"Mira? Is that you under there?" Gina tapped at the Twins hat and grinned at me, her smile brightening her fleshy face. "You look like a dork. What in the h.e.l.l are you doing in that cap?"

"It's yours, dork. No time to talk. Do you know why the police just zipped out of town?"

"You haven't heard? There's been a kidnapping. Someone grabbed Billy Myers from the parade. He was one of the guys dressed like an Indian. I tell you, it doesn't pay to be an Indian in Battle Lake right about now."

"At least not a fake one. They're sure he isn't just out tying one on somewhere?"

Gina dug her hand into her purse and came out with a packet of Laffy Taffy. She wasn't afraid to talk with her mouth full. "Pretty sure. He's a reliable guy, and he's disappeared. The cops are a little jumpy, anyhow, but two missing Indians in two days isn't good."

I shook my head in agreement. "You got any other dirt?"

Gina raised her eyebrows suggestively at me. "You mean dirt, like the kind Johnny Leeson was throwing around at his Community Ed cla.s.s today?"

For a second, I let myself go there, to a world where Johnny and I gardened together. A picture of his lean upper body bending over a hotbed of sprouts blissfully decorated the corners of my mind. His hair would fall into his eyes, and I'd rush to his side to push it away. He'd smile at me, stop my hand halfway to his face, and tell me that he could no longer bear his life without spending some quality time in my loins. I'd demur, for a second, and then he'd throw me over his shoulder and carry me out to the garden patch for a little irrigating.

"Mira? I was kidding about Johnny. Mira?"

I focused guiltily back on Gina, who had moved on to Tootsie Rolls. Had I been drooling? I decided not to tell her about my pending date tonight. I didn't want to jinx it. "Of course you were, Gina. I was just thinking about how weird this town's been."

"You mean lately? Or since the 1800s?"

"Ha ha."

"You want to go to the fireworks with Leif and me tonight?"

I had forgotten about the fireworks. They might be a good opportunity to dig up more information, as long as it didn't interfere with my Johnny time. "Maybe. What time you going?"

"We're meeting some people for drinks at Stub's at 8:00 and heading to Glendalough at 9:30 or so. The fireworks are supposed to start at 10:00."

"I don't feel like Stub's. How 'bout I just look for you at Glendalough, by the pay stand, around 9:45?" Glendalough was a gorgeous state park north of town. It consisted of nearly two thousand acres of pristine prairie lands and six lakes within its borders, donated to the Nature Conservancy by the Cowles Family on Earth Day, 1990, and then pa.s.sed over to the Minnesota Department of Natural Resources two years later. It was a favorite location for Fourth of July fireworks viewing, which were traditionally launched from the sh.o.r.es of Molly Stark Lake within its borders.

"Deal. Bring a blanket and mosquito repellent. And I've got some big news."

Probably she was getting her ears pierced for a sixth time. She gave me a quick hug and headed in the direction of home, and I took off for the library. I moaned when I stepped inside, the air conditioning feeling like a ma.s.sage on my hot skin. Some hair had escaped from my bun and lay like hot snakes against my neck, and I tied this back up before heading to the bathroom to wash up my raw palms and knees.

Once I was clean and cool, I typed up my article, which was already over an hour past deadline. I didn't have much to add to the original, except a new closing paragraph: In a surprising turn of events, Bill Myers has disappeared from the Fourth of July parade. At the time of his capture, Mr. Myers was dressed as a Native American, similar in garb to the Chief Wenonga statue. The similarities between the cases have police baffled. Maybe these males are asking for it by the way they dress? Regardless, the police are currently investigating the missing statue and Myers and hope to have both returned safely.

While I was online, I searched for information on Fibertastic Enterprises. The first hit showed a one-page website featuring various fibergla.s.s statues, chief among them my Wenonga. That was all there was, besides contact information. According to the site, Fibertastic Enterprises was located in Stevens Point, Wisconsin, a town about three hours southeast of St. Paul. There was a phone number and email address, both of which I jotted down.

I shut off the computer, locked up the library, and headed upstream against the parade lingerers, intent on finding out more about Dolly. When I reached the twelve-room, log-sided Battle Lake Motel, it was readily apparent that there was no red Humvee around, though there was no reason there should have been other than a nagging hunch I had that Dolly and Brando knew each other. I wasn't sure what kind of car Dolly drove, but the only vehicle in the entire lot with Wisconsin license plates was a black Honda Civic plastered in b.u.mper stickers like, "Keep your laws off my body," "Virginia is for lovers," "Indians discovered America," and "The first boat people were white." I peeked in the car windows and saw some littered Coca Cola cans and a stack of CDs. Must be Dolly's.

I entered the front office of the motel and pretended to admire the prints of ducks and dogs in the waiting s.p.a.ce while the young woman working the front desk spoke on the phone. When she was free, I asked her if she knew what room Dolores Castle was staying in.

She smiled kindly at me. "I'm afraid I can't give out personal information about our guests, but I'd happy to give Miss Castle a message for you."

"Can you tell me if that's her Honda Civic out front?"

The young woman's smile faltered. "I'm afraid that's against motel policy. Sorry."

I scanned my brain for ways to trick her out of the information but came up with nothing. I figured my best bet was to wait on the fringes of the Halvorson flea market adjacent to the hotel until either Brando Erikkson or Dolly came by, or it was time to get ready for my Johnny time, so I thanked her and headed back into the early afternoon heat.

I sidled up to the nearest flea market table which, near as I could tell, sold the contents of various junk drawers from over the ages-rusty doork.n.o.bs, cheap Marlboro lighters, a.s.sorted tintype photos, pocket knives. All the stuff that you don't want even when you own it. I pretended to dig through the crusty treasure as I counted the minutes, and then the hours. The white-haired man running the booth gave up trying to sell me something about 3:00 pm. At 3:30, I'd had enough and was turning to go home when I caught a glimpse of a strawberry blonde walking down the motel walkway toward a room.

I tried to stroll away un.o.btrusively, furtively sniffing at the metallic smell of my fingers, stained orange from digging in junk. I would need to wash these puppies. I ducked down as the reddish-blonde head turned toward me, and through the windows of the car I was hiding behind, I affirmed it was Dolly. She looked flushed and happy. She was in and out of her room, a golden "7" on its door, in under three minutes. She hurried to the black Civic and peeled out of the parking lot before I could say "hi."

I walked casually to her door. A quick twist of the k.n.o.b told me it had locked automatically behind her, and the shades were closed tightly on her windows. Where had she been off to in such a hurry, and what had made her so happy?

I started back toward my car, still parked at Gina's, and then had a flash. Should I stop by the drugstore to prepare myself for my meeting with Johnny? It probably wasn't an official date, and even if it was, I technically didn't want to date right now, and even if I did, we probably weren't going to fool around. But it sure would suck to be pregnant by accident. I decided I had nothing to lose from a quick trip to the Apothecary. If nothing else, it wouldn't be the first pack of condoms to expire, lonely and unused, in my bedside stand.

There was only one problem with this plan. Buying condoms is never fun, but in a small town where everyone knows your business, it can be horrifying. For an example of the small town gossip train, last month, I ordered a caffeine-free c.o.ke instead of my usual Cla.s.sic c.o.ke with my lunch at the Turtle Stew. Three hours later, Gina phoned me at the library to ask if I was pregnant. Because of this wicked closeness in Battle Lake, I was always careful to keep my business private as much as possible. There was no way around the condom issue, though, so I walked purposefully into the Apothecary and straight to the condom aisle.

There was a huge variety, but I had long ago decided choosing which condom to buy was like picking which dish to order at a Mexican restaurant-they might have different names, but they're all the same. I grabbed the pack nearest me and headed toward the counter, where Johnny Leeson was buying some sort of medicine and a bag of balloons, his back to me. My cheeks burned with imminent shame.

I concealed the condoms behind my back, not sure if Johnny would think I was presumptuous, s.l.u.tty, or well-prepared if he noticed them. I carefully backed away until I was behind the end cap suntan lotion display, where I dropped the condoms like a bundle of itchweed. I grabbed the nearest magazine off the rack and walked back around.

"Hi, Johnny," I said, feigning casual.

He turned quickly, and then moved to shield his purchases while the cashier bagged them. "Hey, Mira." He looked embarra.s.sed, and as soon as the cashier handed him his bag, he hurried toward the door. "See you tonight!"

I shook my head. Was even Johnny going weird on me? I glanced absently at the magazine I had grabbed, noting it was Cosmo, the intelligent woman's kryptonite. I had long ago decided I would rather be strong than skinny, and to that end, I avoided glossy mags. I was about to return it when the splashy line on the cover caught my eye: "First Date Fears? Make Yourself Sweet and Sa.s.sy so He'll Love You Forever." Was it a sign, an arrow piercing a red heart, pointing from Johnny to me? I paid for the magazine, stashing it under my arm so no one would see me with it.

Once home, some quality pet time was my first order of business. I walked Luna the half mile to the mailbox and back, reminding her every few feet that she was a good dog. She needed that constant reinforcement. Tiger Pop, on the other hand, followed discreetly behind us, sticking to the shade and just coincidentally going the same direction. Back at the double-wide, I scratched them both behind their ears and refilled their water bowls, again adding ice. I hopped into the shower to cool off. The clear and cool water felt great cutting through the dirt and sweat coating me from the day's exertions.

I stepped out and bandaged my knees, clean but sore from the RV dive, and made myself a light snack of sliced gouda cheese and apples. I pulled out the Cosmo to read while my hair dried. The "First Date Fears?" article was on page 217, sandwiched between an ad for perfume and an ad for diamonds. I clearly was not their target audience.

OK, you've been chasing Mr. Dreamboat for weeks, and you've finally caught him! Now what do you do? Make yourself sweet and sa.s.sy of course! Don't waste your time or his by showing up to this date less than fantabulous. Follow these five easy steps to make the night magically memorable. And who knows? It just might lead to marriage: 1. Rinse your hair with egg and beer. It'll make it shiny, shimmery, and irresistible! Trust us when we tell you he won't be able to keep his hands off of it.

2. Paint your lips red. This will incite his animal instincts and draw attention to what you are saying. Make sure you ask him lots of questions about himself!

3 . Dab a little vanilla oil behind each ear. A way to a man's heart is through his stomach, and you just might be the tastiest treat he'll eat!

4. Actually, most women aren't as tasty and fresh as they'd like to be. To "sweeten the pot" once you've drawn him in, drink at least four cups of pineapple juice before you two decide to get jiggy. It'll keep him coming back for more!

5. And finally, don't eat anything that can get stuck in your teeth. Stick to low-fat, low-carb, leaf-free dishes like carrots, boiled chicken, and lean steak. When he smiles at you, he doesn't want to see the broccoli smiling back!

I threw the magazine down, disgusted. Women had earned the right to vote in 1920 and eighty years later had apparently traded it in for the freedom to be cute. I walked over to the fridge for some cold water and saw the can of Miller Lite in the back, a leftover from Sunny's tenure. Next to that was a carton with a half dozen brown eggs. I looked from Cos...o...b..ck to the inside of my fridge. Well, there was nothing wrong with having shiny hair, I told myself. And I wouldn't be doing it for Johnny, I'd be doing it for me.

I grabbed an egg and the beer, cracked both, and whipped them together in a bowl. I leaned my head over the kitchen sink and poured the slimy, fizzy mess onto my nearly dry hair. The article hadn't mentioned how long to leave it in, so I stayed put for eleven-my lucky number-minutes. When I couldn't stand it any longer, I turned on the tap and rinsed out the glop until the water ran clear, and then bundled it up in a towel turban on my head.

In for a penny, in for a pound. I rummaged through my make-up drawer and finally came up with some crusty old rouge that I dabbed on my lips. It was more liver pink than lover red, but hopefully wherever we were eating would be poorly lit. I had less luck finding vanilla oil. As a compromise, I grabbed the bottle of 100% vanilla extract from my spice rack and dabbed a little on each wrist and behind each ear. It was sticky, but I smelled like cookies. I knew I didn't have pineapple juice and wasn't going to order boiled chicken tonight, so I'd just have to stop at half crazy.

I was trying to regain some self-respect by reminding myself how I didn't want to date because all men went bad or dead on me when Johnny pulled up. He had been to my house once before, in June, to help me do some landscaping. I thought we had made a connection that night, but I was either too afraid or too smart to pursue it. I was wondering if tonight would tip that balance.

I let my hair out of the towel and quickly brushed it. It was damp but would dry quickly in the heat. I had visions of it drying and plumping into a perfect, sa.s.sy and s.e.xy Barbarella-do. I patted Tiger Pop and Luna goodbye and loped out to meet Johnny. He smiled when he saw me, the sun making a halo of gold around his sun-browned face. He opened the door for me and I glided in. When he slid in his side, I could see his dimples carving out a little s.p.a.ce on each cheek.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"What?"

Johnny put the car into first and took off down the driveway. "You smell like a beer hall and have something yellow on your shoulder."

I looked down, mortified. "Oh, um, it's a new shampoo. Beer shampoo. Beer and egg. Yolk."

"Really?"

"I got it at the store." I swatted at a fly buzzing around my head, but the movement of my wrist just attracted another.

"Are you OK if we eat at Stub's?"

"That'd be great." Suddenly, there was a swarm of heat-drunk flies around me. Were they after the beer and egg in my hair? I swung again and caught a whiff of vanilla. Christ. I had turned myself into fly bait. I should have just rubbed some raw hamburger under each armpit and called it a night. I shoved my vanilla-dabbed hands under my legs and tried to wipe at the sweetness under each ear with my shoulder. Johnny watched out of the corner of his eye, a smile tugging at his lip. When flies buzzed close, I blew at them out of the side of my mouth, hoping the radio covered up the sound. Cosmo sure was right: I was making a memorable impression on this first date.

As soon as we got into Stub's Dining Hall, I excused myself and went to the bathroom. I was able to scour the vanilla and sc.r.a.pe most of the egg drippings off my shoulders. My hair, however, had dried and was now irreparably crusty and not reflecting any light. Fortunately, I always carried a hair band with me. Once I pulled it up and back and scrubbed the uneven, ailing pink off my lips, I felt slightly better. I still smelled like a beer hall, but at least I was in a beer hall.

Johnny was waiting for me at the bar, a teasing smile still playing across his lips. He didn't comment on my changed appearance. "I got us the last table, Mira, but they need to clear it off first. Can I get you a drink?"

I had decided in the bathroom that this wasn't a date, if for no other reason than to save my sanity, and so was sticking with my plan of crossing number four off the Cosmo list. "A c.o.ke would be nice."

The bartender nodded, and Johnny reached for his wallet. Out of the blue, Heaven, in all her clean-haired, immaculately made-up, youthful glory, popped up next to him. "Johnny! I'm here with some friends of my brother's from college. They say they know you. You should come sit with us!"

Johnny put his hand firmly on my waist, and my side tingled where he touched it. "I'm with Mira."

I quickly leaned over to the bartender. "Can you make that a pineapple juice?"

Heaven pouted. "Whatever. Maybe we can all hook up at the fireworks later."

"Maybe." Johnny smiled agreeably, grabbed our drinks, and let me lead the way into the dining room. Our table was relatively private in the crowded room, set back in a s.p.a.ce like a closet with hanging curtains instead of a door on the front. We studied our menus inside the curtained alcove. We both ordered-steak for Johnny and chicken for me-before he told me the real reason he had asked me out.

"I have a favor to ask of you."

That didn't sound like one potential lover to another. I stared miserably at my salad, wondering if I had indeed turned him off by ordering something leafy.

"I'm going out of town for a few days, and I need someone to watch my place."

I hoped I hid the disappointment on my face with a good cover of confusion. "House sit? But aren't you still at your mom's place?" When Johnny came over to help me in June, I had learned that he had been starting grad school in Wisconsin when he got word his dad was diagnosed with terminal stomach cancer. He returned to Battle Lake to help his mom take care of his dad and was making the best of his current life working at the nursery, giving piano lessons, teaching community ed cla.s.ses, and being the town handyman. His dad had died around the same time I arrived in Battle Lake, and Johnny was staying on another year to make sure his mom was situated. He was an only child, like me.

"Yeah, but I'm working on my cabin out on the west side of Silver Lake. I think some kids were partying out there last night, spinning ueys in the driveway. The locks are still on the door, but I don't know for how long, especially if they get wind that I'm out of town."

"Couldn't Jed watch it?"

"Jed's a great guy, but not what you'd call reliable."

"Sure, I suppose." I frowned. "You just want me to drive out there every day?"

"Easier than that. All you need to do is keep your eyes peeled for a car with red paint on it."

"Huh? A red car?"

"No, a car with red paint on it. I filled some balloons with paint and put them in the dried-up mud puddles in my driveway. They're covered with leaves, and anyone driving at night won't be able to see them. Whoever is tearing up the driveway is going to have a car full of red paint splatters."

"Isn't that a little vengeful for you?"

Johnny ducked his eyes. "My dad and I built that cabin. It's fallen apart since I've been to college and he was sick, and I'm just getting it back together. I don't want it trashed."

"I'm sorry. Of course I'll watch for the red paint. You just want me to call the police if I see something?"

"I want you to call me. I can be back within a few hours."

"Where are you going?"

The waitress took our salad plates away, distracting Johnny's gaze. "Wisconsin. Stevens Point, actually. To visit my grandma."

"Hunh." I watched Johnny watching the waitress and wondered why he was suddenly unable to make eye contact with me. If I didn't know him better, I'd say he was telling me a big fat fib. I tried remembering where he had told Dolly and me his grandparents lived when he had run into us at the Fortune Cafe, but the beer fumes cloaking my head discouraged clear thinking.

Johnny nodded. "Yup."

"When are you leaving?"

"Tonight. When we're done with supper."

For sure no lovin' for me tonight. "On the Fourth of July? What's the rush?"

Johnny rubbed his palms on his pants. "Sure is taking our food a long time."

"Sure is."

"Yup."

"Yup."

"Yeah, no rush, really. I just thought I'd go see my grandma tonight, beat the weekend traffic. Can we talk about something else?"

What I wanted to talk about was how Johnny was turning into a great big liar, just like the rest of them. Instead, I sipped at my saccharine-sweet pineapple juice and wondered if Johnny's uneasiness had anything to do with the missing Chief Wenonga, the b.l.o.o.d.y scalp, or the missing parade Indian. I made myself a promise to check out his cabin and see what this b.o.o.by-trapping paint balloon dealio was really about in the very near future.

My non-date supper finished uneventfully. Johnny drove me home so I could grab my own wheels to have at the fireworks. He flashed me an unusually shy smile when he opened the car door for me. Of course, it could have just been the beer fumes still wafting from my tapped keg of hair that made him look uncomfortable. As we said our goodbyes, he told me he would call me when he returned if I didn't call him on his cell first.

I considered biking to the fireworks at Glendalough Park to keep a low profile. However, Fourth of July traffic is notoriously dangerous since people are excited, drunk, and looking at the sky. It's a bad time to be on a bike, so I reluctantly drove my Toyota to the park on the north side of town, hoping the gravel dust blanketing it would make it indistinguishable from other cars in the deepening dusk. With my windows down, I could hear the frogs sighing and the crickets singing in the fragrant sloughs hugging the road. The cooling evening breeze felt like a soft kiss on the baby hairs of my neck, and I began to get excited at the thought of fireworks.

My family rarely made it to the Fourth of July festivities when I was younger. My dad was usually drunk by dark, and before I hit the age of ten, my mom had started going to bed early to avoid him. I had spent every Fourth of July that I could remember perched on the slouched metal roof of the storage shed on our tiny hobby farm in the middle of the flat, west-central Minnesota prairie. I couldn't see the real fireworks streaking through the sky above Lake Koronis, six miles away, but I could hear them, and I could see our neighbors shoot off Roman candles smuggled in from North Dakota. Every time I heard a pop, I'd throw handfuls of tree helicopters into the air, or gra.s.s clippings.

I soon outgrew the Fourth of July on the roof and was left to watch fireworks on the little black and white TV in our living room, for as long as I could put up with my dad's drunken commentary on everything from the problems with me to the woman he should have married. Now, as a grown-up, watching real fireworks was like reclaiming the childhood I never had. This would be the fifth summer I had seen the fireworks in Battle Lake, thanks to Sunny.

I knew the parking would be impossible in Glendalough, and even worse trying to leave after the fireworks, so I joined a sprinkling of parked cars at the mouth of the park. I fell in line with the crowds all the way to the pay booth where park guests were asked to donate if they didn't already own a Minnesota State Park sticker.

On the far side of the large map and interpretive sign, I almost missed Dolly walking in. She still had the lighthearted step and distant smile of a happy woman, and I was about to holler at her when I noticed Les hot on her heels. I think he thought he was blending in with the crowd, but with the angry set of his shoulders and the grimace on his face, he stood out like a snake in a baby crib. When Dolly stopped quickly to smell a tiger lily sprouting up amid the prairie gra.s.s, Les stopped also and dropped down, pretending to tie his shoe. Did Dolly know she was being followed, and why was Les following her?

I was about to become the third car on that train when Gina popped up alongside me.