wide all over Tamarack County. He usually handled small businesses. His accounts were spread out. But I hadn’t tipped to his connection with the credit union.
Sue did the bookkeeping, Angie explained, Tony took the financial information forward from there. The teller claimed she knew for a fact he was the thief. He knew she knew and was trying to implicate her, maybe even kill her.
Whether her story was true or not, both Angie and Tony could do with some surveillance. Since Lyla had fired the Trouble Busters, we no longer could get information from her on Tony’s whereabouts.
Kitty yawned, stretched some more, and took big swigs from her coffee cup. “If Angie’s so worried about her health, why doesn’t she take off out of the U.P.?”
“She called into work and told them she had a death in her family. She’s off for the week until she decides what to do. She kept talking about quitting but she hasn’t done it yet.”
“What rotten luck. She just moves in and blam, she’s in the middle of a robbery.”
I thought the same thing.
“How much is she paying us?” Kitty wanted to know, giving me one of those it-better-not-be-in-manicures looks.
“Two hundred dollars.” I didn’t mention that Angie couldn’t produce a down-payment.
“That’s not much dough.”
“No, but we have the same goals. We’re trying to break the case for Blaze’s sake anyway. Wish I could visit him.”
“Maybe we can. Dickey isn’t at the jail every minute.
One of the radios lying on the table sputtered and blew static. George’s voice came through and we chatted about last night and what our plans were for the day, using a slapped-together code.
“Toodles asked me to drive her around,” George said. “And help find Tigger.”
I bet she did. Cora Mae, aka Toodles on the radio, might be my best friend, but when it came to men I didn’t trust her as far as the barn. And she’d had her sights on George for the longest time, only backing off when I made it very clear that he wasn’t available. Cora Mae isn’t known as the Black Widow for nothing.
Tigger was code for Tony, like Tony the Tiger.
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” I said, ignoring the fact that I’d told George just yesterday to stay away from me while I was a fugitive. “I’ll go with you. Toodles and Big Ma can ride together.”
“Best to keep you j-walkers in the same vehicle,” George reasoned, rightly. J-walkers being our code for jail breakers. “If you split up, you’ll be twice as likely to be spotted.”
“Not to mention that whoever we’re with will be in hot water.”
“That, too.”
“Thanks for helping, Sweet Cheeks,” I said. “I know I’ve been a lot of trouble.”
“You’re worth every bit of it, Muffin Cakes.”
Kitty rolled her eyes to the heavens, which reminded me that my conversation with George wasn’t exactly private.
“Let’s get dolled up and hit the road,” I suggested to her after reluctantly signing off.
“One more cup of coffee,” Kitty whined. “I’m still sleepy.”
A shotgun blast finished waking us up. Kitty and I stared at each other. “Walter has company,” I whispered, running to the trailer window facing the house. I lifted a corner of an old sheet Walter used for drapes and stuck an eyeball out.
The visitors were focused on Walter’s trigger-happy welcome, so I took the opportunity to raise the window a bit. Kitty inched up behind me.
Dickey and No-Neck were sitting in a gray minivan with the windows rolled down. Dickey stuck his greasy, combed-over head out the driver’s side. “Put that weapon away,” he shouted at Walter. “Why do we have to go through this every time?”
Walter fired another shot into the air. “I told you before and I meant it. Get off my property.”
“I should incarcerate you, Walter. You can’t take potshots at the sheriff.”
Walter cocked his sawed-off shotgun and beaded in. “Come and get me, why don’t ya, ya candy ass.”
Dickey sat back and closed his eyes. I could tell he was wondering what to do next. When he opened them, his head swiveled toward the trailer. I didn’t have time to duck, so I froze where I was.
That particular non-move works with deer. They need scent and motion before they spook. If you stand inside, without moving a muscle, they can be looking right at you and not really see that you’re there. But turkeys can see you right through the glass even if you don’t breathe. Hopefully my deer tactic would work with the acting sheriff.
Finally, Dickey turned his attention back to Walter. “I’m assuming you are a man of your word, so I’ll settle for a few answers,” Dickey said. Walter didn’t blink. “I’m looking for two jail breakers and a missing sheriff’s truck. You haven’t happened to see either of those three items, have you?”
Walter lowered the shotgun and grinned through empty front gums. “If I did see your blame truck, I’d pitch it in the lake.”
“You have a serious problem with authority figures, Walter.”
“Only the live ones.”
Walter stood firm, his feet spread apart, the shotgun cradled in his arms like a baby, while Dickey reversed gears and pulled out backwards.
“Well, Muffin Cakes,” Kitty said to me. “We have work to do.”
I lowered the corner of the sheet and plopped blond curly locks on my head. “After you, Big Ma.
Chapter 19
AN EFFECTIVE PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR IS like a chameleon. We have to blend with our environment, morph with whatever colors we’re up against, catch the wind and ride it.
So when Angie’s partner-in-crime left her house on Dakota Street in Gladstone and drove over to a fitness center seven miles away in Escanaba, there wasn’t any question in my mind. I was going in after her. Kitty dropped me at the door and roared off to watch the house in case Angie decided to move while her hostess was gone.
If Blaze had been functioning on all cylinders and still in his position as sheriff, I would have asked him to run the car’s plates last night. Calling Dickie was certainly out of the question for obvious reasons. If I wanted to know her name, I’d have to introduce myself.
“Laura DeLand,” she said, accepting my offered hand when I burst in behind her. Laura Delaney had the face of an angel. She should have been modeling in New York or making movies in Hollywood instead of hanging around the sticks.
“I’m thinking about joining the club,” I said. “Will you show me around?”
“That’s
“I’ll do it,” Laura offered, smiling through perfect teeth. “Come on.”
The fitness room was packed with every conceivable type of health nut fanatic. This morning, without realizing it at the time, I had donned the perfect clothes for working out in a gym. I noticed, though, that I was dressed more like the men than the women. Laura and the other females wore spandex – clingy flexing material that showed off every hill and valley. I’d rather dive off the Escanaba River dam head first onto concrete than expose that much of my body to total strangers.
I could see the outline of Laura’s belly button peeking out behind tight fabric. Every guy in the place had his eyes on her. She didn’t seem to notice.
We hit the tread mill. Mine had more bells and whistles than a rocket ship. Laura set me up on a level course and showed me how to slow it down and speed it up. A television screen in front of us was showing the Upper Peninsula morning news.
Mug shots of Kitty and me flashed on, and the anchor said something I couldn’t hear over the machines and chatter. Where in the world did they get such bad photographs? Kitty looked like a post office wanted poster. Instead of sixty-six, I could have been twenty years older than my real age. Dickey had used a picture of me before
