"Huhn?" Her car had pa.s.sed mine about two sentences back. "How could they all three be made from the same mold? Big Ole is at least five feet taller than Chief Wenonga."

"It's all in the legs, sweetie. See for yourself."

She led me back to Big Ole and showed me where extra length had been added to his calves and thighs. I had always thought it was the skirt that made his legs look unnaturally long, but it had been part of the design. I remembered Brando telling me in the coffee shop that oftentimes in his business one mold was reused, with minor design changes to differentiate one statue from another. And that explained the strange familiarity I had felt when looking at pictures of the Big Ole and Mahatma Gandhi statues. They were Wenonga's brothers, man. "So why did you steal Big Ole? Why not just get some engineer to check him out?"

"That was the original plan, to get an engineering professor from UWaStevens Point to examine Chief Wenonga. Then he was stolen. I had a hunch it was Brando, and if I let him get Big Ole, there would go any chance of me connecting him to the crime in India. So, I quickly rearranged my plans and paid Mr. Militia here to borrow Big Ole for me until the professor could come and check him out. He's supposed to meet me here today."

I felt dizzy and realized I still had my hand on Big Ole's thigh. So much information to digest. I went back to the beginning. "You said you think Brando stole Chief Wenonga."

"I know he did. I just don't know how to prove it. My best guess is that this Liam Anderson was helping him, but that he has no traceable connections to Brando, and was the only witness to Brando's plan. That man is devious."

I agreed. I was falling for her story, lock, stock, and barrel, when a realization slapped me across the face like an angry girl. "You slept with Brando. I saw him leaving your motel room the night before last. Les saw it too."

Dolly's cheeks reddened. "I was desperate for information. I figured it'd be easier to sleep with him and find out what he knew than steal Big Ole out of Alexandria. I ended up having to do both."

There, but for the grace of G.o.d, go I. I could hardly judge the woman, given the loin-rubbing I had done with Brando last night. Speaking of ... I couldn't help myself. "Was he good?"

Dolly nodded ruefully, her green eyes bright with memory. "I'm sorry to say he was fantastic. A truly delicious lover."

f.u.c.kin' A.

"But watch out. He seems stupid and pretty, but he's dangerous. Vindictive, and smart as a snake. Good luck connecting him to any of this. That's why I had to steal Big Ole. I don't know how you're going to get Johnny out of jail."

"Dolly?"

"Yeah?"

"Did you sleep with Johnny, too?"

At this, she laughed. "I wish. No, all he wanted to do was talk about Stevens Point and my teaching. At first, I was flattered, but then it got kind of boring."

"So why did you go to his cabin?"

"How'd you know I was out at his cabin?" Dolly eyed Les suspiciously, maybe wondering if he was working both sides.

"I saw you leaving," I lied.

"Sat.u.r.day night, after the fireworks? Yeah, I thought I would give it one last shot. Figured I'd try the old, *sneak into his bed' trick. When I got there, though, the door looked broken in and Johnny's car was gone. I left."

That old "sneak into his bed" trick. I could scarcely talk to a man I had a crush on, let alone sneak into his bed. You'd think a quality like that would have bred itself out over a generation or two, but here I was. "Sat.u.r.day night was the only night you were there?"

"Yes. I haven't seen Johnny since."

That squared with what I knew. Johnny said he had left town after the fireworks, and there would have been no reason for him to go back to his cabin before he did. "What if I just go to the police and tell them what you told me about the statue?"

"I intend to go myself, as soon as my colleague comes to examine Big Ole. I'll nail Brando for India, that I'm sure of. As far as connecting him to Wenonga and dead Mr. Anderson, I'm afraid that will only ever be speculation, unless you get some divine inspiration. Brando is thorough, he's smart, and he doesn't leave a trail."

That wasn't good enough. I needed to get Johnny out of jail, the sooner the better. "When's your engineering professor coming?"

"Within the hour. He's got a Jeep, so he should be able to drive instead of walk. You're welcome to stay and see what he finds."

"No, I need to find some way to tie all this to Brando. Let me know when he gets busted for the Gandhi statue, though, won't you? I'd love to be there."

Dolly winked at me. "It's a date."

I trudged back the way I came, smarter but no happier. Even the rainbow that I glimpsed through the tops of the glistening pine trees did nothing to lift my spirits. When I made it back to my car, I was hot, wet, and dotted with mosquito bites. I motored back to Battle Lake, so lost in my internal dark cloud that I didn't notice I was on a strange gravel road. I decided to keep going forward-all gravel in Minnesota leads to blacktop eventually-and that's how I happened upon the enormous Virgin Mary on the side of the road.

It was another statue, twenty or so feet tall, and it had a sign in front that read "Our Lady of the Hills." I parked my car at the side of the road and got out, half-perturbed (how many frickin' gigantic statues does one county need?) and half-enraptured. The statue was beautiful. Her face was peaceful, and her straight brown hair and long blue robes blended nicely with the green pines she was tucked among. I walked closer and reached a locked box for offerings. This I pa.s.sed and continued to her feet.

The statue was gazing out at a far-off place where there were answers. I pulled myself up onto her base, careful not to disturb her s.p.a.ce, and stood on my tippy-toes to look inside her cupped hands. They were full of water from the rain, but in the palms and dripping down the fingers was a red liquid, as if her hands were bleeding. And that's when I knew how I would nail Brando. Divine inspiration, indeed.

I sped into town with one thought on my mind: I had to find Brando's vehicle, the embarra.s.singly oversized red Humvee. Brando had told me he was leaving town today, but I had a hunch that the missing Big Ole situation was going to keep him around for a little longer than he had originally planned. Our Lady of the Hills had shown me how to connect Brando to Liam Anderson's corpse, but he had to be around for me to do it.

My Toyota was pushing seventy as I crested the divided road hill heading into Battle Lake. I was too antsy to fiddle with my radio so tried to relax by concentrating on the day. The sky was clearing and the air smelled fresh, clean, and sauna hot. The moisture on the road was starting to evaporate, leaving sluggish worms to fend for themselves. I tried to drive around as many as I could, but the highway was flush with them.

I knew my first stop should be the cabin Brando had stayed at north of town to see if he had extended his stay. I didn't know exactly where north of town, but a little inquiring at the Fortune Cafe told me that he was staying at Nifty Nook Resort on Otter Tail Lake. I buzzed out there and had his cabin pointed out to me by the friendly owners, who I knew from working at the library. They said he had indeed extended his stay but didn't think he was around at the moment.

I walked over to the cabin to be sure. Brando's Humvee wasn't in sight and a quick peek in the building's windows showed me an immaculate if small interior. The kitchen was spotless, with daisy-strewn curtains cutting the sunlight. The main room had a couch, a television, a game table, and a bookshelf, and the bedroom had a bed so tightly made, the spread looked like a tourniquet. My guess was that Brando had been so successful at bed-hopping in Battle Lake that he had never used this cabin.

I listened to the water of Otter Tail Lake lapping onto the sandy beach and considered my next move. Probably, I'd go back to town and ask around to see if anyone had seen Brando. If nothing else, Gina always had her ear to the ground and might be able to tell me whose bed he had ended up in last night. I decided a quick cruise through the back streets of Battle Lake would be a good place to start before going door to door. There were really only seven avenues off of Lake Street anyhow. It was at the third street, in front of Kennie's house, that I stumbled across the parked Humvee. That woman certainly was taking her job as mayor and official welcomer seriously.

I parked my car, scarcely able to contain my excitement, and ran over to the Hummer. It didn't take long crouched down on my hands and knees to find exactly what I was looking for-red paint splashed onto all four wheel wells. The Virgin Mary's stigmata had made me think of it. I hadn't noticed the paint yesterday because of the Humvee's matching color. So it was Brando who had originally broken the balloons when he had gone on Sat.u.r.day night to drop Liam Anderson's dead or dying body into what he a.s.sumed were empty cabins. It was Johnny's poor luck that he had chosen his.

Dolly was surely right that Brando hired Liam Anderson to help him remove the statue, and he must have slipped or something dropped on him in the process and he was hurt. Brando, apparently not one to be too troubled by his heart or conscience, didn't bring Anderson to the hospital. He must have been scouting out a hiding place to unload his hireling when he stumbled across Johnny's cabin. It wasn't teenagers who had been out there spinning s.h.i.tties on Friday; it was Brando looking for a place to stash the dying man.

What he hadn't planned for was the paint-filled balloons Johnny had secreted under the pile of leaves at the head of the driveway. I had been too fixated on Dolly as the criminal to even check Brando's car before today. Now, I had hard evidence to bring to Gary Wohnt. I could prove that Brando had been to the cabin Sat.u.r.day night, and that would be enough to launch an investigation.

"See anything you like?"

I stood so fast that I sc.r.a.ped my head on the wheel well. I whirled on Brando. "Not so much. Paying a house call to Kennie?"

"Something like that. What were you doing down there?"

I rubbed the tender spot on my noggin and pulled my hand away. Blood. How ironic. This man was good at separating people from parts of their head. "I dropped a bracelet."

Brando leaned into me, oozing s.e.xuality and charm. "I've never seen you wear a bracelet." He circled my wrist with his large hand and caressed it. "You've got beautiful wrists."

"Thank you. I-" Before I could make my goodbyes, Brando clamped down on my arm and twisted it around and back, forcing me to turn my back to him to keep it from snapping. The pain sent hot mercury streaks up my arm and into my brain.

"I think we need to go for a ride. You'll like riding in the Humvee. You feel on top of the world."

His left hand opened the driver's side door as his right hand held me effortlessly. He gave my arm an extra twist, and I felt more than heard a pop. My knees buckled and he shoved me up and forward. My arm felt attached to my body by only one stretched sinew and to do anything but go forward would have snapped it free. I had one leg in the car when I spotted the rust-colored stains peeking out under a towel spread on the seat and carpeting.

He caught my gaze. "Time to get this reupholstered, don't you think? That's for tomorrow. I have a good friend who owes me a favor. For today, I think we'll just take a little joy ride."

Tears started spilling down my face despite myself. His grip was too tight to allow me to turn and look up and down the street, but I knew there had been no one outside when I pulled up, and it was too much to hope that Kennie would come out and save me. I couldn't fight or yell now without losing my arm, but he'd need to let go to drive, and then I would kick, scratch, and yell like a banshee.

Brando shoved me all the way across the driver's seat and gave a tiny yelp, which I mistook for sick glee. The pressure eased off my arm as quickly as it had come, and the lack of pain was exquisite. My arm hung limply at my side, not broken but not right, either. I turned to kick and run but was stopped short.

Brando was on his knees in an awkward genuflection, his face resting on the pavement. Mrs. Berns was behind him, crouched down, with one hand between his legs like a c.o.c.ky quarterback taking the ball from her center. She winked at me. "I took a cla.s.s on women's self-defense. What you do, you make a little crook, like so, with your thumb and forefinger and come up from behind and through the legs." She demonstrated with her free hand. "You squeeze that crook around the very top of the sac like you're castrating a pig, pinch, and twist until you can't twist no more. That way, you really get their attention."

Or you could, if they were conscious, I thought to myself. And who was running the library?

It took three days and a couple search warrants to find out I had been mostly right about Brando and Liam Anderson. Brando had hired Liam for muscle to help him remove the statue, and according to Brando, Liam had slipped and fell once the statue had been removed. He impaled his head on the post on the way down. In Minnesota, there is no law requiring someone to bring another person to the hospital, no matter how dire their straits, so the death of Liam Anderson was ruled an accident, and no charges were filed.

However, Dolly's engineering friend found a structural flaw in Big Ole that would have resulted in him crushing some unsuspecting Lutherans with cameras in under a year if it hadn't been fixed. Which it was. It required tr.i.m.m.i.n.g thirteen inches of thigh off the big guy, but he looked better for it, and now, he's as safe as Sesame Street. Finding the flaw in Ole had been enough to grant a search warrant for Fibertastic Enterprises, where the dismantled Gandhi was found stowed in a back storeroom. Apparently, Brando had been intending to resell the upper torso to a mini golf course in Branson, Missouri. There was enough left to prove that the same structural flaw that had threatened Big Ole had also sent the Gandhi statue tumbling in India, and Brando was forced to pay big to the Jains. His name and photo were on the cover of every newspaper in the Midwest, so he was humiliated as well as financially ruined.

That's not even the best news, though. They found my man. Brando had parked his Humvee with the dead or dying Liam in it in the woods near Johnny's cabin and driven the tractor trailer with Chief Wenonga in it all the way back to Stevens Point. There, it had been unloaded, and Brando had left instructions to have Wenonga's body spray-painted white, his hair spray-painted blonde, his eyes blue, his leather pants replaced with a half-robe, and the tomahawk replaced with a cross. You got it. My emotionally distant hunka hunka burning love had been this close to being reincarnated as a fibergla.s.s Jesus. Thank G.o.d for miracles.

Speaking of miracles, it was at the Return of the Chief party that Mrs. Berns explained how she miraculously came to be outside of Kennie's house just in time to save me.

"Oh, that? Well, the library was kinda slow, and Kennie said she had a business proposition for me, so I locked 'er up and headed over."

I wiggled the fingers sticking out of my sling. The doctor said my arm was just strained and had given me a sling and prescribed some truly worthwhile painkillers. They were even better than Nyquil. I wasn't so medicated that I had lost all sense, however. I debated whether or not Mrs. Berns' work ethic and/or her business venture with Kennie were topics worth pursuing. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. I think the woman's really got something this time, too. She wants to run an online business with me."

My shoulders relaxed marginally. "Oh, that's great! Online businesses are really taking off. You have a wider market that way."

"It's going to be called *Come Again.' We're going to sell previously owned and gently used marital aids. Kennie says it's an untapped market, what with the cost of some of those things new. And you break up with someone or get divorced, you don't want that stuff lying around to remind you what you had."

Technically, all true. "It sure is a beautiful day to get Wenonga back."

Brando's brother, Peter Erikkson, was now in charge of what was left of Fibertastic and had promised to work around the clock to get a repainted Chief Wenonga back to Halvorson Park by the weekend. He was true to his word. Kennie had arranged for the Battle Lake Bulldogs marching band to be present at the reinstallation of the statue. They had originally wanted to play "Apache," but Dolly, the town's honorary Historical Consultant and head of the new Diversity Advisory Panel, had suggested they play something less culturally weighted, hence "Wipe Out."

In the shortest town meeting in history, the Advisory Panel had decided that Chief Wenonga and Chief Wenonga Days were here to stay, but the celebration would from here on out be a true celebration of the First Nation people as well as the immigrants who had since arrived. That might still include turtle races, a street dance, and all-town garage sale, but it would also include historical tours through Glendalough, no more stereotypical representations of Native Americans in the parade, and introspective pieces in the Recall. There was even talk of changing the name of Wenonga Days to the Heritage Festival.

Change can be good, I thought, shading my eyes against the late afternoon sun that was reflecting gloriously off the ebony hair of Chief Wenonga. There were at least two hundred people in Halvorson Park doing the same, many of them tourists. Business was booming in town, thanks to the nationwide publicity Wenonga's and Ole's disappearances had brought. I looked around for Sid or Nancy, knowing one of them would be here. I felt a hand tap my shoulder.

"Mira?"

It was Johnny, still tanned, rippling, and smelling of vanilla and warm earth, despite his two days in the clink. Other than the tired pull around his eyes and his hesitant smile, he seemed to be my old Johnny. I smiled at him. "You look so hot."

"What?"

"You look shot. That's what I said. It's something we used to say in Paynesville. You know, like *you look kind of tired.' Guess that saying didn't make it over to Wisconsin." I giggled a tad hysterically and fought the urge to pull out my painkillers and convince him I had a prescription to be stupid.

"No, I guess it didn't." He rubbed his hands across the front of his jeans, glanced in my eyes and looked hastily away. "I heard you helped bring the Chief back."

"No, that was all Dolly. You were right to check her out, you know. She had all the information. She just didn't know who to share it with."

"I thought she stole the Chief."

"Yeah, me too."

"Mira?" This time he held my gaze. His eyes were a deeper blue than I had ever seen them, and I had to struggle not to look away. "I heard you helped me get out of jail."

"Oh, that would have happened sooner or later."

He reached for my arm, looked angrily at my sling, and pulled back. "You trusted me, and that means something to me."

It was too much. I was going to cry or hump his leg, neither of which I wanted accompanied by "Wipe Out" and an audience of two hundred. I twisted to lose myself in the crowd, but not before he grabbed my good hand.

"Wait." I turned back and thought I saw a kiss in his eyes before he looked away shyly. "I owe you a thank you."

I nodded, wondering why my fight-or-flight mechanism was kicking in. Johnny wanted to thank me, and if I let it, it could be the best thank you ever, much better than a card. That's when his cell phone vibrated against his hip.

He reluctantly reached for it and got a worried look when he saw the number. "It's my mom. I have to take it."

He stepped away, leaving me vibrating without the need for electricity. Was this my chance to fall for a good guy? I couldn't concentrate on what he was saying, but when he turned back to me, the concerned look was on his face for a different reason. "I'm sorry, I have to go. My mom hasn't seen me since I got out of jail, and I need to show her I'm all right."

My disappointment was palpable, but how upset can you be with a guy who worries about his mom? "That's OK. I appreciate the thank you."

He pushed a stray hair off my cheek. "I can come over tonight. Will you be around?"

Do Norwegians like white food? "I think so."

"I'll knock three times." He smiled his shy grin and walked away.

I hurried home to get shaved and perfumed-no beer and eggs in my hair this time-and was ready like a rocket for him. If I was going to do this, I was going to do it 100 percent. It went without saying that this was my last shot at a healthy relationship, of course. If it didn't work with Johnny, it was the nunnery-or a quick trip back to the Cities to finish my grad program and become a dried up, cat-collecting, fist-shaking, as.e.xual English professor. I had pulled Dr. Lindstrom's note back out after I had arrived home from the Return of the Chief party: Dear Mira:.

You are missed! I hope you haven't gotten so involved in the active animal rights movement up there in G.o.d's country that you can't give us a hand back here. I need a research a.s.sistant this fall, and you're my woman. Pay is meager, but your tuition would be free. Is it a deal? Respond at your convenience, as long as it is before August.

Sincerely yours, Dr. Michael Lindstrom.

Smoothing the note on my counter top, I made a deal with myself. If Johnny came tonight, I would give him a chance. I would open up to him in every way I could. If he didn't show, or he came and turned out to be like every other guy I had ever been with except for Jeff, I was packing it up and moving back to the Cities. No one could say I hadn't given Battle Lake a chance. But oh, did I hope that Johnny would do right by me tonight.

I tried to read and watch TV but spent most of the time squirming and beaming at my animals. Johnny Leeson was going to be with me tonight. I watched anxiously for the telltale headlights down the driveway, the clock ticking a happy beat. The beat, however, soon became monotonous, and then taunting. At first, I consoled myself by pointing out that Johnny had just said "tonight," and not given a specific time. Then, I moved on to worrying. Johnny was a decent guy, and he would have called to cancel if he could have. By 11 pm, however, I had decided that Johnny had had second thoughts. Fine. That's fine. It probably would have had a terrible ending anyhow, with me finding out he was a lousy lover, or emotionally distant and unable to commit to a relationship even though we both really liked each other and had buckets in common, or a collector of toenail clippings.

That's what I was telling myself as I walked past my front door, angrily ripping off the cute T-shirt I had chosen just for the occasion, the one that actually made me look like I had b.o.o.bs. When, I wondered fiercely, would relationships with men stop being painful experiences I had to learn from and instead be a nurturing relationship I could grow in? Never. Absolutely never. I rubbed hot tears out of the corner of my eyes, angry at myself for even getting my hopes up. It was the cloister for me, or maybe a job teaching English at a rural technical college.

That's when the first knock came. I jumped away from the door and pulled my T-shirt back on. I hadn't heard or seen a car. Then the second knock came, and my heart and loins did a little leprechaun kick. What was on the other side of this door was going to decide whether I returned to the U of M to be Dr. Michael Lindstrom's research a.s.sistant or whether I stayed in Battle Lake a little longer.

Instead of waiting for the third knock, I ripped open the door, naked hope in my eyes. The hope quickly turned to shock, and then confusion. Actually, I shouldn't have been surprised at the body before me. This was Battle Lake, after all. Anything can happen here, and it usually does.

end.