Lacey Luzzi Box Set

by Gina LaManna

  I didn’t make it to Stillwater often, but when I did it was usually for the yearly Lumberjack Day celebration, which is exactly what it sounds like. Cheese curds so squeaky it sounds like you’re chewing on a live mouse, all sorts of farm folk wandering about bars in cowboy boots and worn jeans, and even the traditional log jam, where lumberjack men run on logs spinning in the water. It was a crazy good time, but then it dawned on me that Stillwater had a fireworks display. They hosted a show that was actually quite beautiful, with whirly twirlies and golden chandeliers lighting up the sky over the St. Croix River. It was a sobering thought, a bomb going off in this historic town.

  I looked to Meg. “Let’s get this sauce and get out of here. We have to get back to check on the fireworks issue.”

  “Tell me the way, chickadee.” She tried to look back, but our helmets clanked together loudly, and she decided to keep her head facing forward.

  “Straight on this road, according to Horatio’s map,” I said. “Should be about ten miles out of the city up in nowheresville.”

  “What does this Horatio look like?” Meg asked. “I’m interested.”

  “How can you be interested? You don’t know anything but his name,” I said, tucking the map back into the leather vest she’d given me. One didn’t take chances by not wearing motorcycle gear, especially when Meg was your driver.

  “I’m more interested to see Clay’s friends,” Meg said. “I didn’t know he had any.”

  “You and me both,” I said. “But that takes third priority. First sauce, then bomb.”

  She gurgled in agreement, and pushed off without warning. Surprised, I clasped her stomach as we puttered back onto the highway. She revved the engine and cranked us up into high gear. A drive that should have taken us ten to fifteen minutes took us six. I was out of breath when we arrived.

  “That’s how you ride,” Meg said with a whoop. She stepped off the motorcycle, forgetting I was still on it.

  I barely managed to steady the bike before it toppled over with me still on it. “Not...necessary,” I gasped. “What’s wrong with driving the speed limit?”

  “I prefer to call it a speed guideline,” she said. “It’s for amateurs.”

  “It is not for amateurs. It’s the law.” I removed my helmet and glanced around, not seeing a soul in sight. “Where are we?”

  “According to the map, we’re at Dave’s stand.”

  “Well, Dave’s stand isn’t here.” I crossed my arms and spun in a circle. The only things moving around me were tall, lanky cornstalks tipping this way and that in a breezy summer’s dance. There was a narrow, winding pathway that looked as if it’d once been wide enough for a driveway, but was now overgrown with crispy weeds.

  “That’s not my problem, really,” Meg said. “I got you here in one piece.”

  “Are you sure we’re in the right spot?” I pulled the map from my vest and spread it out.

  “I followed the directions,” Meg huffed, looking over my shoulder. “See, there’s the bend in the road. Here’s the sorry excuse for the driveway. I bet if you go another half mile, this will be the scenic overlook he marked.”

  She was unmistakably correct. Even I, a girl who suffered from severe map reading difficulties, could tell that this should be the spot. “Maybe Clay had no idea what he was talking about,” I muttered. “I should’ve known better.”

  “Didn’t you show this to Anthony, too?” she asked. “And that Horatio dude?”

  “Yeah, I did. They both thought it looked accurate.” I glanced up at the tan, listless fields extending in all directions, trees scattered haphazardly between the high grasses. “Maybe it’s just not here anymore.”

  “That would seriously be a bummer,” Meg said. “You’d be the only Luzzi to fail initiation.”

  My look must have conveyed a painful expression, because she gave me a reassuring smile.

  “Don’t worry. The Luzzis already think you’re a strange duck,” she said, patting my shoulder.

  “Great. Is that supposed to make me feel better?” I grumbled.

  “Strange is good,” she said. “Take it from me.” Meg gave a proud pose.

  Strange was a good word for her. She held her stance, orange mohawk helmet under her arm, the look rounded out with her sleeveless camouflage vest that had enough pockets on it to hold every key to every door in the Pentagon. She wore green and red Zubaz pants that made her look like a billowing Christmas decoration, and her hair was windblown to Einstein proportions.

  “You’re right,” I sighed. “Neither of us is normal, I suppose.”

  “Oh, I’m normal,” she clarified. “I just said that to make you feel better.”

  Meg didn’t notice my disbelieving expression because she was already climbing back on her bike. “C’mon, chickadee. Let’s cruise up and down a bit and see if we can’t spot that mysterious lil’ Dave.”

  “Sounds good,” I said. “But we better go slowly or else we might miss it. Or, you know, die.”

  “I don’t do slow,” Meg said. “Hang on.”

  Luckily, Meg did reduce her speed. But after thirty minutes of cruising up and down the one road going in and out of Stillwater, all I’d achieved was an aching bum.

  “Let’s take a break,” I yelled, tapping her on the shoulder as we passed the place where Dave’s stand should be for the zillionth time. “I hurt all over.”

  “Noob,” Meg called back, but she pulled over into a small turnoff and planted her feet.

  “Ow,” I groaned. “This is painful.”

  “Imagine if you were a dude,” Meg said. “Actually, I can’t imagine. Those precious gems squishin’ up against the frame for hours on end—”

  “Okay, okay,” I said. “No need to draw a picture.”

  Speaking of pictures, I almost pulled the map out for the thirtieth time, but the penciled lines were burned into my memory. This was the spot. I knew it. I felt it. But where was Dave? “Maybe we should try walking up this driveway for a bit. Maybe he moved his stand back from the road because it was getting too much traffic.”

  “Right, it’s a real zoo over here,” Meg said sarcastically. “Not nearly enough parking space.”

  I glanced around at the endless openness of the place. The driveway was hardly that. It was more like a dirt bike trail that hadn’t been used for years. “I admit it’s a long shot. But let’s check it out now. I won’t be un-sore enough to come back here on that bike in the next two days, so I just want to get it over with now. There’s no second chance.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Meg said. “Except for one thing. Walking is a noob’s idea. We’re riding.”

  Without waiting for me to flip down the visor of my helmet, she took off at a hazardous pace down the path.

  “What are you doing?” I shouted. “We can’t just drive through here.”

  “I thought that’s what we took the bike for,” Meg said, speaking as if I were slow. “Off-roading and stuff.”

  “No! No off-roading. This isn’t an off-roading bike.”

  “It is if you make it one,” she said. Then, she whooped for good measure. “Feel the air on your face, chickadee. This will help take your mind off of Anthony.”

  “My mind wasn’t on him, but thanks for reminding me,” I said with a grimace as a little bluestem – one that wasn’t as little as its name – whacked me in the face. Who knew grass could be so sharp? “Slow down!”

  “I don’t think anyone lives here,” Meg said. “Kinda looks like a dump.”

  I hated to agree, but the shack at the end of the long driveway was little more than a few sticks slapped together and held up by twine. Even a raccoon would have been hard-pressed to call this place “home.”

  “Maybe he moved?” I wrinkled my nose.

  “Yeah, about fifteen hundred years ago,” Meg said. “This place looks more like some kids ran away from home and built a fort. Then a tornado came and knocked everything down. Then a fire came and burned the leftovers up. Then rain came and
made everything look like mud. Then the grass came and made—”

  “All right, all right,” I said. “Every natural disaster has hit this place. But I don’t get it. This is the address I got from Clay, and it checked out with Horatio and Anthony. What could’ve happened here?”

  “Maybe it’s the wrong address,” Meg said.

  I shook my head. “Clay doesn’t make mistakes like that. If it’s a phone number or an address he’s after, he can find it.”

  “Well, do you think he lied?” Meg asked.

  “No,” I said with hesitation. “I don’t see why he would.”

  “Then maybe he made a mistake.”

  “Could be,” I said slowly. “After all, it’s not like this place is in Google maps. Maybe he was off because he couldn’t get to it in the computer.”

  “That’s probably it,” Meg said. “Cheer up, girlfriend. Let’s head into town and poke our noses where they don’t belong. Someone’s bound to know about ol’ Dave.”

  I nodded, but couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but some part of the shack just wasn’t sitting well. “Let me take a quick peek inside. Then we can go.”

  Without waiting for Meg’s response, I climbed down from the bike and made my way towards the shack, careful not to touch anything. I was afraid that one wrong breath would collapse the whole thing down on me.

  “What you see in there?” Meg asked, still in her orange helmet. A few of her mohawk “feathers” were bent in odd directions from our wild trek.

  “It’s kind of cute,” I said. “In a dirty sort of way.”

  Clearly the place hadn’t been touched for almost as long as I’d been alive, but it appeared that at some point it had been inhabited. Whether by a child playing house or a person in need of a roof over his head, it wasn’t clear.

  “That’s a cutie little pot,” Meg said, picking up a rusted saucepan.

  “Check this out,” I said, holding out a disgustingly unsanitary s’mores skewer.

  Meg smiled. “Don’t lie, that wouldn’t stop you from cooking a marshmallow.”

  “You’re probably right,” I said, setting it down carefully. I didn’t want to take the risk of needing a tetanus shot. I had no desire to head back to Dr. Gambino’s office anytime soon.

  We thumbed through the sparsely furnished place in a matter of minutes. A crumbling car seat that belonged in a van served as a couch along one wall, and a box in the corner held a few smashed, barely discernible empty Pabst cans. The bare minimum of utensils lined a jug that may have once held water, but now was filled with spider webs and dust bunnies.

  “Looks like a bunch of high school kids set up shop thirty years ago here, and then forgot about it,” Meg said. “I don’t think this is where Dave is cooking up his special sauce. If this were his kitchen, he definitely wouldn’t be receiving an A rating from the food inspector.”

  “Food inspector,” I said, the word triggering a memory. “Maybe we can get ahold of the food critic that tried Dave’s sauce and blogged about it. If it really was a viral post, it shouldn’t be hard to find.”

  Meg shrugged. “Worth a shot.”

  I fished my phone out from under my sweaty leather jacket. Now that we didn’t have wind blasting us in the face, the day was turning into a humid one, as was typical in early July.

  “No signal,” I said. While I was at it, I took another glance at the map I’d tucked next to my phone. Horatio’s grandmother’s number stood out to me, scrawled in the corner in chicken scratch that only an adult male would dare call handwriting. I squinted at the numbers. “Hey, can we make a quick stop on the way back?”

  “You’re going back already?” Meg fiddled with one of the empty beer cans, but to her obvious dismay, it was still empty. “Giving up?”

  “Horatio said his grandmother lives around here. He said if anything’s happening in town, she’d know about it. Let’s ask before we head back.”

  “Deal,” Meg said. “My phone still had service at that gas station when we first hit town. We can stop there and ask around, too. Someone’s bound to know something, unless Clay’s pulling your leg.”

  “Clay is not pulling my leg,” I said. “Why would he waste my time?”

  Meg grinned. “I’m just kidding. Relax. We’ll find Davy.”

  A SHORT RIDE LATER we were right back in town, parked at the world’s oldest gas station. Or so it felt. The man behind the counter was just as old, and I feared that asking him about Dave might give him an aneurism. He wheezed as he thumped around with a cane, alternating between glaring at us and hacking up half of his lung.

  “Is there another gas station?” I whispered to Meg. “I don’t think he wants to be bothered.”

  “Too bad,” Meg said. “I’m ready to get botherin.’ I have a feeling you won’t let us stop to eat until we figure this out, and that is botherin’ me.”

  She strode right up to the man, a hand on her hip and confidence oozing from every pore. I wished I had a tenth of the guts she did. I scurried after my friend, reminding myself that someone who called herself a mobsterista probably shouldn’t be cringing at the thought of asking an old man a few questions.

  “Hello there,” Meg said, leaning on the counter and resting her hand on her chin. “How are you doing today, my friend?”

  The man grunted, but he stopped picking leftovers from between his teeth long enough to give Meg’s figure a quick scan.

  “Can I ask you a question?” Meg asked.

  “Not with that attitude,” the man said. “I run a business around here. I’ve been here fifty-six years. I’m not letting a young grasshopper like you talk to me with that tone.”

  “What tone?” Meg asked, looking thoroughly confused. She glanced in my direction. “Am I talking with a tone?”

  “Not at all,” I said, rushing toward her side. Her whole vibe was not a welcoming one at the moment. I turned to the old man. “Excuse me,” I said, looking at his nametag. “Douglass.”

  “Call me Dougie,” he spluttered.

  “Sure, she can call you Dougie,” Meg said, earning a light stomp on her foot. “Ow.”

  I kept my eyes focused on the man. “Thanks, Dougie. Say, we’re not from around here—”

  “You think I don’t know that?” he asked.

  I blushed. “Well, we’re not from far away, either. About twenty minutes towards the Cities, actually.”

  “City folk,” he scoffed.

  I continued to plow through his flowery commentary. “I was just wondering if you’ve heard anything about a Dave.”

  “A Dave?” he raised an eyebrow. “The pastor? He goes by David.”

  “Does he make a, um,” I cleared my throat, realizing how silly I sounded. “Some sort of sauce? Like a special grilling sauce or something? I thought I read...”

  “No,” he said bluntly.

  “Do you know what I’m talking about?” I asked eagerly. “Someone out here has a stand out on the side of the road, supposedly. I’m trying to find it.”

  “Off of any particular road?” Dougie asked, as if I were dumb. When in reality, there was only one road.

  “Sure, this one,” I said, pulling out the map and showing him the dot.

  Strangely enough, he very quickly dismissed the dot and focused on the numbers at the bottom of the page.

  “What do you want with Anastasia?” he asked.

  “Anastasia?” I didn’t try to hide my confusion. “Does she live at this address?”

  “That’s her phone number,” he said gruffly, pointing at the bottom of the page.

  “How do you know?” I asked.

  “Because it’s her number,” he said with a blank stare. “I’ve called it. We all don’t have the celly phones that you do. If you ask me, The Google corrupts people,” he whispered. As if The Google was spying on him in his hundred-year-old gas station.

  “He should meet your grandmother,” Meg snorted. “The Google, I tell ya. What’s next,
The Yahoo?”

  “You know Anastasia?” I asked, ignoring Meg’s matchmaking comments.

  “And her two children,” he said. “And their children. Of course I know her. She was born and raised here, just like me. We went to eighth grade together.”

  “He had a crush on her,” Meg whispered to me. “I can tell these things.”

  “Anastasia is a beautiful woman,” Dougie said. “Everyone has a crush on her.”

  I waved the map. “But that doesn’t answer my question about the dot on the map.”

  “There’s nothing there, girl. Someone didn’t know what they were talking about when they made that X-marks-the-spot treasure map.”

  “But they did,” I said, under my breath. “It’s not wrong.”

  “Then they sent you on a wild goose chase,” he said. “Nothing there but a pile of sticks. They say someone used to live out there, but I don’t think so. I think some high school kids snuck away to throw back some beers and smoke cigars.”

  I sighed and turned to Meg. “I think we’re at a dead end. Maybe we should just head back for now.”

  My friend must have sensed my drooping spirits. She reached out and gave my arm a shake. “Don’t you give up, yet – we haven’t exhausted that map. Let’s pay Anastasia a visit.”

  I turned grateful eyes in her direction and gave a quick nod. Turning to Dougie, I gave a hopeful smile. “Do you know where she lives?”

  “Of course I know where she lives,” he spat as if I’d asked him two plus two.

  “Will you tell me?” I asked.

  “Depends,” he leaned his cane against the counter.

  “On what?” I looked at Meg, not particularly wanting to owe this man any favors.

  “You bring her something,” he said, standing up straight.

  “Bring her what exactly?” I asked. “We came on a motorcycle, so we can’t carry much.”

  “I see that,” he said, nodding outside. “My eyes work.”

  “Fine. Then sure, as long as we can carry it easily and it’s not dangerous,” I raised my arms and let them fall by my sides with helplessness.