by Lourey, Jess
“I mean I have to leave for work.” I tried standing and only swayed a bit. “What time is it?”
“Quarter to ten.”
Crap! The library was supposed to open in fifteen minutes. I didn’t have time to run home and shower, or even change. I wobbled to his bathroom and made do with scrubbing my face with Ivory soap and water, using my pointer finger with some toothpaste on it as a toothbrush, and slapping on a layer of Brad’s industrial deodorant. It would have to suffice.
I yanked on my shoes and snatched my jacket, cursing the nausea that threatened with each fast movement. I paused on the way out. Brad was sitting on the couch, earphones in his ears and a distant smile on his face as he bopped along to a silent beat. I motioned for him to remove an ear bud.
“Thanks,” I said.
“What for?” he asked, his voice far too loud.
“For being a friend.”
He waved and tucked the earbud back in his ear. I scurried out to my cold car and started it up, feeling somewhat refreshed by the frigid air. She turned over on the first try and was purring within seconds. I brushed a light snowfall off the windows with the wipers. It was one of those blinding days where the sun has no barrier between itself and new snow, turning the landscape into a shimmering diamond mine. I was not in the proper state to appreciate the visual splendor and slipped the car into first gear, leaving before it warmed up.
Thankfully, Brad’s apartment was on the other end of town and so I arrived only seven minutes after the library’s scheduled opening. My heart sank when I spotted Mrs. Berns waiting outside the door along with two patrons.
I turned off the car and jogged to the door, key already out. “Sorry,” I said, deliberately avoiding eye contact with Mrs. Berns. “Car trouble.”
“Sorry to hear it,” Mrs. Berns said, leaning into me. “Say, is that a new perfume you’re wearing? It smells like stupid and guilty.”
I swallowed hard and hurried into the library, flicking on the lights and turning up the heat on my way to the front computer. To my chagrin, Mrs. Berns followed so closely that she tripped me near the main desk. I caught my balance but not without knocking my elbow on the corner of a table.
“Ouch,” I said, rubbing it but still not looking at her.
“You look like a puppy that got caught peeing on the rug. Out with it.”
I pulled my eyes to hers. Her arms were crossed and she was tapping a foot. The determined look in her eyes told me there was no way through this but straight. My confession spilled out in one long, rushed sentence. “I surprised Johnny at practice last night but he was with another woman so he didn’t see me but I saw him and I was so angry that I bought a bottle of vodka and went to Bad Brad’s but nothing happened and I regret it so I don’t need to feel any worse.”
Getting it out felt a little bit better, right up until Mrs. Berns swatted me on the side of my head.
“Why in the world would you go to Brad?”
She’d hit me right on the goose egg I’d hatched trying to sneak into Brad’s cupboards. I rubbed at the double-sore spot.
“Johnny is cheating on me.”
“How do you know?”
“I told you. I saw him hugging another woman. And they were all whispery, like they knew each other naked.”
“I give a grand total of zero shits about that. You don’t know anything for a fact, and rather than find out the truth, you chose to spend the evening with a man who, if he were any more stupid, would need to be watered twice a week. Can you explain that?”
I felt tears pushing up. I was about to apologize when Mrs. Berns gathered me into her arms, just as I had done for her yesterday. She was four inches shorter than me, but somehow, she made me feel safe.
“Look,” she said while she was patting my head, “you have to make yourself vulnerable in love. There’s no other way to do it. Maybe Johnny stepped out, maybe he didn’t. Either way, you’re going to be okay. But you need to find out the truth, and you need to be able to stand by your choices, even the ones you make when you’re down.”
I nodded, my chin bobbing on her shoulder. “What will I do if Johnny doesn’t want to be with me?”
“You’ll feel like shit for a while, and then you’ll get better. But don’t borrow trouble. Focus on what you know, which is nothing.”
I sniffled. “You’re right.”
“Of course I am, dummy,” she said gently. “Now go blow your nose. My jacket is made out of polyester, not vinyl.”
She let me go, and I looked straight at her for the first time that morning. “Did you get your hair done?”
“Yup. Me and Vienna met at the hairstylist’s this AM and got perms. We’re going to shop later and maybe catch a movie. She’s the most fun I’ve had without liquor or a man for a long time.”
I quelled the now-familiar surge of jealousy. One problem at a time, thank you very much.
“Oh, don’t look at me like that. You’re fun, too. You’re just familiar. Vienna is new. Plus, she’s got kids and grandkids, so she understands what I’m going through. It’s exactly what I need to pull me out of my funk.” She glanced at the wall clock. “I better get going. I have some grocery shopping to do before this afternoon. I just stopped by to tell you I can cover lunch if you have anything you need to do.”
“Thank you.” My head was throbbing, and I still felt like a hung over, cheated-on lump, but at least I had Mrs. Berns. She left me to get my face in order and run the library. I had to rush the opening duties as much as my battered brain allowed. I was almost on track when Jed walked through the door. I didn’t recognize him at first because he had the fur-lined hood of his parka up. The gigantic jacket came nearly to his knees.
When he slipped off his hood, he was half wide smile, half curly crazy hair. “Mira Bo Beera! I’m returning your call.”
I tried to smile back, but it hurt to move my face. “What call?”
“You rang me up Sunday,” he said, pulling off his massive mittens on his way to the front desk. “You wanted to know about new drugs in the area.”
Mrs. Craigmile, a retired second-grade teacher and library regular, was twirling the mystery rack near the front of the library but paused mid-rotation to shoot him and then me a shocked look.
“For the article I’m writing,” I said in an exaggerated voice, staring directly at Mrs. Craigmile. She quickly withdrew her eyes, but I could tell by the way her head was cocked that she was still listening.
“Whatever,” Jed said, shrugging amiably. “Sorry I didn’t get back to you sooner. I’ve been doing a lot of work on the ice castle for O’ Callaghan’s.”
“They’re still opening it? I thought they were closing down all those lake attractions since the body was found.”
He reached for the box of tissues I had on the front counter and blew his nose before arcing the crumpled ball into a nearby garbage. “They shut it all down for the Winter Festival, sure, and had me dismantle the Darwin’s Dunk. No one wants any part of that. They’re still opening up the ice castle, though. Something to do with a new beer they’re unveiling.”
“Wasn’t the ice castle already good to go?”
“For outside viewing, yeah, but they want to expand on it and make it so people can go inside. I’m working with a crew. I don’t know what it’s going to look like when it’s done, but it’s going to be pretty cool. There are even ice sculptures around it now.”
I wondered how this was the first I’d heard of it. “I’m glad you’re finding work.” I lowered my voice. “Have you heard of any new drug activity around here?”
Jed leaned in with a stage whisper loud enough to be heard in the rear of the library. “I have.”
I waited. He waited.
“And?” I finally asked.
“They’re new to town, some sort of gang out of Chicago. Guess it was getting too hot for them the
re. I got high with a couple of them at a party on New Year’s. They started out nice, a little edgy. Cool tattoos, all of ’em. They didn’t want to stop at pot, though, and so I left. Haven’t seen much of them since, but I know they’re selling. OxyContin, mostly.”
That fit with what Gary had told me, back in the moment when he’d been high enough to like me. “Do they show any signs of leaving?”
He held up his palms. “No idea.”
“You know anything about Eric Offerdahl?”
“The Dahlster.” He nodded agreeably. “Yeah. He graduated about the same time I did. I heard he’s been back in town a month plus but is laying low at the brewery.”
“A month plus. Is that about how long the gang has been around?”
He put a finger to his chin. “About. Might be coincidence, though.”
“Maybe,” I said, pulling the Operation Offerdahl folder out from under the counter. My experience was that coincidences were rare. “I really appreciate your help.”
“Anything for you,” he said, the sweet smile back on his face. “How’s Johnny?”
I cracked the lead of my pencil on the notebook. “Good. You seen him lately?”
“Nope. Seems like he’s practicing all the time. The Thumbs are playing Friday. Are you going? We could catch it together.”
“Maybe,” I said, brushing the lead off the paper. “Can I get back to you on that?”
“Sure!” He grabbed his mittens off the counter. “Anything else you need to know?”
“I’m good for now.” My head hurt too much to nod. I wanted to eat a pie-sized ibuprofen.
“Then I better get back to work.” He shoved his hands in his mittens, pulled up his hood, and headed back into the cold morning.
Thirty
Chuck Litchfield’s office assistant rang me through immediately. Chuck picked up on the second ring.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Mr. Litchfield.” For some reason, his first name felt too uncomfortable. “It’s Mira James. I’m calling about the Eric Offerdahl investigation.” It wasn’t really an investigation. In fact, that’s exactly why I was calling. The hangover was riding me like a troll, and sure, that was my fault, but I found myself unwilling to give up Eric Offerdahl until I knew why Chuck Litchfield wanted to find him. Or, maybe I just wanted to pick a fight.
“Mira! Did you find my boy?”
I paused. Had this descended to the realm of soap operas? “Eric Offerdahl is your son?”
He laughed. “No. It was a figure of speech.”
Hmm. An odd one for anyone but Thurston Howell III. “I haven’t turned up anything yet,” I lied, “but I’m following some leads. I’d like more information before I proceed. Specifically, why do you want to locate Eric Offerdahl?”
“I’m sorry. My client has asked me not to reveal that, as I mentioned. You can locate him without that information, am I correct?”
This guy had a knack for rubbing me the wrong way. I ignored his question. “If you can’t tell me that, can you tell me why you believe he’s back in Battle Lake?”
“Rumors.”
I wasn’t in the mood. “You’ve got nothing?”
He laughed again, but it sounded tight. “Not anything that you couldn’t find out on your own. That’s why I hired you.”
I decided right then and there that I’d investigate Chuck Litchfield—and specifically why he was after Eric Offerdahl—before I told him that I’d likely located Eric. I didn’t have a solid reason for my evasiveness, just a sense that I didn’t want to show my hand yet, even if Litchfield was paying for the cards. I thanked him for his time and promised him a full report within seventy-two hours. I hung up the phone and sketched a couple angry faces in my notebook. Nobody likes being in the dark, but I had a special intolerance to secrets, always had. Maybe it was due to growing up in a house that held a lot of them. In any case, I craved answers like a fish desired water.
I glanced at the clock. Noon. If Mrs. Berns showed up over my lunch hour as promised, I could jog to the police station and find out if there was any new information on the local gang activity, Gary’s shooting, or Maurice’s murder. Noon became twelve thirty, though, which quickly turned into one o’clock. When my stomach’s growl drew annoyed glances from patrons, I headed to the break room and rummaged through the miniature refrigerator. I found a tub of roasted red pepper hummus that was good for another two days, and in the cupboard, a bag of only slightly stale spelt pretzels. I carried them to the counter and snacked while emailing overdue book notices. An automated system would be nice, but so would a lot of things that cost money.
It was two o’clock before Mrs. Berns finally sashayed in, looking relaxed and smelling like sweet smoke and delicious food.
“Where have you been?” I asked.
She held up her white bag. “I got takeout from the Turtle Stew so I could eat while I watched the place for you, just like I said.”
“It’s two oh five!”
She dropped the bag on the counter so her hands were free to slip out of her winter jacket. “Take it or leave it.”
“You smell like pot again,” I said suspiciously.
“Vienna showed up early to take me to a meditation class. Very relaxing. We listened to a Deepak Oprah tape and quieted our minds.”
“Chopra?”
She glanced at my tub of hummus and shrugged. “Sure, I’ll try anything once.”
“No, his name is … forget it.” I lifted the lid and slid it over to her along with what was left of the pretzels.
“Is there any meat in this?” she said, sniffing the hummus.
“Why do you care?”
“I’m a vegetarian now. Vienna said avoiding animal flesh is an important component of being healthy and whole.”
I raised my eyebrows but didn’t comment, even though it was killing me. Mrs. Berns was the most carnivorous person I’d ever met. She swore it’s what fed her sex drive. “The hummus is vegetarian.”
“Great.” She grabbed a pretzel, scooped a mound of hummus, and popped the whole works into her mouth. I watched her chew, a faint smile on her face. The smile turned into a grimace and she snatched the pretzel bag, spitting out the mouthful into it with all the subtlety of a hand grenade.
“What the hell was in that?” She scraped her tongue with her nails. “Who eats pumice anyways?”
“It’s hummus. Garbanzo beans and tahini.”
“Speak English,” she said, dipping into her own white bag and coming out with a wax paper–wrapped sandwich. “Good thing I brought my own food.”
I watched her unwrap it. “Is that a BLT?”
She took a big bite. “Mmm hmmm,” she said, wiping at the mayonnaise on the corners of her mouth.
“Isn’t there meat in that?”
She swallowed. “Nope, just lettuce, tomato, and bacon. Did I tell you that the meditation class was held at a cool new workout center near Vienna’s house? They have a pool, workout rooms, dorms. There’s even a grope room.”
I thought of the distinct marijuana smell that accompanied her after her visits with Vienna. “You mean ‘grow’ room?” I’d had a recent experience with those last November, when I’d uncovered a healthy pot industry in the area.
“If you say so.”
That would seem incongruent with a fitness center. “Did you actually see the room?”
“No, Vienna only mentioned it in passing while she was toking on a spliff. Said it’s hidden, and I better not tell anyone.”
Interesting, yes. Related to Eric Offerdahl? No idea. “How long can you stay?”
“I got an hour, then Vienna is coming back.”
“You don’t let her drive when she’s smoking, do you?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I do the driving.”
That would be less ridiculous if Mrs. Berns poss
essed a valid driver’s license, but that was a point I’d never been able to make with her. “All right. I’ll be back in an hour.”
I retrieved my coat from the rack and left the library, trying not to jostle my tender head and hoping that Gary Wohnt wouldn’t be at the police station when I arrived.
Thirty-One
And if luck were pennies, I couldn’t afford a gumball. Gary glanced up from his desk as I walked in before immediately returning his attention to an open file on his desk.
“You’re out of the hospital,” I said, surprisappointed.
It didn’t even garner me an eyebrow raise.
“Those crutches yours?” They were leaning against the edge of his metal desk. I reached out to touch one, but he snatched them away, stacking them against the wall behind him.
I took the seat across from him and watched him work, or at least pretend to work. It must be hard to concentrate with me staring at him. His face pointed down at his papers, I had front row seats to the top of his head. He wasn’t going to go bald anytime soon. I kept up the staring silence for all of four minutes before cracking. “I know about cabins in the area being robbed, and I think I know who’s doing it.”
He sighed but did not speak.
“I also know about Eric Offerdahl.”
This earned a glance. He lifted his head slowly and appraised me with his black eyes. “What do you know about Eric Offerdahl?”
Good question, one I didn’t yet have an answer to. “Stuff,” I said cleverly. “I also know Maurice was not a transient. He has family in Chicago. A girlfriend and two kids.”
“Interesting.” He leaned back. I could tell he did it too fast given his recent injury, because his face paled before he regained his composure. His leg must be killing him. I was sure he wasn’t supposed to be back at work this soon after the shooting.
“Yes,” I agreed. “Interesting. Now why don’t you tell me what you know?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Not how this works.”
I thought of the letter Ray had given me. “I might have more to tell you, if you trade information of your own.”
