Murder Talks Turkey (24 page)

Then his gun discharged. He screamed.

I’ve never seen anyone really shoot himself in the foot before, but it was a wonderful sight to behold. He hopped around while I assessed the hole in my arm and the amount of blood hitting the road. In the end it might turn out to be a flesh wound, but the amount of blood I was losing scared me almost to death.

The Cadillac driver had messed up big time, thinking he and his boys were infallible. He’d left the keys in the ignition. So while the big bad guy whimpered and nursed his little footsy, I started the car and drove off.

Let them figure out how to escape this one on foot.

A mile down the road, I passed Dickey and George. Dickey was driving. I had to turn the big boat Caddy around and chase them. Then I had to almost run our acting sheriff off the road to get his attention.

Once I got it and we were pulled over to the side, George noticed my lifeblood draining out and talked Dickey into putting down the weapon he had trained on me.

“Follow me to the bridge,” I shouted from the driver’s seat, one arm in the air in surrender, the other sopping with blood. “Wait until you see what’s happening there.”

George tried to stop me, yelling that he’d drive, but I didn’t feel I had time to play musical chairs, so I took off. They followed.

The Orange Gang punk was waiting for his partners on the side of the road, right where I’d left him, still cradling his foot. For once, Dickey had the opportunity to draw on somebody other than me. He handcuffed the creep to the Caddy bumper.

George bandaged my arm while we waited for reinforcements and an ambulance. We didn’t see Shirley or the other gang members from where we stood. Several hours later, they pulled Shirley out of the Escanaba River, where she was shriveled up from the cold water, but still alive.

It turned out that the bad guys couldn’t swim, so she weathered it out in the cold water, while the Orange Gang ran up and down the shoreline, taking pot shots at her.

And last, but not least, I pulled the package containing the hundred thousand dollars out of the front of my pants and presented it to Dickey, who took all the credit for recovering it when the news trucks showed up that evening at the jail.

I don’t remember much about the ride into the Escanaba hospital. I recall the stretcher and strong arms securing me with straps. The loss of blood must have made me woozy, but I have a vivid image of George in the back of the ambulance with me, holding my hand and whispering comforting words.

Barney was there, too.

My husband had watched from the sidelines while the ambulance people worked, preparing me for the trip into Escanaba. He had a loving smile on my face and at first I thought he was happy because I was finally joining him wherever he was.

But he shook his head at that. “It’s not time yet,” he said. “It’s going to take more than a shot in the arm to do you in.”

“I’m real tired,” I whined.

Later George told me the three of us had quite a conversation on the way to the hospital.

I guess Barney gave George the okay. At least, that’s what George said. When I’m well, I’ll ask Barney about that. Having his approval would mean all the difference in the world.

After that, I slept.

Chapter 36

Word For The Day

PERIPATETIC (per’ i puh TET ik) adj.

Walking or moving about; not staying in one place.

RIGHT BEFORE I WAS released from the hospital, I gave sweet Laura DeLand an exclusive, behind-the-scenes interview that was sure to win her a newspaper prize. The next morning, the doctors said I could go home. George had dropped off my truck ahead of time because he knew what I had to do the minute I got out.

I drove over to the Escanaba River, sat down on a rock, and made my peace with the river that had claimed my husband. Those rapids had been an important part of our lives, and it had given Barney years of happiness fighting trout on the end of his fishing line.

It was time to forgive it.

My arm was bandaged and cradled in a sling, making driving difficult. I’d been warned by the doctors to stay out from behind the wheel, but I’d never taken anyone’s advice before and it was too late in my life for me to start listening now.

Walter had understood about the demise of his truck “You’ve destroyed every vehicle you’ve ever driven,” he said. “What does this make? Three? I wasn’t expecting to get it back in one piece.”

I didn’t even have to apologize for the bullet-ridden condition of his trailer. George would replace a few windows and it would be just as good as anything else Walter owned.

Blaze was doing well, back at home with Mary, worrying about the mess Dickey must be making of the town’s law enforcement. So he’s recovering. The family expects some ups and downs. I don’t want to be the one to tell Blaze that he might not be up to sheriffing ever again, that retirement came earlier than he expected. All he used to talk about was retiring, now all he cares about is getting back to work.

If nothing else, he can join the Trouble Busters. We could use a former law officer on the team.

The river brought back some good memories. I closed my eyes and heard my kids laughing and running along the bank, skipping stones and dipping bamboo poles in between the rocks hoping for a hit. We had a wicker creel basket filled with rainbow trout that I liked to pan fry after rolling them in a flour and cornmeal mix.

I stood up and gave the river one last look before heading home.

Fred came running to greet me when I pulled into my driveway. The guinea hens flapped angrily behind him just like always. Cora Mae and Kitty arrived, and we took a slow walk down the road like the doctors advised for Kitty’s recovery.

“I missed the whole darn thing,” she said, walking slow as a turtle. “I could have been a big help.”

“I was in jail through most of it,” Cora Mae told her. “Poor Gertie. You had to solve the case all by yourself.”

“The Trouble Busters will be back in business soon,” I said. “You’ll have lots of time for adventures. Right now we have to recover our strength by being peripatetic.” My eyes slid over to Kitty. This was the test to see how well she really was.

Kitty, shuffling along in the middle, smiled and put one arm around Cora Mae and the other over my shoulder. “We’re a chockablock team,” she said. “We can surmount any acme.”

I pretended like I understood her by nodding my head and smiling back. I wondered where I’d left my dictionary. I’d need it, if she was this good while she was still recovering.

When we got back to the house, Pearl was inside with Grandma Johnson, helping her get ready for Tony Lento’s funeral.

“Which hat should I wear?” Grandma said, trying to chose between two old lady hats.

“The blue one goes best with your hair,” Pearl offered.

“Don’t let that dog in the house,” Grandma shouted at Kitty, who was the last one coming in. My mother-in-law had resumed her position of power. “And, Gertie, don’t mess up the kitchen while I’m gone.”

Grandma Johnson and I were back to our constant battle over kitchen dominance, but it felt good to have everyone together again, even with all their quirks.

And later George was coming over for a sauna and whatever else came to mind.

Grandma plopped the blue hat on her head and was almost out the door, when she turned back. “I almost forgot. I’m so used to your wild ways and me an old woman.”

“What now?” I asked.

“Blaze called while you were out for your walk. The sheriff’s truck was pulled out of Thunder Lake.”

I’d forgotten all about that truck. But Walter had done the deed, not me.

“Your fingerprints are all over it,” Grandma continued, watching me with beady, knowing eyes.

“That’s impossible,” I said, cool and calm, with the authority and experience that comes with owning your own private eye business. Underneath my hard exterior, I was sweating bullets, trying to figure out if fingerprints could really stick to a vehicle if it was submerged.

“He’s fighting mad right along with Dickie Snell,” Grandma said, clacking her false teeth. “Wouldn’t surprise me if they showed up with a warrant for your arrest.”

After Grandma Johnson and Pearl pulled away and Kitty and Cora Mae drove off in the other direction, I packed a few belongings, called my dog, and ran for the woods.

THE END

RECIPES

YELLOW PEA SOUP

Pea soup is one of the oldest traditional dishes in Sweden dating back to Viking times. Grandma Johnson makes it with pig’s feet, but I like to use ham hocks. Serve it with a dessert of Swedish pancakes topped with preserves. Wash it down with beer.

Serves four

2 cups dried yellow peas

2 quarts of water

2 ham hocks

1 large onion, chopped

1 bay leaf

Salt

Pepper

Thyme

Marjoram

Mustard

In a big pot, soak the peas in the water overnight. Add everything else except the mustard. Cook for one hour or until the peas are soft. Scrap the meat from the hock. Add more water if the soup is too thick. Serve with mustard on the rim of the soup bowl.

TAFFY

We always had great fun pulling taffy. Ours is even better than the stuff on Mackinac Island. We didn’t have a candy thermometer when my kids were young. We sized it up the old fashioned way, by dropping a small dab into cold water and rolling it around to see if it formed a soft ball. You’ll get the hang of it.

1 bottle white corn syrup

1 cup sugar

1 tsp vanilla

Boil the corn syrup and sugar until it forms a soft ball when a small amount is dropped into cold water. Add vanilla. Pour into a buttered pan and cool it just enough to handle it. Butter your hands. Pull until it’s white and stiff. The taffy can be divided into pieces so everyone can pull. When done, pull into long ropes, let it harden on waxed paper, and cut it into pieces with scissors.

Note: Make butterscotch taffy by using dark corn syrup instead of white.

POTATO SAUSAGE

We all own grinders with ½ inch stuffing attachments. Don’t you? If not, you’ll have to find a Yooper and borrow the equipment. You can get sausage casings in the meat department at your favorite grocery store.

1 pound ground pork

2 pounds ground venison

1 pound ground beef

6 potatoes, finely ground

2 onions

1 teaspoon allspice

Salt

Pepper

1 package of sausage casings

Mix all ingredients, stuff with grinder attachment. Drop the sausages into boiling water. Cook for 30 minutes

SNEAK PEAK AT MURDER BITES THE BULLET

Fudge
(fuj)

A soft rich candy found on Mackinac Island

To fake

A substitute for an obscene word

Ever since my friend Kitty almost got shot to pieces, I’ve been determined to change my ways. It’s one thing to rush into a dangerous situation and accept the consequences for myself. It’s another thing altogether when someone else is hurt because of my actions. So I promised myself from now on I would stay out of trouble, work my cases with my brains instead of risking my skin. Or anyone else’s.

I really
did
have the best intentions.

So when the Harry Aho and Chet Hanson started feuding over Harry’s big idea to open a rifle range on his property, which butted up to one side of Chet’s property line, I said to myself, “Gertie Johnson, you and your Trouble Buster Investigation Company are going to sit on the fence through this one.”

I had meant ‘sit on the fence’ figuratively, not literally, but here I was, hooked to the Aho’s barbed wire fence, with guns going off all around me and bullets whizzing by. Bales of hay were the only thing that stood between me and the shooting range, which explained why the riflemen couldn’t see me. Unfortunately, the bales didn’t slow down the bullets one speck. And the more I fought the barbs, the tighter they wrapped around the strands of hair on the left side of my head.

So much for staying out of the line of fire. But I didn’t have much of a choice after Chet Hanson showed up and hired the Trouble Busters to dig up dirt on the Harry Aho. He needed something to hold over the Harry’s head that might force him to shut down the range. Chet Hanson had actually put down a good-sized deposit. Real, honest-to-goodness cash this time, not like usual - a freezer full of chickens or free manicures.

Here in the Michigan Upper Peninsula, where the Finns and Swedes blazed their way through the wilderness, nationality means a lot. Usually the two sides coexist just fine, although the Finns think the Swedes are drunks and the Swedes complain that the Finns have superiority complexes that are exaggerated beyond belief.

Things will be going along find, then something like this issue comes along and triggers a feud. Harry Aho (depending on who you’re talking to, pronunciation of Aho is either ah-hoe or A-hoe) shouldn’t have turned part of his land into a rifle range without talking it over with his neighbor first. Although, Chet never would have agreed anyway.

I could see the Trouble Buster truck from where the barbed wire fence had grabbed me. Fred, my faithful German shepherd, howled from the other side of the rolled up window, watching as my dilemma grew more serious by the minute. He threw his black bulk against the door as though he might morph into Superdog. When that didn’t work, he howled again and stared at me with those red dagger eyes that expressed exactly what I was feeling – trapped and helpless.