Murder Passes the Buck (3 page)

good friend and doesn
’
t deserve to be worked over by Cora Mae.

Glancing sideways, I saw her reading the directions on the hair product box, paying no attention to me.

“
Well, good luck,
”
Little Donny said to Cora Mae.

She peered over the top of the box and fluffed her hair with one hand.
“
I don
’
t need luck, honey. I got sex appeal.
”

Cora Mae did look good for her age. She was wearing black stretch pants, a black long-sleeved tee, and pointy boots with two-inch heels. Her man-hunting outfit, she calls it. Last year Cora Mae discovered Wonder-bras and now her boobs are always in the lead. They
’
re the first things you notice about Cora Mae.

I must look pretty drab and nondescript next to her. Cora Mae has style. Here I am
— barely five feet tall, a hundred and twenty pounds, with old-lady gray hair and a winter roll of fat around my middle that seems to increase in size every year.

I saw Little Donny heading for the door.
“
Where you going with my car keys?
”

“
Hunting with Carl. Remember? I already asked you if I could take the truck.
”

“
Oh. Ah … I remember now,
”
I said, not remembering at all.

“
See you later.
”
Little Donny slammed
t
he door shut behind him.

“
He
’
ll be back in a minute or two,
”
I said, chuckling.
“
He forgot something important.
”

Thirty seconds later, Donny stomped through the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, and grabbed a pile of sandwiches I
’
d made earlier. He had to use both pockets to stuff them all in.

“
Let
’
s get started,
”
I said to Cora Mae after Little Donny was loaded up and gone. I clipped a towel around my neck.

Normally, I have a rinse to take the yellow out of my gray hair. Gray hair doesn
’
t scare me. Neither do flabby muscles, or liver spots, or strange little wart-like bumps. All of which are cropping up here and there on my body like clumps of weeds. I
’
m slowly losing my hearing, my eyesight, and yesterday I noticed I
’
m losing my eyelashes. I
’
ve stopped being afraid of age since it doesn
’
t do any good anyway. You can
’
t stop the march of time and the sooner you accept it, the sooner you can focus on the important things in life.

Cora Mae likes to play the role of hairdresser, and although I know how to take care of my own hair, I humor her. She waved the box containing my rinse in front

of my face.
“
You
’
re full of surprises, Gertie.
”
“

I looked at the box and screeched.
“
Strawberry blonde? Oh, no. I must have picked up the wrong box.
”

“
I think it
’
s time for a new look,
”
Cora Mae of the black-as-tar hair said when I attempted to grab it away. After a brief struggle, she won.

I filled her in while she worked. She knew about Chester
’
s death because I
’
d called her earlier while I was waiting for Little Donny. Now I went through the graphic details.

Two hours later I stared into the mirror in disbelief and horror. My head was covered in a brassy orange mess. I grabbed the box and read the directions.

“
Cora Mae, I told you it was on my head too long. It says fifteen minutes, not fifty. Now what am I going to do?
”

“
The clown show
’
s coming to Escanaba. Maybe you can apply for a job.
”
Cora Mae was holding her left side from laughing so hard, while tears streaked with mascara slid down her face.
“
I never saw hair take color like that before.
”

“
Well, at least I won
’
t need to wear my orange hunting cap.
”
I checked my watch.
“
I wanted to search Chester
’
s property but

it
’
s starting to get dark. It
’
ll have to wait until morning.
”

Cora Mae had that look in her eye. The here-she-goes-again look, and I knew I was going to hear it whether I wanted to or not.

“
Gertie, every time someone dies doesn
’
t mean it
’
s murder. Remember when Martha fell in the tub, hit her head, and drowned. You said that was murder.
”

“
Might have been. It was poorly investigated.
”

“
And when Ted Hakanen drove his car into the tree on the side of Peter Road, dead drunk. You said that his car had been tampered with.
”

“
Probably was.
”

“
Blaze sent that old Buick to Escanaba, mechanics went over it, and the only thing they found was an empty bottle of Jim Beam.
”

“
That
’
s what a killer would want you to believe. Maybe Martha and Ted died in accidents, but it
’
s a numbers game, Cora Mae. One of these days it really will be murder.
”

We cleaned up the kitchen and polished off the bag of sweet rolls. Since I
’
d missed lunch, I shared a liver sausage sandwich with Cora Mae.

The thought of investigating Chester
’
s death appealed to me. The more time I

spent listening to my police scanner, the more I thought
I
’
d
make a pretty good investigator. After all, I had three kids to practice on while they were growing up. If nothing came of my efforts and it was a stray bullet that killed Chester like Blaze and Cora Mae thought, I
’
d chalk it up to on-the-job training.

At the moment, I knew three things. One: based on television shows I
’
ve watched, the person who finds the body sometimes turns out to be the killer. He should be the first name on a suspect list. Two: a detective has to move fast. As the murder ages, it gets harder and harder to solve. Three: Floyd Tatrow
’
s phone number was in the telephone book.

“
This is the
sheriffs
office calling,
”
I said into the phone, holding my nose lightly with my fingers.
“
You need to take a lie detector test.
”

“
Why would I have to do that?
”
Floyd wanted to know.

“
It
’
s standard procedure. You found the body, didn
’
t you?
”

“
Yes, but
“

“
It
’
s perfectly voluntary, of course, but you
’
ll clear yourself right away if you agree to it.
”

“
Clear myself of what?
”

“
I can
’
t answer that. It
’
s confidential police business. Can you be there in twenty minutes? Sheriff Johnson has the equipment at his mobile home.
”

“
I suppose. All right, but I never heard of anything like this before.
”

“
You never found a dead body before.
”

Cora Mae giggled.

“
And don
’
t eat or drink anything before the test,
”
I finished.

“
What is going through your mind?
”
Cora Mae asked when I hung up.

She
’
s a perfect example of the difference between an investigative mind and a regular mind, if you can call Cora Mae
’
s mind regular. Regular minds rarely have brainstorm ideas that catch killers.

I flipped on the spotlight next to the drive leading past my house to Blaze
’
s mobile home and started gathering the supplies to make popcorn.

“
If Floyd shows up, he probably didn
’
t murder Chester,
”
I reasoned.
“
The killer isn
’
t going to willingly walk into the town
sheriffs
house to be hooked up to a lie detector.
”

I finished making the popcorn, turned off the inside lights, and waited in the dark by the window, eating popcorn. Cora Mae held the bowl.
“
The beauty of the whole plan,
”
I

bragged,
“
is that Blaze and Mary aren
’
t home. I saw Mary drive out half an hour ago and Blaze is still working. If Floyd shows up, he
’
ll find an empty house, take off his little cap, scratch his big head, and go on home. Blaze will never know what happened. But I
’
ll know Floyd didn
’
t kill Chester.
”

I was tossing kernels of popcorn in the air and trying to catch them in my mouth when Blaze
’
s
sheriffs
truck turned onto our road and passed my house.
“
Oh, no,
”
I muttered. Pretty soon Floyd
’
s blue truck went by. When he passed under the spotlight, I could see his large, pale head peering over the dashboard.

“
How are you going to explain to Blaze?
”
Cora Mae asked, crunching popcorn.

“
I
’
ll deny involvement,
”
I said, disappointed that Floyd showed up.
“
What makes you think he
’
ll suspect me anyway?
”

Cora Mae raised one eyebrow, which isn
’
t an easy thing to do.

A few minutes later, Floyd drove out and Cora Mae flipped the house lights on. I crossed Floyd
’
s name off my list of suspects and stared at a blank page.

“
When is Little Donny going back to Milwaukee?
”
Cora Mae asked.

“
I don
’
t know. He
’
s not in any big rush,

since he
’
s between jobs.
”

Between jobs is what Donny calls it. I call it canned, fired, let go, but I
’
m not saying anything. Little Donny
’
s had more jobs than a rabbit has bunnies.

Cora Mae picked up her purse.

“
Little Donny should be back any minute,
”
I said.
“
It
’
s too dark to hunt. He must have stopped for a beer. If you wait a bit, he can drive you home.
”

Neither one of us drives a car, which some people from other parts of the country might consider strange, but it
’
s not so unusual in the U.P. Things are spread out here, but we don
’
t go out that much and when we do there
’
s always someone willing to drive us. Once a week Blaze or his wife, Mary, drives me to the grocery store and, along with my own groceries, I buy a few things for Cora Mae from a list she gives me.

I
’
m now starting to see the complications of finding chauffeurs to drive me around to investigate crimes.

“
Nah, it
’
s only down the road.
”
Cora Mae swung her purse and eyed my expanding midriff.
“
Exercise is good for you.
”

I found a flashlight in the closet, handed it to her, and watched her walk down the side of the road. Then I plunked down in