Knee High By The 4th Of July Part 2

"Great! I'll pick you up."

"What?"

"For supper and the dance tonight. I'll pick you up at 6:00."

s.h.i.t. I replayed our conversation in my head. s.h.i.t. "No, sorry, I'll meet you at the Nail. I have other plans later."

He looked slightly dejected, or maybe it was just the exertion of our sprint up the block and two Jolly Ranchers catching up with him. "Cool. Some other time."

"Cool." I smiled at Jed, who really was a harmless sort, and pulled out of the crowd. As I walked away, I puzzled over who this Brando person that Kennie had referred to was, and why he would care about the missing Chief. Although it was against my better judgment and actually my survival instinct and every fiber of my being, I decided to go to the source to find out more.

She was not hard to find.

"Kennie?" I said, when I was within speaking distance.

She looked down her nose at me, a few inches taller even in her star spangled ballet slippers. "h.e.l.lo, Mira. It looks like we'all got ourselves another mystery. Are you on the case?"

"It's pure coincidence that I'm here, though I'd sure like to get the Chief back in time for the Wenonga Days kickoff tonight. Was that Brando person you were talking about part of the entertainment?"

For a second, I thought she was going to ignore me. She probably still felt slighted for being booted from the secured area. Then, in her haughtiest voice, she straightened her red, white, and blue hat and said, "Brando Erikkson is an artist. He and his company, Fibertastic Enterprises, created the Chief." Her voice was raising, and the spangles on her dress started shivering like pebbles before an earthquake. "Do ya' hear me? And we have lost him! WE have LOST him!"

Kennie was working herself into a lather, and lord knows where that would have gone if Mrs. Berns hadn't walked by just then in her flower-patterned housedress and muttered, "You look like ten pounds of s.h.i.t in a five-pound bag, Rogers."

Immediately, Kennie was back to her plasticine self. "And a good day to you all, too, Mrs. Berns. I can count on you'all helping with the Fourth of July parade cleanup, right?"

Mrs. Berns snorted and kept walking. "I'd rather clean my bathroom with my tongue."

And with that, she was swallowed up by the crowd. I decided to copy her disappearing act and slunk away after a quick "thank you" to Kennie. If I jogged across town, I could maybe track Les down before he opened his store and ask him a few questions in private. That weird little militia guy might be the only thing between me and some uncomfortably long jail time, and that was not a rea.s.suring thought.

Despite its grand name, the Meat and RV Store was just an una.s.suming brown building off of County Road 210. If not for the enormous red-lettered sign featuring a madly grinning sausage driving a Winnebago, it would have been easy to miss. My Toyota was dwarfed by the five used RVs in the parking lot, every one of which had seen better days. A quick scan of the front of the building revealed no light or movement inside, and when I jogged around back, there was no sign of Les' battered Ford pickup. A quick pull at the rear door revealed that he hadn't arrived.

Unfortunately, there was nothing to do but go back to the library. Maybe I could catch Les this evening. I could almost hear the clock ticking as I drove to work, me racing against the fingerprinting crew. Time was not on my side.

I was a half an hour early opening the library, and Mrs. Berns was a half an hour late. She showed up with a group of elderly friends who were all t.i.ttering about the missing statue, the Fourth of July parade, and Kennie's surprise guest. The smell of pressed powder and mint Maalox hovered over them like a cloud.

"I hear Marlon Brando is coming to town!" Ida said. She was one of my favorite old ladies in the world, and Battle Lake had a pretty nice selection. She always looked snappy, and today was no exception. Her hair was a crisp white, cut short, and still in the shape of the curlers that she had slept in. She wore a wrinkle-free yellow polo shirt with the collar neatly ironed, brown shorts with a crease in the front, and brown bobby socks with her white Keds.

"Naw, it's Bronson Pinchot," Mrs. Berns said. I hadn't noticed her flip-flops back at Halvorson Park, but her pink toenails complemented the flowers on her housedress nicely.

"The guy from *Perfect Strangers'?" Ida asked.

"You sure it's not Charles Bronson coming to town? I heard Charles Bronson." This from Ida's shy sister, Freda. She was dressed almost identical to her sister, except the colors and creases weren't as crisp.

I shook my head. This was how rumors started in small towns. I set Mrs. Berns to the task of reshelving the returned books, waved at her coterie as it old-lady-shuffled out of the building, and got to work on a rough of my "Mira's Musings" column. Given the recent happenings, I decided to t.i.tle it "It's My Party, and I'll Fly if I Want To": In a strange turn of events, the Chief Wenonga statue disappeared from Battle Lake just as the plans for his twenty-fifth birthday party were getting under way. Police on the scene Friday morning found only four posts and what appeared to be blood at the Halvorson Park location where the Chief has stood proudly for twenty-five years.

The police currently have no leads, and I for sure didn't do it.

The town of Battle Lake is hoping to have the Chief home for his holiday. If you have any idea what happened to the Chief, please email me at

I crossed out the middle line and chewed on the end of a pen. My deadline was technically noon Monday, but I wanted to do more than just write my one column. I wanted to cover all of Wenonga Days, now that it might be Wenonga-less and my a.s.s might be gra.s.s. I phoned Ron Sims to get the go-ahead.

"Hi, Ron. How's tricks?"

Ron was a paunchy, grouchy, warm-hearted man who was fortified in life by his dedication to journalism and drive to publicly make out with his wife. I didn't know if the latter was a fetish so much as a habit at this point, but if you got Ron and Lisa together, they sprayed each other like cats in heat. Their dedication was both heartwarming and stomach turning.

"You got my article, James?"

"Absolutely. Just typed it up. I have a scoop, though."

"Scoop this. Chief Wenonga has disappeared, and we have half the state coming for his party today."

"I know. I might have an idea where he's gone. I want to cover the whole weekend. I want to be your Wenonga Days go-to gal," I said.

"You got until noon Monday to get me 1,500 words. I want at least three different articles."

"Thanks, Ron!"

"Yup." Click.

I was just about to call Mrs. Berns over to tell her to watch the front while I went to the bathroom when I spotted Battle Lake Police Chief Gary Wohnt striding toward the front gla.s.s doors of the library, his shiny lips and fathomless sungla.s.ses reflecting light as sharp as arrows.

I felt like crying. Could they have matched my fingerprints so quickly? My short life of freedom flashed through my brain. I imagined myself in my garden, soaking up the sun; playing fetch with Luna and being ignored by Tiger Pop; swimming in the cool waters of Whiskey Lake out my front door; eating recognizable food and not showering with strangers. That settled it. I couldn't go to jail. I dropped to the ground and wedged my body into one of the larger open-faced cupboards that made up the tall front counter of the library. Wohnt would need to pa.s.s through the "Employees Only" gate at the far side to find me, and I was gambling that he wouldn't do that.

The door donged open, followed by a rapping on the desk above me, two quick knocks, then Wohnt's voice. "Who's on duty?"

When I ducked, the library had been empty except for Mrs. Berns.

"h.e.l.lo?" Wohnt's voice was impatient. I heard him step away from the desk and walk to the far wall, near the turning racks that housed the fiction paperbacks, then return to the front, moving closer to the gate that would admit him behind the counter. "Anyone?"

From where I was shaking, I could see his hands curl round the swinging gate. Not only had he discovered my fingerprints on Chief Wenonga's post, he was also about to find me hiding in a cupboard in the library. Not good. I tried to scrounge up a solid lie, but my brain was numb. I was going to jail.

"They don't teach you how to read in cop school? That there gate says *Employees Only.'"

Mrs. Berns' voice stopped Wohnt in mid-opening position, and he let the gate swing back. She brushed past him and stood on the other side of the opening, arms crossed. Relief left me lightheaded.

"Where's Mira James?"

"Probably chasing after that Johnny Leeson, if she's got any brains."

Jeez. Did everyone know?

"She's not working?"

"Not today. I've been promoted to vice president of the library, and today is my first day in charge. Need a book? Oh!" Mrs. Berns pursed her lips dramatically. "That's right. You can't read." She shook her head sadly.

Wohnt's fist came down once, hard, on the countertop, and I heard him suck in a deep breath. When he spoke, his words came out slowly. "When you see Ms. James, tell her I need to speak with her. Immediately, if not sooner."

"Over and out."

I didn't move, even after I heard the front door open angrily and then swing shut.

Mrs. Berns kept her eyes forward. "Vice president. That means I probably need a raise."

"Deal," I said.

"Deal. Say, did you hear Charles Bronson is coming to town for the Fourth of July parade? I'm so excited!" She went back to her reshelving, and I crawled out of the cupboard, still shaky. Not only did I need to find a twenty-three-foot tall fibergla.s.s statue and a semi-scalped man, I had to accomplish this while avoiding Gary Wohnt and his posse. I snuck out of work during my lunch break, leaving the new vice president to handle the clientele and to lock up. I took a risk in driving my car home, but my future freedom depended on getting to the bottom of all this as quickly as possible.

There was no SWAT team at the double-wide, just Luna and Tiger Pop greeting me with love and warm indifference, respectively. I rushed in and got all three of us fresh food and water-kibbles for the dog and cat, an American cheese and sliced pickle sandwich on wheat for me. After our tummies were full, I took Luna for a walk and Tiger Pop for a follow down to the beach at the end of my driveway. Luna romped in the water, enjoying the cooling droplets in her fur. While Luna swam, I scoured the woods for wild catnip for Tiger Pop and found a b.u.mper crop. After Luna had cooled off, the three of us moseyed back to the house, where I did some dusting, vacuuming, and bathroom scrubbing, and they cheered me on, silently, from a cool spot on the kitchen linoleum.

When suppertime neared, I pulled my hair up under a baseball cap and changed into touristy clothing-a pair of white shorts I found in Sunny's storage room and a pastel-blue blouse I had bought for my last job interview. Battle Lake is a small town, but it sees a lot of summer traffic, particularly around the Fourth and Wenonga Days. If I rode Sunny's bike the three miles to town and kept my hat on, I could blend right in.

If I took the tar, I'd have lots of hills but some shade. The gravel road to town meandered through fields and so was flatter but tree-free. I hopped on my bike, the muggy air licking at me like a devil's tongue, and opted for the tar. My bike only had three gears, but I managed to make it all the way to town without having to get off and walk up any hills. I was proud, but sweaty.

Thankfully, Battle Lake was hopping. Granny's Pantry on Lake Street was open, and the lawn chairs out front were full of sticky kids eating ice cream cones bigger than their heads. Down the street, Ace Hardware was featuring a Fourth of July Weekend Special, which meant that they would stay open until nine. A row of shiny Weber grills lined the sidewalk to tantalize the tourist crowd. Farther up the street, Stub's Dinner Club, which looked like an enormous blue pole barn any way you sliced it, was packed to overflowing. Patrons were parking in Larry's Grocery parking lot across the road to get in line to wait for one of Stub's famous b.u.t.ter knife steaks with a side of Lyonnaise hashbrowns.

Carefree summer chatter filled the air, and every third truck on the main drag was pulling a boat. As I biked past the Dairy Queen, sniffing in the smell of roasting meat, I heard s.n.a.t.c.hes of a lighthearted squabble over whether leeches or swamp frogs worked best for catching walleye. I kept my head down, confident that I was not conspicuous.

The Rusty Nail had a choice corner location in downtown Battle Lake, and its log cabin exterior was welcoming. I was relieved that the place was packed so I could blend into the crowd. I was batting whatever is a really good number to bat.

The Nail was full of beer air and people out early in antic.i.p.ation of the street dance, which was customarily held on the paved street right outside its front door. The band Kennie had found for tonight was called "Not with My Horse." She swore they covered country and rock favorites and would be real crowd pleasers. I didn't listen to much country, and I wasn't looking forward to hearing "You Shook Me All Night Long" for the quadrillionth time, but the horde would provide great cover later as I sought out information on the missing Chief.

I found a table in the back, poorly lit poolroom and waited for Jed. I knew the police would be busy on the road and handling crowd control tonight, but I didn't want to take any chances, so I kept my back to the door.

"Mir? That you? What're you, in-cog-neeee-to?" Jed was wearing a dark blue bandana tied over his curly hair like a helmet, a faded Rolling Stones T-shirt with a gigantic red tongue on the front, and faded Levis out of which poked hobbit-haired toes in flip-flops.

I glanced quickly over at Jed. "Shh! Sit down."

"What's up with you? You're all nervous and weird."

"It's this Chief Wenonga stuff. You heard anything?"

"Them cops don't know nothin', and no one's seen the Chief." He whooped, and slapped his knee. "Wohnt is pretty p.i.s.sed that Wenonga is missing. Makes him look like an idiot! He's running around town kickin' b.u.t.t and taking names."

I set down the menu I had been holding. I didn't feel so hungry anymore. Jed continued, oblivious to my discomfort.

"I stayed and watched them sc.r.a.pe that piece of head off the post. I suppose they'll know something about that soon enough, but I don't know what they're expecting to find. They'd be better off looking for a guy with a hat!"

"What?"

"A guy with a hat. Cuz' he's missing a piece of his head?" Jed smiled at me.

Suddenly, the air in the Nail became greasy and close. "That's a rich one, Jed. Um, I'm not feeling so good. Can I take a rain check on supper?"

Jed's face fell. "Sure. No problem. How about tomorrow, same time, same place?"

"I'll call you, 'kay?" I ducked outside with my head down and veered into the alley running behind the Nail to inhale some fresh air. There were spindly elms growing around the Dumpster, and from the rear of the building, I saw that the logs on the front were just cheap siding. On the alley side, the building was crumbling brick.

I lodged myself in a dark nook, upwind from the garbage, and collected my thoughts. Wohnt was after me because my fingerprints were found next to a b.l.o.o.d.y scalp. I had no alibi for last night, and my behavior had been suspicious, pretty much since I'd moved to Battle Lake. I was formulating a plan to clear my name when a voice cut through my thoughts. "Now, this was the last place I expected to find you."

I squeaked and jumped back, sc.r.a.ping my elbow on the brick.

The melodic voice laughed. "Sorry, Mira. I didn't mean to scare you. But what do you expect when you're hiding in the alley behind a bar?"

I rubbed the raw spot on my elbow and glared at Dr. Castle. Had she intentionally scared me? Her eyes were guileless, and she smiled warmly at me, her mouth as wide as the Cheshire cat's. I relaxed half a notch.

"I'm not hiding." I squinted up and down the alley to make sure no one else was sneaking up on me. A laughing couple in clicky cowboy boots strolled past on the street, but otherwise, I couldn't see anyone. "I came out here to get away from the cigarette smoke. What are you doing in the alley?"

"Looking for you. I stopped by early for a bite, and your friend told me you had just left. If the smoke bothers you, we could go somewhere else."

The abrasion on my elbow made me crabby, and I wanted to just come out and ask her if she had stolen the Chief, but she didn't know me and I didn't know her. "How about the Fortune Cafe? They have a deck off the back."

"Perfect! I've been meaning to check that place out since I got to town. Mind if we walk?"

"Not at all."

If she wondered why I kept to the unlit back streets, she didn't ask. When we reached the Fortune, I sent the doctor to the deck and pulled Sid aside. I explained that I was avoiding Wohnt, and she didn't ask questions. I brought out herbal iced tea and sugar cookies and sat down next to Dr. Castle.

For the first time, I noticed what a gorgeous night it was going to be. The sun had two hours left on the horizon, and it was reflecting pinks and dusty purples off the treetops, the intense heat of the day making the colors more vivid than usual. The air smelled like water and woodsmoke, and I could hear the pop of firecrackers and a family laughing in their backyard. The pleasant sounds would be drowned out in exactly one hour by the tw.a.n.g of raucous country guitars, but for right now, the town was beautiful. I forced myself to relax. I needed Dr. Castle to be able to feel comfortable enough to confide in me.

"How do you like Battle Lake so far, Dr. Castle?" I was actually a little intimidated by her, now that we were one-on-one. As recently as last winter, I had been a professional college student, and although I was the same age as her, she seemed more confident and much smarter.

"Dolly. You can call me Dolly, and I like the town just fine. The people seem very warm."

"Really?" I didn't hide my surprise well.

"Really. What, you thought they'd be mean to me because I'm taking away the Chief?"

"You mean, you were taking the Chief, until he disappeared."

"Funny timing, that." Her eyes were hooded, and I couldn't tell if she was relaxed or hiding.

"Mmm-hmm. So since he's gone, your work here is done?"

"Oh no. Chief Wenonga was the symbol of the sort of thing PEAS is fighting, but he wasn't ever the only problem. I'm hoping to do away with the festival entirely."

I stirred sugar into my icy tea and played devil's advocate, hoping to mine some information. "Is the festival so bad? People don't even really know what they're celebrating. They just want an excuse to get together and have some fun." It was a plausible argument. In Otter Tail County, where we outshone the country in per capita sales of fishing licenses, we had 1.004 men for every woman, the median age was 41.1, and the mean temperature was not much higher, people deserved distractions.

"Ignorance is not an excuse, am I right?" The question came out gently, but I noticed her neck tense. "Objects sacred to the First Nations are used as tourist attractions, and that's offensive to those who respect spirituality. Stereotypical representations of Native American men, like the Chief Wenonga statue, limit the role and history of Native American men to that of violent warriors. They also ignore modern cultural experiences of native people and the roles of women and children. Is that necessary?"

"I never thought about all that. Maybe we should appease Les and put up a drunken Irishman statue." I laughed, hoping my lame joke would get a reaction from her, but she sat still but for her breathing, studying me. I changed the subject. "You know they found fingerprints at the base of the Chief, right? It won't be long until they match those with the culprit."

Still no movement. "The culprit would have to have their fingerprints in the system, wouldn't they?"

I blinked once, then again. Of course! If a person has never committed a crime, they wouldn't ever be fingerprinted. If they'd never been fingerprinted, there would be no way to match them to a crime unless they were a suspect. I laughed with joy. I had never been fingerprinted in my life. As long as no one saw me at Halvorson Park this morning, or could trace the 911 call to me, I was safe. I just had to stay under Wohnt's radar until I found the thief, who was possibly a murderer.

I grinned at Dolly Castle, who appeared to be laughing silently at me. "You look mightily relieved," she said, "as if you just got a pardon. Maybe you have something you want to share?"

For a second, I thought we could be friends, but not until I was permanently off the hook and someone else was on. And that someone might still turn out to be Dolly.