Chapter 10. Life in a Small Town

"Bill, Carlisle let you do this? Take off, without warning?"

"He thinks I'm in Bakersfield, roughing up some drug running punks."

"Bill! You lied to your boss!"

"Well, didn't you?"

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Ralph, Bill, and Pam only had a few hours of sleep in the cheap motel rooms they rented, just outside the airport. Before dawn, Ralph and Pam piled into their rental car and left Bill. With only one business day left, Bill suggested they split up; while he went through the FBI files on Charles McDonald in St. Louis, Ralph and Pam could go ahead to Sikeston. They planned to meet up in Sikeston, sometime for dinner.

It was a long three hour drive from St. Louis to Sikeston, Missouri, south on Interstate 55, and Ralph was heavy in thought the whole trip. He had lost all hopes of ever meeting Charles McDonald a week ago. Why, then, was he on this wild goose chase? What did it matter to him?

Finally, Pamela spoke.

"Ralph, honey, if they never found a body, then maybe he's still alive."

"And living underground for years? No, I don't think so, Pam. I think he was taken up, by..." Ralph said, pointing up at the sky in reference to the aliens who gave him the suit. "But I can't figure it out. If he is up there... well, how did he contact Martin Fields? And what about all that blood in his car?"

"I don't know, hun." Pam replied. "But while Bill is in St Louis, we'll start poking around... Maybe we can find his widow. Maybe see what we can dig up on him. What was the name Bill gave us, again?"

"Frances. Frances McDonald."

As they drove into town, it was almost mid-morning. Stopping at a gas station, they parked their rented car and headed straight for an old phone booth. Pulling up the phone book attached to a chain, Ralph began flipping through the pages.

"There's no Frances McDonald listed, Pam. But there's one F. McDonald listed." He pulled a pen out of his tweed jacket, and began to jot down the information. After asking the gas station attendant for directions, the two piled back into the car. As they drove, the couple agreed that Pam would go on ahead, and meet with Frances McDonald.

"Why don't you drop me off at the public library," Ralph suggested. "I'll see what I can find out. You know, from old papers, public records."

After the library, it was just a short drive to the house. It was a long shot, since Pam didn't even know if this was the right person after all. Perhaps she had remarried? Perhaps her number was unlisted. Nevertheless, this was worth a shot.

"Excuse me, are you Frances McDonald?" Pamela asked, as a woman in her mid-50s answered the door. She nodded, suspiciously. "I was wondering if I could ask a few questions about your husband... Charles."

The woman stared at Pam, holding the door open just far enough to peek through.

"My name is Pamela Davidson. I'm a lawyer."

Pamela handed the woman a business card through the thin opening. The woman inspected it for a moment. Satisfied, she opened the door wide, and let Pam in.

"Well, a lawyer... Just like my Charlie. That's ok then."

Frances showed Pam in, and brought her to the kitchen table. Offering Pam a seat, Frances put the kettle on.

"You have to forgive me, dear. I am sick of all those people who come here, chasing after those flying saucers."

Pam looked at her, wide eyed, and giggled, nervously. "Flying saucers? What do you mean? Like space ships? UFOs?"

Frances sat down at the table, shaking her head, and looked at Pam.

"You'd think I'd been through enough, to have to bother with this nonsense. A few years ago, some crazy nut wrote a book about flying saucers. In that book, he said that my Charlie had seen one! Can you believe that?" Frances sighed, and put her chin in her hands. "Since then, every couple of months I get someone calling, or dropping by, asking about it."

"Every couple of months?" Pam asked.

"First it was just locals, from Missouri, and southern Illinois. Then they started calling from across the country. But I reckoned a nice girl like you wouldn't be here for that silliness!"

Pam smiled politely as Frances offered her some tea. They talked about her trip, Ralph, and other small talk and pleasantries. Finally, Frances asked the question Pam did not want to answer.

"So, what did you want to know about Charlie?"

Pam had thought about several different white lies she could tell. As long as she avoided the subject of aliens, it would be alright.

"Well, I was thinking of moving back to the Midwest. And, my uncle was a lawyer, too. He was in St. Louis, many years ago. He's long gone, but he always told me about how nice this part of the country was. And I'm from a small town myself. And, quite frankly, I'm tired of the big city," Frances nodded, convinced by Pam's story.

"My uncle always talked about a lawyer friend that he had when he was in St. Louis. Your Charlie. He didn't say much about him, but I always remembered his name. Anyway, I thought I'd look him up, ask him about practicing law in this part of the country, while my fiancé and I came down to take a look at the area. Well, we heard that Charlie has passed, but I thought I'd try to talk to you, anyway. If that's ok."

Frances smiled widely. "Well, that's wonderful! I'd be happy to help."

For the next hour hour, Pam and Frances chattered away about life in small town Missouri. They toured her garden beds, ate homemade cookies, and looked through old photo albums. Pam listened to her host ramble on and on about the simple pleasures of her quiet lifestyle, the close knit community of her small town, and the joys of peaceful, easy living.

Finally, Pam decided it was time to ask the question.

"Frances, may I ask how Charlie died?"

"Oh, my dear" she replied, dryly. "He was murdered."