Murder Grins and Bears It by Deb Baker Page A

go,” I said heading
for the ATV with Cora Mae in tow. I thought of something and turned
back. “Has the sheriff been through asking questions?”
    “ You’re the
first.”
    Figures. I’m always one step ahead of my
son. He must be too busy doggy sitting to do any real
investigating.
    “ I don’t know what it is
about you, Cora Mae.” I said as we thundered down a wide trail used
by snowmobiles in the winter. “You always manage to pick out the
dumbest one in the pack, quite a feat considering the limited
choices back there.”
    “ Nothing at all wrong with
dumb,” Cora Mae replied.

    ****

    The other two bait piles were pretty much
like the first. The Smith brothers had strung smelt buckets at each
of them, so it wasn’t any trouble finding them. We followed our
noses. The piles were deserted for the moment, since all the boys
were together and busy stuffing their faces. There was no sign of
Little Donny.
    Cora Mae held a white embroidered hanky over
her nose and mouth, and mumbled. “Big and wearing orange isn’t much
to go on.”
    “ It was him,” I insisted.
“I have a feeling.”
    We drove past the last of Walter’s piles and
came to a fork in the trail. Normally we’d have to make a decision
about which way was the correct one, but in our case, it was
handled for us. The ATV conked out right at the fork, and refused
to start up again.
    I jumped off and checked the gas. Bone
dry.
    “ You’d think,” I said to
Cora Mae, “Walter could have made sure we had enough
gas.”
    Cora Mae didn’t speak, just looked up at the
treetops and frowned. I followed her gaze and saw rain clouds
forming above us in dark, angry swirls. The birds were flittering
past, heading for cover.
    “ You didn’t happen to bring
an umbrella?” I said, perching my Blublocker sunglasses on the top
of my head.
    Apparently Cora Mae was giving me the silent
treatment, like it was my fault we were out of gas and stranded in
a thunderstorm.
    The sky opened up and pelted us with large,
wet drops.
    “ Head for the trees,” I
called, and we scampered for the canopy. I tried holding my handbag
over my head for protection, but almost clonked myself silly from
the weight of the weapons landing on my head. Almost broke my
sunglasses, too.
    Cora Mae had on those strapped sandals with
high heels she’s so fond of, so I reached the trees ahead of
her.
    That’s why I was first to spot the body.
    I crammed four white knuckles into my mouth
to stop the scream rising in my throat. My knees buckled beneath me
and I leaned heavily against a tree for support. I slid down the
tree and sat there with my legs straight out in front of me.
    Life passed before my eyes just like they
say it does when you’re near the end. Only it wasn’t my life
snuffed out.
    Was it Little Donny?
    I thought of my favorite grandson visiting
every summer since he was a little tyke, wanting to know everything
there was to know about hunting and fishing. Always was the curious
one, wanting to go back to the beginning, to his roots. He wasn’t
one for that fancy Milwaukee city life Heather forced on him. I’d
been hoping that one day soon he’d move to Stonely and live close
by.
    I saw movement out of the corner of my eye
and Cora Mae came into focus. She brushed past me and walked toward
the body, which was lying face down partially covered by a pile of
leaves.
    Two long arrows jutted out of the dead man’s
back.
    Cora Mae floated in slow motion, blocking my
view, then she was hauling on his jacket from the back and moving
around to his other side and pushing, struggling to turn him enough
so she could see his face. She pushed and shoved for a long time.
To give her credit, she could be tough as toenails when she had to
be.
    The whole time, all I could do was watch in
helpless terror.
    Eventually, I saw him flop back down, the
arrows solidly planted. Cora Mae stood up and said something to me,
but it sounded garbled, like listening to the radio between two
stations.