Superior Storm (Lake Superior Mysteries)

by Tom Hilpert

“Sorry. You thought right. I do. I just can't restrain my natural ebullience around you.”

  “Whatever.” She tossed her hair.

  “So someone robbed the customers, like in Grand Lake?”

  “Yes. Two people, dressed all in black, armed with automatic hand guns. They came busting in, got everyone on the floor, and then robbed from the customers, but left the bank alone.”

  “Two people? There were three in Grand Lake.”

  “You shot one, remember?”

  Suddenly I felt like I'd been kicked in the stomach. “You think he died?”

  “Oh, Jonah, I'm sorry. I didn't really think of that. I don't know, of course.”

  “Do you think it was self-defense, my shooting at him?”

  “I don't think anyone is going to file charges against you, Jonah, and I don't think you'd be convicted if they did.”

  I looked down at my sandwich. It was odd that food could taste so good, even when contemplating things so tragic.

  “I didn't exactly mean the legal thing. I mean, was it justified?”

  Leyla cocked her dark head and looked at me carefully. “Is it bothering you, Jonah?”

  “A little. Yeah.”

  She took my hand. Hers felt slim and small, but somehow I was comforted. “You did what you had to do.”

  “That's what I'm telling myself. But is it true?”

  Leyla took her time answering. “I wasn't there. I didn't experience what you did. But I know you. I know what drives you and what doesn't. I didn't know those things before – when I let you down. But I know them now, and I trust your heart. If you shot at those bank robbers, it was because you had to, to protect yourself, and even more, to protect Arne and the others.”

  I met her eyes. It wasn't something I could do for very long and still control my heart rate. “You have been very good to me.”

  She glanced away. “Well, lately, maybe.” She looked back at me again. “Are you OK?”

  I nodded. “Thank you.” I got my hand back, and ate some more of my sandwich and drank some coffee. “So you think it's the same gang?”

  “Well, the police in Moose Lake aren't talking yet, but it sure sounds like it, doesn't it?”

  “What about Chief Jensen?”

  “No comment.”

  “Are you kidding me? What's the matter with him?”

  “I don't know, Jonah, he's always been pretty careful with the press. That doesn't mean he thinks this is a coincidence.”

  We finished our lunch. Leyla was heading back to the newspaper office. At the door, I grabbed her hand.

  “Leyla. Thank you. I really mean it. You helped.”

  She turned and hugged me tight. “You're welcome, Jonah. You are a strange mixture of toughness and sensitivity. Both things are very good, but they seem to create tension in you sometimes. You are OK.”

  “Yes,” I said. “I am. You help to keep me that way.”

  She looked at me, and her face seemed a little unstable. Her hand stroked my cheek, and then she turned and left.

  ~

  Before going back to the church, I went by the Grand Lake Police Station. Dan Jensen was in his office.

  “Jonah,” he said, waving me in. “Want some coffee?” He shook his head immediately. “Stupid question, sorry.” He got up and poured me a cup.

  “I heard about the robbery in Moose Lake,” I said.

  Jensen nodded. “Figured you would.”

  “What do you think?”

  “Sounds like the same group that hit the First National here. Same method, same goals.”

  “It's a little unusual to go into a bank and rob customers, but not the bank, isn't it?”

  “Yeah. These are the only two robberies like it that I've heard of.”

  “Except the ones in northern Washington.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Dan, what's the deal with that? You find out anything else?”

  “Haven't looked into it any more. I got enough going on with Grand Lake. Don't have time to go down that road.”

  “But going down that road might help you solve the Grand Lake robbery.”

  “Jonah, it's a dead end. Even if what you say is true, I can't get at the information I need. No one out there seems to know anything. No one in Duluth, either. I'm better off working it from this end. The Moose Lake robbery should help some. I've got a call in to the State Police too, but there's some kind of bureaucratic holdup.”

  “So you think it's the same group.”

  “Pretty big coincidence otherwise.”

  I sipped some coffee. It was awful. I had some more, anyway.

  “Anything I can do?”

  “I appreciate it, Jonah. Normally, if one of our officers shot a man, I'd have you talk to him, help him through it. But in this case, you're the guy that pulled the trigger. No hostages to deal with, no one to counsel. You're the police chaplain, not a detective. So, no, I don't know what you can do right now.” Jensen took a sip of his own coffee. His face revealed nothing about how old and bitter it tasted. He was a good cop.

  “You could pray that we catch the S.O.B's though.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Dear Lord, please let Dan Jensen catch those sons-of-”

  “All right, all right. Clean up the language before you put it to the man upstairs.”

  “You think He's never heard the word 'bitch?'”

  Jensen looked uncomfortable. “I suppose he must have.”

  “I'm sure the Roman soldiers called him a lot worse than that when they were flaying him half to death. But it would have been in Latin, of course, so it would have sounded more educated.”

  Jensen half-laughed, still looking not quite at home in his skin. “Sometimes I don't know what to make of you.”

  “So you want me to change the subject?”

  “Please.”

  “All right,” I said. “Let's talk about those S.O.B's down in Minneapolis who play football for our state.”

  Jensen shook his head. “You don't really talk like that, Jonah. Not normally.”

  “Only when I can use it to make you squirm like this.”

  CHAPTER 2 4

  When I went back to the church, Julie flagged me down in the main office before I could get to my study.

  “You told me to remind you to find a captain for your sailing cruise,” she said.

  “Julie,” I said, “if Steve Jobs had had you, he never would have invented the PDA.”

  “Steve Jobs invented public displays of affection? But he wouldn't have, if I had been his secretary? I'm not sure how I should take that comment.”

  “Personal Digital Assistant. Electronic calendar, you know.”

  “Oh. Who's Steve Jobs?”

  “Former CEO of Apple computers.”

  “I don't think he invented PDA's then. But I bet there is a PDA app for the iPhone.”

  “Whatever. My point is, you are better than a computerized appointment calendar.”

  She batted her eyelids at me, giving me a hideously fake smile. “Why thank you, Pastor Jonah.”

  “Sorry. It came out wrong. I meant to say, I really appreciate you.”

  She gave me an old-fashioned look. “I’m not sure our relationship is ready for overt expressions of gratitude.”

  “So, you’d prefer if we continue with the sarcastic remarks and humorous put-downs.”

  “You got it.”

  “The thing is, you always get the better of me on that stuff.”

  She smiled sweetly. “Now you are starting to understand.”

  I threw up my hands and went into my office.

  ~

  Mike Slade was a member of Harbor Lutheran. He was a lawyer, but I kind of liked him anyway. He picked up the phone on the second ring.

  “Slade!” I said by way of greeting. Even though it didn't sound pastoral, it would be impossible for any heterosexual male – including pastors and Supreme Court judges – to call someone by their first name if they had a last name as cool as Slade.
/>   “Hey, Jonah,” he said. My last name was not as cool as his.

  “I have an unusual proposal for you,” I said. “I know you do some sailing.” I told him about my upcoming sailing cruise and our need for a captain.

  “Hold on,” he said. “When was this?”

  “About ten days,” I said. I had the grace to sound sheepish.

  “And what kind of boat?”

  “A forty-foot overnighter,” I said.

  “We wouldn't have to share a bed, would we?” He sounded suspicious.

  “I like you, Slade, but not that much. We'd each have a couch in the main cabin.”

  “Hold on,” he said. “Let me check my calendar.”

  I held on for a few minutes. With a rustle, he came back on the line. “Jonah, I would have loved to help you out, but I am booked that week. Also, I've never really sailed anything that big. My own boat is just a step up from a Paper Tiger – just a day-sailing cat.”

  “Yeah, I've sailed it, remember?”

  “You sailed it?”

  “Well, for a few minutes. Leyla sailed it the rest of the time.”

  “Anyway,” said Slade, “I'm bummed I can't help you. If the marriage counseling didn't work out, I could have done their divorces for them.”

  I laughed. “A full-service cruise.”

  “You got it.”

  I was disappointed too. I wasn't ready to take on a captain I had never met, and I really thought the cruise could have helped the Stones and the Krugers.

  “Slade, you know anyone else who could do it? Someone who could kind of fit into the whole idea of a counseling cruise and all that?”

  “Well, if you weren't on the outs with your news-chick, she'd be the ideal choice. She told me once she did a captain's course down in Bayfield – you know, for the big boats like you're talking about. And she's got the sensitivity and everything that you're looking for.”

  “Leyla.”

  “That's what I said. Too bad you guys aren't getting along. What's wrong with you anyway? Catherine Zeta-Jones could be Leyla's ugly big sister.”

  “Who told you we weren't getting along?”

  “This is Grand Lake, Jonah. C'mon, you're a pastor here, for Pete's sake. Word gets around.”

  I surprised myself by saying forcefully, “Well, word is wrong. We're doing great. I'm not crazy, you know.”

  There was a small silence. Slade's voice, when he spoke again, sounded serious. “I am really thrilled to hear that Jonah. Seriously, it makes me happy to know. You two just seem right for each other.”

  “Thanks,” I said. I wondered if Leyla would still be happy to hear it too. Maybe I ought to have told her sooner.

  CHAPTER 2 5

  I picked up the phone to call Leyla. I put it down again a second later. For the first time in many years, I felt truly vulnerable to a woman. The game had changed. I wasn't on the fence anymore. I had something to lose. I could get hurt, and I didn't like the feeling.

  I decided to do some studying first. As it happens, I was in the Minor Prophets. Hosea was having trouble with his wife. He laid it on the line for her, and she betrayed him. God told him that was how God felt about his people who had turned away from him. Then he told Hosea to forgive his wife and take her back. In the same way, God was ready to forgive and restore.

  It occurred to me that the way I was feeling now was how Leyla had been feeling about me for some time. Yet she had hung in there, her heart exposed. She had dared to be vulnerable. She had dared to wait, even when my response was neither immediate, nor what she wanted. I owed her the phone call. I owed her a little vulnerability of my own.

  My hand shook, and I felt like a teenager as I dialed.

  “Hi, Jonah,” she said.

  “I remember the first time someone with caller ID answered the phone by saying my name,” I said. “It freaked me out.”

  “Welcome to the twenty-first century, darling.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “And may I say, it is a more bearable century because of your presence in it.”

  “Why, thank you,” she said. There was a pause.

  “I was thinking I'd like to cook you dinner tonight. What do you say?”

  There was another pause. “Okay, Jonah. I...” she was quiet.

  “Go on.”

  “Never mind.”

  “I've got a minute.”

  “No, we can talk about it tonight.”

  “All right. Come by any time after 6:30.”

  ~

  Later, at home, I put on some tunes and went to work in the kitchen. Kari Hilpert came on, acoustic, mellow and heart-lifting. Something in her music brings life and light and hope. As I listened, I settled into peace, and to the joy of food preparation.

  Tonight it was spinach lasagna, three layers, each one basted with my homemade Italian tomato sauce, spread with ricotta cheese, sprinkled with seasoned ground beef, and then filled with onions, green peppers and fresh spinach, topped off with mozzarella. In a fit of creativity, I found a zucchini in my fridge, sliced it up and added some to each layer. I briefly considered, and then discarded, the idea of an avocado as well. There are limits, after all.

  Leyla got there at about six forty-five. I answered the door, and there she stood, looking fresh as a greenhouse carnation in February. Her dark hair fell in layered waves and tresses. She wore a dark blue pullover, and tan pants, and as usual her clothes fitted her perfectly, showing her figure to advantage, but not ostentatiously. She wore little, dangling silver earrings that looked like bells.

  “Here you are, with bells on!” I said, a little breathlessly.

  “Do you like them?” she asked, brushing her hair back a little more from her ears.

  “You look like a million bucks,” I said.

  “Thank you, Jonah,” she said. “May I come in?”

  I realized that I was standing in the doorway, staring at her. “Sorry,” I said. “Please.”

  She smiled at me and walked in. “Smells wonderful,” she said.

  Melanchthon, the newly named kitten, came tearing into the room. He skidded to a stop in front of Leyla and stood on stiff legs with bristling fur. His eyes were wide and wild.

  “Oh,” said Leyla. “Your kitty!”

  For a heartbeat he stared at her, and then raced from the room, making a loud galloping sound with his tiny paws on the wood floor.

  “He’s cute,” she said, laughing. “Did you name him yet?”

  “Melanchthon,” I said.

  She got a frowny expression on her face that I thought was almost as cute as the cat.

  “What?”

  “Does no one learn about obscure sixteenth century scholars in school anymore?” I asked. “Mel-ank-thon. He was a Reformation scholar, a close associate of Martin Luther.”

  “Luther would be a good name for a cat,” commented Leyla. She still looked vaguely disapproving.

  “You people are all the same,” I said, throwing up my hands. “He shall be Melanchthon. That’s my final word.”

  “Okay,” she said. “Don’t blame me if he has social problems as a result of growing up with a weird name.”

  She smiled at me, and then went to stand out on the deck, looking into the twilit vastness of the lake, while I set the table. I set a match to the fire I had laid earlier, and then called her in. I felt like a schoolboy. I had lit candles, and we ate by them and the firelight.

  Melanchthon crept cautiously back into the room. I scooped a small piece of lasagna for him and put it on a plate on the floor. He sniffed at it, and then began eating.

  “Is that good for him?” asked Leyla.

  “Why wouldn’t it be?” I said.

  She looked at me for a moment, and then smiled happily. “Why, Jonah,” she said. “You’ve never owned a pet, have you?”

  “I’m figuring it out,” I said. “So far, it’s working out.”

  We had Riesling with the lasagna. It was technically a wine that should have been paired with different food, but we b
oth liked it, and neither of us cared much about wine-food pairing.

  Afterward, we sat on the couch and looked at the fire. Melanchthon climbed onto the back of the couch and sat next to my ear, purring loudly. Leyla sighed, leaned back, and closed her eyes. “This is lovely,” she said.

  “Yes, it is.” I felt like a teenager more than ever. I was trying to plan how to make my move. We were both on the couch, but there was some distance between us. If I stretched out my arm, it would reach around her neck, but not around her shoulders.

  I was well into my third decade of life, and I had been married before, and here I was, struggling to get to first base with a woman who had already told me she was waiting for me to decide if I wanted to pursue a romantic relationship with her. Finally, I reached over and held her hand.

  Her eyes popped open and, she looked over at me. I slid my fingers in between hers, so that they were intertwined, and I scooted over so our shoulders were touching. She looked down at our hands, and then back up at me.

  “Jonah,” she said. “We have to talk.”

  My heart sank. “Okay,” I said. I had waited too long. She had moved on.

  Slowly, she disengaged her hand. “Jonah, this is all wonderful. Too wonderful.” She had a trick of looking beautiful and vulnerable and strong, all at the same time.

  “This is exactly what I want with you. But it's too painful – to spend time with you like this, to have this, but not have it, if you know what I mean.”

  “I'm not sure I do,” I said.

  “I feel too vulnerable. I feel like maybe you're taking advantage of me. I can wait for you to make up your mind about me – for a little while. But I can't wait, and then act as if we're together, when we're not.”

  “We said we were friends with a future.”

  “That's right. And I don't cuddle on the couch, and do who knows what else, with someone I'm only friends with.”

  “Who knows what else?” I said. I thought I kept my tone mild, but she punched me in the shoulder anyway.

  “You know what I mean. I want this with you, but not open-ended, not until I know you want the same thing.”

  “You want me to commit.”

  Leyla tossed her hair back. “Maybe some girls are afraid to demand that. But I'm not. I'll wait for you. But I won't be your idle amusement while you make up your mind.”