Family Reunion

by Nicholas Sarazen

  Traffic on 210 was lighter than usual. Stephanie put her cassette recorder on the seat and pushed the play button. Again she heard Weasel's frightful cough. His directions were easy to follow and she hoped she wouldn't have any problems finding the cabin. When she got on Tujunga Canyon Road she started to look for the landmarks. Soon she saw the cliff with the falling rock sign and the rusty drain pipe. There, barely discernible, was the small opening in the trees. After checking the rearview mirror to make sure no one was behind her, she eased her car off the highway. She got out and raised the hood. A van whizzed by. She was getting the five-gallon gas can from the back seat when she heard a car begin to slow down. That's all I need, she thought--a Good Samaritan. The car pulled off the road behind her. She waved the driver off and waited until he was nearly out of sight before she started up the narrow dirt road, gas can in hand.

  The road seemed to have no end. Stephanie's heart pounded, more from the anticipation than from the climb. If Xeno were home she would tell him she had run out of gas and had spotted the dirt road. She would then ask if he could siphon some gas from his car into her can. When she first came up with the story she thought it sounded believable, but she now hoped she wouldn't have to use it.

  The road was cut through a particularly thick growth of ponderosa pines that seemed to choke off the sun and muffle the sounds from the highway. The wire handle on the gas can squeaked as she walked. Her pace slowed. This is silly, she thought. There's nothing here.

  She rounded the next bend in the road. And then there it was. Xeno's cabin.

  It looked like any small cabin in the woods. She half expected to see human hides, dripping blood, nailed to the door. There were no signs of life, which she didn't find at all reassuring. She stood in front of the cabin door, her fist upraised. She hesitated, then knocked.

  "Hello! Is anyone home? I need help!" She waited, but there was no response from inside the cabin. So far, Weasel was one for one. Xeno apparently was not home, just as he had said. Now if the door is unlocked and there is a book in the wall... She reached out and her hand closed on the doorknob. She turned it slowly. "Damn," she muttered. It was unlocked. Two for two. She pushed against the door and braced herself for the high-pitched, eerie creaking. The door opened without a sound. She again called out, more questioning this time, "Hello?"

  The inside of the cabin was no more ominous than the outside. A propane stove and an ice chest were in the kitchen area, a couch, a roughhewn coffee table, and a throw rug in the living area. A tall wooden locker with a padlock stood in the corner. An orange hunting jacket hung from a nail. Along the wall on her right, where the book was supposedly hidden, was a footstool. Next to the stool was a pair of hunting boots. As Stephanie hurried to the wall she strained to hear any sound that would point to approaching danger. Her motorist-in-distress story would no longer work. She had to move quickly. Sweat beaded up on her forehead. She tugged and pushed at the planks but they were all solid. Finally, a couple near the ceiling yielded to her effort. Three for three. He had also said that Xeno was a killer. She prayed that Weasel would not go four for four. She tried to memorize the exact position of the book in the wall and the placement of the planks. Carefully she reached into the opening and lifted the book from its resting place. It wasn't the large, leather-bound tome she had expected. In her hands she held a black, three-ring binder. On the front was a piece of yellow tape from a label maker. On the tape were two words: "The Family."

  She carried the book over to the table and set it down. She could hear Weasel's warning not to put a single wrinkle in any page. With great care she opened it. The book was filled with typewritten pages. The pages were not numbered, but Stephanie guessed there were forty or fifty. She flipped through it. Each Family member had his or her own page. Many entries had names and nicknames, addresses, phone numbers, occupations, spouses, children, and even social security numbers. Other listings were not as complete, containing only names, addresses and phone numbers. She looked at some of the occupations--some of The Family members were businessmen, lawyers, and teachers. There was even a state senator! Stephanie got a steno pad from her purse. At random she chose three names she had never heard before and jotted down the entries word for word. She looked at her watch--it was almost four thirty. She turned a few more pages. Some of the names were crossed out with big red Xs. She smiled when she saw that Mother Earth hadn't moved around much. She turned a few more pages until she came to Weasel's entry. It read "Messina, Eddie, also known as Weasel." It had the address and phone number of Severman House, but the facility wasn't identified by name. Nothing else was listed for Weasel. Stephanie suddenly became a little frightened as her curiosity gave way to the realization that not only was she trespassing in the home of a killer, but she had in her hands his most prized possession. She closed the book and hurried to the opening in the wall. She put the book in the hole just as she had found it, and replaced each plank exactly as it had been before. On her way out she stopped at the door to take a final look around the room. When she was satisfied that there were no traces of her visit, she picked up the gas can, closed the door, and started back down the dirt road to her car.

  The stillness in the cabin was broken by a faint creaking coming from inside the tall locker. Slowly it inched away from the wall and from behind it a man stepped out. He went to where the book was hidden and removed the planks. He took the book out and set it on the nearby table. He thumbed through it until he came to the middle and then, with a red pen, crossed out the name of Eddie Messina.

  Chapter 5

  Stephanie awoke in the predawn darkness to the caress of Randy's hand, but she lay still. They were to have had dinner at Trader Vic's the night before, but Randy showed up two hours late. And drunk. She made him stay over because he was in no condition to drive, but she had insisted that he sleep on the couch. Sometime during the night he had made his way to her bed.

  His fingers slowly traced a path along her thigh. She was still angry, but that was no longer a new emotion in their relationship. As he started to slip off her nightgown, the alarm sounded.

  "Turn that goddamn thing off!" Randy snapped as his hands fumbled for the button that would silence the intruder. When Stephanie reached overhead and turned off the alarm, he pulled her down on top of him.

  "Randy...I can't."

  "Why?"

  "We don't have time. You know I have to run."

  He sat up as she switched on the light. "If you don't run we'll have plenty of time." He reached for her.

  "I can't. If I miss a day I'll break my streak."

  "Streak? You've got to be kidding. What's so damn important about your streak?" Randy's voice was angry now.

  "You wouldn't understand." Stephanie got out of bed and started to get her running clothes. "You've never had a single goal in your entire life."

  "Hey, I have goals. I'm in college, aren't I?"

  "You're a fifth-year sophomore and you've dropped more classes than you've passed. You're just wasting it, Randy." Stephanie was pinning back her hair. "The only thing worse than falling short of a goal is not having one to begin with."

  "Is that another of Daddy's little profundities?"

  Stephanie glared at Randy. "You have something to say about my father?"

  Randy fell back onto the pillow. "Oh no, I wouldn't dare defile St. Stephen. Screw that. And screw you." He switched off the light and disappeared beneath the covers.

  Stephanie struggled through her warm-up exercises. When she was troubled about something her workout seemed much more demanding. She thought of Randy as she ran. When she first met him she had been attracted by his wavy blond hair and muscular physique. He also had a boyish quality about him that at first was refreshing, but she was now finding out that the only little boy in Randy Ebert was a selfish, impetuous child with a knack for keeping his negative qualities well-hidden.

  Her mood began to change as she inhaled the cool air and listened to the early morning sounds ushering in a
nother day. With little effort she covered the last mile.

  As she walked past the gateposts she noticed that Jessie had already gotten her Tribune. Jessie always searched the Trib for Stephanie's bylines before she read anything else. Stephanie smiled to herself as she thought of her landlady's probable reaction to the story about Severman House. Her smile vanished when she saw that Randy's car was gone.

  Stephanie sprinted up the steps to her apartment and cursed when she found the door locked. Well screw you too! She trudged down the steps to Jessie's for a spare key.

  Chapter 6

  "Hal," Stephanie said as she approached his desk, "may I see you a minute?"

  "That's about all the time I have." Hal put down his pen. "What's up?"

  "What do you remember about the Mother Earth murders?" she asked.

  Hal leaned back in his chair. "Radical cult slaughters two Hollywood superstars and three of their friends for crimes against the environment. Sylvia Webster and six followers sentenced to death, later commuted to life in prison." He shrugged. "That's pretty much it in a nutshell. But I know a lot of bizarre stuff that never made it into the news. Sam Catton covered the whole thing right from the beginning and told me all about it."

  "Sam Catton?" Stephanie asked. "You worked with the Sam Catton?"

  "The one and only," Hal said. "Pretty impressive, huh?"

  "No, it just means that you're more of an old-timer than I thought," Stephanie teased. "Catton's been retired for years."

  Hal gave her a mock scowl. "I wish I could continue to engage in this enchanting small talk, Steph, but I do have several meetings today. Now what's this about Mother Earth?"

  "Have you ever wondered what happened to The Family after the trials?"

  "I take it you mean those who aren't doing time."

  "Right."

  "Not really. Without Mother Earth, there was little to hold them together. After they left The Haven, who knows?" Hal raised his eyebrows. "Why do you ask? Is she coming up for parole again?"

  "I don't think so. But...you know my piece on Severman House?"

  "Yeah. Nice job, by the way."

  "Thanks. When I was there I met this guy who claims he's a former Family member."

  "Really? What's his name?"

  "Weasel. His name's Eddie Messina, but he goes by Weasel."

  Hal thought for a moment. "Weasel...Eddie Messina. Doesn't ring a bell. He wasn't one of the main Family members. What are you getting at?" He lit a cigarette.

  "Weasel told me about another guy, also from The Family, who has this book with all The Family members' names and addresses."

  "So? I could do that from our research files."

  "Hal, the thing is current. It's where they're living now, what they're doing now, not back then."

  "Yeah, sure it is. This Weasel's feeding you a pile of compost." The phone rang. "Blancett," he answered. "I know, I know, I'm on my way." He looked at Stephanie and pointed to his watch.

  "I've seen the book," Stephanie whispered.

  "Wait a minute, Janice." Hal cupped his hand over the mouthpiece. "You have?"

  Stephanie nodded.

  "Janice, hold my calls, and have Tucker sit in for me at the meeting. Tell him I got tied up." Hal hung up the phone. "You've actually seen this book?"

  "Yes. It's more of a notebook than anything else, but it has everything in it, just as Weasel claimed."

  Hal picked up his can of Cherry Coke and took a sip. "Who's this other guy, the one who has the book?"

  "I don't know his real name, but Weasel calls him Xeno. Does that sound familiar?"

  "No. What else do you know about him?"

  "Not much. Weasel's pretty secretive. I think he's scared to death of the guy, and he probably should be. Weasel once saw him murder a man in Griffith Park."

  "Pleasant thought." Hal took a couple of drags. "How does this Xeno gather all the information he puts in the book?"

  "I don't know how he does it yet, but you should see it. It's eerie."

  "Did Weasel have it with him?"

  "No, Xeno keeps it, but I got Weasel to give me directions to Xeno's place."

  "But you didn't meet him?"

  "No, he wasn't there."

  "So it was okay with him that you saw the book?"

  "Not exactly. Weasel said Xeno won't let anyone near it."

  "Then how did you see it?" Hal's eyes grew wide. "You didn't go there and-- "

  "Hal, I had to," Stephanie interrupted. "I had to know if it was real."

  "Shit, Steph! What'd you do, break into the guy's house?"

  "It was just an old cabin. The door was unlocked and Weasel assured me that Xeno wouldn't be home. Besides, Hal, you would've done the same thing."

  "Like hell. I never wanted a story that bad. Steph, you can't be taking chances like that. Did you forget that those people skinned a woman alive and lopped her husband's head off? You just met Weasel. You don't know the first thing about him. Then you burglarize someone's home and look at his personal property, what sounds like some very personal property. It would be bad enough if these were just normal people, but Mother Earth's Family--"

  "Hal, Weasel's totally harmless. A good gust of wind could blow him over. Besides, he's a very gentle person. Xeno might be another story, but it was a chance I had to take."

  Hal sighed in resignation. "I guess I can't change the kind of reporter you are, but I'd feel a lot better about it if you had taken someone along with you." He rose from his chair and walked over to the window. He gazed out for a few moments before turning to face her. "But why revive this Mother Earth thing, Steph? Maybe it's best left in the past."

  "I'm not reviving it, Hal, and it's not just in the past. Mother Earth is still big news today. She's everywhere. She even wrote an autobiography not long ago. And can you believe the woman gets fan letters from young kids wanting to join her Family? It's true. She was in Life magazine. Carson still jokes about her in his monologues and they talk about her on Saturday Night Live. And how many times have you heard multiple murders compared to what The Family did?" Stephanie paused and studied Hal's face. His eyes were looking down and he was slowly nodding his head. She took that as a good sign, so she continued.

  "Whenever she comes up for a parole hearing it makes national news. And Hal, it's no wonder why there's all of this interest in her. There's a big nostalgia kick now. All the baby boomers are reliving the sixties, and The Family murders are as much a part of that era as Woodstock or the Vietnam War."

  "True, true."

  "But this wouldn't be about Mother Earth. She's the drawing card, but this is about everyday people, people for whom The Family was a phase, a brief stopping off place in an otherwise successful life."

  Hal walked back to his chair and sat down. He took another drag from his cigarette. "Okay. If all of this is on the level, which we've got to be sure of, then there are a couple of approaches we could take. What angle would you go after? You know, a story on Xeno and his book sounds pretty good to me."

  "Yeah, it does, but because there were so many people in The Family I was thinking more about a series, a ‘where are they now' sort of thing."

  "A series...that's not bad. I'll have to think about it. But how would you get in touch with them?"

  Stephanie flipped open her notebook and handed it to Hal. "Read this."

  He studied the page for a moment, then read aloud. "Elmer. Real name George Stouffer. His current address is 4127 Oak Knoll Drive in Las Cruces. He's married, and he works for the Consolidated Software Products Division of Mercer Industries."

  Stephanie picked up the telephone and turned it around. "Give me his phone number."

  "Home or work?"

  "Work."

  Hal read the number to her. "What are you going to do?"

  "Don't worry," Stephanie replied. "What's his real name again?"

  "George Stouffer."

  Stephanie placed the call and switched on the conference speaker.

  "Hello," answer
ed a female voice, "Consolidated Software. May I help you?"

  "Yes, may I please speak to Mr. Stouffer...Mr. George Stouffer?"

  "I'm sorry, Mr. Stouffer's out of town until tomorrow. Would you care to leave a message?"

  "No, I don't believe so. I'll just call back. Thank you." Slowly Stephanie returned the phone to its cradle. "Well, what do you think? You know this could be good."

  "It could be great, but I'm not sure we should do it. That whole Mother Earth thing caused so much panic around here...that's a can of worms we'd have to be very careful about opening back up. This is the movie capital of the world, and you're talking about resurrecting the murders of two of the most famous stars of all time. There are still a lot of people around here who were close to Anne Stratford and William Drew. Plus, it could cost the Trib subscriptions and advertising accounts if people thought we were in any way glorifying Mother Earth." Hal rose to his feet. "I need some time to think about this, Steph. I know you're excited about it, so I'll let you know as soon as I've made a decision."

  Stephanie didn't see Hal the rest of the day. She spent most of the afternoon covering a demonstration at an abortion clinic and was worn out by the time she got home. After a dinner of leftover quiche and two glasses of Chablis she tried to get interested in a novel but soon drifted off to sleep on the couch. It wasn't long before she was awakened by a knock at her door. She got up and opened it, the length of the safety chain giving her just enough room to see a shadowy figure, its face hidden by a sweatshirt hood drawn tightly. A raspy voice announced, "Package for Miss Stephanie Kenyon."

  "Just put it down right there," she said.

  "Ma'am, I need your signature."

  All Stephanie could think of was Weasel's story about Lonesome Lou's murder in Griffith Park and how he said Xeno knew where everyone was and what they were doing. "Then slip it through the door and I'll sign it," she said.