The Millionaire's Hand

2614 words

Author's note:  Lake of the Woods, the setting of this story, is an actual lake located on the border of Minnesota and Canada.
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As he was buying bait, beer,and ice, Mike couldn't help noticing the headline on the newspapers for sale on the store's counter.

Millionaire Found Dead With Hand Missing

Mike didn't usually keep up on the news, but that headline caught his interest, so he bought one of the newspapers as he was leaving the store.  He skimmed the article as he walked to his pickup truck.

Police are still investigating the death of blind millionaire George Wasowski, who was found dead last night at his home in Minneapolis.  The cause of death is believed to be suffocation.  According to investigators, the victim's left hand hand was missing, apparently cut off with a sharp instrument after death occurred. Authorities are searching for Stella May Parker, the victim's 32-year-old fiancee.  The 95-year-old Wasowski and Parker were scheduled to be married today in Minneapolis.  The couple has been in the news recently because of the wedding ring reportedly worth $5 million that Wasowski had custom made for Parker.  Police would not confirm that Parker is a suspect, only that she is missing and is being sought.

Below the article was a photograph of a wrinkled prune wearing dark glasses seated in a wheelchair.  Behind the wheelchair stood the ugliest woman Mike had ever seen. Stella May Parker had elaborately styled red hair, heavy makeup including Tammy Faye Bakker false eyelashes, a huge bulbous nose, and a prominent, jutting chin.  Except for an extremely large bosom, she had the body of a small pro wrestler.

"A woman who looks like that would have to marry a blind guy," Mike thought. "Jeez, suffocating a guy and cutting off his hand! This article reminds me why I don't read the news.  The world sure isn't like it used to be.  Here I am, 35 years old, and I'm starting to sound like my grandfather."

Mike's black Lab, Sam, was waiting in the box of the pickup, panting and wagging his tail. 

"Ready to go fishing, boy?" Mike asked him. 

He threw the newspaper and his other purchases into the truck and headed for Lake of the Woods, looking forward to a weekend of fishing, drinking beer, and peace and quiet. He and his three brothers had an annual competition to see who could catch the biggest fish of the season, which Mike was determined to win this year. Soon he and Sam were in his fishing boat cruising toward Loon Island. 

Loon Island was a small, uninhabited scrap of land in the center of the lake, near the Canadian border.  Except for a tiny beach at the south end, the island was nothing but rock and dense woods.  Mike's grandfather had bought the beach when he retired and built a boat dock and a small cottage. The island got its name because people said he was crazier than a loon to live there. He had lived on the island until he died five years ago.  No one else in the family had wanted to live in the remote cottage, without electricity, phone, or indoor plumbing, but they took turns using it for fishing and camping in the summer.

When Mike pulled up to the dock at the island, it was only ten in the morning, but the temperature was already in the high eighties.  Bloodthirsty mosquitoes whined in Mike's ears waiting impatiently for their next meal.  Tiny thrips landed on his face and crawled through the mustache and goatee that he wished he had shaved off that morning. On a day like this, the island was pure hell, and the only place to be was out on the water. He decided to visit the outhouse quickly and then take the boat back out to fish the rest of the day.  As Mike walked toward the outhouse, Sam ran off into the woods looking for squirrels to chase.

Mike opened the outhouse door cautiously, because he knew that wild animals sometimes took up residence in outhouses that were seldom used. He half expected that a skunk, raccoon, or porcupine might be waiting on the other side of the door.  The last thing he expected to see was a human face staring at him, but that is exactly what he saw.

"Oh, my God, I'm sorry!" Mike averted his eyes and slammed the door.

A fraction of a second later, it occurred to him that he should have been the only person on the island.  In the same fraction of a second, it occurred him that the face he had seen in the outhouse looked familiar.

"Who are you and what are you doing on this island?" he demanded, banging on the outhouse door.

After some rustling and crashing around, the door opened and a figure emerged, wrapped in an old flowered bedsheet that had been on the bed in the cottage.

"Oh, sir, please don't turn me in!" the figure spoke in a syrupy southern accent.  "I didn't do anything, I swear!"

"Turn you in for wha--"  Mike suddenly remembered why the face that was peering at him from under the sheet looked familiar.  "Hey, I saw your picture in the newspaper.  You're--"

"Stella May Parker," the sultry voice crooned.  "Oh please, don't turn me in to the police.  They think I killed George, but I didn't.  I loved George and we were going to be married."

Stella May's voice caught slightly, then continued at increasing volume and speed.  "I caught the real killers in the act and they came after me.  There were three of them and they were huge men. I barely escaped with my life.  I got in my car and drove all night.  All the way, I heard news reports saying the police were looking for me.  I was so frightened!  I just kept driving until I came to the lake and then I stole a boat and drove it out here.  I intended to keep going right into Canada but it was getting dark and I was so tired.  I saw your little cottage and I stopped."

'Wait a minute," Mike said. "If you got here by boat, where is it?  Mine is the only boat here." 

"I'm not used to boats and I forgot to drop the anchor. My knot must have come loose, because when I woke up this morning, my boat was floating out into the bay.  I couldn't go after it because I can't swim."

"If you're innocent, why didn't you go to the police?" Mike asked.  "Running away made you look pretty guilty."

"Oh, I know it did, but I was just so scared.  I didn't think the police would believe me and I couldn't face getting arrested.  Oh, please, just let me stay here in your cute little cottage for a while.  I promise I won't cause any trouble."  Stella May began to sniffle and sob.

"Oh, all right, you can stay until tomorrow.  When I leave I'll take you back with me.  I'll go to the police with you if you want, to make sure you get there safely."

"Oh, thank you so much!  You're so sweet."

"No, I'm not," Mike replied. "The only reason I'm not calling the police right now is that I have no way of contacting them from here.  Turning you in would mean going back to town and, if I did that, I couldn't go fishing. By the way, why are you wearing that old sheet?"

Stella May smiled at him seductively. "My clothes were so grimy that I just threw them away.  I hope you don't mind if I keep this old sheet.  I'll be happy to pay you for it."

"No, that's okay.  I have some extra clothes in the boat that you can borrow."  As soon as he said that, Mike knew it wouldn't work.  He was 5 foot 9 and weighed 150 pounds.  Stella May had three inches and more than 50 pounds on him.

He looked at his watch. "I came out here to fish so I'd better get going.  Please don't cause any trouble until I get back."

He turned and hurried back toward the boat, anxious to go fishing, but anxious to get away from Stella May as well.  Innocent or guilty, Stella May gave him the creeps.

When Mike reached the boat he called, "Come on Sam!  Time to go, buddy!"

Sam came trotting out of the woods carrying something in his mouth. 

"What's he found now?"  Mike thought.

Sam, being a retriever, took retrieving very seriously.  He wasn't satisfied with retrieving ducks and pheasants during hunting season.  He retrieved everything from dirty socks and underwear he found under the bed to half rotten dead animals he dug up in the woods, always expecting Mike to be pleased with his offerings. The object flopping in the dog's mouth now appeared to be the wing of a dead bird, until he came closer and dropped it at his master's feet.  It was a human hand.  On the little finger, sparkling in the sunlight, was a ring with a diamond as big as a robin's egg.

"Holy shit!"  Mike recoiled in horror.  His first instinct was to leave the hand on the ground and run to the boat, but he changed his mind and came back to pick it up.  It was beginning to decay and clouds of small flies swarmed around it. He didn't want to touch it, so he took off the tee shirt he was wearing and gingerly used it to pick up the hand.  Holding the disgusting thing at arm's length in front of him, he ran for the boat with Sam running beside him, barking. 

Mike jumped into the boat, opened his cooler, and stuffed the hand inside. He was hauling up the anchor when a deep voice said, "All right, hand over the hand."

Mike jumped and looked in the direction of the voice.  Stella May stood on the dock, no longer wearing the sheet and dressed only in a large pair of shorts.  It was definitely not the same Stella May that Mike had seen in the newspaper photo.  The long red hair and ample bosom were gone, replaced by a completely bald head and a flat, hairy chest.  A tattoo of a hula girl jiggled and wiggled on one muscular arm.  The other arm brandished a hatchet, probably the same hatchet that had cut off George Wasowski's hand.

"You're a m-ma--," Mike stuttered, staring at the hatchet. 

"Of course I'm a man, you moron!" Stella May, or whoever he was, interrupted. "Old George was ninety-five and blind as a bat, but I can't believe you and everyone else fell for that disguise. If I had had to talk in that stupid accent and wear women's clothes for one more day, I think I would have puked.  I didn't want to let you see how I really look before, because I was only planning to steal your boat tonight, not kill you.  Those plans will have to change now, thanks to your worthless dog. I knew I should have buried that hand deeper. The whole state has seen Stella May Parker's face, but no one has seen Larry Getz except you, and you won't live to tell about it."  He advanced menacingly and raised the hatchet.

"Wait a minute! You don't want to kill me any more than you wanted to kill that helpless old man."  Mike didn't have any idea how he was going to get out of this. He felt that Larry/Stella wanted to brag about his crime and allowing him to do so would buy some time.

"You're right, I didn't want to kill George.  I only wanted the ring.  I have a friend who was going to cut the diamond into smaller stones and sell them for me.  That ring would have meant I never had to work again in my life. I was going to grab it and take off as soon as it arrived from the jeweler, but the old man was paranoid about anything happening to it.  He insisted it would only be safe until the wedding if he wore it himself.  I would have had to actually go through the motions of marrying him to get it."

"Well, why didn't you?  You only had one day more to wait."

"I would have, but the old codger found me out.  He may have been blind and in a wheelchair, but there was nothing wrong with his hands.  I let him get too close when he kissed me good night and he touched something he shouldn't have.  He started to scream and yell about calling the police, so I put a pillow over his face to shut him up.  When I realized he was dead, I tried to take the ring, but it wouldn't come off.  The only way I could get it was to take his whole hand.  It's mine and I want it back!"

Larry jumped into the boat and began digging through the ice cubes where he had seen Mike hide the hand.  Ice cubes skittered in all directions across the deck.  Mike tried to swing the anchor at Larry's head, but he slipped on an ice cube and went down on his butt.  Larry turned toward Mike with the hatchet raised when suddenly a black shadow leaped off the deck into the boat.  Sam grabbed the waistband of Larry's shorts in his teeth and dragged him back away from Mike, growling all the while.  Larry flailed around with the hatchet but was unable to reach Sam.

While Sam kept Larry busy, Mike crawled to the rear of the boat.  He pulled the starter cord and the engine roared to life.  He cut the rope that tied the boat to the dock and crawled to the driver's seat.  He jammed the throttle forward and the boat shot off into the bay. As the boat jerked forward, Larry lost his balance, dropped the hatchet, and flew into the water.  Mike slowed down to stop Sam from leaping into the water to continue his struggle with Larry.

"Good dog, Sam," Mike said as he stroked his dog's head. " You saved my life."

"Helb!  Cad swib!" Larry choked and sputtered as he thrashed around in the water.

"I guess the only time he told the truth was when he said he couldn't swim," Mike said.  He thought about leaving Larry to drown, but turned the boat around.  He extended an oar to the struggling man and hauled him into the boat.  He tied Larry's hands and feet with rope and fish line and headed the boat back to civilization.  The killer shifted nervously under the watchful eye of Sam, who growled and snapped at him. The dog was still angry at the strange looking man for attacking his master, but also for trying to steal the prize he found in the woods.

After a few minutes, Mike was able to flag down a police boat that was passing by.  He was happy to turn Larry and the severed hand over to the police.

"You'll be hearing from the victim's family," the officer told Mike as he handcuffed Larry.  "They posted a reward for anyone who helped apprehend this uh, person.  He sure looks different from the picture in the paper. He isn't any better looking as a man than he was as a woman, though."

As Mike watched the police boat speeding away, he looked at the blue sky and blue water around him.  He checked his watch and was surprised that it was only noon. 

"Lot's of time left for fishing!" he said to Sam as he turned the boat back toward Loon island.  Considering what he had already caught today, landing a trophy fish would be easy.