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.”
“I’m going to use Walter’s phone to call Cora Mae,” I said. Fred trotted along as I made my way back up the short trail.
Cora Mae answered on the first ring. “Mary’s got everything under control,” she said. “Blaze is in jail. They gave him some dollar bills and a pot of coffee and that made him happy. Tomorrow Dickey’s having Blaze’s Glock sent to ballistics, whatever that means.”
Great. The killing shot would be traced right back to my son’s weapon. At least, he’d be able to claim mental incompetence at his murder trial.
“Where are you?” Cora Mae wanted to know.
“In Walter Laakso’s hunting trailer.”
“Oh Gawd, I’d rather be dead.”
“It’s not so bad,” I lied. We’d have to learn to make do from here on in. “We could use some food, for us and more for Fred.”
“You better not go anywhere,” Cora Mae said. “You and Kitty were just on the TV6 news and an alert keeps beeping and running across the bottom of the television screen. You should have thought about the consequences before you busted out of jail.”
Well, that was true enough. “Adrenaline took over,” I replied. “We couldn’t stop ourselves.”
“You’re too impulsive for your own good,” she said.
“Tell George we’re okay and don’t forget to bring food. Oh, and, bring your wigs.”
“Why do you want my wigs?”
“We can’t sit here doing nothing. We have a case to crack before Blaze ends up in prison.”
At three o’clock we had a trailer-full of company. George and Cora Mae brought potato sausages, pasties, sugar doughnuts, and two wigs we’d used in the past for surveillance work. Kitty’s was a black shoulder-length flip. Mine was long and blond. Cora Mae’s favorite, a nifty red highlighted upsweep with a few dangly sexy curls, was already on her head.
Kitty’s shifty cousin showed up, driving a purple sedan and making me more than a little nervous. The two of them went outside, Kitty in her new wig, and I could hear her negotiating with him over something. “I’ll bail you out of jail next time. I promise,” Kitty said. “I’m telling you, I need it right now.”
A camera flash went off, and her cousin left.
I raised an eyebrow, but didn’t want to question her in front of George and Cora Mae.
George went out to his truck and returned with four walkie-talkie handheld radios. After adjusting the frequencies to match on all of them, he distributed them, keeping one for himself.
Cell phone coverage in the Michigan U.P. is spotty at best. I’ve seen tourists standing on top of their cars trying to find signals. Most of us don’t bother with them, preferring the old-fashioned land phones with cords.
“Don’t use your radio unless you have to,” George advised us. “Since anyone close by and on the same channel can hear the exchange, only use it in an emergency situation.”
“What’s the range?” I asked.
“Twelve miles,” he answered, giving me a look like he’d seen more of me recently than the others suspected.
I tried not to blush. “That should be plenty of range as long as we stay close to Stonely.”
We practiced testing, testing, one, two, three until we all had the hang of it. “I’ve got your purse in George’s truck,” Cora Mae said into her radio. That made me squeal with pleasure.
I can’t live without my purse, and I don’t mean that in the same way most women mean it. Mine is stuffed with all the equipment a good investigator needs. I ran to the truck and retrieved it. “All here,” I said, rummaging through it. Handcuffs, whistle, mini recorder, and emergency money. I was set.