Murder Bites the Bullet: A Gertie Johnson Murder Mystery by Deb Baker

before taking the candy bar from Kitty.
    Kitty looked over at me and shrugged.
    “I’ll lock it up in my sheriff’s office,” Blaze said. “It’ll be safe until Sunday.”
    “I feel better already,” Marcy said. “It’s easy to tell who is honest”--she glanced at Grandma--“and who isn’t”--then cast dagger eyes at Kitty.
    As an investigator, I have to be able to adapt to sudden, unexpected change. At first glance, having the coffee can in Blaze’s clutches might seem like a really bad idea, but in reality it simplified my work. Not only do I have a key to his office, but I know exactly where he’ll stash it.
    “We’re done here,” I said, slinging the heavy tote onto my other shoulder.
     
     
    *
     
    Why would Chet kill his cousin Frank and Harry Aho? Or why in the world would Diane kill her husband and Frank Hanson? It just didn’t make sense. I could picture her murdering Harry if she hated him enough. But Frank? Besides, Diane was such a mousy woman, and I don’t mean in a small built way. It’s her passive personality that would hold her back. She couldn’t possible have been the leaf-wearing murderer I witnessed in the woods.
    On the other hand, I could see Chet as a big pile of deadly leaves.
    I had to remind myself that things aren’t always what they seem.
    Never one to put all my eggs in one basket, our next step was to track down a few names in Frank’s moonshine notebook. See if we could find the link between Frank and Gus, or between Frank and Harry.
    We left to start investigation Frank’s customers. Walter Laakso was first on the list. Cora Mae has issues with Walter’s cleaning abilities, not to mention his unorthodox way of welcoming guests, so I dropped her at home first to spruce up for Chet. I knew Walter well enough, having used his camping trailer to hide out a few times. He would talk to me.
    So Kitty, Fred, and I bounced down his pothole road, and as usual he came flying out of his house, shotgun loaded and ready. But he didn’t scare me like he used to.
    “It’s Gertie Johnson,” I said, letting Fred out of the truck to explore. “And my business partner, Kitty. Put the gun away and put the coffee on.”
    And, as usual, Walter managed to pour whiskey in with the coffee before I could stop him. A blast of fumes hit me when I raised the cup to my lips. I only pretended to taste the brew. “That’s good coffee, Walter,” I lied “A touch of moonshine spruces it up.”
    Walter chuckled. “You like it?”
    “A lot.”
    “Me too,” Kitty said, taking a healthy mouthful and really meaning it.
    We talked about the weather, how it was warm and sunny but we needed rain. If it had been raining, we’d point that out, too, and mention needing some dry weather. It was standard U.P. small talk. Then I asked, “Frank Hanson had a moonshine business. Your name is at the top of his list.”
    “What do you mean ‘had a business’?”
    “He’s dead.”
    “I didn’t know.”
    “You need to get out more, Walter.”
    “What happened to him?”
    “Shot in the head. Same as Harry Aho.”
    We sipped our coffees, thinking that over. A drop of whiskey slid past my fake drink and down my throat, almost burning a hole in my esophagus. How could Kitty stand the stuff? She took several more swigs.
    Walter said, “I wasn’t getting my moonshine from Frank.”
    “You were on the list.”
    “Let me see this so-called list.”
    I dug the proof out of my pocket and handed it over. Kitty helped herself to more coffee and flavoring, while Walter paged through the notebook.
    “This isn’t a moonshine list,” he finally said. “It’s his address book. I’m in it because we play cards together. This page--” he held it out so I could see, “--is the card group. As far as I know, Frank isn’t in the moonshine business.”
    I couldn’t believe I’d made a mistake with the address list. “So who is in the business? Who do you buy from?”
    Walter studied me.
    “This is