Part 5 (1/2)

”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 h.e.l.l 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 cla.s.s 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 pa.s.sed 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 sh.o.r.es 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 ma.s.sage 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 fibergla.s.s 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 b.u.mper 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 s.p.a.ce 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 doork.n.o.bs, cheap Marlboro lighters, a.s.sorted 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 un.o.btrusively, 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 k.n.o.b 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 c.o.ke instead of my usual Cla.s.sic c.o.ke 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, s.l.u.tty, 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 s.h.i.+eld his purchases while the cas.h.i.+er bagged them. ”Hey, Mira.” He looked embarra.s.sed, and as soon as the cas.h.i.+er 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 Sa.s.sy 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, stas.h.i.+ng 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 sa.s.sy 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 s.h.i.+ny, s.h.i.+mmery, 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!

5. And finally, don't eat anything that can get stuck in your teeth. Stick to low-fat, low-carb, leaf-free dishes like carrots, boiled chicken, and lean steak. When he smiles at you, he doesn't want to see the broccoli smiling back!

I threw the magazine down, disgusted. Women had earned the right to vote in 1920 and eighty years later had apparently traded it in for the freedom to be cute. I walked over to the fridge for some cold water and saw the can of Miller Lite in the back, a leftover from Sunny's tenure. Next to that was a carton with a half dozen brown eggs. I looked from Cos...o...b..ck to the inside of my fridge. Well, there was nothing wrong with having s.h.i.+ny hair, I told myself. And I wouldn't be doing it for Johnny, I'd be doing it for me.

I grabbed an egg and the beer, cracked both, and whipped them together in a bowl. I leaned my head over the kitchen sink and poured the slimy, fizzy mess onto my nearly dry hair. The article hadn't mentioned how long to leave it in, so I stayed put for eleven-my lucky number-minutes. When I couldn't stand it any longer, I turned on the tap and rinsed out the glop until the water ran clear, and then bundled it up in a towel turban on my head.

In for a penny, in for a pound. I rummaged through my make-up drawer and finally came up with some crusty old rouge that I dabbed on my lips. It was more liver pink than lover red, but hopefully wherever we were eating would be poorly lit. I had less luck finding vanilla oil. As a compromise, I grabbed the bottle of 100% vanilla extract from my spice rack and dabbed a little on each wrist and behind each ear. It was sticky, but I smelled like cookies. I knew I didn't have pineapple juice and wasn't going to order boiled chicken tonight, so I'd just have to stop at half crazy.

I was trying to regain some self-respect by reminding myself how I didn't want to date because all men went bad or dead on me when Johnny pulled up. He had been to my house once before, in June, to help me do some landscaping. I thought we had made a connection that night, but I was either too afraid or too smart to pursue it. I was wondering if tonight would tip that balance.

I let my hair out of the towel and quickly brushed it. It was damp but would dry quickly in the heat. I had visions of it drying and plumping into a perfect, sa.s.sy and s.e.xy Barbarella-do. I patted Tiger Pop and Luna goodbye and loped out to meet Johnny. He smiled when he saw me, the sun making a halo of gold around his sun-browned face. He opened the door for me and I glided in. When he slid in his side, I could see his dimples carving out a little s.p.a.ce on each cheek.

”What?”

”Nothing.”

”What?”