February Fever (3 page)

He glanced behind himself, as if to check if he was being followed, then he scuttled toward me, breath coming fast and quick. “I gotta get something off my chest, and you're the only one I can tell.”

Up close, it was easy to see he was shaken. His face was hollowed out, as if sleep had eluded him for days. I immediately thought of today's date, and how it was just about time for me to discover my next dead body. Had Jed uncovered a snow-shrouded corpse when he was out blowing snow for the neighbors? Gone to check on a mysteriously empty ice house in front of his lake home and discovered two dead lovers, as cold and lively as popsicles? Or maybe he'd witnessed a murder when he'd gone out for the daily paper? None of that would be any weirder than what I'd stumbled across in the last ten months.

My tongue felt like chalk, but I squeaked out the words anyhow. “What is it?”

Three

Jed leaned toward me,
his face drawn.

He smelled like fresh winter and two-stroke exhaust, probably from one of his side businesses. He'd been an odd-jobber as long as I'd known him, fixing engines here, patching a roof there, but his main income came from helping his parents run their business. The Last Resort was seasonal, open May through October, but business had slowed down, and I knew they were considering winterizing the cabins before next fall to see if they could catch some of the cross-country skiing and snowmobiling business. His parents loved flying south for the winter, and that's where they were now. It'd be hard for them to give that up.

“Is it something at the Last Resort?” He lived there year-round, in the main house. “Your parents?”
Or super dead bodies in an empty cabin, a cult killing perhaps?

He shook his head. His mouth opened. Nothing came out.

“Jed.” I grabbed the fuzzy neck of his coat and pulled him in close. I couldn't conceal my crazy any longer. “Have you found someone who's been murdered?”

His eyes widened. “No! Did you?”

I didn't realize how tense I'd been until I relaxed. “No.”
Not yet.
“So what's wrong?”

The tightness returned to his face. “I dunno if I can say it.”

I began to understand how Mrs. Berns must have felt when she'd found me moping outside the library this morning. An upset person who doesn't spill quickly becomes an annoying person. “You don't have to tell me if you don't want to.”

“It's just …”

He was about to give me the inside scoop, it was obvious, but he turned away when the door opened. In sauntered Mrs. Berns, penguin cap perched on her head.

Jed's face lit up. He loved her almost as much as I did. “Hey, Mrs. Berns!”

She ignored him and walked straight up to me. She slapped an envelope on the front desk. “We're going to Portland.”

I felt my blood drain, partially from the brain bends I was getting from switching topics so quickly, partly from the thought of stepping onto an airplane. “I told you, I don't fly.”

She tapped the paper with her pointer finger. “Train tickets.”

Jed grabbed them. “You guys are going to Portland? Do you know what kind of snowboarding they have there? Man! Can I come with?”

I held up my hands, palms facing forward. “Slow down, tigers. Mrs. Berns and I are
not
going to Portland, so there's nowhere to come with to, Jed.”

She slapped down another paper.
International Private Investigator Conference
was splashed across the top. Below that was a date for this coming weekend, and below that,
Portland, Oregon.
She stared at me, wearing a smug expression, as if the flyer explained everything.

I simply gaped.

“If we travel to Portland for a PI conference, it's a tax write-off,” Mrs. Berns said, speaking slowly as if language was the barrier. “I've already registered us for the conference, booked the hotel, and bought the train tickets, my treat. All you have to do is say yes.”

I couldn't process the information she was throwing at me. Also, I couldn't believe how organized she'd suddenly become. This was a woman who didn't make her bed because she would just mess it up again that night. I figured I'd tackle the organizational oddity of all of this first. “Why do you want to go to Portland so bad?”

“Why do you want to
not
go so bad?”

Jed raised his hand. “I want to go!”

“Sshh,” I told him. My head hurt. Mrs. Berns had an ulterior motive for wanting to travel to Portland, clearly, but she wasn't going to reveal it with Jed here. I could tell by the set of her jaw. That was just fine. I wasn't going anyway.

“First, this is happening too quickly.” I slid the envelope and flyer back toward her. “Second, I wouldn't even consider going to Portland with you if you didn't tell me why you want to go so badly. Third, I can't let you pay for me to leave the state. And fourth, even if I was okay with you paying, we can't both leave the library. Who'll run it?”

Exactly on cue, the front door opened.

I turned.

My face dropped to the floor.

The last twenty-four hours had just gone from too-small-
hotel-room bad to bed-bugs-and-mystery-stains bad.

Four

Kennie Rogers—former Battle Lake
beauty queen, current mayor, and perennial over-dramatizer—sashayed through the door. She was wearing a surprisingly sedate button-down pea coat over a black pencil skirt, black nylons, and high-heeled black pumps. How she walked in those in the winter was a mystery for the sphinx. Her frosty platinum hair was pulled back into a bun. Chunky black glasses dominated her face.

She almost looked like popular culture's idea of … (I sucked in my breath as the realization smacked me upside the head,
oh sweet Jesus no
) … a sexy librarian.

“No way,” I said to Mrs. Berns.

“Hear me out—”

She didn't have a chance to finish. Kennie's perfume of yeasty gardenias engulfed me as she tossed her coat into my arms. “I am so looking forward to getting to know the little people of Battle Lake as I take over the library so you can travel.”

I raised an eyebrow. No matter how much time I spent with her—and believe me when I tell you it was as little as possible—I never got used to her faux Southern accent. “When you say ‘the little people of Battle Lake,' do you mean the readers?”

“Exactly!” She clapped her hands. “So what does a librarian do all day, anyhow? Dust? Look for funny kitty photos online? Do tell.”

For the record, I was not an official librarian. I didn't possess the required degree or experience. When the librarian who'd hired me disappeared under unsavory circumstances last May, I'd stepped in as an emergency and temporary replacement. The city had tried to hire a real librarian since then, but thanks to the piddly salary and some light sabotaging from me, the position remained unfilled.

Still, even though I wasn't the real deal, I'd already heard more than enough stereotypes about what librarians did all day. People thought it was a cakewalk job. It wasn't. I had to appease the city board as well as my patrons, stock the latest books on a shoestring budget, clean the space (including the bathrooms), schedule community activities outside of the regular library hours, lead Children's Time, stay current on legislative issues affecting library funding and contact my representatives when necessary, complete research, lead computer classes, locate books, shelve books, and so on and so on.

Running through the list, I felt the smoke building behind my ears. “There's actually a lot more to being a librarian than sitting at the front desk.”

Kennie smiled condescendingly. “I'm sure there is, dear. I just need to know enough for the week, though, don't I? Now be a sweetheart and show me how to run the computer, and then go.”

I felt the ground begin to slip under me. “You can't just take over the library.” Johnny leaving, Jed's still-unknown secret, Mrs. Berns with train tickets. It was too much. I wasn't going to surrender my refuge too. Not the library. “You can't steal my job for a week.”

“I can. In fact, I have to.” She pulled a sheet of paper from her purse and slapped it on the front desk. I was getting mighty sick of that trick. “The city bylaws require that the library have at least two full-time employees. You have exceeded the six-month period in which to find a second full-time worker. Mrs. Berns and I together can count as one, but only if I put in some seat time. Soon as you return from Portland, you better start hiring, you hear? We'll find the money somewhere, at least until I can get that bylaw changed. In the meanwhile, I have to work sixty hours in the next seven days, or you will have to pay back some funding.”

My legs went out from under me. Fortunately, I fell into the front desk chair. “There's nothing to give back. Why didn't anyone tell me?”

She shrugged. “Bureaucracy. Be glad I'm telling you now. So, your choices are to stay behind and work with me, or you can go on an all-paid vacation to Portland. You pick.”

My stomach gurgled unpleasantly. But when she put it like that … wait. A thought wiggled its way to the front of my brain. “Why would
you
help
me
to go to Portland? And help the library to keep its funding?”

After all, Kennie was the woman who put the
I
in
selfish
. Since I'd met her last May, she'd had a series of ill-fated start-ups, including a coffee table that could be used as a coffin once the owner died, a home bikini-waxing service, and a refurbished marital aids company called Come Again. She was the epitome of the lone-wolf entrepreneur, always looking for her angle, always putting herself first.

She winked. “Us girls got to stick together.”

I started to reevaluate my image of her. The process made a grinding noise. Fortunately, I didn't need to try for long.

“Oh,” she continued, glancing down at her blood-red nails, “coincidentally, I also have a package I need you to deliver to my friend Carlos. He lives in Seattle. You'll pass right through it on your train trip.”

“Aha!” That offer had the stink of Bad Idea over it, a smell somewhere between the odor of tequila shots and the scent of fresh tattoo ink. “You want me to do something for you. That makes more sense. Why can't you mail it yourself?”

“I could. It's biggish, though. Expensive to mail.”

The Bad Idea smell grew stronger. “What's in the package?”

“None of your beeswax.”

I glanced from Mrs. Berns to Kennie. They both shared a smug expression that I didn't like, and it triggered a realization. “Wait wait
wait
a minute. You two are the most disorganized people I've ever met. How did you manage all this—booking a train trip, library staffing—in the span of a few hours? And Mrs. Berns, why aren't you worried about transporting a mystery package for Kennie?”

Mrs. Berns held her hands in the air, the picture of innocence. “I follow the don't ask, don't tell policy. Kept me out of jail more than once. As to going to Portland, there's not much I won't do for one point five men. When something matters, you make it happen.”

Kennie nodded in agreement. “We're women of the world, Mira. We act when it's important. And don't you worry about your house or animals, either. Johnny's mom is going to take in Luna and Tiger Pop. Says she'll be lonely without Johnny anyway. And Gary said he'd run by to make sure your pipes don't freeze.”

I tried to swallow my own spit but started coughing instead. “You asked the chief of police to check on my place?” Gary Wohnt and I had a complicated relationship. As in, he was perpetually gunning to arrest me for something and I wanted to stay out of jail. It made small talk tricky. “And Johnny's mom knows about this Portland plan? Does that mean Johnny knows, too?”

Mrs. Berns and Kennie nodded in unison, both sporting a satisfied expression. They genuinely thought they were doing something nice for me, and getting something good for themselves out of it. That's why they'd moved so fast on it. I couldn't fit it all in my brain.

“Think of it this way,” Jed said, trying his best to look thoughtful. It was a hard expression to hold when you've smoked as much pot as him. “If you leave Battle Lake with us, you might not find a dead body this month!”

“With
us
?” I asked. “You just heard about this ten minutes ago, and
you've
already made up your mind to come along?”

He nodded happily. “Sure. Then I can tell you my secret on the train and get in some kick-butt snowboarding at the end of the trip. Whoo-hoo!”

I couldn't fight all four of them.

I was going to Portland.

I just wish Jed had been right about me not finding a dead body if I left Battle Lake.

Five

I used all of
Tuesday night to say goodbye to Johnny in a way that I hoped would keep him warm for a while. I'd be in Portland for only a few days, and there was no guarantee we'd get much time to spend together there before I had to return home and he stayed on. Turns out two can play the tie-up game. His mom and I drove him to the airport early Wednesday, and I spent the rest of the day training Kennie at the library—not as bad as I thought it'd be, once I got it through her head that yes, there were people in Battle Lake who really did read for pleasure, and no, I'd so far never been called on to fulfill librarian fantasies during my tenure, but she was welcome to wear what she wanted while working.

After closing up the library Wednesday afternoon, I spent the evening prepping my house and animals for my eight days away. Though I was going to miss them, I felt good dropping off Luna, Sunny's sweet German Shepherd, and Tiger Pop, my sassy calico kitty, at Johnny's mom's house Wednesday night. Mrs. Leeson was so grateful for the happy bodies to keep her company. She was through chemo and radiation and doing well, with a lot of friends looking out for her in Battle Lake. She was going to miss Johnny just as much as I was, though, and watching Tiger Pop curl around her leg, and her delighted smile, went a long way toward addressing that.

Come Thursday, it was weird to wake up in a quiet house. It made me feel hollow. Then I remembered that my furry friends were in good hands and that I was going on a train trip, and that Johnny was going to be at the end of it. That lonely spot began to warm, and then started to buzz. I was going on a train trip! Mrs. Berns had booked the last sleeper car available, meaning Jed would have to sleep with the masses in coach class. (She'd agreed to let me pay her back on an installment plan. No way could I let her foot the entire bill.)

I'd researched the sleeper cars on the Miss-Sea route of the AmeriTrain, the only passenger-class rail system in the country, and that was a big part of my excitement. The cars looked roomy, with two comfy chairs that transformed into a bed as well as an overhead bunk that served as a shelf until it was time to sleep. There would even be two tiny bottles of champagne waiting for us!

The world would fly past outside our wide windows, and we'd be tucked safe inside, reading, talking, and exploring the rest of the train. I had to admit, for someone who had balked at traveling, I was beginning to look forward to it. That is, I
had been
looking forward to it right up until Mrs. Berns made a small confession.

“There's a little thing I forgot to tell you.”

She, Jed, and I were squeezed in my car, pulling into the Detroit Lakes train station on the north end of a town fifty miles north of Battle Lake. We were all in and committed to this trip, which is why Mrs. Berns's latest sentence struck me with the same foreboding that I imagine General Custer must have felt when his scout said, “Sir, I think we may have underestimated.”

“What little thing?” Trying to quell the sudden greasy feeling in my stomach, I steered the car into the last open slot, tucked in the rear next to a mountain of plowed snow. I turned off the ignition and gave her my full attention.

“You know how there was only one sleeper car left, and Jed was lucky to even get a ticket in coach class?”

Jed and I both nodded.

“It's because this is a special train.”

I cocked my head. “Like the Polar Express?”

“More like a seventies-era Studio 54 on rails.”

“Rock on, dude,” Jed chimed in from the back seat. I didn't think he was familiar with the famous bacchanalian New York nightclub. He must have just liked the sound of
the seventies
.

“The AmeriTrain?” I asked, doubtfully. “I went to their website yesterday. If it came out of any decade, it was the eighties.”

“Did you look at the specialty trains?”

My stomach dropped. I had a feeling I was about to find out why Mrs. Berns had been so eager to head to Portland that she'd moved heaven and earth to make it happen. “No.”

She handed me a circular. Typing up bad news was apparently the latest, coolest way to deliver it. The paper was dotted with pink and red hearts designed to look like they were exploding from a heart-shaped box of candy. The chocolate inside the box was arranged to spell out the words
Valentine Train
. Underneath:

Join us on AmeriTrain's first annual Valentine Train! Singles encouraged. Guests will have the opportunity to meet and mingle during on-board dances, classes, and experiences! Book your seat now. Filling fast.

Below that were limited routes and dates. The February 12 Miss-Sea we were about to board was one of them. “You knew about this before I even told you about Johnny going to Portland,” I accused. My throat was tight.

Mrs. Berns patted my hand in a pitying gesture. “Mira, Mira, Mira. That is true. But don't be a dumb bunny. You think the Fates would have thrown this all together if we hadn't been meant to go? I've been working for weeks on a way to get you on this train with me, and Johnny plopped it right into our lap. How could we resist such a set of bee's knees?”

“Wow, man,” Jed said from the back seat. “That is wild, if you think about it. It's like you were
meant
to go to Portland.”

“And Kennie's
package
?” I stabbed my thumb toward the trunk, where a squarish bundle wrapped in butcher paper lay. It was the size of a small microwave, about as heavy, and neither ticked, meowed, nor smelled of marijuana. I thought those were fantastic qualities in baggage. Still, I didn't feel good about transporting it, especially with Kennie unwilling to let us know what was inside.

“Right?” Jed said, missing my sarcasm. “Kennie's package, too. Dude, the Universe wants you to go to Portland. It's a good thing you're listening.”

I almost rolled my eyes but didn't want to squelch Jed's eternal optimism. It wasn't his fault that I was not a social person, that the phrases “Valentine Train” and “meet and mingle” made my ovaries shrivel. I was in a relationship, so it wasn't the fear of rejection. Rather it was the safe knowledge that every time I interacted with a new person, it was one more chance to put my foot so deep down my mouth that the appendage ended up where it started.

The library job required me to host events for the public, and I loved Johnny and my tight circle of friends, but beyond that, I was a loner—which was the best for everyone involved. Case in point: the New Year's Battle Lake Budget Bash (I didn't name it) had been held at the library a few weeks ago. I'd played host, sticking to the perimeters, making sure the drinks were filled and the cheese tray didn't run low. The one time—the one time!—I was called on for extended interaction was when Chris Schaefer, head of the Chamber of Commerce, brought over the owner of the new gift shop for introductions. It went something like this (it went exactly like this):

Chris:
Mira, have you met Jack? He's the new owner of the Battle Lake Beads and Bangles shop. Across from the Apothecary?

Me:
No, but I noticed you from across the room. You've kept your winter coat on all night! What are you, armed?
(I may have wink-winked here. I'd read somewhere that gregarious, normal people wink when they say funny stuff, and that this behavior sets others at ease. I was trying really hard to pretend I was normal.)

Chris (suddenly pale): …

Jack: … (Hurries away with flushed cheeks.)

Me (horrified):
Oh no! Did I say something?

Chris:
You asked him if he's
armed
. The Man. Has. A fake. Arm. He's self-conscious about it, so he wanted to keep his jacket on, at least until he got a chance to meet everyone.
(Turns on heel, storms off to follow Jack and hopefully tell him I have some sort of medical disorder.)

See? I was not someone you wanted to encourage to “meet and mingle” on Valentine's trains. In fact, I probably should look into getting my groceries delivered to cut down on my need for public interaction.

Mrs. Berns patted my arm. She knew me well. “I won't let you embarrass yourself too much, baby cakes. Think of it this way. It'll be good practice. It's something all of us could get a little better at.”

Her words would have landed better if she hadn't then pointed at me, aggressively nodded, and mouthed “really, just her” to Jed.

I breathed out deeply. Well, I was this far, so I might as well make the best of it. Come to think of it, I bet I wouldn't even need to leave our cute little cabin. Heck, I could catch up on my reading and drink tiny bottles of champagne for twenty-four hours straight if I really wanted to. That thought visibly brightened my mood.

“Fine,” I said. “Let's get this show on the road.”

We climbed out of the car and stepped into the frosty air of a February afternoon. The day had been sunny as a lemon, which meant frigid this time of year. It was the kind of atmosphere that'd freeze your outer nostrils to your septum if you inhaled too quickly. It was also as beautiful as a diamond field with the sun glinting off the sharp flakes of snow that had been plowed into piles at the edge of the parking lot.

Jed had strapped his snowboard to the car roof, so he got busy removing that while Mrs. Berns and I unloaded our suitcases, our carry-ons, Kennie's package, and Jed's duffel bag. We all finished at about the same time and made our motley way to the station platform. My excitement ramped up as I spotted the crowds waiting for the train. It was supposed to arrive at 5:40 PM. We were a half an hour early, as were approximately thirty other people, plus those who had come to see them off.

We rounded the back of the station, and my heart opened as I spotted the silver AmeriTrain sitting still and quiet. “Hurry! The train is already here! It might leave without us.”

“No rush,” said a man in a blue cap and matching jacket. The pocket of the jacket was embossed with
AmeriTrain
in gold thread. He was on his way to the station as well but turned to toss me a smile. “She's early. We won't leave until it's time.”

“Phew.” I hadn't known exactly how excited I'd been for this trip until it had almost been taken away from me.

“I'm going to wait inside the station,” Mrs. Berns said, tipping her head toward the large brick structure. The building looked exactly like a turn-of-the-century train station, and it probably was the original structure. The roof had a generous overhang held up by columns to keep the elements off passengers and visitors.

“I'm going to hang outside for a bit. We'll be indoors plenty once the train leaves,” I said.

The full truth was a little more complex. First, the inside of the station looked packed to capacity with travelers escaping the nippy February air. Second, it felt more immediate and exciting to mingle in the elements with the other waiting folks. Third, and most importantly, I really, really wanted to see the smoke up close when it roared out of the top of the train.
Toot toot!

“I'm gonna wait outside, too,” Jed said, grinning at me. “But I'm going to see what those guys are up to.” He pointed at a three guys in their early twenties with ski bags slung over their shoulders.

“Fine by me,” I said. “You can leave your luggage here. I'll keep an eye on it.”

Jed walked one way and Mrs. Berns another, and I began people-watching with the enthusiasm of a lifer. That's the plus side of being socially awkward: you take great pleasure in watching strangers and making up their life stories. The jammed train station and platform offered a buffet of possibilities.

My eyes were immediately pulled three feet to my left, where a woman wearing a fluffy faux fur coat dragged a box of wooden
matches from her pink purse. The match box was full-sized, the
kind you'd find on a fireplace hearth. Next, she fished in her purse for a pack of generic cigarettes, 100s, tapped out a smoke, and balanced it in on her lip. Finally, she withdrew a match and scraped it along the box. The flame unfurled, and I inhaled deeply of the fire scent. Matches always smell better in the winter.

“Smoker?” she asked.

I averted my gaze. I didn't know I'd been watching her so obviously. “Not really. It's the scent of fresh-lit matches that I love. Don't know why.”

She didn't return my tentative smile. I put her in her early sixties but hanging onto her youth with dyes, creams, and soft lighting where she could find it. She offered her free hand, pink purse straps balanced across her forearm. “Susan Wrenshall.”

I took her hand. It was weighted with glittering baubles over thin leather gloves, though her left ring finger was bare. For a moment, I had a vision of her fishing one of those Natasha-from-Bullwinkle cigarette holders from her purse and puffing elegantly on it. “Mira James. You're boarding here?”

She let out a mixture of cigarette smoke and cold air, shaking her head. “Taking a break. I've been on since New York. Haven't gotten a wink of sleep since then. The train is so cramped it's like traveling cross-country in a port-a-potty, not to mention the bumpiness. If that's not bad enough, the porter's checking up on me at all hours. As soon as I get so much as thinking about sleep, there he is. ‘Knock knock. Everything okay, Ms. Wrenshall? Anything I can get for you, Ms. Wrenshall?'”

I didn't like the stain she was painting on my train ride. “He checks up on you at night?”

She leaned in conspiratorially. “I think he has a thing for me.” She smelled like an ashtray up close.

“Well, it
is
the Valentine's train.”

Her laughter turned into a cough. “I didn't get on this train to find love.”