Murder Talks Turkey

Chapter 20

I KNEW HOW LONG IT could take a young woman to finish a workout and gussy herself up, because I went through the process when I raised my own girls. I had to wait through Laura’s shower, blow drying of really long thick hair, and a fresh makeup application from a tote bag full of supplies. After checking on her progress several times, I hung around outside with a cup of coffee from the café next door.

“Big Ma,” I said into my radio while sitting on a street bench. “What’s happening over your way?”

No response.

“Big Ma, calling, Big Ma.” Maybe information about the radio’s capability had been exaggerated. The range was supposed to be twelve miles. Kitty was seven away. I was ready to give up on raising her when I heard her voice.

“Hunh?” she said. Not exactly the fancy vocabulary of a woman taking an online legal course.

“Were you sleeping?” I asked. “You were. I can’t believe it.”

Kitty snapped to and denied it, but I could hear confusion in her voice that heavy sleep brings when a person is startled awake.

“Where’s you-know-who?” I asked, realizing we had forgotten to give Angie a code name. Kitty better know the answer. Here I was risking bone-breakage and ripped muscles while she sawed lumber.

“Our target’s standing still,” she stuttered a few seconds later like it was fresh news to her too.

I signed off and waited some more.

Finally, Laura appeared and we agreed to slide into a back booth at the café, just like in the movies. Laura had paper, pen, and a recording unit that she set in the middle of the table.

“No taping,” I said, then remembered my own little unit. I secretly rifling through the purse on my lap, found it and turned it on.

“You said you had a story,” Laura began.

“I do, but no taping. And I ask my questions first.”

“Okay.”

“You protect your sources, right?” I’d watched enough crime shows on television to know the drill, but she was young and might not understand all her professional ethical duties.

“I won’t reveal your identity, if that’s the way you want it.”

“Ready for your first question?”

“All right.” A waitress brought coffee for Laura and gave me a refill.

“Tell me about Angie Gates?”

“Who?”

“Angie Gates?”

“I’ve never heard of her.”

Then I remembered. Angie Gates wasn’t really Angie Gates.

“I mean Shirley Hess,” I said. That did the trick.

Laura had met her in college. Shirley left school after her freshman year. They kept in touch and Laura had offered Shirley a temporary place to stay. Shirley had decided a few days ago to make the move to Lower Michigan. She had been at Laura’s house since yesterday, finalizing plans.

She had told me she was taking the week off to decide what to do next. What about the teller job? Had she given her employer any notice?

“When’s she moving?” I wanted to know.

“She’s still packing up her things and she’s waiting for a delivery. A week at most, she thought. Why are you asking questions about my friend?”

“I can’t tell you that, and you’ll be better off if you don’t mention our conversation to her. What kind of delivery is she expecting?”

“Some items she bought on online. She doesn’t have an address yet where she’s going, so she’s having them shipped to my house.”

“Has she ever mentioned someone named Tony Lento?”

“Not that I recall.”

My purse started speaking.

Toodles to Muffin Cakes I heard coming from inside it. The mini recorder flew to the floor when I fumbled with the purse. Sweet Cheeks and I are onto Tigger.

I turned the radio off as Laura retrieved my recorder from under her seat. She took a long look at it. “You recorded our conversation without my permission?” she said, a little anger in her voice. “At least I was above board with my intentions.” She opened the unit and removed the tape. “If you want this back, you’ll have to let me record your story.”

Who knew someone as young as Laura could be so tough and street smart? I had to give her credit, she had me cold. Now I had to decide how important the tape was. Then I remembered that my conversation with Angie in the bar’s parking lot was on it. And the female voice in the woods where Tony had his secret little love nest.

“Deal,” I said, reaching out and turning on her recorder. “Let me start at the very beginning. You better get a refill on your coffee. We’ll be here awhile.”

I had to take off the wig to convince her that I was Gertie Johnson, the one who had every cop in the U.P. searching for her. Laura stared at me with big, round, eager eyes. To a cub reporter, I must be a gift from heaven. I told her almost everything, even information that had been kept out of the newspapers. I told her about the robbery and the pillowcase filled with pretend dollars, about real money missing from the credit union, about the dead guy and the Orange Gang. I even told her about Blaze’s Glock and how Kitty and I ended up in jail because we stole the weapon and buried it in a compost heap.

What I didn’t want her to know was the extent of her house guest’s involvement, how Angie, or rather Shirley, had made several accusations against a local resident, how she wanted me to prove that he had set her up to take the fall for murder and bank robbery. I didn’t want Laura to know how Shirley had hired me and lied to me. The more I thought about it, the more I was convinced that the alarm button-happy teller might be major involved, in spite of her denial.

Was Shirley Hess sending me on a wild goose chase? Was she talking turkey, or crying wolf?

I couldn’t put it together. She had saved the credit union from a robbery, or so she must have thought at the time, until the pillowcase was opened. The robber had even clunked her with his gun. And it was obvious that she didn’t have thousands of dollars of stolen money, because she couldn’t come up with a single dollar for a retainer for my services. And she was frightened enough to hide in Gladstone and plan an escape.

Another contributing factor was the dead guy’s missing shoes. Someone had taken them off his feet, and that someone could have been Tony Lento. I’d seen him at the dance. He had the opportunity. Money probably was the motive.

But why would anybody plan a heist and risk life and freedom to steal wads of Monopoly money?

I watched Laura trot to her car with her reporter equipment. “Can I get a picture of you?” she asked, straightening up from the backseat with a camera in her hand and a big Cheshire cat grin on her face.

We found a spot behind the fitness center where I could remove my disguise and brush out my hair. I cheesed for her several times before I saw a picture on the back screen of her digital camera that I liked well enough to want printed in the Escanaba newspaper.

What they’ve done with cameras since my day is truly amazing.

Before she left, she gave me her business card.