from his phone.
I remembered my deer camera just in the nick of time and retrieved it before the posse arrived.
*
Blaze wanted to negotiate.
“I’m willing to share information,” he said, hiking up his sheriff’s pants, which were riding dangerously low across his overextended stomach.
We were standing in front of Frank’s house next to the car he’d never drive again. He’d never get around to fixing those flat tires now.
For the record, my son has never, ever shown any desire to work with me. Ever. And now he was willing to share? That meant he had to be up to something. Or the lasting effects of his meningitis were taking a turn at that steering wheel inside his mind. Although he seemed lucid to me.
“Okay,” I said, swiping at the charcoal coating my face. Any lie I might concoct was going to seem mighty weak with that stuff all over it. I looked like a cat burglar. “Negotiate away.”
“You give me the whole truth,” he offered. “And I won’t get mad. I won’t even threaten you.”
“That’s the bargain? How pathetic.”
“What else do you want?”
“Information. And an extension on my license situation, too.”
“Two weeks to give me proof of registration instead of one.”
“Big deal. How about a month?”
“Fine!” Judging by the color of his face, he was already getting worked up, and we hadn’t even begun.
“And I’m going to get information in return?”
“I could arrest you for withholding evidence in a murder investigation.”
See, he was threatening me already. He whipped out a camera and took a picture of my stunned face. Then he showed it to me. “Your mug shot,” he said. I have to say it was not one of my most photogenic grandmotherly photographs.
I spilled. “Harry Aho’s kids hired me to investigate Chet Hanson. They think he killed their dad. And since Frank Hanson was at the shooting range the day Harry died, I had Frank under surveillance. I didn’t expect bullets to fly. And I wish I could have helped Frank, but it was over before I knew it. And I couldn’t risk becoming a target too.”
“It wouldn’t have mattered,” Blaze said. “That was a perfect head shot. Frank probably died instantly, never even knew what hit him.”
“It might have had something to do with that moonshine business he was running.” I said.
“Or retribution.”
“Or that. The killer was a big pile of leaves.”
“I’d use stronger language than that to describe somebody who shoots people in the head.”
As usual, Blaze already had it wrong. “No, a pile of leaves got up and ran away. It reminded me of Kitty’s new housedress.”
Blaze sighed. “I’ll make a note of it, but you’re stretching your credibility now.”
“I’m not giving you everything all at once. We’ll take turns. Your turn. Tell me something useful.” I watched his lips tighten. I’d raised the boy, I knew the signs. He wasn’t going to leak a thing.
“I’m working this case,” I added. “We need to stick together on the facts.”
“No, Ma, I’m in charge, and this isn’t show and tell. Because of what happened here, I’m back to square one. Frank Hanson was my prime suspect in the Aho case.”
“You’re not back to square one,” I said to him. “If Frank killed Harry, that case is closed. Now you’re after an Aho.”
Frank really had been the perfect perp – opportunity, considering he was right there on the premises when Harry took the hit. He’d also had a rock solid longtime family feud motive and the means to plug his enemy. All those Hansons can shoot a dime off a fence post.
Blaze muttered something to himself as he turned to go back inside Frank’s house.
I called after him, keeping my tone neutral even though he hadn’t told me one single useful thing about either of the recent deaths. I couldn’t help feeling taken advantage of. “Would you believe me if I told you that Gus Aho was out at the still with Frank when the shot was
I remembered my deer camera just in the nick of time and retrieved it before the posse arrived.
*
Blaze wanted to negotiate.
“I’m willing to share information,” he said, hiking up his sheriff’s pants, which were riding dangerously low across his overextended stomach.
We were standing in front of Frank’s house next to the car he’d never drive again. He’d never get around to fixing those flat tires now.
For the record, my son has never, ever shown any desire to work with me. Ever. And now he was willing to share? That meant he had to be up to something. Or the lasting effects of his meningitis were taking a turn at that steering wheel inside his mind. Although he seemed lucid to me.
“Okay,” I said, swiping at the charcoal coating my face. Any lie I might concoct was going to seem mighty weak with that stuff all over it. I looked like a cat burglar. “Negotiate away.”
“You give me the whole truth,” he offered. “And I won’t get mad. I won’t even threaten you.”
“That’s the bargain? How pathetic.”
“What else do you want?”
“Information. And an extension on my license situation, too.”
“Two weeks to give me proof of registration instead of one.”
“Big deal. How about a month?”
“Fine!” Judging by the color of his face, he was already getting worked up, and we hadn’t even begun.
“And I’m going to get information in return?”
“I could arrest you for withholding evidence in a murder investigation.”
See, he was threatening me already. He whipped out a camera and took a picture of my stunned face. Then he showed it to me. “Your mug shot,” he said. I have to say it was not one of my most photogenic grandmotherly photographs.
I spilled. “Harry Aho’s kids hired me to investigate Chet Hanson. They think he killed their dad. And since Frank Hanson was at the shooting range the day Harry died, I had Frank under surveillance. I didn’t expect bullets to fly. And I wish I could have helped Frank, but it was over before I knew it. And I couldn’t risk becoming a target too.”
“It wouldn’t have mattered,” Blaze said. “That was a perfect head shot. Frank probably died instantly, never even knew what hit him.”
“It might have had something to do with that moonshine business he was running.” I said.
“Or retribution.”
“Or that. The killer was a big pile of leaves.”
“I’d use stronger language than that to describe somebody who shoots people in the head.”
As usual, Blaze already had it wrong. “No, a pile of leaves got up and ran away. It reminded me of Kitty’s new housedress.”
Blaze sighed. “I’ll make a note of it, but you’re stretching your credibility now.”
“I’m not giving you everything all at once. We’ll take turns. Your turn. Tell me something useful.” I watched his lips tighten. I’d raised the boy, I knew the signs. He wasn’t going to leak a thing.
“I’m working this case,” I added. “We need to stick together on the facts.”
“No, Ma, I’m in charge, and this isn’t show and tell. Because of what happened here, I’m back to square one. Frank Hanson was my prime suspect in the Aho case.”
“You’re not back to square one,” I said to him. “If Frank killed Harry, that case is closed. Now you’re after an Aho.”
Frank really had been the perfect perp – opportunity, considering he was right there on the premises when Harry took the hit. He’d also had a rock solid longtime family feud motive and the means to plug his enemy. All those Hansons can shoot a dime off a fence post.
Blaze muttered something to himself as he turned to go back inside Frank’s house.
I called after him, keeping my tone neutral even though he hadn’t told me one single useful thing about either of the recent deaths. I couldn’t help feeling taken advantage of. “Would you believe me if I told you that Gus Aho was out at the still with Frank when the shot was
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