Murder Passes the Buck (2 page)

of a small clearing, butting up against a grove of tamarack trees. It wasn
’
t wrapped in yellow tape to mark it as a crime scene, confirming my suspicions that Blaze wouldn
’
t even do a cursory investigation.

I carefully opened the blind door with the sleeve of my jacket so I wouldn
’
t leave prints, in spite of my belief that this was one case where it wouldn
’
t matter. I suspected there weren
’
t any prints to find. This was a long-distance murder.

Granted, I had no evidence that Chester
’
s death actually was a murder, but every time a stray bullet from a high-powered rifle took a life, I thought about whether it was an accident or not. In the Michigan U.P., it would be the perfect crime.

Opening the door, I wondered who or what Chester might have seen before he died.

The shack was built on a movable platform so it could be towed around on the back of a tractor. We all did that. One reason is that it
’
s nice and easy to move next season if we find a better hunting spot, and another reason is so the federal government can
’
t slap a tax on us for building a permanent structure. They try to get you coming and going.

Inside, I could feel the leftover warmth of

the propane heater as I looked around.

Chester
’
s blind was pretty ordinary, built for comfort, warmth, and an unobstructed shot when Big Buck strolled out into the clearing. It had an insulated wood frame and windows on each side, the same as a house. Metal fasteners on the sides of the windows could be turned, and the window would silently swing out. The floor was covered with worn brown shag carpet. A can of WD40 was in the corner along with a cooler full of beer, a can of peanuts, and a pair of binoculars.

Even though I considered Chester a neighbor, I didn
’
t know him real well. He kept to himself out on Parker Road, nodding his head when we met, then moving on. Not a chit-chatter. His wife died a few years back, before Barney died. Everyone thought she went plumb loco until the doctors discovered the brain tumor. Then it was too late.

When I left his blind, I knew a little more about him. I knew he drank the cheapest beer he could buy, and that he drank it early in the day. He must have slammed down a few cans before he was slammed down himself by a deadly bullet. I saw several empty cans tossed in a pile on the floor. An open can on a small table had spilled and beer had run in a stream with the blood

from his head.

I also learned that a hole in the head makes quite a bloody mess, and that Chester liked smut magazines. Since I never saw one before, I paged through the stack by the window.

“
Granny, this isn
’
t a good idea. Come out of there or I
’
m telling Blaze.
”

Little Donny
’
s large bulk blocked out the light through the door. I wanted to search for clues between the shack and the creek running through Chester
’
s property, but I
’
d have to get rid of Whiney first.

“
Okay, let
’
s hit it,
”
I said, climbing into the cab.

Floyd Tatrow was hard of hearing, so when I stuck my head in his kitchen door, I called out nice and loud. He didn
’
t answer. The kitchen smelled like freshly fried bacon, and the sink was full of dirty dishes soaking in sudsy water
— the water was still warm to my touch.

“
Floyd,
”
I hollered.
“
It
’
s Gertie Johnson. Where are you?
”

I checked every room and found them all empty. Floyd kept the place spic-and-span clean even though his wife, Eva, had a stroke a year ago and was in a private nursing home in Escanaba. He still had hopes

that she would come home some day, but the rest of us knew she was there for life.

Eva was a little too church-like for my taste. Her favorite phrase was
“
The Lord will provide.
”
I always thought you had to provide for yourself. No one else is going to do it for you, not even the Lord, but you couldn
’
t reason with Eva.

Years ago when Floyd lost everything but the shirt on his back at the Indian casino, I cooked up a large roast with carrots and onions, mashed ten pounds of homegrown potatoes, and dropped the meal off at their home.

“
I told you the Lord would provide,
”
Eva said to Floyd, putting the pans down on the countertop.

“
That wasn
’
t the Lord providing,
”
I said, tapping my thumb on my chest.
“
That was me.
”

The Tatrow house was decorated in frilly yellow curtains and embroidered religious pictures. Crocheted blankets covered the upholstery and lace doilies were draped on the tables. Eva liked her arts and crafts, before the Lord provided her with a stroke that paralyzed her entire right side.

That private nursing home must be costing Floyd a pretty penny, I thought, eyeing a television set as big as my entire dining

room wall. He better learn to cut back on his spending.

I let myself out and stood on the porch, scanning the property. I avoided looking at the truck where Little Donny sat fuming. Big cities squeeze the ability to be patient right out of people. Life becomes too frantic and rushed. It
’
s a sad thing. He needed to spend more time in the woods with me, learning the art of slow and simple.

I strolled over to the sauna and yanked the door open.

There sat Floyd, naked as a blue jay and not half as pretty. He had the largest head I ever saw on a man, and was wearing a Ford baseball cap that was three sizes too small. Men around these parts don
’
t take off their hats unless they absolutely have to.

“
Gertie Johnson,
”
Floyd exclaimed.
“
What are you doing?
”

The difference between men and women is this
— if you catch a woman butt-naked, she tries to cover the private parts with her hands. A man will sit there just like you found him even if he doesn
’
t have much to be proud of.

Floyd sat like that, not moving.

“
Put your drawers on,
”
I said, looking away too late.
“
I
’
ll wait outside.
”

Floyd took his sweet time coming out. I

sat in the truck with Grumpy until Floyd opened the sauna door and walked toward the truck.

The Finns like their saunas. They usually build them around the back of the house for privacy because they roll in the snow when they
’
re done sweating it out. Afternoon is their favorite time. It takes all morning to fire the sauna up and get it steaming hot. Sometimes a Finn will invite his friends over for a sauna, and if it
’
s mixed company, the men go together then the women go together, and everyone tries to peek when the snow rolling begins. Especially if the moonshine has been going around.

Floyd has six or seven old geezers who share the sauna with him, and I was grateful that they weren
’
t over today. One naked old guy is enough for any woman. I shook my head to clear the image and rolled down the truck window.

“
You found Chester this morning,
”
I said. When Blaze let it slip that Floyd found Chester, I was pretty certain he meant Floyd Tatrow. There weren
’
t any other Floyds around Stonely.

“
What?
”

I remembered that Floyd couldn
’
t hear well and repeated the question, loudly.

“
It was an awful shock,
”
he said.

“
What happened?
”
I shouted.

“
What
’
s that?
”

I looked over at Little Donny wedged into the driver
’
s seat and our eyes met. Little Donny, who can
’
t stay mad long, grinned at me.

“
Is that thing turned on?
”
I leaned out the window and pointed at Floyd
’
s hearing aid.

Floyd dug the hearing aid out of his ear and made an adjustment.
“
Sorry,
”
he said, screwing it back in.
“
Blasted thing was turned off.
”

“
What happened to Chester?
”

“
Shot in the head
’
s what happened to Chester. I walked up to the blind, calling out so he wouldn
’
t accidentally shoot me. I was going to tell him to stop over for a sauna, you see. I could tell he was past saving, but I ran back to his house and called for an ambulance anyway. Then I called the sheriff.
”

“
What do you think happened?
”
I said.
“
In your own opinion.
”

Floyd leaned against the truck.
“
I already told you. Chester was shot in the head. That
’
s what happened to him.
”
He said it loud and clear like he thought I was the deaf one.

“
No, I mean, do you think he was murdered?
”

“
Murdered! Lord, no! This is a Christian, law-abiding community, and if Chester
’
s dead it
’
s because God called him. When Eva could still talk she used to say
‘
The Lord will provide
’
and that
’
s it in a nutshell, you see. God
’
s bullet took Chester and He must have had a good reason.
”

Okay.

Cora Mae, my all-time best friend, was waiting for us at my house with a fresh pot of coffee and a plate of sweet rolls. In all the excitement, I forgot she was giving me a hair rinse today.

Cora Mae has been my friend since I moved to Stonely. I remember Barney calling Stonely
“
God
’
s Country
”
and I
’
d thought he meant a paradise, like the Garden of Eden. Then we arrived and I found out it was God
’
s Country because nobody else wanted it. No jobs worth mentioning, cracker-box houses clumped together in towns so small you missed them even though you knew you hadn
’
t blinked, and bugs the size of pumpkins.

Cora Mae saved me. She
’
s three years younger, making her sixty-three, and she
’
s buried three husbands. Cora Mae never

could stay away from men; they
’
re in her blood
— she
’
s always on the lookout in spite of her bad luck in the past.

“
Onni Maki
’
s hot with the widows around here. I hear he
’
s taking Viagra to keep up, or rather to keep it up,
”
Cora Mae said, pouring two cups of coffee.
“
Sure would like to give him a whirl.
”

“
You
’
ll have to take a number and stand in line,
”
I said, pulling out a kitchen chair and sitting down to tug off my hunting boots. I used to be able to take my boots off leaning against the wall, but it
’
s been a few years now. I can do it only if I absolutely have to, using all my concentration.

I hung my hunting jacket on a peg by the door and pulled off the hunting cap, running my fingers through my short, coarse gray hair.

Little Donny took his rifle down from the gun rack, shoved a box of ammo into his jacket, and headed for the door.
“
Onni Maki is the only available male within fifty miles, especially since Chester
’
s dead,
”
he said to Cora Mae.

“
What about George?
”
I reminded him.
“
George is available.
”
I chewed my lip after realizing my mistake. Cora Mae stalks any single man who breathes air and I don
’
t want her rushing off after George, who is a