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

the entry box,” I said, which was the truth. “I didn’t see an entry for your mother.”
    Gus looked blank. Then he dug around in his pockets for awhile and came up with a crumpled piece of paper. “Oh, man. I forgot to put hers in. Don’t tell her, okay?”
    “I won’t.” I took a drink of my pop. “We’ll get back to that. Somebody said you were with Frank when he took that bullet.”
    “Who said that?” Now Gus was angry, his face getting puffy and flushed.
    “Can’t remember. Probably just a rumor, right?”
    “That’s right.” Gus clamped his mouth in a hard line.
    “Well, I better get back to work and earn my pay.” I stood up, called out a goodbye to Red and Ed, who were down at the other end of the bar, rounded up Fred, and walked to the door. Then I turned. “About that beverage in your truck.”
    “Oh, yeah.”
    We walked out to his truck. I waited while he furtively slid in. I heard the clinking and clanking of bottles. His truck must be like a traveling liquor store. He came out carrying a quart sized canning jar. “It’s on me,” he said. “After what you’re doing for the family and all.”
    I took off for my own truck, then turned to use my best Columbo impression. “I almost forgot to ask you,” I said, “who your mom’s friend was, the one you were helping with entries.”
    “Hunh?” Gus said.
    “You only had one entry in that pocket of yours, and you said you were also helping a friend. You must have snuck that one in?”
    “At least I got that part right. I just don’t understand how I missed Mom’s. Anyway, I put in a handful for her friend. But I shouldn’t tell you about that.”
    “Your secret will go to the grave with me. I promise. So who was the friend?”
    “You aren’t going to like it.”
    “Try me.”
    “Ida Johnson.”
     
    *
     
    Ida Johnson?
    My old-lady-smelling, serpent-tongued, dog-hating mother-in-law?
    So that’s how Grandma got four entries into the sweepstakes box without setting foot in the store.
    But wait a minute, she never was, and isn’t now Diane Aho’s friend.
    I know her friends. She doesn’t have any, except for a few other ancient women who attend funerals together. And Pearl.
    Why was Diane doing Grandma’s dirty work?
    I didn’t know which one to talk to first.
    After pondering my next move, I drove over to Diane’s place, but no one was home. Being a thorough detective, I had to at least rattle the locked door.
    Then, realizing it was getting late and I was hungry, I drove home and helped Fred make it to the house without any hen-pecking. I went through the house hunting for Grandma, then remembered she had mentioned a funeral over in Perkins. After a leftover pasty doused in ketchup, I stripped down in the sauna and leaned back to soak in the heat.
    That’s where George found me.
    Soon after that, I forgot about the case.
    What case?
     
    *
     
    Word For The Day
    MERCURIAL (murk er ē all)
    containing the element mercury;
    relating to the god Mercury;
    Or the planet Mercury;
    prone to sudden unpredictable change.
     
    One of my first thoughts the next morning was, how come George and I have to sneak around? I’m sixty-six years old, for cripes sake. Don’t I deserve some privacy? Sure the sauna is smoking hot in more ways than one, but my bed is even better. And sure we can go over to George’s house, and that’s great too. But I feel like I’m in high school and Grandma is my mother, God rest my real mother’s kind soul. I should be begging forgiveness for even comparing the two women in the same breath.
    “Where were you?” Grandma snapped at me while guarding the stupid kitchen. I’ll tell you, I woke up crabby, and my mother-in-law better not try to keep me from my coffee.
    “None of your business,” I snapped right back, pushing through her wimpy line of defense. I didn’t even try that dishwater she called coffee. I started a fresh pot.
    “Still bald, I see.”
    I hurried back to my room, jammed the