver loose in his hand.
“Shut up and finish,” he said. “I have to go meet your granny and I
don’t want to keep her waiting.”

Little Donny stood in a shallow hole,
holding a shovel. He wiped his face with the back of his hand and
left a streak of dirt across his cheek. He looked scared.

Burnett had watched too many crime movies.
He was making my grandson dig his own grave.

I should plug him right between the eyes for
that. I was a little worried about the distance between us but I
couldn’t get closer without exposing myself. I’d take the best shot
I could from here.

Another howl.

“
It sounds like a whole
pack of them,” Little Donny said, pale and nervous.

“
Lay down. Let’s see if you
fit.”

I got my favorite new handgun in position,
wishing I’d had time to shoot a few practice rounds.

Before Little Donny could comply, the
crashing of a large animal resounded through the forest. Another
howl, closer this time, as branches broke and leaves crunched.

“
What if it’s a bear?”
Little Donny said.

“
Bears don’t howl,” Burnett
answered, starting to look worried.

I felt the displacement of air as Fred
swooshed past me, the leash bouncing behind him.

Burnett glanced up in shock and saw a black
wild animal descending on him. He lifted his weapon and took
aim.

I pulled the trigger of my Glock.

And heard another shot almost
simultaneously. Burnett had fired at Fred.

Fred seemed to hesitate, although he didn’t
drop. He continued running forward, his legs pumping much slower
now, easing off, winding down.

I screamed and ran from the protection of
the tree. Little Donny put his arms out in front of him as though
warding off an attack.

Then Burnett grimaced, dropped his gun, and
fell off the ATV backwards.

Fred pounced on Little Donny, driving him
backwards, and grabbed a firm hold on his pants.

Burnett groaned and clutched his knee. I
kicked his revolver away, picked it up, and bent over to admire my
handiwork. Not exactly a bull’s eye, but close. With any luck, his
kneecap was shattered.

Since Little Donny was indisposed and it
looked like Fred would live, I took the opportunity to hit Burnett
in the back with the shovel. Then I commanded Fred to release my
grandson and hugged Little Donny, ignoring the tears pooling in his
eyes.

Then I checked Fred for gaping bullet
holes.

He was absolutely fine.

I wondered if all those wardens running
around in the woods with firearms were required to prove they could
shoot straight before they started pointing them at local
residents.

What a lousy aim.

“
That’s the guy,” Little
Donny said, pointing at Burnett. “I saw what he did at our bait
pile. And he hit Uncle Blaze in the head with his gun.”

“
Blaze is going to be
okay,” I said. “Did he see that it was Burnett who conked
him?”

Little Donny shook his head. “Blaze was
asleep at his desk. He didn’t know what hit him.”

Stands to reason, I thought. The man should
retire before he gets himself killed.

I noticed Burnett was making all kinds of
faces as he rolled around on the ground. That had to hurt.

“
Let’s go,” I said. “We’ll
send somebody back for him.”

Little Donny wanted to tie him up with
Fred’s leash. “How will he hold his knee if we bind his hands,” I
reasoned, suddenly hit with a blast of compassion. “We’ll get you
help,” I told Burnett, but wasn’t sure he heard me.

Little Donny hopped in the driver’s seat of
the ATV and we rode back slowly, with Fred running loose alongside
the machine.

Stopping right before the tree line and
cutting the engine, we discussed strategy.

“
I’m not leaving without
the van,” I said.

“
We should drive the ATV to
a neighbor’s house and call for help,” Little Donny said. “There’s
another guy around here somewhere.”

“
If you mean a really hairy
guy, he’s in the workshop.”

“
That’s him.”

“
He isn’t paying any
attention.” The trusty Glock and my most recent display of hot
shooting accounted for most of my inflated bravado. Having a
strappy grandson and a devil dog at my side also helped.

Bring ‘em on.

chapter 22

The van wouldn’t start.

“
I hate it when things go
wrong,” I said, turning the key again.

Nothing. Total silence. Not even a sputter
or grinding noise.

We sat in the van inside the building and
stared at the ignition.

“
Let’s get out of here,”
Little Donny said. “We can walk out and come back with
support.”

“
What if they move the van
and we lose our evidence?”

“
We still have Burnett
cold.”

“
I want it all,” I said.
Before the day was through, I planned on nabbing the entire gun and
bird ring. Right now, there was no way of knowing if any of the
others were accessories to the murders. Every last one of them was
going down. Burnett, Latvala, the driver I’d zapped, and any other
stragglers we could round up.

Then the alarm went off, the same piercing
alert that I’d set off when I touched the workshop window. Did
Latvala know we were in the building and hit the alarm to call in
reinforcements? Or had someone else triggered it?

I shook my head. “This wasn’t part of the
plan,” I muttered.

Little Donny turned to open his door.

“
Stay here with Fred,” I
said. “Don’t move from this van no matter what happens.”

I dashed to the edge of the open garage bay
and peeked out toward the noise. I saw Kitty and Cora Mae
scrambling for cover. Dickey’s deputy truck idled in the driveway
with Grandma Johnson sitting in the passenger seat. Her head barely
cleared the bottom of the windshield, but I saw those snarly
eyes.

Kitty must have taken Dickey’s truck to
chase the moving van and blundered in without thinking it through.
The pin-curled wonder should learn to look before she leaps. I
should know.

Now we all were in a pickle.

The alarm abruptly stopped and Latvala
stormed out with his rifle.

I was too far away to get a shot. All I’d
manage to do if I fired was announce my position.

Kitty and Cora Mae screeched in unison when
they tore open the bird shed door to hide inside and felt falcon
wings beating at them. Cora Mae had her hands over her hair and
both of them ducked down before turning and running toward the
house, leaving the coop door open.

Birds started flying out. Some of the young
ones had probably never flown free before. Birds of all sizes
continued to stream out and take to the air. Diving, dipping,
circling, most of them coming to rest behind the coop in a towering
maple. A few made for the trees along the woods and perched atop
the pines.