August Moon (11 page)

“Mira! I can’t believe you made it! That is so awesome!”

I eyeballed her, my short supply of patience sapped by this alien atmosphere. “Cut the shit, Alicia. I don’t like you, you don’t like me, and nobody wants me to be here.”

Alicia stepped out of her good cheer like it was an ill-fitting sweater. “Suit yourself. ‘Do unto others what you would want them to get for you.’”

“I think that’s ‘Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.’”

Alicia scowled. “You might work at a library, but that doesn’t mean you know The Book. Don’t correct me.”

“Hm. How about I lend you some money?”

“What for?”

“So you don’t have to steal anymore.”

“Did those bitches at that jewelry store say I was stealing? Oh, I’ll be on their asses so quick.”

Stealing from the jewelry store? This woman was a piece of work. “Actually, I wasn’t referring to the jewelry store, though I guess that means you tried to rip them off, too. I don’t think Jesus likes thieves.”

“You know what Jesus doesn’t like? He doesn’t like gay, Bible-bashing, bad-book-reading false witnesses like you. My dad is going to shut you down, you know? He’s going to bring lawyers from Liberty College to the library, and they’re going to bring so much media with them that you won’t even be able to get to the front door. Everyone is going to know what sort of filth you buy and promote with their tax dollars. Everyone.” Her face was turning an unattractive purple, and I felt my own mug darken to match hers.

“I’m not doing anything wrong. It’s a library, and they’re books.”

“Then why are you shaking?”

I clenched my fists to still my hands. I was angry, but I was scared, too. Had I really gotten the library in trouble? “I guess I’m just overcome with God’s love. Thank you for showing me the way.” I turned on my heel and marched out, but my tail wasn’t between my legs. It was checking the wind, and when I saw it was clear, I scurried over to the Meales’ house behind the assembly hall. I was either going to find something to shed a true light on this whacko family, or I was going to poop under their sink.

My heart pattered around my rib cage as I strode toward the tiny white house and up the wheelchair ramp. My ears were extra large and set on rotate, scanning for that first, “Hey you! You can’t go in there!” But I heard no such warnings, which I took as tacit permission to enter. I yanked open the screen door and strolled into the combination kitchen and dining room. Not surprisingly, it was spic and span. No sub-par wives here. Off the kitchen was a living room featuring a threadbare sectional couch with a mismatched recliner. There was one bookshelf sagging with religious texts, next to a modest-sized television. Three doors and a stairway led off the living room. The first doorway was a bathroom, and the second one opened to a bedroom. A quick glance indicated it was Alicia’s. The bedspread was orange with pink flowers; there was a romance novel with a florid cover on the nightstand; and the clothes neatly hung in the closet looked like Alicia’s size.

I rifled through the two storage boxes in the closet, sure I could hear a giant stopwatch in the sky ticking off the moments until I was caught. I wasn’t going to stop, though, until I found something. Unfortunately, the boxes were no help. They both contained ribbons from track and home economics, high school yearbooks, and dolls. At the bottom of the larger box was a tidy collection of slut clothes—spandex tank tops, miniskirts, and heels. I was not surprised at this evidence of a double life for Alicia. I had seen both sides of her already.

I hurried through the dresser drawers, starting with the small one. All women hide the good stuff in their underwear drawer, and Alicia was no exception.

“Bingo,” I whispered, pulling out a dime bag of weed. I thought for a moment what I could do with this information. I’d get personal satisfaction from telling her dad or the cops, but how would I explain that I knew she had pot in her dresser drawer? I settled for spritzing her feminine deodorant spray all over the grass. Mmm-mmm. Baby-powder-fresh marijuana. The spray probably wouldn’t kill her, but it’d give her one mother of a headache when she smoked it. I never claimed to be above pettiness.

I cruised into the last room on this floor—the master bedroom on the north side of the house. I bypassed the bed, which was watched over by a sad-faced Jesus on the wall, and made straight for the mission-style dresser. The top was covered with baby photos of a cute baby girl with thick black hair and brown eyes, and she was about nine months old in all of them. A framed birth certificate stood at the center with Alicia Marie Meales’ name stamped on it in cursive letters. I studied the birth certificate, surprised to discover that Alicia was in fact twenty-four years old, a good four years older than I would have guessed. I looked back at the pictures of the brown-eyed baby, recalling that the Alicia Meale I had just spoken to had cornflower blue eyes, the light kind you can’t get with colored contact lenses. Who was the baby in these photos? I snapped a shot of one of the baby pictures and the birth certificate with my digital camera.

I was reaching for the smallest drawer in the dresser when I heard voices right outside the open window. My heart stopped, and then galumphed forward. I crouched down, but the voices didn’t move on, so I crawled out of the bedroom and to the front door. Straining, I could still hear the rhythm and tones of a man and a woman talking outside the Meales’ bedroom window on the far side of the house, and it sounded like they were fighting. Was it the pastor and his wife?

At this point, I had two choices. I could try to sneak out and hope they didn’t come around and see me, or I could stand up and walk out proudly like I was supposed to be here. I voted for the latter, and before I could talk sense into myself, I popped up, pulled open the screen door, and ran straight into Battle Lake Police Chief Gary Wohnt.

“Oof.” That’s the sound
he made as I barreled into his side, bounced off, and fell onto my bumper.

“Oh, jeez,” I said. “I’m totally sorry. I didn’t see you there.”

Gary stared at me through his mirrored glasses and offered me his hand. It was strange to see him out of uniform. He seemed smaller in his white T-shirt and khaki shorts, but he was still a solid man, and he looked angry as a bear. His lips were pulled tight, reflecting sunlight off their Carmexed surface, and his black hair was slicked back with gel. “What’d you hear?”

I wasn’t sure I’d heard him right. “What am I doing here?”

My question threw him off, and as he darted a glance over my shoulder, toward the back of the house, I realized it must have been him I heard arguing outside the Meales’ window. Me running into him had been an unhappy accident, and I moved from defense to offense. “Who were you talking to?”

Gary squeezed his hands into fists, and he grew a little taller. “What were you doing in the Meales’ house?

“I asked first.”

“I wasn’t breaking the law.” It was a less-than-subtle trump card.

“I was looking for a bathroom?”

“In someone’s house.”

My story picked up a couple decorations. “The one in the assembly hall was full, and I didn’t want to miss any of the inspiring exchanges going on inside. I thought this was one of the cabins. Certainly, the pastor and his wife can spare a little toilet paper.”

“So you knew this was their house you were breaking and entering?”

Ooh, he was good. “I didn’t know until you just told me. It looks just like one of the cabins. Besides, there was no breaking going on, just entering. No harm, no foul.”

I tried to brush past, but Gary caught my arm in a grip as tight as a handcuff. “You were at the murder scene in Clitherall.”

“I was.”

“How’d you end up there?”

I decided to tell him the straight truth, that I followed a police car, thinking it had been a friend of mine who had been hurt. It was hard to tell whether or not he bought it, his red-brown face impassive behind the sunglasses. Not for the first time, I wondered what frivolous, fickle Kennie and he talked about, and what sort of sex life they could possibly have had. Did he take off his sunglasses in bed? Did he whisper in her ear? Not anymore.

“That’s it? You don’t know anything more about Lucy Lebowski?”

I shook my head. “She’s worked at the library for a couple months. She was a sweet kid, and I can’t believe anyone who knew her would hurt her. Got any leads?”

He snorted, but for a millisecond, I was sure he was going to let something spill. Unfortunately, Sarah Ruth chose that moment to appear.

“Mira! I was hoping I’d run into you here.”

“Hey. How’d the library closing go?”

“Just fine. No problems at all.” She gave Gary a quizzical expression. He did his best impression of a statue.

“Sarah Ruth, this is Gary Wohnt. He’s chief of police at Battle Lake. Gary, this is Sarah Ruth. She’s going to be running the library soon.” This was probably the first that Gary had heard I was moving, but he didn’t seem to be surprised. In fact, he didn’t seem to be breathing.

Sarah nodded at him. “We’ve met. We both attend services here.” She fidgeted and turned her attention to me, but not before I picked up on a silent communication passing between them, some shift in the air or the tilt of their heads. “Have you gotten a chance to see the Science Fair?”

Gary took that as a cue to leave, striding toward the assembly hall. “I didn’t see much science, but I did take a gander at the projects inside. Can I ask you something? You work at a library, and you read a wide variety of books. As an educated person, how can you support a church that would host a Creation Science Fair?”

Sarah Ruth draped her arm over my shoulder and steered me toward the assembly hall. “I take some of it, like the faith and fellowship, and leave the rest, like the talking in tongues and good wives/bad wives stuff. Here, I feel like I’m part of a community.”

“A community that thinks women should be in the home and evolution is a joke?”

“Come on, even you don’t know how evolution got started. Who’s to say that it wasn’t part of God’s master plan?”

I pulled away. “You know, I think I’ve had enough religion for one day. You go on without me.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure. See you at work tomorrow?”

“Sounds good.”

I couldn’t miss the easing of her expression as I walked toward my car, and it made me sad. I liked Sarah Ruth, and I wanted her to be a free thinker. I suppose there was a lot I didn’t know about her. One thing was for sure, though: I had lied when I told her I’d had enough religion for the day. My next stop was going to be Nordland Lutheran Church in downtown Battle Lake. I didn’t know Pastor Harvey Winter personally, but Sid and Nancy, regular congregants of the church, said he was a stand-up guy. I wanted to get his perspective on this new Bible camp, and maybe shed some light on the warriors for Jesus tableau I had witnessed the other night.

I wasn’t sure if pastors kept regular business hours, but was happy to find the church unlocked. I had long admired the building—compact, constructed of old-fashioned brick, and shaped like a one-room schoolhouse until the large addition had been tacked on to the back. The church was on Lake Street, the main drag in Battle Lake, and its location promised standing-room only on summer Sundays. It was originally a Baptist Church, and in the early 1900s was the only church that offered services in English. That congregation had moved on, and now the church was Lutheran.

When I pulled the door open, I was soothed by the rush of cool air and smell of fresh flowers and lemon furniture polish. The original section of the church was 125 years old, and it had that serene, solid feeling of lasting architecture and gathering people. The bulletin board in the foyer was covered with flyers, but there was no furniture except for a worn bench. I walked forward, reluctant to enter the church-y part, when I heard the echo of a distant conversation down the stairs to my right.

I followed the voices down the cement stairs, into the musty basement, past a cafeteria and kid’s playroom, and to a wooden door with a large, smoked-glass pane in the top center. “Pastor Winter” was written on the glass in two-inch black, scrolly-font letters.

“I advise you to think twice before you follow that idea. I simply cannot endorse it.”

“You’all haven’t even seen it!”

Kennie. And she was talking to Pastor Winter. I held up my hand to knock on the glass.

“…coffins outside of the church or a funeral home is…”

I held my hand still. I had missed Pastor Winter’s main point, and my curiosity was killing me. I was pretty sure the two of them weren’t talking about penis enlargement devices.

“Well, I didn’t come for your blessing, Pastor Winter. I came to seek your advice on Gary, and I guess I’ve gotten that. Good day to you.”

A huffy Kennie yanked open the door before I had a chance to pretend like I wasn’t a big ‘ol eavesdropper. “Hi, Kennie.”

She was dressed in a leather motorcycle hat and Sturgis T-shirt with the bottom middle yanked up over the front, through the collar, and back down to the bottom, turning it into a makeshift halter top. Her doughy tummy leaked over her denim skirt, and she wore silver-bell anklets above each foot. It was actually an outfit I’d wear, which made me grab the wall for support.

“You were listening in?”

“I just showed up. I didn’t hear anything. See my hand, ready to knock?”

She pursed her lips. “You still coming over tomorrow morning?”

“You betcha,” I lied.

“Good.” With that, she turned and jangled out of the basement, which left me staring at a tiny man behind an enormous wooden desk. He reminded me of a friendly mole, with a twitchy nose and kind brown eyes peering from behind reading glasses. He wore a white cotton shirt and blue jeans, and the informality of his dress caught me off guard.

“Hi, Pastor Winter? I’m Mira James.”

He smiled, stood, and offered me a hand. “Of course. The librarian. Sidney and Nancy talk about you often. It is my good pleasure to welcome you to our church.”

“Thank you.” I shook his hand and relaxed a notch. “Do you have a couple minutes? I have a dilemma I’m hoping you can help me with.”

“I’m meeting with a couple for wedding counseling in twenty minutes, but I’d be happy to talk with you until then. How can I help you?”

I had a hunch that Pastor Winter wouldn’t talk smack about religion, even if he was the gossipy type, which he clearly wasn’t. He radiated quiet confidence, and Santa Claus didn’t have better smile wrinkles. I considered lying and pretending I was putting together an article on local churches, but I wasn’t willing to fib in a holy place on such a small point. If I was going to lie in front of Jesus, it was going to be important. I’d best just come out with it. “I have concerns about the new Bible camp, the one over by Clitherall?”

Pastor Winter’s face darkened, but he didn’t interrupt.

“It’s run by the Meale family, and they’ve been stepping on some toes. They’ve started a petition to censor what books I can display at the library, and I think they’re dangerous.”

“Do you have any evidence of that?”

I thought of Alicia’s homophobic comment to Sid. I couldn’t remember her exact wording, and even if I could, it would be secondhand. Still, I felt defensive. It’s hard to justify your instincts to strangers. “No, but I did see something really disturbing out there a couple days ago. In the assembly hall, there were a bunch of kids who seemed like they were in a trance, and they were chanting about being warriors for Jesus.”

“Christ’s Church of the Apocryphal Revelation is, in many ways, a religion unto itself. They are very evangelical, charismatic, and conservative. You haven’t told me anything that is out of line with their tenets.”

“You don’t think it’s weird, turning little kids into warriors? Who are they fighting?”

Pastor Winter raised an eyebrow. “Possibly those who are judging and censoring their beliefs?”

I sighed. “Judging someone who is attacking me seems like a perfectly sensible reaction. They have no right to say what the library can and can’t carry, or what sort of people God loves and hates.”

“God loves us all, Mira, and I would encourage you to practice greater tolerance.”

I eyed him suspiciously. “Does Nordland have Apocryphal Revelation leanings?”

He chuckled. “No, this church belongs to ELCA, the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America. We consider ourselves the progressive arm of the Lutheran church, but there is room for all those in service of God.”

I kept pushing. “So you don’t think the Meales’ behavior is odd at all?”

“If by odd you mean out of character for charismatic believers, no, I don’t think it’s unusual. And while I support the library’s right to offer a wide variety of literature, I also support any person’s right to question that selection.”

That’s when I realized that I had come here to validate my hypothesis that the Meales were dangerous aliens, and to get Pastor Winter’s support in purging them from this town. That support wasn’t forthcoming, but I was no quitter. I tried a different tack. “Have you met the Meales?”

He hesitated. “They introduced themselves to me when they first moved to town several months ago.”

“What’d you think of them?”

“I thought they were devoted in their faith and transparent in their intentions.”

“Did you like them, or did they make you want to check for your wallet?”

“I’m sure you understand that I can’t comment on other people’s personalities.” He adjusted his glasses. “This church is a haven for all, and all have a place here.”

“Did you know they had a Creation Science Fair today?” I asked.

“I did. Science and faith are compatible.”

“Compatible, maybe; interchangeable, no. You’re not going to give me anything, are you?”

He smiled kindly. “I understand your discomfort. Encountering those different from us can be difficult, and I’m glad you felt able to talk with me about it. I encourage you to attend services here at Nordland this Sunday so you can get a feel for a different type of worship than what you encountered at New Millennium. I’m afraid I have to be going now, though.” He stood up to emphasize his point.