September Mourn

by Jess Lourey

  “So he was at the State Fair expressly to blow the whistle on Bovine Productivity Management?”

  “Yep.” I gingerly rubbed at my black and blue wrists. “He planned on breaking into Lars’ office all along, and if he didn’t find anything there, he was going to hit BPM. It was just luck that Delrita practically handed the ME report to him. Now that the report is public, BPM is done for. By the way, I’m pretty sure Janice is going to continue on as chaperone of the pageant. I sent an e-mail this morning tipping off the Midwest Milk Organization about her little hair fetish, but I think crazy goes with the job description. Who else’ll they find to do her job?”

  “Truth. And Kate? Who’s going to do her job?”

  I stole a sip of Mrs. Berns’ malt under her disapproving gaze. “That’s still up in the air. I called Chaz from the Pioneer Press this morning to give him the scoop on Ashley’s murder, and he told me Kate was turning herself in for embezzling, making a plea bargain with the attorney general. She was going to give up her gambling-addicted husband, who apparently did most of the actual book doctoring, in exchange for leniency.”

  “Good. I hope she loses that scab. And the bull? Did her husband set that loose, too?”

  “Nope, unfortunately that was all Kate. I think she might be angling for an insanity plea if turning her husband in doesn’t work out.”

  “Creative woman. Say, I’ve been thinking. Do you suppose the fair’d give me one of those little golf carts to ride around? I got hurt in the line of duty, after all.” She made puppy dog eyes and pointed at her bruises.

  “I’m not sure if they’d see it that way, but we could try,” I said, smiling. “You want a piggyback ride in the meanwhile?”

  “Pah,” she said, finishing her malt and standing gingerly to strap on her epée. “A woman’s got to keep her dignity. Speaking of, there’s supposed to be a new gym opening up in Battle Lake. I’ve heard they’ve got a lady martial arts instructor who’ll teach you how to kick some ass. I think her particular art is called Toe Can Do. Maybe you and me should join, learn how to defend ourselves. What with the way you’re going, that’ll come in handy.”

  I nodded in agreement. “I think it’s called Tae Kwon Do, and that’s not a bad idea.”

  “That’s what I said. Toe Can Do.”

  “Of course.” We stepped out of the trailer and into a beautiful late morning, sunny but with a hint of the crisp fall to come. “What do you think Kennie’s up to?”

  Mrs. Berns tossed her malt cup into a nearby garbage. “I think we’ll find out in just a few minutes. You look very nice, by the way.”

  “Thank you.” I adjusted the headband I had used to cover my missing hair.

  We hobbled our way to the Battle Lake booth. It was “I Love The Fair” day, and we were on our way to help Kennie, though she hadn’t yet told us what the booth consisted of.

  Today was also the day Johnny was supposed to show up, and I was embarrassed to admit how much I was looking forward to seeing him. I had e-mailed him early this morning to fill him in on Ashley’s murder and Lars’ capture, but I didn’t know if he’d received the message before getting on the road. I was profoundly rattled from the events of the previous night, taking care of Mrs. Berns so I didn’t have to think about me, and I just wanted to lean against someone for a while. Mrs. Berns and Kennie were a good start, but they didn’t offer the same benefits as Johnny.

  “This might be the busiest day yet at the fair,” I said amiably. We passed through the crowds, people generously making room for our bruised bodies, and came in sight of the International Bazaar.

  “Oh. My. God.” My jaw hung open when I caught sight of Kennie’s stall.

  She’d snagged space in the far west corner of the International Bazaar, though her theme was more Minnesotan Bizarre. She had taken over a Moroccan booth for a day, and their colored scarves and hookas had been moved to the side to make room for cardboard hearts and plywood lips. The top of the booth was emblazoned with a sign in all shades of red: “Save Our Liquor, Get a Pucker: One Kiss for $5.”

  “About time you two showed up,” she called over to us “I can’t run this booth all by myself!”

  Mrs. Berns and I looked at each other and then back at Kennie as we hobbled over.

  “A kissing booth?” I asked when we reached her.

  “No one’s exactly beating down your door to buy what you’re selling,” Mrs. Berns said, scanning the vicinity. “Think maybe the cupid costume was too much?”

  Kennie glanced down at her white corset, black fishnet stockings, and fire-engine red vinyl platforms. Fuzzy white wings were strapped to her back, and a camo bow and arrow hung over one shoulder. I had no doubt she could use it, if not to make someone fall in love with her at least to wound him until she could close in.

  “It’s all in the spirit of the event,” she said. “And the booth doesn’t officially open until noon, so get your rears back here.”

  “I’m not kissing strangers,” I said. “Think of all the diseases we could catch.”

  Kennie held up cardboard smiles taped to popsicle sticks. “That’s why I have these lip prophylactics. Hold them over your actual lips when you kiss.” She dropped the lips and scowled, studying Mrs. Berns and me. “Too bad I didn’t have time to get full face masks. You two are as ugly as butts with all those stitches and purple bruises.”

  “A few war wounds can’t hide my natural charm.” Mrs. Berns cackled and rubbed her hands together. “I think you’ve finally got something here, Mayor. I’m in.”

  Mrs. Berns propelled me into the booth ahead of her, up to the front counter, and shoved a set of lips-on-a-stick into my hand. “Let’s save that liquor store!”

  I turned away from the counter to face them, holding up the prophylactic lips to illustrate how stupid they looked. “You really expect me to do this all day just to raise money for liquor?”

  Instead of answering me, they both stared over my shoulder, and their eyes widened before a smirk settled on their lips. “Maybe not all day,” Kennie murmured.

  I turned.

  Johnny Leeson was standing there, the sun glowing behind him, outlining the beautiful curl of his hair, the strong slope of his shoulders, the gorgeous line of his tanned arms, naked below the short sleeves of his crisp white T-shirt. His Levis were slung low on his hips, but I didn’t have too much time to concentrate on that because he was looking at me with the most peculiar expression. It made me feel vulnerable and like I was being held at the same time.

  My heart pump-pumped a salsa beat.

  Leaning forward, Johnny lightly traced the outline of my cheek, a flash of anger crossing his face as his finger circled the bruise surrounding my eye. “I got your e-mail.”

  He gently pulled down the hand I was using to hold the prophylactic lips to my face. With his other hand, he gently caressed my cheek as he leaned over the counter.

  His lips met mine in a sweet explosion that sent shivers all over my body.

  Up close, he smelled like cinnamon and fresh air. His hand moved down my neck, touching the edges of the bandage there, and trailed down my back. He pulled away, too soon, and rested his forehead on mine, his hands still softly holding my face.

  “How much do I owe you?” I sighed.

  Don’t leave Battle Lake just yet! Read on for a sneak peek at October Fest, the next book in the funny, sexy Mira James mysteries.

  I pulled into the crammed parking lot of the two-story motel, staying in my car for ten minutes, studying the cream-colored building. I could hear the oompa-whomp of polka music emanating from the football field at the other edge of town. Not With My Horse didn’t sound too bad from this distance. To my right was West Battle Lake and to my left was Highway 210. And in front of me was certainly my demise.

  Like most motels, this one had exterior entrances for all the rooms. I counted six doors on top and four on the bottom, the bottom ones spread on each side of the brightly lit lobby. I assumed there was the same arrangement of rooms o
n the other side, the side facing the lake.

  Why, if this was about sex, would Johnny bring me here? He lived with his mom, whom he was taking care of after his dad had passed suddenly, and so there wasn’t much privacy at his place, but why not come to mine?

  Only one way to find out.

  I sighed, left the safety of my car, and dragged my feet toward the lobby. I could see the full moon sparkling off the lake through the other side. The glass-sided lobby was a smart design choice. It made the place seem modern and steeped in nature at the same time. I could walk through the lobby like I knew what I was doing, up the stairs, and knock confidently on the door. Or I could pee my pants and whistle Dixie. I decided on a compromise and went to the front desk, feeling like the Whore of Babylon.

  I waited my turn. The combination of the October Fest weekend and the political candidates and their entourages in town for the debate seemed to have filled the motel to its rafters. In fact, I recognized the emcee from this morning, Sarah Glokkmann’s redheaded assistant, Grace, in the front of the line. There appeared to be a mix-up in her room key because she was trading one plastic card for another. Seven minutes later, I was at the head of the line, still not sure what I was going to say.

  “Um, I have a … well, I’m meeting someone in room 20 tonight, and I’m wondering if he, I mean, if they have checked in yet.”

  Donning her best gynecologist’s face, the older woman behind the counter pressed a couple keys on her computer. I didn’t recognize her, which hopefully meant she also didn’t recognize me. “Ah yes, the Jacuzzi suite. Nicest room in the resort.” She smiled at me, and my cheeks blazed red. “There’s a fireplace in there, though it’s maybe too warm tonight. Let’s see. Yes. The other party checked in an hour ago.”

  “Thanks,” I croaked. A Jacuzzi suite? What the hell? Mrs. Berns must have lied to me about Johnny’s intentions, or she was blind to them herself.

  I lurched toward the lakeside door, my embarrassment turning to suspicion evolving to anger. Send me a fancy linen invitation booty call, my ass. It wouldn’t be the first time I’d been fooled into believing some guy was a gentleman, and I knew exactly how to deal with this. I marched up the stairs, steaming past a vaguely familiar dark-haired man, down the cement walkway, and knocked loudly on the last door, number 20.

  The answer was immediate. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

  Johnny stood on the other side of the door sporting a tuxedo that hugged his broad shoulders like a lover. His beautiful hair was curling thickly around his collar, and he pushed it back impatiently and stepped to the side, making room for me to enter. When he moved, I saw that he’d lit the fireplace, along with hundreds of candles. The Jacuzzi, thankfully, was not bubbling.

  “How dare you,” I said.

  The look of embarrassed expectancy slipped off his face, replaced by confusion. “What?”

  “You think just because you reserve a room and buy some candles that I’ll sleep with you?”

  He flinched as if I’d slapped him. “Mira, that’s not it. I just wanted a quiet night with you, on neutral ground. To talk.”

  “Talk?” I jabbed a finger toward the candles behind him.

  He dropped his gaze and ran his fingers through his hair. “I should know better than to listen to Mrs. Berns,” he said under his breath. He brought his eyes back to mine, and like always, looking into those deep blues made my heart skip a beat. “Look, Mira. I didn’t do this so you’d sleep with me. I’d love that, yeah, but that’s not what tonight is about. Just give me a chance. One evening, fully-clothed, to convince you that I’m the right guy.”

  The angry, Tourette’s-dusted mice in my brain were whizzing and scratching, goading me to say something mean or inappropriately funny to push Johnny away, again and for good. Before they could get the better of me, I threw myself into the room and bulldozed Johnny out of the way so I could slam the door shut.

  My mood swing gave me whiplash. “Okay. I’m in. But don’t expect anything.” Damn. One mouse must have escaped.

  His grin broke open. He spread out his arms so I could take in the whole room. I couldn’t resist the impish smile on his face. I turned to follow his gaze and saw a candlelit table with a white tablecloth.

  On top rested a gorgeous blooming African violet alongside a frosted bottle of sparkling grape juice and two champagne glasses, a pizza from Zorbaz—cheese and green olive, if my nose was not mistaken— and enough Nut Goodie bars to kill a diabetic. Could he hear my heart breaking?

  Not wanting him to see the happiness on my face, I scurried toward the table. “This is nice,” I murmured, wondering how many slices of pizza I could eat without crossing a line.

  He strolled past me, and I felt the heat of his body skimming my back as he moved to pull out a chair. “Madam.” He indicated the seat and smiled boyishly. My lips couldn’t resist. They smiled back before welcoming a boatload of pizza and chocolate.

  I’d like to say I grew closer to Johnny that night, but it turns out I already knew him pretty well. Over the course of the meal, he filled me in on how his mom was doing and asked me about mine, told me about his plan for returning to the University of Madison next fall to begin his PhD in Horticulture, and gently probed me for more information about my past. His voice soothed the angry mice, and it wasn’t long until I’d forgotten my misgivings about the night.

  As our conversation fell into an easy give and take, I found myself desiring more than words. Without warning, my six-month dry spell had snuck up on my cowardice, slapped a chloroform rag over its mouth, and stuffed it in the closet. I became fixated on Johnny’s lips, those strong cupid’s bows, and I imagined what they would feel like on my neck, my lower back, my breasts.

  Suddenly, I noticed that his mouth had stopped moving. “What?” I shot my gaze guiltily upward.

  He smiled. “I said, are you okay? You’ve been quiet the last couple minutes. Do I have something on my teeth?”

  I blushed and wiped the drool off my chin. “I’m fine.”

  There’s something really hot about a guy who respects you enough to provide your favorite meal and then backs off and waits for you to come to him. Problem was, I didn’t know how to do that sober. A couple drinks in me and I’d be on him like white on rice, but without alcohol, I wasn’t sure of the protocol.

  I began by trying to shoot him mind rays suggesting he kiss me. After a few minutes, it became apparent that wasn’t the most efficient method. And I flirted about as well as a pig wore shoes, so that only left the direct route. Get to your feet and kiss the man. Just do it. Take your future into your own hands and choose something good for once.

  I slammed back the last of my sparkling grape juice and stood, all glorious woman going after her man.

  I tried, I really did, but halfway out of my seat, my nerves took over and forced me back down with an oof. I tossed some sort of halfhearted wink in the middle to try and distract from the failed attempt. Probably I looked like a twitchy ventriloquist’s dummy, or a party balloon that someone gave up on.

  My dorkiness made me sick to my stomach, and I became acutely aware of the heat of the fireplace smelling like a hundred lighter flames. The candles reflected my embarrassment back to me.

  Johnny eyed me quizzically. “You sure you’re okay, Mira? You look a little green.”

  I was feeling a little green. Who corrects themselves in mid-move? The only thing more embarrassing would have been to fall on him, or to snart midstep. Why not try all three? It’d be a trifecta of humiliation. Why was my heart racing? And since when had Johnny been standing over me? Was he making the move? Were my lips glossy? I made a seductive prepucker. I could still pull this off. I could redeem myself. But gawd was it hot in here.

  “I think you need to go to the bathroom,” he said.

  If there was a list of things you didn’t want to hear when you think the man of your dreams is about to kiss you, that would be at the top. Before I could protest, he was leading me toward the bathroom. I ca
ught a glimpse of myself in the wall mirror and was dismayed to see I was the color of St. Patrick’s Day beer. Urp. The thought of beer pushed me over the edge. I leaned over the toilet, expelling a torrent of purple grape juice, red pizza, and brown chocolate.

  “Don’t worry, it’s probably just a stomach bug,” Johnny said, holding my hair back. “When I brought my mom in for her checkup, the doctor said it was going around.”

  The sweetness in his voice mortified me. I reached for the toilet handle to erase the evidence, but it was immediately replaced by more.

  Twenty minutes of heaving later, I was spent, having only the energy to calculate how long it would take to obtain a passport so I could fly to India to officially pursue my future as an untouchable.

  Johnny handed me a warm, wet towel, and I cleaned off my face. He left the bathroom, closing the door to give me some privacy, and returned a few minutes later, knocking softly before handing me a toothbrush and miniature toothpaste from the front desk.

  I accepted both gratefully.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said, after I was as cleaned up as a person could be after involuntarily expelling olives through her nose. My throat felt like a sand truck had driven over it. I couldn’t look at him. “Is this your worst date ever?”

  He smiled, his eyes twinkling. “No, my worst date ever was the first night at the State Fair when you ran away before I could kiss you.”

  I thrust out my hand in horror.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m not going to try and kiss you now. Just come over to the bed and lie down. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

  “I want to go home,” I moaned, trying to stand. A wave of dizziness pushed me back onto the closed toilet seat. “Or, maybe I’ll just lie down for a little while.”

  “Good idea,” he said, hoisting me into his arms and carrying me to the soft bed. “Tiger Pop and Luna can get out if they want to?”