Deb Baker - Murder Talks Turkey

“Blaze,” I said, with shifting eyes, so he knew I was talking around the others. “It’s here.” I pointed my head and eyes at Dickey. “Your fortune. He’s had it all along.”

“My money?” Blaze turned red.

“And your Glock.” I put on the finishing touch.

“You have my weapon?” Blaze roared at Dickey, jabbing an angry finger at him. “I knew it was you, stealing my stuff. Give everything back. Where’s my Glock?”

His eyes swung to the desk where the evidence bag lay. He had that far away look he gets when he relives his war. Once he enters his own private universe, it’s hard to call him back. Before I knew it, he lunged for Dickey’s sidearm.

I hadn’t seen that coming. I expected to implicate Blaze in the dead guy’s murder and get either Kitty or myself released, so we could track the killer down as fast as possible and save the other two. Things weren’t going as planned.

Blaze was fast for a big man. He had Dickey weaponless with his hands in the air in no time at all. “Throw me the keys,” he hissed at him, never taking his cop-trained eyes off of Dickey. “Nice and slow. One-handed. Don’t make me use this.”

Before we knew it, the tables had turned. Dickey was behind bars, Blaze was searching for his millions, and Kitty and I had commandeered Dickey’s sheriff’s truck.

“Now what?” Kitty shouted from the shotgun seat. “We’re in big trouble. We just broke out of jail and stole a law enforcement vehicle.”

“We’ll ditch the truck,” I said, making things up as we went along. My investigation service was good training for what lay ahead. “Don’t touch any thing. We’ll wipe it down and deny we ever took it.”

“What will Dickey do to Blaze?”

“Let’s stop at my house and pick up supplies,” I punted. “Then we’ll call Mary. She’s good at negotiation, she’ll figure it out. By the time she talks Blaze back from the war zone, we’ll be good and gone.”

“I was supposed to start my new job,” Kitty said. “I can’t believe it. We’re in such big trouble.”

She said the same thing at least six times before we pulled into my driveway, scattering guineas every which way. Then I spotted Fred, which gave me a brief moment of pure joy. George must have dropped him off before driving off to save us from the jail. I hated the thought of trying to explain the latest circumstance to George, so I didn’t mind that he was gone.

Fred ran a cautionary loop around us, dodging hens, while I banged a hole in my barn with the front of Dickey’s trunk. Things weren’t going as planned. Not one bit.

BEING ON THE RUN ISN’T as romantic as I used to imagine. For starters, we had to figure out where to go-someplace not too far away so we could still work the case, but not too close so we would stay out of jail. Cora Mae’s house was out as a place of refuge. So was almost everyone else’s that we knew. I couldn’t involve my baby Star or Red or Ed, who were trying to scrape by at the bar.

I considered taking Grandma as a negotiating tool and threatening to dispose of her if Dickey didn’t let Blaze go. But I’d rather drink Drano than spend three minutes with that evil woman.

I stuffed a suitcase with necessities in two seconds flat, then we raced by Kitty’s house for her belongings.

No sign of trouble so far, no law vehicles in sight. Blaze must still be holding Dickey in lockup.

We ended up on Walter Laakso’s rutty gravel road, kicking up dust with Fred riding between us. I dodged as many holes as possible but we still arrived a little rattled up inside.

Walter Laakso is suspicious of every single governmental body and totes a sawed-off shotgun filled with buckshot. That’s why his place would be the perfect hideout. He’s also nearsighted, so Kitty and I had to go through the standard ritual.

“Put ’em up,” Walter said, leveling the shotgun our way.

“It’s Gertie Johnson,” I said through the open window, not getting out of the truck until introductions were over. “This is Kitty and my dog, Fred.”

Walter lowered the weapon but I could tell he hadn’t completely relaxed. I could also see that he hadn’t done any serious grooming in awhile, and hadn’t replaced his two front teeth since I’d seen him last.

“What you doing driving a sheriff’s truck?” he wanted to know.

“Stole it,” I answered truthfully.

He lowered the weapon. “Come on in then. I have a fresh pot of coffee ready.”

Just like a Finn. They’re always ready for company, even if it doesn’t come visiting often. Walter’s kitchen table wasn’t exactly fit for guests-food grime cemented on it, cans of toxic yard chemicals scattered across it, unidentifiable spilled liquids.

Kitty didn’t even notice. She sat right down and shoved a few items away before crossing her arms in the mess. I sat down gingerly beside her, avoiding any contact with the table.

“No brandy today,” I warned Walter after he poured three cups of coffee and picked up a liquor bottle. He shrugged, splashed some in his coffee cup, and held up the bottle, offering it again with an expression on his face like we were missing out on something special if we refused.

“We need our wits about us today,” I said firmly. “No brandy.”

It’s not our way to rush into the main topic without dancing around it for a certain amount of time. The weather is always good for a few minutes, so we did that. Then we had a few minutes of silence while we sipped our coffee.

“Gertie, you’re pert-ner stressed out as a doe delivering a fawn,” Walter finally said, using Kitty’s word for the day. Come to think of it, I hadn’t heard her use it even once. I guess we’d been too busy breaking laws to worry about a silly little word challenge.

“We’re wanted by the law, Walter. We need help.”

“Why didn’t you say so right at the start?”

“I don’t want to get you into trouble.”

Walter snorted. “With that pipsqueak sheriff, Dickey Snell? I’ve buried lead around his feet more than once. He won’t come out here without a death wish.”

“I thought we might be able to hole up in your trailer out back.”

“Help yourself. Stay as long as you want to.”

“And we have to dispose of Dickey’s truck and find new wheels. The Trouble Buster will stick out like a school bus.”

“You two ladies settle in. I’ll get rid of the truck and find transportation for you. Must be something drivable out in my yard.”

Kitty laughed at that, finding a common connection with Walter. Both of them had junky yards filled with rusty old garbage. “For parts,” Kitty would say when I asked her why she kept all that old stuff. “You never know when you’ll need a part.”

Lugging our suitcases, we trudged around the back of the house to the trailer that Walter rented out to hunters during deer hunting season. Fred loped ahead, scouting for squirrels, thinking he was on vacation.

I put the key into the lock, heard it pop, and swung the door open. Kitty and I both gaped. Squirrels had been partying inside the trailer. We hauled the suitcases inside anyway, since we didn’t have any other options.

I don’t know how the rodents gained access, but squirrels had chewed on some of the electrical cords and had stored acorns and seeds in every nook and cranny. Mattress stuffing had been ripped apart as well as part of the insulation in the wall.

We set about putting things in order the best we could, then unpacked. I scooped dog food into a bowl I found in the tiny kitchen and fed Fred.

“We’re going to need food supplies,” Kitty said, looking hungrily at the bag of dog food I’d thought to bring with us. “We may be here awhile.”