At least we could convince them to file a complaint against Elbers for assault with a deadly weapon, she said.
But, I said, given the reason they were soliciting money from Nina in the first place, it was highly unlikely they would press charges. Besides—and I was looking at Nina when I said it—there’s a question of who shot at whom.
“We’ll hold them for possession and sale of stolen property,” Shipman said.
“About that…”
I told her that the necklace wasn’t actually stolen. I had the receipt and the credit card statement, and the jewelry store more likely than not had video footage of me making the purchase.
Shipman demanded an explanation.
I gave her one, although I omitted both Herzog’s involvement and the staged drive-by shooting.
She asked what the hell I had hoped to accomplish by pretending to sell stolen merchandise to a couple of thieves.
Use Mitch and Craig to find El, I replied.
“Congratulations,” Shipman said. “Your plan worked. You must be very proud.”
Around and around we went. The money, pearls, and SIG Sauer were eventually returned to me and the responding officers were dismissed. I gave the money and pearls to Nina. She stuffed them into her bag and moved to the edge of the pavilion. She set the bag at her feet and rested both hands on the railing. Bobby joined her there. He whispered something. Nina hooked an arm around his and rested her head against his shoulder. Together, they both gazed out at Lake Como. Shipman and I decided to give it a rest and drifted to the railing as well, standing on either side of the couple. Nina took my hand and squeezed hard.
“Ever since you entered my life, I’ve been having the most fun,” she said. “Before that I was just a lowly, boring nightclub owner.”
“Lowly?” Shipman said.
“Boring?” Bobby said.
“No more,” I said. “I’m done putting you at risk so I can play cops and robbers.”
“Amen,” Shipman said.
Nina released Bobby and wrapped both of her arms around mine. She kissed my cheek the same way she had kissed his earlier—like it was the punch line to a joke.
“Sure,” she said.
“I mean it.”
“He had better mean it,” Bobby said. “Next time I’ll arrest him.”
“For what?” Nina asked.
“Contributing to the delinquency of a minor.”
Nina thought that was hilarious. Bobby was serious, though. So was I. Nina didn’t believe it. She quoted Sally Field’s second Oscar speech.
“You like me, you really like me.”
No one seemed to know what to say to that, so we all remained quiet for a few beats. It was Shipman who broke the silence.
“Got any more bright ideas, McKenzie?” she asked.
“One or two.”
“Any of them legal?”
Bobby asked, “What are you going to do, McKenzie?”
“I’m going back to Deer River.”
“When?”
“Tonight.”
Neither Shipman nor Bobby asked why I was going or what I hoped to accomplish when I arrived there. I don’t think they wanted to know.
Bobby patted my shoulder and said, “Call me when you return.” He took a few steps away, then turned and came back. He hugged Nina hard.
“Dammit,” he said.
“Best to Shelby and the girls,” she told him.
“They’re going to be so mad at you.”
“Blame McKenzie.”
“I will. I do.”
A few minutes later he disappeared. So did everyone else. Nina and I stood alone at the railing.
“I know you’re embarrassed,” Nina said, “about crying the way you did when you thought I was shot and then found out I wasn’t. I need to tell you, though—that was the best gift you’ve ever given me. And you’ve given me a sixty-thousand-dollar piano.”
“You’re welcome.” What else was I going to say?
“It would bother me, though, it really would, if I couldn’t help out on your cases anymore.”
“We’ll talk about it later.”
Nina kissed my cheek and said, “Sure.”
“I wish you’d stop doing that.”
“Do you have something else in mind?”
I did, yet it had nothing to do with sex—the second time I surprised Nina that day.
“You really are discombobulated, aren’t you?” she asked me.
“No, but you soon will be. That’s why I’m going to take you home. Right now you’re high on adrenaline, except it’s going to wear off. You’re going to crash and burn—maybe get the shakes, dizziness, nausea, exhaustion. I’m going to take you home and wrap you in a blanket, set you in front of a fire, and force-feed you hot chocolate until you relax and fall into a long and untroubled sleep.”
“McKenzie, this isn’t the first close call I’ve had since we’ve been together.”
“It’s going to be the last.”
“I thought we were going to talk about it.”
My burn phone started playing its ridiculous song, interrupting the conversation.
“This is Dyson,” I said. “What the hell do you want?”
“I just wanted … this is Mitch. I wanted to find out what happened. Should we be afraid?”
“The girl was unhurt, if that’s what you mean.”
“How is that possible? I saw her shot.”
“Just dumb luck, man. The bullet grazed her. I got her out of there before the cops came, which is what you should have done.”
Nina moved in front of me and pointed the fingers of both hands like they were guns.
“Phhew, phhew,” she chanted.
I turned my head.
“We were under fire,” Mitch said. “The girl—you saw the girl.”
“I saw her.”
“Why didn’t you kill her?”
“Gee, I don’t know. Maybe it was the thirty or forty people standing around going duh…”
“There weren’t that many.”
“Besides, I haven’t been paid yet.”
“We were going to pay you, except—now we’re a little short. The woman, Nina, she owes us four thousand dollars.”
“Stay the hell away from the woman.”
Nina stuck her tongue out, and I turned away from her again.
“But our money…” Mitch said.
“Forget the damn money. Listen to me. Right now the woman’s high on adrenaline with an interesting story to whisper to her friends when there’s no one else around to hear. If you start leaning on her, there’s a chance she’ll freak and go to the cops. Here’re the pearls, here’s the money; here’re the guys that tried to shoot me.”
“But we didn’t.”
“What’s the name of that cop, the female detective you told me about? Shipman? Think she’ll buy that?”
“I get it…”
“Whaddya think she’s going to do?”
“I said I get it.”
“Leave the woman alone.”
“Fine, fine, fine. What are we supposed to do now? The Boss wants the job done.”
“Who knew you were going to be in Como Park?”
“What? No one.”
“El knew.”
“She must have followed us like she did the other night.”
I came thisclose to explaining that I was responsible for Wednesday’s drive-by shooting.
“Think about it,” I said. “You must have told somebody.”
“Just the Boss,” Mitch said. “And Kispert. We sent them e-mails saying we were meeting with you and Mr. Herzog. Where is Mr…?”
“E-mails? You sent e-mails?”
“Yes.”
The silence that followed while I attempted to reason it out must have spooked Mitch.
“Do you think Kispert arranged it?” he asked. “Or the Boss? Why would they do that?”
“Let me think about it.”
“Dyson, what are we going to d
o?”
“I don’t want you to do anything. Leave it to me.”
“What are you going to do?”
Nina placed her thumbs on her temples, wiggled her fingers, and crossed her eyes, forcing me to turn away again. It’s because she distracted me that I blame her for the catastrophic mistake I made, although I wouldn’t realize it until much later—I answered Mitch’s question.
I said, “I’m going up to Deer River to see if I can get an idea where the girl is hiding from her friends.”
“Thank you, thank you. We’ll get you the money as soon as we can.”
“In the meantime, you and your partner might want to reconsider your choice of occupations, because I don’t think this one suits you.”
“You’re a funny guy, Dyson.”
“Don’t call me. I’ll call you.”
I slipped the phone into my pocket. Nina was smiling brightly while grooving to a melody in her head as if she were about to break into dance.
“Remember the cartoon Underdog?” she asked. “I loved that show. Speed of lightning, roar of thunder, fighting all who rob or plunder…”
I took her home and did exactly what I said I would do despite her entreaties, which, let’s face it, were difficult to resist. It took a while before she fell asleep.
As a result of all this, I was a few hours later getting out of town than I had planned. Then there was the blizzard to contend with. It should have been a three-hour trip to Deer River, yet I spent nearly two and a half just driving to Lake Mille Lacs, about halfway. Fortunately, I was able to put the snowstorm behind me as I rounded the lake. After that, it was smooth sailing—if you didn’t mind sailing in subfreezing temperatures. Spring might have been flirting with the Cities, but it was still giving the northland the cold shoulder.
* * *
It was nearly 10:00 P.M. when I pulled into the plowed parking lot of a motel near Blueberry Hills Golf Course just north of Deer River. The man who operated the motel was getting ready to leave his office just as I entered.
“He’p yeah?” he asked.
I think he thought I was going to ask for directions, because he was openly surprised when I requested a room for the night.
“Well, now, son, we don’t get many visitors this time a’ year,” he said. “Fact is, we’re as empty as a politician’s promise, so you got your pick.”
The motel consisted of a dozen cabins with two rooms per cabin; the cabins were spaced about twenty yards apart.
“Farthest from the road,” I said.
“Not a problem.”
He rounded his desk, produced a registration form for me to fill out, and swiped my credit card.
“During the summer and hunting season, we’re always full up,” the manager said. “Fact is, if you don’t already have a reservation, you ain’t stayin’ here. The winter we get some snowmobilers, some cross-country skiers, not many, though, especially this winter. What brings you to DR? Not lost, are ya?”
“I’m going to meet a few friends tomorrow to do some snowmobiling before the snow melts.”
“Hell’s bells, son, snow ain’t never gonna melt.”
“It sure seems that way.”
“Lucky you came in when you did. I was just about to call it a night myself. As it is, you need something, ice, microwave popcorn, whatever, now’s the time to get it. I was just going off to my own place up the road. You’re gonna be all alone down here. Hope that’s not a problem. There’s a number you can call if there’s an emergency.”
“If you’re not going to be here—the cabins, you say there are two rooms per. Are they adjoining?”
“Yep.”
“Why don’t you rent me both rooms, then, in case my friends come up early? You’re not going to be here at the crack of dawn, are you?”
“Not if I can avoid it.”
The manager installed me in cabin 9, and gave me two sets of keys for 9A and 9B, plus keys that opened the adjoining doors.
“Anything else?” he asked.
“That should do it,” I told him.
He stayed in his office while I parked the Cherokee in front of 9A; mine was the only vehicle in the lot besides his. There were two doors—a metal-and-glass storm door that opened outside and a thick wooden door that opened inside. I pulled the storm door open, unlocked the inside door, stepped inside, shut the doors behind me, turned on the lights, and closed the drapes. It was warm inside the cabin. I checked the thermostat—sixty-eight degrees. ’Course, I was dressed for a Minnesota winter, including boots that would have kept my feet warm in the Arctic Circle. I unzipped my coat, though I didn’t remove it. I made sure the adjoining door was unlocked so that I could move easily from A to B, although I purposely left the lights off in room B.
I waited until the manager departed about ten minutes later, leaving me completely alone. There was a card next to the phone that listed the motel’s number and explained how to make local calls. I shoved it into my pocket, checked the SIG Sauer, returned it to the holster on my right hip, rezipped my coat, and left the cabin.
* * *
O’Malley’s was only a five-minute drive from the motel, yet I managed to stretch it to ten while I figured out how I was going to do this. My cell phone started singing. I read the caller ID before answering.
“Hey, sweetie,” I said.
“Where are you?” Nina asked.
“I just pulled into Deer River.”
“I hate it when I wake up and you’re gone and I don’t know where.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Exhausted. I feel more tired now than when I went to sleep. You were right about going through adrenaline withdrawal.”
“It happens sometimes. Not always.”
“I woke up with a song in my head that I can’t get rid of. A song Madeleine Peyroux sang when she was last in town about her Daddy teaching her ’bout how warm whiskey is in a cold ditch and one more thing about good and evil: you can’t tell which is which.”
“The woman knows how to turn a phrase.”
“It’s a far cry from Underdog, I know. I think it’s my subconscious telling me to tell you to come home. Turn your car around and come home. To heck with Fifteen. I brought her into my home and dressed her in my daughter’s clothes. I let her play my piano. What does she do? She shoots me.”
“I thought you said it was an accident.”
“Accident my Great Aunt Matilda Mountbatten. She almost killed me, whether she intended to or not. As it is, she ruined a perfectly good virgin wool overcoat. I loved that coat. I spent twelve hundred dollars on it two years ago. It was a special treat from me to me because I had finally paid off all the notes on my club.”
“I remember.”
“So, McKenzie, I’m saying forget her. I mean, I still don’t want anything awful to happen to Fifteen, but this has nothing to do with us, you and me. Let Bobby and Shipman deal with it.”
“I can’t do that.”
I heard her yawn over the cell.
“I bet you could if you put your mind to it,” she said.
“I’m here.”
“What do you mean?”
“O’Malley’s. I can see the lights just down the road.”
“Even if you weren’t…” I heard her yawn again. “Never mind. I just thought I’d give it a try. I’m going back to bed now, and I’m not going to leave it until you return.”
I liked the sound of that so much I nearly did turn the car around.
* * *
I was fortunate to find an empty space in O’Malley’s crammed parking lot. When I opened the front door, people nearly tumbled out of the building like they did in that Marx Brothers movie, so many of them were waiting for a table in the restaurant area or a place at the bar. I squeezed inside, to the annoyance of the customers who were already crowded there, and looked around. To my great surprise, I saw an empty seat at the end of the bar directly beneath the mounted head of the twelve-point buck. I figured that its owner had retired
to the restroom, yet when no one claimed it after a while I realized the stool was unoccupied. It made me wonder if O’Malley’s patrons were superstitious, if they believed sitting in the shadow of the dead deer somehow brought them bad luck. Certainly my life had been less than sunshine, lollipops, and rainbows since I last sat there—I quoted the Lesley Gore song because that’s what was playing on the jukebox when I settled onto the stool.
There were two bartenders working the rail, an older woman and Cyndy M. It was Cyndy who turned to greet me and take my order. Her smile disappeared and her vibrant eyes became gray and cloudy at the sight of my face. I pointed at nothing in particular.
“Believe it or not, Marvin Hamlisch wrote this song when he was first starting out,” I said.
“I don’t know who that is,” Cyndy said.
“Quincy Jones was the producer. Please tell me you know who he is.”
She shook her head, and I thought, McKenzie, you are so old.
Cyndy excused herself to serve a couple of customers as far away from me as she could get and still be standing behind the bar. I turned in the stool and surveyed the room. My friends from the Northern Lights Inn—I knew them as tall and small—were sitting at their usual table near the jukebox. Neither of them seemed happy to be there. The taller of the two raised his glass in mock salute while the smaller pointed at the jukebox. I followed his finger until I found Tim Foley leaning against the machine. He was staring straight at me, a kind of panicked expression on his face, while speaking on his cell phone.
Cyndy must have decided that I wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon no matter how much she ignored me, because a few moments later, she filled a twelve-ounce mug with Grain Belt Beer and set it in front of me.
“Would you like to see a menu?” she asked.
It occurred to me that I hadn’t eaten since lunch with Bobby.
“What’s the daily special?” I asked.
Cyndy sighed the way people do when they want you to know they’re pissed off.
“Walleye deep fried in beer batter, fries, and coleslaw,” she said.
“I’ll have that.”
She stared at me for a few beats, turned, and placed my order. She did not speak to me or even glance in my direction until my food was up. She set the plate in front of me.
“Tartar sauce?” she asked. “Ketchup?”
Unidentified Woman #15 Page 23
