My phone vibrated with the ring tone of chimes. “It’s Stella.”
“You better answer. The texts you sent the girls were uncharacteristically brief.”
I answered the call. “Hi, hon. Yes, I’m fine. We’re having a nice time.”
I responded with genuine interest to the mundane, adding here and there brief statements of where we were supposedly eating in Little Rock’s River Market district.
“Tell Anne that I’ll call her later—”
“Give me the phone for a minute.” Roxy reached for the phone.
“Uh, well, Roxy wants to say hi.” I gave her a warning glance.
“Hi, sweet girl. Listen, when you do all that snooping to find people for your stories, how do you find them? Uh-huh. Well, my brother’s trashy ex-wife owes him some money, and we think she’s invested it in a tanning booth franchise in Hot Springs, but she has an unlisted number. Uh-huh. Really? You have to pay for that? No, you don’t have to do it.” Roxy waved away my gesture to hang up. “Isn’t there another way? Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Good tip! Property deeds. Public record. We’ll try that. Thanks darlin’, love you.”
Roxy handed the phone back but covered up the speaker, “Wrap this up, sister.”
* * *
“I’m going to say 1910,” Roxy said, staring up at the Victorian. “See the columns? Gauging by those and that tired old foundation, I’d say early 1900s.”
I hugged my arms, looking at the empty windows and the snow drifting on the stairs. A few neglected newspapers lay on the front porch, still in plastic bags. The county’s home-ownership records indicated Steven lived here. Strange that I felt bold enough to waltz into his office, the very place where it all began, but I was hesitant to even approach the house.
“Well, shall we?” Roxy said, taking the cracked concrete pathway up to the stairs. I hovered behind.
She repeatedly knocked. No lights came on. No one peered through the blinds. “Let’s try the back door.”
I followed her from the porch and around the house. What if he’s here? What am I going to say? I thought of the magazine with William’s picture on the cover in the safe in Steven’s office. My cheeks flushed in anger.
The door under a weary overhang in the back gently opened with the rapping of Roxy’s knuckles.
“Well, someone isn’t too concerned about the crime rate in Champaign-Urbana. You can’t commit breaking and entering if the door is unlocked, right? Hello? Hello?”
“Roxy…” I cautioned as she walked inside.
The mudroom was dark. I blinked, waiting for my eyes to adjust, scanning the glass fronts of a stackable washing machine and dryer, seeing no clothes inside.
Roxy continued to call out as we moved down a hall into the kitchen. Vinyl floors first laid down three decades ago matched outdated appliances and countertops. Mismatched furniture and newspapers littered the house. In the living room, a vintage refrigerator for Coke bottles stood right next to a sixty-inch-screen television.
I looked for photographs, any indication that Steven had a family, maybe even grandchildren of his own. The bachelor-pad vibe was too overwhelming to think he did.
“Well, I’m going whole hog. I’m looking around,” Roxy said. “He’s clearly not here, but I want to see if there’s any other fan mail waiting for you.”
A quick walk-through of the first floor revealed empty drawers left open, paperless file cabinets, and bare closets.
“I would like to sit down, but you know Stanley Steemer has never cleaned that couch.” Roxy pulled up one of the dining room chairs instead, watching me cover my lips with a balled-up fist.
“What are we doing, Lynnie? Do you think he’s crazy? I mean, obsessive compulsive, bipolar, schizophrenic? I mean, he’d have to be—to a degree—to believe that alien stuff—”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Her eyebrows rose.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize, just explain this to me: In the last twenty four hours, I’ve learned my best friend, who I say affectionately is the most normal, least-controversial person on earth, had an affair forty years ago, and maybe a love child, with a UFO hunter. So give me a minute to let all this sink in.”
“I believed him. I believed in what he was doing. I reviewed his research, I studied the cases, I talked to the families. I knew all about them, every one of them. I wasn’t just the office manager, Roxy. I was one of them.”
“One of whom?”
“They weren’t the people you see on TV now, talking about alien sightings and conspiracies. Back then, they worked quietly, communicated between universities all over the world.”
“So you’re telling me you were a UFO researcher too? Come on, Lynn.”
“I believed in it as much as I believed in anything.”
“And yet when you came back to Nashville, you decided to never, not even once, share all this with me?”
“Things got bad at the end. The work got too … intense. And when I found out I was pregnant, I knew I didn’t want that kind of life for my child. I knew I had to make a clean break. It’s why I never even went back for Tom’s graduation, why I’ve never come back here at all. Over time, with the kids and Tom’s work and then his political career … it’s been a long time, Roxy. I had no desire to go back to all that—”
My phone began to chime in my purse, and I sighed. “It’s probably Tom, he’s called three times.” I dug it out, my eyes growing wide at the screen. “It’s a 217 area code—I think that’s Springfield. And Champaign.”
“Well, answer it.”
“Hello?”
“Yes, is this Lynn? Lynn Roseworth?”
“Yes.”
“This is Doug Ellis. We met earlier today in Dr. Richards’s office. I knew you looked familiar. You’re married to Senator Roseworth. I also know you’re Lynn Stanson, Steve’s office manager from a long time ago.”
That surprised me. “How do you…?”
“I’ve been Dr. Richards’s grad assistant for five years, and before that I was one of his students.”
“It’s very important that I find Steven. Can you please tell me what happened to him?”
“I had to give you the company line back there at school. I’m not sure if I can trust you.”
“I promise you that you can.”
He paused. “Can you meet to talk?”
“Of course. I have to find Steven. I thought he was still teaching, that’s why I came all this way. I didn’t even know he was gone until I arrived. We haven’t spoken in decades.”
“I’ll have to talk to the others and see if they’re willing to brief you about what they know. But I won’t be able to reach them until tonight, and then they’ll have to travel. How long are you in town?”
“Only for a few more days.”
“Let me make some calls, but I think I can get everyone together tomorrow night. Can you meet at seven o’clock? I’ll text you the address where to meet.”
“Yes, I can meet you. Thank you, and please thank the others. If you need me before then, please call again.”
He hung up without saying good-bye.
“What the hell was that, Lynn? Are we meeting Mr. McCreep? And who are the others?”
“I’m sure they’re academics as well.”
“Academics,” Roxy grunted. “So we’re going to stay in this Midwestern freak show for another day to meet more UFO hunters?”
“They’re called Researchers,” I said softly. “At least that’s what we used to call ourselves. Let’s go, OK?”
“Fine by me. All this tragic bachelorhoodness is making me crave a burger and a milk shake. Maybe I’ll chase it with a Budweiser to complete the image.”
As she walked out, I paused for a moment, looking around. The loneliness of the house was heavy, almost oppressive, as if it were waiting to sigh.
When I stepped out into the sun, my phone dinged. The text came from the 217 number Doug had called me from earlier. It simply read th
e address where to meet.
I put my phone in my purse, deciding not to tell Roxy yet that we would be returning to Steven’s home.
* * *
Roxy was grumpy most of the next day. I let her stew as we flitted among antiques shops and bookstores. I texted with the girls and had a brief conversation with Tom, who said the interview had gone well, with no surprises. Roxy made little to no comment about anything, which meant she was about to blow. I’d learned over the years to give her space but remain close by when the clouds burst. We ate lunch and then dinner in a kind of understood silence, until she polished off her glass of red wine and narrowed her eyes at me. “So was this some kind of cult?”
“No.”
“Because it sounds like a cult. And we’re here for the reunion. And you said you were one of them? Really, Lynn, you believed in UFOs?”
I twisted my spaghetti with my fork. “I believed in Steven.”
“You speak so calmly about it now. A day ago you nearly had a nervous breakdown even admitting it.”
“It’s freeing, in a way, to talk about it. It hung over me for a long time when I came back to Nashville, but then Anne came, and then Kate, and Tom and I got into a routine. Just as his political career was taking off we had Stella, and our lives were so hectic and full, it became easier and easier not to think about that time in my life. Now, speaking only to you, of course, I feel like I’m recalling some wild phase. Like when someone dyed her hair purple.”
“That was not intentional, and it does haunt me to this day.”
“It was like I was in on a secret, and all these really brilliant and strange and weird and daring people accepted me.”
Roxy began to chew the last piece of garlic bread. “And Tom really doesn’t know anything about it.”
“No, he doesn’t. He never had a clue. He was so wrapped up in his studies that I think he was happy that I had found something to occupy myself, and that brought in some extra money. But that’s Tom; he never means to offend anyone when he’s more interested in his work than he is in them, and I’ve come to accept that. I could blame the troubles in our marriage then on two young people who weren’t ready to play house, but honestly, it was just a precursor to what would be the rest of our lives: him wrapped up in his career and satisfied if I appeared happy in whatever I was doing. It’s only when he knows I’m frustrated or mad about something that he takes a break from whatever he’s working on. If I’m happy, he’s completely detached. I think after the girls were in college, he was more than ready for me to attempt, once more, to write a novel or start my own business. He couldn’t be burdened with having to spend more time with his wife, who suddenly was without a purpose.”
Roxy looked down at her plate.
“Please don’t think I’m complaining,” I said. “I’m certainly not. That’s just how our marriage is, and most of the time I’m fine with it. In fact, I would have never come back here—ever—if William hadn’t gone missing. Can you imagine if I revealed that I used to investigate missing people who we believed were abducted? Everyone would have thought I was having a nervous breakdown. No one would have believed me. And I would have created another problem for my family during the worst crisis of our lives. So I tried to push it aside. Now I can’t seem to stop thinking about it.”
“How could you have ever not thought of it?”
“I had to bury those years. That’s the best way I can describe it. I had to smother them to make my marriage work, first of all. And when the girls came and Tom’s career took off, I had to close the door on that feeling of … purpose? Is that the right word? First, I became a mother. Then a lawyer’s wife. Then a state representative’s wife, then a US senator’s wife, and any ambitions I ever had to do something with my own life were gone. And once you’ve been given that taste of … professional acceptance, it’s hard to douse. It took me years, Roxy, to get past it. But like all things, in time, I did.”
Roxy took off her glasses. “I never knew. Here I am, your best friend, and I assumed you loved the whole mom-and-wife thing. That is, until we opened the shop.”
“I do love it, don’t get me wrong. But I got lost all those years ago, and it’s reminded me that sometimes only by being lost do we find the path to who we are supposed to be. But … instead of staying on that path, I ran. I ran back home and away from everything here. So I never knew … what, or who, I could have been.”
“Why did you run?” she asked quietly.
I looked out the window. “I was scared. I stood on the edge of a cliff to a wild and uncertain life and opted not to jump.”
“And yet, here we are. Are you hoping to find out where this professor is, so you can track him down and make sure he’s not involved with William’s disappearance? Ask him why he had those maps of your property? Or do you honestly think … you’ll find out something to explain where William has gone? If he has been … abducted … that these people will know how to call back the mother ship that took him?”
“I know sitting around Nashville putting Band-Aids on widely gaping wounds wasn’t working. Maybe I’m doing it to convince myself I’m not useless. I can only explain what it feels like to have William missing.… It’s like there’s an elephant on my chest, and I can’t breathe when I think about him being somewhere away from us. And being here, doing this, it’s easier to breathe.”
Roxy reached across the table and took my hand. “I promise to keep my mouth shut. Well, scratch that, we know that’s not going to happen.”
We took our leftovers, uncertain if they would ever be eaten, but knowing it was cold enough for them to remain in the backseat without going bad.
“So where are we having this Tupperware party?” Roxy asked as we slid into the truck.
I exhaled. “Steven’s house.”
“What? But he’s not there and clearly hasn’t been for a while. This is weird, Lynn.”
“Maybe we were wrong. Maybe he actually lives somewhere else and he’ll be there when we arrive. Maybe that’s who Doug intended to be there all along.”
“I’m biting my tongue, I’m biting my tongue,” Roxy said, putting the truck in drive.
The old Victorian looked even drearier at night. No lights were on, but there were several cars parked outside.
“This is the part in the horror movie when the best friend advises the beautiful heroine not to go inside the haunted house. And do you know what happens to the friend in all those movies? She’s the first to get her head cut off,” Roxy said.
“Should we go around to the back again?” I asked, my heart in my throat.
“Nope. If no one answers at the front, we’re not going in.”
We approached the dark house and I knocked on the door. Within seconds, Doug opened the door, his cell phone illuminating his face.
“Come on in.”
“Maybe you should turn on a few lights first,” Roxy said, holding fast to the back of the sleeve of my coat.
“Everyone is downstairs,” he said.
Roxy grunted. “There is no downstairs.”
She rubbed her own forehead head as I turned to her in incredulity.
“I already knew you’d been here, I saw you on the security cameras.” Doug motioned us in.
“You leave the back door open and you have hidden security cameras?” Roxy asked, still clinging to my sleeve. “And FYI, sir. I have 911 on speed dial.”
“Just because a house looks like it has lousy security doesn’t mean it actually does. Steven had to make it look like he left and never intended to return. And when he’s out of town, he turns over the monitoring of his security to me.”
“Is he here?” I asked.
Doug shook his head. “I wish he was, it would make this easier. Come on, I’ll show you how to get downstairs.”
He used the flashlight on his phone to lead us once more through the weary furniture towards the television. His light flashed over the monitor and then settled on the horizontal silver handle of the retro Coke-bot
tle refrigerator that had screamed bachelor pad to us when we first snuck in.
He pulled out his wallet and flashed what looked like a white credit card in front of the handle. We heard a soft beep, and he opened the door.
Instead of rows of Coke, there was nothing but faint light. Through the hollowed-out fridge was a staircase leading down.
“Clever. Creepy, but clever,” Roxy noted.
“Steven had it custom built and the keyless entry added. We needed to have our meetings in private. I’d say ladies first, but I assume you want me to go down first.”
“Sounds good to me,” Roxy said, waving him on.
We followed him through the repurposed refrigerator and down the stairs that had clearly been reinforced over the years, for they failed to creak as we passed wood paneling dating back to the seventies.
We descended into an unfinished basement with enough patchwork to allow for gatherings for those unconcerned with comfort. Roxy said she felt like she was attending an AA meeting, but the looks on the faces of the people milling below kept her from saying anything more.
We slowed our descent as all the conversations stopped. Most of the people wore glasses and appeared to be roughly around our age. Several were in suits. Doug certainly stood out, and he beckoned for us to come all the way down.
“Let’s everyone find a seat.” He motioned to the scattered chairs and a battered couch, but everyone remained standing, staring at me.
“It really is you,” one man said, taking a handkerchief out of his tweed jacket to clean his glasses. “I guess it’s true: You believe in the little green men just like the rest of us. You look just like you do on TV.”
I bristled at that. A woman walked forward, her long silver hair tied back in a braid. “Rupert, you prove yet again your impeccable skill for saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. It’s been a long time, Lynn. You may not recognize the few of us who were here back in the day.”
I cleared my throat. “I doubt you would have recognized me, or even remembered my name, if it hadn’t been for my husband.”
“Oh, I would have remembered,” the woman said, smiling warmly. “I would remember the nice girl with the pretty blond curls who listened—didn’t laugh at me, didn’t judge—actually listened to me talk about my brother. Didn’t think less of me when I twisted my hair like a little girl.” She reached up and twirled a strand. “I still do it.”
The Darkest Time of Night Page 9