“How low can we go?” Cora Mae had said, refusing to help search. Of course, she had a point.

  “I have indigestion,” Kitty griped. “I better stay near the bathroom.”

  Which served her right for consuming an entire blueberry pie and a quart of milk. In spite of her glutton excuse, I really suspected she was ‘milking’ it for all it was worth.

  So I’d had to look for Pearl’s shoe alone. It wasn’t in the yard. I’d gone out a little way into the woods, but not as far in as this time, thanks to Cora Mae’s directionally-challenged issue. In other words, I hadn’t discovered the meth dump during shoe hunt number one.

  Yet, something was bothering me. But what? I filed that bugaboo away for later examination because it wasn’t offering up any answers.

  Paula’s house was a cracker box, which is standard size up in this area of the country. Tiny houses are the norm, but with lots of land and wide gravel driveways for big machinery and vehicles that we like to collect.

  A tan Ford Escape was parked in the shade of a yellow-leafed maple tree. Joe’s car, according to Kitty’s source. No red Wrangler though. After knocking on the door several times, we deduced that Paula Oja wasn’t home.

  “It’s Tuesday,” Kitty said. “She’s probably working.”

  “Where does she work?” I asked, since Kitty knows everything else.

  “She’s a new hire at Ray’s General Store,” was the reply. “She’s a butcher. Before that, she worked in Escanaba.”

  “She cuts meat?” Cora Mae said, a little squeamishly. “I’ve never heard of a female butcher before.”

  “We woman can do anything we want to do,” Kitty told her.

  “We’re going into the house,” I announced.

  “I’m waiting in the truck,” Cora Mae said, making me wonder for the umpteenth time why she’s a member of the Trouble Busters. Then I remembered. If we need to infiltrate a male domain for vital information, Cora Mae always volunteers for whatever is needed. That’s her niche—interrogating men. I need to remind myself of that constantly.

  “Do you have cell coverage?” I asked Kitty, who checked and did.

  “Call around to stores in Escanaba,” I ordered. “Ones that sell drones. Try to get them to give you the name of anybody who purchased one.”

  “That’s making busy work for me,” Kitty said. “Nobody is going to tell us that. The Privacy Act makes this a tough business.”

  “Try anyway, in case you get somebody on the phone that isn’t all hung up by unnecessary rules and regulations. Stay put and watch for Paula. I don’t want to get caught tossing her house.”

  The back door was unlocked, a relief since I really didn’t want to have to break a window. Unlocked doors are just one more standard mode of operation in the U.P. that is highly appreciated by the Trouble Busters during an active investigation. None of us up here have much to steal, and most of us don’t even think about break-ins. At least we don’t until we get old like Grandma and Pearl. Then the fear factor ratchets up as high as it goes. Talking with them, you’d think we were on the brink of invasions by terrorists, rapists, and identity thieves, all at the same time.

  I opened the door and went in. Paula Oja was neat and kept a tidy house. Everything was in its place; even the bed was made up and the breakfast dishes washed.

  Joe wasn’t nearly as organized, but he had confined his untidiness to his bedroom, probably on orders from his sibling. The closet was filled with empty hangers and the dresser drawers were empty. Everything he owned was dumped on the floor. I couldn’t tell which clothes were dirty and which were clean. Or maybe nothing was clean. It was a huge mishmash.

  I spent a moment thinking bad thoughts about my two partners, who never seem to have to do the dirty work like rifling through grubby clothes. Not one to sulk long, especially when the owner could return at any moment, I went to work.

  I found a selection of guns under the bed. Shotgun, rifle, a .22, a nice .38. Boxes of ammo. Joe might not have been the instructor he said he was, but he was on a first name basis with plenty of weapons.

  Going through his shirt and pants pockets was going to take forever, though. I quickly discovered that’s where he shoved everything he collected during his daily travels. I wouldn’t have time to unfold and read every single receipt and piece of paper. And there were pretty many. So I found a plastic bag, shoved as much as I could in there, and left the house.

  Just in time too, because I’d barely gotten back in the truck when Blaze pulled in alongside of us.

  I started up the engine. We both slid down our windows.

  “She’s not home,” I informed him.

  “What are you doing here?” Blaze, as usual, looked disapproving.

  “Offering our condolences.”

  “I wish I could believe that.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Checking on the sister.”

  Blaze was coming across as vague. “You think his sister blew up his truck?” I prodded, more to get his goat than anything. He didn’t even want to consider murder unless his nose was rubbed in it. “You do, don’t you? Come on, admit it.”

  “I don’t think anything of the sort.” He shook his head. “But I better take a look through his belongings. Maybe I’ll stumble on something that will get Squeaky off my back.”

  “Good luck with that.” I felt a tiny pang of something bordering on guilt for beating Blaze to the punch. If he knew exactly how much I’d just interfered, he’d have tried to have me involuntarily committed to a retirement home. The last time he’d tried had not been fun and I didn’t want to give him more ammo.

  “Go home, Ma,” he said next. Blaze studied my partners. “All of you. Beat it. Find a new hobby.”

  Cora Mae and Kitty managed to keep from retorting, so I did too.

  As we drove off, I thought about my son. If he’d been a regular cop, he’d be suspicious of everybody and everything. He’d assume murder until he ruled it out and he’d investigate the possibility of a second attack on Joe. He’d find out whether or not that drone operator had shown up and killed Joe in the garage.

  If the owner of that bomb-carrying drone had arrived to finish off the job, the window of opportunity would have been extremely short. Ten or fifteen minutes tops between the time we ran back to my house and the emergency crews arrived. Unless…what if the killer had been there from the very beginning, watching the whole thing play out? Lurking nearby, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike? That thought stopped me cold. It would take a ruthless character to have pulled that off.

  “What’s in the bag?” Cora Mae asked, interrupting my thoughts.

  “Stuff from Joe’s pockets. I didn’t have time to go through anything. Good thing I didn’t try, or Blaze would have caught me red-handed.”

  “Taking Joe’s belongings has to be illegal,” Cora Mae said.

  “About as illegal as it gets,” Kitty agreed. “Good thing I don’t have my license to practice yet, or I’d lose it for being an accomplice.”

  “We aren’t going to get caught,” I assured them. “This is my son we’re talking about. It’s not like he’s officially investigating a murder. Besides, I intend to put every scrap of paper back where I found it.”

  “How?” Cora Mae asked.

  “I’ll think of something.” I had no intention of trying, but it sounded like something I should say. “How did the phone calls go?”

  “Only two places in Escanaba sell drones,” Kitty said. “Neither would tell me how many they sold, when they were purchased, or who bought them. No big surprise. And to make our job even more difficult, they’re easy to purchase online too.”

  “We’ve got nothing,” Cora Mae said.

  Which wasn’t exactly true, as I pointed out. We had a dead guy, a blown up truck of questionable origin, a missing drone, Pearl’s found shoes, and a meth dump that may or may not have anything to do with the murder. And most recently we have a visiting dog named Pebbles and a bag filled with various objects from the victim’s pockets.

  “What more could we ask for?” I finished.

  “A pay check?” Kitty said.

  “Picky, picky,” I shot back.

  “You’re taking our lack of income lightly,” Kitty said. “I’m not collecting social security yet and I have expenses to cover. For me, this ongoing lack of compensation is a pernicious situation.”

  I can’t believe the woman used my word. And it wasn’t a fluke. From her self-satisfied expression, she did it on purpose.

  Next she said, “I’m going to have to do a little bartending at Herb’s Bar to make ends meet.”

  Good. Kitty is like a sponge when it comes to picking up on rumors and innuendos and the best place in town to pick those up is at Herb’s Bar.

  Chapter 9

  I dropped off my partners at their respective homes. First out was Kitty, whose plan was to talk to my twin grandsons about clocking some hours ASAP. Red and Ed are Star’s kids and are the owners of Herb’s Bar. They aren’t able to pay Kitty much, but they always welcome her help and she manages to make out okay with tips. Kitty would also do some undercover investigating for the business while working the bar. And with the recent murder, there was sure to be plenty of talk. With any luck some of it might actually be useful and accurate.

  “What about me?” Cora Mae asked, opening the truck door and turning to me. “What should I do?”

  “Your mission…” Well, I was having trouble thinking of one she could carry out. We didn’t have a man for her to ingratiate herself with quite yet. She can’t drive, so tailing Joe’s sister or anybody else for that matter was out of the question. She had zero technical skills, so searching online wasn’t possible, not that I had any particular google search in mind anyway. After a little brain sweat I figured out something.

  “Go through this bag,” I said, handing over the contents from Joe’s pockets. “See if you can come up with a lead.” The worst that could happen was she’d overlook an important item, but I intended to search through them myself later. It would keep her busy if nothing else.

  Cora Mae lives close to my house, so after depositing her I passed by my place to drop off my blueberries and to check on Fred and Pebbles. They came running from the field with the guinea hens in hot pursuit. There must have been several dozen of the noisy fowl. Guineas are impossible to domesticate, a fact I discovered too late. They hang around eating bugs and attacking Fred, but they refuse to be cooped up in any way. Seeing them running at me like miniature dinosaurs from Jurassic Park, I decided there must be twice as many as in the spring. We were at risk of being overrun.

  I quickly reached over and opened the passenger door. The two dogs lunged for shelter from the hen storm. Not able to reach far enough to close it again, I had to get out and go around to shut it, shuffling through the crowd of hens as they shouted what could only be obscenities at me. At that moment, I rued the day I brought the first pair home. They aren’t even good for eggs, since I can’t find their nests.

  We headed for the Deer Horn Restaurant. Otis’ train was parked on the tracks, indicating that he was inside the restaurant catching up on local news. Usually George would be here too, except he’s escorting the Johnson clan in Milwaukee. Carl and Otis were at the counter eating lunch. Otis had on his conductor hat with pinstripes.

  I slid in next to him, hoping that Fred would behave himself. He hates to be left in the truck and isn’t afraid to voice his disapproval by howling. With Pebbles along, he might make my life easier by manning up in front of her.

  “Where’s Ruthie?” I asked Crystal Smith, who was behind the counter. Crystal is T-Bone’s wife and since he’d been fighting the fire at Blaze’s house, she was sure to know every single detail of how the house burned down.

  “Ruthie will be right back after she takes care of some banking. What will you have?”

  I eyed the guys’ plates. “That looks good.”

  “BLTs with heirloom tomatoes fresh picked from Ruthie’s garden,” Crystal said. “I heard about the fire out at your place. It’s a shame.”

  “The whole town’s heard,” Carl said, and I noticed for the first time that he didn’t look so good. Carl seemed to have lost some weight and that loss made his face seem a little drawn. He must have looked the same yesterday, only I hadn’t noticed with all the commotion. “And they all know about the drone attack, too.”

  Darn. Just as I predicted, Carl had spread the drone part all over the place. Blaze was going to be livid.

  “I bet Blaze was fit to be tied.” Otis chuckled.

  “You know my son,” I said. “He’s high strung even on a good day. Are you feeling all right, Carl?”

  “Sure, Gertie, why?” Carl eyes wandered away, but that isn’t unusual in itself.

  “No reason.” I didn’t want to come right out and say that he looked bad.

  Pausing to listen, I couldn’t hear a single howl from the truck, which was a good sign.

  Just then, Walter Laasko came in and took the seat next to me. He ordered the same thing we were having, and Crystal went off to fix our sandwiches at the stove right behind the counter. I watched her throw bacon on the griddle.

  I also smelled brandy wafting from Walter. The man even puts brandy in his morning coffee. I’m not going to judge him though. He’s been a good friend to the Trouble Busters in times of need—offering use of vehicles, disposing of other, and putting us up in a trailer he keeps in the woods at a time when we needed to disappear. All and all, he’s a good guy, a bit on the grungy side, but so are most of Stonely’s men. And his housekeeping skills are worse than primitive. No wonder he’s single. What woman would want to put up with that?

  “I saw your truck out front,” he said to me, “and wanted to have a word with you about the fire business.”

  I was the reason for his appearance? Since Walter leans heavily on the reclusive side, I was mildly surprised when he’d walked in. Coming in because of me must mean something really important.

  “I saw another dog out in your truck,” he continued.

  “A stray I picked up. She must belong to somebody around here. Did she look familiar?”

  Walter shook his head. “Not to me.”

  “Let’s take a look,” Carl said to Otis, and they went out the door to check out Pebbles.

  When they returned, neither of them could help me i.d. her owner either.

  “Crystal,” I said as she put the sandwiches in front of us. “I should probably post a lost dog flyer on the restaurant door.” I was starting to think Pebbles was a good fit for Fred. He hadn’t made a peep. But I still had to find her owner to get a bead on the meth dumper. After that, we’d see what we could do about a nice home for her.

  “You’ll have to ask Ruthie about that flyer,” she said. “What kind of dog?”

  “Lab mix. Female.”

  “Where’d you find her?”

  “Out in the state forest behind Finn Hall Road.”

  “What were you doing out there?” Carl asked.

  “Blueberry picking.” No way was I telling these characters that we were sent out to search for Pearl’s missing shoes. Laughing stock isn’t my favorite place to be. “I found berries, Fred found Pebbles.”

  “Fred and Pebbles?” Otis laughed. “Like Fred Flintstone? That Pebbles?”

  I nodded and took a bite of the sandwich. It was delicious. “You’re a great cook, Crystal.”

  “So I’ve been told,” she said then went off to ring up a customer.

  Talk died down for a little while as we ate. When we were through, Walter said. “The truck that blew up from a drone attack. Has the owner of the vehicle been traced yet?”

  “No,” I said. “The drone owner hasn’t been found either, but it’s only been a day. Why?”

  Walter lowered his voice. “I might have some useful information, but we need to keep it private. If we could pay up and go outside.”

  “You can trust me and Otis,” Carl said, overhearing. I almost snorted out loud at that. The U.P. is filled with blabbermouths and these two could blab with the best of them. “Really. You can trust us with anything.”

  “Maybe, maybe not.” Walter, a man who doesn’t mince his words, stood up.

  So I followed his lead and his back as we left the restaurant. We leaned up against my truck. Fred and Pebbles stuck their noses out the partially open passenger window. I gave each of them a little snout rub.

  “Yesterday morning, I spotted a truck just like that one that blew up and I checked it out,” Walter said. “Walked around it, saw that the identification number had been filed down, and I used my cell phone to call an acquaintance in the Escanaba police department. He ran the plates for me and came up with nothing. Keys were even in it, on the floor under the seat, like it was just waiting to be taken. Like an old television set on the side of the road. I might have been hasty, but I thought the truck had been abandoned and I decided to take it home and fix it up. You know how I like to putter.”

  I did. Walter’s yard is like a vehicle junk yard. And on a side note, this was the longest dialogue I’d ever heard from him.

  Walter continued, “But by the time I dropped my truck at home and got a ride back to get it, the blamed thing was gone.”

  “We can’t be sure it’s the same truck.” I felt a bit of excitement building and tried to keep it down to avoid disappointment.

  Walter shook his head. “I remembered the plate number and went over behind the jail where Blaze had towed what was left of the burnt one and sure enough, it’s the same plates, same truck.”

  All right. Now we’re getting somewhere. “Where did you see it yesterday morning?”

  Walter looked away. “It’s complicated.”

  “How complicated can it be? Give me an address, or a marker, or a GPS coordinate.” Not that I knew how to use coordinates, but I’d figure it out if I had to. “Or take me there.”

  “It was by the woods not far from where you said you found that dog.”

  I frowned. “You mean it was parked near Pearl’s?”

  “No, it wasn’t on a road, more like down an old logging trail, overgrown with lots of ruts and stuff.”