Murder Talks Turkey (23 page)

Stonely came into my sights dead ahead. I tromped the gas harder even though the pedal was already riding the floor, and it hadn’t made a bit of difference in my speed. Wouldn’t it be great if the gang in the Caddy didn’t realize they were turning into the sheriff’s quarters, and they followed me right in? Dickey and I could round them up together. I’d be a hero and have a road named after me.

Right before town, I hear a voice speaking to me. I almost left the road again while I assessed its position. As much as I wished for it, the voice wasn’t coming from my Barney.

“Turn left at the next road,” it said. I glanced sharply in my rearview mirror. Shirley Hess’ face was glaring at me through the back window from the bed of the truck. She had the gang member’s gun pressed up against the glass, and her face meant business.

She must have jumped into my truck while I was galloping for the mailbox. I should have taken the time for a second zap, but hindsight is always twenty-twenty, and my foresight has always been legally blind.

I peeled around the corner like she asked me to, turning more sharply than necessary. I glanced back, hoping she had fallen out on the turn. She still clung there with a bead on my head.

“Make a left up ahead,” she demanded, directing three more turns that were guaranteed to lose the Caddy, and which took me farther away from Stonely and the safety of the jail. I never thought of it as a sanctuary until now.

“Where are we going?” I shouted through the glass.

“Just drive.” The gun never wavered. I don’t know how I stayed on the road because my eyes were glued to the weapon and Shirley’s trigger finger. A bad bump in the dirt road could cause a misfire, and I’d be a goner.

“If you’re trying to reach toward your purse,” she said, “I’ll shoot you right through the glass and take my chances without a driver.”

She didn’t miss a trick. Grandma’s pistol was a foot away and it wasn’t doing me any good at all.

We’d lost the Cadillac. I had a gun pointed at the back of my head. A hundred thousand dollars lay on the seat beside me. And there wasn’t a soul in the world who knew where I was, or what I had discovered.

Shirley had a mean, violent streak. She’d plotted to steal the credit union’s money for herself. She’d killed Tony and maybe Bob. If she would murder her lover, she wasn’t going to worry about wasting me.

I needed to get to my purse-filled arsenal before we arrived at Shirley’s destination. Because after that, I was a dead woman.

Chapter 34

LIKE I SAID BEFORE, I’VE lived in this area long enough to know the landscape just like I know the liver spots popping up on the back of my hands. So I knew where we were going. And I didn’t like it. The bridge where Tony had crashed through on his way down to the Escanaba River loomed ahead.

It was the same place where Barney had gone fishing on his last day on earth.

One sure way to dislodge Shirley from her seat of power would be to take the same route Tony had, soaring out over the thirty-five foot drop-off, hoping I’d survive the fall. Shirley Hesss would leave the truck whether she wanted to or not, and she’d take a solo dive into the rocky river below.

Had Tony died from head injuries or had he drowned? That would be good to know before I attempted the plunge.

“Pull over on the other side of the bridge,” Shirley said from the back as we drew near.

An investigator has to be quick on her feet. Decisions have to be made in split seconds, even the life-or-death ones, which don’t always wait for a convenient time. I aimed at the broken railing with sweat streaming down my temples and cold fear clutching my heart.

If only Barney would give me a sign, tell me if I was making a big mistake. But he kept silent, leaving me to make my own way.

Shirley realized what I was up to. A glance in the rearview mirror showed her startled face craning to see over the top of the truck. My driving skills were questionable on a good day, and this wasn’t a good day. Could I pull it off?

Inches from the edge of the ledge, I jerked the steering wheel back toward the road and closed my eyes. One little misjudgment and the truck would go over sideways.

When I opened them, I was heading for the other side of the bridge. I had overcorrected and was now in jeopardy of going over the other side. I jammed the steering wheel the other way, pounding the brakes. Wheels screeched, I screamed, the truck skidded back the other way, its front bumper breaking through the railing on the same side as Tony’s last launch, but in a new section a little farther down. The truck lurched to a stop with one of the front tires over the edge.

It was the first chance I’d had to look in the back of the truck.

No Shirley.

I couldn’t bring myself to look down into the abyss. Fear had frozen my body. A moan escaped from this steely investigator’s throat, and I was relieved that no one was around to hear me, because I sounded more animalistic than human.

Did I mention that the river is way, way, way down below? And that I was at a quandary again? If I got out of this alive, I didn’t want to make another decision for a very long time. The question that had to be answered was this—should I slip the truck into reverse and try to back off the ledge onto the road? Or should I ease my body out? Would my shifting weight tip the truck over the edge?

I chose the second option, after working on my paralysis, moving my neck, then my arms. The package had landed next to me, but my purse was too far over to risk a reach. I didn’t even turn the ignition off, just slid out with as little motion as possible. The truck held its position until I forgot to be careful in my relief to be on firm footing. I slammed the door. That little bitty slam caused Walter’s truck to inch forward in what seemed like slow, groaning reluctant motion - like it had a mind of its own and didn’t appreciate the direction is was taking.

Then the truck disappeared over the side of the road, flipping as it went. The noise when it hit the water was like the thunder of an ancient timber tree crashing to earth. A tremor ran through the road beneath my feet.

I couldn’t see Shirley anywhere down there in the swirling rapids. What if the truck had fallen directly on her? Wouldn’t that be awful?

Before I could get too upset over that image, I heard her voice calling for help from the opposite side of the road. She’d managed to grab a clump of brush when she ejected from the truck, but she was dangling in a dangerous position.

Right where I wanted her.

“Help me up,” she croaked, trying to get leverage on her own.

“I’ll help you after you answer a few questions,” I said, watching her struggle. “If I don’t like the answers, you’ll have to let go and take your chances, because this way will be closed off to you.”

A car drove toward the bridge. I leaned against the rail like a tourist and waved as it passed. The driver waved back and kept going.

“I can’t hold on much longer.”

“Than you better make your answers fast and truthful. First question, who’s responsible for stealing the credit union money?” I glared at her.

“Tony stole the money and gave it to me for safekeeping. He wanted to run away with me. I’m going to fall.”

“I’m already tired of asking questions. Why don’t you tell me the whole thing?”

Shirley chanced a peek below and decided to cooperate. “We knew someone would catch on to the missing money eventually, so Tony thought we should set up a fake bank robbery. The robber would get away since I was working inside, and that would explain the disappearing funds. We’d be home free.”

“But you’re the one who sounded the alarm.”

Shirley didn’t look too comfortable. She’d managed to find a toe hold, though. The bush she clung to seemed to be supporting her weight. The river roared and bucked below.

“Let me up. I’ll tell you everything.”

“Keep talking.” Neither of us had a weapon, but she was younger and stronger. I didn’t want to get physical with her, because I’d lose. Better that she stay right where she was.

“Tony was a fool,” she said “I didn’t want him.” She struggled a little, trying to change her position. Her arms had to be getting tired, because her words came faster. “I set it up with the Orange Gang and told them where to find the biggest bills in the vault. They didn’t have a clue that they were stealing worthless paper. Tony made sure it was in perfect position.”

“Then you turned on your partners, all of them, even Tony? You wanted the missing money discovered to get rid of Tony?”

“Only he caught on and came after me.”

“Why did Bob kill Kent?”

“That wasn’t part of the plan. No one was supposed to die.”

“But Bob panicked.”

“I’m getting cramps in my hands.”

“Who killed Bob? Did Tony?”

“Yes,” she said, but I could see the lie in her eyes.

I picked up a stone the size of a quarter and aimed at her head.

“Okay, I did,” she said, catching my intent. Where was my tape recorder when I needed it? “Bob wanted a bigger cut of the money after he killed Kent. He became a serious liability.”

Unbelievable! This woman had set-up a real robbery and a fake one, with the intention of leaving all her partners in crime for the lynch mob—Tony, Bob, and Kent.

“You killed Tony?”

“He found out what I was up to. He broke into my house. It was him or me.”

I shook my head. Maybe I should let her take her chances in the Escanaba River. My Barney hadn’t deserved to die at its hands, but I didn’t feel the same conviction about her. The woman was pure evil.

“Who attacked the trailer and hurt Kitty?” I wanted to know.

“That wasn’t me.” She said it like that made all the difference in the world. At long last there was a malicious, violent act that couldn’t be attributed to Shirley. “That was the Orange Gang.”

“Why would the gang care about us? The Trouble Busters weren’t involved.”

She did that eye thing again.

“You told them we had the money,” I said “Didn’t you?”

Shirley didn’t answer, but I knew I was right. I watched another car approaching, kicking dust up in its wake. I would flag it down and ask for help. I stared down at the package of money, before moving back and letting Shirley struggle up. I had a fistful of small stones in my other hand in case she came at me.

“You’re going to tell the truth when it comes time,” I said. “No more lies.”

She looked down the road. “Oh Gawd,” she said, staring in terror at the oncoming car. When my eyes darted to see what was up, she broke into a run heading in the opposite direction. Even with my running shoes on, I wouldn’t catch her. But I had a plausible story and the package of money that had been delivered under her name. That didn’t seem like as much evidence as I’d originally thought it was, but it was better than nothing.

Why hadn’t Shirley fought me for the money? It was as if she’d forgotten all about it.

Then I heard the approaching car’s bad muffler.

The Orange Gang had found us.

Chapter 35

SHIRLEY RAN AROUND THE SIDE of the embankment, scrambling for the best way down to the river without breaking her neck. My reflexes weren’t quite as fast, so the Orange Gang got me before I even made it off the road.

Bob’s brother shoved me against the Caddy while the other two chased Shirley. I’d hidden the package down the front of my pants where it slid sideway, the edge jabbing me in the crotch. The gun in the punk’s hand worried me more than a little physical discomfort. I’d also managed to pick up a few stones.

It was the best I could do. I used to have an arsenal of weapons. That was before the truck pitched from the cliff. Stones would have to do.

Based on the size of this guy’s head though, the stones would be about as effective as raindrops.

“Where is it?” he said.

I knew better than to say, where’s what? His eyes were cold like those of a bottom-feeding fish. “I threw it over the edge,” I said.

I heard Shirley scream. A gun shot pierced the air below and I wondered if it had struck its target.

This whole country seems to think a handgun is more accurate than it really is. Unless you’re a sharpshooter, with hours of practice under your belt, you’ll discover that a moving target is hard to hit. A shooter’s experience and the gun’s accuracy have to be in perfect synch.

Common criminals like these dopes buy cheap guns to go with their small brains. My guy carried a Saturday night special that had less fire power and accuracy than Grandma Johnson’s pathetic pistol.

So I took a chance. When my captor went to the railing to scan for the money and the source of the last shot, I clocked him in the head with my largest stone. I have a decent arm considering all the years we’d had stone-skipping contests at this very river. I heard the thunk of it striking his head at the same time that he fired wildly in my direction.

At first, I didn’t feel a thing. Then my left arm gave a shout of pain. Blood drops plopped on the ground beside me, while I stared at them in disbelief. A random careless shot and it had struck me?

Bob’s brother dropped to his knees, holding his eye where the stone had made a direct connection with his eyeball. I ran around to the other side of the Caddy. The punk raised his gun, squinting in my direction.

I needed a giant rock. Or a passing car. Or something. The next shot from him hit the Caddy and blew out a window. A zillion bits of shattered glass rained down on my head. I spotted a few loose chunks of concrete where Tony had bashed out the railing when he’d gone over.

The Orange punk was wobbling on his feet. If I didn’t hurry, his tiny mind might clear. My second shot with the clump of hardened cement missed completely, partial due to the pain in my injured arm. The third one hit its mark but didn’t have enough velocity to do any harm. I didn’t have any more fight left in me. I thought I was doomed, as I watched the chunk of concrete graze his thick arm.