Knee High by the 4th of July (15 page)

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?”