Free Murder Talks Turkey by Deb Baker Page B

front of the Dairy Flo, Gladstone’s premium ice cream shop. Ease of parking is another great thing about Gladstone. No parallel parking anywhere.
    We jumped out and surrounded Blaze’s car, which was parked right in front of the Dairy Flo. He rolled down the window with his free hand and took a lick from a vanilla cone with the other. Grandma, I noticed, had a strawberry sundae.
“Hey, Sweetie,” Blaze said to Mary. “What are you doing in Gladstone?”
“I just got home, Blaze. You aren’t supposed to be driving yet. Remember what the doctor said?”
Blaze shrugged and took another lick.
    “I’ve been watching him,” Grandma said. “He’s doing a good job. Why don’t you two get yourself some ice cream and we’ll have a little party.”
    My mother-in-law and my son looked just as normal as everybody else on this early April afternoon. The morning chill had disappeared, replaced by the warmth of the sun and a promise of spring peeking around the corner. They weren’t the only ones at the Dairy Flo lapping treats.
“Okay,” Mary said. “We’ll have a little party together. Then Gertie will drive Grandma back and I’ll drive you home, dear.”
“Gertie doesn’t have a driver’s license,” Grandma said, tattling on me. “I wouldn’t let her drive my lawn mower.”
“Well,” Mary said. “We’ll figure something out.”
    While Mary and I waited in line, I kept a watchful eye on Blaze’s car. Our turn came. While we were ordering, right there under our very noses, Blaze backed out of the parking space and tooled away.
    Mary and I had to abandon our already ordered ice cream and race to the truck.
    “They’re headed for the lake,” Mary yelled, not at all as peaceful as she was on her arrival at my house.
    We drove past the Gladstone Motel and sped around the curve onto Lake Shore Drive. “I don’t see them yet,” I said. We sailed past the yacht harbor and the lagoon. “There.” I pointed. “By the Beach House.”
    “I don’t know what it takes to ditch you two,” Grandma crabbed when we forced them out of the car. I thought about slapping handcuffs on the old witch. “You sure can’t take a hint. I want to spend time alone with my grandson.”
    Which was a blantant lie. Grandma’s idea of quality time tended to highlight the wonders of discipline. Blaze’s ears were lodged forward on his head more than they should be after all the ear twists he had to endure over the years. She’d still get a grip on them when he made her mad.
    “I’m going to Kids’ Kingdom,” Blaze said, looking off to the right toward a playground with an enormous wooden fort. To our left, tall grasses waved in the breeze and a walkway led down to the waters of Little Bay de Noc.
“I’ll go with you,” Mary said to her husband.
Blaze took off with Mary in tow. I heard him say, “Grandma said my money’s hidden in the fort.”
“You don’t have any hidden money,” Mary said. “You’re still having delusions from the meningitis.”
“Spoil sport,” Grandma said under her breath. “Let’s go look at the waves.” She headed for a boardwalk.
    The wind had picked up. Whitecaps the size of freighters formed in the open water, rolled toward us, then broke and slammed against the fine white sand of the beach. My hair blew this way and that, covering my eyes until I held it away with one hand on my forehead. Grandma shuffled through the sand, then stopped. She cast a complaint my way, but the wind picked it up and carried it off in another direction.
    A man and woman sat with their backs to us, wrapped in a blanket. Several other people walked along the beach. A dog loped near the water with no owner in sight.
    My eyes latched on two women with rolled-up jeans, wading out in the lake. One of them kicked her bare feet through the waves with angry thrusts.
    April’s air temperature, in spite of the wind, was fairly comfortable because of the sun’s warmth. But stepping into Lake Michigan at this time of