by Deb Baker
FIVE
Word For The Day
IMPETUOUS (im PECH oo uhs) adj.
Acting suddenly with little thought;
Impulsive.
EVEN THOUGH I WAS angry at Blaze and still looking for the right time to talk to him about the whole incompetence court thing, I still was capable of worrying about him. His color wasn’t good these days—
his face resembled an overripe tomato, and his breathing seemed labored like he’d just run five miles. It could be all that weight he carried. I decided to talk to him about that soon. A little dieting wouldn’t hurt, and he should get a physical to make sure the old thumper operated smoothly.
Maybe he had a medical condition that caused him to behave irrationally, which would explain the court hearing. Or maybe it was the stress of his job.
I wanted to make things right with him. The constant feuding wore me down and interfered with my effectiveness as an investigator. I wanted a truce and I wanted the hearing cancelled, and I knew just how to do it.
He and Mary always go into Trenary for breakfast on Saturdays at Buck’s Inn with some of their friends.
Bright and early I drove to Ray’s General Store and stocked up on a few supplies I knew I’d need. Then I watched out the window for Blaze’s blue Oldsmobile, which is the family car he drives when he isn’t on duty. My kids, both Blaze and Star, have to drive right past my house to get out to the road, which as I’ve mentioned before is convenient for keeping an eye on them. I walked out on the porch and waved when Blaze and Mary went by, then ran for Barney’s truck.
I pulled into Blaze’s drive and parked in front of his mobile home. His sheriff truck was parked in the pole barn, the barn door wide open, inviting me in. I pulled out a can of spray paint I’d purchased from Ray’s and compared the yellow can cover to the color of Blaze’s rusted-out sheriff’s truck.
Close enough, I thought, and began spraying.
It was colder outside than the can recommended for use, so I had to warm it inside my jacket every once in a while, and I had to keep shaking it as I worked. I only intended to spray the rusted-out areas, but the color match wasn’t as good as I’d originally thought.
I ended up spraying the entire car.
The whole painting idea had seemed like a good one at the beginning and I implemented it with the best of intentions. I really thought I could spot-paint the rust spots and make his truck look like new. I really did. But things got out of hand and every over-spray I tried to correct spread like an oil spill on Lake Michigan.
I finished up with a sigh of frustration, my arms sore, my spirits dampened.
I hadn’t been able to find any masking tape in the barn to protect the silver trim and door handles, which turned out to be a problem. They now were yellow. I had protected the windows as I sprayed by holding up a piece of cardboard I’d ripped from a box. I took a can of paint thinner from a shelf and dabbed with a rag at a few yellow splatters on the window glass.
When I left the barn the ground had a light dusting of fresh snow, like powdered sugar on a doughnut hole. The sun peeked out of the clouds, reflecting off the snow. I dug in my pocket for my Blue Blocker sunglasses and put them on. I leaned against the barn, breathing the fresh air.
In the shadow I cast on the side of the barn, I could see my earflaps, and they looked like bird wings poised for flight. I bobbed up and down, pretending I was an eagle. That’s where I stood, my earflaps flapping, my sunglasses shielding me from the sun, and an empty can of yellow spray paint in my hand, when Blaze and Mary pulled up.
Next time I come back to this world, I plan on coming back as a bird. I’d be safely overhead right now if I could fly. Instead, feeling awkward and helpless, I prepared to “wing it” the only way I knew how.
I grinned.
Glancing down, I saw flecks of yellow paint on the ground circling my feet.
Mary sat closest to me and I could see the look of surprise on her face when she spotted the paint can. Blaze jumped out and, following the paint splotches, ran to the barn door. He was that same overripe tomato color I worried about. He didn’t say anything, just turned and walked quickly to the house, his fist clutching his chest.
“I can explain this,” I said to Mary when she got out of the car.
“Whatever possessed you to spray paint Blaze’s truck?” Mary asked, peering into the barn.
“I’m trying to get on Blaze’s good side,” I said. “I’m tired of squabbling with him and thought fixing his truck might help. It didn’t turn out quite like I expected, though.”
Mary covered her mouth with her hand, and I could see the beginning of a smile under it.
“That’s so nice of you,” Mary said. She walked around the truck with me, checking out my work. “I’d invite you in for coffee,” she said, “but let’s give Blaze some time to adjust to the change.”
“That’s okay. We all know he’s high-strung. I’ll take a rain check.”
I practically flew out of there even without wings.
__________
While I was pulling off my boots on the hall rug, the telephone rang. It rang four times before I got the boots off and could pick up the receiver.
“Better keep your nose in your own backyard,” a voice said. “Unless you’re looking to have it cut off.”
“Who is this?”
I had to wait for an answer because the caller went into a coughing jag—dry, racking coughs only smoking several tons of cigarettes can produce.
“Better pay attention,” he hacked. “You ain’t getting another chance. Next time, you’ll be swimming with the fishes.”
“You must have the wrong number,” I said, and hung up the phone with a shaking hand.
__________
I went over the conversation in my head about a million times before I called Cora Mae.
“Settle down,” she said. “It was only a crank call.”
“The mobs after me.”
“The mob?”
“Who else would threaten to throw me to the fishes. Only gangsters talk like that.”
“Someone’s acting tough. There aren’t any gangs in the U.P. This isn’t Detroit.”
“Maybe you’re right,” I said. “My nerves aren’t as good as they used to be.”
My understatement for the day.
__________
I’m convinced the section of the Escanaba River that flows near Perkins is the most beautiful spot in the world. It’s hidden from the road so finding it isn’t easy if you don’t know where to look. I parked the truck by the side of the guardrail, walked over to the top of the path, and peered down. What a sight to behold!
From my position high above the riverbed, angular rocks sprouted up in the river, waterfalls cascaded down steep banks on both sides, and as far as I looked in every direction, there wasn’t a human being to be seen.
I crawled down a steep embankment, clutching small tree branches and brush to slow my descent. Soon I was standing next to the rushing water of the great trout river.
Barney fished for trout with a simple rod and reel and a spinner; he didn’t need a fancy fly outfit. We pan-fried rainbows and brown trout several times each week from the time the kids were little until Barney passed on last year. Trout fishing was his favorite thing to do.
The Escanaba River appears to be shallow. I’ve walked out to the middle in spots, sometimes even crossed over to the other side, being very careful. But the rocks are slippery, the current is fast, and the drop-offs are invisible.
Barney wasn’t the first and he won’t be the last to make a false step and pay the price to the Escanaba River.
I hadn’t been back to this spot for years, but in my younger days he and I stood together in waders knee-high in the cold water with the current sweeping past our legs, casting high and wide, the lines glistening in the rising sun, and there wasn’t anything better in the whole wide world.
Sitting on a flat rock on the side of the river, I talked to Barney. All the while, I had t
he feeling that he was watching me, looking down from above. I searched the sky. Nothing but clouds.
I explained to Barney that it was taking me a great deal of time to adjust to the idea that he was gone, and now with this phone conversation, things weren’t going so well, and he should give me a sign that things would be okay. Any sign would do.
I sat waiting a long time, but no sign came, although I still felt a watchful gaze upon me.
As I struggled up the steep slope, I heard a car door slam, and as I crested the hill, I spotted the backend of a magenta-colored sedan round the bend and disappear.
__________
When I returned home, Carl and Little Donny had finished hunting for the day and invited me for a quick one. We piled into what was left of Carl’s station wagon and headed over to Herb’s Bar. By this time I needed a quick one the size of a gallon pitcher.
I glanced around the interior of Carl’s car. It needed work after the deer attack, but Little Donny had agreed to pay for the damage without involving the insurance company. That way Carl’s insurance premiums wouldn’t go up and it kept Carl happy.
Herb’s Bar is the only bar within twenty square miles and is owned by Star’s twins, Ed and Red. I can’t say why the bar was ever called Herb’s because, thinking back, no one with the name of Herb ever owned it, at least not in my time.
When Little Donny opened the door, the whole place quieted down. You could have heard a nickel drop behind the bar. That’s small town life in the U.P. Everyone stopped talking and turned to see who was coming in. Nobody called out a greeting until they looked past Little Donny and saw Carl and me. By the time Carl shut the door, everybody was back to his own business.
The place sure was hopping. Carl found one bar stool at the far end of the bar and helped me onto it. We had to wait a few minutes until Red worked his way down to us. Little Donny and Carl ordered tap beer. I settled for a soda pop.
The twins looked exactly alike from the day they were born, and still do. The only thing that saves me from total confusion is their hair. Once the baby hair fell out, Ed’s came in chestnut-colored like the horse I had my eye on long ago. Red’s came in the color of fresh-pulled carrots. His birth name was Ned, but we just naturally started calling him Red, and the name stuck. A lot of discussion ensued about where that red hair came from, but if I recall right, my own German Nana had fiery red hair.
The twins are in their early twenties, slender like marsh reeds, and are handsome pups. They share a two-bedroom apartment above the bar, and I hear they’re hot with the local girls. They’re hard workers though—have to give them credit where credit’s due. Finns and Swedes admire hard workers.
“Sorry we had to miss dinner the other night,” Red shouted over the noise, “but since hunting season started, we’ve been working ’round the clock.”
“You missed Chester’s funeral yesterday,” I shouted back. “I’m investigating his death, you know.”
Before Red could reply an out-of-town hunter stomped his empty glass on the counter and Red hurried away.
Carl, Little Donny, and I toasted to Little Donny’s future hunting success, which I was losing faith in, and we downed our drinks.
I’d never seen Herb’s Bar so busy. Every hunter from across the county must be pounding them back tonight. My eyes swept up and down the bar. I turned to the tables and studied each of the hunters sitting down.
Then I remembered the threatening phone call and the smoker’s cough. Was he in here right this minute—and which one would he be? Was Chester’s killer sitting right next to me while I sipped my pop?
I lifted my glass to my lips and locked eyes with a grubby-looking guy at the other end of the bar, which wasn’t anything unusual. Most of the hunters in Herb’s are grubby. Part of the attraction of hunting for the men is the length of time they get to go between showers and shaves. Being a dirtball is expected and welcome behavior.
Only this guy was different. He looked like he should be on the Most Wanted list at the post office. In some ways he looked pretty much like everyone else in the bar—scruffy, several days’ growth on his face, greasy unwashed hair poking out of a dirty gray ball cap. The difference was in his eyes. They radiated pure evil, cold and hateful, and they were glaring right at me.
I looked away first and shivered. Suddenly, I felt cold.
“Who’s that guy at the end of the bar?” I said to Ed when I was sure he wasn’t watching.
Ed shrugged. “Don’t know.”
“Is he from around here?”
“Don’t think so. I’ve only seen him this week.”
I glanced across the bar and watched him paying up with Red. He looked back at me one last time before leaving. A cigarette dangled from his lips.
__________
Cora Mae opened her front door after I crawled out of my truck. She had a cup of coffee in her hand.
“You won’t sleep tonight,” I warned, refusing a cup.
“What brings you by so late?”
I told my best friend about the car following me at the river and about the sinister man at the bar. “He stared me down.”
“You mean he won.”
“I had to look away. He gave me the creeps.” I shivered, thinking about it.
“Did you recognize the car?”
“No. Who around here owns a purple car?”
“Nobody that I know.” Cora Mae sipped her coffee. “We’ll keep a lookout. By the way, Kitty stopped by earlier. She brought over an application.”
“An application for what?”
“She’s applying for a job with us as an investigator.”
“This is a nonpaying job. Does she know that?”
“I told her we couldn’t pay her, and she said that’s okay. Her unemployment will start up in a little while and she’s getting ready for her rummage sale. She says this job has future monetary possibilities like one of those new stock market companies. An IOP.”
“It’s IPO, Cora Mae—initial public offering.”
I picked up Kitty’s résumé, which was lying on the table. It was neatly typed but the ink was faded and the corners were crumpled.
“She said it needs updating,” Cora Mae explained.
“I’ll say.” I noted her height at five-foot-four and her weight at one hundred and thirty-two pounds. “First off, no one puts their height and weight on a job application, and second off, Kitty hasn’t weighed one hundred and thirty-two pounds since she was four years old. What do you think about working with her?”
“Doesn’t matter to me. The business was your idea and you can run it any way you want. There’s something about her that bothers me, though, but I can’t put my finger on it.”
“She stands too close when she’s talking to you?” I guessed.
“That’s it! That’s exactly it.”
Kitty hovers about a foot closer to your face than you really feel comfortable with, and backing up doesn’t do a bit of good; she follows right over. Her comfort zone is way different than the rest of the world’s.
Cora Mae shrugged. “She says she’d be an asset.”
“I don’t like the idea at all,” I said.
“Well, she said think about it.”
I thought about it for two seconds. Life was complicated enough without Kitty in the mix. I had my hands full with my own family, especially Blaze and Grandma Johnson.
And with whoever was following and threatening me.