Knee High by the 4th of July (9 page)

Les Pastner was under
the hat, and he slept with his eyes open. He looked like a lizard-man. How did his peepers not dry out? My scream startled him awake, and he jumped off the couch, pulling a shotgun from the crease between the back and seat cushions.

“I am ready. What in the hell, I am ready!”

I jumped back and threw my hands over my head. “It’s me, Les! Mira! From the library. You can put the gun down.”

Les kept his head moving, searching for enemies in the corners. When he found only me, he lowered the gun and scratched his head. It was then I noticed he’d been the recipient of a really bad haircut that left him bald in spots but otherwise completely intact.

“Whaddya want, Mira?”

I lowered my hands. “I just have a couple questions, Mr. Pastner. For the paper. Do you have a minute?” Having a gun pointed at me made me feel like throwing up, but I needed to take advantage of the situation. I lowered my shaking body into a chair and realized I had no idea what to ask him.

“Jeezus. You scared me near half to death.” He scratched at his head, his close-set eyes still looking erratically around the room. Up close, he reminded me a little of Mickey Rooney.

“Yeah, likewise.”

“You should know better than to sneak up on a man like that. It’s probably best you go.”

“Just a couple questions, Mr. Pastner. What was Brando Erikkson doing here last night?”

Les ran his fingers over the bristly peaks and valleys of his haircut and reached down for his hat. “We was working out a business deal.”

“About what?”

“About none of your business.”

“Are you bothered that Chief Wenonga is gone?”

Les walked over to me and made a shooing motion. “I already talked to the police about Chief Wenonga. I sell meat and RVs, not statues. Got no use for ’em.”

I had no choice but to stand, but I took my own sweet time moving toward the door. “Did you know that another Indian disappeared today, this one a real human from the parade?”

That gave Les pause. “When was that?”

“Not fifteen minutes ago.”

“Well, you saw me, here, asleep. Right?”

“Just now, yeah, but I don’t know what you were doing fifteen minutes ago.”

Les stopped herding me out and reappraised me. “Well, maybe we can make a deal. Maybe I can tell you something about Chief Wenonga gone missing, and you can remember you’ve been here for fifteen minutes.”

I crossed my fingers behind my back. “Sure. What do you know about Chief Wenonga?”

“I know Dr. Dolly Castle been in town for two days, and if what you say about the parade today is true, two Indians have gone missing in as many days. That’s the tree you should be barking up.”

“Are you saying Dolly knows where Chief Wenonga is?”

“I’m saying you should keep your eye on her.”

That was a pretty lame quid pro quo, but since I had no intention of lying for Les, I suppose it was a fair exchange. He apparently thought we were done because he was shooing me out again.

“You know where Brando is staying?”

“A cabin right north of town.” Up this close, Les smelled lonely, like the inside of a pumpkin.

“What about Dr. Dolly Castle? Where’s she staying?”

“She’s out at the motel.”

Now I was completely outside, the bright sunlight all but melting my skin. “So you didn’t take the Chief.”

Les Pastner looked me squarely in the eye. “I have no idea where Chief Wenonga is.”

I had enough experience with the gray side of the truth to know I had just been blown off with a non-lie, but before I could follow up, Les slammed the door in my face and slid the lock loudly into place. It was then that I heard the sirens coming toward me. I was exposed, with a closed metal door in front of me and the nearest cover a fleet of rusty Winnebagoes forty feet away. I opted for false bravado and strolled toward town, the bill of my borrowed Twins hat tugged low. As the sirens approached, my strides grew longer. I could almost see the navy blue of the squad cars by the time the RVs were ten feet away, and I couldn’t keep my cool any longer. I squealed like a boy and dove under an ancient GMC Mini Jimmy Motorhome, scraping both knees, just as a police car tore out of town on 78 and ripped up 210 toward Fergus Falls. Something big had just happened in Battle Lake.

I dusted myself off
and made my way back toward town, the gravel-studded skin over my knees pulling painfully with every step. The initial people I encountered were throngs of happy tourists carrying Larry’s Grocery bags weighted down with cheap parade candy. Gina was the first person I recognized, her familiar white-blonde hair shining in the sun, as she huffed her short, round body to Granny’s Pantry.

Gina and Sunny had been good friends before Sunny split for Alaska, and I had picked up where Sunny had left off. Gina was an enormous blonde nurse with the heart of a saint. Her husband, Leif, was a philanderer, but he had stayed true ever since I had innocently happened upon some damning photos snapped of him and Kennie one night when he’d had one too many.

“Mira? Is that you under there?” Gina tapped at the Twins hat and grinned at me, her smile brightening her fleshy face. “You look like a dork. What in the hell are you doing in that cap?”

“It’s yours, dork. No time to talk. Do you know why the police just zipped out of town?”

“You haven’t heard? There’s been a kidnapping. Someone grabbed Billy Myers from the parade. He was one of the guys dressed like an Indian. I tell you, it doesn’t pay to be an Indian in Battle Lake right about now.”

“At least not a fake one. They’re sure he isn’t just out tying one on somewhere?”

Gina dug her hand into her purse and came out with a packet of Laffy Taffy. She wasn’t afraid to talk with her mouth full. “Pretty sure. He’s a reliable guy, and he’s disappeared. The cops are a little jumpy, anyhow, but two missing Indians in two days isn’t good.”

I shook my head in agreement. “You got any other dirt?”

Gina raised her eyebrows suggestively at me. “You mean dirt, like the kind Johnny Leeson was throwing around at his Community Ed class today?”

For a second, I let myself go there, to a world where Johnny and I gardened together. A picture of his lean upper body bending over a hotbed of sprouts blissfully decorated the corners of my mind. His hair would fall into his eyes, and I’d rush to his side to push it away. He’d smile at me, stop my hand halfway to his face, and tell me that he could no longer bear his life without spending some quality time in my loins. I’d demur, for a second, and then he’d throw me over his shoulder and carry me out to the garden patch for a little irrigating.

“Mira? I was kidding about Johnny. Mira?”

I focused guiltily back on Gina, who had moved on to Tootsie Rolls. Had I been drooling? I decided not to tell her about my pending date tonight. I didn’t want to jinx it. “Of course you were, Gina. I was just thinking about how weird this town’s been.”

“You mean lately? Or since the 1800s?”

“Ha ha.”

“You want to go to the fireworks with Leif and me tonight?”

I had forgotten about the fireworks. They might be a good opportunity to dig up more information, as long as it didn’t interfere with my Johnny time. “Maybe. What time you going?”

“We’re meeting some people for drinks at Stub’s at 8:00 and heading to Glendalough at 9:30 or so. The fireworks are supposed to start at 10:00.”

“I don’t feel like Stub’s. How ’bout I just look for you at Glendalough, by the pay stand, around 9:45?” Glendalough was a gorgeous state park north of town. It consisted of nearly two thousand acres of pristine prairie lands and six lakes within its borders, donated to the Nature Conservancy by the Cowles Family on Earth Day, 1990, and then passed over to the Minnesota Department of Natural Resources two years later. It was a favorite location for Fourth of July fireworks viewing, which were traditionally launched from the shores of Molly Stark Lake within its borders.

“Deal. Bring a blanket and mosquito repellent. And I’ve got some big news.”

Probably she was getting her ears pierced for a sixth time. She gave me a quick hug and headed in the direction of home, and I took off for the library. I moaned when I stepped inside, the air conditioning feeling like a massage on my hot skin. Some hair had escaped from my bun and lay like hot snakes against my neck, and I tied this back up before heading to the bathroom to wash up my raw palms and knees.

Once I was clean and cool, I typed up my article, which was already over an hour past deadline. I didn’t have much to add to the original, except a new closing paragraph:

In a surprising turn of events, Bill Myers has disappeared from the Fourth of July parade. At the time of his capture, Mr. Myers was dressed as a Native American, similar in garb to the Chief Wenonga statue. The similarities between the cases have police baffled. Maybe these males are asking for it by the way they dress? Regardless, the police are currently investigating the missing statue and Myers and hope to have both returned safely.

While I was online, I searched for information on Fibertastic Enterprises. The first hit showed a one-page website featuring various fiberglass statues, chief among them my Wenonga. That was all there was, besides contact information. According to the site, Fibertastic Enterprises was located in Stevens Point, Wisconsin, a town about three hours southeast of St. Paul. There was a phone number and email address, both of which I jotted down.

I shut off the computer, locked up the library, and headed upstream against the parade lingerers, intent on finding out more about Dolly. When I reached the twelve-room, log-sided Battle Lake Motel, it was readily apparent that there was no red Humvee around, though there was no reason there should have been other than a nagging hunch I had that Dolly and Brando knew each other. I wasn’t sure what kind of car Dolly drove, but the only vehicle in the entire lot with Wisconsin license plates was a black Honda Civic plastered in bumper stickers like, “Keep your laws off my body,” “Virginia is for lovers,” “Indians discovered America,” and “The first boat people were white.” I peeked in the car windows and saw some littered Coca Cola cans and a stack of CDs. Must be Dolly’s.

I entered the front office of the motel and pretended to admire the prints of ducks and dogs in the waiting space while the young woman working the front desk spoke on the phone. When she was free, I asked her if she knew what room Dolores Castle was staying in.

She smiled kindly at me. “I’m afraid I can’t give out personal information about our guests, but I’d happy to give Miss Castle a message for you.”

“Can you tell me if that’s her Honda Civic out front?”

The young woman’s smile faltered. “I’m afraid that’s against motel policy. Sorry.”

I scanned my brain for ways to trick her out of the information but came up with nothing. I figured my best bet was to wait on the fringes of the Halvorson flea market adjacent to the hotel until either Brando Erikkson or Dolly came by, or it was time to get ready for my Johnny time, so I thanked her and headed back into the early afternoon heat.

I sidled up to the nearest flea market table which, near as I could tell, sold the contents of various junk drawers from over the ages—rusty doorknobs, cheap Marlboro lighters, assorted tintype photos, pocket knives. All the stuff that you don’t want even when you own it. I pretended to dig through the crusty treasure as I counted the minutes, and then the hours. The white-haired man running the booth gave up trying to sell me something about 3:00 pm. At 3:30, I’d had enough and was turning to go home when I caught a glimpse of a strawberry blonde walking down the motel walkway toward a room.

I tried to stroll away unobtrusively, furtively sniffing at the metallic smell of my fingers, stained orange from digging in junk. I would need to wash these puppies. I ducked down as the reddish-blonde head turned toward me, and through the windows of the car I was hiding behind, I affirmed it was Dolly. She looked flushed and happy. She was in and out of her room, a golden “7” on its door, in under three minutes. She hurried to the black Civic and peeled out of the parking lot before I could say “hi.”

I walked casually to her door. A quick twist of the knob told me it had locked automatically behind her, and the shades were closed tightly on her windows. Where had she been off to in such a hurry, and what had made her so happy?

I started back toward my car, still parked at Gina’s, and then had a flash. Should I stop by the drugstore to prepare myself for my meeting with Johnny? It probably wasn’t an official date, and even if it was, I technically didn’t want to date right now, and even if I did, we probably weren’t going to fool around. But it sure would suck to be pregnant by accident. I decided I had nothing to lose from a quick trip to the Apothecary. If nothing else, it wouldn’t be the first pack of condoms to expire, lonely and unused, in my bedside stand.

There was only one problem with this plan. Buying condoms is never fun, but in a small town where everyone knows your business, it can be horrifying. For an example of the small town gossip train, last month, I ordered a caffeine-free Coke instead of my usual Classic Coke with my lunch at the Turtle Stew. Three hours later, Gina phoned me at the library to ask if I was pregnant. Because of this wicked closeness in Battle Lake, I was always careful to keep my business private as much as possible. There was no way around the condom issue, though, so I walked purposefully into the Apothecary and straight to the condom aisle.

There was a huge variety, but I had long ago decided choosing which condom to buy was like picking which dish to order at a Mexican restaurant—they might have different names, but they’re all the same. I grabbed the pack nearest me and headed toward the counter, where Johnny Leeson was buying some sort of medicine and a bag of balloons, his back to me. My cheeks burned with imminent shame.

I concealed the condoms behind my back, not sure if Johnny would think I was presumptuous, slutty, or well-prepared if he noticed them. I carefully backed away until I was behind the end cap suntan lotion display, where I dropped the condoms like a bundle of itchweed. I grabbed the nearest magazine off the rack and walked back around.

“Hi, Johnny,” I said, feigning casual.

He turned quickly, and then moved to shield his purchases while the cashier bagged them. “Hey, Mira.” He looked embarrassed, and as soon as the cashier handed him his bag, he hurried toward the door. “See you tonight!”

I shook my head. Was even Johnny going weird on me? I glanced absently at the magazine I had grabbed, noting it was
Cosmo
, the intelligent woman’s kryptonite. I had long ago decided I would rather be strong than skinny, and to that end, I avoided glossy mags. I was about to return it when the splashy line on the cover caught my eye: “First Date Fears? Make Yourself Sweet and Sassy so He’ll Love You Forever.” Was it a sign, an arrow piercing a red heart, pointing from Johnny to me? I paid for the magazine, stashing it under my arm so no one would see me with it.

Once home, some quality pet time was my first order of business. I walked Luna the half mile to the mailbox and back, reminding her every few feet that she was a good dog. She needed that constant reinforcement. Tiger Pop, on the other hand, followed discreetly behind us, sticking to the shade and just coincidentally going the same direction. Back at the double-wide, I scratched them both behind their ears and refilled their water bowls, again adding ice. I hopped into the shower to cool off. The clear and cool water felt great cutting through the dirt and sweat coating me from the day’s exertions.

I stepped out and bandaged my knees, clean but sore from the RV dive, and made myself a light snack of sliced gouda cheese and apples. I pulled out the
Cosmo
to read while my hair dried. The “First Date Fears?” article was on page 217, sandwiched between an ad for perfume and an ad for diamonds. I clearly was not their target audience.

OK, you’ve been chasing Mr. Dreamboat for weeks, and you’ve finally caught him! Now what do you do? Make yourself sweet and sassy of course! Don’t waste your time or his by showing up to this date less than fantabulous. Follow these five easy steps to make the night magically memorable. And who knows? It just might lead to marriage:

1. Rinse your hair with egg and beer. It’ll make it shiny, shimmery, and irresistible! Trust us when we tell you he won’t be able to keep his hands off of it.

2. Paint your lips red. This will incite his animal instincts and draw attention to what you are saying. Make sure you ask him lots of questions about himself!

3 . Dab a little vanilla oil behind each ear. A way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, and you just might be the tastiest treat he’ll eat!

4. Actually, most women aren’t as tasty and fresh as they’d like to be. To “sweeten the pot” once you’ve drawn him in, drink at least four cups of pineapple juice before you two decide to get jiggy. It’ll keep him coming back for more!