Murder Talks Turkey (8 page)

“What?” I had only been able to see the guy from his waist up.

“I saw someone on the roof, too,” she said. “Well, part of him. Remember, I was ahead of you in line. When I went down on the floor, I could see the bottom half of someone walking on the roof.” She wiped her hands on a kitchen towel and slung it over her shoulder. “He had on orange shoes just like the robber.”

“Did you tell Dickey?” I asked.

“Sure I did. He wanted to check my closet to see if I had some. I tell you, I better not see him around my restaurant.”

Orange shoes. This was the goofiest case!

George spoke up, “The guy behind Gertie’s truck didn’t have any shoes on at all.”

“I’ll be,” I said. I hadn’t noticed that small detail. Probably because I was so worried about the murder weapon belonging to me. I’d completely missed the dead guy’s lack of footwear.

I had to get a break in this case soon. I didn’t want to wait around for any more shoes to drop.

__________

After feeding Fred a piece of George’s bacon, I headed toward June Hopala’s place over on Peter Road. June wasn’t inside the credit union during the holdup, but she worked there part-time and I wanted to ask her some questions about Dave Nenonen, the manager, before I interrogated him.

At the moment, he was on my short list for criminal involvement. Money was missing from the vault, and Dave had the easiest access.

I’d run the scenario through my head enough times. I had a theory of my own, and it was holding water.

Somebody took the money before the robber even entered the building, took it days, maybe weeks or months before. That Somebody started getting worried. Eventually the money would be discovered missing, which the mastermind should have thought of in the first place. So Somebody planned a fake robbery. Kent Miller was supposed to escape with the pillowcase filled with play money. Everyone in town would think the thief had taken the hundred thousand dollars, when really Somebody had taken it.

Except the plan went south. Everything was working out fine until Dickey’s deputy squad showed up. Then the rooftop shooter plugged poor Kent, and the hoax was up. Somebody must be really worried by now. The money was discovered missing and dead bodies were falling like meteor showers.

The real thief couldn’t be Kent or the guy in the parking lot. They were pawns. The king, or queen, still was on the move. The little guys had been extirpated. How convenient was that?

Yes, Dave was on my suspect list, but I had a small problem with that. Why would Dave leave Angie behind the counter with her finger right next to the alarm button? If he stole the money, he’d want the robber to get away with the hoax. He would have made sure Angie didn’t use her lethal finger. Yet she had. He hadn’t tried to stop her.

And why would a stranger on the roof take out the robber instead of letting Dickey handle it? Unless he was afraid his frantic partner inside would finger him. Did Kromer man have the loot? Was he killed for it?

I hoped I’d have a clearer picture after talking to June.

Fred and I pulled into June’s driveway. Fred started howling as I walked up to her neat and tidy little house—whitewashed with a cute picket fence and daffodils poking through the thawing ground.

I’d called ahead, so she was expecting me.

“Come on in,” she called out with a warm welcome. “Have some taffy. I can’t thank you enough for giving me your recipe. It’s a family favorite. Hope you write your cookbook soon.”

I wanted to say I’d have plenty of time to work on it from prison.

June seated me in her living room. That meant I was special company. A plate of taffy waited for me on the coffee table.

I peeled waxed paper from a piece and plopped the taffy in my mouth while June watched with a smile. I couldn’t help humming, a family trait we had no control over. The hum just happened on its own when we sampled something really delicious.

June took a piece.

We chewed for awhile.

“My daughter-in-law brought her kids over,” June said after finishing her taffy. She rolled her tongue along the front of her teeth to dislodge the last sticky morsel. “They got a kick out of making it. They pulled and pulled.”

“It’s great family fun,” I agreed.

I made taffy when the kids were growing up. We’d cook it to the right temperature, cool it slightly in long slabs, then grease our hands with butter and tag-team pull it. The first pull involved the entire taffy batch and two strong pullers, then later we broke it down into smaller strands so everyone could have their own. The longer we pulled, the creamier it got.

“When
are
you coming out with your cookbook?” she asked.

“My new business is keeping me real busy, but I’m slowly putting it together.”

We took seconds and chewed some more.

It gave me time to study June. She was past retirement age, collecting her social security and working part-time at the credit union for extra pin money. Her husband died the year before my Barney passed on.

She had on a bib apron dotted with flowers and two pink foam rollers on top of her head. I’m a short woman, barely five-two, but June was even smaller and seemed to be shrinking as the years went by.

“You said you wanted to ask me about my job?” June said. “Are you helping Sheriff Snell with the investigation?”

“Yes, I am,” I said. It was sort of true. “He needs all the help he can get.” That part was absolutely true.

“I thought at some point he’d come by personally.”

Meaning Dickey hadn’t been here.

“What do you do at the credit union?”

“I open new accounts, although that part isn’t very busy since pretty near everyone in Stonely and beyond already has an account. I also send out monthly statements and help Sue with the bookkeeping part of the business.”

“Dave’s wife does the books?” This was important news that she had failed to mention at the dance.

“Just the basic stuff on the computer. She uses a program and plugs in numbers.”

“It must be strange working with the manager’s wife.”

June shrugged. “I mind my own business.”

What did that mean? I couldn’t think of a polite way to ask for clarification so I just said it. “What do you mean,” I blurted. “by ‘I mind my own business’?”

June leaned forward. Her body language suggested busybody, exactly the opposite of her verbal comment.

Antithesis should be the word for today instead of…um…I couldn’t remember. I hate when that happens. It was on the tip of my tongue, since I’d used it on the way over.

“Well,” June said slowly. “If you asked me, I’d say Sue’s been wearing some fine jewelry lately. And…” she dragged it out. “She and Dave are whispering about moving someplace warmer.”

“We all talk about that every winter,” I said for the sake of argument.

“Yes, but we talk about running down to Florida for a week or two in a mobile trailer. Dave and Sue are talking new condo development.”

She threw me a meaningful glance to make sure I got it.

I did.

If they had the stolen money they might be biding their time, planning to live large later.

At June’s insistence, I filled a vest pocket with taffy on the way out.

Chapter 11

TURKEYS HAVE BEEN AROUND FOR millions of years. They can fly at fast as fifty-five miles per hour and run flat out at twenty.

Michigan’s DNR had a hard time re-introducing turkeys into the wild. After four failed attempts, they realized that a little illegal hunting was going on. Not always the bird-brains we like to think they are - the Department of Natural Resources fitted the birds with homing devices.

When Jim Johnson (not the same Johnson from Grandma’s family tree) was busted at Ruthie’s Deer Horn Restaurant with an illegal turkey in the back of his truck, the locals decided to back off and let the turkeys thrive and multiply.

The turkey I was gunning for was a bird of a different feather.

Fred and I were on our way home to check on Grandma and Blaze. I planned to heat up some pea soup I’d made a few days ago and make sure Star was keeping an eye on the home front.

About a mile from the house, I saw Blaze’s family car traveling toward me. It zoomed by, but not before I got a good look. Blaze was behind the wheel and Grandma Johnson rode shotgun. She was short, but I could tell it was her. I recognized the hat.

I did a fast U-turn, spilling my unprepared German shepherd onto the floor. After several efforts at control, the Trouble Buster truck wound up in the ditch. By the time Fred crawled up and reseated himself, and I backed out of the dip, there wasn’t even a puff of exhaust smoke left to tell me where they were going.

When I walked in my house, the phone was ringing.

“I’m calling it off,” Lyla said from the other end of the line. “Tony and I made up last night. It was all a big misunderstanding. I can’t believe I didn’t trust him. Please forget this ever happened, and don’t tell anybody.”

I certainly hadn’t seen this coming. The investigation was finally producing results. What a snake that guy was!

“Were you out in the woods this morning?” I asked, knowing the answer.

“No. That’s a strange question. You know I do nails at the salon in Gladstone on Saturdays.” Lyla sucked up a big breath and let it out. “You can still have manicures for the time you put in.”

Now what? Should I tell her about Tony’s hunting expedition? How could I walk away, knowing what I knew? Did I have an obligation, a commitment to follow up?

Cora Mae would tell me to mind my own business, that I’d quickly become the bad guy if I told Lyla about Tony’s woodland love nest. She would hate me forever for shattering her happiness, even if it was only a figment of her imagination.

I struggled with my conscience through a moment or two of silence.

“All right, Lyla,” I ended up saying. “I hope it works out for you and Tony.”

Yeah, right. Lyla had just purchased a time-share with another woman and didn’t know it.

Next time I crossed that lying cheat’s path, I’d zap him with my stun gun.

__________

I checked the kitchen counter, but didn’t find a note from Blaze explaining his absence from the house. Star answered her phone on the fifth ring, sounding like I woke her up.

“Grandma Johnson and Blaze are loose,” I said. “What happened to you? You were supposed to watch them.”

“I have an awful headache,” Star said. That was her code word for a hangover. Sinuses are acting up again is how she sometimes explains it. “I talked to Blaze a little while ago. He went into Stonely for gas, then was going to drive Grandma to Gladstone for ice cream.”

“Did it occur to you,” I said, “that Blaze hasn’t been cleared by the doctor to drive?”

“That’s not what he told me.”

“You can’t believe anything he says. Did you believe him when he told you he was a five-star general? Or when he said the temperature at the hospital got so hot his watch melted right off his wrist?”

Star managed to titter through her “sinus” headache. “I liked the blue diamond story best,” she said. “We’re all rich, if only we can find the gems.”

The guineas alarm went off outside. When I glanced out the window, I saw Mary getting out of her car. “Oh, oh,” I said into the phone. “Gotta go.”

Mary looked rested and serene from her sabbatical away from Blaze. Unfortunately, I was about to end that calm.

“Where’s Blaze,” Mary asked after greeting me. She craned her neck down the hall.

“He’s resting,” I lied.

“Everything go okay?”

“Perfect. He wasn’t any trouble at all. He’s almost normal again.”

Mary started down the hall. “Thanks for giving me a break. I really needed it.”

“Unless you want to end up right back where you left off all stressed out, I’d recommend heading home. Let Blaze sleep.” My voice crept up a few octaves when she didn’t stop. “Don’t go in there.”

“What’s going on?” Suspicion crossed Mary’s face. She opened the bedroom door. I thought about running for my truck and heading for Canada.

“Where is he?” she asked, keeping a level tone to her voice.

“I lost him.”

“How long ago?”

“Not long. Rumor has it he’s pointed toward Gladstone. He’s with Grandma Johnson, so I’m sure he’s all right.”

We both thought about that for a minute. Then we scrambled for my truck. We moved so quickly Fred didn’t know what was happening until we’d already squealed out onto the road leaving him home alone

__________

Gladstone, Michigan is an easy twenty-minute drive from Stonely. It has lots of amenities that are missing from our small town. For one thing, they have a main drag with cute business establishments—cafe, bookstore, coffee shop.

I turned onto Delta Street and angle parked in front of the Dairy Flo, Gladstone’s premium ice cream shop. Ease of parking is another great thing about Gladstone. No parallel parking anywhere.

We jumped out and surrounded Blaze’s car, which was parked right in front of the Dairy Flo. He rolled down the window with his free hand and took a lick from a vanilla cone with the other. Grandma, I noticed, had a strawberry sundae.

“Hey, Sweetie,” Blaze said to Mary. “What are you doing in Gladstone?”

“I just got home, Blaze. You aren’t supposed to be driving yet. Remember what the doctor said?”

Blaze shrugged and took another lick.

“I’ve been watching him,” Grandma said. “He’s doing a good job. Why don’t you two get yourself some ice cream and we’ll have a little party.”

My mother-in-law and my son looked just as normal as everybody else on this early April afternoon. The morning chill had disappeared, replaced by the warmth of the sun and a promise of spring peeking around the corner. They weren’t the only ones at the Dairy Flo lapping treats.