June Bug (14 page)

I looked at Kennie, still in her Alvin and the Chipmunks get-up with her nesting-chipmunk hair, Gary Wohnt, who had pulled down his Erik Estrada cop sunglasses and was reapplying lip balm, and Ody, in his wife beater with his Wranglers undone and smelling of the fish he was still sucking out of his eyeteeth. “No, Jed, I was just visiting with these people.”

Ody leaned over and brushed a piece of hair from my face. “No need to be modest, girl. I ain’t ashamed to be with you.”

I tried not to cry and turned back to Jed, ignoring the strange look Johnny was giving me. “What are you up to?”

“Johnny and I are running some errands for my mom. We figured it’d be a waste of a good night to drive. Hey, man, that show at Shangri-La was a kicker, no? When you disappeared and all that?” He nodded his head agreeably. Johnny had moved off and was studying Chief Wenonga, his shoulders in an angry set. Or was I imagining it? His profile was tanned and muscular, and his strong hands, the ones I often imagined twisted in my hair as he pulled me in for a passionate kiss, were fisted at his sides.

I turned my attention back to Jed, who did not seem bothered at all that I had made his hair extra curly that night. “Yeah, sorry about the stun gun. I was a little freaked out.”

“What?” Jed asked.

“The shock I gave you when I jumped out of the bongo.”

Jed’s smile was confused but welcoming.

“You know, when I jumped out, zapped you, and you fell to the ground?”

Jed looked at Gary Wohnt and then back at me, winking conspiratorially. “Sure, you
zapped
me. I was real
zapped
that night.”

Cripes. Jed didn’t even know I had stun-gunned him. He thought it was just another high. “Okay, yeah. Zapped.” I couldn’t be heard over the now-frenzied tooth-sucking coming from the cop dates. I wanted to tap out “Help Me” in Morse code, but I didn’t know how. I desperately wanted Johnny to know that I wasn’t on a date, but the truth was, I was on a date, and I had no reason to think he cared. I felt miserable.

“Okay, then, we’ll see ya around,” Jed said. “Say, Chief Wohnt, when will we get back that dive suit that Mira found in Whiskey?”

“When we find out who planted the body.”

“That makes sense, but it’d sure be nice to rent it out to someone else.” Jed and Johnny took off, Johnny flashing me one last unreadable glance. I was left alone to make conversation in this wasteland. I examined my three options—Kennie, who was filing her nails, Ody, who was talking about the pros and cons of field dressing, and Gary Wohnt.“So, Chief, you still have the Last Resort dive suit that body was in?”

Silence.

“Did you confiscate the suits from the other divers who rented them from the Last Resort?”

The Chief shifted a toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other. I was a lot of work for him. “We investigated the people who rented them. They are all either staying at the Last Resort or at Glendalough, and they all came up clean. We did not take their dive suits.”

“None of them were staying at Shangri-La?”

“None.”

“Not even one rented to someone staying at Shangri-La?”

“None.”

I shielded my eyes from the sun so I could watch Jed and Johnny walking away. Why had Jed lied to me about Jason Blunt, current Shangri-La resident extraordinaire, renting three dive suits from him? Then I remembered the water puddle under the dive suit I had borrowed from Jed, the dive suit he claimed hadn’t been used in a long time. Maybe Jason hadn’t rented his suits—maybe he had borrowed them just like me. Jed had mentioned that he had partied with Jason. Had he done more? Was he Jason’s accomplice in all of this? Goofy, stoner Jed? I didn’t want to believe it.

My stomach was roiling, and now it wasn’t just because I had eaten canned cheese and questionable fish. “I don’t feel so good. I think I need to go home.”

Kennie looked indignant. “The night is young! I spent a lot more time working for you last night, and I didn’t even get a free meal out of it.”

Ody burped. “I’d walk you home, but these here legs are more ornamental than functional.” He winked at me. Or he had something in his eye. “When will we be meeting again, little lady?”

I tried to be vague without being rude. “Oh, you’ll know when we meet again.” Because I’ll be the one screaming and running the other way. “Thank you for the . . . food. And Kennie, I think we’re even.”

She scowled at me, but I would not be deterred. I needed self-respect and sleep. I saluted Chief Wenonga and hightailed it to Gina’s couch.

When I woke the next morning, Gina was sitting at the foot of the sofa drinking coffee and waiting for me to open my eyes with all the patience of a child on Christmas morning. She had already walked, fed, and watered Luna and opened a can of Tender Vittles for Tiger Pop. All that was left to do was stare at me until I awoke.

As soon as I stirred, she pounced. “Why didn’t you wake me up when you got home?”

“Because I figured if you were asleep by eight, you probably needed to stay asleep.” I stretched and pulled the sheet back over me. I hated sleeping over at other people’s houses. It wasn’t comfortable.

“You were home by eight o’clock? No kissing?”

“No kissing. I did get to see the lower end of his belly button when he unsnapped his pants so he could eat more, though.”

“You’re shittin’ me.” She shook her head in disbelief. “I wipe other people’s butts for a living, and that grosses me right out.”

“Yeah. The best part came when Johnny Leeson met my date.”

She set her coffee down and covered her mouth with both hands in a display of shock. “NO! Hot Johnny saw you on a date with a greasy old cop?”

“Ody was his name.”

“Girl, you lost some points there.”

“You think? I’ve slid down from ‘dorky stalker lady who buys more seeds than she needs’ to ‘dorky stalker lady who buys more seeds than she needs, starring in the Appalachian Love Connection.’ ”

Gina laughed. “You’re timing’s not so good, either. Word on the street is Johnny just broke up with Liza. Last night would have been a good night to seem available.”

I groaned and replayed the strange looks Johnny had given me last night. Had he been considering me as Liza’s replacement? If he had, I’m sure the Ody glow on me had quickly done away with that idea. Who would want to date someone who dated an Ody? It’d be like wearing your grandma’s clothes.

Gina studied my face and laughed kindly. “It’s not that bad. Anyhow, I gotta go to work. What’s on your plate for today?”

“I’m not sure yet. How well do you know Jed Heike?” I shared how he had lied to me about renting dive suits to Jason and how I had a bad feeling he was somehow hooked up in the planted dead body and wounded circus performer.

Gina screwed up her face in reflection “You know, I did hear that the Last Resort was going under. They don’t get enough business. You think he’d hook up with Jason for the money?”

“I think he’d do anything to help out his parents.”

Gina frowned. “But steal stolen jewelry? And arrange the shooting of a circus performer? You don’t even know if one is related to the other. You gotta find that out before you incriminate anyone.”

“I suppose, but that’s a little too much coincidence for me. A person could go a whole lifetime without witnessing a little guy getting shot. To have that happen at the same time a fake dead body is planted in the lake near where hundreds of thousands of dollars of jewelry is likely hidden is out of the question.”

“All I’m saying is you don’t want to spend the energy worrying about what Jed has or hasn’t done until you find out what is really going on.”

“I suppose. Aren’t you going to be late for work?” I pulled myself off the couch. I had to go to work, too. I wanted to get in early so I didn’t miss Wicket W. Warrick’s call.

“I don’t work until ten today. The bathroom is all yours.” Gina shuffled off into the kitchen and then turned back to me, a girlish smile on her face. “Say, Leif and I are going out on Friday. He said it’s going to be a surprise, but I hope he takes me to the casino.”

I mirrored her smile. “That’s great, G. And you guys have set up counseling appointments?”

She looked at her feet. “We might. Right now we just want to try it the old-fashioned way.”

Around here, and maybe everywhere in the world, the old-fashioned way meant he did what he wanted to do and she ignored it. It made me too sad to comment, so I just nodded and got ready for a grueling day of schlepping books. I cleaned myself up, gave Luna and Tiger Pop some attention, and was in the library by nine o’clock. I used the time before I opened up to take care of the duties I had been neglecting the last few days. I shelved books, dusted and vacuumed, watered plants, and even cleaned the windows. I rifled through the library mail, which was mainly glossy advertisements for new books, several overdue book fines getting paid, and a few random bills.

When Warrick called, I was basking in the afterglow of a vigorous cleaning, my face flushed and a relaxed smile on my face.

“Yeah, this the newspaper lady?” His voice was distinctly male, but high, like it was squeezed out.

“I am a reporter at the
Battle Lake Recall
. Are you the guy who was shot Monday night?”

I heard him puff up proudly on the other end of the line. “That I am. Nikolai Romanov is the name, and crowd-pleasing is my game.”

“Romanov? I thought your name was Wicket W. Warrick.” I grabbed a miniature pencil and a sheet of paper from the printer to take notes.

He chuckled condescendingly. “That’s just one of my many stage names. I didn’t know who I was talking to yesterday when I called. The nature of my work requires me to cultivate an air of mystery and fantasy.”

“I’m sure. So the Romanov Traveling Theater troupe is yours?”

“It is.”

“And you have a story to tell me?”

“I do. I will tell it to you on the south shore of Whiskey Lake at midnight tonight.”

“What?” My voice came out a couple notes higher than normal. If you look in the dictionary under
dumb
, you would find “one who meets a carnival performer on the lam in a secluded area at midnight.” I hedged. “How about we meet when it’s light out?”

“How about I tell my story to the
Star Tribune
?”

How about I didn’t give a shit about the competition. I did need to find out how Jason was caught up in all of this, though, or he would haunt me ad infinitum. I peeked in the purse I had started to carry and reassured myself that my trusty Z-Force was still nestled inside. “Fine. Give it to me in girl directions.”

“You know where the public-access boat landing is on Whiskey?”

“Yup.”

“Go to the boat landing. Face the water. Walk a hundred yards to your right. I’ll be waiting. Be quiet, dress in black, bring a small tape recorder, and don’t be late. And come alone, or I’ll disappear like dust in the wind.”

Good lord. What sort of self-respecting circus performer quoted Kansas? “Fine.”

I hung up the phone and unlocked the door to let in the ten or so people who were lining up. I don’t think the library had ever been this busy. The
Star Tribune
contest was bringing a lot of business to town. Most of them were magazine readers, which is the library equivalent of window shoppers, but a few signed up for library cards and mentioned that they were enjoying their stay.

Over lunch hour, I closed the library for a quick dash to the Fortune Café. Nancy was behind the counter in a green-checkered apron that read, “I’m Not Gay, But My Girlfriend Is.” Small-minded people avoided Sid and Nancy and their café, which was great for the rest of us. Their sexuality served as a great social filter.

Actually, the biggest customer base for the Fortune was Sid and Nancy’s church group. The two were very active at Nordland Lutheran and were always a favorite when it came time for bake sales and other events that involved desserts. I was still surprised they hadn’t been stoned right out of town, which maybe made me the small-minded one.

Nancy waved me to the front of the line because she knew I was on my lunch break. “Hello, Mira! What’re you in the mood for today?”

“Just a roasted garlic bagel and some green tea, Nance.” I slid my travel mug over to her. “Thanks.”

“Say, did Sid call you?”

I grabbed the tea and angled the bagel out of her hands—she knew I didn’t want a bag—and gave her my money. “No. About what?”

“I’ll let her tell you. She’s in back loading the oven.” Nancy jerked her head toward the back room, wiped her hands on her apron, and turned to the customer behind me.

I felt like a trespasser when I stepped into the kitchen. I had never been in this room before, and it smelled great. Big steel ovens lined the walls, with flour-covered tables full of rising bread filling the middle. Off to the side was a storage room with ingredients cleanly labeled, covered, and kept off the ground on a silver wire shelf. The only thing missing was Sid.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Mira!” Sid appeared from behind one of the stoves. She was smiling, but she looked harried. Flour dusted her hair, and her arms were loaded with trays of raw cookie-dough balls.

“Nancy said you wanted to talk to me?”

“Yeah, it’s nothing really. It might just be a rumor. The divers that are staying at Glendalough? Well, they were in for coffee this morning, and they said they’ve scoured Whiskey Lake from top to bottom, north to south, and there’s no necklace in a box there. They were going to go down one more time, and if they didn’t find anything, they were going to lodge a complaint.”

“So they think it was never sunk in the lake?”

“That, or someone has it and doesn’t want anyone to know for some godforsaken reason. Just thought I’d let you know, since you’re the reporter and all.” She winked at me and loaded her cookie sheets into the oven.

“Thanks, Sid.” I didn’t know what to make of this new information. Certainly, diving is not an exact science. Visibility is often poor, and objects in lakes, especially spring-fed lakes, have a tendency to move. The people at the
Star Tribune
must have known this, and since they wanted the box found, if it was still there, it
was
surprising that no one had come across it yet. After all, it had been three days since the box had supposedly been hidden.

I pondered this as I walked to the
Recall
office. Ron was at the front counter when I strolled in, the phone still growing out of his ear. I waited impatiently, but he wasn’t off by the time I had eaten my bagel and drunk most of my tea.

I pulled up a chair right next to him and stared at him, inches from his face, without blinking. He shooed me like a fly, but I didn’t move. He finally sighed and stood up to rifle through a file cabinet, the phone cradled between his shoulder and ear.

He passed me the pink note onto which I had transcribed the code, and I grabbed it eagerly. I looked down at the scribblings, my tea and impatience forgotten. Ron had crossed out all the letters and written new letters over those, sometimes crossing out his guesses and writing on top of those. The letters were four high in some cases, but if I followed the hills, this is what the code I had stolen from the rum room really said:

With your back to the kissing tree walk seven steps northwest kneel 23 left 12 right 11 left.

There were question marks next to all three numbers, and he had circled the original numbers—76, 87, and 88—but that wasn’t the beginning of my questions. What was a kissing tree? Was I supposed to kneel twenty-three times, or were there twenty-three of something left? Twenty-three left minus twelve that were right did leave eleven, but what did that mean? This was a puzzle within a puzzle.

I pulled the list of Shangri-La’s stolen jewelry out of my purse. There were twenty-eight pieces of jewelry recorded missing, not including “assorted diamond earrings.” That didn’t seem to be what the code numbers were referring to. The numbers almost sounded like a dance—kneel, go twenty-three steps to the left, twelve to the right, and eleven to the left. That felt a little overdone, but not surprising from a woman who would write a secret code in the first place. Once I figured out what the kissing tree was, I hoped this would be a lot clearer.

I dashed back to the library and searched through the Otter Tail County reference books. No mention of a kissing tree. I went online to do a search of the same, and I came up with obscure references to musical bands and some strange religion, and even a funny website where a woman had created a virtual tree consisting of pictures of people who had kissed her—but no landmarks in this area.

On a whim, I called over to the Senior Sunset and asked for Mrs. Berns. If there was anyone in this town who would know where people went to kiss in the 1920s, it was Mrs. Berns.