He walked over to Main Street and strolled through the historic business district. The buildings and stores were much the same, although some names were different. Taylor’s Drug Store was still there. The Jefferson Theater now had two screens, according to the marquee. The Douglas Sandwich Shop was now called The Jefferson Cafe and its interior had been remodeled. Wong Hardware. Cosby Men’s Wear. Buy-Rite Furniture. Weisman’s Jewelers. Humes Department Store. All the same. Probably run by sons and daughters of the people who ran the stores when Bill was a student.
The only place open on Main Street was Hink’s Hamburger Heaven, a popular hangout when he was in high school. It was still open twenty-four hours a day and hadn’t changed a bit; the same bulbs seemed to be missing from the blinking neon sign. The familiar smell of frying meat and onions wafted a block in either direction. He went in, straddled a chrome counter stool and ordered two hamburgers and a milkshake. He felt like The Ghost of Jefferson Past.
It was after five when he returned to the car and headed to Paul’s house, following the detailed directions Paul had given him.
Twenty minutes later, he wound the car down a gravel road and into Paul’s front yard. The house, a big, two-story log cabin, sat in an isolated clearing deep in a stand of woods. There were no other houses within at least a quarter mile.
The house was closed up, despite the warm weather. A red Jeep Wrangler was parked next to the front porch. Bill honked his car’s horn before getting out and walking to the main door.
He rang the doorbell, listening to its echoes inside the house. No sign of anyone home. He knocked loudly on the wooden door. Nothing.
He turned the doorknob and the door swung open, revealing a large rustic living room and a massive stone fireplace. Paul, disheveled and snoring quietly, was sprawled face up on the sofa with his left leg and arm hanging to the floor. The stuffy, semi-dark room reeked of charred wood and liquor. A half-empty bottle of Wild Turkey sat on the floor next to an overturned empty glass.
Bill walked over to the sofa and looked down at Paul, startled at what he saw. It was not just that Paul was drunk. His face, always light-skinned and smooth, had a gray cast and was covered with heavy, wrinkled lines that gave him a tortured look. He was much thinner than usual; his clothes hung loosely on his body.
Bill lifted Paul’s feet and adjusted his body so that he was full-length on the sofa. He picked up the liquor bottle and glass and took them to the kitchen. The sink was full of dirty dishes and the table was piled high with unopened mail and newspapers.
Bill went upstairs and found what he assumed was Paul and Sharon’s bedroom. He took a pillow off the bed, found a blanket in a closet and carried them downstairs. He put the pillow under Paul’s head and covered the bottom half of his body with the blanket. Paul didn’t stir. Bill checked his friend’s pulse and decided he was okay, just passed out.
Bill went out to his car and brought in his duffel bag and backpack. He found what appeared to be a guest room next to the kitchen. He took his laptop out of the backpack, placed it on the bedside table and plugged in its charger. He stared at the computer’s pulsating light for a few seconds and then lay down on the bed for a few minutes to think. He wished he had come directly here instead of poking around town. He might have stopped Paul before he drank too much. He wondered where Sharon was. And what about Cindy? Was she still missing? Had Paul learned some awful news? He thought about going out and shaking him awake but decided to let him sleep it off.
A little later Bill went outside and looked around the house, bathed now in deep evening shade from massive trees around the clearing. The house was eerily isolated, not visible from any road. No other houses were within sight. Birds rustled in trees and bushes. Two squirrels raced across the recently mowed clearing. Bill felt mildly depressed, wondering if he was doing the right thing.
He went back into the house. Paul hadn’t stirred. Bill went to the kitchen, found a clean glass and poured himself a stiff drink from the Wild Turkey bottle. He went back into the guest room, closed the door and lay on the bed without undressing. In a few minutes, he was asleep.
✳
A crash awoke him. The room was pitch black.
“Bill? Is that you, Bill?”
“I’m here, Paul. In the bedroom.” Bill fumbled to find the bedside light and flicked it on. He glanced at his watch. Three o’clock.
Another crash. Bill jumped off the bed and opened the door leading out to the main room. The only light was the faint glow from his bedside. Paul stood awkwardly by the sofa. An end table was on its side.
Paul turned and switched on a floor lamp by the fireplace. In the harsh light he looked even more haggard than before.
Bill walked over to Paul and the two embraced. Tears welled up in Paul’s eyes. “God, I’m glad to see you. I’m glad you’re here.”
“We need to talk, Paul. How do you feel? You want to go back to sleep and talk in the morning? Or later in the morning, I should say.”
“No, let’s talk now. I’m okay, I guess. Help me make some coffee and straighten up in here.”
CHAPTER 4
By the time they had made coffee and built a fire against the early morning chill, it was after four. Bill scrambled some eggs for himself. Paul, understandably, didn’t want anything to eat.
Paul settled back on the sofa; Bill sat in a club chair next to the stone fireplace. The chair faced the sofa at an angle. Bill studied Paul’s face. His blue eyes were red-rimmed and swollen; his hand trembled as he sipped the hot, black coffee from a mug.
“So,” Bill said. “Let’s talk.”
“You’re gonna think I’m crazy. Maybe I am.”
“Well, just tell me. I know about Cindy. I ran into Donna Sharp in Vevay and she told me. Why didn’t you tell me? Why the secrecy? Especially if everybody else around here knows. Donna said it’s been in the news.”
“I wanted you to get the story from me. Unfiltered. Especially after I first called you and realized you didn’t know anything about it.”
“Where’s Sharon?”
“She’s gone. Left. She went to her parents in Indianapolis.”
“Why? Why would she leave with Cindy missing? She still is missing?”
“Yes.” Paul’s eyes began to well up. “Let me try to start at the beginning. The story’s been all over the news, even a bit on CNN. Thank God, the story died quickly. At least on the national level. But they only had part of the story. The Sheriff—Dave Taylor. Remember him? He was a year behind us in school. He and Sharon are the only ones who know the whole story. So far, Dave’s kept a lid on it. Mainly out of friendship for me. But I’m not sure how long that’s gonna last.”
Bill didn’t like the ominous turn this was taking.
“Paul, start over. Tell me from the beginning.”
“Okay. First, here’s the official story that’s been in the news. Two weeks ago Friday I came home late. Sharon was asleep, and Cindy was missing from her bed. The house was locked from the inside and there was no sign of forced entry. Cindy was simply gone. I woke Sharon and we searched everywhere before calling the Sheriff’s office. Over two weeks have passed and there has been absolutely no sign of her or what may have happened to her. The woods and fields have been searched for miles around here. Her picture has been all over. Nothing. Some people think she ran away. Some think she was somehow lured out of the house and kidnapped.”