August Moon (8 page)

The next day at
the library, a Wednesday, couldn’t pass fast enough. When I wasn’t able to stand it any longer, I gave Sarah Ruth the keys and asked if she would mind closing up for me. I had one final obligation to fulfill before I could slip undercover. I had promised Tina I’d stop by her store and see what I could find out about Lydia, the employee I hadn’t met yet. It’d also give me a chance to see if I could find any more out about Annika, the suspicious worker. I would much rather be putting my excellent plan into play, but I had given Tina my word.

When I stepped out of the library, the hazy hot air was as heavy as a hand pushing down on me. Everyone around me was wilting and hugging the sparse shade under business awnings. Across the street, a gaggle of children held rapidly melting popsicles, grape and orange sticky-juice running down their arms. If we didn’t get relief from this weather soon, the lakes were going to be full of boiled fish.

I spotted Annika before I entered 4Ts. She was in the front display window rearranging some walleye, wood ducks, and beaded earrings. I waved as I entered.

“Nice day to get in from the heat!”

She smiled. “Can you hold this bird for me for a minute? I need to dust these bracelets up front and I can’t get to them with this plume in my way.”

She passed me a stuffed duck, its glass eyes sparkling. If it weren’t for Tina, I would have spit once on the ground for good luck and scrambled out the door. “Sure.” I put my hands out and cringed, certain that the birds would smell their dead comrade on me and seek revenge as soon as I left the store. I held the bread-loaf-sized corpse gingerly, surprised at the silky softness of the feathers and how little it weighed. It had a strange airiness, a cold dead husk of a thing, and it emitted a faint-rotten chemical odor. “Ever think it’s weird to have jewelry and stuffed animals together in one store?”

She shrugged. “It works. Speaking of, how do you like that yin-yang ring?”

“You’ve got a good memory.”

“Just for jewelry. I love it. See this aquamarine pendant?” She leaned toward me so I could get a view of the big blue sparkler around her neck. “Just got it. It’s rare to find an aquamarine this size.”

“They must pay you well.” I tried to make my smile easy, but I was a terrible actor, and the bird carcass in my arms made it all that much more difficult to feign cheerfulness. Her eyes turned hard, and she snatched the duck out of my hands and turned away.

“I’m good with money,” she said, her back to me.

I’ll bet she was. I had a hunch that Tina was right and Annika was supplementing her income on the sly. A hunch was just gossip all dressed up and ready to go out, though, and I had told Tina I wouldn’t report anything that wasn’t concrete. I decided to fish in a different pond. “You know that Lebowski girl? The one who was murdered?”

That brought immediate camaraderie, as death does, and Annika and I were friends again. She turned to me, her eyes wide. “Isn’t that awful? She worked at the library with you, didn’t she?”

I nodded, my lips pursed.

“That must suck. My friend Sally’s boyfriend Rick had just seen her at a party the night before.”

I wasn’t surprised. Like most teenagers in a small town, Lucy liked to drink with her friends. There wasn’t much else to do at night, and given the number of bars in each town, teens certainly saw the behavior modeled often enough. I had nothing to lose by leading Annika along, however. “Yeah? Did she go to a lot of parties?”

“For sure. She was a total Frito Lay.”

“Hunh?”

“Easy. She was easy. And she liked to whoop it up on the weekends.”

I withheld judgment. If being a partier was a capital crime, there’d be no cheerleaders left in rural Minnesota. Come to think of it, there wouldn’t be much of anyone left. Just the kids and people in full-body casts. Plus, I knew firsthand Lucy was a sweet person, regardless of what she did in her off time. “More than the usual?”

“Depends on who you ask.” She tensed a little, maybe sensing I wasn’t jumping on board the “blame the dead girl” train quickly enough. “Why do you want to know?”

“It’s depressing, you know? She was so young, and now someone killed her. Aren’t you sad?”

“Well, you know what they say—live hard, die young, and leave a hot corpse. Anyhow, Lydia’s the one you want to ask about Lucy. They were both on the cheerleading squad.”

Annika returned to her rearranging of the recently departed fauna and gold-plated jewelry, and I considered this piece of information. I was here to help Tina, but would it hurt if I could pick up some information about Lucy’s last night on earth? As her friend and employer, I owed her that much. I moved to the rear of the store, hoping to catch Lydia when she emerged from the “employees only” door. Two couples entered the front and browsed the racks. I inched closer to the rear door and knelt to sift through a basket of bangles. That’s where I picked up on some tense whispering coming from the rear room, and as I stopped making noise with the jewelry, I could make out words.

“…to steal from us!” It was a woman’s voice.

“If you thought someone was stealing, you should have gone to the police like I told you. But you know no one’s stealing. Maybe you should lay off the blonde juice a little and learn to count the till better.” This, a man’s voice, condescending and dismissive.

“I’m not stupid, Tom.” As I inched closer to the door and pretended to study the elastic toe rings on a shelf next to it, I recognized Tina’s voice. “I know how to count a till. Will you please listen to me?”

He mimicked her in a sing-song voice. “‘Will you please listen to me? Will you please listen to me?’ God! You sound like a spoiled brat. You’re just as bad as those idiot girls you hire.”

“I’m sorry, Tom. I didn’t mean to make you mad.”

“‘I didn’t mean to make you mad.’ Maybe you should try sparking that brain before you open your piehole, then.”

I clenched. I didn’t know Tom Mathison well. He spent most of his time in the back room or working in his shop at home, but when I bumped into him in town, he was always friendly, a broad grin on his ruddy face. He was short and meaty, with hands like baseball gloves, and a habit of slapping you on the back when you talked. I wondered if he also enjoyed slapping his wife as she talked.

Tina sighed, and it was heartbreaking for its timidity. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, you are. Are we done with this?”

“I won’t bring it up again.”

When Tina appeared in front of me seconds later, it was so abrupt that I didn’t have time to pretend I hadn’t been eavesdropping. “Hi.”

She flushed and studied her shoes. “Sorry if you had to hear that. Things are a little tense around here since the, well, lately.”

I wanted to make her comfortable. “Must be the weather. It has everyone on edge. Is Lydia here?”

“She called in sick. She was one of the cheerleaders at camp with poor Lucy Lebowski, you know, and she’s too distraught to come to work today. Anyhow, I guess I don’t need you to help any more. It maybe wasn’t a problem like I thought.”

I looked toward the front window and was momentarily blinded by the sun reflecting off Annika’s pendant. I wanted to help Tina win back some of her confidence. She was a nice woman in a bad marriage, a terribly common situation I had witnessed firsthand growing up. “I don’t mind.” I lowered my voice. “It’s just between you and me. So when do you think Lydia will be back?”

Tina considered my words, cast a furtive glance at the rear room, and whispered. “She said she’d be back tomorrow, working with Kaitlyn. You better go.”

“Okay.” I raised my voice to normal pitch. “That would be great if you could order me that Celtic puzzle ring. Fantastic! I’ll be by tomorrow to see if it’s in.” Before she could answer, I was out the door and into the dragon’s mouth. I stretched my arms over my head, shaking off the dirty feeling of hearing Tom abuse Tina. His wife had been giving him good common sense—an employee was stealing from right under their noses—and he had just ridiculed her. Verbal putdowns like that didn’t spring up overnight, and it saddened me to think that she had been enduring this behavior for years. It must have taken a lot of courage for her to come to me with the embezzling problem. Abusive men usually keep their women on a short leash.

I had done my duty by Tina, and I would follow through tomorrow as promised. I couldn’t pry her out of an icky relationship, but maybe, if I was lucky, I could finger whoever was stealing from her. In the meantime, it was time to spy on some of God’s blessed flock. If they were going to fling dirt, I’d best be armed.

It was a Wednesday
night, so the New Millennium Bible Camp services would be open to the public. I could attend wearing my regular clothes, blend in somewhere on the expansive grounds that would be full of kids and parents on this roasting summer evening, and avoid the Meales. My plan was to find out what sort of people these Meales were and to get some dirt on them. Once I had some information, I’d have leverage when dealing with the banned book petition and future conflicts with the Meales that were sure to crop up now that the gauntlet had been thrown down.

At the very least, it would be good to get a handle on my enemies. That’s what I was telling myself as I turned right on County Road 5 and followed it south, straight across the Clitherall prairie, a little curve past Belmont Lake, and then straight again. The New Millennium Bible Camp sign on my right was handpainted wood, leaning dangerously. I had never taken notice of it before so I wasn’t sure if it was suffering from neglect or abuse.

I followed the arrow on the sign and was relieved to see that there were dozens of cars parked along the side of the road, and when I reached the end of the two-mile driveway, that the parking lot by the church was also nearly full. If my car had been any larger, I wouldn’t have been able to squeeze between the Chevy Blazer and the Ford extended cab pickup. As it was, I was forced to crawl out through my window.

Everyone was piling into the church, which indicated the service was about to start. That made it a safe bet that all three Meales were inside, leaving me to explore the grounds unattended. I walked to the nearest rise to get a lay of the land. To the east was the church, a simple white structure with red, gold, and green stained-glass windows. Straight north and nearest the lake were six cabins, as tidy as hospital beds, and east of them was a partially submerged circle of benches and a pulpit. The furniture was in five inches of swampy water, as if God had sent the flood prematurely and washed his flock away mid-worship. To the west was the main hall where they likely held assembly, meals, and public affairs. Farther up the hill, between the main hall and the cabins, was a house that I presumed was the Meales’ residence.

“It’s as fine as frog’s hair, isn’t it?”

The voice startled me, and I turned to see a woman in her mid-thirties, with a beatific smile on her face. “What is?”

“The Bible camp. It was closed for three years before Pastor Meale brought it back to life last fall, bless him. He put all his own money into painting it and getting wheelchair ramps for his wife set up. He is a beacon of faith and fellowship.”

“You live around here?”

She offered her hand. “I’m so sorry! I should have introduced myself. My name is Christina Sahlberg. I live right over on Spitzer Lake. Are you here for the service?”

“I am. I’m new. Could you direct me to the church?”

“Silly, it’s right over there.” She pointed at the building at the bottom of the hill. The line of her finger led directly to the back of a man entering the church, and he appeared to be wearing a cape. It must have been Weston Lippmann, tick curator and fellow bird-fearer. I wouldn’t have pegged him for a churchgoer.

“Of course. Well, thank you.”

“I am but a humble shepherd.” She floated off toward the main hall, and when she was out of sight, I snuck around to the cabins so I could peek into the windows. All six of them were set up like typical resort cabins, with one main room housing the kitchen, living, and dining spaces, and three bedrooms off of the central room, each with two, three-level bunk beds.

I passed the sunken log circle to the east, noticing the hand-hewn logs in a horseshoe shape around the humble pulpit. My movements made the sunning turtles plop into the water. Something about the space was eerie. Maybe it was the wetness of it in this time of drought, as if it had intentionally been built underwater. Up close, it looked lascivious, like the wet smile of a dirty and prune-faced old man. I marched back across the gravel road winding through the camp and straight west to the main hall. I could hear singing coming from inside, and wondered if there was a junior service going on for the kids attending camp for the week.

No one appeared to be watching me, but I chose caution and darted around to the back of the building before peeking in, scaring up dust as I scuttled. I slid up the side of the building and peered in an open window, settling my fingers on the splintered wood of the sill. Body heat and rhythmic singing poured out.

At first, I couldn’t make sense of what I saw. There were at least fifty children, ranging in age from about five to their late teens, and they were all wearing camouflage pants or shorts and T-shirts. The group was mostly male, and they were in various stages of prostration, ripping their clothes, bowing, and throwing their hands up in the air.

Through the cracked window, I could smell sweat and incense, and the organic tang of hardworking farmers’ kids.

“Are you a warrior for Jesus?”

The rhetorical question came from a female voice in the front, and by hugging the rough outer wall, I saw it was Alicia Meale. She looked different from my last sighting of her, her face intense and luminous, even with her eyes closed in rapture. The crowd of kids raised their hands and swayed—some moaning, others spouting rapid gibberish.

“I said, are you a warrior for Jesus!”

This earned a rallying cry, and I noticed a young boy, about six, hitting the side of his head with his right fist as he stared, rapt, at Alicia. “I will fight for Jesus!” he yelled. Forty-plus voices agreed with him.

“Are you ready to do as Jesus asks?”

“We are!”

“And you will lead the way for the righteous, and shoot down the unbelievers who block your path?”

“So sayeth the Lord!”

“Then you are always welcome in Christ’s Church of the Apocryphal Revelation!”

Christ’s Church of the Apocryphal Revelation? I had never heard of them, but I was pretty sure they weren’t Lutherans. I scoured the large room for any familiar faces, maybe a regular from my story hour at the library, but didn’t see anyone I knew. The whole scene felt about as agreeable as a high-speed enema.

“I thought you were looking for the church?”

I spun around, my heart gyrating like a go-go dancer on pay day. “Hi, uh, Christina. I guess I got a little lost.”

Her eyes glittered at me, sharp and hot. “Let me walk you to the church. And I didn’t catch your name.”

I made to follow her, but she stood her ground until I led the way. She felt dangerous at my back. “I’m just visiting. Getting a feel for the grounds. You know, trying to choose a church.”

“Your name?”

“Mary Catherine Gallagher.”

“Are you a believer?”

“I certainly am.” It wasn’t a lie. I did believe in something, just probably not the same thing as her. “You really have a lovely camp here, but I guess I better get going. So many churches, so little time.”

She stopped, her arms crossed at her waist. “I hope to see you back again, Mary Catherine. God watches over us all.”

“Thank you, Christina.” I backed away until I was beyond pouncing distance and when I turned, felt her eyes burn an X across my back. It was all I could do not to run to my car. The Ford pickup had left and so I could open my door. When I crawled in, I risked a peek back, and there she was, standing like a scarecrow, her arms still crossed at her waist, watching me.

I started my car, not-so-stealthily rolled up the windows, locked the doors, and squealed out. Well, it was a 1985 Toyota hatchback. I whined out. I considered stopping at Bonnie & Clyde’s to cleanse my scarred soul but decided it would be cheaper to drink at home. In fact, getting deeply drunk tonight in front of the TV, and then every night until I moved away from this freakish coil of a town in a week and a half, sounded like a brilliant plan. Let Sarah Ruth deal with the petition and the police deal with Lucy’s murder.

When I pulled into my driveway, an unfamiliar car was parked in the shade of the gigantic lilacs in the center of the turnaround. Luna ran out and snuffled my hand.

“Who’s here, girl? Who is it?”

My dog smiled at me, and I returned the look, until I saw the dark-haired woman come around the corner of the house, her expression indecipherable.