October Fest

hat into the governor ring. Is it true?”

The Representative smiled brightly. “Lila, right now my priority is serving the state in the position they’ve elected me to. I have no other political ambitions at this time. If that changes, my family will be the first to know, and you’ll be the second.” The audience laughed politely, and Glokkmann winked in Lila’s direction.

Someone behind me was called on next. He stood. “Mr. Swydecker, what are your feelings on the current war?”

Swydecker appeared somber and thoughtful, which apparently was the debate equivalent of showing your throat in a dog fight. “Depends on what day you ask, doesn’t it Arnie?” Glokkmann interrupted, smiling as she sliced. “But I’m always on the side of the troops and America.”

Handy, I thought, settling in for a twenty-minute playground fight with Glokkmann playing the role of lunch- stealer. I was about to pack it up when the reporter who’d tipped me on the tippler was finally called on. Grace seemed to have been deliberately avoiding acknowledging him because he’d had his hand up since before the official audience Q & A period and had been holding it impatiently aloft since.

“Yes, Bob Webber, right?” Grace said icily. “What newspaper are you with again?”

“I have a blog, actually, Ms. Swinton, but I believe you know that,” he said, standing. “It’s called The Body Politic. My question is for Representative Glokkmann.” He cleared his throat, and I noticed that the arms of his sport coat were a little short, the front shiny from wear. He looked vulnerable standing there, like a kid owning only hand-me-downs dressing his best for a big speech. “Ma’am, the only bill you have successfully sponsored in your three terms in the legislature is House Resolution 1294, which calls for the designation of the month of September as ‘National Moebius Syndrome Awareness Month.’ Of the twelve other bills you’ve co-sponsored, six are directly related to opening up national lands to gas and oil exploration, development, and production. Two are aimed at killing the health-care bill so insurance companies rather than doctors get to decide what health care we receive, while your husband coincidentally owns an insurance company. Do you have any ethical qualms about doing little else in Congress other than using your position to line the pockets of the oil industry and your family?”

Glokkmann held her smile, though it cracked a little at each corner. “Bob, tell me what you know about Moebius Syndrome.” Both hands were definitely shaking now.

“That’s not my question, ma’am.”

“I’ll tell you what I know. I know it’s an unfair disease that affects thousands, and through awareness and support, we can make a difference in the lives of children who face this tremendous hurdle. You’re telling me that advocating for those who can’t advocate for themselves is ‘doing little’?”

I always thought I had a gift for deflection, the pretty little sister of lying, but this lady was a pro. I craned my head fully so I could watch Webber’s reaction. His cheeks flushed, and he was shifting his weight from one foot to another. He knew he couldn’t pursue his line of questioning without looking coldhearted. Score one for the Lego- haired Lady. He sat down abruptly, and I turned back in time to see her smile triumphantly, her hands once again clasped in front of her.

Grace stepped in to announce the debate successful, and at an end. The candidates moved to the edge of the stage and shook hands while worker ants sprang up to clear the stage and prepare it for the night’s festivities. I wove through the crowd to reach Bob the blogger and was nearly there when a commotion erupted at the rear of the tent. A group of six or seven people marched in, all of them carrying protest signs. The posters I could read proclaimed health care a right and not a privilege, and the sign holders were chanting angrily, demanding an audience with Glokkmann and Swydecker.

I toggled to get a closer look, but so did all the other reporters and the camera crews, causing a bottleneck. Moving to the side instead of fighting forward, I was able to catch a glimpse of the dark-haired woman who’d assured me “Queen Glokkmann” would not miss a debate slide into the tent through the same opening as the protestors, a smirk on her face. She strode toward the stage and took a post where she could watch both the candidates and the sign holders. Swydecker was watching the sign holders with interest. Glokkmann, on the other hand, was high-tailing it toward an exit. The security guard materialized alongside the protestors.

I wished I had a chance to see how it all turned out, but I had to open up the library. I scribbled Bob the blogger’s name in my notebook, wondering if his last name was spelled with one or two b’s, and set off to start my shift. Of course, if I was a dog, I’d have bolted straight out of town, my hackles razor-sharp. The murder had never been closer, butcher and victim sharing the same tent air.

2

The Battle Lake Public Library had served as my refuge since I’d arrived in town, an oasis of comforting words, leafy plants in the windows, a place for everything and everything in its place. I let myself in and grabbed the stack from the Book Return bin on my way to fire up the front desk computer. I loved having a peephole into what Battle Lake read. Today’s load featured Artificial Intelligence for Dummies with several pages dog-eared, a handful of romance novels, two books on training boxers (the dog, not the fighter), four hardcover bestsellers, all of which I had a waiting list for, and a Thai cookbook with a gorgeous cover photo of slivered pork in cilantro broth alongside fresh spring rolls and a tiny pot of peanut sauce. I was so busy slavering over the culinary possibilities that I didn’t notice the shadow on the other side of the door. I almost jumped over my hair when the greeting bells jingled.

“Oh! We don’t open for another thirty minutes.” I said, turning. I was all set to explain the library’s limited weekend hours to whomever was entering when my glance connected with beautiful eyes so profoundly blue that I swear clouds floated in his eyelashes. “Johnny!” My exclamation was half joy, half fear, a mix that comes easily to both cult members and women too stupid to fall in love with the right guy.

“Hey, Mir. Were you covering the debate this morning?” He smiled tentatively, and the sight of his full lips moving slowly over straight white teeth gave me a shiver in my happy place. Johnny and I had been dancing an awkward salsa the past few months, with him dating someone and then single, moving closer until I pushed him away, him acceding until I pulled him closer. This embarrassing hustle was made worse by the fact that his lean, muscled beauty dorkified me immediately, garbling my words and propelling me to say stupid, sarcastic stuff to cover my unease. Johnny had persisted, however, and we’d both been rewarded with a magnificent, earth-shaking, kiss-on-a-stick at the State Fair a few weeks back. Not wanting to mess up my dream image of him with reality, or give him a chance to not like me by getting to know me, I’d studiously avoided him since the spectacular, love-and- rockets joining of our lips. Until this moment.

“Johnny!” That was it. That was my conversational tour de force.

He smiled wider and shoved his hands into his jean pockets, which were slung low on his hips. During the summer, he worked at Swedberg Nursery, and he still had a residual tan from a season spent outdoors. His shaggy blonde hair hung in his face, thick as a book and curling around his neck. He was dressed in the male version of my outfit-fleece-lined brown corduroy jacket, white T-shirt, and rough blue jeans. “Hope I’m not bothering you. You haven’t returned my calls. Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Sure. You know how it is.” Why was I blushing?

He stepped in quickly and held me before I could protest. He smelled like cinnamon toothpaste and fresh air. “I’ve missed you.”

He caught me off guard, overriding my defense mechanisms and the speech center in my brain. I could feel his lean hips pressing against my stomach, his sculpted chest against mine. Dang, he felt good. “Hard as a board,” I whispered.

“What?” He asked, pulling away.

“Good lord! I mean… power cord. I need a new power cord for the library. Just, you know, going over my shopping list. Didn’t know I’d said it out loud.” I forced a grin, my face bright enough to read by.

His smile was puzzled. “I’m sure the hardware store has some on hand. I’ll check for you. I need to stop by there today, anyhow. What’s the power cord for?”

My blood was still too far south to do my brain any good. “Power,” I said.

He nodded and changed the subject, stepping back another hair. “I just came from the Senior Sunset. Mrs.