Murder Talks Turkey Read Online Free PDF Page A

of hunting season.
    I chose a tree with a substantial trunk to hide every last part of my body from view. I wore camo, so I blended in, and thick gloves and boots because our April mornings can be a “mite” chilly. The outdoor thermometer registered a brisk thirty-six degrees when I left home, creeping out undetected. Kitty never missed a snore from the couch, and Grandma and Blaze were still bedded down.
    Tony Lento should be arriving any minute.
    I could see my breath in the cold air, so I covered my mouth with my glove when I peeked out to watch Tony’s spot. Lyla had walked me out here when she hired the Trouble Busters and assured me that Tony would be behind bales of straw some hundred yards away from the tree I hid behind. He hunted every morning, she’d said, like clockwork.
    My job was to find out what species he was hunting.
    Lyla had sworn me to secrecy. A private investigator has to be discrete. We wouldn’t stay in business long if our clients couldn’t trust us. So the rule was, no telling anyone outside of the three partners. No telling now and no telling later. While I waited, I worried about Kitty’s blabbermouth. Our lips were supposed to be sealed till our deaths, and if Kitty couldn’t keep it reined in, she’d make a quick departure from this world.
    Which is what I promised her, if she whispered one word about our client to anyone.
    There isn’t a turkey flock in the U.P. as large as Kitty’s hen flock. She’s the queen hen because she knows more good gossip than anyone else in Tamarack County.
    Kitty rules her roost of biddies from a formidable physique. She wears a bunch of pincurls in her gray hair, rarely combing them out, and she’s built like a semi. That’s why she makes the perfect bodyguard when I get into trouble, or when I need her to watch over my kooky family.
    A branch snapped to my left, and I almost let out a yelp. Good thing I was nearly frozen to death, or I might have screeched. Another branch broke. Leaves shuffled under someone’s heavy boots. Any turkey worth half his salt was in the next county by now.
    I cautiously eased one eye out from behind the tree to get a good look at Tony’s makeshift turkey blind.
    A mean, snarky, green-uniformed creep named Rolly Akkala glared back at me from the straw bales.
    “What the hell are you doing behind that tree,” the local game warden asked. “Why aren’t you in your own blind? Come out here. Lord, I hate this job. You nearly scared me to death.”
    His demise would make all of Stonely happy enough to throw a party at Herb’s Bar. A Rolly Akkala’s Bit the Dust party would draw more revelers than a Packers versus Lions football game.
    I popped out from behind the maple. My cover was blown, thanks to the warden. Rolly walked toward me. He had tree-stump legs, a barrel chest, and a jaw like a bulldog.
“Cough it up,” he said, holding out his hand.
“What?”
“Turkey license.” He snapped his fingers two times then extended his hand, palm up. “Let’s see it.”
“I don’t have a license,” I said. “I’m not hunting.”
I was hunting all right but not for the feathered kind of turkey.
Rolly rolled his eyes. “I’ve heard that one before.”
“I’m really not.” I spread my arms wide. “Do you see a gun?”
    “Just in case you get any ideas, I’ve got one right here on my side,” Our warden said, tapping his holster. “Good thing, too, with the likes of you hunting illegally.” He walked around the maple tree, parting brush with his foot. “Your weapon’s around here someplace. Put your hands up against the tree and no monkey business.”
    Just then Tony Lento walked into our friendly gathering. “What’s going on?” he said. Tony carried a shotgun under his arm and his standard I’m-a-great-guy grin.
    “I don’t need to look at yours, Mr. Lento. I’m sure you’re within the law.”
    “Well, Rolly,” Tony said. “I have it right here. Take a look anyway.” He held out his turkey