Knee High by the 4th of July (13 page)

Ouch.
Until now, I
had assumed that Chief Wenonga had been statue-napped and was in a warehouse somewhere, or maybe an empty silo, whole and perhaps missing me. Brando Erikkson’s careless words were crushing that dream. I needed to face facts: Chief Wenonga was gone, never to return. I tried that reality on for size for thirty whole seconds, staring at the side of Brando’s head as he stared at Brittany and Heaven’s behinds. “You’re a dumb ass,” I said, and whisked myself out. My made-from-scratch reality was going to win this one.

Underneath my bravado, however, I was hurting. I needed to clear my head, and that meant a whole afternoon of gardening. The fates had a different plan for me, unfortunately.

“Mira! Mira James! Just the girl we need.” Kennie strolled over to me as I left the Fortune. I stared, confused, at the crowd with her. “Gary Wohnt was supposed to help me judge the pets and owners look-alike contest, but he just got called away. You can fill in for him and write a neat little article for the
Recall
while you’re at it.”

I shook my head so vehemently that something wobbled loose. “No. Absolutely not. I have plans.”

“Twenty minutes, that’s all we need,” Kennie sang, smiling down at me from the teetering heights of her four-inch espadrilles.

“What about all these people with you?” I gestured at the hopeful-looking crowd behind her.

“Friends and family of the pet owners, and therefore not eligible to judge. Come along. Twenty minutes, I cross my heart and hope to cry. And phoo-ee, do you smell ripe. I’m gonna have to come over later and do you a favor.”

That sentence was so ominous that my mouth clicked shut until Kennie dragged me to the spot where the turtle races were usually held. The crowd followed along, apparently relieved that their loved ones were going to get a chance to be judged for how much they looked like animals. Kennie shoved a pad in my hands.

“You and me need to agree on a score between one and ten, with ten being the most resemblance.”

“Fine. Let’s get it done and over with.” There were only ten names on the pad. According to the pad, six of them were dog owners, one owned a ferret, one owned a fish, and two owned cats.

We walked past the contestants, both animals and owners drooping in the afternoon heat. Kennie cooed at how cute the pets were and I wondered whether people chose animals who looked like them, or whether we all just started looking like our pets after awhile. If so, I was hoping for some Tiger Pop highlights.

“Well, aren’t you just the sweetest!” Kennie had stopped next to a fat Golden Retriever whose name on the pad was listed as “Kasey.” Next to Kasey was a fat blonde man with friendly bags under his eyes. When the dog blinked, he blinked. The two even had matching jowls. Kennie and I looked at each other and both wrote down a ten.

Next was a man and his five-inch Blue Gill on a stringer. “Curtis Poling!” It was the first good news I’d had all day. Curtis Poling was a charming and slightly bawdy man who lived in the Senior Sunset, a few rooms down from Mrs. Berns. He fished off the roof, so people said he was crazy, but I knew that he was crazy like a fox and twice as cute. He had helped me crack Jeff’s murder in May. “What’re you doing out?”

“I wanted to see about getting my fish mounted, but somehow, I ended up over here. She’s a beaut, eh?”

The fish was big for a sunny, and it was stinky. “Catch her off the roof?”

Curtis winked at me. “You know it. If you got a spot that works, you stick with it.”

“You know, you don’t look anything like that fish, Curtis.”

“And neither do you, darling. I’d thank you to head me back toward the taxidermy shop, and I’ll be on my way.” His smile crinkled his ice-blue eyes, still sharp as hooks even though Curtis was pushing ninety.

“You got it, Curtis. Just let me finish up.” Kennie had moved on quickly when she saw the dead fish, and when I caught up with her, we agreed that Kasey the retriever and her owner Bill were the winners. For their efforts, they received a $25 gift certificate to Scooby’s Doo, the local pet grooming parlor. I thanked everyone for participating, took Curtis by the elbow, and led him back to the Sunset, making a quick detour to the taxidermy shop on our way.

Once I knew Curtis was safe at the Sunset, I went back to Gina’s house to retrieve my car and headed home, forcibly keeping negative thoughts out of my head. That left me idea-free, and it occurred to me with wicked irony that I now knew what it was like to be a Brittany. The lush hardwoods along County Road 83 looked tropical, but there were still no birds singing. The silence made the heat pregnant, and I wondered when it was going to break. I added “swim in the lake” to my mental list of cleansing activities for this afternoon.

At least my animals were happy to see me, Luna pumping happily up the driveway. Back at the house, I promised ice water and a cool dip in the lake if she’d let me get into my swimsuit and slap on some sunscreen. Tiger Pop had feigned disinterest in lapping up ice water and swimming, but he followed us as we made our way down the tree-shaded lane to our tiny little private beach on Whiskey Lake. I could hear families splashing at Shangri-La, the charming resort at the end of the isthmus that was the wide spot at this end of my driveway.

I tossed my towel to the ground and kept to the grass, avoiding the pile of brown sugar sand the local 4H club had delivered this summer. The sand, I knew from painful experience, would be glass-making hot this time of day. Sunlight shimmered bright off the smooth surface of the lake, so bright I couldn’t look straight at it. Head down, I walked into the heavenly cool water until I was knee deep and took the plunge. I was never one to acclimate myself slowly. I twisted underwater, my body heat sinking agreeably. My hands played along the silty bottom of the lake and dragged through the plant life. If I had on my diving mask, I’d be able to see silvery fish dart away from my intrusion. As I swam, the image of that dead white foot in Johnny’s cabin kept sliding into my brain, and it left a cold, empty feeling inside of me. Suddenly, I didn’t feel like being in this big lonely lake anymore.

I pushed myself to the surface, and Luna whined at me from the shore.

“Come on, you big baby!”

She barked, once, and paddled out to me. I knew she’d scratch me if she got too close, so I avoided her as I stroked back in. I found a piece of driftwood and played fetch with her in two feet of water. When she was exhausted and the cool water at my feet had leeched the red from my face, I headed back to the house, not bothering to towel off. Luna and Tiger Pop trailed behind, my sweet little farm groupies.

The part of the garden I hadn’t worked over on Friday night had reached the Extreme Weeding stage. The plants were Land-of-the-Lost massive, and the weeds had stopped seeding weeks ago. If I gave it a good going-over today and used the dead weeds as mulch, I would only have to do occasional, light weeding for the rest of the summer. Fortunately, that section was in the shade at this time of day.

I picked up where I had left off and dug my fingers into the earth, enjoying the cool feel under the surface. I started at the outer perimeter of the broccoli, cauliflower, and Brussels sprout cans. By the time I got to the peas, my rhythm was down to a science. I didn’t even stop to snack on the juicy pods. Next it was carrots, then beans, eggplant, squash, and pumpkins, and finally, more marigolds and zinnias. I knew I’d be flush with zinnias by the first blush of August. By the time I was on the final row, the weeds I’d laid flat at the first pass were turning a dried, lightening green, serving as a warning for all future trespassers. It would also keep the roots of my vegetables cooler during the scorching July days. For good measure, I raked up two piles of drying grass from my earlier lawn-mowing and scattered an extra layer of mulch over the weeds.

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 space. 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 God, 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 assistant 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 grass 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 assure you I’m licensed. It’s been a decade or so since I took the classes 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 damn 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 pronounced herself done. “That is what they call a make
over
. 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.

“Hello?”

“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 fiberglass? 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” button 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.