CHAPTER 10
While Jack was driving us back to the old homestead, his cellphone began to ring. He reached into his jacket pocket, pulled it out and handed it to me. "Answer that, will you? I hate trying to use a cellphone while I'm driving—especially when it's a stick shift." I had the phone open and was saying "Hello" before Jack had even finished speaking.
It was Aunt Edith, Uncle George's wife. She was carrying on something fierce.
"Aunt Edith, calm down!" I said. "You're not making any sense. Uncle George is missing? Since when?" I sighed. "Jack and I'll be there as soon as we can."
"What was that all about?" Jack queried, glancing my way for just a moment.
"Aunt Edith sent Uncle George to their local 7-11 to pick up a pint of half-and-half and a jar of stuffed green olives— . . . Don't look at me like that! I'm just repeating what Aunt Edith told me. Anyway, that was over an hour ago and he hasn't come back yet. . . Jack," I said, looking at my brother pensively, "there's something fishy going on."
"Yeah. But what?"
"Darla's sure that Dad made the whole thing up, right?—about there being an Al Qaeda spy in the White House?"
"She's pretty sure, yeah. He seems to have laid it out for her as a plan to get you and me to bury the hatchet and to start getting along."
"But what if there really is a spy in the White House and Dad only told Darla what he did in order to protect her?" I wondered aloud.
Jack looked thoughtful for a minute or two and then said, "We have no way of knowing for sure what's true and what isn't. I was ready to take Darla's word for everything. But, if Dad did just feed her that line to protect her from the danger that might come from knowing the whole truth, then he would've had to've trusted her completely not to tell me that he'd made the whole thing up. He would've expected her to obey his orders not to tell me it was a ruse, hoping that the two of us—you and me—would believe Uncle George's version of things and try to find him."
"But if that's the case, then why is Uncle George missing now, too?" I queried—more to myself than to Jack. I was just wondering aloud what I suspected we were both thinking.
"I have an idea about that," Jack said as he exited the freeway. "I could be wrong, but . . . What if Dad has Darla's office bugged, so he knows she told me the truth? Having Uncle George 'disappear', too, would be a good way to try to convince us of the very thing we've just been debating: that the story is real and he was just trying to protect Darla."
"Aunt Edith did sound pretty upset . . ."
"Yes, but . . . if she was let in on the scheme, wouldn't she do her best to play the part of the distraught wife?" Jack put out the query generally, as he pulled into Dad's driveway. "If she didn't react that way to Uncle George's disappearance, then I'd be convinced it was all a set up. Under the circumstances, though, it's a hard call to make."
"Yeah, it is," I agreed, joining my brother in exiting the Cherokee. "For what it's worth, I think we should proceed as planned. One way or the other, we have to decipher the clues Dad left us and try to find where he hid the evidence—real or not. It's the only way we're gonna find out the truth." I paused. "Why did we come here instead of going straight to Aunt Edith?"
"Because, if it is all a ruse," Jack began as he punched in the numbers to disarm the security system, "she'll probably phone either Dad or Uncle George after we leave to let them know we took the bait. If she does make a call, I wanna listen in; so, we're picking up some surveillance equipment."
I shut the door as I followed Jack into the house and said, "Surveillance equipment? Really?"
"Yep. It's one of the smallest and most sensitive 'bugs' ever invented," Jack clarified, rummaging through his attaché case for the bug in question and its accompanying listening device. Having found both, he held up the 'bug' and said, "I can stick this baby anywhere in the living room and we'll hear everything Aunt Edith says and everything the person on the other end of the line is saying back to her. All I have to do is put the earpiece in my ear as soon as we get out the front door."
"We should probably move the Jeep, though," I pointed out, as Jack slid the two tiny devices into a jacket pocket. "She'll get suspicious if we stay parked in front of the house."
"I'm not an idiot," Jack said. "I fully intended to move it." He then opened the front door of our childhood abode. I followed in his wake and reset the alarm as he explained, "The earpiece has a maximum range of about five hundred meters, so I can drive it up the road a bit and still get good reception."
"What if Aunt Edith calls from someplace other than the living room?" I asked as I got back into the Cherokee.
Jack shrugged, climbing in behind the wheel. "In that case, I'll stick it directly on Aunt Edith when I hug her—maybe under a collar or something . . ."
"If she has a collar . . ." I remarked, buckling my seatbelt.
"Would you stop that?" Jack complained. "Man, you're nit-picky tonight! Don't worry. I'll find someplace to put it, I promise. But, if by chance she doesn't have a collar, I want you to hug her first, so I have time to figure out where else it can go." He started the car.
I nodded and said, "You got it," as my brother backed out of the driveway and headed for Uncle George and Aunt Edith's place.
"One more order of business," Jack continued. "Whatever happens with Aunt Edith tonight will determine what we tell Darla tomorrow. If Aunt Edith makes a phone call that leads us to believe Uncle George's story was real, we should respect Dad's desire to protect Darla and let her keep on believing that this whole thing is a sham. We do not tell her that Uncle George has been kidnapped, too. . ..
"If, on the other hand, Aunt Edith calls Uncle George (or Dad) and tells him that we've fallen for it hook, line and sinker—letting us know for sure that it's a ruse—we tell Darla the truth . . . but not in her office, just in case it is bugged. Darla deserves the truth; but, once we decipher Dad's clues, we leave her to her work at the newspaper and go look for the hidden 'evidence'—and for Dad and Uncle George—on our own. Whatever happens along the way—and whatever we may find when we get there—D. J. will be safely out of it."
I nodded agreement. "I usually go with my gut in situations like this; but right now even my gut is confused."
"Mine, too," Jack said. "That's why we just have to go with the flow and see where it takes us."
"There's nothing else we can do," I agreed. "Here. . . This is the main road that leads into Uncle George's neighborhood."
A couple minutes later, Jack was parking the Cherokee in front of Uncle George and Aunt Edith's modest, middle-class home. Evidently, Aunt Edith had been watching for us. She virtually ran out of the house, greeting us on the front stoop as we made our way toward it.
"Oh, thank goodness you've come!" she said anxiously, taking Jack by the right hand and me by the left. "I've been beside myself with worry for more than an hour! It only takes a few minutes to get to the 7-11 and back. . .."
Despite how frantic she seemed, she looked cool as a cucumber—wardrobe-wise, at any rate: she was wearing pale, sea-green-turquoisish polyester slacks and some kind of semi-fancy polyester blouse in a shade that looked like cerulean blue—and it had a collar.
Jack quickly extracted his hand from hers and wrapped his arms around her neck, saying, "Everything's going to be all right, Aunt Edith." Following the brief embrace, he put his hands on her shoulders, which gave him access to her collar. He acted as though he were playing with it—on both sides. It was a good cover. "Just take us inside and tell us exactly what happened," he said.
Aunt Edith turned around and went through the door ahead of us. Jack indicated that I should follow her inside, bringing up the rear himself. As he entered, he closed the door with his left hand, removed his hat, and, while holding it in his right hand, he said, "Maybe Uncle George just stopped somewhere on the way home to visit with a neighborhood friend."
Aunt Edith shook her head, as she indicated with an outstretched hand that we should be seated in the armchairs that faced opposite ends of the coffee table. "I already thought of that," she said. "I called everyone we know. Some of them saw him pass by on his way to the store, but no one, it seems, saw him coming back. Oh, boys, I am so worried! What could've happened to him? Do you think I ought to call the police and report him missing? If not, what should I do?"
Jack and I quickly disabused her of the notion of calling the cops. Unsure as yet whether Uncle George's disappearance was connected to Dad's and was all part of a ruse, neither of us liked the idea of calling in the police to look for a missing person who might not actually be missing—except, of course, by choice.
"We'll handle it, Aunt Edith," Jack assured her. After a brief pause, he added, "We didn't wanna tell you this, but . . . Dad's missing, too. Whatever's going on, Mac and I are pretty sure they're together. Dad left us a few clues that might help lead us to their whereabouts. (It's kind of hard to explain.) In any case, we're working on it, and we will find them, I promise you. By hook or by crook, we'll find Dad and Uncle George."
"But, why would anyone want to kidnap both Pete and George? Pete I can understand: he's made a lot of enemies over the years, working at the newspaper. Somebody who was put in prison because of a story he wrote years ago could have just gotten out recently and gone after him; but that wouldn't explain George's disappearance!" She suddenly looked at Jack accusingly. "You're keeping something from me, aren't you, Jack? There's something going on that you don't want me to know about!"
Jack nodded. "Yes, Aunt Edith, there is. It's something so dangerous that he even lied to Darla Finley about it to protect her. That being the case, it's probably best if you don't know the truth, either."
"You mean, I can't tell what I don't know, so if I don't know anything, no one will have any reason to abduct me, too."
"Precisely," said Jack. "Look, Aunt Edith, under the circumstances, it'd probably be best if you didn't remain here alone. You'd be safer in the company of others. So, if there's anyone—like a close friend or family member—that you haven't seen for a while and who has given you a standing invitation to come for a long visit, now would probably be a good time to accept that invitation. Knowing you're safe would ease our minds a great deal and make it easier for us to concentrate on trying to find Dad and Uncle George."
Aunt Edith nodded. "I'll call my sister, Dorothy, and ask her if I can come and stay with her for a while. She lives in Greeley. Is that far enough away, do you think?"
"Yeah, Greeley should be far enough away to keep you safe. But, if anyone asks, don't tell them where you're going. Just tell them you're going away for your health—a nice, restful vacation to . . . oh, I don't know . . . the hot springs in Thermopolis, Wyoming, maybe. Tell them you'll be out of touch while you're there, so they shouldn't try to contact you."
Aunt Edith blushed. "I don't like lying to people!" she declared. "But if I have to do it to protect George, Pete and myself, then . . . so be it."
Wow! I mused. If Aunt Edith is in on the scheme, she's doing a darned good acting job!
We left the house soon thereafter, and Jack inserted the tiny little earpiece, after which we hurried back to the Cherokee.
While Jack was driving us back to the old homestead, his cellphone began to ring. He reached into his jacket pocket, pulled it out and handed it to me. "Answer that, will you? I hate trying to use a cellphone while I'm driving—especially when it's a stick shift." I had the phone open and was saying "
