I ran near to where he was standing, holding a bag of tomatoes. Those in the crowd armed with cameras were pointing them at him, snapping or rolling.
“How are you?” He asked when I was within speaking distance. His tone suggested we were old friends meeting for a planned coffee date.
“The pavement get uncomfortable?” I asked Randy Martineau, my parking lot guru. He was wearing the same gray and frayed clothes I’d seen him in the morning after the murder, and his BO hadn’t changed either.
He idly studied his bag of tomatoes. “I never stay too long in one place.”
“You might want to leave this one,” I said. Around me, reporters were clicking away on their handhelds. “I don’t know if it’s illegal to throw tomatoes at public figures, but it’s for sure frowned upon.”
“Oh, it’s illegal,” he said. “Especially if you hit someone. That’s why I didn’t bring the rest of my crew with me. No one else needs to go to jail. But I never do a crime if I’m unwilling to do the time.”
A heavyset reporter for the St. Paul Pioneer Press used that opening to jockey in and ask Randy why he’d done the crime.
He methodically brushed his free hand on his pants, leaving a wet trail of tomato residue. “Civil disobedience.”
“To what end?” Another reporter asked.
“To get heard. Representative Glokkmann does not represent me. Her opposition to health care is a danger to our democracy, and she’s sown so much ill will in the House with her polarizing ignorance that she can no longer meet the obligations of the position to which she was elected.”
His accusations echoed Webber’s. “How do you know all this?” I asked.
He looked me straight in the eye. “If you look for it, you can find it.”
The truth is out there, right? This guy radiated kookiness, but I couldn’t shake the feeling of truth in his words, or the sense that he knew something important. “Did you know Bob Webber?”
“Did I know Bob Webber.” It didn’t come across as a question or a statement. In the background, a police siren blared. We didn’t have much time.
“What were you doing in the motel parking lot on Sunday morning?”
“The truth never sleeps. We must be ever-vigilant in our pursuit of it.”
“Come on,” I said. “Give me something. Who killed Bob Webber?”
But my voice was drowned out by the multitude of questions from the other reporters, who had latched on to the possibility that this man might be connected to the murder they had originally come to town to cover. The crazy drifter espoused his political views and love for anarchy right up until he was handcuffed and shoved into the backseat of a police car. Fortunately, Deputy Wohnt wasn’t the arresting officer.
When the police car pulled away, Glokkmann appeared, a smile on her face and her hair more perfect than ever before. She looked like she’d been hit with a beauty brush rather than a tomato. She spoke loud and clear to get everyone’s attention. “I’ve already had my salad. Who wants to join me at the Fortune Café for a main course?”
The reporters laughed at her quick recovery, and I gave her silent points for it. If only she used her powers for good, I thought, tagging along with the throng. She was one twisted sister. As we walked, I wondered if the tomato thrower would be granted visiting privileges in jail. I couldn’t tell if he was a crazy agitator or if he genuinely knew something, but I had a stake in finding out. It would be one more thing to ask Kennie tonight.
I wrote myself a note, which was a good thing because as soon as I reached the Fortune Café, all negative thoughts flew from my head like so many dirty bats. My Paul Bunyan breakfast was at least three hours behind me, and I had room for a garlic bagel with a healthy heaping of Greek olive cream cheese and a side of green tea with steamed soy milk added. It was all I could do not to elbow my way to the front of the line. When I got there, Nancy’s beautiful smile greeted me. In it was total acceptance, happiness to see me, and a sparkle signaling me she had something funny to share.
“What is it?”
“Don’t you mean, ‘how have you been?’ Haven’t seen you in a week! Sid, come on out. Mira’s here.”
Sid came out from the back, wiping her hands on her flour-dusted apron that proclaimed, “GLBT Is Not a Sandwich.” She was something of a baked goods mad scientist and spent a lot of time in the kitchen crafting bagels, scones, and pastries that made you cry they tasted so good, while Nancy ran the front counter and kept everyone happy. It was a perfect arrangement as Sid wasn’t what you’d call a people person.
“So I see,” she said in my direction. “Did the eggs come in yet?”
Nancy tossed her a loving wink. “I told you I’d bring you the eggs when the shipment arrived.”
“But I need the eggs now,” Sid said.
I interjected. “I can go on an egg run.”
Nancy shook her head. “The truck is due at 1:00. We’ve got enough eggs until then.”
“You sure? I’d be happy to run to the grocery store before I open the library.”
Sid softened. “Nancy’s probably right. I can make do until 1:00. Nice to see you Mira.” She turned to go into the kitchen, but Nancy snuck in a playful pinch on her bottom first. Sid swatted her hand away but I caught her smile.
Nancy returned her attention to me. “You want the usual?”
“Yes. And I also want to know why you had that cat-got-the-mouse grin when I came up to your counter.”
“Someone told me that Representative Glokkmann already met her vegetable requirement for the day. It gave me the giggles. Mean-spirited ones, I’ll grant you that, but giggles nonetheless.”
I glanced over to where Glokkmann was holding court in the packed main room of the Café, a book-lined open space with eclectic tables ringing the edge and lots of natural sunlight and robust green plants. At some point, Tanya Ingebretson had joined the entourage, along with a healthy sprinkling of other locals. It made sense that Glokkmann would want to rub elbows with the most influential people in town. Maybe they even knew each other from their school days. I was pretty sure Tanya was a native of the area.
“It’s true,” I said. “A protestor caught her square in the face with a tomato. You heard about the dead guy at the motel also?”
Nancy nodded sympathetically. “Murder, people are saying.”
“Looks that way.”
“You’re not involved, right?” Her voice was concerned.
I coughed. I had only yesterday admitted my sleuthing addiction to myself. I wasn’t ready to go public with it. “Not directly. Need help making that tea?”
“Don’t rush me. I can do two things at once. Speaking of,” and her eyes started to twinkle again, “what’s this I hear about a tanning and speed dating event at Stub’s tonight?”
“I was hoping no one would know about it, and I’d get done early.”
“So you are helping! I thought Kennie was joking.”
“I was tricked.”
Nancy reached into the glass display case to grab the biggest, freshest-looking bagel this side of New York City. “You might find love there.”
I wagged my head vigorously. “I’m into self-love now.”
“That’ll make you go blind.”
“Ha ha. No, I’m strictly working at this event. Don’t suppose you and Sid want to come lend a gal a hand?”
“Sorry,” she said, slathering olive-laced cream cheese onto the bagel before wrapping it in wax paper. “Tuesday night is TV night for us. Popcorn and root beer in front of the boob tube.” She bobbed her head toward the crowd in the main room. “You just here for lunch or are you covering Glokkmann for the paper?”
“Funny you should ask. I might be doing a little article on her.”
She finished filling a mug with hot water, popped in an unbleached bag of tea leaves, and set it on a tray next to my bagel. “Ron ask for it?”
Dang she knew me well. “Does he ever know what he wants? I better get to it.” I paid for my purchase, grabbed the bagel in one hand and the tea in the other, and sauntered to the outskirts of the room. I was glad I hadn’t sat in the center because Tanya had chosen that moment to lead the assembled reporters in a “nondenominational prayer that gives thanks to God.” I bowed my head so anyone cheating on the prayer wouldn’t see me chewing.
After the lengthy prayer, neither Tanya nor Glokkmann ate. Instead, Tanya played the role of “voter” and interviewed Glokkmann about what she called “family values issues.” They set it up like a fireside chat, two friends talking, with a dozen reporters scribbling down notes. Tanya mostly lobbed softballs: “How important are schools to you?” “How crucial do you think a strong family base is for our community?” I tuned it out and scarfed my lunch, wondering if anyone could hear me moan. The combination of chewy bagel and creamy cool cheese accented with salty bits of green and black olives was embarrassingly good.
Unfortunately, the clock was running out for me. I was hoping to meet with Glokkmann one-on-one to ask some questions, but it was looking like I wouldn’t have time for that before work. I was about to give it up for the day and head out when Tanya’s question fried my ears.
“What are your views on gay marriage?” She had the prim smile of a nanny changing a smelly diaper.
Glokkmann, the consummate politician, responded. “I think they are welcome to their personal lifestyle choices, but marriage is sacrosanct and should remain between a man and a woman.”
They were talking about people who were gay like they were some weird hybrid zoo creature. Tanya nodded approvingly and said, “Shall we say a prayer for lesbians?”
Grace stepped over and whispered something about gay men in Tanya’s ear. She listened, and then frowned. “Oh no, dear, they can’t be helped. Just the lesbians.”
My last bite of bagel caught in my throat. I was reaching for a book off the shelf to lob at Tanya’s superior smile when I saw Curtis Poling stand in the back of the room. I’d been so fixated on my bagel and Glokkmann that I hadn’t noticed he was here. Curtis was the Senior Sunset stud, a 90-year-old man with beautiful clear eyes and teeth that were as perfect as the day he’d bought them. Many in town thought he was crazy, probably because he could be found fishing off the roof of the Sunset on any given day. Those of us who knew him personally knew that was just a quirk that kept him from getting bored. He was still as smart as a steel trap, probably too smart for his own good. I wondered how he’d snuck out of the Sunset this day. “Phoo-ey,” he said.
I spotted a few other locals around him nodding their heads. Tanya ignored him and went on with her prayer.
“I said phoo -ey,” Curtis said. “Tanya Ingebretson, you’ve been mean-spirited since you were a little girl, and that’s just about enough. That’s not how your parents raised you.”
Tanya flushed. “The Bible says-”
“Bible shmible. You’re a bully, always have been. Just because you’re hanging out with a whole bunch of other bullies on that issue doesn’t make you any less wrong.”
“Shut up, Curtis Poling! I walk in The Light!”
“Looks like the Dark Ages from where I’m sitting,” someone behind Curtis muttered loudly. I craned my neck and saw it was the owner of the new flower shop. I wanted to hug him. His comment set off a firestorm of others, and suddenly reporter and local alike were distancing themselves from Tanya’s words. Even Glokkmann looked like she wished she could beam herself to a different conversation.
I became aware that Nancy and Sid were standing behind me. I turned and offered a half-smile. Nancy’s face was a mix of sad and grateful. Sid had smoke coming out of her ears.
“If only Tanya knew how close she was to the enemy,” I whispered.
Sid shrugged. “She knows. What she doesn’t know is that I sneezed in her food. She should be fully gay by the next full moon. Her husband will surely be relieved.”
“Sid!” Nancy gasped and swatted her arm. “You wouldn’t dare sneeze in someone’s food.”
Sid and I exchanged a grin and returned our attention to the main room. Curtis was on his way out in protest, and most of the townspeople were following him. Glokkmann stood to pretend that she was calling the press conference to an end rather than acknowledge that it imploded. She ignored Tanya, and I couldn’t but hope that Tanya would get to feel the sharp side of the representative’s tongue later.
I was about to leave on that positive note when Glokkmann called my name.
“Mira!”
I turned. How did she know who I was? But of course-Grace was standing behind her. I walked over and held out my hand. Up close, she looked older than I expected, or more tired. Her makeup was cracking at the edges. “Pleased to meet you, Representative Glokkmann. Quite a gathering.”
“Call me Sarah,” she said. “Grace tells me you’re a reporter here in town, and you want to do a story on my work here?”
Not what I’d call work, but I wasn’t writing what anyone would call a story, so I didn’t split hairs. “I would. I’ll of course cover today’s talking points, but I’d also like to ask you some questions. I have to go open the library now, but maybe tomorrow?”
“I’m sure we can figure something out. Grace, how does my schedule look?”
Grace consulted her handheld. “Your next opening is Thursday.”
“You plan on staying that long?” I asked.
Her tense smile tightened. “I feel it’s my responsibility to listen to my constituents when Congress isn’t in session. I’ll be in Battle Lake as long as that takes.”
Or for the murder investigation to wrap up. “Great! What time Thursday, and where would you like to meet?”
“How about 10:00 a.m. at the library?”
“Perfect,” I said. “We don’t open until noon so that would give us uninterrupted time to talk. I appreciate it.”
“It would be helpful if the library was open earlier,” she said, her brow furrowing.
“I agree. Our funding was cut.”
“Oh no, that’s not right. That’s not right at all. I will have to see what I can do about that. In the meanwhile, what do you say about changing the Thursday library hours?”
“Changing them to what?”
“Ten to whatever time you’re scheduled to close.”
“I can do that this Thursday, but like I said, there’s no funding for longer hours.”
She wrinkled her nose. “There must be a way to cut corners. You like your job?”
I didn’t like the direction this conversation was taking. Yet. “Yeah, I do.”
“And does the town love its library?”
“I think so.”
“Then you’ll find a way, I know you will, even if it means taking a pay cut. In tough times, we all have to tighten our belts.” She nodded her head brusquely. “I’ll see you Thursday at 10:00 a.m.”
“Thank you so much,” I said acidly. Out of the corner of my eye, I noted Tanya eavesdropping on our conversation and smiling broadly. I mentally stuck my tongue out at her.
“My pleasure,” Glokkmann said, but she was already looking over my shoulder. Most of the reporters had left.
On my way out, I heard Glokkmann thanking Nancy for her wonderful food and hospitality. I wondered if Sid was going to let the representative walk out without giving her a piece of her mind.
I left all that behind me to run the library for the next six hours at what were already poverty wages. I certainly could volunteer to work to keep the library open longer hours, but that wouldn’t solve the problem of slashed funding for basic community services-schools, medical care, libraries. I fumed for hours about how that woman had made me feel guilty for doing my job, but at the end of the day, I had bigger fish to fry.
Or backs to spray. I still wasn’t a hundred percent clear on how Kennie had tricked me into tonight’s gig. Really, it was Mrs. Berns’ fault because I wouldn’t be indebted to Kennie if not for her. I was rolling that negative thought around in my head, getting ready to close up the library, when in walked Conrad, marching like he was on full parade. He pounded toward where I stood behind the front counter and held out his hand. Feeling peevish, I didn’t take it.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Berns?”
“It’s what you can do for my mother. Allow me to speak plainly. She’s going to be moved to a nursing home where I can guarantee she’s safe, and I need your help in making a smooth transition for her.”
I swung from one angry tree to another. “Safe? What kind of life is ‘safe’?”
He pounded his fist on the countertop, and I jumped. “For God sakes, you’ve seen her in the hospital! She almost died on Sunday. Do you want that on your shoulders?”
I sucked in an angry breath. “I might not always agree with her decisions. You might not always agree with her decisions. But she’s earned the right to make her own choices and to live with the consequences.”
He leaned in closely, his nose advancing toward me like a paring knife. “I know she cares about you. If you care about her, you’ll encourage her to move to the new nursing home, and you’ll tell my sister that you think it’s for the best. I don’t know why, but Elizabeth has come to respect your input.”
I didn’t back down. “Do you even know your mother? Have you even asked any of her friends what she’s like, or do you just come in and tell everyone how it’s going to be? Because if you asked around, you’d find that your mom is pretty well-respected in this community, and she’s happy. And she’s settling down.” I had a hard time following the script but soldiered on. “She’s engaged to an employed man and she’s meeting with a life coach. She’s turning her life around.”
He ran his hand over his face, and for a moment, I saw the man behind the curtain. “I want her out of harm’s way. That’s all. I just want my mother to be protected, and to live a life that would make my dad proud.”
“What about a life that would make her proud?”
He didn’t answer, instead turning a neat 180 on his back heel and marching out the way he’d come.
He left me agitated by thoughts of Mrs. Berns being forcibly led away despite her best attempts to get her granny on, and this agitation slowed me down. I got out of work later than expected. I had only enough time to run home and check on Tiger Pop and Luna, who were both sunning themselves in the backyard, before I cruised back into town and parked behind Stub’s. I was dismayed to see the lot was already filling up. Kennie was equally disappointed when I walked in, but for different reasons.
“Sugar pie, I thought we agreed you’d come early to help decorate the tables and storm up some conversation starters?”
I had no patience for her whining. “It’s been a crappy day. You’re lucky I’m here at all. But since I am, how’s this for conversational springboards for tonight’s festivities: ‘Why are you orange?’ or ‘Can you believe we paid for this?’”
“Now now, that’s no attitude. This is a fun night! You’re a sparkly hostess! Come with me.” She dragged me over to the spray tan booth she’d set up. It consisted of four cloth room dividers arranged so they formed a portable room in a roughly square shape. A curtain lay draped over the single opening so people could walk in and out without moving the dividers. Inside the makeshift room rested a single chair, which Kennie informed me was for the shirts of the tanners, and a bench which contained the MagiTan® spraying equipment, hair cover-ups, and white paper towels for the clients to tuck into the waist of their pants so no orange smeared on them. My instructions were to only spray faces and upper bodies.
I listened to half of what she said, wondering if I was supposed to have some sort of license. Any job that entailed changing the color of someone’s skin should require formal training and a standardized certification. “I’m only doing this because I told you I would, you know,” I said pettily. “I already found out that Swydecker doesn’t have an alibi for the night of the murder.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Then you certainly won’t want to hear that he was with a woman that night.”
“What?” I thought back to my conversation with him. He’d been the picture of resigned honesty. “He said he wasn’t with anyone the night of the murder. Why would he lie if he had someone to corroborate his whereabouts and get him off the hook?”
She tapped her long red fingernail against her chin and pretended to ponder that idea. “Let’s see. Why would a married man running for political office hide the fact that he’d spent the night with a woman?”
I pictured his empty wedding ring finger. “The woman wasn’t his wife.”
“Bingo! But don’t be too disappointed. I have even more interesting information to share. We’ve found enough evidence at the scene of the crime to name a suspect.”
My ears perked. “Not Swydecker, right?”
“You’ll have to wait until after your shift to find out. When some of those men take off their shirts and you have to push aside back hair to get to their skin, you might lose your resolve without incentive to stay.”
Or my lunch. I looked longingly at the rows of glittering glass bottles behind the bar, slapped myself, and walked, head down, into the booth just as the line began to form outside it.
The only way I could get through the hour of spraying the bodies of strangers was by pretending I was a prison guard delousing them, and that they were all going away for a very long time. The patrons’ reactions ran the gamut from shy to sheepish to excited. Mostly, though, they were nervous and trying to hide it. The only person who acknowledged the strangeness of the evening was a sweet woman in her late twenties with a slight limp. I’d seen her around town and thought she worked at one of the gift shops. She was constantly in the library checking out books on animals, but she was painfully shy and I didn’t know her name.
When her back was turned, she said, “How long have you been doing this?”
“About thirty minutes.”
She laughed politely. “No, not tonight. I meant in your life.”
“Yup,” I said.
“Oh.” She held out her arms when I asked. “This is kinda weird, then.”
“I’m sorry.”
She coughed and reached for the bra she’d set over the back of the chair and then caught herself, squaring her shoulders and holding her arms out again. “I’m not going to meet anyone if I don’t step out of my comfort zone, am I?”
My sympathy for her squelched my sarcastic urges. “It could be a fun night.”
“Yes,” she said firmly. “Will the spray cover up my tattoo?”
I glanced at the lower back art, the head of a German Shepherd above the name “Toby.” According to the dates, he had died last year.
“I don’t think so, and it’s only temporary in any case. Do you still want the spray?”
“Sure,” she said. “I’ve seen you working at the library. Is this your new part-time job?”
“Not if I can help it. Was Toby your dog?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry. I live with a part German shepherd. Her name is Luna. I know how easy it is to love your dogs.” I finished spraying her back and instructed her to face me. She was kind enough to cover her breasts with her hands. The spray lines would be odd, but it made us both much more comfortable.
“Yes. It is.”
Her shoulders were quavering a little, so I finished quickly. “Good luck tonight.”
She thanked me, got dressed, and left. I returned to the drudgery of coating people who were too embarrassed to talk, which was fine by me. I was doing great until the very last gentleman entered my booth, his coupon in hand. He was in his early thirties and thin, sporting a long Ichabod Crane neck with a bobbing Adam’s apple. I gave him the spiel.
“We’ll treat this just like a tanning booth. First, take your shirt off.” He complied. “And your glasses.” He slid them off his nose and set them on his neatly folded shirt. “Hold your arms out like you’re a scarecrow.” I sprayed his front. We were doing great until my sprayer clogged.
“Excuse me,” I said. “I have to go rinse this. I’ll be right back.” A quick rinse under hot water, and I had the sprayer working again in under two minutes. The end was in sight, and so by the time I returned to the tanning room, I was almost in a good mood. Until I pulled back the curtain on the tanning room and saw Ichabod standing there, facing me and completely naked. I squeaked, and then, I swear I couldn’t help it, my eyes shot to his down-below before zipping back up to his face. My cheeks burned. Never underestimate the skinny guys was the hard-earned lesson there.
I covered embarrassment with indignation. “What the put-your- pants-on is going on here?”
He might have blushed, but it was impossible to tell because before leaving I had sprayed his face the color of a tropical sunset. “You told me to treat this like a tanning booth. I tan naked at the tanning booth. Tan lines, you know. Everybody tans naked,” he added, as if I hadn’t gotten the memo. He looked ready to cry, but defiant, like he didn’t want to admit that this mortifying situation was all his fault.
He looked so, well, naked. I felt bad for him. I sucked in a deep breath. “You’re right that I did say to treat this like a tanning booth. I’m sorry I wasn’t clearer. I really should have been.” I indicated his lower torso without looking directly at it. Okay, I might have snuck in one more glance. Goodness. “This is only top-up tanning. Nothing from the waist down. I’ll step out so you can get dressed.”
“But what about my back?” He whined. “Will you still tan my back?”
“As soon as your pants are back on.” I stepped out and inhaled deeply. I was certain I was going to have nightmares about anteaters tonight.
He called me back in once he was dressed, and we both made a Herculean effort to avoid eye contact. He made awkward conversational attempts, but accidental nudity is hard to recover from. I quickly spritzed his back and exited the booth to help Kennie herd the lovelorn singles to their grazing ground.
While I’d been spraying the two dozen odd clients, she’d been plying them with liquor. As a result, almost everyone in Stub’s back room was approximately the color of traffic cones, and blitzed. They were voluntarily sex-segregated, the women on one side of the room giggling and staring at the men, and the men on the other shoving their hands in their pockets and dearly wishing the guy next to them would morph into a TV. It was like being at a Martian dentists’ convention: a bunch of boring, drunk, orange creatures standing around uncomfortably.
Kennie had deliberately kept the male/female ratio as close to even as possible. She’d told me the plan for the night was to seat one man at each table, and then she would blow a whistle. Each woman would charge toward the table she wanted and then have five minutes to talk up the man sitting there. When the next whistle blew, the women would stand and move one table to their right. I calculated it should take less than an hour to get through this skin auction, I’d get the dirt on the suspect from Kennie, and I’d be home to wash my eyes with hydrogen peroxide before 10:00 pm.
Kennie explained the rules to the participants, and I helped her seat one man per table. Then we stepped out of the way.
The fast-action love tango was surprisingly painful to watch, hopeful singles striving to flirt, make small talk, and open their heart in the space of five minutes. It was like watching an excruciating, high-speed job interview play itself out over and over again. The worst was when one person at a table showed an immediate interest and the other person did not, which I observed was frequently the case with Ichabod Crane, my pee-peeper. It got so by the end of the night, I was feeling even sorrier for him than before. I overheard him trotting out the same jokes to woman after woman, and they weren’t buying it:
“Hey, I’m Darcy,” he’d say, “and I just want to know, if airports are so safe, why do they call them terminals?”
If the woman laughed politely, he’d follow that with, “and have you ever noticed that how long a minute is depends on what side of the bathroom door you’re on?” That one was almost a guarantee that the woman would excuse herself to get a drink, but if she was kind enough to stay put, he’d roll out his ace in the hole. “There seems to be something wrong with my cell phone.” And he’d pop it out and flip it open. Yes, flip it open. “It doesn’t have your number in it.”
I finally couldn’t stand it any longer. I slipped in the seat across from him at the next whistle. He was by now so dejected from the process that he didn’t look up, just said in a morose voice, “Hey, I’m Darcy, and I just want to know, if airports are so-”
“Stop it.”
He glanced up. “What are you doing here? Are you a speed dater too?” He returned his gaze to his lap, embarrassed. “I’m sorry, but you’re not really my type.”
“What?” I was insulted before I realized I didn’t care. “Never mind. You’re not my type either. But you might meet a nice woman if you stop being so pitiful.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” he said pitifully.
“Look, despite the fact that you depantsed yourself, you seem like a nice guy. Am I right?”
“My mother thinks so.”
“Jeez. See what I mean? You talk too much. You’re on automatic spiel, and you’re not even listening to the women across from you. Everyone likes to be listened to.”
He pulled out a well-worn book from his back pocket. “Not according to Manly Man: The Guide to Irresistibility. Women like their men funny and forceful.”
I chucked the book across the room and saw two men scoop it up quick like seagulls on a hot dog. “There’s no prescription for love. You have to be yourself if you want to find someone who loves you.” Who did I think I was? Me dispensing dating advice was like Humpty Dumpty telling people how to sit.
“But no one likes me when I’m myself,” he said in a tiny voice.
“Try me. We have forty-five seconds left.”
“I’m feeling kind of insecure right now. Could I have a hug?”
“Try harder.”
He drew in a shaky breath. “Hi. My name is Darcy. I’m an online game developer. I make around $40,000 a year and hide most of it in a Crisco can under the sink because I’m afraid of banks. If I was an animal, I’d be a fish that no one has ever discovered. I’ve only kissed one female besides my mom, and we got our braces tangled and had to be brought to the E.R. to separate them. She never wanted to see me again, which was hard because we were in the same homeroom.”
I held up my hand. I couldn’t take it anymore. “Do you have anything positive to say at all?”
He dragged his eyes to meet mine with great effort. “I volunteer at the Humane Society, and I love it. It’s the only place I’m happy. I spend every free moment helping out.”
My light bulb went off, though it was dim. “Hold it right there.” I looked around for the woman with Toby tattooed on her back but couldn’t find her anywhere. As a last ditch effort, I searched the bathroom and came across her hiding in a corner, clutching a drink like it was a life preserver. “You okay?” I asked.
She had tear streaks on her carrot-colored face and wiped them away quickly. “I don’t think this is for me.”
“Care to give it one more chance?”
She shook her head. “I think I want to go home.”
“Please? It can’t get much worse, right?”
She smiled tiredly and slammed what was left of her drink. “If it’ll make you feel better. I suppose you get in trouble if we’re not all at the tables like we’re supposed to be.”
“Sure.” I led her over to Darcy. They might not find love, but I had a good feeling they’d be nice to each other. “Darcy, this is…?”
“Cindy,” she said, averting her eyes.
“And Cindy, this is Darcy.” I pushed her in the chair.
“Hi, Cindy. My name is Darcy.” He still looked demoralized. “Why, if airplanes are so safe, do they call them terminals?”
I launched evil eye daggers at him-had he not listened to one word I’d said?-but stopped when I heard a faint snort-hiccup and realized Cindy was laughing. Darcy, encouraged, shared his second and third joke and moved on to a fourth, and by the time I realized I wasn’t needed, Cindy was laughing so hard she was doubled over and Darcy was staring at her with a dazed, goofy grin.
The world is a strange place, and I’d had enough of it for the night. I tracked down Kennie, who’d pulled the beefiest guy out of the line-up and was trying to convince him, between whistle blasts, that he’d need to come by her place to fill out more paperwork. I stepped between them, and he took the opportunity to dash away.
“Honey! I was making a love connection.”
“He looked scared.”
“Humph. What do you want?”
“I’ve had enough. I’m going home. Tell me what you know.”
“But the night isn’t done yet! There’s still four more rotations to go.”
I scanned the room. “Have you looked around? You put too many candles on each table, and it’s melting the color right off their faces. Anyone who hasn’t left in shame is either paired up already or not gonna be. It’s time to call it a night.”
She put her hands on her hips. “Fine, but do you have to turn everything into a negative?”
“Sorry,” I said through gritted teeth. “I’m positive I never want to do this again.”
To my surprise, she laughed. “You’re a piece of work, Mira James. And for that, I’ll give you a twofer. The first one: you know the drifter who pelted Sarah with tomatoes today?”
“Yeah, I was there. He’s got a good arm.”
“And I think he deserves a medal, but that’s beside the point. He was released today because Sarah didn’t want to press charges as long as he left Battle Lake immediately. He was driven to the county line this afternoon.”
“What is this, Gunsmoke ?”
She ignored me. “As to the murder investigation, like I was saying earlier, evidence has been recovered from the scene. A couple medium, light brown hairs were found in Webber’s fist and a faint but muddy shoe print that doesn’t belong to him was also discovered.”
My throat swelled until I remembered that my shoes hadn’t been muddy. Or had they? “Light brown and not dark brown?”
Kennie studied me. “Definitely not dark brown.”
“Sarah Glokkmann has medium length, light brown hair.”
“I know!” Kennie clapped her hands in glee.
“So, the police know whose hairs and footprint they are?”
“They have a couple guesses. How fast this moves depends on whether those people willingly give up DNA samples.”
“You’ll tell me when you find out?”
“We’ll see.”
I knew that was all I was going to get from her, and it was more than I’d expected. “You know, Kennie, you’re not all bad.”
She winked. “Just bad enough.”
We said our goodbyes and I was about to write this night off as “not as atrocious as it could have been” when I ran smack dab into Deputy Gary Wohnt.