Murder Talks Turkey

Chapter 14

Word For The Day

ADIPOSE (AD uh pohs’) adj.

Containing animal fat: fatty.

Alternate Word

PERT-NER(purt nir) Yooper phrase.

An approximation: not exact

IT SNOWED THROUGH THE NIGHT, just a light dusting but enough for our needs. I could smell the rich aroma of cedar as George and I set out from the house to take our first sauna together. Dry stones gathered from the Escanaba River popped and hissed when George ladled on more water from a scoop in a bucket.

He had built the sauna behind my barn in his spare time with his own hands, cutting cedar planks to just the right lengths and pounding the boards together until the sauna stood tall and ready for social gatherings.

This crisp Sunday morning was as good a time as any to break it in with the man who made it happen.

George peeled off his jeans while I searched the ceiling, pretending to study the “stud” work. Cora Mae would enjoy the pun later when I filled her in.

I wore a pair of Barney’s old sweatpants to cover my adipose thighs and a baggy T-shirt to hide my waistline bulge. When I sneaked a peek, George was pantless and in the process of unbuttoning his flannel shirt. The shirt was long enough to cover his fine buns, but not too long. I caught a glimpse of muscular, man-hairy legs.

What was I doing here watching George undress? What about my life-long commitment to Barney? My husband had visited me in my dreams last night, as he likes to do when I’m worrying about something. Keep on living, he’d whispered, life is short, embrace it and squeeze out every happy moment you can. I tried to get my arms around him, force him to stay with me, but he faded away in the early morning light.

“Are you sure you want to hold me to our agreement?” George said, grinning as he peeled off the shirt, exposing the rest of his body. I hoped if Barney was around, he couldn’t hear my thoughts, because my lifelong partner never, ever looked like this.

“The agreement,” George prodded, while my eyes wandered down to make sure he was holding up his end of the bargain.

I nodded, noting with relief that he wasn’t in his birthday suit. “Swim suits,” I sputtered. “That’s the rule.”

In the U.P. we like to take our saunas wearing nothing at all, except maybe a towel. That’s the old way, and custom is important to us. This morning, I was throwing tradition to the wind and hanging on to caution.

Saunas are an important part of our community. They are healthy for us in mind, body, and spirit. We sweat away impurities and increase our blood circulation without having to lift a finger. In fact, right this minute as George sat down beside me, my pulse went up a notch or two on its own.

“Well,” he said, arching a brow and smiling at me. “Now it’s your turn to get comfortable.”

I was afraid of that.

What was it with males? Had they no modesty at all? I’ve yet to hear of one who wouldn’t shed his clothes at the slightest suggestion.

“I’m feeling a little chilly,” I hedged, as steam rose from the stones and raw heat slapped me in the face.

How could I show him my body? Barney was the only man who ever saw me unclothed. He got to start viewing when I was young, when my body parts were all where they were supposed to be. No varicose veins, no strange little warty things cropping up like weeds, no flab, no gravitational pull reworking my torso.

I couldn’t even suck in my stomach any more, no matter how I tried.

And look at George! Other than a few wisps of gray at his temples, he had managed to maintain fighting trim. He hadn’t carried three babies to term either, I reminded myself. And if he couldn’t handle the sight of me, now was the time to find out.

I snuck another peek and saw him watching me with something new glimmering in his eyes.

“I won’t look,” he said, turning away.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

I wore a black one-piece bathing suit under my clothes, one with a flouncy little skirt that Cora Mae said would hide my flaws somewhat. The sweatpants landed in a heap at my feet, joining my shoes and socks. I draped a towel around my middle and pulled my top over my head.

That’s when I saw George staring. “You’re a beautiful woman,” he said softly.

I’m sure I blushed bright red, but the dry heat from the newly built sauna masked the embarrassment I was feeling. And I was feeling plenty.

By the time we ran out to roll in the tiny amount of snow on the ground, we were laughing like the old friends we were. And for a brief time, I forgot about Blaze’s medical condition and Grandma’s dementia and mean spirit. Temporarily I forgot about my widowhood and local murders and mayhem. I seized the moment.

____________________

Grandma Johnson had her chompers around a piece of Trenary toast when George and I came inside. Dickey sat next to her, bleeding cat hair all over my kitchen chair. I’m allergic to cat dander. Or maybe it was Dickey himself who caused my attacks.

“Make it quick,” I said to him. “I’ll start sneezing soon.”

He knew that, because it happened every time he came too close in a confined area. You’d think he’d wear something other than that hair-attracting green suit when we had to deal with each other.

“You’re allergic to that no-good, rabid dog of yours,” Grandma said, dunking the toast in her coffee cup and glaring at Fred, who stayed calm through her tirade. He stretched out by the door, close to a fast route of escape. The only sign that he heard was a flick in his left ear.

I handed Grandma a piece of taffy. Her eyes lit up. That should keep her quiet.

“Let’s hear what you have to report,” Dickey said to me. “I spoke with Kitty this morning. She said to come see you.”

I poured coffee refills for everyone and launched into my story about the Orange Gang and about running into Angie Gates at the Gladstone Beach.

“I’m a witness to that,” Grandma said, stiffly around the taffy. “Don’t forget.”

“My mother-in-law saw Angie run away from me,” I agreed. “That’s when the orange sneaker washed up on shore.”

“Are you alleging that the bank teller was involved in the robbery and homicides?” Dickey said.

Why was I bothering with Dickey Snell? He had plenty of book learning, but zero street-smarts. The proof is in the pudding, as Grandma says. Our acting detective was on the premises with his flock of turkey-brained assistants when the robber was killed. Murdered right in front of him and about twenty other locals. What does that tell you about Stonely’s law enforcement officer’s ability to protect its residents?

“Pretty obvious that she’s part of it, don’t you think?” I commented. “I should have had Fred along on the beach. He would have brought her back instead of letting her disappear.”

Dickey’s ears perked up along with Fred’s. “What makes you think she’s disappeared?”

“No reason.” The last thing I wanted Dickey to know was that we had been inside Angie’s house. “Just pondering out loud.”

“Gertie and those two no-good friends of hers broke into a house last night,” Grandma said, after spitting the ball of chewed-up taffy into the palm of her hand. “I heard them plotting on the telephone. Look at what I have to put up with! Living with criminals. And that dog!” She sucked the taffy back into her mouth.

“Why don’t I help you to your room?” George said to her. “I can see you need a little rest.”

I held my breath, hoping Dickey wouldn’t pursue her accusation. A quick glance his way told me he wasn’t paying attention. Grandma’s crabbing can close off anybody’s ears.

She grunted, but got up on her spindly legs and let George take her arm. “At least we have one kind heart around here,” she said as they walked slowly down the hall. “Watch that animal when you come back down the hallway by yourself, George. He’s vicious. Deputy Snell should take him away before he maims some little kid.”

She stopped abruptly. I could see George trying to get her started again, but she shook him off and turned around. “I forgot something important.”

“What’s that?” I made the mistake of saying.

“I’m not talking to you. Sheriff Snell, listen up. I’m speaking to you, son.”

Dickey blinked to attention.

Grandma shot a look my way. “You’ll find something interesting,” she said, “buried in fancy pants Kitty’s compost heap. I’m pretty sure it’s your murder weapon.”

We stared at her.

“I’m not kidding,” she said. “I heard them plotting away right here in my kitchen.”

That was the last straw.

When I had more time, I planned to dig a hole in the backyard just the right size and plant a crab tree over the shriveled remains of one old nasty biddy.