Murder Bites the Bullet: A Gertie Johnson Murder Mystery (9 page)
Read Murder Bites the Bullet: A Gertie Johnson Murder Mystery Online
Authors: Deb Baker
“Who covers for you when you have to go to the bathroom?”
“Whoever happens to be on the clock and just standing around.”
“And when you go on breaks?”
“Same thing.”
“Did you have a break during that time? When Harry was killed?”
Her eyes flitted around. “I guess maybe I did.”
“How long?”
“Ten or fifteen minutes.”
“Who spotted you?”
“Tara Kirby.”
I studied the drawing box, even put an eye down to the slot and peered in. “Where are the entries for that day? Are they in here?”
“I keep everybody honest, don’t you worry about that,” Marcy said, shaking her head. I could hear smug righteousness in her tone. She slid a look at Kitty. “
Some
people try to sneak in more than one, so I guard the box day and night. I even rubber band each day’s entries separately. I’ll put them all together for the actual drawing, of course.”
“And you’re sure they’re in a safe place?” I asked, feeling the beginning of a plan taking shape.
Marcy bent down behind the booth and came up with a Folgers coffee can. “They sure are. I can keep a good eye on things.”
Fred watched me from the truck, and I could tell he was considering whether to start howling or not. I heard him begin as I trotted into the IGA to buy a can of Folgers. He shut up again when I came out and stopped to chat it up with Marcy while Cora Mae and Kitty finished validating their sweepstakes by buying a few things.
On the road again, I said, “It would be quite a coincidence if both Diane Aho
and
Chet Hanson came into the IGA while Marcy was away on her break.”
“It’s possible,” Cora Mae said. “Chet wouldn’t lie.”
Kitty’s eyes met mine. “We’d have to question everybody who worked during that time,” she said. “It’s doable.”
“I have a better idea,” I said, with a big grin. “Diane swears she was at the IGA. It’s her alibi. Chet said the same thing. Marcy says everybody fills out an entry form. That includes Diane and Chet. If one of them wasn’t here after they used the IGA as an alibi, they’ll have some explaining to do.”
“So what’s your better idea?” Cora Mae asked.
I held up the coffee can I’d swapped out when Marcy wasn’t looking. “I’ve got the entries.”
Cora Mae gasped, then gave me a look like she couldn’t believe what she just saw, and how could I have been so underhanded?
Kitty reached over and gave me a high-five.
Two different people, two different perspectives.
*
I didn’t know how much time we had before Marcy discovered the switch. But if everything went according to plan, she’d never know. We blew down M35, heading for Kitty’s house. No way could we go to my house and let Grandma Johnson get a gander at the Hometown Sweepstakes entries. She’d blow us out of the water with her big mouth and snappy false teeth.
Kitty lives in a dump. Not technically a dump, more like a dumping site. Kitty, along with several past owners, have trashed up her yard something awful. I suspect Kitty might be a certifiable hoarder. To make it worse, people drive by, think it really is a dumping ground, rush home, load up their junk, and add it to the heaps.
But her house was closer than Cora Mae’s, and I wanted to get the entries back to the IGA as quick as I could.
Kitty brushed aside all the stuff on her kitchen table while I popped open the Folgers lid. Just like Marcy said, they were in day order. Finding the right one was easy. We each took some entries and started going through them.
“How did Grandma Johnson get her name in here four times?” I wanted to know.
“Maybe she’s friends with Marcy?” Cora Mae guessed.
Kitty nodded. “Maybe Marcy isn’t as honest as she says she is.”
“Grandma is the sneakiest woman I’ve ever known,” I said.
Pretty soon it was apparent. Diane hadn’t filled out an entry. Neither had Chet.
“So what?” Cora Mae said when I gave her a serious look. “I bet lots of customers don’t sign up. And you know men? They get over-focused on one thing and don’t even see what else is going on around them.”
“Or…,” Kitty said, “…Chet Hanson killed Harry Aho. And then an Aho killed Frank.”
“So smarty-pants,” Cora Mae said, getting all defensive. “If it was revenge, and if Chet’s such a big, bad murderer, wouldn’t they want to kill Chet? Why Frank?”
“There’s more to this than meets the eye,” I said, acting as mediator between my partners. “Let’s get this coffee can back to the IGA. Kitty, you can put it back.”
“Why me?” she said. “Marcy already suspects me of cheating.”
“Either you can have that job, or you can fill in for Cora Mae and continue stalking Chet.”
“I’m not
stalking
him!” Cora Mae said.
“What are you going to be doing while I fix your problem?” Kitty asked me.
“I’ve got plenty on my plate. I’m going to interrogate those two Aho brothers. One of them ran away from a crime scene, and I want to know why. But first, I’ve got a little more investigating to do into this moonshine business.”
Kitty crossed her arms in front of her and leaned away from the table. “I’m not putting that can back, and that’s final. I’m not the one who stole it.”
I sighed. “Fine. I’ll put it back. You can distract Marcy. Cora Mae, where’s your mark right now?”
“You mean my man?” she said. “Chet’s in Escanaba picking up supplies. He won’t be back for a few hours.”
“When he gets back, stay on him.”
Kitty snickered.
*
Putting the can back turned out to be much harder than stealing it in the first place. Marcy straddled the dummy can I’d planted like she was guarding her virginity against a gang of rapists. And she frowned when she saw Kitty and me bearing down on her.
Then she picked up the can and cradled it in her authoritarian arms. I had the real entry can in a monster purse I found at Kitty’s, one of those totes that are so popular with women who like to carry everything they own.
“Once a day,” Marcy said sternly. “I already told you that.”
“I have another question for you,” I said. “Was my mother-in-law here the day Harry was shot?”
“I don’t recall seeing her. And I’d remember if that old bat…I mean…”
“I know what you mean,” I said. “It’s okay.”
I looked back at my truck where Cora Mae was keeping Fred company, and wondered how I was going to switch the coffee cans.
Right then, Blaze pulled up in his off-duty car, parked, came around the front of the car, and helped Grandma Johnson out of the passenger seat. I rushed up and said to my mother-in-law in a low voice, “You’ve been busted cheating at the drawing. How did you get four entries in without even showing your face?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Grandma said, but I could tell that she did. I glanced at Blaze. I decided to wait and talk to her in private.
“How’s the investigation going?” I asked him. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Kitty, who had rushed into the IGA, come out and offer Marcy a candy bar she’d purchased inside the store.
“It’s a tough case,” Blaze said.
“Just let me know if you want help,” I offered.
“Gertie thinks I’m a cheat,” Grandma said to Marcy.
Marcy gave me a look that said I shouldn’t pick on my elders, even if they
are
old bats.
Grandma went on, “Why don’t you have my sheriff grandson keep all the entries you have so far. That way nobody can make unfounded charges or tamper with the records.”
“That’s a good idea,” Marcy said, handing the coffee can to Blaze before taking the candy bar from Kitty.
Kitty looked over at me and shrugged.
“I’ll lock it up in my sheriff’s office,” Blaze said. “It’ll be safe until Sunday.”
“I feel better already,” Marcy said. “It’s easy to tell who is honest”--she glanced at Grandma--“and who isn’t”--then cast dagger eyes at Kitty.
As an investigator, I have to be able to adapt to sudden, unexpected change. At first glance, having the coffee can in Blaze’s clutches might seem like a really bad idea, but in reality it simplified my work. Not only do I have a key to his office, but I know exactly where he’ll stash it.
“We’re done here,” I said, slinging the heavy tote onto my other shoulder.
*
Why would Chet kill his cousin Frank
and
Harry Aho? Or why in the world would Diane kill her husband
and
Frank Hanson? It just didn’t make sense. I could picture her murdering Harry if she hated him enough. But Frank? Besides, Diane was such a mousy woman, and I don’t mean in a small built way. It’s her passive personality that would hold her back. She couldn’t possible have been the leaf-wearing murderer I witnessed in the woods.
On the other hand, I could see Chet as a big pile of deadly leaves.
I had to remind myself that things aren’t always what they seem.
Never one to put all my eggs in one basket, our next step was to track down a few names in Frank’s moonshine notebook. See if we could find the link between Frank and Gus, or between Frank and Harry.
We left to start investigation Frank’s customers. Walter Laakso was first on the list. Cora Mae has issues with Walter’s cleaning abilities, not to mention his unorthodox way of welcoming guests, so I dropped her at home first to spruce up for Chet. I knew Walter well enough, having used his camping trailer to hide out a few times. He would talk to me.
So Kitty, Fred, and I bounced down his pothole road, and as usual he came flying out of his house, shotgun loaded and ready. But he didn’t scare me like he used to.
“It’s Gertie Johnson,” I said, letting Fred out of the truck to explore. “And my business partner, Kitty. Put the gun away and put the coffee on.”
And, as usual, Walter managed to pour whiskey in with the coffee before I could stop him. A blast of fumes hit me when I raised the cup to my lips. I only pretended to taste the brew. “That’s good coffee, Walter,” I lied “A touch of moonshine spruces it up.”
Walter chuckled. “You like it?”
“A lot.”
“Me too,” Kitty said, taking a healthy mouthful and really meaning it.
We talked about the weather, how it was warm and sunny but we needed rain. If it had been raining, we’d point that out, too, and mention needing some dry weather. It was standard U.P. small talk. Then I asked, “Frank Hanson had a moonshine business. Your name is at the top of his list.”
“What do you mean ‘had a business’?”
“He’s dead.”
“I didn’t know.”
“You need to get out more, Walter.”
“What happened to him?”
“Shot in the head. Same as Harry Aho.”
We sipped our coffees, thinking that over. A drop of whiskey slid past my fake drink and down my throat, almost burning a hole in my esophagus. How could Kitty stand the stuff? She took several more swigs.
Walter said, “I wasn’t getting my moonshine from Frank.”
“You were on the list.”
“Let me see this so-called list.”
I dug the proof out of my pocket and handed it over. Kitty helped herself to more coffee and flavoring, while Walter paged through the notebook.
“This isn’t a moonshine list,” he finally said. “It’s his address book. I’m in it because we play cards together. This page--” he held it out so I could see, “--is the card group. As far as I know, Frank isn’t in the moonshine business.”
I couldn’t believe I’d made a mistake with the address list. “So who
is
in the business? Who do you buy from?”
Walter studied me.
“This is between you and me,” I said.
He glanced at Kitty.
“And Kitty,” I added.
“You’re good people,” he acknowledged. “And Kitty here is quite the looker.”
Which was Walter’s way of saying he thought Kitty was a hot babe. She gave him a wide smile, then took a sip of her coffee, locking eyes with him. That woman never ceases to amaze me.
“So who are you buying your moonshine from?” I waited for him to drop a name.
“Gus Aho,” Walter said.
Gus Aho sure was getting around. He’d hired me to prove Chet was his dad’s killer, he’d been at the scene of Frank’s murder, and now he was the real moonshiner. For a lazy guy, and one with a rock solid alibi, he sure was making fast tracks.
My intuition told me he knew something. It was time to put the screws to him. Make him sing like a bird.
*
From an interrogator’s point of view, the younger the person, the easier they are to pump for information. Mainly, because they haven’t figured out how devious other people can be. And they don’t look for hidden motives in our questions. Plus, if they’re trying to hide something, they always think they‘re smarter than just about anybody and can outwit us. They can’t.
