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“Camp Rushmore McKenzie,” said Bobby.
“Exactly what I’m saying. Same with the cabin up north. What’s mine is yours.”
They were both sitting now, and Shelby was pouring fresh-squeezed lemonade into an extra glass as if she had been expecting me. The sun was setting and it was growing cooler, but it was still hot enough for a man to sweat even while seated on a porch railing. Bobby and Shelby were both wearing shorts and T-shirts. Bobby’s swore allegiance to the St. Paul Saints minor league baseball team, while Shelby’s featured the logo of Buddy Guy’s Legends, a blues club in Chicago. Bobby had taken her there in the spring while I babysat their two daughters.
“Where are the kids?” I asked.
As if on cue, Victoria and Katie appeared at a living room window that opened onto the porch just behind their mother’s shoulder.
“McKenzie,” they called through the screen.
“How’re my girls?”
“Did you bring us something?” they asked in unison.
“Not this trip.”
They both made disappointed noises, and I said, “Sorry.”
“Is it because Mom threatened your life last time?” asked Victoria.
“You have to admit ten pounds of Tootsie Rolls is kind of excessive.”
“It isn’t,” said Katie.
“Mom has been doling them out a few at a time for good behavior like we were prisoners in a Russian gulag,” Victoria said.
“A gulag?”
“You know. Like where they kept Solzhenitsyn.”
“How old are you again?”
“She’s no fun,” Katie insisted.
“Who?”
“Mom. Gol, McKenzie.”
“Your mother was a lot of fun when I first met her.”
“She was young then,” Victoria said. “Now she’s really old.”
“That’s it,” Shelby announced. “The spankings will now commence.”
“Oh puhleez, mother,” Victoria said.
Shelby’s eyes bore down hard on her daughter.
Victoria said, “I think I’ll go upstairs and read.”
“Good idea,” Shelby said.
“Good night, all.”
Victoria left the window. Katie followed her deep into the house.
Shelby sighed significantly.
“Victoria’s almost a teenager,” she said.
“Don’t you just love that?” Bobby said.
“Have you ever spanked your children?” I asked.
“The threat of violence is usually sufficient, and when it’s not, Bobby pulls his gun.”
Bobby held up his hand, three fingers curled into his palm, his index finger extended, his thumb back, and made a clicking noise with his tongue.
“I can see how that might keep order.”
“So, McKenzie,” Bobby said. “I heard you were arrested the other day.”
“Taken into custody, but not booked.”
“Important difference.”
“You heard this—how?”
“I had a conversation with an Anoka cop named Jerry Moorhead.”
“No kidding. Why’d he call you?”
“He didn’t. He knew a guy in the department. Moorhead asked about you, the officer knew we were tight, so I got the call. He was impressed that you had a friend who was a lieutenant in homicide.”
“Aren’t we all?”
“He was also impressed when I told him what a sterling example of law enforcement you were until you decided to take the price for Teach-well and live a life of undeserved luxury.”
“What do you mean, undeserved?”
“He wants to arrange a sit-down, Mac. Buy you a few drinks.”
“Does he?”
“That’s what he said.”
“I wonder why.”
“The man made a mistake, he wants to apologize. What’s the big deal?”
“Does he want to apologize because he was wrong or because he wants to get me out of his hair?”
“What are you talking about?”
“The woman Moorhead’s deputy slapped around, they’re trying to jam her up on what looks like a bogus murder charge. I told her lawyer that I’d look into it.”
“Ahh geez,” said Shelby. “Not again.”
“What?”
“Why do you always get involved in these things?” she asked me. “If you’re bored, go shopping.”
We’d had this conversation before, and truth be told, I always came off looking silly defending myself. I decided to change the subject.
“Besides, is Moorhead going to call Nina, apologize to her? I was supposed to take her to that damn charity ball the other night, but I couldn’t because I was in jail, so she went with some other guy and guess what? They have a date tonight.”
“A date?” said Shelby.
“They went to dinner, la-de-da.”
“How do you know?”
“I was over there.”
“At Nina’s?”
“No. At Rickie’s. He picked her up at her place of business, do you believe that? Didn’t even have the courtesy to call for her at home. The jerk.”
“How do you know he’s a jerk?”
“He’s an architect. He wears glasses. His name is Daniel.”
“Sounds like a jerk to me,” said Bobby.
“If he wasn’t a nice guy, Nina wouldn’t date him,” said Shelby.
“Oh, I don’t know. She dates McKenzie.”
“Way to stick up for me, Bobby,” I said. “You’re a real pal.”