Buck Fever (14 page)

Porter ordered the white fish with creamed-almond glaze. She ordered the chef’s special chicken salad covered in apples, nuts and cranberries.

“This is from Japanese beer-fed stock. They have higher standards than both Canada and the United States. Trust me, my dear, I am not an idiot. You will never catch me eating Canadian beef or, God forbid, deer meat, since Mad Cow has migrated into the Canadian herds north of Toronto. It will be in Michigan soon enough.”

“Really? I didn’t know it was in the deer herd. Supposedly, tuberculosis is becoming a big problem in the States, though,” Kottle said.

“What about bird flu? It’s migrated from birds to humans and probably wild animals. Maybe it’s a combination of several diseases working together that’s causing the craziness in the deer in West Branch. Plus, we’ve got West Nile, Lyme Disease and equine encephalitis to worry about,” Porter said.

“I hear you, not a pleasant thought. We should go north tomorrow. It could take a few days to hammer out the facts and gather some evidence for the crime lab,” Dingman said, between chews. “I’ll meet you two at your apartment at six AM sharp,” he said, looking at Porter.

“Let’s make it seven and you’ve got a deal,” Porter said, glancing quickly at Kottle, then Dingman.

“Yes, I need time to drive over to Jeb’s apartment,” she said, blushing.

“Deal,” Dingman said, grinning.

Chapter 21

“G
eorge...NO!” Sissy Montagno screamed, flipping over on top of her motionless husband in bed.

“What? Damn, I was having such a good dream. What the hell is wrong?” George said, pushing her away.

“Oh, my God, you were going to kill our baby. You said he looked like the devil. He had a sign on his head. They were antlers, and—“

“Slow down, you’re not making sense.”

“Ooh, my stomach hurts. I had a bad dream. It was so real, though. I was out on the couch and you came through the door holding a Bible and a knife...God, don’t ever do that again.”

“Trust me, I won’t. Better yet, don’t you dream that I’ll do it again. You had better call your doctor in the morning. I don’t like those pains you’re having. You might be—”

“Don’t say it; I’m sure it’s gas.”

“Okay, now let’s get some sleep. I have a big day tomorrow. Jack’s expecting me to clean up the general ledger and respond to the auditor’s comments. Now that’s enough to make me want to get a Bible and knife so I can kill it—the ledger, I mean.”

~ ~ ~

“Hey, one of the knives is missing from the wood block on the counter. Did you take it?” Sissy said, shouting down the hallway from the kitchen. “I need it to cut up this melon.” She stood next to the counter in her pajamas, searching through kitchen drawers.

“You mean these?” George said, walking in from the hallway, holding up a knife and a Bible.

“Huh? Where did you find those?”

“Strangest thing, I found the knife stuffed into the Bible laying on the nightstand by the bed. You don’t think...no...you don’t think your dream was real...do you?” George said. He waited for a reaction.

“Ahh, ahh,” Sissy’s eyes flashed left and right. A look of terror filled her face.

George chuckled. “Calm down, I got these from the kitchen earlier while you were showering. I was just having fun.”

“Stop it! I could lose the baby. That dream really scared me, you know. It was very real.”

“Sorry, stupid idea. I just wanted to...well, bad idea,” George said, putting the knife into the wood block and placing the Bible next to the Sudoku book by the kitchen phone.

“Here, this is yours.” Sissy held up a registered-mail envelope. “I signed for it yesterday afternoon. It’s from some credit company. I’m afraid to open it. You paid the mortgage this month, right?”

“Yeah, no problem, let me see it.” George took the envelope and opened it with the large kitchen knife. “Here you can cut me a piece.” Sissy took the knife from his hand, rinsed it in the sink and proceeded to slice up the melon as George silently read the letter.

“Well? What’s it say? You okay?”

“Whew, just had another dizzy spell. I need to sit down.”

“Well?”

“Damn those assholes,” George said, sitting at the kitchen table.

“Now you’re worrying me. What’s wrong?”

“It’s a stupid bookkeeping error. I mailed the check a week ago. I’ll have to straighten this out tomorrow.”

“You want me to call them?”

“No, I’ll probably have to fax a copy of the check stub from work. Speaking of work, I better hustle,” George said, standing up and stuffing the envelope in his back pocket. “Can you drive me? I’m already late.”

“Okay. Just to let you know, I’m going to my mother’s house. We’re going shopping for baby things.”

“Isn’t that a little premature, you’re only...ah, we need to save money.”

“I thought you were getting a big bonus in December?”

“There’s always a chance the business will turn sour and Jack will have to withhold them.”

“We’ll just look, then,” she said. “You know how Mother gets. She wants to help us redecorate the new room into the baby’s room.”

“Great, but I bet she doesn’t help pay for it.”

“What’s gotten into you? I knew we shouldn’t have bought a car last month.”

“Last month, I had...ah, never mind. Whatever she wants to do is fine. Can we go now? I’ve got some ledger entries to make on the computer before work starts today.”

“Okay. Work, work, work, is all I hear from you these days.”

“I’ll need to put in some overtime next month as well,” George said, guiding his wife into the garage.

“Okay, what’s going on? Are we having money problems again?”

“No, just with the baby coming we’ll need to save for all the extra expenses: the hospital, baby room setup, clothes, and furniture.”

“It seems like we’ve been scrimping since we got married five years ago. When will it stop?”

George shrugged and rushed toward the car to avoid answering the question.

Chapter 22

L
owering his morning newspaper, Jack Hermanski watched his wife gently cut into pan-fried meat nestled between two runny eggs and a slice of burnt toast.

“How can you eat a big meal in the morning?” he said, nursing a bowl of milk-covered cholesterol-reducing oatmeal.

“You know I love venison. Dad used to fry venison steaks every Saturday morning from hunting season to Christmas,” Mandi said.

“What did you do with the wrapper? I don’t want Rusty going crazy over the garbage again. Doesn’t this whole episode bother you? I feel like throwing out all the deer meat. By the way, did the insurance company call back yesterday? A claims guy called me at work; I told him to call you and set up a time to come out.”

“Yes, and guess what. He said we could probably get the whole carpet replaced as long as it’s all connected. I’m thinking about lush, tight-looped, off-white shag like the Struthers have next door. I’m excited about it. I never did like our carpet. Why did you talk me into it?”

“Me? What are you saying? You pleaded for it after you saw it on one of those TV-fix-it programs. I told you it was way too expensive for what you get.”

Mandi smiled and shoveled in several more pieces of deer meat covered with runny egg yolk.

“So the deer head and the dog are now off your shit list?”

“If everything goes right, I might let the dog drag a piece of meat across the settee in the living room. I never did like it. It doesn’t match anything in there.”

“Come on, Mandi, it was a wedding gift from your boss.”

“How often does he visit? I’ll tell him the dog chewed on it, and we couldn’t fix it.”

Jack shrugged. “Just don’t do anything stupid or suspicious and cause them to cancel our insurance. We’re already in a high-risk category because of the flood plain running through this neighborhood.”

“When’s the last time any land remotely near this place ever flooded? It’s just a way for the insurance companies to make more money. It’s a damn scam, and now it’s payback time,” Mandi said, pointing her fork determinedly at Jack’s face.

“Whatever. I have to get to work. If we don’t find the missing fifty thousand, the auditor is going to raise a flag with the IRS and that won’t be good.”

“Fifty? I thought it was ten thousand.

“We’ve found more missing now.”

“I told you when you decided to go into business with those two joker friends it would lead to trouble.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Jack stood up, shoved his arms into a wool coat, grabbed his Hummer keys from the kitchen table and unintentionally dragged them across Mandi’s back.

“Ooh, feels weird,” Mandi said, becoming motionless.

“Sorry, you okay? Your face is flushed.”

“I think so. Just a hot flash. It’s probably nothing. I’ll call you when the claims adjuster gets here and let you know what he’s willing to do.”

“Okay...you sure you’re feeling all right?”

Mandi stood up, wiping sweat from her forehead. “I’m fine, now go.”

“Where’s Rusty? Here, boy. Say goodbye to daddy.”

Rusty hopped up the basement stairs, jumped into Jack’s arms and licked his face.

“Here’s my boy. You listen to your mother. Be a good dog while daddy’s at work.”

The dog stopped licking, nodded, jumped to the floor and scurried to the kitchen table.

“He’s going for the meat. All gone. See. It’s all gone,” Mandi said, tipping her plate, revealing only crumbs stuck to egg yolk.

“Werf, weef, werf,” barked Rusty.

“That’s odd. I haven’t heard that bark before,” Mandi said.

“He’s a smart dog, aren’t you boy? See you in about ten hours if I’m lucky,” Jack said, opening the garage door.

~ ~ ~

Rusty retreated to the basement as Mandi stacked dishes into the sink. She touched her forehead, sensing a sudden rise in body temperature.

Chapter 23

K
ottle tapped the snooze button a third time as “6:10 AM” flashed on Porter’s nightstand clock.

“Ugh, I ate and drank way too much,” Porter said, gently shoving Kottle away from her spooning position, while sitting up. “My head is killing me.”

“Don’t talk to me about your headache. No one forced you to down all those shots of Gran Marnier. Dingman sure is a lush. That’s one side of this business I’d like to avoid.”

“What side?”

“Doing all your strategic thinking in bars after work.”

“Would be a royal hazard of the business, my dear,” Porter said, mocking Dingman. “We’ve got fifty minutes before he gets here, so move it or lose it.”

~ ~ ~

At 6:59 AM, several determined raps penetrated Porter’s apartment door.

“He’s here,” Porter said, adjusting his bold-red power tie within his trendy three-buttoned suit jacket. “Whoa, what did you do to your hair? It’s all puffed up. You look like you’re going to a high-school prom.”

“Is it that bad, really? I got carried away with the hairspray. Let me fix it,” Kottle said returning to the bathroom.

“Good morning,” Porter said, opening the door. Dingman bent over and picked up the Detroit Times, briefly glanced down the hall, then inspected Porter’s clothes.

“That is what you are wearing?” Dingman said, tugging a sleeve of his tan corduroy sport jacket over an open yellow shirt. Dark-brown wool pants, a silver-inlay belt and moccasin-styled shoes completed his sporty appearance.

“I can change.”

“Best do it. We do not want to look like big city lawyers to the country folks.”

Porter retreated toward the bedroom to change.

Kottle returned from the bathroom.

“Oh, you’re here. Where’s Jeb?”

“Changing his clothes. Is that what you are wearing? What is with the wet-hair look? It is too citified. Dry it and puff it up a little. We do not want to intimidate people up north.”

“This suit is all I have.”
What a jackass
, she thought.

“What about the skirt and blouse you had on yesterday? They would be more appropriate.”

“Okay, I could put them back on,” Kottle said, without thinking. “Er...ah...I’d have to go to my apartment, though,” she said, her face turning red.

“Hah, spare me the embarrassment; just go do it and blow dry your hair. I will be happy to wait, my dear.”

Kottle sheepishly nodded and walked to the bedroom.

“Hey, I like your hair,” Porter said to Kottle, passing her in the hall.

“That asshole doesn’t. I must dry it completely and put on my skirt and blouse from yesterday,” Kottle whispered.

“Wow, you’re willing to wear the same clothes more than once a week? I’m impressed. Don’t forget to spray twice,” Porter said, holding up imaginary deodorant to his underarm.

Kottle reacted holding up a middle finger.

~ ~ ~

Porter dozed off with his head laid back on the front-passenger seat headrest of Dingman’s car. Kottle sat in the rear seat and read pages of a crime novel she vowed to finish before getting to West Branch. Dingman had bored them with incessant one-way chatter about how to succeed in the newspaper business for over two hours of freeway driving.

“Hey, there’s our exit,” Kottle said, pointing. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going further north and getting off on M-55. I want to stop at the hospital and see if more hunting accidents have occurred since last week,” Dingman said, turning his head to look at Kottle.

“Look out, deer on the highway!” Kottle said, directing Dingman’s attention forward.

Dingman reacted, swerving the hulking Cadillac on the slick roadway.

“Holy Queen Mother...hold on,” he said, as the car veered left, right, around a deer and onto the shoulder, stopping about 100 feet away. “Did everyone preserve their intentions to maintain a dry bottom?” he said, chuckling.

Kottle jerked her head back to watch the animal.

“Excuse me?” she said. “My God, that was close. He’s just standing there, staring down the roadway. Someone else is going to hit it. We need to do something.”

“What...what’s going on?” Porter said, now awake.

“We just missed a big deer,” Kottle said, pointing out the rear window.