I’m not ashamed to say I screamed, for the second time in under a week. At the sound of my shriek, the man jumped behind my desk and crouched down, his face redder than the paint streaked across his chest.
I darted forward to grab the stapler off my desk and lunged back, holding the implement like a white trash gun, staples out. “Who are you?”
He held his hands in front of him in the universal sign of “don’t hurt me, this is a big misunderstanding.” That’s when Mrs. Berns came up from the basement. Her shirt was unbuttoned down the front, revealing a puckered bra, and her hair was disheveled. Around her waist, she had a gun belt strung low, capshooters stuck in each of the holsters.
She looked annoyed to see me. “It’s Sunday. Even God rested on Sunday. Don’t you have any social life?”
I looked from the naked guy crouched behind my desk to Mrs. Berns, and back again to the naked guy. “It’s Monday, Mrs. Berns. What’s going on?”
“Monday? Well, put a hitch in my giddy-up! We’ve been playing cowboys and Indians for two whole days, Bill! No wonder I was so hungry.”
A hangdog Bill was gathering loose paper off my desk to cover his pork and beans, and something was dawning on me. “Bill? Not Bill Myers, by any chance?”
He stood, clutching an invoice across his privates, and sheepishly offered me a hand. “None other. Sorry for the scare.”
I have a rule against shaking hands with naked men, one that I have to invoke far more often than you’d think. I put my fists on my hips instead. “Do you know the whole town is looking for you? They thought you were kidnapped from the parade.”
Mrs. Berns pulled out a gun and let a pop into the air, cackling. “He was! I got him!”
A ridiculous thought dawned on me. If Mrs. Berns had taken Bill, did that mean she had also taken the Chief? “Mrs. Berns, you didn’t take the big Indian too, did you?”
“They come in different sizes?”
“I meant Chief Wenonga.”
“Hell no, girl. What would I do with a big fiberglass statue? Billy here is all the man I need.”
“No shit?”
“Not even a little turd.”
I let out a breath. There was one crime solved. Mrs. Berns had absconded with poor Bill Myers and had been having her way with him since Friday night. The two Native Americans disappearing in as many days were unrelated. “Good. Well, Billy better get some clothes on and tell Gary Wohnt that he’s all right. And I’ll thank you to keep the library out of your love life in the future.”
“My tax dollars pay for this library, too, little missy, so as long as I have a library card, I will use it as I please.”
I knew Mrs. Berns had keys to nearly every business in Battle Lake (thanks mostly to a bad habit of stealing the spares), so there was no point in arguing. “Can you two just take it elsewhere? I have to open up in forty-five minutes.”
“Party pooper. You’re just lucky it’s snack time at the Sunset. I’ll be back around lunchtime to help you with the tourist rush.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Berns.”
“Oh hey, get any new obituaries in the Recall the last coupla days? Folks at the Sunset get mad if I don’t tell them who died and they have to find out from the newspaper.”
“No new obits that I know of.”
Mrs. Berns looked thoughtful as she buttoned up the front of her blouse. “You know how I’d like to go? One of those stuttering strokes. A little notice and then you’re gone. That’s what Lydia Thorfinnson had, that lucky old coot.”
“If you ever do die, I’m sure you’ll do it with style.”
That seemed to satisfy her, and she headed toward the door. I kept busy shelving books and watering plants, and was careful not to make eye contact with Mr. Myers as he scurried out the door. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed he looked a little saddle sore, but Mrs. Berns seemed none the worse for the wear. As soon as I had the library ready for business, I unlocked the door and planted myself at the front computer. I needed to send 1,500 words to Ron Sims by today, and he wanted it in three articles. The first piece would summarize the mundane parts of Wenonga Days and the second one would focus on the missing statue, but what would the third article be about? I figured it would be best to start writing and see what came. First, the Wenonga Days straight stuff.
“Annual Wenonga Days Festival Well-Attended”
This year, Wenonga Days started with a bang. Although the Chief missed his own celebration, he was there in spirit throughout the weekend. Crazy Days on Friday brought in a crowd of people shopping for bargains as every business on Lake Street offered discounts from 25–75 percent off original prices.
Friday evening, an estimated 400 people attended the street dance to hear “Not with My Horse,” a band out of Minneapolis, serenade the crowd with their unique country punk fusion. The Rusty Nail sponsored the street dance.
For those who were up early Saturday, the Battle Lake Jaycees offered a Kiddie Karnival, Turtle Races, and a parade during the day. Ashley Grosbain’s turtle was the clear winner at the races. The parade featured marching bands from all over Minnesota, Dalton’s Antique Thresher review, and as a special surprise, Mayor Kennie Rogers and her group of radical cheerleaders, calling themselves “The Beaver Pelts,” shared their moves with the crowd.
Also present at the parade was Brando Erikkson, owner of the fiberglass company that created Chief Wenonga. At the parade, Mr. Erikkson offered to donate a slightly irregular fiberglass woodchuck to replace the Wenonga statue. The woodchuck will be delivered to Halvorson Park early this week.
The Saturday night fireworks, made possible due to the annual fundraiser put on by the Battle Lake Chamber of Commerce, were a big hit with families who viewed them from Glendalough Park. The display cost nearly $20,000 and lasted twenty-five minutes. There were no reported injuries.
The winner of Sunday’s bike race in the female category was Linda Clarkson; the winner in the male category was Erik Schultz. Nikki Welde was the winner of the 5K run in the female category; Jerome Teske was the winner in the male category.
There was a grand turnout for the Pet and Owner Look-Alike Contest, but only one pair could win. This year, that lucky pair was Bill Green of Urbank and Kasey, his Golden Retriever.
The All-Town Garage sale offered a backdrop to Sunday’s races. From start to finish, it’s going to be hard to top this year’s Wenonga Days.
I hit “save” and sat back in my captain’s chair. Writing the first article wasn’t too hard. Now, it was time to write the article about the missing Chief. I would build off my earlier draft.
“It’s My Party, and I’ll Fly if I Want To”
In a strange turn of events, Chief Wenonga disappeared from Battle Lake on Friday, July 3, just as the plans for his twenty-fifth birthday party were finalized. Police on the scene Friday morning found only four posts and what appeared to be blood at the Halvorson Park location where the Chief had stood proudly for twenty-five years.
Battle Lake was named by Chief Wenonga for a mêlée between the Ojibwe and Sioux that took place more than 200 years ago. The Sioux were encroaching on Ojibwe territory, and the Ojibwe leader, Ukkewaus, gathered nearly fifty warriors to fight for their land.
Although Ukkewaus and his warriors believed they were staging a surprise attack, the Sioux were prepared, and many Ojibwe died. Chief Wenonga led the remaining warriors back to Leech Lake, where he lived to an old age and was greatly respected by his tribe. The Battle Lake Civic and Commerce Club ordered the Wenonga statue in 1979 and initially placed it at the Y in Battle Lake. In 1986, the Chief was moved to Halvorson Park, where he stood until his disappearance last Friday.
In what appears to be a connected case, the dead body of an unidentified male was found in a cabin north of Battle Lake on Saturday evening. A local teenager found the body. Battle Lake Police are calling this case a homicide and are currently following up on several leads.
Battle Lake has recently been the site of several strange occurrences, including the May murder of Battle Lake alumnus Jeff Wilson. That mystery was solved soon after, and it is the hope of the people of Battle Lake that this latest case will be resolved soon also, so the town can return to normal.
I didn’t know if “return” was an accurate word to use in the final paragraph, but I was too busy dealing with the hot slice of pain that came with typing Jeff’s name to change it. I had been head to toe in love with him, and he was gone forever. Me and men. Maybe I could hire myself out to heartbroken women who had been dumped by or couldn’t get rid of cheaters, abusers, emotional withholders, and the foreplay-challenged. After their mistreating man had a few dates with me, the problem would be solved. I’d call it the Jinx Man-away Service, and Kennie Rogers could be my business manager. Come to think of it, maybe Mrs. Berns could get involved, too.
I flicked my cheek to turn off the inner crazy-talk and refocused on my computer. I had two articles down and one more to write, and I had no blessed idea what it was going to be about. I sipped at my aromatic jasmine tea, still warm, and felt inspiration glide down my throat.
“Battle Lake Has Beauty and Backbone”
The village of Battle Lake officially came into existence Halloween, 1881, when it was platted for Torger O. and Bertie O. Holdt. By 1885, there were 182 residents of the village, but newspaper references at the time allude to unusual amounts of bad luck being visited on the inhabitants—mysterious plagues, crop rot, and intense weather were only the beginning.
The first white settlers found Native American mounds scattered in the region, forty-two near the lake’s inlet alone. Local legend had it that whoever took over the land that had once belonged to the Indians would be cursed. In the last few months, it is hard to ignore the spectre of a curse as the town has contended with three murders in as many months—Jeff Wilson found dead in the library in May, a carnival gone horribly awry in June, and now the missing Chief Wenonga statue and homicide in July.
Although it is easy to write Battle Lake off as cursed, it would be a mistake. The town offers relaxation and warm smiles to travelers in the summer and is a full-service town with a dentist, chiropractor, and clinic open year-round, as well as the Village Apothecary available to meet the sundry and pharmaceutical needs of locals and tourists alike. The town also has an excellent newspaper to keep readers in touch with the local news.
Battle Lake has unique stores in which to window shop or find that special present, from the Bramble and the Rose to O’kay Gifts. Granny’s Pantry sells ice cream cones bigger than your head and old-fashioned candy by the basket, and the Fortune Café has the best homemade ginger scones in the county.
If you’re one of the few not lucky enough to catch sunnies and trophy walleyes for supper, delicious food is easy to find in Battle Lake, from the eggs Benedict at the Shoreline to the tator tot hotdish at the Turtle Stew to the butter-knife steaks and fresh-baked bread at Stub’s.
If you’re only in town for a while, there are more than thirty safe, clean, and fun places to stay, from Xanadu Island Resort to the Battle Lake Motel to the Nifty Nook Resort. If you’re in town for longer, the streets are safe, the schools are good, and the community is united. Battle Lake may have gotten a rough start and had its share of misfortunes, but the town remains strong in the face of it all. Battle Lake is, after all, easy to get to and hard to leave.
I winced at my last sentence—it is hard to leave any place when you’re dead—but I felt good about the article. A lot of good people were working and running businesses in Battle Lake, and they shouldn’t be punished just because a few crazies had found their way here. I meant every word I had typed. I saved all three articles and emailed them as attachments, just as the phone rang.
“James, where are my articles?”
“Hi, Ron. It’s not noon yet. That was my deadline.”
“Deadlines are for the weak and undisciplined. Where are my articles?”
“They are plummeting through cyberspace and into your computer as we speak. Maybe I should get a raise?”
“Maybe you should get me a new recipe for next week’s paper. People can’t get enough of that garbage you find. I don’t know how you do it.”
“It’s a gift. Say, whaddya know about the dead body found out at Johnny’s cabin?”
A reluctant grunt traveled through the wire. “Can you keep a secret?”
Technically, I wouldn’t be lying if I said yes because I could theoretically keep a secret, even if I might not keep this secret. “You know it.”
“I don’t know it, and if you spill this before Wohnt makes it public, you’re out one reporting job. The corpse didn’t have any ID on it, but a wallet washed up in Silver Lake, and the photo and vital stats on the driver’s license found in it seems to match the corpse. His name was Liam Anderson, he was from Wausau, Wisconsin, and that’s all I know.”
Wausau? Why did that sound familiar? I had never been, and I didn’t think I knew anyone from there. Dolly and Brando were from Stevens Point. It might be worth my time to find out how close that city was to Wausau. I still needed to get back out to Johnny’s cabin too, but that would have to wait until I closed the library at 6:00. “Thanks for the tip. I’ll keep it close to my chest.”
Ron grunted. “Just get me a recipe before the end of the week. Friday is the end of the week.”
The phone went click, and I was alone in the library. I went to Rand McNally online and learned that Wausau was 361 miles east of Battle Lake, but Stevens Point was only 34 miles from Wausau. That was a little too close for comfort. I felt woozy wondering if I could really trust Johnny at his word, that he had been in Stevens Point only to dig up dirt on Dolly. The more I thought about it, the more I realized he could have been feeding me a whole zoo full of lyin’. The library door opened with a pleasant dong, and I looked up anxiously. It was a woman and three children, all under the age of ten. I smiled at them and exited the map program.
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 sexcapade. “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-shirt, 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 shitter. 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 bitchy 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 sophomore 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 transsexual 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. Shit. 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. Shit.
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.