November Hunt

by Jess Lourey

  Once my windows were defrosted, I drove a few short blocks to Jed’s new place. Battle Lake looked like a ghost town, with snow drifting across the road in place of tumbleweeds and not a sane person to be seen. The dusk-lit street lamps glowed oddly, the cold warping their light and giving it an underwater quality. It was eerie. I parked my car in front of the empty storefront Jed was now occupying and shot out. The subzero air smelled like steel, and the only sounds were the shriek of the wind and the repetitive echo of a loose binding whipping against the post office flagpole.

  I ran to the front door of the shop, not bothering to knock. Fortunately, it was unlocked. It was a relief to put a door between myself and the keening weather. I unwrapped my scarf and breathed in the warm air. I’d managed to let go of any lingering peevishness toward Jed from the day I’d gotten stuck in his driveway. The thing about him is that he is as sweet as he is absent-minded, and it’s impossible to stay mad at him for long. I hadn’t spoken to him since that day, so this would be a nice opportunity to clear the air.

  “Jed?” Immediately inside the door was a large, wood-floored room, empty except for a few tables off in a corner. Clanking and hammering emanated from the back room. When he didn’t answer,

  I pounded the snow off my boots and headed off the welcome mat and toward the rear of the building. There I entered a room that looked like it had been an industrial kitchen at one time, but was now dominated by an enormous black, shed-shaped furnace. My first thought was that the witch in Hansel and Gretel would have loved it. My second thought was that I bet it’d keep a house mighty toasty. Jed was pounding on the back of the massive furnace, and another body was stuck inside, his legs sticking out like Santa’s from a chimney.

  “Mira!” Jed looked up from his work, grinning dopily. He was seven or so years younger than me, with the bearing and demeanor of a black Lab puppy, all skinny and full of barely suppressed wiggles. He was wearing a sleeveless t-shirt and long nylon shorts. His curly dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail, the loose strands held off his face by a patterned handkerchief. “You made it!” He loped over to hug me as if we hadn’t seen each other in years instead of weeks.

  I couldn’t resist smiling back. “Hey, Jed. Who’re you cooking?” I pointed at the man in the oven.

  “Ha! That’s Monty. Monty, come on out and meet Mira.” He turned back to the furnace and tugged on the legs.

  The man inside grunted and then crawled backward like a crab out of its shell. When he emerged, I recognized him immediately.

  “My savior!”

  “Hunh?” Jed said.

  I held my hand out to Monty. He was sweaty but his clothes appeared clean. I’d expected whoever was in there to be covered in soot, so the furnace must be brand new. I noticed for the first time that he was a small man, lithe and only slightly taller than my 5'6". “This is the guy who picked me off the side of the road when I got stuck in your driveway. Thank you again.”

  “Well, it is a small world,” he said, adjusting the same rainbow pompom cap he’d been wearing the other day. I saw close-cropped hair, brown shot with gray, before he yanked it back tight to his ears. “You must be Jed’s friend Mira, then. Your car running okay?”

  “Except for the heater.”

  “Probably your thermostat,” they both said in unison.

  I rolled my eyes and changed the subject. “What’re you two up to?” I indicated the furnace and the exotic-looking equipment on two large tables in the middle of the room. Jed had a reputation for undertaking creative and financially irresponsible projects, like the canoe fleet he’d tried to carve from whole logs before giving up and constructing a Huckleberry Finn raft. He was a gifted handyman despite his goofiness. In fact, I’d heard he was a genius with machines, though a village idiot with money. I was pretty sure Mrs. Berns had offered that evaluation.

  “Glassblowing!”

  I walked around the stove. “Really?” I liked blown glass almost as much as I liked Christmas lights. “Here in Battle Lake?”

  “Yup,” Jed said. “Monty is the expert. I’m renting the space, and the equipment is his. He’s going to teach me!”

  “Wow.” I glanced over at Monty, who was smiling proudly. “Where’d you learn to blow glass?”

  “All over the world, but mostly Turkey.”

  I stopped to study him. “How’d you end up in Battle Lake all the way from Turkey?”

  “Back in Battle Lake,” he corrected me. “I’m from here originally. Left a long time ago. Guess you can’t shake the home dirt off your feet for good, though, ’cuz here I am.” He scratched his head underneath the hat, making the pompom shake. “Came back for my father’s funeral a few months back and never left. I figure I finally know what I want to do. If you’ll excuse me.” He crawled back into the maw of the furnace, leaving me with a beaming Jed.

  “This is the surprise you called about?”

  “Yup. Monty is a master. He’s teaching me everything he knows. We just got the furnace a couple days ago, and the rest of the supplies should be here before the end of the week. Battle Lake glass is going to be famous! Pretty cool, hunh?”

  “Pretty cool,” I agreed. “But this is going to take a while to get off the ground. You still working odd jobs?”

  He reached for a rag and wiped his fingers. “I s’pose I’ll have to. I had a winter job lined up at Battle Sacks. Was going to be their line mechanic, but I lost it before I started. Got a call a few days ago saying it was no longer available.”

  My heartbeat ratcheted up at the mention of Battle Sacks. “You heard Tom died, right?”

  “Yeah, the hunting accident. My parents are going to be so bummed. Tom was a stand-up guy.”

  “Did you get hired before or after he died?”

  “Right before. And unhired right after. Nobody could tell me exactly why.”

  “I’m sorry.” In my head, I was scrambling to see if the weirdness of that fit with Tom’s death. Deep down, I didn’t believe that Tom had been murdered, but I’d taken money from Hallie to look into it. I didn’t want to admit that the cash had been a main motivator, but I knew I would not have taken the case otherwise. On the drive to the airport. I’d come straight out and asked Mrs. Berns if she’d really thought Tom had been murdered.

  “It’s hard to say. Hallie was right that Clive knows his way around a gun, but he also drank like a horse. The best hunter can make a mistake when he’s got whiskey finger. Then again, it’s hard enough to hit an animal when you’re aiming at it, let alone a man by accident. I can’t quite swallow that ‘a hunting accident’ is the whole story here. Even if I’m wrong, if you take the case, you’ll give Hallie the time and attention she needs to ease her into the idea of her dad being asleep with Jesus.”

  “So you don’t think this is a snipe hunt?”

  “I think there’s only one way to find out.”

  He was right, unfortunately. Odds were better than good that Tom’s death was accidental, but I’d been hired by Hallie to investigate, and I had to take her concerns seriously. And as luck would have it, here was Jed helping me out. “Say, if a person wanted to get a job at Battle Sacks, how would they go about it?”

  “Maybe the newspaper?”

  “Is that what you did?”

  “No,” he said, sounding surprised. “I was just in the Fortune one day, fixing the espresso maker for Nancy. The HR lady from Battle Sacks was there eating lunch. She mentioned they’d need a new line mechanic soon and I should apply. It would have been the perfect job.”

  “I’m sorry,” I repeated.

  “No biggie. One door opens and another door closes.”

  I was going to correct him but thought better of it. Now that I had serendipitously gotten an entrance into investigating the Tom Kicker case, I was itching to leave. “I should probably get home and feed Luna and Tiger Pop. They’ve been alone all day.”

  Jed reached over to an ashtray and lit up a sweet-smelling hand-rolled cigarette. “You want any of this firs
t?”

  I shook my head. I’d never seen the appeal in smoking something that made me hungrier and more paranoid than I was by nature. “No thanks.” I looked around the remodeled work area. “This looks like a really good deal, Jed. I’m excited for you.”

  He nodded like a Muppet, his mouth full of smoke, and walked over to the furnace. He reached inside to pass the joint to Monty, who seemed fully prepared to accept it. I believed I was witnessing how these two had met. Pot smokers in a small town always seem to find one another. “Yah, it’s an awesome deal. I’ll make you something as soon as we’re up and running.” His voice was deep with the sound of trapped smoke. “What would you like?”

  “Thanks, but I don’t need anything.”

  “No, I want to.”

  I shrugged. “How about a small ornament? It is the holiday season.”

  Jed agreed.

  Looking back, I should have asked for a four-leaf clover. Or a life insurance policy.

  Seven

  Luna and Tiger Pop were thrilled to see me when I arrived home. At least Luna was. Tiger Pop was lounging in front of the kitchen vent, preoccupied with putting the “fur” in “furnace” filter. I indulged both creatures in deep tissue ear and neck massages, then rinsed out and refilled their water bowls, piled kibble into their food dishes, and sieved Tiger Pop’s litter box in search of treasure. Luna I let out just long enough to p and p, holding the door open so she could lope back in before her happy tongue froze.

  After my roommates were tended to, I checked my blinking answering machine. Two messages, the first from Ron Sims.

  Mira, your recipe column’s overdue. Get me holiday food. By tomorrow.

  Curse words! I’d never found anything weird enough to make it worth my time and had missed my deadline. Again. I couldn’t believe I was still allowed to write that column. I made a mental note to uncover a recipe first thing tomorrow, even if I had to create it from scratch. I deleted the message, which cued the next one.

  Mira, it’s Johnny.

  Nerve cells all over my body popped up to listen. His deep, throaty voice brought on spontaneous blushing. We’d gotten hot and heavy the week before, and since then, I couldn’t hear his rumble without remembering the feel of his strong hands on the small of my back, pulling me in slow and deliberate for a kiss, his tongue parting my lips, his hips pushing hard into mine. After he’d melted my defenses, he moved from my bruised, open mouth and searched out my ear, gliding his tongue along its edge before kissing the curve of my neck, gently and then with more urgency, until he was pushing me against the wall with the force of his passion. Phew. I shook my head.

  I’m calling to make sure we’re still getting together this weekend, and to let you know I’m thinking of you. Nothing serious, I know the rules. He chuckled ruefully. I’m looking forward to Sunday. Let me know if anything has changed.

  Not for the first time, I wondered how I was going to confine the both of us to third base for six months. It was just monthly luck that I’d kept my pants on last week. I tried to call on past experience. How had I hung onto my chasteness throughout high school? Ah, now I remembered: bad hair, cluelessness, and dry-humping. Since I’d sworn off claw bangs and discovered how fun sex could be nearly a decade ago, however, I’d need to improvise some other stopgap measure. I’d heard something about the virginity retention movement on 60 Minutes. Maybe I could learn something about self-control from today’s kids. I scratched “research purity pledges” on my kitchen notepad.

  But man, it wasn’t gonna be easy. For a flash, I allowed myself to envision a future with Johnny. We’d enjoy lazy Sunday mornings, him wearing nothing but cotton pajama pants hanging off of his slim, sculpted hips. He’d kick back at the kitchen table and sing silly love songs, an acoustic guitar in his lap. I’d be making us pancakes, flavoring them with love and happiness. We’d never get around to eating them, though, because he’d end up chasing me around the kitchen with the spatula, into the bedroom, and the pancakes would burn every time. He couldn’t help himself, he’d say. He’d do anything to see me smile.

  I caught Tiger Pop staring at me with disgust, so I wiped the moony expression off my face. It was a waste of time, anyhow. That future with Johnny was meant for some beautiful young blonde, free of neurotic baggage, who glowed like sunshine in the morning and always said the right thing, and whose breasts did not disappear when she laid on her back. That was who Johnny deserved, not messed-up me. The best I could do would be to string out this high school-ish honeymoon phase for a few months with my crazy rules. Then, with regret, I’d have to let Johnny go before he left me.

  I finished my nighttime routine and climbed into bed with that cold thought for comfort.

  ———

  “Central Minnesota continues to set records with its chilling temperatures. The high in Fergus Falls is not expected to top ten below zero today, making this the sixth day in a row of record lows. Combine that with 40 mph winds and it becomes hazardous to leave your home. If you live in these regions, the Minnesota Department of Transportation is advising you don’t go out unless necessary.”

  I flicked off the morning news. When you can only tune in three channels, you expect better. I immediately regretted the silence, which emphasized the icy wind’s raw howl. The scream of winter sliced across the thin walls of the double-wide, rattling the windows and shrieking, hunting for warm flesh to consume. I wasn’t going down without a fight, however. Underneath my jeans and t-shirt, I was wearing tights and a thermal shirt. I yanked on monkey socks over that, then snowpants, mittens and a hat, my jacket next, and a scarf last. The order was important to seal any potential leaks.

  I coaxed Luna to dash outside with me to start the car and fire up the fish house heater, though her eyes were pleading for me to teach her how to use the litter box.

  “Ready?” Before either of us could change our minds, I darted out into the still-dark morning. As prepared as I was, the arctic force of the wind hit me like a snow shovel to the face. For a moment, I considered not opening the library. If that had been my only responsibility, I could have justified it, but I didn’t have an Internet connection at home. I’d need to go to work anyhow to research and write the overdue recipe article. Besides, I wanted to stop by the Fortune today to see if I’d cross paths with the Battle Sacks HR lady, like Jed had. Some of my best information had been born of being in the right place at the right time.

  Powering on toward the carport, Luna at my side, I pretended I was Pa Ingalls, braving the rabid jaws of winter to procure food and water for his family. “Dang!” I said, as the wind slipped through the weave of my scarf and kissed my lips with violent force. I half-expected my car not to start, but I had plugged it in overnight, and it was a Toyota. It took on the second pull. I cracked all the windows, set the fish house heater to low, stepped out to unplug the radiator block, and dashed back into the house. After rewarming myself and situating Luna and Tiger Pop for the day, I took off.

  My driveway had drifted over in spots, but I maintained enough speed to break through the knee-high barriers. The portable propane heater kept the windshield clear and the inside comfortable, even with the windows rolled a quarter of the way down. I passed a few pickups on my way to town, but Battle Lake was otherwise desolate for a Friday morning. Once inside the library, I flicked on the lights, checked the returned books bin, and fired up the computers. It was going to be a slow day, so I got right down to finding the recipe I should have uncovered the previous day.

  I am a fan of appetizers because you can eat a lot without looking like a pig, so I Googled “bizarre holiday finger food.” This pulled up hits of actual finger/paw recipes, from jellied chicken claws to fried skunk paws, along with a killer pigs-in-a-blanket recipe that made the dough look like actual digits and the hot dog peeking out like a fingernail. Unfortunately, it was all too Halloween-y. I shifted gears and combined “Christmas” with “freshwater fish” and “appetizers,” because nothing went over like a yuletide walley
e recipe in the land of 10,000 lakes. The “freshwater” in the search didn’t hold up, though, and I was inundated with salmon, shrimp, and oyster recipes.

  Scanning the photos that appeared, I was drawn to a colorful shot of tiny slices of sushi decorated to resemble old-fashioned Christmas hard candy. A quick click on the recipe revealed it would be far too complicated to make and the ingredients impossible to obtain in the great Northwoods, but an idiot link on the bottom of the screen promised an easier version. I clicked on it and voila! My monitor was suddenly alight with a full-page shot of Twinkie sushi, like a gift from the trailer park adjacent to the North Pole.

  I began furiously retyping the recipe, changing key points to adorn it with my own personal flair as well as to avoid copyright infringement.

  Twinkly Twinkie Sushi

  12 servings

  • 12 Twinkies

  • Two boxes green fruit roll-ups

  • 1 5-lb. bag of Gummi Aquarium (assorted Swedish fish will do in a pinch)

  Wrap each Twinkie in a fruit roll-up. Refrigerate in an airtight container for at least one hour. Remove fruit-rolled Twinkies from refrigerator and cut into 1-inch sections. Lay sections on their sides, not touching, on a serving platter. Insert one Gummi Aquarium creature into the white center of each flat Twinkie section. Make sure that the top of creature is flush with the top of the Twinkie so it resembles a roll of sushi cut into sections. Refrigerate at least one more hour. Serve with Zima martinis.*

  *Recipe to come.

  Talk about food representative of the Midwest. I zipped the recipe off to Ron and returned to my library duties, reshelving the returned books, organizing library bills to send to the city office, and completing various other tasks until lunch time.