Murder Talks Turkey

Chapter 21

WHAT WAS TOODLES DOING with my Sweet Cheeks? To say I was jealous and distrustful of Cora Mae would be a huge understatement. George Jack Erikson was going to get an earful from me, that was for sure. So was my best buddy, the man stalker.

Either she learned to drive alone pronto or she stayed home. No more teaming up with my man. It felt good to say that. My man. Barney had been my one and only until he drowned. It took me a long time to get past that, and I wasn’t going to blow it. And Cora Mae was going to keep her mitts to herself.

I felt bad about my feelings, but not bad enough to change them. Cora Mae had gone through every single man in the U.P. except the one she was out joy-riding with right this minute.

I couldn’t help but be suspicious.

“Toodles, where are you?” I said into my radio. “Big Ma and I are near the big city. And remember that other ears could be on our frequency.”

Toodles came back, “Sweet Cheeks is talking to me. Wait a sec.”

I regretted giving George that moniker. At the time it was great fun calling him Sweet Cheeks, but it sounded pornographic coming out of Cora Mae’s mouth.

“I’m back,” Cora Mae announced. “Stay where you are. Tigger’s heading your way. So are we.”

“We’re trading places as soon as possible,” I said into the radio. “We’ll wait in the pines near the cemetery and stay in touch with you until Tigger reaches his destination. Then you and Big Ma can team up, maybe get that manicure you’ve been talking about.”

“Roger and out, Muffy.”

They came up around the bend into Escanaba so fast I had to run a red light to stay with them. Tony blew through the intersection with a speck of fading yellow showing on the traffic light overhead. George made it through on full yellow, and I squealed out trying to tuck the butt-end of Walter’s rust bucket in under the changing light. I didn’t make it. Solid red.

I checked my rear view mirror for cops. The coast was clear. Luck was on my side.

“He’s heading toward the hospital,” I guessed, turning onto Ludington at the next light.

At first I thought Tony must be visiting a patient, or maybe he did financial work for the hospital. But when he turned into a lane that ran around the back of the building, I spotted a hearse next to an unmarked door. Tony pulled into a small parking lot. George had no choice but to continue on.

I got a good look at the hearse. I looked like every other death mobile I’d ever seen. “That entrance leads to the morgue,” I said.

By the time we circled back around, Tony was standing by the door with a heavy set woman and a young guy wearing orange shoes.

I almost panicked until I remembered our disguises. We passed within three feet of Tony without drawing any attention from him. By the time we found parking spaces, the three of them had disappeared inside.

“Now what?” Cora Mae said out George’s passenger window. She looked way too comfy to me.

I yanked her door open and rearranged my envy-green face into a smile. “You and Kitty are through for the day. She’s going to give you a final driving lesson on the way back to Stonely.”

Cora Mae looked at Walter’s truck. “Not in that old thing?”

“A driver needs to know how to handle all kinds of vehicles. Up and out.”

We changed places and I watched Cora Mae jerk out of the parking lot, riding the brake all the way.

“I don’t know how you women roped me into this,” George said. “I’m losing a day’s work just to consort with criminals.” He had a grin on his face, so I knew he didn’t really mind. “I kind of like you as a blonde.”

As much as I wanted to stay with George and listen to his sweet talk, I had a mission to accomplish. Tony Lento was in the morgue with one of the members of the Orange Gang. “I’ll be right back,” I said, before slinking over to the entrance door and scouting for trouble. Then I heaved my shoulders back, raised my chin, and walked down an empty hall that smelled of disinfectant and something worse. Hushed voices ahead slowed me down. I slid to the side of the hall and pretended to look for something in my purse.

“I’ll give you fifty bucks,” Tony was saying, “if you give me a name.”

“Don’t got no name, Man.” I imagined those words came from the Orange member. He sounded hostile. “We pickin’ up one of our own. Leave us be.”

“A hundred. I’ll give you a hundred bucks.”

“You want I should shoot you right here in the morgue. Then you wont have far to go to get youzself pumped up with preservatives. Save on the cost of the amblance.”

“God, jeez,” Tony said, sounding shocked. “Put that thing away. I’m going.”

I began walking slowly back the way I came. Tony breezed by me like a hound dog fleeing from a skunk. He glanced sharply at me, decided I wasn’t a threat, and kept going.

What was the name he had been hoping for? Did he want to find out who the leader of the gang was? But in the movies, gang leaders liked everyone to know who they were. They didn’t hide behind other member’s skirts. Or in this case, behind their shoes.

If Tony was trying to finger Shirley, like she said, why was he creeping around the hospital trying to collect information?

Tony? Angie? Shirley? We had some serious credulity going on here. I was pretty sure I’d used my word for the day incorrectly, but no one heard, since it was just a head thought.

After Tony drove away, George and I waited in the hospital parking lot while a casket was loaded into the back of the hearse. Then we walked over. I flashed my law badge. “Undercover,” I muttered.

“We ain’t talking to you,” Hostile Boy said.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” I said to the heavy set woman. She nodded.

George strolled over to talk to the hearse driver. His job was to find out which one of the gang members was in the coffin. Kent Miller from the Soo? Or Bob Goodyear from Detroit? I had a pretty good idea judging by the speech patterns coming from the angry one.

Dialects are another thing a good private investor should be able to distinguish between. When George held up two fingers I knew I was right. Bob Goodyear. The shoe-less dead guy George and I had found behind my truck. The one wearing the Kromer who had picked off his own partner.

“Were Kent Miller and Bob good friends?” I asked, directing my question at the woman who must be Bob’s mother.

“I told your people already. I never heard of that other guy.”

“He wasn’t no real Orange,” Orange Shoe said.

“He was wearing your colors when he went down,” I said, rearranging a loose blond curl and readjusting the Blublocker sunglasses hiding my eyes.

“He was nobody and nothing. You have to concentrate you efforts on things that count. We wants to know who did Bobby.” He shoved a stiff finger into my shoulder and brought his face close to mine. I smelled fear and I was pretty sure it was mine. “We take care of our own. We be back.”

“Your guy killed Kent Miller. I saw him fire.” I could see the pores in his face.

“That was Bobby’s business. Not mine or yours. Bobby was set up. Come on, Ma, let’s get outta this place.”

Ma! I caught the connection between the dead man, the hostile Orange gang member, and the heavy set woman. “I didn’t get your name,” I said.

But Bobby’s brother had turned his back on me.