January Thaw (The Murder-By-Month Mysteries) (12 page)

“Did you get lost?” His smile seemed genuine, but his eyes carried an emotion I couldn’t read, more than a question but not quite a warning.

“Sorry,” I said. It wasn’t really an answer, but I’d discovered the word was a ticket out of most minor social infractions. I plucked my two beer coupons from his outstretched hand and made my way through the main lodge and into the bar in the rear. Although the lodge itself was one open room, the bar had been cleverly designed with open sides and its own faux-cobblestone roof to make it seem like a separate, authentic Irish pub within the larger space. My tour group had already bellied up to the buttery wood counter and were enjoying their first taste of beer. The kids were sucking down root beers.

I considered whether I should imbibe. I absolutely loved beer, but I didn’t know if this counted as a social situation. Plus, I didn’t want to get schlitzy before I drove. A couple sips couldn’t hurt though, right? In fact, I was almost obligated as part of my research. I slid the blue coupon to the bartender when he strolled to my end of the bar. He was in his forties, too old to be Eric, and his name tag read
Turlough
.

“A sample of the Civil War Ale, please.”

He shot me a quizzical glance. “Excuse me?”

I almost pulled out the label. “Sutler’s Civil War Ale. I saw the labels in the factory.”

He smiled and handed me a menu. “I’m afraid that one will never see the light of day. Something in the recipe was off. Here’s a list of what we do offer.”

Peculiar. You’d think they’d test the recipe before bothering to print out labels. I studied the menu. “I’ll try the chocolate stout, please.” Beer that tastes like chocolate? Hi, really good idea.

He opened the tap into a miniature mug that I assumed they used only for tastings. The beer pulled out deep and creamy with a gorgeous head. When he set it in front of me, the smell hit me first: bitter, dark, and rich. I closed my eyes and inhaled. When I opened them, he was still standing there with his hands on his hips, watching me like a proud parent.

“The chocolate stout is my favorite,” he said.

I smiled and held the glass to my lips, smelling it through my open mouth before tipping back the glass and letting it wash in. The flavor was transcendent, dark chocolate notes on my tongue, a light carbonation on the sides of my mouth, and a deeper, wiser flavor in the back of my throat. I swallowed and moaned. “Amazing,” I sighed.

He nodded in satisfaction. “You can see why we guard the recipes so carefully.”

“Where can I buy some?” I swiveled in my stool. I hadn’t noticed beer for sale amidst all the other O’Callaghan’s merchandise.

He began wiping mugs, keeping one eye on his other customers. “Minnesota law. Breweries can’t sell their bottled beer on site.”

“What?” I drew the chocolate stout closer to me. This might be all I got for a while.

He shrugged. “Something about distribution lobbyists needing their cut, I think. You can buy it in the area liquor stores, but we can’t sell you anything but growlers, and we don’t have the space or license for that. Only samples.”

A more ridiculous law I had yet to hear, but the delicious headiness of the beer might have been fueling my righteousness. Everyone should be able to drink this nectar wherever they wanted. It was filling my empty stomach with a nice bubbly bliss. Actually, I decided on the spot that it was dark and thick enough to count as a meal. I finished all four ounces and handed him the mug.

“What would you like to try next? Our pale ale is very popular.”

I shook my head. “No more for me, thanks. I have to drive.” I started to walk away and then turned back. “Oh, hey, I almost forgot. Can you give this to Eric Offerdahl for me?” I held out the first item I pulled out of my pocket, a Turtle Stew receipt for the hotdish I’d ordered the other night.

Turlough smiled amiably and reached for it. He almost had his hands on the paper before his face tightened. He withdrew his fist and shot a glance toward Niall, who was talking to Aednat at the front door. Niall wasn’t looking, and Turlough turned his back to me to help another customer.

That was all right. I’d gotten what I came for.

Twenty-Seven

I sat in my
idling car outside the T Wrecks farmhouse and honked my horn. I wasn’t sure if Mrs. Berns would be back from her expedition or not, but I hoped so. I was relieved when she popped her head out, waved at me to hang tight, disappeared back inside the house, then ran to the car five minutes later with her arms full of books.

“Holy moley,” she said, hopping in next to me. “What a busy afternoon!”

“What’s that smell?” I sniffed around her hair. The odor reminded me of woodsmoke, but sweeter.

She shrugged. “I’m an old lady. It could be any number of things. Check this out.” She held up the top book on a stack of seven. It’s ragged cover proclaimed
Yoga Spirit!
in a 1970s psychedelic font. “I’m gonna be a hippie!”

“You’re only a few decades late for that train.” I took another whiff. “That’s it! You smell like pot. Were you
smoking
?”

“I’m too old to start smoking anything. I have plans for these lungs. Bob and Vienna may have been partaking, though.”

“What kind of name is Vienna for a person, anyhow?”

“I had the same question. Her dad’s name was Vince and her
mom’s name was Alenna, so they named her Vienna.”

“Does Austria know?”

“Why are you so crabby? Aren’t you happy that I have a new friend?”

I found myself pouting as I drove onto the icy blacktop. I performed a body scan and realized that I was tense all over. First it was Kennie with the greener thumb, and now it was Mrs. Berns making a new friend. But of course I wanted her to have as many people in her life as possible. I tried to turn my attitude around. “Sorry.”

“You should be. That late husband of mine who was a drinker? He was a jealous one, too. Kept a tight rein on me, as if I went anywhere besides home and the grocery store. I vowed never to let anyone possess me again.”

“You sound like a heroine of a romance novel.”

“But you get my point.”

I sighed. “I said I was sorry.”

“It’s all right.”

One of the many admirable things about Mrs. Berns is that if she accepted your apology, she meant it. I knew we wouldn’t be speaking of this again.

“Now listen,” she continued. “Vienna is amazing. She’s sixty-nine and has the body of a fifty-year-old. She says it’s because of yoga and how she eats. She teaches classes and everything, and does most of the cooking for the kids who stay on at the brewery. I’m going to turn back the clock!” She pumped a tiny bird fist into the air, her smile lighting up her face in the dark of the car.

“Too late,” I said fondly. I let her ramble on about all the ideas Vienna had given her and all the life changes she was going to make. In the back of my mind, though, I realized I was missing Johnny terribly, and maybe that’s why I was being so possessive of Mrs. Berns and my plants. It had been three days since I’d seen him, and that was too long. Rather than get grabby about things that weren’t mine, I should appreciate what I had.

The owners of Bonnie & Clyde’s in Clitherall let Johnny’s band use the back half of their bar as practice space on Tuesdays. It was a slow night so no one minded if the music was a little rough. I could drop Mrs. Berns off, go watch Johnny practice, and maybe even see if Bonnie & Clyde’s was carrying O’Callaghan’s chocolate stout. Then, after Johnny was done working, he and I could slip back to his house and finish what we’d started the other night. The thought of it revved up my blood and sent it to all sorts of delicious places.

“What?” I asked, becoming aware that Mrs. Berns was quietly watching me.

“Have you heard a word I said?”

“Several.”

“You know how some people have faces like statues?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“You’re not one of them. Say hi to Johnny for me. And drop me off at the Rusty Nail. They’ve added karaoke on Tuesdays, and I have a hankering to sing ‘If I Could Turn Back Time.’”

She didn’t wait to get out of the car to start practicing. I promised her I’d drop the borrowed books off at her apartment, and I did just that before heading east to Clitherall, another two-bars-and-a-church town four miles up the road from Battle Lake. Bonnie & Clyde’s was situated directly across the street from the Sportsman’s Bar. They were both decent dives to hang in, but Bonnie & Clyde’s had the bands and the feel. When I parked out front, I heard the jukebox playing “Crazy Train.” Johnny’s band must be taking a practice break.

I left my car and glanced up at the crossed rifles on the Bonnie & Clyde’s sign, suddenly feeling self-conscious. I wasn’t wearing any make-up, which wasn’t unusual, but I also hadn’t combed my hair since this morning and was wearing everyday clothes. Plus, a string of sleepless nights had left dark bags under my eyes. Johnny would be with his friends and there would most certainly be a cadre of lady fans of all ages. He had his very own groupies, even on practice nights.

I jogged back to the car, dragged a brush through my hair, and coated my lips with honey-flavored lip balm. That was the best I could do, though I decided to enter through the back so everyone wouldn’t stare as I entered. I made my way to the rear, passing the white equipment van used by The Thumbs. I heard some soft talk and giggling near Bonnie & Clyde’s back door and almost turned around to enter through the front. Instead, I peeked around the corner to make sure I wouldn’t be interrupting anything uncomfortable.

I blinked for several seconds and still couldn’t make sense of what I saw: Johnny, his arms wrapped around a stunning blonde.

Twenty-Eight

No matter how much
I stared, it just didn’t make sense. When my eyes began to fog, I realized it was tears and yanked myself back. Luckily, Johnny hadn’t spotted me. His attention was completely focused on the blonde. I speed-walked back to my car, my head down, my legs numb. I started the engine automatically and pointed the Toyota toward anywhere but here, taking the sharp corner known as the Clitherall Carwash so quickly that I started fishtailing.

Breathe
, I told myself. I pulled my car back into a straight line and began rationalizing. It was bound to happen. Johnny was gorgeous, smart, funny, kind, and in a band. How had I ever thought he’d want more than a fling? When I’d finally slept with him in December, I knew I’d put it off for so long because I was afraid this is exactly what would happen. I slammed my palm into my steering wheel. How could I have been so stupid?

We hadn’t said we would be exclusive, though. Had we? I kept driving, but it was hard with the tears streaming down my face. I’d be okay. For sure I would. I’d survived worse. I should have known better than to get my hopes up in the first place, though. I was punching way above my weight class with Johnny.

I found myself standing outside the Battle Lake Municipal Liquor store. The mirror of the glass door reflected a red, puffy face, a runny nose, tears glistening off my cheeks. I rubbed a mittened hand over my face and entered. I passed the display of O’Callaghan’s and went straight for the vodka. I kept my head down as I paid, not wanting to see the pity in the cashier’s eyes.

I knew I wasn’t bringing this bottle home.

For a crazy moment, I considered driving to Kennie’s house, but then it hit me. I knew exactly where I was going to sleep tonight.

Twenty-Nine

“Hey baby, you want
waffles?”

Whose voice was that? I opened my eyes and saw only blackness. I was blind! It was exactly what I deserved. I shifted my head slightly. My brain had a distinct lag behind my skull, and it hammered against its cage when it finally caught up. I groaned, but I realized that I had been face down. With my head now to the side, at least I could see.

“Cuz if you do, you’ll need to go out and grab some waffle mix. Oh, and syrup. Butter, too, if they have it. Man, waffles sound good. And bacon.”

Sweet Jesus, was that Bad Brad’s voice? I groaned again, this time sounding like a wounded whale. I could not begin to imagine the half-life on a mess-up like this. I slowly pulled myself into a sitting position and cracked my eyes wider. I was on his couch. Daylight was slicing through his dusty blinds like blades of fire. I rubbed at my face, feeling the imprint of his cheap stinky couch from forehead to chin. Maybe we could just pour syrup on my face. I sucked in a breath and let my hand fall lower, to where my clothes should be—
dear god, please let me still be wearing clothes
.

Shirt, check. Bra, check. Underwear, never wore ’em. Pants, check. I almost cried in relief.

“Hey, did you sleep in those clothes? Weirdo. Right before I crashed last night, I told you to make yourself comfortable, and you told me to make myself invisible. Ha! I forgot how much fun you are when you’ve been drinking.”

I focused on Brad, who appeared to be wearing only tighty-had-once-been-whities. I held up my hand to shield my sight, and he slapped a cup of coffee into it.

“Here you go. It’s instant, but you have got to need this. Man, I didn’t know you could sing.”

Sing
? My fifth-grade choir teacher had taken me aside after the first day of class and quietly asked me if I wouldn’t mind lip-syncing. I hadn’t warbled in public since. I took a tentative sniff of the coffee. It smelled like ashtrays and butt. Again, exactly what I deserved. I sipped it in penance.

“Good thing I had my recording equipment here. It’s still okay if I use it as a backing track for Iron Steel’s punk cover of ‘The Gambler,’ right? ‘You gotta know when to hold ’em!’” He screeched like a cat while air guitaring.

“Brad.” It came out as a whisper so as not to unbalance the delicate gyroscope of my spinning brain. “Brad.” A little louder this time, but still not loud enough to break through. “Brad!”

“You don’t need to yell, baby.”

“Did we do anything last night?”

“Yeah, totally. We recorded those tracks and played quarters and talked philosophy of life. Oh, we played hide and seek, but you kept trying to, you know, conceal yourself under the kitchen sink, except you didn’t fit.”

That explained the egg-sized lump on my head. I hoped. “No, I mean, did we … make out?” The sip of coffee I’d swallowed threatened to return to its cup.

“Naw, man, don’t be stupid. I’m with Samantha and you’re with Johnny. That’s what you kept telling me, anyhow, though I’m still confused about the part where you’re going to let him have multiple wives if that’s what he needs?”

My pain dropped from my head and rose from my stomach, landing squarely in my heart. Johnny was seeing another woman. That’s why I’d come here in the first place. Scratch that. I’d come to Brad’s because I was weak and scared. Thank god the dumb monkey had been his best self last night. Maybe dating him wasn’t the worst mistake I’d ever made. Top five, no question, but no longer dead first. “I have to go.”

“Bathroom’s right over there.”

“I mean I have to leave for work.” I tried standing and only swayed a bit. “What time is it?”

“Quarter to ten.”

Crap! The library was supposed to open in fifteen minutes. I didn’t have time to run home and shower, or even change. I wobbled to his bathroom and made do with scrubbing my face with Ivory soap and water, using my pointer finger with some toothpaste on it as a toothbrush, and slapping on a layer of Brad’s industrial deodorant. It would have to suffice.

I yanked on my shoes and snatched my jacket, cursing the nausea that threatened with each fast movement. I paused on the way out. Brad was sitting on the couch, earphones in his ears and a distant smile on his face as he bopped along to a silent beat. I motioned for him to remove an ear bud.

“Thanks,” I said.

“What for?” he asked, his voice far too loud.

“For being a friend.”

He waved and tucked the earbud back in his ear. I scurried out to my cold car and started it up, feeling somewhat refreshed by the frigid air. She turned over on the first try and was purring within seconds. I brushed a light snowfall off the windows with the wipers. It was one of those blinding days where the sun has no barrier between itself and new snow, turning the landscape into a shimmering diamond mine. I was not in the proper state to appreciate the visual splendor and slipped the car into first gear, leaving before it warmed up.

Thankfully, Brad’s apartment was on the other end of town and so I arrived only seven minutes after the library’s scheduled opening. My heart sank when I spotted Mrs. Berns waiting outside the door along with two patrons.

I turned off the car and jogged to the door, key already out. “Sorry,” I said, deliberately avoiding eye contact with Mrs. Berns. “Car trouble.”

“Sorry to hear it,” Mrs. Berns said, leaning into me. “Say, is that a new perfume you’re wearing? It smells like stupid and guilty.”

I swallowed hard and hurried into the library, flicking on the lights and turning up the heat on my way to the front computer. To my chagrin, Mrs. Berns followed so closely that she tripped me near the main desk. I caught my balance but not without knocking my elbow on the corner of a table.

“Ouch,” I said, rubbing it but still not looking at her.

“You look like a puppy that got caught peeing on the rug. Out with it.”

I pulled my eyes to hers. Her arms were crossed and she was tapping a foot. The determined look in her eyes told me there was no way through this but straight. My confession spilled out in one long, rushed sentence. “I surprised Johnny at practice last night but he was with another woman so he didn’t see me but I saw him and I was so angry that I bought a bottle of vodka and went to Bad Brad’s but nothing happened and I regret it so I don’t need to feel any worse.”

Getting it out felt a little bit better, right up until Mrs. Berns swatted me on the side of my head.

“Why in the world would you go to Brad?”

She’d hit me right on the goose egg I’d hatched trying to sneak into Brad’s cupboards. I rubbed at the double-sore spot.

“Johnny is cheating on me.”

“How do you know?”

“I told you. I saw him hugging another woman. And they were all whispery, like they knew each other naked.”

“I give a grand total of zero shits about that. You don’t know anything for a fact, and rather than find out the truth, you chose to spend the evening with a man who, if he were any more stupid, would need to be watered twice a week. Can you explain that?”

I felt tears pushing up. I was about to apologize when Mrs. Berns gathered me into her arms, just as I had done for her yesterday. She was four inches shorter than me, but somehow, she made me feel safe.

“Look,” she said while she was patting my head, “you have to make yourself vulnerable in love. There’s no other way to do it. Maybe Johnny stepped out, maybe he didn’t. Either way, you’re going to be okay. But you need to find out the truth, and you need to be able to stand by your choices, even the ones you make when you’re down.”

I nodded, my chin bobbing on her shoulder. “What will I do if Johnny doesn’t want to be with me?”

“You’ll feel like shit for a while, and then you’ll get better. But don’t borrow trouble. Focus on what you know, which is nothing.”

I sniffled. “You’re right.”

“Of course I am, dummy,” she said gently. “Now go blow your nose. My jacket is made out of polyester, not vinyl.”

She let me go, and I looked straight at her for the first time that morning. “Did you get your hair done?”

“Yup. Me and Vienna met at the hairstylist’s this AM and got perms. We’re going to shop later and maybe catch a movie. She’s the most fun I’ve had without liquor or a man for a long time.”

I quelled the now-familiar surge of jealousy. One problem at a time, thank you very much.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that. You’re fun, too. You’re just familiar. Vienna is new. Plus, she’s got kids and grandkids, so she understands what I’m going through. It’s exactly what I need to pull me out of my funk.” She glanced at the wall clock. “I better get going. I have some grocery shopping to do before this afternoon. I just stopped by to tell you I can cover lunch if you have anything you need to do.”

“Thank you.” My head was throbbing, and I still felt like a hung over, cheated-on lump, but at least I had Mrs. Berns. She left me to get my face in order and run the library. I had to rush the opening duties as much as my battered brain allowed. I was almost on track when Jed walked through the door. I didn’t recognize him at first because he had the fur-lined hood of his parka up. The gigantic jacket came nearly to his knees.

When he slipped off his hood, he was half wide smile, half curly crazy hair. “Mira Bo Beera! I’m returning your call.”

I tried to smile back, but it hurt to move my face. “What call?”

“You rang me up Sunday,” he said, pulling off his massive mittens on his way to the front desk. “You wanted to know about new drugs in the area.”

Mrs. Craigmile, a retired second-grade teacher and library regular, was twirling the mystery rack near the front of the library but paused mid-rotation to shoot him and then me a shocked look.

“For the article I’m writing,” I said in an exaggerated voice, staring directly at Mrs. Craigmile. She quickly withdrew her eyes, but I could tell by the way her head was cocked that she was still listening.

“Whatever,” Jed said, shrugging amiably. “Sorry I didn’t get back to you sooner. I’ve been doing a lot of work on the ice castle for O’ Callaghan’s.”

“They’re still opening it? I thought they were closing down all those lake attractions since the body was found.”

He reached for the box of tissues I had on the front counter and blew his nose before arcing the crumpled ball into a nearby garbage. “They shut it all down for the Winter Festival, sure, and had me dismantle the Darwin’s Dunk. No one wants any part of that. They’re still opening up the ice castle, though. Something to do with a new beer they’re unveiling.”

“
Wasn’t the ice castle already good to go?”

“For outside viewing, yeah, but they want to expand on it and make it so people can go inside. I’m working with a crew. I don’t know what it’s going to look like when it’s done, but it’s going to be pretty cool. There are even ice sculptures around it now.”

I wondered how this was the first I’d heard of it. “I’m glad you’re finding work.” I lowered my voice. “Have you heard of any new drug activity around here?”

Jed leaned in with a stage whisper loud enough to be heard in the rear of the library. “I have.”

I waited. He waited.

“And?” I finally asked.

“They’re new to town, some sort of gang out of Chicago. Guess it was getting too hot for them there. I got high with a couple of them at a party on New Year’s. They started out nice, a little edgy. Cool tattoos, all of ’em. They didn’t want to stop at pot, though, and so I left. Haven’t seen much of them since, but I know they’re selling. OxyContin, mostly.”

That fit with what Gary had told me, back in the moment when he’d been high enough to like me. “Do they show any signs of leaving?”

He held up his palms. “No idea.”

“You know anything about Eric Offerdahl?”

“The Dahlster.” He nodded agreeably. “Yeah. He graduated about the same time I did. I heard he’s been back in town a month plus but is laying low at the brewery.”

“A month plus. Is that about how long the gang has been around?”

He put a finger to his chin. “About. Might be coincidence, though.”

“Maybe,” I said, pulling the Operation Offerdahl folder out from under the counter. My experience was that coincidences were rare. “I really appreciate your help.”

“Anything for you,” he said, the sweet smile back on his face. “How’s Johnny?”

I cracked the lead of my pencil on the notebook. “Good. You seen him lately?”

“Nope. Seems like he’s practicing all the time. The Thumbs are playing Friday. Are you going? We could catch it together.”

“Maybe,” I said, brushing the lead off the paper. “Can I get back to you on that?”

“Sure!” He grabbed his mittens off the counter. “Anything else you need to know?”

“I’m good for now.” My head hurt too much to nod. I wanted to eat a pie-sized ibuprofen.

“Then I better get back to work.” He shoved his hands in his mittens, pulled up his hood, and headed back into the cold morning.