1 Target of Death (2 page)

Once we were back on the road again, I felt
Dixie’s eyes on me.

“I know what you‘re going to say,” I told
her.

“Oh, really? Are you suddenly a mind reader?”

“God, no. That’s all I need. Although I
sure could visualize a man dead in the snow with an arrow through his heart,” I
said with a shudder.

“I could, too, but I guess it’s hard not to
think about that. Personally, I would rather not go out that way.” She folded
her arms across her chest. “You really need to control that temper of yours.
You should know you catch more flies with sugar water.”

“Oh, and by catch, you mean…?”

“Daniel was cute, don’t you think?”

I gripped the steering wheel with both
hands and retorted, “Not! He tried to implicate us in a murder, don’t forget.”

“Yes, but maybe he had a good reason to say
that.”

“Yeah, like maybe he’s the one responsible
for that man’s death.”

“Man? I don’t remember the sheriff
mentioning that—”

“It’s a man, for sure. Who else would be
tramping around in the woods in the dead of winter?”

Dixie chuckled. “Really? If we were back in
Louisiana, I’d say you. I can image there are plenty of women who love the
great outdoors here in Michigan. There might even be a few in the archery
competition.”

I arched a brow. “I’ll believe that when I
see it.”

There was a fork in the road and I veered
off to the right. “You’re going the wrong way,” Dixie sang.

“No, I’m sure this is the right way.”

“Were you actually listening to the
directions or were you daydreaming?”

I found a plowed driveway in which to turn
around and then made my way back, turning on Creek Road. Pine trees were
tightly packed along the sides of the road and I kept my eyes peeled for
wildlife. From what I knew of Michigan, you could never predict when a white-tailed
deer might make an appearance and glide across the road. In fact, we just
passed a deer crossing sign. The last thing I needed was to crash into one. It
would really bite if I had an accident and that Daniel character had to help me
out again.

I considered myself to be a strong woman,
one who didn’t need a man in her life. It’s not like I’d ever really met a man who
was capable of dealing with my love of archery or the outdoors. I guess I spent
too many years in the competition circuit. Most men were too intimidated by me,
besides the ones who frequented bars. I’ve prided myself to stay away from
those places. I had zero tolerance for men touching me—or anyone else for
that matter—unless I knew them, of course. That’s when Dixie came in
handy. If anyone tried to get that fresh, she set them straight, real
quick-like. She probably saved a few lives in the process. I have been known to
kick a man in the teeth if he cut out of line. My momma didn’t much care for
that type of behavior, though, and if she ever found out about it, which she
had on occasion, I was sent straight to church, a Catholic church. Problem was
that we weren’t even Catholic. I think she just loved that whole confession thing.
If she’d heard the half of my confessions, she’d have locked me in the cellar
for sure.

I cleared the trees and passed the Bear Paw
sign with the population of twelve hundred clearly displayed. I had a love-hate
relationship with small towns, although I came from one myself. Estelle,
Louisiana, where I lived, was located in Jefferson Parish. It is considered the
Deep South, so what I was doing in Michigan, freezing my ass off in the winter,
was beyond me.

The downtown area of Bear Paw didn’t seem
to have too many businesses to speak of and no McDonald’s, either. Great, I
can’t image where and what we’d have to eat. One thing was for sure; it
wouldn’t contain any Cajun food.

I pulled into the parking lot of the Hidden
Pass restaurant and parked in the snow. When Dixie and I got out, the snow sunk
up to our ankles. As we trudged through it, snow tightly packed into every
crevice of my athletic shoes that it could. We continued to make our way along
the rundown brick building. As we rounded the corner at the front of the
restaurant, there was a large plate glass window with booths alongside it on
the other side. I had to ignore the strange looks of the patrons inside as we entered,
stomping off the snow from our shoes. A bright-eyed woman greeted us and
escorted us to the front counter where we took a seat, as a young man pushing a
mop bucket rushed past us to clean up the snow we had tracked in.

I inhaled deeply of the coffee that was
trickling into a pot on the other side of the counter. An older lady brought a
coffee pot with her, but before she could flip over my cup, I stopped her. “I
could really use a hot chocolate.”

“You sure can fill my cup,” Dixie offered. With
a nod, the waitress filled Dixie’s cup, then whirled away, coming back with a
hot chocolate with whipped cream on the top, just like I loved it.

The woman set a one-sided menu down for
each of us and left, presumably to give us time to make our selections. I
glanced about the cafe. Besides the counter where we sat, tables were scattered
intermittently throughout, with a jukebox along one wall. The walls were
covered with pictures of men and woman who were proudly posing next to wild
game that they had obviously acquired during hunting season. There were also
trophies atop shelves, all of them archery related. My mouth must have slacked
open because when the waitress returned, she remarked, “Yes, those are all
archery trophies. Our own Daniel Adams won them all. He’s a national champ, you
know.”

“Is that right? So he’s never been beat?”

“Gosh, no.”

“Well, there is always a first time.”

She hitched back on one leg. “You can’t
mean that—are you here to compete?”

I tucked my auburn hair behind my ears.
“Yes, haven’t you ever heard of a woman competing in archery tournaments?”

“Not really, but I hear there is this woman
from Louisiana who is making her way here. Word has it she’s tall as a tree and
twice as big.” Her eyes twinkled when she continued. “They call her Louisiana
Sassy, if you can believe that.”

Dixie burst out into a fit of the giggles
and even though I gave her a dirty look, she couldn’t stop. “That’s rich. Tall
as a tree.” She slapped the counter. “You folks sure know how to tell a tall
tale.”

I gave myself a once over. I was neither
tall as a tree nor twice as big! Instead of getting mad, though, I had to smile
myself. “That’s really a stretch.” I held out my hand. “I’m Tammy Lynn
Rodrigue, more notably known as Louisiana Sassy.”

“Wherever did you get such a name, dear? I
bet with a little makeup you wouldn’t look half bad. You might even find
yourself a husband.”

Dixie introduced herself while I was biting
my lip hard, suppressing a not-so-nice retort, but my grandmother would come
back from the grave is she heard me disrespecting my elders. That’s one of the
things they pound into your head when you’re raised in the south. Well, that
and to go to church every Sunday. Most Sundays, my momma had to search in the
Bayou just to find me. She didn’t tolerate my behavior by a long shot and willow
switches were something that I was accustomed to feeling along my backside as a
child. Could I help it if I loved to fish and hunt? My dad and I were quite
close until he passed a few years back.

The waitress took a notepad from her blue
uniform and waved it in front of my face. “I meant no disrespect, Miss Sassy. I
guess stories have a way of embellishing themselves over time. I’m Margarita Hickey.”

I straightened up on the stool and said, “So,
you’re the owner of this restaurant, then?”

Margarita smoothed her gray hair with a
careful pat. “Who’s telling stories about me now?”

“Sheriff Simon Price.”

He cheeks reddened slightly. “Oh, my.
Whatever did that man have to say about me?”

“We need a place to stay in town. There’s
been a murder hereabouts, and he seems to think we’re involved just because I
have arrows with the same color feathers as they found in the victim.”

“The man was killed with an arrow,” Dixie
informed her.”

Margarita’s eyes were wide, taking all of
it in. “Oh, my, that sure is dreadful news. I hope that won’t hurt business in
town. In Bear Paw we depend on the business during the winter extravaganza
festival. I’m barely hanging on as it is. I just won’t make another season if
things don’t do better soon.”

“And about a place to stay?”

“Save that talk for later. What would you
girls like to eat? My chili is the specialty.” Without waiting for an answer,
she whisked away and returned with bowls of the said chili, setting them down.
She hovered close by, much to my chagrin.
Was
she that concerned if we liked her chili?
I wondered.

I lifted my spoon and sunk it into the
bowl, coming back with a spoonful. I blew slightly on it and tried it. I forced
myself not to react, but I couldn’t help myself. I dove into my purse, coming
back with my spices. I shook some into my bowl and stirred the chili, then
handed over the bottle to Dixie, who did the same.

“Oh, my. You don’t care for my chili?”

“It’s not that, exactly. We’re just used to
our food tasting a little more flavorful.”

“She means spicy,” Dixie corrected me with
a raised brow. “It’s not spicy enough. I don’t suppose you have any Louisiana
hot sauce?”

“Oh, no. I’m sorry you don’t like the
chili,” she said with a frown. “I suppose there isn’t anything on my menu that
you girls would like.”

“Don’t worry. I mean no disrespect, truly.
We are used to Cajun food, is all. I don’t suppose you have any gumbo?” I
asked.

“Well, no. Is that good?”

Before I had a chance to say a word, an old
man at another table said, “I’d sure love me some gumbo. That’s the thing, we
just don’t have that much variety in Michigan. When I lived down south, I got
so used to the cooking down there. You just can’t get any food like that up
north.”

“Up north?” I asked, perplexed.

“It’s a Michigan term,” Margarita explained.
“I don’t believe any other state uses that terminology.”

“Of course, up north could be a mile
north,” the man added. “It’s funny, actually. Maybe you should let these gals
teach you how to make some real Cajun food. It might be a great thing to do
during the winter festival.” He blew his nose with a tissue. “Just a thought.
Don’t mind me for interrupting you, ladies. I’m Bud Haskel, by the way. I sure
hope you give that Daniel a run for his money. I’m all for rooting for the
underdog.”

“I hardly consider myself an underdog. I
was an archery state champ for Louisiana and I also won the Rolling Hills Bayou
Classic, but that was when I was younger. For the last ten years I have only
practiced in my backyard, but you could say that archery is something that I’m
passionate about. Well, that and Cajun cooking.”

“I can’t wait to taste it,” Bud said. “How
about it, Margarita? Are you going to give the girl a go at it? It might even
help draw in more business.”

“She never said she was interested, Bud,”
Margarita said. “And besides, she has herself a competition to win,” Margarita
added with a wink. “It’s sad to hear about that murder. I sure hope it’s not
anyone I know.”

“What’s that about a murder?” asked Bud.

“I’m not sure, but we were told the victim
was shot with an arrow and the sheriff said we couldn’t leave town,” I said.

“That’s awful presumptuous of him,” Margarita
said. “I wonder what Simon has up his sleeve.”

“Oh, do you know him personally?” I asked.
“Boyfriend, perhaps?”

Margarita fanned herself. “Why, no. He’s
ten years my junior, but he sure is a handsome man, don’t you girls think?”

I smiled. “Not really my type, but I
suppose I might say yes if I were closer to his age.”

“So, what is your type exactly, girl? Or do
you already have a man?”

“Nope. I’m as single as they come.”

She dared a look in Dixie’s direction. “No
girlfriend either, then?”

“Don’t look at me,” Dixie said. “We’re not
like that. I’m not saying there is anything wrong with it if you are, mind you.
I just like men, is all.”

“Me, too.”

“Well, then. If you girls are finished
eating, I’d be happy to show you to your room. I don’t have too much space, but
I can squeeze you in. I have a bedroom with two beds. That shouldn’t make
either of you too uncomfortable. Perhaps we can chat later about the murder and
what we’re going to do to get you girls off that suspect list. My sister is
sort of a sleuth in East Tawas, you know. Eleanor Mason. I don’t get a chance
to see her much, but we’re as close as two sisters can be who live hundreds of
miles apart from one another.”

We followed Margarita up the stairs to
where it opened up into quite a lovely living room. The yellow couches looked
quite worn, but they were covered with mauve and cream-colored knitted afghans.
There were antique end tables and a china cabinet filled with blue and white
china trimmed with gold. I knew real china when I saw it. My grandmother had
plenty that was real, for sure, and not my crazy grandmother on my mother’s
side. I crossed myself before my mind started going down that dark road. It’s
best not to think about the past and what my family has gone centuries trying
to conceal.