I processed that and wondered why Brando had lied. Or maybe he really had no idea how to dismantle a fibergla.s.s statue? "What were you talking to Brando about the other night, when he stormed out of your store?"

Les shuffled his feet in the dirt. "I knew he was coming to town. I overheard Kennie and Gary talking about it one night when I was strolling past Kennie's house. I arranged a visit with Brando, thinking I could talk him into making a big white guy statue for the town."

I'll bet he was just strolling past Kennie's house. I wonder who else's house he strolled past regularly. "What did Brando say?"

"He didn't think it would be a good idea. Say, you look awful pretty tonight."

The incongruousness of his statement made it hard to process. "What?"

Another door opened in the Battle Lake Motel, but this time, it wasn't the office door. It was door number 7-Dolly Castle's door-and a victorious-looking Brando was emerging. Both Les and I dropped to the ground automatically, and I had to stifle a yelp when Dolly's strawberry blonde head peeked out and kissed Brando pa.s.sionately before slapping him on the rear and closing the door behind him. They did know each other.

"How do Brando and Dolly know each other?" I looked away from the rumbling Humvee. "Les?" He was gone, like a mole underground. I sighed and stood, dragging my exhausted bones back to the motel. I needed some sleep so I could mull over everything I had seen and heard today, from the dead body at the cabin to the tryst I had just witnessed.

I entered the motel office and dinged the bell at the front desk. I heard a cheerful voice warble from the back room. "I'm on my way! It's a busy night here at the Battle Lake Motel. We have just one ... oh my!"

The face of the middle-aged desk clerk went from welcoming to surprised to suspicious. I looked over my shoulder-no one there-and back at her, smiling uncertainly. "Um, were you saying you have one room left?"

"We're a family hotel."

"Oh, it's just me tonight."

"We are a family motel." Her lips pursed into an uptight moue. "We don't need your kind's business."

I looked around the front office, trying to find some indication of what my kind was versus what kind they were accepting. That's when I caught my reflection off the gla.s.s of the 5 by 7 framed Ducks Unlimited print over the front desk. My face still wore all the makeup that Kennie had put on me earlier, and it did not look pretty, unless one was in the market for a ten-dollar wh.o.r.e. "Jesus."

"It's a little late for him, don't you think?"

"No, I mean yes! I mean, I'm not what you think I am. I, um, let my five-year-old niece put makeup on my face earlier tonight and must have forgotten to wash it off. My name is Mira James. I run the library and work at the newspaper."

Her lips stayed as tight as a razor cut across her face. "And why do you need a hotel room if you live in town, Ms. James?"

"I don't live in town. I live west of town, in Sunny Waters' double-wide?" I knew I was going a little crazy from stress because I hardly ever referred to the double-wide as Sunny's anymore. "There's a hole in one of the screens, but I can't find where, and the place is swarming with mosquitoes. I needed to get a good night's sleep. OK?"

Her lips relaxed only marginally. "I need to see some ID."

Thankfully, my new driver's license had arrived in the mail the week before. Heaven help me if I handed her something with a Minneapolis address. I pulled out my driver's license and handed it over. "See? I live west of town."

She snapped the plastic card on the counter and slid it toward me. "I hope I don't see any male companionship entering your room tonight, Ms. James. It would be a shame if I had to call Battle Lake Police Chief Gary Wohnt out here to interrupt your, ahem, activities."

"I'm pretty sure you don't have to worry about me receiving any male companionship in the near future. How much is the room?"

"$55 plus tax. Because it's still a holiday weekend."

"Gotcha." I handed her my cash and took my room key. Lucky number 8, right next to Dolly, who was doing just fine for male companionship, thank you very much. I bet she hadn't gotten the hairy eyeball from the desk clerk.

I grabbed the small bundle of toiletries from my car and headed toward my room, grateful at the prospect of a night in air-conditioned comfort. There was one last hunch I needed to follow up on before I retired for the night, though.

I stopped at Dolly's car, my flashlight in my hands, and dropped to my knees. In the moonlight, I didn't see anything but gravel clumps, but when I ran my hands over the b.u.mps and they didn't come off, I shined my light and peered closer. Sure enough-there was dried red paint mixed amid the dirt. It looked like Dolly had done a little four-wheeling out at Johnny's cabin, and recently.

I slept well in the air-conditioned motel and woke up feeling like I could solve all this and bring Chief Wenonga home to Battle Lake. After seeing Brando leave Dolly's room, and then finding the red paint on Dolly's car, it was plain as the mosquito bites on my ankle that Dolly and Brando were my bad guys. I just had to figure out how and why. After I showered and got the library up and running, I would go out to Johnny's cabin to see if I had missed anything, and then I'd enlist Gary Wohnt's help to get Johnny off the hook. Together, we'd find out why the Chief had been taken, how it was connected to the disappearance of Bill Myers, and how that all related to the dead guy in Johnny's cabin. I showered, brushed my teeth, and checked out of the motel.

The town of Battle Lake was beautiful and humming, the lake skirting the north edge of town sparkling in the sunlight, and it felt good to be heading back to the library where there was some order. I left my car in the motel parking lot near Dolly's and walked the three blocks to work. It was the Monday after the Fourth of July, so the town was packed with tourists up for the week. Families in brightly colored sundresses and T-shirts walked the streets, stopping at the Apothecary for sunscreen and mosquito repellent, window shopping at the local stores that wouldn't open for another hour. I strolled along with a little grin on my face.

I felt good enough to treat myself to iced green tea and a bagel at the Fortune Cafe. The coffee shop was packed. I waited my turn and was greeted by Sid's smiling face.

"You look like the cat who got the mouse."

"I hope to be the chick who gets the Native American. What's the word on the street?"

Sid shook her head. "It doesn't look so good for your love interests. First, Wenonga, and now a dead body at Johnny's cabin. You're not Irish, are you?"

"You know anything about that dead body at Johnny's cabin?"

"Just that it was scalped. Not so good for business. You want some iced tea?"

"Please, green sweetened. And a bagel with olive cream cheese, to go." I glanced around at the crowd filling her shop. "Your business seems to be doing fine."

Sid scooped a pile of ice into a disposable cup. "Most of these people just got to town. If word spreads that it's not safe, I don't know what's going to happen. The only good news is that the dead guy isn't local."

"That's not good news to a tourist, I suppose." I smiled and traded cash for food and drink. I threaded my way back through the crowd, wondering what sort of tourists Battle Lake would start drawing if this murder wasn't solved soon. It really wouldn't be good for business, and a lot of people I cared about were doing business in Battle Lake. That gave me one more reason to solve this murder. I sipped my tea and walked into the library with a spring in my step. The front room was just as clean as I had left it, and the air-conditioned oxygen felt refreshing against my face. I tossed my keys on the front counter, eyeballed the stack of books in the dropbox that needed shelving, and whistled as I headed to the back room to check my messages. It might have been the start of a perfect day if not for the man in my rear office, buck naked but for an Indian headdress and some war paint.

I'm not ashamed to say I screamed, for the second time in under a week. At the sound of my shriek, the man jumped behind my desk and crouched down, his face redder than the paint streaked across his chest.

I darted forward to grab the stapler off my desk and lunged back, holding the implement like a white trash gun, staples out. "Who are you?"

He held his hands in front of him in the universal sign of "don't hurt me, this is a big misunderstanding." That's when Mrs. Berns came up from the bas.e.m.e.nt. Her shirt was unb.u.t.toned down the front, revealing a puckered bra, and her hair was disheveled. Around her waist, she had a gun belt strung low, capshooters stuck in each of the holsters.

She looked annoyed to see me. "It's Sunday. Even G.o.d rested on Sunday. Don't you have any social life?"

I looked from the naked guy crouched behind my desk to Mrs. Berns, and back again to the naked guy. "It's Monday, Mrs. Berns. What's going on?"

"Monday? Well, put a hitch in my giddy-up! We've been playing cowboys and Indians for two whole days, Bill! No wonder I was so hungry."

A hangdog Bill was gathering loose paper off my desk to cover his pork and beans, and something was dawning on me. "Bill? Not Bill Myers, by any chance?"

He stood, clutching an invoice across his privates, and sheepishly offered me a hand. "None other. Sorry for the scare."

I have a rule against shaking hands with naked men, one that I have to invoke far more often than you'd think. I put my fists on my hips instead. "Do you know the whole town is looking for you? They thought you were kidnapped from the parade."

Mrs. Berns pulled out a gun and let a pop into the air, cackling. "He was! I got him!"

A ridiculous thought dawned on me. If Mrs. Berns had taken Bill, did that mean she had also taken the Chief? "Mrs. Berns, you didn't take the big Indian too, did you?"

"They come in different sizes?"

"I meant Chief Wenonga."

"h.e.l.l no, girl. What would I do with a big fibergla.s.s statue? Billy here is all the man I need."

"No s.h.i.t?"

"Not even a little t.u.r.d."

I let out a breath. There was one crime solved. Mrs. Berns had absconded with poor Bill Myers and had been having her way with him since Friday night. The two Native Americans disappearing in as many days were unrelated. "Good. Well, Billy better get some clothes on and tell Gary Wohnt that he's all right. And I'll thank you to keep the library out of your love life in the future."

"My tax dollars pay for this library, too, little missy, so as long as I have a library card, I will use it as I please."

I knew Mrs. Berns had keys to nearly every business in Battle Lake (thanks mostly to a bad habit of stealing the spares), so there was no point in arguing. "Can you two just take it elsewhere? I have to open up in forty-five minutes."

"Party p.o.o.per. You're just lucky it's snack time at the Sunset. I'll be back around lunchtime to help you with the tourist rush."

"Thank you, Mrs. Berns."

"Oh hey, get any new obituaries in the Recall the last coupla days? Folks at the Sunset get mad if I don't tell them who died and they have to find out from the newspaper."

"No new obits that I know of."

Mrs. Berns looked thoughtful as she b.u.t.toned up the front of her blouse. "You know how I'd like to go? One of those stuttering strokes. A little notice and then you're gone. That's what Lydia Thorfinnson had, that lucky old coot."

"If you ever do die, I'm sure you'll do it with style."

That seemed to satisfy her, and she headed toward the door. I kept busy shelving books and watering plants, and was careful not to make eye contact with Mr. Myers as he scurried out the door. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed he looked a little saddle sore, but Mrs. Berns seemed none the worse for the wear. As soon as I had the library ready for business, I unlocked the door and planted myself at the front computer. I needed to send 1,500 words to Ron Sims by today, and he wanted it in three articles. The first piece would summarize the mundane parts of Wenonga Days and the second one would focus on the missing statue, but what would the third article be about? I figured it would be best to start writing and see what came. First, the Wenonga Days straight stuff.

"Annual Wenonga Days Festival Well-Attended"

This year, Wenonga Days started with a bang. Although the Chief missed his own celebration, he was there in spirit throughout the weekend. Crazy Days on Friday brought in a crowd of people shopping for bargains as every business on Lake Street offered discounts from 25a75 percent off original prices.

Friday evening, an estimated 400 people attended the street dance to hear "Not with My Horse," a band out of Minneapolis, serenade the crowd with their unique country punk fusion. The Rusty Nail sponsored the street dance.

For those who were up early Sat.u.r.day, the Battle Lake Jaycees offered a Kiddie Karnival, Turtle Races, and a parade during the day. Ashley Grosbain's turtle was the clear winner at the races. The parade featured marching bands from all over Minnesota, Dalton's Antique Thresher review, and as a special surprise, Mayor Kennie Rogers and her group of radical cheerleaders, calling themselves "The Beaver Pelts," shared their moves with the crowd.

Also present at the parade was Brando Erikkson, owner of the fibergla.s.s company that created Chief Wenonga. At the parade, Mr. Erikkson offered to donate a slightly irregular fibergla.s.s woodchuck to replace the Wenonga statue. The woodchuck will be delivered to Halvorson Park early this week.

The Sat.u.r.day night fireworks, made possible due to the annual fundraiser put on by the Battle Lake Chamber of Commerce, were a big hit with families who viewed them from Glendalough Park. The display cost nearly $20,000 and lasted twenty-five minutes. There were no reported injuries.

The winner of Sunday's bike race in the female category was Linda Clarkson; the winner in the male category was Erik Schultz. Nikki Welde was the winner of the 5K run in the female category; Jerome Teske was the winner in the male category.

There was a grand turnout for the Pet and Owner Look-Alike Contest, but only one pair could win. This year, that lucky pair was Bill Green of Urbank and Kasey, his Golden Retriever.

The All-Town Garage sale offered a backdrop to Sunday's races. From start to finish, it's going to be hard to top this year's Wenonga Days.

I hit "save" and sat back in my captain's chair. Writing the first article wasn't too hard. Now, it was time to write the article about the missing Chief. I would build off my earlier draft.

"It's My Party, and I'll Fly if I Want To"

In a strange turn of events, Chief Wenonga disappeared from Battle Lake on Friday, July 3, just as the plans for his twenty-fifth birthday party were finalized. Police on the scene Friday morning found only four posts and what appeared to be blood at the Halvorson Park location where the Chief had stood proudly for twenty-five years.

Battle Lake was named by Chief Wenonga for a melee between the Ojibwe and Sioux that took place more than 200 years ago. The Sioux were encroaching on Ojibwe territory, and the Ojibwe leader, Ukkewaus, gathered nearly fifty warriors to fight for their land.

Although Ukkewaus and his warriors believed they were staging a surprise attack, the Sioux were prepared, and many Ojibwe died. Chief Wenonga led the remaining warriors back to Leech Lake, where he lived to an old age and was greatly respected by his tribe. The Battle Lake Civic and Commerce Club ordered the Wenonga statue in 1979 and initially placed it at the Y in Battle Lake. In 1986, the Chief was moved to Halvorson Park, where he stood until his disappearance last Friday.

In what appears to be a connected case, the dead body of an unidentified male was found in a cabin north of Battle Lake on Sat.u.r.day evening. A local teenager found the body. Battle Lake Police are calling this case a homicide and are currently following up on several leads.

Battle Lake has recently been the site of several strange occurrences, including the May murder of Battle Lake alumnus Jeff Wilson. That mystery was solved soon after, and it is the hope of the people of Battle Lake that this latest case will be resolved soon also, so the town can return to normal.

I didn't know if "return" was an accurate word to use in the final paragraph, but I was too busy dealing with the hot slice of pain that came with typing Jeff's name to change it. I had been head to toe in love with him, and he was gone forever. Me and men. Maybe I could hire myself out to heartbroken women who had been dumped by or couldn't get rid of cheaters, abusers, emotional withholders, and the foreplay-challenged. After their mistreating man had a few dates with me, the problem would be solved. I'd call it the Jinx Man-away Service, and Kennie Rogers could be my business manager. Come to think of it, maybe Mrs. Berns could get involved, too.

I flicked my cheek to turn off the inner crazy-talk and refocused on my computer. I had two articles down and one more to write, and I had no blessed idea what it was going to be about. I sipped at my aromatic jasmine tea, still warm, and felt inspiration glide down my throat.

"Battle Lake Has Beauty and Backbone"

The village of Battle Lake officially came into existence Halloween, 1881, when it was platted for Torger O. and Bertie O. Holdt. By 1885, there were 182 residents of the village, but newspaper references at the time allude to unusual amounts of bad luck being visited on the inhabitants-mysterious plagues, crop rot, and intense weather were only the beginning.

The first white settlers found Native American mounds scattered in the region, forty-two near the lake's inlet alone. Local legend had it that whoever took over the land that had once belonged to the Indians would be cursed. In the last few months, it is hard to ignore the spectre of a curse as the town has contended with three murders in as many months-Jeff Wilson found dead in the library in May, a carnival gone horribly awry in June, and now the missing Chief Wenonga statue and homicide in July.

Although it is easy to write Battle Lake off as cursed, it would be a mistake. The town offers relaxation and warm smiles to travelers in the summer and is a full-service town with a dentist, chiropractor, and clinic open year-round, as well as the Village Apothecary available to meet the sundry and pharmaceutical needs of locals and tourists alike. The town also has an excellent newspaper to keep readers in touch with the local news.

Battle Lake has unique stores in which to window shop or find that special present, from the Bramble and the Rose to O'kay Gifts. Granny's Pantry sells ice cream cones bigger than your head and old-fashioned candy by the basket, and the Fortune Cafe has the best homemade ginger scones in the county.

If you're one of the few not lucky enough to catch sunnies and trophy walleyes for supper, delicious food is easy to find in Battle Lake, from the eggs Benedict at the Sh.o.r.eline to the tator tot hotdish at the Turtle Stew to the b.u.t.ter-knife steaks and fresh-baked bread at Stub's.

If you're only in town for a while, there are more than thirty safe, clean, and fun places to stay, from Xanadu Island Resort to the Battle Lake Motel to the Nifty Nook Resort. If you're in town for longer, the streets are safe, the schools are good, and the community is united. Battle Lake may have gotten a rough start and had its share of misfortunes, but the town remains strong in the face of it all. Battle Lake is, after all, easy to get to and hard to leave.

I winced at my last sentence-it is hard to leave any place when you're dead-but I felt good about the article. A lot of good people were working and running businesses in Battle Lake, and they shouldn't be punished just because a few crazies had found their way here. I meant every word I had typed. I saved all three articles and emailed them as attachments, just as the phone rang.

"James, where are my articles?"

"Hi, Ron. It's not noon yet. That was my deadline."

"Deadlines are for the weak and undisciplined. Where are my articles?"

"They are plummeting through cybers.p.a.ce and into your computer as we speak. Maybe I should get a raise?"

"Maybe you should get me a new recipe for next week's paper. People can't get enough of that garbage you find. I don't know how you do it."

"It's a gift. Say, whaddya know about the dead body found out at Johnny's cabin?"

A reluctant grunt traveled through the wire. "Can you keep a secret?"

Technically, I wouldn't be lying if I said yes because I could theoretically keep a secret, even if I might not keep this secret. "You know it."

"I don't know it, and if you spill this before Wohnt makes it public, you're out one reporting job. The corpse didn't have any ID on it, but a wallet washed up in Silver Lake, and the photo and vital stats on the driver's license found in it seems to match the corpse. His name was Liam Anderson, he was from Wausau, Wisconsin, and that's all I know."

Wausau? Why did that sound familiar? I had never been, and I didn't think I knew anyone from there. Dolly and Brando were from Stevens Point. It might be worth my time to find out how close that city was to Wausau. I still needed to get back out to Johnny's cabin too, but that would have to wait until I closed the library at 6:00. "Thanks for the tip. I'll keep it close to my chest."

Ron grunted. "Just get me a recipe before the end of the week. Friday is the end of the week."

The phone went click, and I was alone in the library. I went to Rand McNally online and learned that Wausau was 361 miles east of Battle Lake, but Stevens Point was only 34 miles from Wausau. That was a little too close for comfort. I felt woozy wondering if I could really trust Johnny at his word, that he had been in Stevens Point only to dig up dirt on Dolly. The more I thought about it, the more I realized he could have been feeding me a whole zoo full of lyin'. The library door opened with a pleasant dong, and I looked up anxiously. It was a woman and three children, all under the age of ten. I smiled at them and exited the map program.