August Moon Page 4

  “I’m sorry, but we don’t open until ten o’clock. That’s just another twenty minutes or so.”

  The man smiled widely and offered me his hand. “I’m Pastor Meale. We’re making our way through town and introducing ourselves to the businesspeople.”

  I darted a glance at the dark-haired female, the one who had seemed familiar on the street. Meale. Alicia Meale, the assertive young lady who had stopped by the library on Friday and left without a book. Her transformation from then to now was shocking, from pretty and outgoing nineteen-year-old to matronly Christian girl, makeup free in her shapeless flowered dress. The only carryover was the golden crucifix at her neck. She caught my look and gave me a devilish wink, like we shared a secret, and my original take on her was reaffirmed. She was the human equivalent of a Twin Bing candy bar, sweet on the outside and weird and nasty on the inside. Problem was, a lot of people liked Twin Bings, and I bet a lot of people fell for Alicia, too.

  I shook his hand. “I’m Mira James, and I’m the librarian. Well, at least for another two weeks I am.”

  He nodded distractedly, as if I had interrupted his chain of thought, and pushed up his old-fashioned, gigantic, rectangular-framed glasses that only shop teachers and lumber salesmen wear. “This is my wife, Naomi, and our daughter, Alicia.”

  Naomi held up a bony, beringed hand from her seat in the wheelchair. I shook it, gently, and ignored Alicia’s outstretched hand. She dropped it when I turned back to her father.

  “You’re new in town?”

  The pastor looked sharply at Alicia before continuing, and I wondered what he made of the body language between us. “No. We’ve been here for several months, building up a congregation at the New Millennium Bible Camp, south of Clitherall. Are you familiar with it?”

  “I’ve driven by it on the way to Inspiration Peak.”

  “Ah, yes. Beautiful area over there. We’re very pleased to be part of the community. Tell me, Ms. James, are you a believer?”

  The Monkees song thrummed irreverently through my head, and it was all I could do not to sing it back to Mr. Meale—“I’m a believer!” But I desisted, just, fighting down sarcasm, my natural antidote to arrogance in others. “I don’t go to church.”

  I could see him taking stock of me, and my price was dropping. Before he could respond, his wife interjected. “Our faith is the most important thing we have. ‘Faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see,’ Hebrews 11.1.”

  Mr. Meale looked approvingly at his wife. “Very apt.”

  “You are the head, Robert. Through God’s grace, I am only the neck.”

  I shivered. Could this be the new minister and his family that Kennie had talked about, the ones who had slipped inside Gary Wohnt’s skull? “You seem like a very close family.” My joke was lost on them.

  “And we’d like to invite you to be part of our family, Mira. Is it okay if I call you Mira?” I nodded at Robert Meale, and he continued. “Although participation in the Bible Camp is open to only those who can commit to a week of faith, fun, and fellowship, we’ve opened the church at the Camp to the public for one service Wednesday nights and two services on Sunday. We hope you’ll join us.”

  “Thank you for the invitation, but I’m not really a faith and fellowship kind of gal.”

  “But we’re having an open house this Thursday!” Alicia said, handing over a flier. “You should at least come to see what we have to offer. I’m sure you wouldn’t object to having us leave these on the counter, right?”

  The flier was well done, with a lot of white space and not too much distracting information. It listed the name, date, and location of the event, along with the facts that it was open to the public; there would be food, drink, and games; and guests were invited to view the Creation Science Fair put on by local youth.

  I was unfamiliar with the concept and my question leaked out before I could stem it. “Creation Science Fair? Isn’t that an unlikely pairing?” I swear I couldn’t help myself. Religious pressure was the worst kind because proponents weren’t just bargaining with your social standing; they were holding your very soul at stake.

  Pastor Robert’s eyes narrowed. “You’ll distribute the flier?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t. As a state-funded agency, I’m not allowed to promote any religious activity.” I was 98 percent sure I was lying, but it sounded better than, “I’m afraid you are brain-eating zombies, and if I give you an inch, you will remove my free will and coax me into driving a minivan, staying in the kitchen to cook while the men watch sports in the den, and nervously shushing people when they want to talk about sex, drinking, or public education.”

  “Ah. I see. I see clearly.” He snatched the fliers out of my hand and walked past me to the banned book display. “The state doesn’t support religious freedom, but it sponsors blasphemous literature?”

  I felt momentarily shamed by the display, like it had been childish to exhibit banned books and maybe I was about to land in big trouble. Then, my shame turned to anger, as it is wont to do. “Those are books. This is a library. In this country, people are allowed to read and to write what they want.”

  Pastor Robert turned, his eyes unreadable. “Maybe it’s not the government that does or doesn’t want these things. Maybe it’s you. I won’t leave the fliers here, though I know I can. It is my hope you find your way to us in a manner that is comfortable to you. Come Naomi, Alicia. We have many more friends to make.”

  Cripes, I hated it when someone took the higher road than me. It rankled to lose at the rock, paper, scissors games that, strung together, made up our lives. I thought about thanking them for coming, decided that would be insincere, and instead made up my mind to avoid them for the next two weeks. Then, I would be outta here.

  The jangle of the phone startled me, coinciding as it did with the ding of the door as the pastor and his family exited. “Battle Lake Public Library.”

  “It’s Ron Sims at the Recall.”

  As if there were any other. “Hi, Ron.”

  “We’ve got a new family in town.” My stomach dropped. It wasn’t possible. “The Meales, over in Clitherall. They’re having an open house at New Millennium Bible Camp on Thursday, and you’re covering it for the paper.”

  “I’m leaving, Ron. I’m moving back to the Cities in two weeks.” I hadn’t meant to tell him like that. Ron and I had developed a comfortable relationship over the last few months. I ignored the fact that he lacked social skills and was addicted to making out with his wife in public, and he ignored the fact that I couldn’t stay out of trouble and regularly disregarded deadlines. I liked him, and I felt like a louse for leaving him with a position to fill.

  “You better hurry with that article, then.”

  “I’ll miss you, too.” Click. I was left with the phone in my hand and a quiet smile on my lips. Ron was nothing if not consistent. I’d cover the open house, but I wouldn’t like it. I went back to the books I had been about to enter in the computer when the Meales had shown up. When the door donged again, I turned, clenched, to see who else this morning was going to deliver up.

  “I’m so sorry I’m late! The first day on the job and I’m not on time. I feel like an ass.” Sarah Ruth’s long, kinky hair was coming loose from her ponytail, and she tried to stuff it back up as she spoke. Problem was, her hands were covered in black, which she was transferring to her hair.

  “What happened to you?”

  “Flat tire. Thank God it happened over by Koep’s gas station in Clitherall. I never did learn how to change one of those by myself.”

  “Someone changed it for you?”

  “Yes, an attendant at the station.”

  “Then what is all that black stuff on your hands?”

  Sarah Ruth looked at them and chuckled. “I held the nuts for him. They must have been covered in oil. I can be such an airhead. I bet I got it all over my hair, didn’t I?”

  I smiled. “Yeah. You can use the bathroom in back to wash up. Y
ou didn’t miss much. I haven’t even started opening.”

  “Oh, good. I’ll be right back.”

  I e-mailed the two articles to Ron, and when Sarah Ruth returned, I showed her the library opening processes, went over the book sections, and talked about our more colorful clientele. When it was time for Monday Madness, the moniker I had affectionately given to the kids’ reading hour, she helped to keep the wilder ones interested as I narrated the Olivia the Pig series. Reading to kids was the part of this job I would miss the most. They were so sweet, not a cynical one in the bunch, and when they would start laughing at the stories, the hilarity would pass through the whole group like a happy flu, until everyone was doubled over. Some Mondays it sounded like a calliope of giggles in the kids’ corner, and all it took was a book with a talking monkey. At first it threw me that some of them liked to sit on my lap as I read, playing with my hair or turning the pages for me, and then I began to look forward to their wiggling warmth.

  Sarah Ruth seemed to enjoy the toddlers and preschoolers as much as me, which gave me a comfortable liquid feeling rare this past month. She was pleasant, smart, and a quick learner, and I was amazed to see that it was one o’clock. “Jeez. I’ve been working you like a dog. Why don’t you take your lunch break?”

  She glanced at the clock. “I’ve got a better idea. How about I get us some grilled cheese and French fries from the Shoreline, and we can have a picnic in back? I hate to leave you for an hour when it’s this busy.”

  “Deal,” I said, smiling. “Bring me lots of ketchup.”

  As closing time on Sarah Ruth’s first day rolled near, I dare say I was in a good mood. I was going to leave the library in good hands, and that made me satisfied, if not happy. When Tina Mathison strolled in, a basket of Nut Goodies in hand, I amped it up another notch. Tina, along with her husband, owned the business four doors down from the library—Tina and Tom’s Taxidermy and Trinkets, which everyone called 4Ts. Tom stuffed animal cadavers and gave them marble eyes in the back room while Tina sold reasonably-priced but high-quality silver and pewter jewelry in the front. We didn’t know one another socially, but Tina was a frequent library patron, and I made a point of stopping in her store regularly to visit and buy up some of her great Bali earrings and bracelets.

  I waved her over. “Come by to give our new librarian a welcome basket?”

  “Actually, Mira, it’s for you.” For the first time, I noticed Tina’s normally bright face was sagging. In her late fifties, she had escaped most of the calling cards of age by staying out of the sun and eating right, is what she told anyone who’d ask. She had pleasant wrinkles around her eyes and mouth, but was otherwise youthful. Today, though, her mouth was pulled down in a rare frown, and she had grayish bags puffing up her eyes.

  “Are you okay?”

  She forced a smile, but it didn’t make it up to her blue eyes. “Not really. I need your help, and I’ve come with a shameless bribe.”

  “And you know my weak spot. There’s enough Nut Goodies here to get me through a month!” I swallowed the bonus saliva produced at the sight of so many vividly red and green wrappers. Inside each was a little bit of heaven created by the geniuses at Pearson’s, a Minnesota candy company. They made salted nut rolls, too, which were good, but they weren’t nut good, if you know what I mean.

  I had a true addiction to the chocolate- and peanut-covered maple candies. I had lately been using the treat like methadone to wean me off my returning liquor habit, but based on the contents of this basket, I was past due for a little hedonism.

  “There’s more than candy in there,” Tina said.

  I swiveled the basket and jumped when I saw two beady black eyes staring back at me. “What is it?”

  “A ferret. It died of natural causes, and the owner never came back for it after Tom stuffed it. I figured you could put it in your living room. I also got you a pile of those beaded elastic bracelets you like so much.”

  Talk about a mixed bag. I flipped it back around so I could only see the Nut Goodies and not the dead creature fraternizing with them. “Thanks, but I’m sure I don’t need all this. I’d be happy to help out, if I can.”

  Tina glanced at Sarah Ruth, who took the cue and headed to the back of the library. “This is uncomfortable, but I don’t know who else to turn to. I don’t want to go to the police because it’ll look like I can’t run my business. Besides, I don’t want any of my girls to go to jail. I just want to talk to them, give them a second chance.”

  “Back up a little. Go to jail for what?”

  “I think one of my clerks is embezzling from the store. Money is missing from the till at least twice a week, but it’s not specific to anyone’s shift. Tom or I are there all the time, but I go on short buying trips most weeks and that leaves him working in the back room. He can’t keep an eye on the store every second.”

  “You’ve talked to Tom about this?”

  “Yes. He’s upset, but I made him promise to give me a chance to figure out what was going on before we tried the police. You know Annika, the new girl I hired? The embezzling started around the same time she did.”

  “Is she the one from Henning, the tall blonde?”

  “Yes. She just graduated from high school last year and is working part time for me before she starts at the tech school in Alexandria.”

  “Have you thought about just confronting her?”

  Tina wrung her hands. “But what if I’m wrong? That would be a terrible way to treat her if she’s innocent. But if she’s guilty, I want to lend a hand, not arrest her. Can you help me?”

  “I’m not sure how.”

  “Just stop by and check things out. You’re so good at figuring out these little local mysteries! See if you can, you know, pick up any clues. You can talk to each of the girls and let me know what your intuition tells you. I’d be forever grateful.”

  I didn’t know how good I was at solving mysteries. I had a natural curiosity, certainly, and more than my share of nosiness, but it seemed like mostly I was always in the wrong place at the wrong time. In fact, I could go my whole life without finding another dead body, killer, or fiberglass statue. I weighed my options, but Tina’s long face made up my mind. “Well, for a basket of Nut Goodies, how can I resist?”

  “Thank you! You’ve got a good heart.”

  “I think I just have a sweet tooth. I can’t promise anything, though, and I won’t spread rumors. Unless I see clear evidence of stealing, I won’t have anything to report.”

  “Fine. Can you start today? Here’s the girls’ schedules. Two of them are working until eight o’clock tonight, Kaitlyn and Annika, and they’re both working tomorrow. Wednesday it’s Lydia and Annika.”

  “Annika is working all three days?”

  “Just this week. She usually only works three days the entire week, and it’s usually weekend days. We’re doubling our shifts to cover the extra crowds in town for the August Moon Festival.”

  I wrote down the schedule, and after she left, I named the ferret Nut Goodie and stashed it in the window near the kids’ section. I figured I could work it into a story or two and give the children some cheap thrills. I saved the bracelets in my prize box. I liked to reward the kids for meeting their reading goals and had collected various curios the last few months. The actual Nut Goodies, I saved for myself. Once an addict, always an addict.

  A voice broke into my musing. “You really like this job, don’t you?”

  “Hunh?” I was so into organizing the new treasures that I hadn’t heard Sarah Ruth return.

  “You were smiling just now while you were working.”

  “Was not.”

  She chuckled softly. “I love the job, too. We get to be the ultimate teachers, only with no papers to grade. We connect someone with a book, and they get to travel to exotic places, learn how to build a greenhouse, or reach out to their children by reading to them. It’s exhilarating.”

  “That’s a happy Hannah way of looking at it, I suppose.”
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br />   “You suppose. Well, you’re good at your job, Mira, and people appreciate it. You know everyone who has walked through that door by name.”

  “It’s a small town,” I grumbled. I wasn’t a fan of having sunshine blown up my skirt.

  “It’s a small town, and you’re their librarian. They’re going to miss you, and miss the courage it takes to do something like a banned books display.”

  “You’ll do just fine without me. Why don’t we go over the closing routine? I’ve made a list of the procedures, though you can certainly change it if you find something that works better.”

  We worked quietly, me to recover from the ill-fitting praise and her because she was taking notes as I showed her where to dump the garbage, where the vacuum cleaner was stored, the book-check rotation so all the shelves were reviewed at least once a month to make sure everything was Dewey decimalized, and all the other small tasks that were undertaken between four and six p.m.

  When we locked up and parted ways, I steered myself toward 4Ts. My plan was to talk to Annika and Kaitlyn and see if I could pick up anything suspicious. I wasn’t hopeful, but I owed Tina that much. Plus, I’d be right across from the Turtle Stew and could pick up something for supper.

  The night was shimmery with heat, and everything had that too-bright, post-camera-flash look of drought. The bits of grass on Lake Street were as brown and sharp as hay, and the heavily watered municipal planters with their pansies, vivid and cheerful Gerbera daisies, alyssum, and devil’s ivy looked frivolous. Granny’s Pantry, the local candy store and ice cream parlor, was so full that people were lined up, waiting on the street. Those who had their double-dip waffle cones in hand were in a hopeless race to lick the rapidly melting ice cream before it ran past the tiny marshmallow sealing the cone bottom.