Deb Baker - Murder Talks Turkey

Flashing police car lights ahead had traffic backed up. The line edged along, moving slowly across Ludington Avenue, a few blocks from the motel. An accident of some sort? I craned my neck to see. A police officer waved traffic around what looked like a police convention up ahead. The truck I’d borrowed from Walter edged along with the rest until I was abreast of the motel.

My hole-in-the-wall was crawling with state troopers.

____________________

“Turn on the TV quick,” I ordered Grandma Johnson when she finally picked up the phone. I was two blocks from the motel, in the back of a place called Chuck’s Bar.

“I have it on,” she said. “This is better than soap operas. I’ve been glued to it so bad I almost wet my pants rather than miss something. I always told you she was trouble, but you wouldn’t listen.”

“What’s happening?”

“Blaze was a good boy until he hooked up with her.”

“Mary? What did Mary do?”

“Not Mary. That Cora Mae. She sweet-talked my grandson into a life of crime.”

“Just tell me what’s going on.”

“It’s on the TV right this minute. That boy news reporter with the cute hair is telling us about it. A motel manager got suspicious about certain activity in one of the rooms, so he called the authorities. They found Blaze and Cora Mae inside one of them. Can you imagine that? Mary’s gonna just die.”

“Cora Mae’s strictly a friend.”

“I’m sure she is,” Grandma said, dripping sarcasm. “That’s why she wore a blond wig and busted him out of the jail. She was Bonnie. And she’s made him Clyde.”

The wig! I’d left it in the motel room. The cops must think she was the one who was wearing it. Could this get any worse?

“What about Fred?”

“He ran off. I was watching him good just like I promised, but he kept running over by Mary. She musta fed him better. Then he disappeared. You have to believe me. I didn’t hurt him.”

“I know that. Wasn’t he in the room with Cora Mae and Blaze?”

“Why would you worry about that rabid animal when your own son is in a heap of trouble?”

Someone up front by the bar flicked on an overhead screen. “You can go right out in the street and watch it,” someone called out. Someone else raised a beer. “But I’d have to leave my Bud behind.”

“I’ve gotta go,” I said to my mother-in-law.

I hung up while Grandma was still talking and I settled in for a hard lesson in friendships. The anchor flipped back and forth, replaying the capture of Blaze and Cora Mae, then panning to another TV6 crew that was running around Stonely interviewing residents.

I found out who my friends were.

Sometimes what you discover surprises you. For example, Walter’s my friend. He might be a tad eccentric with his shotgun greetings and morning happy hours, but he didn’t tell the cops about the truck I was driving. They’d have me by now if he had.

Cora Mae and Kitty are at the top of my friend list. George, I can’t even think about. I saw the uncertainty in his eyes, the doubt cast at me right along with Ruthie and Otis. Even Grandma came through when she had to.

I also found out who never really liked me, because those were the first ones to line up for the TV cameras. I could see Dave and Sue Nenonen in the background, waiting for the news reporter to introduce them. Sue was fussing with her hair to get it just right for her interview. Onni Maki, scrawny self-proclaimed stud muffin, was at the microphone paying me back for the time I zapped him with my stun gun.

“Gertie Johnson was always a little off in the head,” Onni said, trying for a seductive grin for any available women who might be watching. It made him look more like a convicted sexual predator than Romeo. “You can’t do nothin’ about bad genes,” he said into the microphone. “Poor Blaze didn’t have a fighting chance from the day he was born. They oughta take it easy on him cuz of his upbringing.”

It was Dave’s turn. “Every time she came into the credit union, I’d watch her close,” he said. “She had a sneaky look about her, like she was looking for trouble. Well, she found it this time.”

Sue stood next to her husband, stiff as a statue, her face frozen in terror. She was fighting a losing battle with a bad case of stage fright.

“Tell ‘em, Honey,” Dave said. “Tell them what she did.”

Sue shook her head. Dave just stared at her until she said, “I…I can’t. You do i…it.”

“Okay,” he said, turning back to the reporter. “When Sue heard on television about that blond wig, she put two and two together and came up with five. Someone came to our house impersonating a law enforcement official. Isn’t that right, Honey?”

Sue was stricken. She couldn’t even nod. Even her eyelids were frozen as she stared at the camera.

“Anyway,” Dave said. “She’s pretty sure it was Gertie Johnson under that wig, not Cora Mae. But they both could have used it for their own concerns. Can you believe it? Gertie’s got a lot of brass to come right up to my house and question my wife like she did.”

“What kind of questions?” The newsman wanted to know.

Dave didn’t bother letting Sue have the floor since she wasn’t doing anything with it. “Gertie Johnson came over and impersonated a police officer. She said she was an officer from Sault Ste. Marie following up on the murder of that one guy.”

There was another charge to add to my growing list of criminal offenses. Impersonating a police officer. I wondered how much time I’d get for that one.

“Anything else?” the reporter prompted.

“She made insinuating comments about my wife’s million-dollar inheritance.”

That sparked a reaction from Sue. Her head swiveled around to her husband and she frowned. “We weren’t going to tell anybody that,” she said to him. “And now you said it right on television, in front of the world. What’s wrong with you?” She moved closer to him. If I was Dave, I’d start running. Sue had forgot she was in front of a camera.

“But, Honey.”

“Don’t honey me.” The camera operator must not have wanted the program to turn into some bawdy reality show, because he panned away from the dueling duo, following the news guy as he moved away from them.

“Thank you for coming forward,” the news reporter said to Onni, who trailed behind him. “One last question. Do you have any idea where Gertie Johnson might have gone? It seems that she’s disappeared from the face of the earth.”

“I don’t know where she’s gone, but I know where she’s going.” Onni glared into the camera for effect. “Gertie Johnson is going to Hell.”

The reporter gave a weak laugh for the camera and said, “I assume you’re talking about Hell, Michigan, otherwise we might have to censor you.”

“You know exactly what I meant. She’s goin-“

The story ended there. At least for me. I’d seen enough.

When I left the dark, smoky bar, the sun was still shining. I thought for sure it must be the middle of the night. So much had happened.

From the driver’s seat of Walter’s rusted-out truck, I considered the circumstances and my options. There weren’t any choices available to me that I could readily see. I was almost out of cash, I didn’t have anything to wear other than the man-hunting outfit Cora Mae duded me up in, and my spirit was gone.

How was I going to prove Tony had killed Bob Goodyear if Tony was murdered? He couldn’t confess, which seemed to be the only way I could possibly get out of this mess.

Wait a minute!

What was I thinking!

I had been so busy feeling sorry for myself and my friends that I overlooked a glaringly, obvious question.

Why had Tony been murdered? It was looking more and more like he had been part of a scheme, a ring of criminals. I had assumed Tony was the kingpin, but maybe not. Whoever murdered Tony knew the truth, and that truth could set me free, right along with all my friends and family that I had managed to get into such major trouble. Now all I had to do was locate that person and force a confession.