Tony and Shirley had been cozy in the woods, but something had happened to make Shirley run and hide. She claimed Tony was after her, trying to set her up. Maybe he wanted his share of the money. Maybe the orange shoes Shirley threw in the lake were hers. What if she had the money all along? Where would she hide it? And why was she still hanging around this neck of the woods?
I had so many more questions to answer, but the pop from the Dairy Flo was…well…flowing through me. I needed a bathroom quick. And Laura DeLand needed a better security system, because her back door lock sprung free on my first try. I put the fingernail file back in my purse and let myself in.
The house even sounded empty, if that’s possible. After tackling my bladder problem, I wandered down a short hallway and found Shirley’s room. Since she was in transition, there wasn’t much to see. A few things hanging in the closet. A top dresser drawer with articles of clothing. It didn’t take long to learn that she didn’t have a hundred thousand dollars lying around inside Laura’s spare bedroom.
When I peered through the front window to make sure the coast was clear, an old Cadillac with a bad muffler drove slowly past. Four punk types stared at the house through open car windows. I could see piercings and tattoos and ball caps flipped backwards. The car eased down the street and turned left.
I ran and jumped into my truck, thinking they might come around again. If they stopped out front, I didn’t want to be anywhere nearby. Too late, I heard the big car coming up behind Walter’s truck. I slunk down, one eye peeled to the rearview mirror. They parked right behind me.
The two guys in the front got out. I flattened into the seat, grateful to be small. They walked past my side of the truck. I held my breath and made like a seat cushion.
“Ain’t nobody around,” I heard one of them say from the other side of Walter’s rusted-out floor boards.
“What about that reporter chick?”
“I’ze tellin’you it’s safe. Let’s go.”
They headed around the back of Laura DeLand’s house. I couldn’t help noticing they both wore orange sneakers and looked like Big Bad Leroy Brown, only bigger and badder.
I snuck another peek in the rearview mirror. Two more of them were in the back seat. At first I thought they were making out, they were so close together. Then I heard an angry raised voice. “I’ll put your lights out,” a guy said with menace.
Walter’s bad truck body was turning into an asset. Better than a motorcycle for hearing outside conversation but without the visibility.
“I’m telling you, I don’t have it,” the other one said.
“Shut up.”
The car went silent. But I’d heard enough.
Shirley was in the back seat of the old Cadillac and from what I’d overheard, she wasn’t happy to be there.
A post office mail truck turned onto Dakota Avenue with its little flashing light mounted on the top. A female postal worker got out two doors down and strolled along the sidewalk leading to the house in front of her. She had a mail bag slung over her shoulder. She inserted a handful of letters into a mailbox mounted next to a neighbor’s front door. When she arrived at Laura’s house, she rummaged in her bag, pulled out a few letters, and left them in Laura’s black mail box. Before continuing her route, she tugged out a package about the size of a box of candy. It joined the other mail, but it was too large for her to close the lid.
The mail carrier left it open and continued down the row of houses.
I almost gave myself away to the characters in the car behind me. The temptation to snatch the package almost overcame my common sense.
At last, I was pretty sure I knew exactly where the stolen money had gone.
I should have figured it out much earlier. Shirley was hanging around waiting for something she’d purchased online? Yah, right. Had I seen a computer at her house? No, I hadn’t. So how had she ordered over the Internet? Didn’t she need a computer and an internet connection to do that?
Just as George and I had protected our tape recorded conversation by sending it to his house, Shirley had mailed the stolen money to herself at Laura’s house. That woman was two steps ahead of me all the time.
Or she had been until the Orange Gang nabbed her.
I had to get my hands on that package before the punks from lower Michigan got hold of it.
But how?
Chapter 33
I ZAPPED THE GUY IN the back seat of the Cadillac before he knew what was happening. One hit, then another with my trusty stun gun, just to make sure he wouldn’t give me any trouble. He flopped around half on the floor with both legs doing the turkey trot out the back door. I recognized him from the morgue. He was dead Bob’s brother.
Shirley took the opportunity to grab his gun. I didn’t think she was choosing my side of this war, so I gave her a zap, too, causing her to drop the weapon and join the dance. My aim hadn’t been quite as good with her as it had been with the guy, but I didn’t have time for a second round, if I wanted to get away in one piece.
I ran for the porch, grabbed the package from the mailbox, and beat it out of there as the other two Orange Gang members ran from the house. I dove into the truck and slapped down the door lock just in time, squealing away from the curb with one of them hanging onto the door handle. He dragged about a block before he decided it wasn’t such a good idea and let go. My fully-loaded, live-action stun gun dangling out the window helped him make the decision.
Walter’s truck didn’t have much zip, but I knew the territory, which I hoped would give me an advantage.
The Cadillac didn’t have any guts either, because it didn’t gain on me. It didn’t lose either. I blew out of Gladstone, on the lookout for one of our law enforcement officials. With any luck, one would stop both vehicles and I’d be saved. I didn’t see a squad car anywhere in sight. Where in the world are they when you really need them?
My plan, what little I had of one, was to race to the Stonely jail and turn myself in along with the package addressed to…I forgot to look. There it was, clear as day. The package was addressed to Shirley Hess. Before I came in from the cold, I really should look inside. So I worked on opening it while driving as fast as possible down Highway M35.
The package was lighter than I’d expect, if it really held as many bills as I thought it did. And I didn’t really know how thick a stack of money would have to be to make up enough to spell out one hundred thousand. Was the package too small?
By the time I got it open, I had had several close calls with the shoulder of the road and the substantial ditches the U.P. is known for.
I dug inside the package and pulled out a handful of hundred dollar bills. I almost left the road again.
Holy Smokes! I thought I knew what I’d find, but really finding it threw me off for a minute. Somebody better be at the jail to help me before the Orange Gang arrived hot on my tail.
Stonely came into my sights dead ahead. I tromped the gas harder even though the pedal was already riding the floor, and it hadn’t made a bit of difference in my speed. Wouldn’t it be great if the gang in the Caddy didn’t realize they were turning into the sheriff’s quarters, and they followed me right in? Dickey and I could round them up together. I’d be a hero and have a road named after me.
Right before town, I hear a voice speaking to me. I almost left the road again while I assessed its position. As much as I wished for it, the voice wasn’t coming from my Barney.
“Turn left at the next road,” it said. I glanced sharply in my rearview mirror. Shirley Hess’ face was glaring at me through the back window from the bed of the truck. She had the gang member’s gun pressed up against the glass, and her face meant business.
She must have jumped into my truck while I was galloping for the mailbox. I should have taken the time for a second zap, but hindsight is always twenty-twenty, and my foresight has always been legally blind.
I peeled around the corner like she asked me to, turning more sharply than necessary. I glanced back, hoping she had fallen out on the turn. She still clung there with a bead on my head.
