“I remember his frustration about it. That it was an unproven theory. I took it to be almost like a code word for something. He even mentioned once that it was a theory about other dimensions or something. He said several times that he and his fellow Researchers were told to outright dismiss it. So imagine my surprise when he whispered it to me in the hotel room. That and … other revelations.”
“For Christ sake, Lynn, you hadn’t kept a secret from me in sixty years, I thought. Now you keep popping them out, one after another.”
“I’m sorry. Everything has been a blur since Barbara waited for me outside the shop two nights ago.”
“Wait, what? That Barbara woman came to the shop?”
“She waited for me in the Christmas trees.”
I told her of the two names Barbara had given me to research, and how I went to the library and found that the girl, Amelia Shrank, had vanished in 1935, and that the hunter, Josh Stone, disappeared a decade later.
“And they both went missing in the woods behind my house. In the same month William disappeared.”
“We’re talking nearly three missing people in a century’s time, Lynn, how can there possibly be a connection. I mean, don’t get me wrong. It sounds strange.”
“It gets even stranger.” I took a deep breath, and told her about seeing my father and the men in the woods. Then, I reached into my purse and brought out the letter Daddy had written to Steven.
When she was done reading it, Roxy looked at me in astonishment. “Is this real?”
I nodded. “It’s Daddy’s handwriting.”
“Lynn … your father believed you were abducted as well? From the woods?”
“I still have trouble accepting it. But this is my father’s letter. And … I believe him. That he and Mama found me once. I can only hope I can do what they did.”
“Did they find you here?”
“I don’t know.”
“I still can’t believe any of it.” Roxy looked out the windshield. “I need a moment to wrap my head around all this. As long as you have no more revelations for the moment, I suppose we need to figure out where the hell we go now.”
“I have no idea.”
“Well, I’m old and cranky and scared and need caffeine. I don’t suppose they have a Publix out here anywhere, so that charming country store sign must indicate our only option.”
We rolled down the street to stop at the end of the businesses. A sign hung from the porch; it depicted a man waving from atop a mountain, with the word “Climbers” underneath.
“I’ll go in,” I offered. “If there are any customers, I’m going to show them William’s picture while I get you a drink. It can’t hurt to ask.”
“That depends. You realize that everyone in the country knows William’s picture. And if they have a TV, or a radio, or wifi, they’ve seen the video and may be talking—at this very moment—about the alien-obsessed wife of the senator.”
“Oh God, you’re right.”
“Let’s stick with me asking about William. You can’t see me in that video. And if anyone makes a joke about it, I’ll give them a fat lip. Just keep that sock hat and your sunglasses on if you run into anyone. And be quick with that Diet Pepsi. I’m dragging.”
I slid out of the car and walked across the wooden porch, entering the building that smelled like pipe tobacco and cardboard. Three rows of boxed goods, limited produce, and random medical supplies made up the entire shop.
“Can I help you?” asked an older man sitting at the front counter, a pipe in his mouth. He had hair that curled like ducktails around his ears.
I almost asked for the sodas, but all I could think about was that video released online. How dare those people use William’s disappearance to try to shame me into supporting them? They only made it harder for me to find him.
“Yes, I’m actually looking for someone.”
“By the ring on your finger, I’m sad to say it’s probably not me,” the man said, smiling kindly.
I brought out the picture of William. “Do you happen to recognize him?”
The man squinted and looked closely, then shook his head. “Sorry. Never seen the handsome devil. And I know everybody in this town. Let me guess: custody dispute? You the grandma? Your daughter won’t let you see your grandson or something?”
“No, nothing like that. It’s a long story. He’s my grandson, and I’m trying to find him.”
“His parents hippies or something? Come up here to take a stab at the marijuana trade? Can’t think of any other reason someone would bring a little boy this far out here. We don’t have many kids. All the ones I know are locals.”
“I wish it were that simple. Well, thank you. Oh, do you happen to have any sodas?”
“Got a few Diet Cokes and some Mountain Dew from my quarterly trip to civilization for supplies. Can’t get any of the delivery trucks to come here.”
“I’ll take a Diet Coke.”
The man reached under the counter, and I heard the faint whoosh of a small refrigerator door. The man placed the bottle on the smooth wooden surface. “On the house for the pretty lady.”
“Thank you.”
“I have to be honest with you: If there was a new kid in town, I’d know. We only have a few hundred people anyway.”
“I understand. But I have to try.”
“Good luck!” He added a small wave.
I opened the door of the Suburban to Roxy’s scowl. “Jesus, I hate Diet Coke.”
“You’ll survive. Let’s start at the bar.”
“OK, I’ll go there. I carry a flyer with William’s picture on it wherever I go, so I have something to show.”
“I’ll wander up and down the main drag, see if I run into anyone.”
Ten minutes later, having only seen abandoned stores and no people, I found Roxy sitting in the Suburban. “Sorry, Sis, no luck. In the laundromat, there was only a stoned couple—thanks for that, Colorado. Apparently, TV—and the internet for that matter—isn’t big around here, so they hadn’t seen him. Nor had the three people inside the bar, and their TV was set to SportsCenter. Let’s leave this booming metropolis and just start driving.”
We got in and drove for an hour, up and down the few quiet streets, seeing no one. “It’s getting dark now. And I’m beat. Let’s find somewhere to eat.”
I nodded. “I think that Scotty’s bar is all that’s open.”
At Scotty’s, we took a booth and ordered two small salads and grilled chicken sandwiches.
“What if he’s not here?” I asked.
“Honey, all you could do was check it out. And you did. You have done everything you could for William. And Brian. And Anne. You were supposed to call her tonight. I’m actually surprised there haven’t been any calls or texts. But I guess no news is good news.”
We ate our meal in silence. After a short drive back to the inn, we climbed the stairs to our room. Roxy opened the door and a small piece of paper fluttered to the floor.
“They didn’t wait long to stick us with the bill,” Roxy said.
I picked it up, realizing it was no bill. The old postcard had an artist’s rendering of the Argentum Inn back in its prime, perhaps the early twenties, surrounded by images of small waterfalls landing in creeks. Written in flourishing cursive were the words: “Stay at beautiful Argentum! Where the Water Falls.”
My arm immediately tingled in pinpricks.
“Where the Water Falls.”
The poem on the cards that I, and untold numbers of Researchers, had given so many times to the families of the missing came whispering in my mind.
You are with me.
You are in the rain.
You are in my tears.
You are where the water falls.
All those years ago, Steven had dismissed the poem. He grumbled that he didn’t even know why we handed it out. He’d only said one of his colleagues started doing it and insisted all Researchers follow his lead.
Steven hadn’t realized the po
em wasn’t intended to comfort families. Whoever that colleague was, he had meant it as a guide.
You are where the water falls.
“Sweet God,” I whispered. I looked again at the picture and quickly turned it over to show to Roxy when I saw the writing on the back.
In all capital letters, someone had scrawled: “LEAVE BEFORE THE STORM.”
FIFTEEN
The wood complained with every step as Roxy thudded down the stairs. I stood at the top of the staircase, holding the banister to keep from swaying. I looked down to see her reach the counter and repeatedly hit the small gold bell until Sarah came out from the back.
“Hello ma’am—”
“Who’s been up in our room?”
“No one. Joan won’t even come until eleven tomorrow to start cleaning—”
“Then who, do you suppose, slipped this into the door?” Roxy slid the postcard across the counter.
Sarah scanned the card. “I have no idea—”
“Someone clearly intended for this to spook us, and I’d like to know who. Right now.”
“Ma’am, I have no idea. I’ve been in the back all night, and only locals live here—”
“Then which of those locals would have done this? Would you like me to complain to the owner?”
“I’m really sorry this upset you. I would move you to another room, but there aren’t any left.”
Roxy leaned on the counter. “I’d like to speak with the owner.”
“Ma’am, please, I need this job.…”
“And he’s going to can your butt if he hears someone has been harassing one of your customers while you were on duty.”
Even from my vantage point from above, I could see Sarah nervously brush back a strand of her hair. “Please, I’m so sorry.…”
“You’re from around here. Tell me who lives here.”
“I’m not local.”
“When we checked in, you said you knew everybody in town.”
“I do know most people in town. Or, at least, I’ve learned their names and faces over the past six months or so.”
Even though I couldn’t see her face, I knew Roxy’s eyebrows were rising. “Then I suggest you tell me which of these faces went by our room tonight. I’m a lot meaner than I look, and I’m aware, right now, with these dark circles under my eyes, I look pretty frightening.”
“I need this job,” Sarah blurted out.
“Well, I’d like to speak with your boss, Sarah … whatever your last name is.”
When the girl burst into tears, Roxy shook her head. “Oh, for God’s sake, here.…” She reached into her purse, bringing out some Kleenex. “Why are you so worked up—?”
“You don’t understand … if you go to the owner and he fires me, I have nowhere to go.” She wiped her eyes. “And I can’t tell you my last name because I don’t know what it is. Who’s going to hire someone who doesn’t know their last name?”
“Listen, I’m full up with drama, trust me. Clearly, this is getting me nowhere. But I’m serious. I will find out who left this postcard, and if I get another one, I will track down this owner and seriously chew some ass. Comprende?”
The girl nodded, and Roxy gave her the rest of her Kleenex packet. “I don’t suppose you have surveillance video of the hallways or who’s come in the front door?”
The girl shook her head.
“What does it mean, ‘Where the Water Falls’?”
The sound of my voice surprised both of them. I must have come down the stairs so quietly they didn’t hear.
Sarah exhaled in an attempt to compose herself. “I asked the same thing of the old timers when I first saw it. When the first settlers came here, they said the creeks were so shiny they looked like argentum, which I’ve since learned is Latin for silver. And when the snow melted, there were so many little waterfalls leading into the creeks that it became a way to try and lure others to visit in the spring.”
“And how many of these old postcards are conveniently lying around town?” Roxy waved it in the air.
“I haven’t seen one in a while. Listen, I’m really sorry—”
“We’ll figure it out.” Roxy took me by the arm. “But I’m dead bolting our door tonight!”
Roxy muttered all the way up the stairs and loudly shut the door as we entered our room. I went to stand before the window.
“Well, don’t know if you heard her say it, but that girl says she doesn’t know who left this,” Roxy said. “She said they don’t keep surveillance.”
I stared into the dark. “Ten minutes ago, I was wondering if I was wrong about everything.”
“Just to play devil’s advocate, couldn’t it be somebody worried about two old broads who could be stuck here in a snowstorm?”
“I don’t think anybody in this town is concerned about our welfare.”
I thought about telling her about the connection I thought I’d made to the Researcher’s poem. But the idea of explaining to Roxy the theory, and thinking about how she would certainly respond with sarcasm, made me very tired.
“Should you call Tom?” she asked, digging through her bag for the nightgown we bought at the airport.
“I tried as we were coming up the stairs. Couldn’t get a signal out. Can’t send a text either. Might be why there’s been no calls or texts. Oh God, I hope nothing’s happened that has Anne panicked. If she can’t reach me, and Tom can’t, it may prompt him to ask police for help tracking me down.”
“Lynn, I have to tell you, this scares me a little. I don’t like this note. Should we call the police? Go make a report?”
“And tell them what exactly? Anyone who hears what we’re doing would think we’re the crazy ones. Especially if they’ve seen the news.”
“I thought we were crazy too,” Roxy said, holding out the postcard. “Until this.”
I took the postcard from her. “Even if they can’t get ahold of me, and they try to trace us, I don’t care. I’m not leaving until I know if William is here.”
* * *
“I would say I’m hormonal, but that ship sailed long ago, so I guess I’m just hankering for some guilty pleasures,” Roxy said as the Suburban rolled down the street. “I’m going to need some Doritos,”
“It’s 8:15 in the morning,” I replied, wincing. It was still bright outside, even with the endless gray skies. I looked down at my phone. No calls or texts, either to my phone or Roxy’s. Clearly there was no service here. There was no doubt Tom would start worrying. We were running out of time.
“I don’t want to go back into that bar, even for decent food. So when you can’t have scrambled eggs, you have Doritos, and I saw some in the window of that general store. Climbers, was it? Why don’t you bat your eyes at that old man and get us a free bag to go with my free Diet Coke from yesterday?”
“That old man is probably younger than us.”
“Look, we’re already here. One perk of this town is you can be anywhere in two seconds.”
I slid out, feeling a bit ridiculous that we drove instead of walking. But from here on out, we would be driving the rest of the day, trying to map out a plan. As I once again stepped in the store, the tobacco smell reminded me of Daddy. Had he been in this town as well? Looking for me?
“Well, this is my lucky week,” the man said with a smile, still perched at the counter.
“Good morning. I hope you have coffee.”
“That, my dear, I have plenty of.”
“This isn’t for me.” I slid the bag of Doritos across the counter.
“Hey, whatever gets you through the day.”
“Can you make it two cups?”
“Don’t break my heart and say that you’re here with your husband.”
“Just here with an old friend.”
“Still on the search?” he asked, pouring the coffee.
“Back at it today.”
“Like I said—don’t get your hopes up. If the wind blows in a different direction, I’m usually the first to know.”
I studied the man’s face. “I don’t suppose you tried to warn me of the storm with a postcard stuck in my door last night?”
“Somebody warn you about the storm in a note? Around here, warning about snowstorms is as common a greeting as good morning and good night.’”
“Something like that.”
“You staying up at the boarding house? Pretty nice folk up there, doubt they’d do anything to scare somebody. When we get storms, it’s no sweet Georgia rain. The snow comes in and it pounds us. Generators keep us alive; sometimes we go days without power. I doubt you have to deal with that down south.”
“The accent gives me away?” I paused before signing my name.
“It’s a beautiful accent.” He held up the receipt. “Nice to meet you, Lynn … Stanson.”
“What’s your name?”
“Joseph, but I go by Joe.” He reached out and shook my hand. “Please let me know if I can be any assistance to you.”
“The coffee helps a lot. Are you from here?”
“Wish I knew,” he grinned. “Now, don’t you start thinking I’m one of those old guys with Parkinson’s or dementia. I can tell you the names of the starting lineups in the bullpens for the Rockies since the early nineties and every song on Johnny Cash’s first album. But anything from my childhood or teenage years … nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“Woke up in our little medical center on the edge of town with absolutely no idea who I was. Can you believe it? Memory never came back. I assume I was some messed-up kid. Maybe some drugs fried my brain, or I got into some hell of a bar fight. No one ever came looking for me, so I must not have been a real charmer. Anyhow, people in this town were really good to me, so I stuck around. Started stocking shelves here, got friendly with the owner, Mr. Climbers. When he got sick, he asked me to run the place till he got better. That was fifty years ago! So here I am. Just me and Moses.”
“Moses?”
Joe pointed out the side window at what appeared to be one of the largest pickup trucks in the world.
“That’s something else,” I said.
“Instead of parting the Red Sea, I part the snow. My other job is helping to clear the streets when the snow comes in. I’ll have a busy next couple of days, if what the radio says is true.”
The Darkest Time of Night Page 18