Tales of Tinfoil: Stories of Paranoia and Conspiracy

by David Gatewood (ed)

  “I know,” Anna started, but then stopped. On the floor of the hotel room lay a handwritten note that looked like it had been shoved under the door.

  I know who you’re looking for. Stop immediately.

  Anna felt a lurch of fear. Someone knew where they were staying. Someone had been here. She peered in the room, but the beds remained made, and their suitcases appeared undisturbed. She took a couple of deep breaths, stepped over the threshold, and did a quick circle of the room, checking each nook and cranny. The chino guy was not in the closet, or the bathroom. When she was satisfied they were alone, she pulled Dolores fully inside and locked and bolted the door. Dolores held the note in her hand and gazed up at Anna with starry eyes.

  “Don’t you see? This means we’re on the right track.”

  “Or it means we’re in danger. We should go home, Dolores.”

  “No, please don’t make me go home. Please.”

  “Elvis is not worth risking your life over.”

  But Dolores had a fervor about her now. “What if we go on another Pritchard boat trip tomorrow? That has to be safe. We’ll be with Nick and Jeremy. I promise I’ll behave. Then, if nothing turns up, we can rebook our flights tomorrow night.”

  “What do we classify as ‘nothing’? You mean if Elvis doesn’t rappel out of a helicopter onto the boat deck?”

  Dolores bobbed her head. “Yes. If we don’t find Elvis or turn up a significant clue. Then we can go home.”

  “Or if we aren’t taken out into the middle of the Triangle and cast into the sea,” Anna muttered. Still, the note hadn’t threatened their lives, and the person hadn’t actually broken into their room. They could stay in busy areas all the time, she reasoned, or with Jeremy and Nick.

  Anna caught sight of her face in the mirror. The sun over the past two days had tinted her freckles a deeper brown and added color to her cheekbones, which were now flushed with an animation that matched Dolores’s.

  She knew she was rationalizing. She just wanted to see Nick again. Gramps would have her head, and would no doubt make some statement about singers being the worst weasels of all.

  * * *

  Anna shot out of bed at the early alarm after a fitful night of waking every other hour to check and make sure the door remained bolted.

  Dolores already stood in front of the mirror, applying a brilliant shade of red lipstick to complement her patterned white and red kaftan, which had camels embroidered down the front.

  “You ready, dear?”

  Anna flicked a glance at her own appearance. Her orange wavy locks splayed out from her scalp in a giant Medusa-like halo. She frowned at the older woman.

  “I’m going to shower today, Dolores. Can you just please stay put in the room while I do?”

  “No problem. I’ll just sit on the sundeck and read my book.”

  Dolores scooped an old black book off the bed and headed to the deck. Anna eyeballed her as she settled into one of the patio chairs. Could she trust the woman to stay put?

  Anna tried to control her jitters in the shower, but she wasn’t sure if her nerves were because someone was potentially after them, or if she was just nervous about seeing Nick. Was she that easily star-struck? She hadn’t been the slightest bit apprehensive with him before seeing him sing. There was just something about a man with a guitar.

  She almost laughed at the absurdity of this thought. She used to be obsessed with men in spandex on skinny skis.

  And this was just scraping the bare surface of all the hoopla that had surrounded Elvis.

  * * *

  A warm breeze floated in the sundeck doors when Anna emerged from the bathroom, after applying a careful hint of makeup. Dolores nodded approvingly at Anna’s green tank dress.

  “You are quite lovely, you know, when you put in a little bit of effort. You should really take advantage of that. In my day we weren’t allowed to date around much before marrying. You have the chance to have a little fun before you settle down, or not settle down at all.”

  “Are you telling me to sleep around, Dolores?” Anna said.

  “I’m not saying not to. The opportunity won’t present itself in the same way later in your life.”

  * * *

  The man with the sign about Elvis outside Pritchard Boat Tours was gone, and the bell on the front door tinkled as they went in.

  Jeremy Pritchard looked up from his desk behind the front counter. “We’d like to go out on the Triangle again,” Dolores announced.

  Jeremy shook his head. “’Fraid not. Storm’s coming in. We aren’t sending any boats out on the open ocean today.”

  Dolores glanced over her shoulder at the blue sky still visible through the store window.

  “I know it doesn’t look like it,” Jeremy said, “but you can feel the wind has already picked up. The storm should hit early afternoon. We just don’t take the chance with tourists.”

  Anna scrutinized Jeremy more carefully. With his concave chest, thinning hair, and pointy nose, he bore no resemblance to Elvis—or to Nick, for that matter.

  “Oh, well, we were hoping to speak to Nick,” Dolores said.

  “Nick’s not in today, or tomorrow either,” Jeremy replied. “It’s supposed to clear off tomorrow. I’d be happy to set you up with a boat and operator then.”

  “We really like Nick,” Dolores said.

  Jeremy darted a look at Anna and her dress, and pressed his lips together into a tight, thin line. “Nick’s on holiday for a couple of weeks. Now if you’ll excuse me, I really have to close up the shop here and go make sure the boats are secured.”

  “Of course,” Dolores said. “Is Nick off celebrating his birthday, then?”

  Jeremy scrunched up his features. “No. Nick’s birthday is in August. What makes you say that?”

  “Oh, silly me. Just something Nick said in the boat yesterday made me think his birthday was coming up. I must have misunderstood. Well, we’ll be on our way.”

  Dolores turned in a slow arc as if to withdraw from the store. Anna had already beat a hasty retreat to the door, her cheeks flaming at the idiocy of dressing up for Nick. But Dolores paused halfway in her turn, her eyelids fluttering the way they did whenever she was about to impart something she felt was important.

  “Tell me,” she said, “is that Cheiro’s Book of Numbers on your desk there?”

  Jeremy’s eyes narrowed. “Why, yes it is. My wife is into that numbers stuff; she must have left it behind the last time she was in. Good day, ladies. Enjoy the sun this morning, and don’t stray too far from your hotel. It’s going to be a big one.”

  A gust of wind caught the edge of Anna’s skirt as she exited the building, and it definitely had a more intense quality than the wind of the previous days. How had she not noticed? Had she been so wrapped in a haze of Nick? She was a fool.

  Dolores marched down the sidewalk and crossed the street, leaving Anna to follow in her wake. On the other side of the street, Dolores shifted her gaze back to the bright green-sided building they had just departed.

  “1928. Very interesting,” she murmured before continuing on down the street.

  “What? What are you talking about?” Anna limped after Dolores, who was now setting an even more rapid pace.

  “I need to find out Jeremy’s birthday,” she said.

  A nondescript man with a comb-over stood outside their hotel in grey dress pants and a navy golf shirt holding a manila envelope. He livened up when he saw them and scurried in their direction. Anna stiffened, but Dolores hastened over to the man.

  The man presented the envelope to Dolores. “I haven’t turned up much yet. Just some basic vitals. I’ll keep looking.”

  “Nick Pritchard is on holidays. I need to you to find out if he’s left the island,” Dolores said. “And I need Jeremy Pritchard’s birthdate.”

  “On it, ma’am,” the man replied and headed off down the road.

  “Who was that?”

  “Ron Higgins. The private investigator,” Dolores
said, pulling a sheet of paper out of the envelope. “August 31, 1982,” she read, and then closed her eyes and tilted her head to the sky. “Nick is a four, which explains the blue shirts, the blue boat, and the boat number, 8264, which is twenty, which is divisible by four. The Black Velvet was at 2024, which is eight, which is Elvis’s number, but would also be lucky for Nick. Jeremy must be a two, which explains the green color of the shop and his bracelet, and the 1928, which is two, but because that’s twenty, it would also work for Nick.”

  “Dolores,” Anna said sharply. “What are you talking about?”

  “Numerology. Elvis believed very strongly in numerology. Cheiro’s Book of Numbers was one of his prized possessions. It disappeared when he did.” She flipped to the next piece of paper, and her hooded eyes widened even further. “Oh, listen to this. Nick was adopted by the Pritchards. He was given up at birth by a woman named, Maria. Maria.” The older woman went quiet.

  “Who is Maria?”

  “Everyone said that Elvis ran off with a woman named Maria.” Dolores opened her eyes again and scanned further down the page. Nick lives at 2464 Ocean View Drive. It all fits. We need to go there and talk to him. Right now.”

  The wind had taken on a decidedly cooler bent, and clouds now billowed across the sky. “I don’t know, Dolores. It looks like the storm is coming early.”

  “We’ll just go and be back right away. We can take a cab.” Dolores set off for the lobby of the hotel.

  “Mrs. Winthrop,” the woman called from the front desk as Dolores sailed past, heading for the lobby phone. “We tried to catch you before. There’s a large storm brewing. We recommend you stay near the hotel for the remainder of the day. We’re well equipped with emergency supplies, and the maids have already closed the storm shutters in your room.”

  Dolores paused and assessed the woman. A remake of Elvis’s “Fools Rush In” played over the hotel speakers.

  “We just need to go somewhere. We’ll be back before you know it,” Dolores replied.

  “That’s not recommended,” the desk clerk said. “We strongly urge you to stay here for your safety.”

  “We won’t be but an hour,” Dolores said.

  * * *

  Bits of paper and other litter flew across the streets in front of the cab, and the surf pounded the beach as they rounded the final corner of Ocean Point Drive. Palm trees and ornate hedges bowed to the wind, and black clouds filled every inch of sky. Anna shivered in her skimpy tank dress. It hadn’t started to rain yet, but the air hung heavy with impending moisture.

  “I wait for fifteen minutes, lady,” the cab driver said, as Dolores hopped out of the car. “Then I’m out of here.”

  “Right,” Dolores said brightly. “Don’t worry. Just wait down there.” She pointed to a small turnout half a block down the street and slammed the cab door.

  A six-foot-high cream plaster fence with an iron gate surrounded the yard and blocked the entrance to the driveway. On the other side of the fence, lush shrubbery occluded the view of the house. The property seemed large, and it clearly sat right up against the sea. Immaculate estates lined the street on either side of Nick’s house. How could Nick afford this on his boat operator and opening act salary? A tiny shard of belief burrowed its way into Anna’s mind.

  “It doesn’t look like we can get any closer anyway,” Anna said. Wind filled her skirt from underneath and goose bumps formed up and down her thighs.

  “The fence isn’t that high. I’ll just boost you.”

  “We’re going to break in to Nick’s in full view of the street and the cabbie?”

  “Breaking in would be if you went in the house. There’s nobody else around, and the cabbie is reading the paper.”

  “Okay, we’re going to trespass then. How am I going to get back over the fence from the other side?”

  “You can just climb that tree.”

  “This is absolutely crazy.”

  The wind had whipped Dolores’s normally sleek silver hair into an electrified afro. “We’re almost there. Can’t you feel it? Don’t you want to know?”

  “What good is this going to do? Elvis is not going to be on the deck watching the storm roll in.” Even as Anna declared this, a small part of her wondered if he might be.

  Dolores laced her veiny fingers together and held them at thigh level for Anna to place her foot in. Anna shook her head but complied. As expected, Dolores’s strength failed, and Anna only managed to grasp the top of the fence. She dangled there, her bare knees scraping against the rough plaster. Dolores immediately pressed her body against the fence right beneath her. “Put your foot on my shoulder,” she ordered.

  “I’ll hurt you,” Anna said. Her arms felt wrenched out of their sockets, and the skin on her inner wrists burned. She was going to fall. She managed to lodge one of her feet on Dolores’s soft shoulder, heard the older woman’s intake of breath at the weight, and then she had a leg up on the top of the fence and she was over. The jump down was thankfully into a soft black garden bed, and she managed to land successfully on one foot.

  Anna peered around her. Thick foliage, including shrubs and beautiful flowering plants, covered every inch of yard. She made her way carefully in the direction of the blue structure visible through the spray of green.

  A small, turquoise-shingled, single-story house occupied a desolate crag of rock leaning out into the wild sea beyond. Humble by a long shot by neighborhood standards, the house was hardly that of a rock star, although Anna supposed that the land it occupied was worth a fortune.

  A small deck encircled the house, giving it almost a treehouse feel. The shutters on the windows were shut and latched, and no lights burned in the small cracks.

  A man walked around the corner of the house on the deck.

  It was the man in chinos, his face echoing the surprise that occupied hers.

  Anna spun and bolted back to the fence, heading for the tree. Ignoring the discomfort in her knee, she poured every ounce of training she had into the dash. She heard him calling after her. “Hey, wait. Stop!” But she ran on, her heart slipping into the comfort zone of racing. She launched into the tree and was up and over the top of the fence in seconds. She landed hard on the sidewalk below, and pain shot through her bum knee.

  “Let’s go,” she snapped, and Dolores, apparently having at least some sense, followed Anna to the cab, which thankfully still waited.

  * * *

  The storm battered the hotel all afternoon. Dolores wandered around the room, restless. Anna lay on the bed, her mind a swirl of thoughts and imaginings, mostly about Nick. The whole thing was ridiculous. Nick was probably just a normal guy. The whole numbers thing that Dolores was going on about was garbage. She and Dolores had become stalkers. But who was the guy in chinos?

  The crack of the wind had started to subside by dinnertime when the hotel room phone rang. Dolores snatched it up before Anna could even lift her head.

  “Hello… Hi, Ron… Yes, we’re fine… You don’t say… Yes, thanks. Stay on it.” Dolores hung up the phone. “Nick went to the airport and flew out somewhere first thing this morning.”

  “I see,” Anna said.

  “Ron is trying to figure out where.”

  “Right,” Anna said.

  * * *

  They ate a quiet dinner in the hotel. By the time dessert arrived, the storm had dissipated and the moon painted a ghostly path of white on the shimmering ocean. Despite her mad dash across Nick’s yard, Anna’s knee felt better than it had in a while, like the run had jolted something back into place.

  Anna walked loops around the pool after dinner, trying to calm the memories of racing triggered by the adrenaline high in Nick’s yard. She imagined her muscles flexing as she skated through the snow, drenched in sweat, quads aching.

  Her phone jerked her out of her ski reverie. The number was unfamiliar.

  “Hello?”

  “Anna Banana?”

  “Stephen?”

  “Hey babe, how’s it
going?”

  She flinched at his slip into familiar greetings.

  “Fine, Stephen. Why are you calling?”

  “Can’t I call because I miss you?”

  Her heart jumped, but she ground her teeth together. “How’s Samantha?”

  There was a brief silence. “She’s good. She’s great. She says hi. Listen, Barney quit, and we really need another race wax technician next week. You’re trained and you’re a whiz with the wax. You know all our skis and our styles. Any chance you could fill the gap? We’re heading to Norway. Last race of the season.”

  Anna closed her eyes against the limpid moon. From Olympic hopeful and love of Stephen’s life to wax whiz.

  “I don’t know if you’re looking, but it could be a permanent position heading into next year. Pay’s not great, but there are lots of travel perks, and we all miss you. It’s also an opportunity to build a career. What do you say?”

  “Can I think about it?” she managed to whisper.

  “We’ll need to know pretty quick. We really need someone.”

  The team. They were like family, really. The core seven of them had been together for five years before her accident.

  “Whaddya say? I understand you’re in Bermuda. You think you can meet us in Salt Lake in five days?”

  * * *

  Small white clouds dotted the azure sky the next morning. Anna accompanied Dolores on her morning constitutional and tried to ignore the fact that Dolores was steering them in the direction of Pritchard Boat Tours. She had already given Dolores the talk about flying home a day or two early and giving up on this crazy pursuit, but to no avail. Dolores had grilled her several times on what she had seen in Nick’s yard, and Anna was uncertain whether her description of Nick’s little blue house had made Dolores more or less convinced that Elvis was Nick’s father. She hadn’t mentioned the guy in chinos; knowing Dolores, it would make her even more inclined to think that they were on the right track.

  The familiar green front of Pritchard Boat Tours came into view. The homeless man was out front again, holding his sign. It was different this time though. Instead of reading “Elvis Lives, Inquire Within,” which, in retrospect, seemed a little spooky, it now read, “Elvis has left the building… by way of the lane.”