Murder Passes the Buck (6 page)

dishes stacked on the counter and scattered throughout the house, clothes tossed over chairs.

I made notes in a spiral notebook in case something might be important later. My eye for detail is dead on, but my memory gets fuzzy now and then. I was careful to include everything, since clues to solving the case could be anywhere.

In the living room, I noticed three guns resting in the gun rack next to the television and an old sofa with a dirty blanket draped over it shoved against a gray wall. I also noticed things that weren
’
t there. There weren
’
t any drapes or shades on the windows, and there weren
’
t any more smut magazines.

We pulled out every drawer and went through every closet without finding anything unusual. I took a broom from the kitchen and swept up the glass and removed the shards still embedded in the frame of the window. I dumped the whole mess in a cardboard box and decided to haul it home with me to dispose of it.

“
If all the window glass is gone,
”
I reasoned out loud to Cora Mae,
“
it might take longer for it to be discovered. Nothing like a pile of glass on the floor to draw attention where you don
’
t want it drawn.
”
I reached

through the window and relocked the door.

I hit Chester
’
s mailbox with the bumper of Barney
’
s pickup truck on the way out and bent the post a bit, but likely he wouldn
’
t mind even if he were still alive.

After dropping Cora Mae at her house, I headed home. The hole in the barn wall was a gaping reminder of my driving skills, and now guinea hens ran around the yard, squawking angrily.

Guinea hens are useful for ridding your yard of wood ticks and deer ticks, which is quite a mission considering the diseases ticks carry. Guinea hens cluster together and move around the yard looking for bugs to eat and making a lot of noises. Since I brought home these twelve guineas, I haven
’
t had a single tick slip through.

They
’
re a lot of work in the winter months, though. The raccoons like to snack on them, so I have to be careful to keep them inside at night and I have to buy feed for them.

I looked at the sky, which was darkening rapidly, and studied the guinea hen situation. I crossed the drive and looked for Little Donny in the house, but he wasn
’
t there.

Hauling the hens two by two, one under each arm, into the house, I shut them in the

bathroom. It took a while because they started running from me after I caught the first two, probably thinking they were going to be tomorrow
’
s dinner.

Worn out from the chasing., I collapsed on the couch, my heart racing.

I was going to take a short break and then call George to repair the barn enough to hold the hens, but I must have drifted off for a spell. The next thing I knew, Little Donny was screaming and birds were running through the house flapping their wings, trying to go airborne.

I sprang up and surveyed the situation.

Little Donny, leaning against the wall next to the bathroom, held both hands clutched over his heart like he
’
d had the scare of his life. A hen screeched at his feet. Another one sprung across the couch. This was a full-scale invasion.

I walked over to Little Donny and pulled the startled kid in for a big hug while the hens ran everywhere. Little Donny
’
s shoulders started shaking and I hoped he wasn
’
t crying. A scare can do that to you. He had tears running down his face all right, but he was laughing. I chimed in until my sides started aching.

Little Donny managed to herd the hens back in the bathroom while I called George.

He brought a large pen in the back of his truck and we transferred the guinea hens from the bathroom to the pen.

George took a good look at the hole in the barn, glanced at my new red hair, then studied the hole again.

“
Did a meteorite shoot through here?
”
he wanted to know.
“
Didn
’
t hear we were expecting a meteor shower. Must have been a huge one.
”

He glanced back at the truck, which was parked next to the hole.

“
Don
’
t know how it happened,
”
I lied.

George grinned.

_Three

Word for the Day

MACHINATIONS (MAK uh NA shuns) n.
An artful or secret plot or scheme, especially one with evil intent.

In the U.P. we take deer hunting seriously. For most of us it isn
’
t sport, it
’
s survival. Of course, we make it fun. There
’
s the hunter
’
s ball at the beginning of the season, a banquet down at the senior citizen
’
s center on the last day of hunting season, and a few other events thrown in between. But we can
’
t afford to fill our freezers with sides of beef and slabs of pork, so instead we hunt and fish like our ancestors, and we count on dressing out at least two deer every season to see us through.

Little Donny still didn
’
t have his first one, and it was day three of hunting season. If things didn
’
t improve soon, I wouldn
’
t have venison through the winter. Even if he man
aged

to get in a shot, I didn
’
t have a lot of confidence in his shooting ability after watching him target practice last year.

Target practicing is Tamarack County
’
s favorite hobby when we aren
’
t hunting. I
’
ve never been a hunter
— can
’
t stand seeing an animal dying right before my eyes — but I love target practice. Little Donny
’
s shooting problem exists because he doesn
’
t show up until hunting season begins, and since target practicing during hunting season will make your neighbors want to hang
you
in the garage instead of a deer, we can
’
t work on getting him in shooting shape. I bet Little Donny hasn
’
t fired his rifle since last summer.

A slew of black flies had hatched out and swarmed around my living room picture window. I pulled the Hoover out of the closet and was sucking the flies up in the vacuum when Little Donny came out of his bedroom dressed for hunting.

“
You
’
re never going to have any luck if you don
’
t get out to the blind earlier than this,
”
I said, glancing at the kitchen clock. It was eight-thirty.

He eyed the vacuum cleaner.
“
What are you doing?
”

“
Cleaning house. Haven
’
t you ever seen anyone clean house before?
”
I bent to my

task, working the hose around the edges of the window.

Little Donny watched for a while like he
’
d never seen anyone vacuum flies before. How else did he think I
’
d get them out of the house? Open the door and ask them to leave?

He grabbed a cinnamon roll from the counter and his rifle from the rack and headed out in the direction of the hunting shack.

Ten minutes later a process server from Escanaba banged on my door, insisted I sign a paper, and handed me an envelope.
“
Consider yourself served,
”
he said.

After struggling through the legal jargon twice and still not fully understanding what I was reading, I picked up the phone and called Little Donny
’
s father, Big Donny. If anyone could understand fancy legal talk, it was Heather
’
s city husband.

“
You
’
re required to appear in probate court,
”
he explained after listening to me read the papers.
“
For a guardianship hearing.
”
“
Whose guardianship?
”
There was a pause.
“
Yours.
”
“
Why would I need a guardian?
”
“
Blaze is petitioning the court to become

your guardian. He obviously feels you need someone to take care of your personal finances. Has he talked to you about this?
”

“
We
’
ve been arguing nonstop ever since Barney died. He wants me to hand over my money so he can take care of it. He
’
s lost his mind.
”

“
It
’
s not an issue of placement, which is good,
”
Big Donny said.
“
That means he
’
s not trying to force you into a nursing home.
”

“
Might as well be.
”

“
If you decide to contest it he has to prove you
’
re incompetent to manage your own affairs.
”

“
It says here that I pose a substantial risk of harm to myself and to others.
”
I couldn
’
t believe my own son would do this to me. When have I ever harmed myself or anybody else?

“
Better get yourself an attorney,
”
Big Donny advised.

I was sitting at the kitchen table, feeling sorry for myself, when the police scanner jumped to life.

I grabbed my shotgun and truck keys and ran for the door.

Blaze
’
s
sheriffs
truck was parked in Chester
’
s driveway and he stood on the

broken porch talking to Betty Berg, who lived across the road from Chester. She used to be a friend to my Star, until Betty played f
i
nd-the-weenie with Star
’
s now ex-husband. She isn
’
t on our Christmas list, that
’
s for sure.

Blaze watched me drive in, his hands on his hips, his mouth hanging wide open in disbelief.

I parked as far from his truck as possible to give myself plenty of maneuvering room when I wanted to leave, then jumped out of the truck. I decided to wait for some privacy to confront Blaze on the guardianship hearing issue. Besides, murder was more serious.

“
What
’
s happened here?
”
I called out.
“
Who called the report in? Was that you, Betty?
”
Figures it would be Betty. Betty
’
s nose was longer than Cora Mae
’
s string of men.

“
That
’
s right, Gertie. That was me. I came over to peek in the window, just to make sure everything was all right, and imagine my surprise. Come and take a look-see.
”

Star should have let her lousy husband have Betty instead of putting up a fight. It would have taught him a valuable lesson. Betty was cute a few years ago, but she
’
d really let herself go bad. She wore a fuzzy

housecoat with yellow and pink flowers and weighed in at a good two-eighty, a real tub of lard. She held her arms around herself like she was cold, although dressed up in all that fat, it didn
’
t seem likely.

“
Hold everything,
”
Blaze shouted while Betty and I peeked through the front window. I turned and saw he wasn
’
t on the porch anymore. He stood by my truck, pointing at it with one arm and waving me over with the other. Like he was directing traffic.
“
Come back here, Ma.
”

I hoped with the excitement of the break-in and all, Blaze would be distracted from the fact that I was driving, but I wasn
’
t that lucky. I stepped off the rotting porch.

“
Anything new?
”
he asked when he saw he had my attention.
“
You know, anything at all?
”

“
Let
’
s save the family chitchat for later. We have a break-in to investigate at the moment.
”

“
We
’
re going to talk about this right now.
”
Blaze, forgetting to lower his arm, was still pointing at the truck with his index finger.
“
When did you start driving?
”

“
A while ago. Cora Mae taught me.
”

“
And do you have a license?
”

“
What kind of license do you want? A hunting license, or a private investigator