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 passed 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 shores 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 massage 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 fiberglass 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 bumper 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 space 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
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 passed 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 shores 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 massage 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 fiberglass 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 bumper 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 space 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
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