A Fatal Four-Pack

by P. B. Ryan

  o0o

  Kitty wasn’t dressed for outdoor work, which served her right for following me around. I hoped she’d suffer but I hadn’t anticipated the amount of junk that woman carried around in her car. She rummaged in her trunk and came back carrying a pile of clothes.

  “Hop in,” I said. “We’ll pick up your car later.”

  She grinned like she’d been invited to my private party, instead of the truth, which was that she’d crashed it.

  I wore my fishing vest under my hunting jacket and it was fully loaded. I had pepper spray, ammo, hand and foot warmers, and a thermos of Tang. The stun gun was tucked in my purse, and my shotgun lay on the cab floor. I had dressed for subzero weather because this was a surveillance run, and we were going to be outside.

  Kitty fussed and complained as she struggled into long underwear and an old army fatigue jacket.

  “If you want to run surveillance,” I said, watching her attempt to button the jacket, which turned out to belong to her cousin and was several sized too small, “you have to be prepared.”

  After driving past Bill and Barb’s house several times, we parked down the road. I could see light filtering through drawn drapes. With the garage door down, we couldn’t tell if they were home or not. Lights on didn’t mean much. Some people don’t bother turning them off, especially if they’re only going to be gone a short while.

  “Let’s sneak around back and take a peek inside a window,” I said, dropping down from the truck. The weight of my weapons vest almost bowled me over face first. “Watch that first step, Kitty. It’s a killer.”

  I burst out laughing when I glanced over at her.

  “Shhh,” she hissed. “They’ll hear you.”

  She had on a black facemask to keep her face warm, and she looked like she was ready to rob the Escanaba bank. She was wrapped in so many layers of clothing she could have passed for King Kong. Snow settled on her head as we crouched in the shadows.

  We probably should have talked about a plan, but I had a general idea. If they weren’t home, we would let ourselves in and do a quick search, looking mostly for incriminating evidence like big insurance policies or airline tickets for Tahiti or documents referring to Chester’s land. If they were home, the best we could do was watch for suspicious behavior.

  They were home. We could see them through the kitchen window, sitting at the table with a bottle of beer in front of each of them and a stack of papers between them.

  Settling in the shadow twenty feet from the window, I rummaged in my vest and hauled out a pair of binoculars. I tried to get a better look at the papers on the table, but the binoculars steamed over every time I put them up to my face. When a thin crust of ice formed on the lenses I gave up, put them back in my pocket, and edged closer.

  Fifteen minutes later they still sat there talking.

  “Can you read lips?” I whispered to Kitty.

  She shook her head.

  If they had looked out the window, they wouldn’t have seen us we were so piled with snow. Kitty shook from the cold, her teeth rattling.

  We were on our way back to the truck, rounding the house on the side, when we heard knocking at the front door. Stopping and peering in a dining room window, I saw Bill move through the house. The window gave us a perfect view of the front door when Bill opened it.

  Little Donny stood on the porch.

  “Can I talk to my granny?” we heard Little Donny say. He craned his neck to look around Bill.

  “What makes you think she’s here?” Bill wanted to know.

  Barb walked right by the window we were watching through and stopped behind Bill. I could almost have reached around the corner of the house and tugged on Little Donny’s jacket, we were that close to him.

  “Her truck’s parked on the road out front.” Little Donny turned and pointed off into the dark toward the road. “I’m supposed to be watching her and she gave me the slip. Blaze’ll skin me alive if I don’t find her fast. Isn’t she here?”

  Kitty and I were creeping down the side of the drive trying to stay out of the porch light when Kitty stopped abruptly. I plowed into the back of her, steadied myself, and looked back at the tracks following us away from the corner of the house. It better keep snowing, I thought, or in the morning they’ll see our prints all around the back of the house.

  “I have an idea,” Kitty whispered. “Come on.”

  And she clomped right out onto the driveway and headed for the house calling out, “Hey, everybody, sure are glad you’re home. Hey, Little Donny, what are you doing here?”

  Kitty should have pulled off the black facemask. Not looking as if she was about to rob them blind would have lent credibility to whatever lie she was about to concoct. Little Donny took a step toward the inside of the house, his eyes wide and round like coffee saucers. But he relaxed once he saw me coming up behind.

  “Granny,” he said in relief, “where have you been?” He kept an eye on Kitty, who still hadn’t figured out she better unmask. I decided to step in since the woman with the brilliant idea was keeping it to herself.

  “We’re freezing,” I said to Bill. “If you let us come inside and thaw out, maybe we can talk Kitty into taking off her facemask. Our truck broke down out on the road and we almost froze to death working on it. Little Donny, you run down and check it out. There are battery cables in the back. Maybe you can get it started.”

  “Why didn’t I see you when I passed the truck?” he asked, puzzled. “I stopped and checked inside.”

  Kitty and I looked at each other. “We walked back the other way some,” Kitty said. “You must have passed us in the dark.”

  I handed the truck keys to him and watched him pull out, driving Blaze’s sheriff’s truck.

  Bill swung the door open. “Better come out of the snow.”

  We were in.

  o0o

  “I have to go to the bathroom,” I said, watching snow melt in pools on the floor around my feet. I removed my boots, but remembered just in time to keep my hunting jacket on. It wouldn’t be smart to expose my weapon vest. Bill pointed down the hall and I went, trailing clumps of snow that fell from my clothes.

  I searched through the medicine cabinet first, finding the usual things plus a few prescription drugs—Valium and an antibiotic. The cabinet under the sink held the usual—toilet paper and a small trash can. The counter was covered with cosmetics, and an ashtray overflowed with stubs of menthol cigarettes.

  Finishing my search, I opened my vest and extracted the thermos, pouring the Tang down the sink to relieve some of the weight. I had started to feel like I had concrete tied around my waist. I still looked like a beached whale with all my supplies.

  When I came out of the bathroom I found Kitty sitting on a flowered sofa drinking out of a mug. Her jacket and facemask lay in a pile by the door, and she looked comfy as if she was nesting. Bill sat across from her.

  While Kitty told him about the truck breakdown, a pretty believable story, I wandered around the room with my hands behind my back, scanning for clues. I studied family pictures on the top of the television. There was one of Chester when he still had his hair, with his arm around a young Bill. Bill had changed over the years too, but even back then he wore thick glasses.

  “How you doing since your dad died?” I said to Bill, interrupting Kitty’s work of fiction.

  “Dad and I had a falling out in the last few years,” Bill said sadly, shaking his head. “He got ornerier as he aged, and we disagreed on so much. I wish I’d had a chance to make up with him before he died.”

  “I’m sure he knew how you felt, deep down.”

  “I have more pictures. Do you want to see them?”

  “Sure,” I said, watching him take an album from the mantle. Just my luck. Trapped looking at photo albums. I plunked down next to Kitty in all my gear and paged through the album Bill handed to us.

  I started sweating because of the heavy clothes I wore. It was only a matter of time before I passed out from
the heat. Pulling off my hunting cap, I shook out my orange mop. I rolled up the legs of my snow pants. That was a trick, leaning down over all the supplies.

  “Where’s Barb?” I asked.

  “She went to bed,” Bill said.

  “I need a drink of water.” I handed the album to Kitty.

  “You stay here,” I said to Bill when he started to rise. “I can get it myself.”

  I opened every cupboard and drawer, again finding only the usual supplies. The pile of papers on the table turned out to be shopping catalogs.

  Noticing the silence in the front room, I ran water in the sink and clinked a glass against the tap.

  I was really on fire now, sweat beading on my forehead.

  Just then Little Donny pounded on the front door and let himself in. When I turned off the water and came out of the kitchen he was blowing on his hands to warm them.

  “Where are your gloves?” I asked. I motioned to Kitty with my head to get going and leaned against the wall to pull on my boots.

  “Forgot them,” Little Donny said. “There wasn’t a thing wrong with your truck. It started right up.”

  “Well, that’s certainly strange,” I said, trying to hustling them out.

  “Look at this one, Gertie.” Kitty held up an aging black and white photograph of three service men, their arms around each other, smiles on their faces. “Chester and Onni and, why, isn’t that Floyd?”

  Bill looked over Kitty’s shoulder. “The three of them enlisted in the Marines together. They were close friends their entire lives.”

  I studied the picture, trying to imagine bible-toting Floyd in the military. And even in his youth, Onni had the body of a scarecrow, a receding hairline, and a shifty, shaded light in his eyes like he was always prowling. I penciled him in on my mental suspect list.

  It took a while to get Kitty moving, but finally we were on our way down the driveway, waving to Bill, who stood in the doorway watching us leave.

  “That went well,” I said to Kitty as we headed back to drop her off. “I don’t think they suspect a thing.”

  Chapter 9

  Word For The Day

  EGREGIOUS (ee GREE juhs) adj.

  Outstanding for undesirable qualities;

  remarkably bad; flagrant.

  THE NEXT MORNING, I stayed in bed longer than usual, even though I was wide-awake. Blaze and Mary’s sleeper sofa was comfy and warm. It felt good to stretch and wiggle my toes and think about the case. I could hear Little Donny’s steady sawing from the living room as events marched through my head like wasps in and out of a hive.

  I was learning a lot about being a detective, but I knew I had so much more to learn. There’s nothing like the actual experience to teach you the finer points. Like what happened last night. It wasn’t Little Donny’s fault our cover was almost blown—I take full responsibility for it. Next time I go on a surveillance mission, I won’t leave my truck smack dab in the road for everyone to see. All my life I’ve had to learn things the hard way, or so it seems.

  The photograph of the three service men intrigued me: Chester—dead, with a bullet in his head, owner of a large parcel of property, Onni—one-time owner of the mineral rights for said piece of property, and in my book, an undesirable. As Grandma Johnson would say, Onni was from the muddy side of the pasture. Then we have Floyd, the bible belter who found Chester’s body in the hunting shack. The fading photograph reminded me that life was precious and too short and that I should make every minute count.

  By the time I arrived in the kitchen ready for the day, Blaze and Mary were nowhere in sight. I made a fresh pot of coffee and ate a doughnut, careful not to wake my personal bodyguard.

  o0o

  I poked around in my barn for things to add to Kitty’s rummage pile, and a few minutes later George pulled in. His snake-trimmed hat grinned at me and so did he.

  “Get rid of that stray dog yet?” George asked. I noticed he had put on a brown wool sweater. The weather had been unseasonably cold, even for the U.P., and I wondered if George would hold out until January without a jacket.

  “What stray dog?” I said, trying to wrestle an old bike out of a tangled heap.

  “You know, the one with the yellow eyes.” George pitched in and the bike came loose, the tires flat, rust corroding the handlebars.

  “George, you sure are starting to drink early in the day. Better watch that. It’ll ruin you.”

  George leaned his shoulder against a support beam. “Thought so,” he said under his breath.

  Then I remembered about the stun gun and the fib I’d told George. “Oh, he’s around here all right but he hasn’t got near enough to zap.”

  An amused grin spread over his face as he looked at the junk pile. “What are you doing with that bike?”

  “Kitty’s having a rummage sale,” I said. “I thought I’d donate some of the family’s old things. She could use the money. Make sure you stop and buy something. This though…,” I gestured at the bike, “should go to the dump.”

  George nodded. “I’ll drop it off. The reason I came by was to remind you about tonight. The Lion’s Club is having its annual pasty dinner and dance. The Lionesses are doing the cooking.”

  “That’s right. I forgot all about it.”

  “Thought I could escort you over there.”

  My mind was working a mile a minute. Everybody in the county goes to the pasty dinner, which meant Bill and Barb would be there, which meant an empty Lampi house and the possibility of tying up a few loose ends. Although this case had more than a few ends flying loose.

  “That would be nice,” I said, “only you go on ahead and have fun. I’ll meet you there. Cora Mae and I have something to do first. It’ll make us a little late.”

  “Sure, fine by me. How about a game of cards this afternoon.”

  “I have to go to court,” I said. “Today’s the day.”

  George shuffled his feet and, if I didn’t know better, I would have thought the expression flickering across his handsome face resembled disappointment. What was that all about?

  I dug an empty cardboard box out of the corner and began to fill it. George helped me load the boxes for Kitty’s rummage sale into the bed of my truck. Then he loaded a pile of things for the dump into the back of his truck. What a man, I thought, watching him close the back end up, stroll to the driver’s seat with a tip of his hat, and drive off.

  I pulled a drill and a box of wood screws off of the tool cart and headed back to Blaze’s.

  The night before when I got ready for bed, I noticed that some of the floorboards in Blaze’s mobile home were squeaky, especially in the hall. Living in a small trailer and listening to creaks and groans from loose boards could drive anyone absolutely crazy, a theory I’ll have to explore regarding Blaze’s recent behavior. He must be too busy trying to get out of work to notice when his own home needs repair. He never was handy with tools.

  Never wait for a man to do a job that’s important to you, is my motto, because the job will never get done. Or he’ll mess it up something awful and you’ll have to either fix it yourself anyway or learn to live with it worse than it was before. A woman can do anything if she has the proper tools. And Barney had left a barn full for me.

  I plugged the drill into a hall electrical socket and began drilling the screws into the floor using the screw attachment. I ended up using the whole box. It was a good thing the floor was bare wood instead of linoleum or tile. That would have been harder.

  Little Donny came out of the bathroom in his boxers and a white undershirt, toweling his damp hair. He squeezed down the hall past me, shaking his head. Mornings are especially rough on him.

  My repair job ended up looking pretty good, and when I tested it the floor was as quiet as one of Grandma Johnson’s cooked noodles.

  o0o

  “What the hell happened to my maple floor,” Blaze hollered when he came home a little later. “Mary, come and see what she did now. Oh, my God.”

  He cl
amped his hands on the sides of his face and squeezed like he had a migraine headache.

  “It doesn’t look a bit worse than it did before,” I said. “And it’s quieter like it should be, and Mary’s not home yet. She’s visiting with Grandma.”

  Blaze had one hand over his mouth, and he was that red tomato color again. It figures that Blaze wouldn’t appreciate what I did for him. He’s always been that way, but I’m not a quitter. I’ll keep it up till one day he says thank you and means it.

  “Maybe you have too many clothes on,” I said to him, remembering how I’d overheated at Bill’s because I had on so much. “Dress lighter and maybe that red coloring will go away. Wouldn’t hurt to try. And once it gets walked on a bit,” I added, “the shine on those screws will wear away.”

  o0o

  “The bullet that killed Chester was from his own weapon,” Kitty said while riding shotgun with Cora Mae scrunched in the middle. “He was killed with a rifle from the gun rack at his house.”

  “How do you know for sure?” I said, so excited I almost drove the truck into the ditch. I pulled over and slammed on the brakes. “Who told you?”

  “I have sources in Escanaba,” Kitty said, smugly.

  “Does Blaze know about this?”

  Kitty nodded. “He must. He’d get the report as soon as it was ready.”

  “You’d think I’d be the first one he’d share it with since I was the first one with the murder theory. Figures he’d know and not even tell me. The killer made a mistake putting the murder weapon back,” I reasoned. “If he had dumped the rifle, nobody ever would have known it was Chester’s own rifle.”

  “If you hadn’t noticed the extra rifle in the gun rack Blaze never would have had it checked,” Kitty said. “You’re a hero.”

  I was starting to like Kitty more and more all the time. “I thought he ignored pretty much everything I said. I’m expecting a full apology from him. A public one.” Frowning, I decided it didn’t make sense. If I planned out a murder, would I use my victim’s rifle? “Why would a killer use the victim’s own weapon to murder him?”