Knee High By The 4th Of July Part 8

When finished, hands on my hips, crusty dirt caked to my knees and under my fingernails, I studied my work. The garden was lush and organized, and looked like a clean straw bed. Food and comfort, in one small, thriving s.p.a.ce. I stretched and studied the position of the sun, figuring it was about 8:30. I decided to check the birdseed level in my feeders and set out the sprinkler to wet the thirsty earth in my garden, and then go inside to make supper. I was leaning into the five-gallon metal birdseed bucket when I heard a car coming up my driveway. I figured it was just some guest heading to Shangri-La and continued my work. I had a big scoop of seed in hand when the car pulled into my driveway. My stomach clenched when I realized the car belonged to Kennie Rogers. It dropped down to my knees when I saw who was in the seat next to her.

"Aren't we lucky to catch you at home, Miss Mira!"

I was frozen, gripping a scoop of thistle seed like it was the key to The Door Out. Kennie had warned me that she was coming over later, and what a fool I was for not believing her.

"Brad, I do declare, we are just in time for a Beaver Pelt intervention, wouldn't you say? If ever a girl needed to feel pretty, that girl was Mira." Kennie strode over to me purposefully, the white lab coat she was wearing over knee-high pleather go-go boots doing nothing to relax my stance.

Bad Brad, the man I once thought I loved until he had cheated on me, thank G.o.d, was still in Battle Lake after his Friday night concert. Worse, he was at Kennie's side, a snap-front lab coat with a skull and crossbones pattern covering him head to shorts. He wore scruffy Doc Marten boots and had what looked like a doctor's house-call bag in hand. I might have whimpered.

"Now, don't look so scared. My a.s.sistant and I are here to save you, if you're ready to be saved."

For sure I wasn't. I dropped the scoop into the metal bucket and started backing toward the house. It was a flimsy double-wide so this little pig didn't have much protection, but my only other option was my car, and Drs. Moreau and Hyde were between me and it. "Saved sounds great! Let me just go get cleaned up real quick, and we can get on with that."

Brad and Kennie continued advancing, smiling encouragingly. "But that's why we're here. To clean you up, doll!"

My plan was to get inside the double-wide, lock the front door, and while they tried to break in and have their most certainly unlicensed "Beaver Pelt intervention" way with me, I would slip out the back window and into my car. And then, I would drive as far away from Battle Lake as I could humanly get on one tank of gas while wearing a bikini. "Can I wash my hands?"

"No need, sweetie. We have gloves, and we do all the handling. You just lay there!"

I squealed and tripped over my own feet, landing on the soft gra.s.s in an ungainly heap. Brad leaned down and offered me his hand. "Jeez, Mira. It's no big deal. Kennie is just running a home visit cosmopologist service."

"Cosmetologist, hon', but my specialty is waxing. Eyebrows, mustaches, down below. I got the inspiration from the Beaver Pelts cheerleading squad. Those short skirts, all those old legs in the air. That's where I got the name, of course-Beaver Pelt Intervention. It's a waist to big toe waxing, all for one low price."

I blinked, noisily, and got to my feet without the help of Brad. "You came here to give me a bikini wax? With Brad?"

"I a.s.sure you I'm licensed. It's been a decade or so since I took the cla.s.ses at Alex Tech, but I've kept current through a correspondence program."

"And Brad? What're you doing here?" I was suddenly self-conscious in my two-piece swimsuit and drew my thighs together in a slow and controlled movement, so as not to draw attention to my "down below."

Brad smiled serenely. "I have you to thank for that, Mira. I was going to go back with the band Friday after I saw you, but dude, you just looked so happy. I wanted to see if the small town life would work for me, too, especially since I had a connection with you here already. When Kennie came by to pay us Friday night, she said I could crash at her place until I could get myself settled."

Kennie looked from Brad to me, a cross between crabby and curious. "You two know each other?"

"Not anymore," I said.

"And not like I know you, right, hon?" Kennie winked at Brad.

I suddenly noticed Brad's legs were hairless. I turned off my brain before the picture went any farther north, but d.a.m.n if karma wasn't dealing me a confusing hand. My cheating ex was in town, but he appeared to be facing his own punishment at the hand of a crazy waxer. I couldn't process it. What I needed was a shower, supper, and a little bland television. "I appreciate you driving out here, Kennie, but I don't get waxed."

"There's a first time for everything."

"Not true."

"I'll give you a 50 percent discount."

"Kennie, I'm not going to pay you to rip my hair out with hot wax."

"I'm not leaving until I help you out, sweets. How about a teeny tiny little makeover?" She raised her penciled-in eyebrows hopefully.

"How teeny tiny?"

"Just a little mascara and a dust of lip gloss. It'll brighten your pretty eyes right up. They're all deep set now, like holes in your skull."

I sighed. Kennie clearly was not going to leave until she touched me, so my face seemed like the safest bet. I wasn't going to let them in my house, though. I rinsed off as best I could with the garden hose and set myself on the front porch steps, hands on knees. Brad opened up his doctor's bag to reveal a pot of wax, strips of paper, an evil-looking four-inch tweezers, a comb, brush, scissors, hairspray, and a full palette makeup kit. He pulled out the latter and held it open for Kennie, who studied me disapprovingly.

"You're tanned as brown as a bean farmer."

"Sorry."

"You're going to look like raisin leather before you're forty, you know that? And you have fieldworker hands."

"Just do the makeup, okay? I haven't had supper yet."

Kennie sniffed and huffed but didn't say anything else as she began applying makeup. This close to her face, I could see the putty-knife precision she used to get herself through the day. There was a bronze makeup lip around the perimeter of her face, and her purple, blue, and pink eye shadow was thick and unblended. Her lips were clownish, as if drawn by a four-year-old. Sigh. At least I was home, and I could wash off whatever damage she did.

Brad tried to make supportive "ooh-ing" sounds throughout the process, but his eyes kept getting wider and wider as I felt myself buried under Kennie's fall colors. Even Luna and Tiger Pop were watching now.

Twenty long minutes later, Kennie p.r.o.nounced herself done. "That is what they call a makeover. Brad, hand me the mirror."

I thought of the "Mira Mira" song Brad had sung to me on Friday. "No-Mira. I mean, mirror," I said. "I'm sure it looks fabulous. How much do I owe you?"

Kennie chuckled. "Honey, consider me your drug dealer. The first one is free, and once I get you hooked, we talk prices. Now don't waste that pretty face at home. You'all should come to town tonight and show yourself off."

I smiled at the unlikeliness of that happening. "Good idea. I suppose you two need to go drum up more business, eh?"

"You know the life of the working woman too well! Never rest for the wicked. You know where to find me." She twittered her fingers at me and herded Brad away before he had fully closed his doctor's bag. I was not sorry to see them go. I made a mental note to start carrying my stun gun around with me, even if I was wearing a bikini. I went inside to wash my face off in a cool shower. I was locking the door behind me-I hadn't totally ruled out Kennie resorting to a forcible bikini wax-when the phone rang. I didn't bother to check the caller ID.

"h.e.l.lo?"

"Mira? It's Johnny."

My heart thudded on a crest of mixed feelings. "Where are you?"

"I'm still in Stevens Point. In Wisconsin."

My voice took on an edge. "And how's your grandma?"

I heard a deep sigh through the crackling of the phone line. Johnny must be calling on his cell. "I'm sorry, Mira. I never went to see my grandma. I lied to you."

More confusion. "Why?"

"I needed you to watch my cabin, and if I told you where I was really going, I didn't know if you'd do it."

"So where did you really go?"

There was another crackle on the line. "... Stevens Point. Dolly teaches here, at the University of ..."

He faded out, but I had heard enough. I almost hung up when his voice ghosted back over the line. "She vandalized a McDonald's."

"What? You were cutting out."

"Hold on." There was a little more static, and then his voice came through like a crystal. "I came to Stevens Point to find out what I could about Dolly Castle. Last night when you saw us at the fireworks? I was trying to find out where she teaches. I think she's behind the disappearance of Chief Wenonga, and I wanted to go to where she works and lives to see what I could find out."

My heart warmed a crack. Was it possible Johnny was just as interested in getting the Chief back as I was, and really had a legitimate reason to lie and hang out with Dolly? "And you found out she vandalized a McDonald's?"

"Not the building, the Ronald McDonald statues out front. A whole chain of them in India. Apparently, she was over there for study abroad in some place called Shatrunjaya Hills, and her group went activist and spray painted messages on the Ronald McDonalds, cut off limbs, added horns. Dolly was arrested and extradited to the United States. She ended up paying a hefty fine."

"So what does that tell us?"

"I don't know. That she knows how to mess with fibergla.s.s? That she's not afraid of breaking the law? You sound mad. I thought you would think this was good news."

My thawing heart ached. Johnny really did sound like he wanted to impress me. The one important point he had failed to address was the dead body in the cabin he had asked me to watch for him. "Is there anything else you called about?"

"... can't hear you ..."

"IS THERE ANYTHING ELSE YOU WANT TO TELL ME?"

"... reception ... of nowhere ..."

"THERE IS A DEAD BODY IN YOUR CABIN. DO YOU WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT?"

"... body in my dad's cabin? What are you talking about?"

I lowered my voice to normal range. "The police found a dead body in your cabin today. Now they're looking for you. Whose body is it?" The other end of the line was absolutely quiet. "Johnny? Whose body is it?"

His voice came out hushed, and it wasn't the connection. "I have no idea, Mira."

Tears stung my eyes. "Don't lie to me. Please don't lie to me."

"I have no idea whose body it is. I'm on my way back. I'll go straight to the police station and ..."

There was a snap on the line, and it went dead. I held it to my ear for several seconds longer, and then hit the "end" b.u.t.ton on my phone. My caller ID registered only an "Unknown Name, Unknown Number" for the call. I sat tensely on my couch, wishing I had brought Gina's bottle of vodka home with me.

I squared my shoulders. As much as I wanted to believe Johnny knew nothing about the dead guy, I was not going to let myself be played the fool again. I tried to shove pictures of Johnny out of my head, but in the sultry heat of my living room, I couldn't escape the images of him smiling at me as he helped me landscape in June, ignoring the bruises discoloring my face, or the image of his strong hands digging into black dirt, or even the picture of his sweetly shy smile as he dropped me off after supper last night. These hot thoughts pulsed through my mind as a mosquito whined around my head. I slapped at it and missed, and it was soon joined by a second.

I checked my front door, and it was locked tight. I couldn't find a hole in any of the screens, either. I fixed myself a cold cheese and pickle sandwich and scarfed it down. I rinsed the plate, stacked it in the sink, and made myself a gla.s.s of ice water. The gla.s.s fogged up immediately, and drips of water glided down the sides and over my fingers. By now more mosquitoes had joined the first ones, their telltale humming promising a miserable night.

I tried to outrun them by dashing into my bedroom and slamming the door. I set the sweating water gla.s.s next to my bed and flopped down, a fan pointed on my body. I wanted to think, but whenever the breeze from the oscillating fan moved from my head, the mosquitoes returned, buzzing and keening with a vengeance. It sounded like a bona fide swarm, but I couldn't seem to kill them. When I pointed the fan so it was aimed only at my face, one of them bit my ankle and escaped scot-free.

Frustrated, I tried lying under the sheets to escape the mosquitoes, but I could still hear their vibrations. They were hovering, just waiting for me to relax and expose my soft and vulnerable skin. I tossed and turned and wondered what Gary Wohnt would do to Johnny. Throw him into the county jail in Fergus Falls, certainly, and how would they treat him there? He was too pretty to be in jail. I was bitten again, this time on the tender flesh of my wrist, and I jumped out of bed and returned to the couch. The whine of the mosquitoes was driving me crazy. I couldn't think a clear thought and I certainly couldn't sleep between the heavy heat and the bloodthirsty flying knives invading my home. My choices were either to stay here and go insane, or go into town and see if the Battle Lake Motel had a vacancy. I could fix whatever c.h.i.n.k in my double-wide armor they were coming through tomorrow, in the light of day.

Before I started to fret about the money I'd be wasting, I scooped up a toothbrush, change of clothes, and a hairbrush and headed out the door. I made sure to let Tiger Pop and Luna out to spend the night in the hay-filled barn, where they would be much cooler and where they had fresh water. I could still hear the whining insects as I got in my car, so I rolled down all the windows and sped down County Road 83. Only when I finally reached the outskirts of Battle Lake did I feel bug-free.

When I pulled into the motel parking lot, I spotted Dolly's black Honda and, a few cars down, Brando's red Humvee. When I had questioned him at his shop after the parade Indian disappeared, Les had said Brando was staying in a cabin north of town, but I had no reason to trust him. Brando could be staying at the motel, for all I knew, or maybe he was visiting Dolly, confirming my earlier hunch. Was the motel his destination when he tailgated me a couple days earlier, on the day I had discovered the missing Chief?

A little window peeking was clearly in order, but first, I was going to stop by and visit Chief Wenonga's post to see if there was anything I had missed when I had first found the scalp. Heat lightning flashed across the gla.s.s-flat surface of Battle Lake as I stepped out of my car, and it gave me chills. A storm in this heat would be fierce. I sniffed the air for ozone but only smelled lake and country. I reached back into my car for my flashlight and headed to Wenonga's former home. The half-full moon offered enough illumination that I didn't click on my light as I walked, listening to the tinkle of gla.s.ses and muted laughter floating across the lake.

The base was just as I had left it, two days and a million years ago, minus the blood. The four posts had been scrubbed clean and pointed angrily toward the night sky. They were cool to the touch, as was the four-foot-high cement stand. Clicking on my flashlight revealed nothing new on the stand, and the gra.s.s perimeter was also scrubbed clean-not even a cigarette b.u.t.t marred the trampled gra.s.s. That gave me pause. Footprints were the only thing that had been around Chief Wenonga's base on Friday when I discovered him missing, as well. If the Chief-stealer had used a wrecking ball, as Brando had said they would have had to, there would have been Chief shrapnel everywhere. Instead, the ground had been as clean as a hospital floor.

I got on my knees and ran my fingers through the stubbly gra.s.s to make sure I wasn't missing something.

"What're you doing?"

The gruff voice made me jump up so quickly that I lost my flashlight. I couldn't make out anyone in the light of the half-moon. "Who said that?"

"I am the night. I am swift justice. I am-"

"Les, is that you?"

He shuffled out from behind a tree, a set of night-vision goggles perched on his head. I reached down for my flashlight, sending a crazy strip of light down the park, and shined it on Les. He was dressed head to toe in Realtree camo with black mud or grease paint smeared across his cheeks.

"What're you doing out here late at night?"

"I could ask you the same thing, Les."

"I'm hunting."

"For what?"

"The truth."

"I guess I am, too. You find any?"

"Not yet, but I just started." The front office door to the Battle Lake Motel opened, spilling a rectangle of yellow light out into the parking lot. Les. .h.i.t the ground and pulled me with him. "Get down!"

I had no choice but to hit the gra.s.s next to Les. "You wouldn't happen to be searching for this truth at the Battle Lake Motel, would you be?"

"Perhaps."

A thought struck me. "You know where Brando is staying?"

"I already told you. A cabin north of town."

"So what's his Humvee doing at the motel?"

Les broke off eye contact with me. The motel door closed and we both stood up, brushing the dirt off our knees.

"Les?"

"Could be he's visiting someone."

I decided to come at this from behind. "Say, Les, how would you take down the Chief Wenonga statue if you had to do it?"

He eyed me suspiciously. "I didn't steal the statue."

I sighed. "Look, I saw you following Dolly at the fireworks, and now you're spying on her outside her motel room. If I tell Gary Wohnt what you're up to, you're going to have an uncomfortable lot of surveillance in your life. How about you cooperate with me now, and I'll keep quiet about your illicit activities?"

He started to puff up, his bowling-ball face glistening under the blackness, and then, just as quickly, he deflated. "I'm just guessing, you understand? I didn't take that statue, but if I did, I'd take it down with a blowtorch and a cherry picker, lickety split. No mess, and you could get it done in under forty-five minutes. That's just a guess, mind you."