Part 10 (1/2)

While they browsed the children's section, I went back to reshelving books. A steady crowd continued until lunchtime, and I was so busy answering questions that time flew. When Mrs. Berns came in at 1:00, I was starving. I decided to ignore the fact that I had only hours earlier seen her at the afterglow stage of a weekend s.e.xcapade. ”Hi, Mrs. Berns. Hope you came ready to work. We're busy today.”

Mrs. Berns looked sprightly and innocent, her eyes wide and blue and her apricot hair still in curlers. She was wearing a Shania Twain concert T-s.h.i.+rt, cut-off jean shorts, and orthopedic shoes. ”I've been working it since I was born, girl.”

”OK. Do you mind if I run and get some lunch?”

”Nope. But I thought you might want to run to Fergus Falls instead.”

I eyed her suspiciously. She began straightening out the pencils on the front desk. ”Why?”

”They arrested your boy toy, Johnny Leeson. I thought maybe you could squeeze in a conjugal visit before they send him on to Folsom.”

I felt myself shrink, sucked into a hole that was starting in my own stomach. ”What?”

She scowled at me. ”Don't act so surprised. As soon as you so much as look sideways at a guy, his life is in the s.h.i.+tter. You got an evil eye, girl. You should maybe consider keeping those legs together and that mind on something clean, like the Bible or charity work. You're bad luck ten ways from Sunday.”

I stood like a leather-skinned zombie until the hot tears in my eyes cracked through. ”You're right.”

Mrs. Berns stopped straightening the front counter and looked at me, fire in her face. ”What? You're going to give up like that? I ain't right. I'm just a b.i.t.c.hy old woman. We all make our own luck, so don't just roll over like a dog in heat. Go fix this. Go. I'll watch the library.”

”I don't know, Mrs. Berns. Maybe it'd be better if I-”

”Shut your piehole with the *I don't know.' Go. You found Jeff's murderer, you got rid of that terrible Jason Blunt, and now you're going to spring Johnny Leeson. Let me know if you need help, by the way. I've always wanted to break into a prison.”

”But what if he's guilty?” There. I had said it out loud, and it felt good.

She turned on me, fire in her eyes. ”I'll tell you this only one time, Mira James. I know you've had a tough life, but you're not the only one, so get over it. If you start chasing shadows and mistrusting everyone, you're going to miss the best life has to offer. Now, do you honestly think Johnny Leeson murdered someone?”

I blinked once, twice, my mouth open. After scouring my heart and head I made room for the possibility that Johnny had been up front with me, except for the lapse when he drove to Stevens Point to investigate Dolly. But could I really consider trusting him? I didn't feel good about giving another man an opportunity to hurt me. There's bad luck, and then there's just stupidity. I was too young to be responsible for my dad, and I was willing to chalk Jeff up to fickle fate, but the other men in my life hadn't exactly been model partners. There was Bad Brad, of course. The cheater. Before him was Kyle, from my hometown, who I had run into in the Cities and started dating during my soph.o.m.ore year of college. I had thought I was in love with him, but he was so afraid of commitment that he wouldn't even change the subject lines on emails before replying-figured it would lead me on by showing undue attention. Sprinkled among that love life detritus were various bad dates, including but not limited to a post-operative transs.e.xual and a guy who peed uphill on the Astroturf of the fifteenth hole of the golf course on our first date. In his defense, it was a long course. For mini golf.

No, if I took Johnny's side, and he turned out to be a liar, I wouldn't be able to trust myself again. Unfortunately, my other option was to let him twist in the wind and hope that Wohnt caught the real murderer soon. s.h.i.+t. I kicked at the carpeting, feeling Mrs. Berns' eyes on me. Why couldn't I just be one of those chicks whose biggest worry is what shoes go with her cute sundress, and the fifty-two best ways to flirt? Instead, I had to decide whether or not to help the hot guy who may or may not be lying to me about the dead body in his dad's cabin. s.h.i.+t.

I made up my mind. ”No, I don't think he killed anyone. But-”

”Shush. Go. Sissy crybaby girl.”

I didn't know if she was trying to make me feel better or worse, but she was right that I couldn't stay here and worry about Johnny in jail all day. I was going out to his cabin and see what I could find to fix all this.

I was infinitely less optimistic and Snow Whitey-birds-landing-on-my-shoulders on my way back to my car in the Battle Lake Motel parking lot than I had been leaving it. I took the time to notice that Dolly's car was gone and wondered where a woman who was in town only to protest Chief Wenonga Days went once the statue and those days were gone. I suppose that depended on whether or not she had accomplished her mission. Should I try tracking her down and tailing her? Do people tail each other anymore, and did they ever on the plains of Minnesota? I filed that away as a ”consider later” action.

I made my way to Silver Lake and was not surprised to see the yellow and black police tape streamed across Johnny's driveway. Fortunately, there were no police in sight, so I parked my car a hundred or so feet from the entrance and hoofed it back. My working theory was that Dolly, Brando, and the freshly deceased Liam Anderson had removed Chief Wenonga for some unknown reason. Their deal went sour, and when Liam threatened to turn them in, Dolly and Brando killed him, putting a chunk of his scalp on the base of the statue as some sort of message. I knew Johnny had been to his place Sat.u.r.day afternoon to set up the balloons, so they must have stashed the corpse out here sometime between then and when I found it Sunday morning. Why they chose Johnny's cabin was still a mystery.

I walked to the end of the driveway and ducked under the crime scene tape. The pile of paint-soaked leaves looked like it had been meticulously dug through, and when I poked around with my toe, I didn't see any balloon fragments remaining. The gra.s.s between the paint trap and the cabin was trampled flat, and I didn't spend any time looking at the ground. I had come to see the cabin, to see if I had missed anything on my terror-soaked visit yesterday.

Gooseb.u.mps rose on my arms, the chilling effect unsettling in the oppressive heat. What if the body was still in there, the white foot starting to decompose in the humid air? I pinched my cheek. That was ridiculous. There was no body in there. The police had removed all evidence, and this was probably just a fool's errand so I should get it over and done with. I marched to the cabin and walked around the perimeter. Glancing in the first window, I saw that the bed had been stripped clean and the mattress removed. I followed the shape of the cabin until I was at the front entrance.

The door had been removed and was not in sight. Police tape crisscrossed the gaping hole, and I felt an itch at the back of my brain. It had to do with the door, but it wasn't coming clearly. I stepped forward, peeking around the tape, and imagined I could still smell a coppery tinge of blood floating out of the cabin. I considered breaking through the tape, and that's when I scratched the itch: whoever had put the body in Johnny's cabin had broken in, nearly taking the door off its hinges in the process. If Johnny had been involved, he would not have had to break in. Whoever had left the body had either been setting him up, or had just been looking for a quiet spot to leave the man. Now I could believe it.

I turned to breathe in the fresh air of the forest.

I drove back into town to the Fortune Cafe. Some iced coffee would do nicely to clear my head. Or at least it would have, if I hadn't run into Brando outside. His sleek black hair was in a ponytail, and his skin glowed bronze in the July sun. He wore a short-sleeved, b.u.t.ton-down s.h.i.+rt in plaid, khaki shorts that skimmed his knees, and brown fisherman sandals.

”Hey, little bird! You look hot.”

I scowled. Did he mean hot as in good or hot as in sweaty? ”I am hot.”

”Yeah, this weather is something else. Did you hear? The chipmunk statue is being delayed. It won't be here until next week. Bad news.”

”Chipmunk? I thought it was a woodchuck.”

”Chipmunk, woodchuck,” he said, in a ”tomato, tomahto” voice, as he sidled up next to me. ”That means I won't be here to see it installed. Wanna have a going-away party for me?”

I started to pull away from him, and then forced myself to stand still. If I was going to help Johnny, and I had decided I had no choice but to help Johnny as a friend, I needed to find out what was up with Brando and Dolly. ”What did you have in mind?” I tried looking down submissively at his feet and then back into his eyes because I read somewhere that gesture is appealing to the primal hunter in every man, but I'm pretty sure I just looked like I had something in my eye.

”I'm staying at a cabin outside of town, but it's really messy, and I have to be out of there by today, anyways. How about I come over to your place tonight?”

He tried to play with a tendril of my hair, but hesitated when he realized it was sweat soaked. I distracted him with my brightest smile. ”That would be great! I'll make us supper. What do you like to eat?”

Brando winked. ”Eating is one of my favorite parts of slumber parties.”

Boy, was this guy transparent or what? ”Great, I'll grill some tofu and vegetables. You bring a couple bottles of wine.”

He raised his eyebrow. ”I like a girl who's not afraid to drink. Where do you live?”

I gave him directions and instead of entering the cafe, I bopped down to Larry's to pick up some tofu. I decided to go home and marinate it and pick up the house, but first I made a run past the motel. Still no Dolly car.

I cruised home into the wagging tails and warm eyes of my animals. Actually, Tiger Pop only sniffed in my direction, but I could see the restrained welcome in his eyes. He was happy I was here. Luna, like most dogs, was a wh.o.r.e for love and jumped up on me like I was the last Krispy Kreme outside a Weight Watchers grand opening.

”You guys miss me? Hunh? You guys miss me?” I scratched them both behind their ears and didn't let up on Tiger Pop until he purred, against his will. I scooped their food, poured them ice water, filled the bird feeders, and hosed out and refreshed the birdbath. I considered setting the sprinkler in the garden, but it was still 103 degrees, according to my thermometer, and the water would evaporate before it'd soak in. I made a mental note to put the sprinkler out after dark.

Tasks done, I went inside and set my Stun Gun to charge. Then, I sliced and marinated the tofu in Bragg's and garlic chili paste and slipped it in the fridge. The chilled air from the refrigerator felt heavenly, though it smelled like old cilantro and dill pickles. I dusted, vacuumed, scooped out the litter box, and watered my plants before hopping in a cold shower. In less than two hours, the house and I were clean, but I still hadn't decided what to wear. I wanted to be attractive to loosen his tongue, but I also didn't want to provide easy access to any erogenous zones. I opted for a push-up bra under a b.u.t.ton-front, short-sleeved white peasant s.h.i.+rt, open to the third b.u.t.ton.

For my bottom half, I debated wearing underwear but couldn't bring myself to do it no matter how badly I wanted the extra layer. It was too hot, and underwear under jeans or pants had always felt like wearing diapers to me. I compromised and slipped on cut-off, b.u.t.ton-fly Levis. I slid a delicate silver chain around my left ankle, thin silver hoops in each ear, and dusted sandalwood perfume on my wrists and behind my knees. I twisted my hair into a loose bun at the base of my neck, artfully pulling tendrils down around my face. A little eyeliner, mascara, and lip gloss, and I was as cute as I was going to get.

Just in time, too. I heard Luna bark as the red Hummer pulled up. I couldn't believe I was letting a man who drove a Humvee into my home. The things a gal has to do for her friends.

Brando parked the red tank under the towering lilacs in the middle circle of the driveway and emerged, standing on his running board like the captain of the t.i.tanic. He wore the same b.u.t.ton-down s.h.i.+rt and khaki shorts he had been in earlier, but his hair was loose around his shoulders and so black it looked blue in the sun. ”Beautiful place you have here.”

”Thank you.”

After he was sure I had a chance to admire him, top to bottom, astride his gas-guzzling, metal v.i.a.g.r.a, he reached in for two bottles of wine and hopped down. ”Hope you like Pinot Grigio.”

I liked it better than I liked him. ”Is it cold?”

”Like ice.” He drew out the sibilance of the last word, like a snake.

”Come on in. I'll get some gla.s.ses.”

I led the way into the house but was pulled up short by his low wolf whistle. ”That is a beautiful view.”

Something told me he wasn't talking about the lake on the other side of my garden, so I ignored the comment. I held the door for him so he had to enter the house in front of me. ”Want to help me get the grill going?”