Read Online Murder Passes the Buck by Deb Baker - Free Book Online
Authors: Deb Baker
Tags: Fiction, General, Mystery & Detective, Women Sleuths, Detective and Mystery Stories, Grandmothers, Upper Peninsula (Mich.), Johnson; Gertie (Fictitious Character)
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Here and there. I keep alert. Call it self-preservation. The more you know about a person, the better your position is. Information is like gold bullions; it
pays for itself. ” “ Kitty, ” I said, “ you watch too much T. V. ”
The parking lot was packed when we pulled in and we had to park on the road. We left our coats in the cloakroom, which was almost full. A funeral warrants a big turnout. This was a big event.
“ I can ’ t help noticing you ’ re wearing a red dress, ” I said to Cora Mae when she peeled off her black wool coat. “ I thought black was your color, and since this is a funeral, it stands to reason you would wear black. ”
“ Not if I want to stand out in a crowd, ” she replied, squeezing past Kitty. “ You don ’ t know anything about snagging a man, do you? ”
With Cora Mae in the lead we headed down a short narrow hall to the Green Room, where Chester was laid out. My second hope for the evening — getting a look at Chester — was dashed when I spied the closed casket. My first hope for a lead stood at the head of the casket next to several flower stands, bawling his eyes out.
I headed over, but the room was filled with people I knew and I slowed down to greet them. Most of these people had been at Barney ’ s funeral — Elma and Waino Latvala,
the entire Sheedlo family, Lila Carlson, and all of them were hoping for a little extra information about Chester ’ s death. After all, as the sheriffs mother, I might have some extra juicy tidbits to pass around.
I wanted to talk to Chester ’ s son before I shocked everybody with the truth of the matter. “ I ’ m not at liberty to discuss it right now, ” I told each of them.
People buzzed around, spreading my mysterious comment to those who hadn ’ t heard. Kitty piped up and said, “ You ’ re causing quite a stir. ”
“ I hate it when I do that. ”
By the time I finished fending people off, Bill Lampi wasn ’ t hiding out behind the flower arrangements any more. I looked around for him.
I saw Onni Maki slither by. He grinned like a cat that had just swallowed the canary. He wore a green suit that matched the walls of the room, a paisley shirt, and a thick gold chain around his neck. His thinning hair was wrapped around the top of his head to hide a large bald spot, and when he swept his hand through his hair to make sure it was in place, I noticed a gold ring on his pinky finger.
Cora Mae was gaining on him from behind, her Wonderbra pointing the way. She
had a grin on her face, too, like a timber wolf closing in on a bunny rabbit.
I wasn ’ t sure which one to feel sorrier for.
Ed Lacken, the funeral director, stood by the door, looking stiff and proper, his face pinched and red like his bow tie was on too tight.
I poured pink punch into a paper cup and wandered into the bathroom. I set the punch on the sink and went into a stall. I needed to be alone.
Barney had died fourteen months, ten days, and sixteen hours ago, and standing in the funeral home remembering his funeral brought back some of the pain I was trying to forget.
My sad secret — that Barney hadn ’ t really died of a heart attack like I ’ d told everyone at his funeral — weighed heavily on my heart. The few people who knew the truth, Cora Mae, Blaze, and the funeral director, were sworn to secrecy. It ’ s the way he would have wanted it.
The truth is, Barney drowned in his waders. He went out trout fishing on the Esca-naba River, and his body was found floating downstream six hours later. He must have stepped into a deep hole, the waders filled up with water, and he sunk like a boat anchor.
After discussing it with Blaze, we decided Barney wouldn ’ t have wanted people to know he went that way. Sure, he was doing what he loved, but he also prided himself on his outdoor skills, and stepping in a hole wasn ’ t a dignified way to end a great fishing career. Barney would have considered stepping in a hole a
pays for itself. ” “ Kitty, ” I said, “ you watch too much T. V. ”
The parking lot was packed when we pulled in and we had to park on the road. We left our coats in the cloakroom, which was almost full. A funeral warrants a big turnout. This was a big event.
“ I can ’ t help noticing you ’ re wearing a red dress, ” I said to Cora Mae when she peeled off her black wool coat. “ I thought black was your color, and since this is a funeral, it stands to reason you would wear black. ”
“ Not if I want to stand out in a crowd, ” she replied, squeezing past Kitty. “ You don ’ t know anything about snagging a man, do you? ”
With Cora Mae in the lead we headed down a short narrow hall to the Green Room, where Chester was laid out. My second hope for the evening — getting a look at Chester — was dashed when I spied the closed casket. My first hope for a lead stood at the head of the casket next to several flower stands, bawling his eyes out.
I headed over, but the room was filled with people I knew and I slowed down to greet them. Most of these people had been at Barney ’ s funeral — Elma and Waino Latvala,
the entire Sheedlo family, Lila Carlson, and all of them were hoping for a little extra information about Chester ’ s death. After all, as the sheriffs mother, I might have some extra juicy tidbits to pass around.
I wanted to talk to Chester ’ s son before I shocked everybody with the truth of the matter. “ I ’ m not at liberty to discuss it right now, ” I told each of them.
People buzzed around, spreading my mysterious comment to those who hadn ’ t heard. Kitty piped up and said, “ You ’ re causing quite a stir. ”
“ I hate it when I do that. ”
By the time I finished fending people off, Bill Lampi wasn ’ t hiding out behind the flower arrangements any more. I looked around for him.
I saw Onni Maki slither by. He grinned like a cat that had just swallowed the canary. He wore a green suit that matched the walls of the room, a paisley shirt, and a thick gold chain around his neck. His thinning hair was wrapped around the top of his head to hide a large bald spot, and when he swept his hand through his hair to make sure it was in place, I noticed a gold ring on his pinky finger.
Cora Mae was gaining on him from behind, her Wonderbra pointing the way. She
had a grin on her face, too, like a timber wolf closing in on a bunny rabbit.
I wasn ’ t sure which one to feel sorrier for.
Ed Lacken, the funeral director, stood by the door, looking stiff and proper, his face pinched and red like his bow tie was on too tight.
I poured pink punch into a paper cup and wandered into the bathroom. I set the punch on the sink and went into a stall. I needed to be alone.
Barney had died fourteen months, ten days, and sixteen hours ago, and standing in the funeral home remembering his funeral brought back some of the pain I was trying to forget.
My sad secret — that Barney hadn ’ t really died of a heart attack like I ’ d told everyone at his funeral — weighed heavily on my heart. The few people who knew the truth, Cora Mae, Blaze, and the funeral director, were sworn to secrecy. It ’ s the way he would have wanted it.
The truth is, Barney drowned in his waders. He went out trout fishing on the Esca-naba River, and his body was found floating downstream six hours later. He must have stepped into a deep hole, the waders filled up with water, and he sunk like a boat anchor.
After discussing it with Blaze, we decided Barney wouldn ’ t have wanted people to know he went that way. Sure, he was doing what he loved, but he also prided himself on his outdoor skills, and stepping in a hole wasn ’ t a dignified way to end a great fishing career. Barney would have considered stepping in a hole a
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