by Philip Cox
*****
On arrival in the work parking lot, he hesitated a moment before parking in the space the Toyota had previously occupied. He double locked the doors, checked each one of them manually, and walked across the lot to the steps leading up to the bank. At the foot of the steps, he stopped, went back to the car, and checked the doors again.
In the bank, he was met by Larry Mason, who had a wide grin on his face.
‘Morning, Matt,’ Larry beamed.
‘Hey there, Larry,’ Matt replied, pulling his coat off. ‘You had a good weekend I guess?’
‘Average.’
‘So you’re just naturally happy this morning?’
Larry laughed. ‘It’s Queen Bitch. She has the flu.’
‘What?’
‘She called in five minutes ago. Has the flu.’
‘Nothing terminal I trust?’
‘Sorry, guy. Just the flu. Couldn’t happen to a nicer person.’
‘So there is a God.’
‘More or less. We still have to call her cell phone close of business. Tell her how much we’ve sold. Or haven’t.’
‘Swell,’ muttered Matt.
Larry changed the subject. ‘How was your weekend anyway? Any news?’
Matt shook his head. ‘Nah, no news. Just waiting for the police liaison guys to contact me, give me an update. I took Nathan down to the Cape to see my folks.’
‘They both okay?’
‘Fine, thanks.’
His Monday morning blues slightly lessened, Matt got to work preparing for that day’s appointments.
*****
That evening, after he had put Nathan to bed, he made himself a coffee, and set about resuming a search. If Ruth had something she was hiding from him – and that was a mighty big if – it would not be somewhere he would come across, such as the kitchen.
He stood at the bottom of the stairs and looked around. Then had an idea. The house had in effect four floors. There was a basement, which tended to act as Matt’s den, his workshop. Ruth hardly ever ventured down there, and he knew every inch of the place.
Then there was the attic. They used this for storage: small items of furniture they hadn’t gotten round to throwing away; clothes and toys Nathan had grown out of. Ruth tended to look after storing the items and keeping the place tidy. Matt only ventured up there twice a year: to bring down the Christmas tree and decorations, and early January to put them back.
He checked Nathan was asleep, and then pulled down the hatch. The little door was just outside Matt and Ruth’s bedroom door; as it opened, a stainless steel ladder slowly lowered. Matt climbed up the ladder, slowly so as not to wake Nathan, and went up into the attic, flicking the switch as he got up there to turn on the light.
Once in the attic he looked around. He shivered: it was cold and damp up here. He nodded: Ruth did keep it tidy and in good order. The redundant furniture – six dining chairs and two small tables – was stored on one side; there were five large plastic boxes which Matt knew contained Nathan’s old toys and clothes at the far end; the Christmas tree was boxed up as were two cardboard boxes marked Christmas. Two other boxes were also there, one marked 4 July, the other Halloween. Matt shivered again and made a start, opening the Christmas boxes first.
He was halfway through the second box, when he looked up: in the rush to leave work to pick up Nathan, he had forgotten to phone Debra Grant Barber with that day’s sales figures. Screw her, he thought; she’ll have to wait till tomorrow. And doesn’t her phone make outgoing calls? Trying to put work out of his mind, he returned to the boxes.
Matt checked his watch after he closed up the last box, one containing Nathan’s baby clothes. Allowing for the five minutes or so when he went back down to check on Nathan and visit the bathroom, he had been up here almost two hours. He rubbed his forehead: even though it was cold up here, he was sweating. He sat on the floor and looked around. He was sitting next to one of the roof support beams; there was a horizontal beam running from here to a corresponding beam the other side. He blew the dust off the beam next to him, then coughed as he was engulfed in a cloud.
He looked around again: the floor was covered in dust as he expected; where he had sat and manoeuvred the boxes around, the dust had been disturbed, but there was one patch of the floor, the other side of the horizontal beam where nothing was stored, but the dust had been disturbed here. He frowned slightly: Ruth was always up here, sorting and tidying; maybe she did keep some boxes there. Or maybe they had rats. He shivered again, stood up and climbed over the beam. He looked around this part, but there was nothing stored there. He turned to climb back, but as he lifted his foot up, the board underneath moved slightly, just an eighth of an inch, no more. He knelt down and played with it: it was definitely loose. He played some more, and managed to pull up the board: it was around six inches by three feet. Underneath was the insulation foam which they had installed a couple of years back. He replaced the board, made a mental note to come up here one day and secure the board, and stood up.
As he stood up, he noticed a tiny wooden door, a foot square, in the wall. The piles of furniture were hiding the door, so it could easily be missed when entering the attic. He went over to the door and pulled the handle. It didn’t move. He tugged harder, and the door opened with another cloud of dust, smaller than before. He went down on all fours and peered in. It was a tiny cupboard, only five or six inches deep. It seemed empty. He put one hand in and felt around. The space inside appeared to run past the door frame; as he put his fingers around the frame, he felt something hard; whatever it was, it was light, as it moved. He had no idea this cupboard was even here. He got closer and moved his fingers slowly and gently. Whatever it was, he didn’t want to push it out of reach.
With his fingers on the object, he moved his hand up and felt a corner and a top. He caught a hold on it and pulled it closer. Once he could, he pulled it into the main cupboard space, then out all together.
He sat down and looked at the object. It was a tin, the sort of thing one could buy cookies in at Christmas. In fact, the faded picture on the lid showed a family sitting round a well laden table, laughing. He opened the tin. Inside was a plastic bag, one of those Ziploc bags used in food storage. Inside was a brown letter-sized envelope. He zipped open the plastic bag, pulled out the envelope. Inside the envelope were some sheets of paper and some photographs. He pulled out the contents and looked through them.
He sat back, rested his head on the wall and read them again, this time slowly shaking his head.
That feeling of anger that he had felt the other night had returned.
Reading the contents of the envelope, he learned that everything his wife had ever told him had been a lie.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Matt’s eyes misted over as he lay on his bed and read through the contents of the envelope for the third time. He had replaced the little door, then slowly climbed down from the attic. Quietly looked in on Nathan, who was sound asleep. He crept over to the little boy’s bed, leaned over and kissed him gently on the temple. Nathan stirred slightly.
The first document was a woman’s birth certificate. At first, Matt thought this was Ruth’s, and then he saw that the name was Ruth Dubois. He frowned: why would she keep another woman’s birth certificate? Then he looked further at the certificate, and the date of birth was exactly the same as Ruth’s.
He shook his head slowly, trying to take in what this certificate meant. The birth took place at the Highland Maternity Hospital, Rochester NY, to Ira and Elisabeth Dubois. On the same day that Ruth told him she was born. But surely this couldn’t be…?
He turned to the other sheets of paper. One was a programme for a school nativity play at the Nazareth Elementary School, dated six years after the birth certificate. Inside, there was a cast list, and playing the part of an angel was Ruth Dubois. Her name had been circled in pencil. The third sheet of paper had on it a drawing, clearly done in crayon by a child, of two stick figures, a man and a wom
an, holding hands with a smaller female figure. They were standing on a green hill waving. A large round yellow sun was in the middle of the page.
Then Matt turned to the three photographs. One was of a school class, a couple of dozen little boys and girls sitting posing with their teacher. The children looked around five or six, around Nathan’s age. The second was of a dark haired girl, maybe early teens, sitting on a wall with an older woman who was wearing a pink floral dress. In the background were a beach and the ocean. The final picture was in the same location: this time the girl was sitting with a man, who was dressed in an open necked white shirt and light grey pants. Matt looked hard at the girl in the picture: maybe it was his imagination, but she bore an uncanny resemblance to Ruth. He turned the photographs over, looking for maybe a description or a date, but they were all blank.
Matt rubbed his eyes. He was tired, but in a state of disbelief. Ruth had told him very little about her childhood. He had no idea where he was raised; whenever he brought the subject up, she would give monosyllabic answers or immediately change the subject. After a while, Matt gave up on asking, figuring she would tell him when she was good and ready. As far as her parents were concerned, right from the start, she had told him they were dead and she was an only child. End of subject. When Nathan was born, the subject of grandparents came up, and Matt tried to ask about her own family, she always changed the subject. When Matt first introduced her to his own parents, as far as he was concerned they made every effort to be welcoming, but the barriers always seemed to come down. Even after Nathan, there was always that aloofness as far as Matt’s parents; as if she didn’t want to get close to them.
He looked up, trying to remember where she said she was born and raised. He couldn’t remember where she had said, but he was sure it wasn’t Rochester. It must be Ruth’s birth certificate: the only difference was the surname. But when they met she had told him her name was Levene. That was the name she used when they got married. So where did the Dubois come in? And why were all these items hidden away somewhere he was unlikely to find them?
The woman he thought he knew better than anybody was becoming a stranger; in the space of an hour or so he was finding he didn’t know her after all. She hadn’t even told him her parents’ names: just that they were deceased. Now that he knew their names, maybe they were still alive; maybe they might shed some light on his wife and where she had gone.
He went downstairs and booted up his computer. A few months back he had tried to trace an old school friend and had successfully used the online directory provided by AT&T. He got onto their website and completed the Surname, First Name, City and State fields.
‘What?’ he muttered, as the screen returned a Location Not Found message. Then he noticed he had entered the wrong State. This field had to be filled using a drop-down menu, and in his haste he had selected NV for Nevada instead of NY for New York. He corrected it and sat back. A few moments later, the screen was populated with three Ira Dubois in New York State. One in Albany, one in Buffalo, and one in Syracuse. None in Rochester.
Matt stared at the screen for a few moments, scratching his chin. Maybe they had moved. If they were still alive. Then he returned to the Search screen and repeated the enquiry, this time for Elisabeth Dubois. He double checked the spelling of Elisabeth to the birth certificate then clicked on the Find It button.
‘Yes,’ he breathed as the screen showed four Elisabeth Dubois in New York State, one of which was in Buffalo. The others were in Poughkeepsie, New York City, and Rochester. The Poughkeepsie and New York City ones he felt he could eliminate, but the other two were possibles.
He clicked on the blue hyperlink for the Buffalo entry. Immediately he was taken to a different screen asking for a payment of a $6.95 registration fee for more information.
‘Why am I not surprised?’ he muttered, then reached into his back pocket and got out his wallet. He keyed in his credit card details, waited a few seconds for the transaction to be validated, then was returned to the original screen. He clicked again on the link, and got the full Buffalo address for Elisabeth Dubois. He was about to cross check it to the Buffalo Ira Dubois when he noticed her age. She was 96.
‘It can’t be you, can it?’ he said as he searched for Ira Dubois, Buffalo. He was eighty-five, but at a different address.
He sat back and tried to figure out her parents’ likely ages. His father had just turned seventy, his mother was three years younger. He was four years older than Ruth, from the age she had told him and from the Ruth Dubois birth certificate. Therefore one would expect her parents to be in their sixties. However, whilst a ninety-six year old woman could never have been her mother, an eighty-five year old man could have been. Unlikely, but possible. He picked out the photograph of the man and girl on the sea wall, and looked closely at the man. He looked in his forties; assuming this was a picture of her father, this man would not be eighty-five now.
He returned to the original screen and clicked on the Rochester Elisabeth Dubois. He had an address for her, and she was 65: just the right age. But there was no corresponding entry for Ira. Maybe he had died; or they had just gotten divorced. Either way, this was a start.
He checked the time: it was almost midnight. Too late to call her, even if he could get a phone number. In any case, he would prefer to visit. Talk to the woman face to face. It would mean a drive to Rochester. He got up Google Maps: it was just under 400 miles if he took the I-90 west; should take around seven hours. It would be possible to make a round trip in one day, but it would be very tiring. And there was Nathan to consider. He couldn’t expect Gail and Ryan to babysit him again, and overnight this time. He would have to take him back down to his parents. But what about work? He would have to wait until the weekend before he made the trip.
‘To hell with that,’ he said aloud. He would call the office first thing tomorrow and arrange to take some personal time: after all, his wife had gone missing after all. Then drive to the Cape. Then hit the 90.
He felt a sense of achievement as he shut down the computer, as if he was finally making progress in finding out where Ruth had gone.
And who she was.
Chapter Twenty-Six
By nine the next morning Matt was speeding down to Cape Cod, taking the same route he had taken two days ago. A rather bemused Nathan was sitting in the back seat, clutching the Velociraptor and an overnight bag. Matt had woken him that morning, told him he would not be going to Bambinos for the next couple of days; instead he would be having a short vacation with Grandma and Grandpa. Nathan made no objection to this.
The call to work was easier than anticipated, probably because Debra Grant Barber was still off with the flu. Matt decided to call Larry Mason’s cell phone direct.
‘Hey Matt; what’s up?’ came Larry’s cheerful voice.
‘Larry, there’ve been some developments about Ruth.’
‘What’s happened? Have the police found her or something?’
‘Not exactly. Look, I’m going to need to take a few days’ personal time. There’s something I have to do. I take it Queen Bitch is still off sick?’
‘Yep, she sure is. Great, isn’t it?’
‘Wish I was there to enjoy it. I should be back in say, Thursday.’
‘Okay, I’ll let everybody know. What are you up to?’
‘Can’t say right now. Too many questions, not enough answers. Fill you in when I get back. I think I had only two appointments today -’
‘Quit worrying. José and I can take care of them. And tomorrow’s.’
‘Thanks Larry. You’re a real pal.’
‘I know,’ Larry joked. ‘Just remember me on payday.’
‘I will. See you, then.’
‘Sure thing, buddy. Take care now.’
As he pulled in to a gas station for fuel and food he quickly called his parents’ number. His mother answered.
‘Hey Mom, it’s me. Are you and Dad around the next couple of days?’
‘Why, yes of cou
rse; where would we be going?’
‘Would you mind looking after Nathan for a couple of days?’
‘Why, of course not. What’s happening?’
‘Long story, Mom. I’ll fill you in when I arrive. We’re just outside Plymouth right now, so we shan’t be too long.’
‘Right you are dear. Your father’s out with that damned boat again, so it’ll be a nice surprise for him.’
*****
‘Are you sure you’re not clutching at straws, dear?’ his mother asked him an hour later. ‘You know, that’s a hell of a long way to drive on a hunch.’
‘It’s more than a hunch, Mom; look at this.’ Matt double checked that Nathan was playing upstairs, and then showed her the birth certificate.
Estelle put her hand to her mouth as she read the certificate. ‘My gosh,’ she exclaimed, ‘it could almost be Ruth’s. Apart from the name.’
‘Even the date of birth’s the same,’ Matt said. ‘And look at these.’ He showed her the photographs. She took a glance, then sat down at the kitchen table and studied them again. Took her glasses off and wiped her eyes.
‘It is her,’ she said. ‘I can tell; it’s Ruth.’
‘And I’m assuming,’ Matt said sitting down opposite his mother, ‘that they are her parents. Ira and Elisabeth.’
‘But you told me her parents are dead. Right from when you and Ruth first got together.’
‘That’s right. Of course, they both could be. These photos are at least twenty years old. But I did an online directory search -’
Estelle looked puzzled. ‘What’s that?’
‘It’s something I can do on the internet. I used AT&T but other companies provide the service. It’s the same as going to the library and browsing through telephone directories. Same thing, only much much quicker.’
‘I see. So what did you find on this search?’
‘Well, I figured like this: you and Dad are in your sixties – well, just about. Ruth is more or less the same age as me, so it’s logical to assume her parents are – or would have been – the same age as you two. In those pictures they both look in their forties, wouldn’t you say?’