Free Murder Talks Turkey by Deb Baker

collecting her social security and working part-time at the credit union for extra pin money. Her husband died the year before my Barney passed on.
    She had on a bib apron dotted with flowers and two pink foam rollers on top of her head. I’m a short woman, barely five-two, but June was even smaller and seemed to be shrinking as the years went by.
“You said you wanted to ask me about my job?” June said. “Are you helping Sheriff Snell with the investigation?”
“Yes, I am,” I said. It was sort of true. “He needs all the help he can get.” That part was absolutely true.
“I thought at some point he’d come by personally.”
Meaning Dickey hadn’t been here.
“What do you do at the credit union?”
    “I open new accounts, although that part isn’t very busy since pretty near everyone in Stonely and beyond already has an account. I also send out monthly statements and help Sue with the bookkeeping part of the business.”
“Dave’s wife does the books?” This was important news that she had failed to mention at the dance.
“Just the basic stuff on the computer. She uses a program and plugs in numbers.”
“It must be strange working with the manager’s wife.”
June shrugged. “I mind my own business.”
    What did that mean? I couldn’t think of a polite way to ask for clarification so I just said it. “What do you mean,” I blurted. “by ‘I mind my own business’?”
    June leaned forward. Her body language suggested busybody, exactly the opposite of her verbal comment.
    Antithesis should be the word for today instead of…um…I couldn’t remember. I hate when that happens. It was on the tip of my tongue, since I’d used it on the way over.
    “Well,” June said slowly. “If you asked me, I’d say Sue’s been wearing some fine jewelry lately. And…” she dragged it out. “She and Dave are whispering about moving someplace warmer.”
    “We all talk about that every winter,” I said for the sake of argument.
    “Yes, but we talk about running down to Florida for a week or two in a mobile trailer. Dave and Sue are talking new condo development.”
She threw me a meaningful glance to make sure I got it.
I did.
If they had the stolen money they might be biding their time, planning to live large later.
At June’s insistence, I filled a vest pocket with taffy on the way out.

    Chapter 11

    TURKEYS HAVE BEEN AROUND FOR millions of years. They can fly at fast as fifty-five miles per hour and run flat out at twenty.
    Michigan’s DNR had a hard time re-introducing turkeys into the wild. After four failed attempts, they realized that a little illegal hunting was going on. Not always the bird-brains we like to think they are - the Department of Natural Resources fitted the birds with homing devices.
    When Jim Johnson (not the same Johnson from Grandma’s family tree) was busted at Ruthie’s Deer Horn Restaurant with an illegal turkey in the back of his truck, the locals decided to back off and let the turkeys thrive and multiply.
    The turkey I was gunning for was a bird of a different feather.
    Fred and I were on our way home to check on Grandma and Blaze. I planned to heat up some pea soup I’d made a few days ago and make sure Star was keeping an eye on the home front.
    About a mile from the house, I saw Blaze’s family car traveling toward me. It zoomed by, but not before I got a good look. Blaze was behind the wheel and Grandma Johnson rode shotgun. She was short, but I could tell it was her. I recognized the hat.
    I did a fast U-turn, spilling my unprepared German shepherd onto the floor. After several efforts at control, the Trouble Buster truck wound up in the ditch. By the time Fred crawled up and reseated himself, and I backed out of the dip, there wasn’t even a puff of exhaust smoke left to tell me where they were going.
    When I walked in my house, the phone was ringing.
    “I’m calling it off,” Lyla said from the other end of the line. “Tony and I made up last night. It was