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

sheets like she wanted to sneak another one in. Marcy glanced at her and knit her brows as though she could read Kitty’s mind. So Kitty said, “What about Chet Hanson? Did you see him?”
    “Not that I recall.”
    “Do you have a good recall?” I wanted to know.
    “I hold my own.” Something jogged loose when I heard her say “hold.”
    “Who covers for you when you have to go to the bathroom?”
    “Whoever happens to be on the clock and just standing around.”
    “And when you go on breaks?”
    “Same thing.”
    “Did you have a break during that time? When Harry was killed?”
    Her eyes flitted around. “I guess maybe I did.”
    “How long?”
    “Ten or fifteen minutes.”
    “Who spotted you?”
    “Tara Kirby.”
    I studied the drawing box, even put an eye down to the slot and peered in. “Where are the entries for that day? Are they in here?”
    “I keep everybody honest, don’t you worry about that,” Marcy said, shaking her head. I could hear smug righteousness in her tone. She slid a look at Kitty. “ Some people try to sneak in more than one, so I guard the box day and night. I even rubber band each day’s entries separately. I’ll put them all together for the actual drawing, of course.”
    “And you’re sure they’re in a safe place?” I asked, feeling the beginning of a plan taking shape.
    Marcy bent down behind the booth and came up with a Folgers coffee can. “They sure are. I can keep a good eye on things.”
    Fred watched me from the truck, and I could tell he was considering whether to start howling or not. I heard him begin as I trotted into the IGA to buy a can of Folgers. He shut up again when I came out and stopped to chat it up with Marcy while Cora Mae and Kitty finished validating their sweepstakes by buying a few things.
    On the road again, I said, “It would be quite a coincidence if both Diane Aho and Chet Hanson came into the IGA while Marcy was away on her break.”
    “It’s possible,” Cora Mae said. “Chet wouldn’t lie.”
    Kitty’s eyes met mine. “We’d have to question everybody who worked during that time,” she said. “It’s doable.”
    “I have a better idea,” I said, with a big grin. “Diane swears she was at the IGA. It’s her alibi. Chet said the same thing. Marcy says everybody fills out an entry form. That includes Diane and Chet. If one of them wasn’t here after they used the IGA as an alibi, they’ll have some explaining to do.”
    “So what’s your better idea?” Cora Mae asked.
    I held up the coffee can I’d swapped out when Marcy wasn’t looking. “I’ve got the entries.”
    Cora Mae gasped, then gave me a look like she couldn’t believe what she just saw, and how could I have been so underhanded?
    Kitty reached over and gave me a high-five.
    Two different people, two different perspectives.
     
    *
     
    I didn’t know how much time we had before Marcy discovered the switch. But if everything went according to plan, she’d never know. We blew down M35, heading for Kitty’s house. No way could we go to my house and let Grandma Johnson get a gander at the Hometown Sweepstakes entries. She’d blow us out of the water with her big mouth and snappy false teeth.
    Kitty lives in a dump. Not technically a dump, more like a dumping site. Kitty, along with several past owners, have trashed up her yard something awful. I suspect Kitty might be a certifiable hoarder. To make it worse, people drive by, think it really is a dumping ground, rush home, load up their junk, and add it to the heaps.
    But her house was closer than Cora Mae’s, and I wanted to get the entries back to the IGA as quick as I could.
    Kitty brushed aside all the stuff on her kitchen table while I popped open the Folgers lid. Just like Marcy said, they were in day order. Finding the right one was easy. We each took some entries and started going through them.
    “How did Grandma Johnson get her name in here four times?” I wanted to know.
    “Maybe she’s