For the last sixty miles of the drive, I played the game of Clue in my mind. Clay in the garage with the gun. Clay in the bedroom with the chainsaw. And every time I glanced in the rearview mirror, I had a smile on my face.
Besides his exclusives in the headless homicide, Clay had been first to report that the newspaper columnist had died from a bullet wound.
And when it came to framing me for murder, well, anyone who worked at Channel 3 had access to my hairbrush to steal a little sample. The minute I got back to the city limits of Minneapolis, I vowed to go straight to the police.
When I saw the tips of wind turbines, I shook Malik awake, and even he could tell I was in an awesome mood.
“I’m just having a really good day,” I said. “I’ll explain later.”
Curious locals had already assembled in a newly harvested cornfield to watch the action from a distance. Some, including my parents, considered it a chance to glimpse an exotic corner of the world without going there. Nearly two dozen Saudi men and women wearing long robes and various head coverings gazed at the rows of turbines and took turns stepping inside.
The only picturesque thing missing was camels. And instead of sand dunes, amber waves of grain made for an all-American background.
Malik shot from a tripod. Even without interviews, the video was certain to make the network news feed. We were the only media, thanks to the buzz direct from my local roots.
“Isn’t that your buddy?” Malik asked.
I looked through the camera lens to see the players up close, recognizing one of the Wide Open Spaces owners. Another man, probably an interpreter, stayed close. Then I spotted Nick Garnett and realized that the longer we spent apart, the better he looked. He wasn’t dressed like the Secret Service team. I wasn’t sure what his role was for the event, but he moved comfortably through the crowd. I wished he had called to tell me he’d be there, but apparently he was still sticking to business.
I tried to phone the station, but the feds must have been blocking cell service again, because my call didn’t go through.
The royal entourage spent the next fifteen minutes staring and pointing at the twenty-story metal warriors. I would have liked to have seen the expressions on their faces. I wondered if the woman I’d met shopping the other day was part of the elite group.
Then they filed into an impressive line of limousines, which slowly drove north on a dusty road.
Malik and I grabbed some sound with the wind farm officials, bragging about how well the visit had gone. Then he headed toward the van with the gear while I mingled.
“That sure was interesting,” my dad said. “Wish I could have shaken hands with some of those folks.” My dad collected handshakes, pressing palms with various presidential candidates whenever they visited the Minnesota State Fair.
“Time for us to run home,” Mom answered. “I don’t want to miss Oprah.”
I waved as they drove down a back road, between the fields. I was actually glad to see them off because the person I really wanted to find was Garnett. I was hoping to casually stumble into him and reach an understanding. I could also share what I’d learned about Clay Burrel. There really wasn’t anyone else I could trust.
A few bats lay scattered on the ground, and I kicked at one with my foot. Glancing around, I saw that nobody seemed to be paying any attention to me. To appease Noreen on the rabies matter, I wrapped one in some tissue and stuffed it in my jacket pocket for more barotrauma testing later.
I pulled at the door to one of the turbines and was pleased to find it still unlocked. Feeling the interior wall by the door, I found a light switch. Handy because there were no windows. I moved inside for an up-close inspection of the circular structure.
An aluminum ladder stretched far upward, but after my research on workplace dangers, I knew better than to climb those rungs without a safety harness.
I was gazing down into the base of the tower when the door opened behind me. A woman dressed in a Muslim garment and head covering came inside. Surprised to see her alone, I saw an opportunity for information and introduced myself.
Silently, she moved toward me. I thought perhaps she didn’t speak English. Her steps made a strange tap-tap sound on the metal floor. I glanced down at her feet and saw cowboy boots.