Read Online Murder Talks Turkey by Deb Baker - Free Book Online Page A

roosting in trees or the barn, and they eat up weed seeds and bugs. Guineas like to dine on Japanese beetles and deer ticks. I’ve even seen one peck and swallow a yellow jacket and go on hunting like nothing unusual happened.
    They have their faults, though. With a machine-gun-like alarm call, they are the noisiest creatures on earth.
    And they hate Fred.
    He howled again while I waded in, swinging my arms and legs, parting a path to the truck where the enormous black coward was only too happy to hide. I had to leave the driveway at a rolling crawl to keep from running my guineas down.
    Ruthie’s Deer Horn Restaurant was on Highway M35, across from the railroad tracks. The train ground to a screeching halt as Fred and I stepped down from the truck.
    “Hey, Otis,” I called to the train conductor, who liked to stop at Ruthie’s for coffee and tall tales. Otis Knutson’s appearance meant Carl should be along shortly. Sure enough, Carl pulled in with George, and they watched me tie Fred to a post in the front of the restaurant where he could keep me in his sights.
    My dog dislikes waiting in the truck by himself. When we’re at Ruthie’s, he settles for hanging around outside as long as I bring him a treat afterwards.
    The four of us took seats at the counter, lined up like a row of turkey targets. Ruthie swung out of the kitchen with a pot of coffee in her hand. She poured a round without having to be asked.
    In the U.P. we take our coffee seriously.
    The men ordered mounds of eggs and bacon and potatoes. I stuck with the coffee since all those doughnuts had sunk to the bottom of my stomach like lead weights. Spending a thoughtful moment covertly eyeing George’s hunky body, I had to stop sucking doughnuts.
    George winked. I smiled at him, feeling shy and self-conscious. Then we told Otis and Carl about the robbery and the dead guy at the dance. Carl, who lives about a mile from me, already knew most of it. Otis hung on every word. So did Ruthie.
    When we finished, Otis leaned his tall, slim body forward and slapped the counter. “Holy Wah! What a story! Too bad Blaze is laid up. He’d get ’em.”
    I didn’t mention that Blaze had been more interested in slinging his feet up on the desk than chasing criminals - that he chalked most everything up to kid pranks. And that was at his best, when his brain was at peak capacity.
    Ruthie went into the kitchen and came out carrying three brimming plates. She set them down in front of the men.
    “Where has Dickey been?” I asked.
    Ruthie answered. “He has his nose to the ground like a bloodhound. He’s accused every one of us by now. He had the nerve to suggest I might know more than I’m telling. Deputy Snell isn’t welcome in my restaurant until he apologizes.”
    “Otis is right,” Carl said. “We need Blaze back quick.”
    “Ruthie,” I said. “When we were lying on the floor in the credit union, I saw the shooter on the roof. I’m sure the man George and I found behind my truck was the same guy.”
    “Was he wearing orange shoes?”
    “What?” I had only been able to see the guy from his waist up.
    “I saw someone on the roof, too,” she said. “Well, part of him. Remember, I was ahead of you in line. When I went down on the floor, I could see the bottom half of someone walking on the roof.” She wiped her hands on a kitchen towel and slung it over her shoulder. “He had on orange shoes just like the robber.”
“Did you tell Dickey?” I asked.
“Sure I did. He wanted to check my closet to see if I had some. I tell you, I better not see him around my restaurant.”
Orange shoes. This was the goofiest case!
George spoke up, “The guy behind Gertie’s truck didn’t have any shoes on at all.”
    “I’ll be,” I said. I hadn’t noticed that small detail. Probably because I was so worried about the murder weapon belonging to me. I’d completely missed the dead guy’s lack of footwear.
    I had to get a break in this case soon. I didn’t want