Murder Talks Turkey

Chapter 23

AS I’VE SAID BEFORE, WE love our weapons in the U.P. Most of us have at least three or four. Some of us have dozens. Automatic weapons might be illegal in this country, but Yoopers never consider themselves bound by the same laws as other United States citizens. We do what we want to.

Me? I had my purse full of weapons, but they only worked up close. That wasn’t good enough. Than I remembered Grandma Johnson’s pistol. I’d taken it away from her the last time she waved it around in the air, threatening me and my dog.

The run from the trailer to Walter’s rusty junker was the longest of my life. There’s not much scarier than the potential of a shot in the back by a hidden sniper. Every second I expected to feel the impact of a riddle of bullets ripping into my torso. While I started the truck, I anticipated someone out there beading into my forehead with a scope. My hands shook while I fumbled with the ignition.

I blew out of Walter’s driveway, amazed that I was still alive. Half a mile down the road, I spotted something resembling a big bear ahead of me. As I approached, I realized it was Fred running along the side of the road. He was heading home, the smart boy.

After a mutually warm greeting, Fred hopped into the truck and we raced home to pick up Grandma’s pea shooter. It wouldn’t stand up against the kind of weapon that was used at the trailer, but it was better than nothing.

I couldn’t stop thinking about the bullet hole in Kitty and the color draining from her face.

The guinea hens did their little alarm dance around the truck until I stepped out and they recognized me. Fred dashed for the house, only two steps ahead of flapping wings and pointy beaks. I opened the door, we stepped in, and I instantly smelled old lady.

“What are you doing here?” I said to Grandma Johnson, who stood over the sink eating an orange in drippy bites. “You don’t belong in my house.”

“I’ve been waiting for you,” the she-devil said, wiping her chin with her fingers. “Sit down. I’ll get you a cup of coffee.”

“I don’t have time to chitchat,” I said. “I’m picking up a few things. Then I’m gone.”

“I need to say my piece,” Grandma said. “I went to bingo last night with Pearl and she set me straight. As hard as it is, I’m apologizing to you for everything I did.”

What a shock. My mother-in-law had never, ever admitted wrongdoing in all the years I’d known her.

“I’m sorry I got you in trouble,” she said, easing down at the kitchen table and looking at her hands. “Our family is pulled apart because of me. Blaze in jail, you on the run, me without a home.” At that, she gazed up at me with baleful eyes.

By now, I was hearing sirens in the distance, coming from every direction. Dickey and his deputies would comb the woods searching for the person who shot Kitty. They’d also be looking for me, but they’d assume I was on foot.

Eventually, they’d stop here to tell Grandma and Star that I was missing, lost in the woods, or worse. I had plenty of time before that happened.

“Kitty’s been shot,” I said. “I don’t know if she’s going to live.”

Grandma gasped. “What happened?”

I gave her a rough outline. “There’s a very bad person who is getting desperate,” I said, after finishing. “I need to stop the killings and get my son out of jail. As much as you’d like to think that I’m a renegade criminal, I’m not. You and I are on the same side. We want the same things.”

“Okay. I can see that now.”

I didn’t know whether to trust her or not. Grandma Johnson hadn’t displayed any signs of humanity in all these years. Why would she start today?

“What can I do to help?” Grandma asked.

“You can tell Dickey Snell you haven’t seen me.”

“Never cared for that kid.”

“And don’t believe anything he tells you about me. If he says I’m lost in the woods, don’t be alarmed. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“And take care of Fred while I’m gone.”

Grandma twitched. “That’s expecting pretty much.”

“And no hitting him with the fly swatter.”

Grandma groaned and looked down at Fred with a distrustful glare before switching to her old helpless lady face to gaze at me. “Anything to help,” she said. “I want to get back in your good graces and have my family together like before. I’d like to see us all together at the supper table. Does this mean I can stay?”

“Let me think a minute.”

What could I say? She was ninety-two and trying to turn over a new leaf. After digging in my closet and pocketing the pistol, I gave Grandma her answer.

“You can stay,” I agreed, knowing I’d regret it soon enough.

____________________

All of Tamarack County’s law enforcement agents were busy over at Walter’s house, so the jail wasn’t guarded. Blaze was lying on a cot. When he saw me rummaging through desk drawers, he popped right up. “Look in the top right one,” he said, good-guessing my intentions.

I found the key and opened the cell.

“This is crazy,” I said. “You didn’t kill Bob Goodyear or steal money from the credit union. I didn’t either. So why are you in jail? And why am I on the run?”

“What’s that thing on your head?” Blaze was staring at my blond hair.

“A disguise.”

“What’s all the commotion I’m hearing?” Blaze said, sounding pretty normal.

“Someone shot Kitty.”

“Hell’s bells,” he roared. “I need to get my job back and help you hunt for whoever did this. Is she dead?”

“No. At least I don’t think so.”

“You need my help.”

I had to remind myself that Blaze wasn’t much of a criminal catcher even before the disease struck him down. But Dickie was far worse. The kid’s college education hadn’t taught him common sense or street smarts. Going by the book is a bad plan way up in the north woods.

“Here’s a badge,” I said to Blaze, handing him the one I had ordered for myself and watching him pin it on his shirt. “You’re the sheriff as far as I’m concerned. Let’s go.”

“Where are we headed?”

I looked at my son. “I have absolutely no idea,” I answered.