The Wild Turkey Tango (Jackrabbit Junction Humorous Mystery)

by Ann Charles

  “Yup. She thinks she’s a witch. Last year at Christmas, she sprinkled dehydrated centipedes over her green bean casserole in place of dried onions. There was no mistaking all of those little legs.”

  “Dios mio!” Manny stared down at his spoon of tapioca pudding. He poked a prune a couple of times.

  “Oh, don’t worry about the tapioca pudding. That’s clean. Gloria wins blue ribbons at the county fair for her pudding every year.” Aunt Millie pointed her fork at the small pile of green gelatin on his plate. “I’d skip the green stuff if I were you, though. Esther usually includes fly wings in any dish with toenails.”

  Kate made a gagging sound and scrubbed her tongue with her napkin.

  Before returning to her cranberry relish, Claire noticed that everyone was inspecting each bite of food before sticking it into their mouths. All except Chester, who was shoveling it in as fast as his spoon could deliver.

  Several moments later, Gramps coughed in the midst of eating a slice of meatloaf.

  “What is it?” Kate asked, her fork frozen midair, her eyes wide. “Was there something in the meatloaf?”

  “No, it’s just dry as hell.” He reached for his glass of beer. “What did you use in place of bread crumbs?” he asked Deborah.

  “What do you mean what did I use, Dad? I used the bread crumbs that were in that old peanut butter jar in the cupboard.”

  Ruby lowered her fork, her eyes wide. “I don’t have a jar full of bread crumbs.”

  After a belch into his closed fist, Chester spoke up. “Are you talking about that jar full of sawdust I put on the top shelf of Ruby’s cupboard?”

  Deborah’s face blanched. “Oh no.” She reached for her glass of cognac.

  “Chester Thomas!” Ruby exclaimed in her soft Oklahoma accent. “Why on earth would ya put a jar of sawdust in my cupboard?”

  “I needed a place to store it when we were remodeling your rec room.” He grabbed a dinner roll and pointed it at Claire. “It’s her fault.”

  “What? How is it my fault?”

  “You went on that cleaning frenzy, all fired up about spit-shining the place before Mac came for the weekend. I didn’t want you to throw out my jar of saw dust, so I stuffed it up in the cupboard. Figured I’d get it later.”

  “That doesn’t make this my fault.”

  “You distracted me with that story about Katie locking Deputy Dipshit in his own jail cell. I would’ve remembered I’d put it up there otherwise.”

  “I put sawdust in the meatloaf,” Deborah whined to Manny. “First Dad’s dog ruined the turkey I was brining and then my own daughter sabotages my meatloaf.”

  Great! Claire blew out a sigh. Now Deborah had another life tragedy to blame on her least favorite child. “There was no sabotaging involved, Mom.”

  Chester took a bite out of a roll. “If you wouldn’t have had your nose buried in the bottle,” he said through a mouthful of bread, “you would’ve been able to smell that it was sawdust and not bread crumbs.”

  “Let me get something straight,” Grady’s commanding voice silenced the squabbling. He eyeballed each of them in turn from his seat at the end of the table. “Kate was the one who locked my deputy in the holding cell?”

  In the silence that followed his question, the plastic beer flags hanging overhead flapped in the light breeze.

  A semi-tractor trailer rolled by out front.

  Chester’s spoon scraped over his plate.

  The patio door slid open and Butch stepped out. He sat down next to Kate, dropped his napkin on his lap, and grabbed a pumpkin roll. “What did I miss?”

  Jessica giggled, setting her can of grape pop down. “You missed toenails in the Jell-O, sawdust in the meatloaf, and Kate locking the Sheriff’s deputy in his own jail cell.”

  “Huh.” Butch placed his napkin back on the table and scooted his chair back. “I forgot something in the kitchen.”

  He started to stand, but Kate grabbed his arm and tugged him down into his seat. “Oh, no you don’t. Escaping is not an option, Valentine Carter.”

  “Thanksgiving is ruined!” Deborah cried with a healthy dose of Shakespearean tragedy in her tone. She took center stage again, picking up her butter knife and holding it out threateningly toward Chester. “And it’s all your fault!”

  Manny took the butter knife from her hand and laid it on the table out of her reach. “Mi amor, this is not a big deal. There is plenty of food to eat at this table.” He forked off a bite of meatloaf and chewed on it, then swallowed with a slight grimace. “That piece tasted perfect,” he said. “Plus, it has extra fiber in every bite.” He grabbed his beer and took a long swig.

  Meanwhile, at the other end of the table, the Sheriff sat back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest. “How many of you knew about the trick Kate pulled on my deputy?”

  Kate and Ronnie both turned to Claire as if she were the kingpin in the lock-up-Deputy-Dipshit plot. “Why are you two looking at me? I was working at The Shaft that night.”

  “I knew about it,” Chester said, shoveling a big spoonful of mashed potatoes into his even bigger mouth. “And I told Manny about it.”

  Gramps bristled. “How come you two didn’t tell me?”

  “Because you were horsing around up in South Dakota at the time,” Chester said.

  “She’s your granddaughter,” Manny added. “We didn’t want you being too hard on her for having a little fun.”

  “Yeah, well she’s your stepdaughter now, and you need to get her under control.”

  “Kathryn is not my responsibility,” Manny said. “She’s Butch’s.”

  Kate pushed to her feet, puffed up and sputtering. “Listen, you two, I’m the one responsible for me, got it?”

  “Got it,” the Sheriff cut in, his expression rigid. It turned out he could be just as intimidating without his badge and sunglasses. “So, Kate,” his eyes narrowed, “why don’t you tell me all about the joke you played on my deputy?”

  Ronnie made sit-down motions to Kate.

  She deflated back down to her seat. “Uh, Butch, didn’t you say you told the Sheriff about how Carter babies make women do things they don’t normally do?”

  Chuckling, Butch leaned over to kiss her forehead. “I sure did, sweetheart.”

  “So,” Sheriff Harrison raised his brows. “Let me get this straight. You’re claiming temporary insanity as your excuse for sneaking into my station, shutting down the security cameras, and locking my deputy in a jail cell while he was on duty?”

  “Didn’t she throw his cellphone in the toilet, too?” Chester mumbled around a bite of pumpkin roll.

  As Kate sat squirming, Deborah broke the silence with a loud cackle of laughter. “Whose idea was it to bring the cops to our party?” She raised her glass to Grady, slurring even more than she had minutes before. “What’s next, lawman? You gonna arrest me for public intoxication? Or how about this?” she grabbed Manny and gave him a loud wet kiss in front of everyone, making groans roll around the table like a stadium wave. When she pulled back, she glared at Grady. “Public display of affection, Mr. Big-time Sheriff.”

  Something was wrong with this picture. Deborah was either suddenly very drunk, which didn’t match how much cognac was still in her glass, or she was overacting for some reason. As Deborah gave the Sheriff her infamous testicle-shriveling glare-down, Claire could feel the tension in the air doubling and tripling. She shot her oldest sister a do something look.

  Ronnie’s forehead wrinkled. She glanced from Claire to their mom to Grady, and then nodded to herself.

  “I have an announcement to make,” Ronnie declared, standing.

  All eyes turned to her.

  She licked her lips. “Grady and I are … uh … going steady.”

  “Going steady?” Claire repeated. That was the best Ronnie could come up with as a distraction?

  “What do you mean going steady?” Deborah asked, the slur gone from her voice.

  “She means riding the dragon upon St. Geo
rge,” Chester answered and then took a swig from a can of the cheap beer he’d bought earlier at the store.

  Claire—and everyone else at the table—paused to frown at the old goat.

  “What’s riding the dragon upon St. George mean?” Jessica asked her mother.

  Ruby shot a frown in Chester’s direction.

  Aunt Millie let out a cackle of laughter. “I haven’t heard that saying since I was back in college.”

  Claire hadn’t heard it ever.

  “I once messed around a time or two with an art history major,” Chester explained, spooning more dressing onto his plate. “That was her code word for …” he glanced at Jessica, who was leaning forward, eager to learn. “For having inverted relations.”

  Inverted? Boy, did that paint several pictures in Claire’s head, none of which were pretty or appropriate for a Thanksgiving dinner table.

  Deborah stood, her cheeks mottled. “Veronica, you’re having inverted relations with him?” Their mother pointed a sharp-tipped, pink fingernail at Grady, who looked more pained than kingly all of a sudden. “The Sheriff of Cholla County?”

  Ronnie held steady against their mother’s gale force glare. “Yes, I am.”

  “Why?” Deborah made that one word sound as if Ronnie had stabbed her in the heart. “You know your sisters’ penchant for crime.”

  Aunt Millie laughed again. “I love this family,” she told her nephew.

  “Now hold on a second,” Claire joined the standing ranks. “I do not have a penchant for crime.”

  Mac chuckled. When she glared down at him, he covered his mouth with his napkin and looked away.

  “You do tend to lie low around the law,” Kate said. At Claire’s huff, she said, “What? That’s not an official crime. It’s just sort of criminal acting.”

  “Thanks for having my back, knucklehead.” Claire focused back on Deborah. “If you’ll remember, Kate’s the one who always dated criminals.”

  “Not always.” When Butch cleared his throat, Kate smiled at him. “They were just petty criminals, charged with misdemeanors most of the time.”

  “And,” Claire continued, “she’s the reason I’ve landed in jail the last four times.”

  “Only three were because of me,” Kate corrected.

  “None of this matters, Mother,” Ronnie interrupted. “Neither does Grady’s profession as a lawman.”

  Several scoffs echoed around the table, including one from Claire. Grady was a good guy, but she had a feeling his badge was going to cause some friction, at the very least give her blisters.

  “Woo-wee!” Aunt Millie’s grin split wide as she looked at her nephew. “Sort of feels like you landed in a pit of rattlers here.” She grabbed the dish of cranberry relish. “You better tuck in, boy, and start toe-stepping, or you’ll end up taking a dirt nap out back of that Winnebago park with a cross over your head like the others.”

  Huh. How did Aunt Millie know about the old graves back in the dry gulch behind the Dancing Winnebago R.V. Park?

  “A cross over your head,” Kate repeated, her forehead tightening as she stared down at her plate.

  “Mrs. Morgan,” Grady started to address their mother. “I can assure you—”

  “It’s Mrs. Carrera, Sheriff,” Deborah corrected. Outlaws looked less hostile than their mother at the moment.

  “Don’t look in her eyes,” Ronnie whispered.

  “Oh, hell,” Mac said under his breath. “I know that stare. Keep your head down, Slugger.”

  “I don’t get it, Veronica.” Their mother’s focus returned to Ronnie. “After the mess we’re still dealing with because of your ex’s crimes, you’re once again putting your family at risk. For what?”

  “Mom, don’t. The Sheriff is a nice guy.” Claire tried to derail the train before it ended in a smoking heap of twisted wreckage. “He means well.”

  “Shut up, Claire,” Deborah said without taking her eyes off Ronnie. “If the Sheriff meant well, I would not be learning about his interest in my oldest daughter after he got free milk from the cow.”

  Aunt Millie cackled again. “This just keeps getting better.”

  “A cross over his head,” Kate said again, louder. She stood up so fast her chair nearly fell over backwards. “Sheriff Harrison, I need to see your gun!”

  Chapter Eight

  “I’d like to take a timeout from this fun game of the Sheriff’s Dungeons and St. George’s Dragons to deal with Kate’s temporary loss of sanity,” Claire said.

  “I’m serious,” Kate said. “I think I figured it out.”

  “If you’re talking about how to put your mom out of our misery,” Chester said, returning from the dessert table with a piece of cherry pie and a stack of rice crispy squares. “I already suggested shooting her, but Ford and Carrera weren’t up for it.”

  “Not Mom. I mean X marks the spot.”

  “You’re still stuck on that?” Ronnie asked.

  Claire should have known Kate wouldn’t let that go for now. “I think she’s carrying a miniature Sherlock Holmes in her uterus.”

  Groaning, Mac laid down his fork. “I vote we not discuss Kate’s uterus at the dinner table.”

  “That’s better than talking about the muscles in her birth canal and the elasticity of her vagina,” Jessica said.

  More groans echoed around the table.

  “Jessica Lynn!” Ruby hit her daughter with a stern scowl. “How many times do I need to tell you to keep what you’re learnin’ in health class to yourself?”

  “Make up your mind!” Jessica pouted down at her plate. “First you say you want to know what I’m learning in sex ed, and then you tell me I can’t talk about it.”

  “There is a time and place, child. Neither is fixin’ to be now or here.”

  “Sheriff,” Kate started. “If you’ll just let me look at your gun for a moment.”

  “Of course,” Grady said with a straight face. “But first let me take off the safety so you can shoot a hole in something else today.”

  “I’d aim it at Deborah’s ass,” Chester said, taking a bite out of a marshmallow square. He snickered when their mother threw her napkin at him.

  “You shot a gun today, Kate?” Butch asked, his pitch higher than normal.

  “Just a tiny one.”

  “You’re pregnant!”

  “Newsflash, Valentine—being with child does not render my shooting finger immobile.”

  “What were you shooting at?”

  “It wasn’t on purpose.” Her forehead turned pink. Kate had never been able to blush like a normal person … nor shoot, apparently. “I accidentally shot Claire’s Jeep.”

  “She shot a hole in your new Jeep?” Mac gaped at Claire. “Christ, you barely had it two weeks before she tried to kill it.”

  “I said it was an accident, Mac,” Kate said, pinching his bicep. “Grady, I promise not to pull the trigger. Can I please just take a peek at your gun?”

  Grady shook his head, a grin on his lips. “No way, Crash Morgan.” His use of the nickname he’d given her after she’d crunched Butch’s truck the second time made Kate’s forehead burn even redder. “That would go directly against my oath to serve and protect.”

  “Why do you need Grady’s gun, Katie?” Ronnie lowered herself into her seat. “What does that have to do with X marks the spot?”

  “What in the hell is this X marks the spot business?” Gramps asked.

  Claire hesitated, looking at Ruby. She didn’t like to talk about Joe and his criminal past in front of Ruby if she could help it. The poor woman beat herself up enough on her own for marrying the asshole who’d left her with a passel of stolen goods and a heap of debt.

  “If you’re fixin’ to tell me this is about Joe,” Ruby said, “I won’t be surprised one bit.”

  Before Claire could decide if spilling the beans in front of mixed company was a good idea, Ronnie beat her to it. She kept her explanation brief, though, leaving out a few details after a conspiratorial glance a
t Claire.

  “Oooh,” Jessica said, rubbing her hands together. “I hope there’s a chest full of gold buried somewhere.”

  Ruby smirked. “More like a chest full of stolen trouble, if you ask me.”

  “Who gave you the combination to the basement safe?” Gramps asked Kate.

  She studied her fingernails. “I sort of overheard it.”

  “Have you guys put anything else in the safe lately?” Jessica asked. The teenager had been on scene with Claire the day she’d first figured out the combination. When it came to things that could possibly benefit her, such as treasures that might finance her newest want—a car—Jess had a photographic memory.

  “None of your business,” Gramps and Ruby said in unison.

  “Kathryn,” Manny said, draping his arm over the back of his wife’s seat. “Why do you need to see the Sheriff’s Glock?”

  “Because I think there’s something different about that derringer from other guns.”

  “You’re right,” Grady said. “First of all, that derringer is an antique.”

  “I’m not talking about the age of it,” Kate said. “I noticed something different on the gun itself.”

  “What?”

  “There are some markings on the hammer. If you let me see your gun, I’ll show you where.”

  “My Glock doesn’t have a hammer. My Colt 45 does, but that’s at home.”

  “Damn.”

  The Sheriff raised one black eyebrow. “Are you talking about the P and the V with the X scratched over them?”

  Kate’s face lit up. “Yes! What does that mean?”

  “That it’s stolen.”

  All eyes turned to him.

  “From what I could figure out this afternoon, I believe it belongs in a museum in El Paso that has a collection of Pancho Villa’s personal effects, including his firearms.”

  “Bull-pucky,” Aunt Millie said.

  Grady continued: “Several items were reported stolen according to a police case that was opened almost ten years ago. One of the items was a pearl handled derringer. I’ll need to dig a little more to find a picture of it for comparison.”

  “That pea shooter belonged to Pancho Villa?” Chester lowered his forkful of cherry pie. “I thought Villa liked rifles—Mauser carbines and Winchesters.”