Chapter 13. News of the Affair

Pam sat at the kitchen table as Frances opened the door. She thought that perhaps she shouldn't have said that she would help find out about Charlie's supposed murder. But Frances seemed anxious to find someone to talk with, and share evidence of the case that local authorities dismissed so many years ago.

"Yes, she's still here. She says she's a lawyer."

Frances returned to the kitchen, with another woman, about the same age as Frances. The guest looked at Pam closely, as if trying to recognize her face.

"No, that's not the one."

"Who?" Pam asked, in a concerned voice.

"Pamela, this is my friend Margaret," Frances said, as the two sat at the table. "I thought you'd like to hear what Margaret overheard, the week that Charlie died. We didn't know each other when Charlie was alive, but after she saw his obituary, she came to me, and told me about the other woman."

"Other woman?" Pam asked.

Margaret reached out and held Frances hand. She could tell this was hard on her friend; dredging up memories 15 years old wasn't easy. Although Frances already had heard the story, Margaret leaned in an whispered to Pam as if she was trying to spare Frances' feelings.

"We think Charlie was having some kind of an affair."

"And you think that this other woman may have killed him?"

Frances and Margaret shrugged their shoulders, uncertain, but then cautiously nodded their heads.

"I didn't know Charlie back then." Margaret began. "But I remember the day. I was out at Lambert's, having lunch. That was back when it was on South Main. I was sitting at a table, and Charlie was at the table behind me. And he was with a woman. A young girl. No older than twenty, I'd say. Real pretty, even though she looked like a hippie or something. Dirty."

Margaret looked at Frances, to make sure it was ok to proceed. Frances nodded to her friend.

"Oh, I can't remember everything they said, they were whispering most of it. They sounded like they were thick as thieves, but they sounded real nervous, and they were mad at each other. Real mad. At one point, the girl says 'You can't just walk away. We're in this together.' Then a week later, they found Charlie's car, out in the fields. Bloody. And no body."

Pam asked if she had gotten a look at the woman. Margaret said she got just a quick look, as she got up and left. She explained how Charlie looked uncomfortable, as if he didn't want anyone to see him there with this woman. He looked guilty. Or nervous. Or both. Tears began to swell up in Frances' eyes.

"Well, that's not all," Frances added. "I found out that Charlie had, well, been hiding things from me. He had a separate bank account, and he had a lot of money in it. I found that out, after he died. And I don't know where he got the money."

"He said he had been working on an important case for years. It was a big case, in all the papers. So it wasn't strange for him to stay out late, or work weekends. I believed him. I never doubted him. Then, a few weeks before he died, he came home real late from a business trip. I remember he drove from Carbondale, Illinois, and it should have taken two hours, tops. But it took him all night. And that's when he started acting really funny. That day, when he came home, he was nervous, hiding things from me."

The two women went quiet for a moment, contemplating what part of the story to tell next. Finally Margaret looked at Frances, and pointed up at the ceiling.

"Did you tell her about... well, you know..." pointing up, Margaret made a whistling sound as she wiggled her finger.

"I mentioned it." Frances turned to Pam, and finally confessed. "Remember that stuff about the flying saucers? From that book? Well, they said Charlie saw a space ship on April 17, 1968."

Pam looked at the two women, her eyes open wide.

"That was the day he came back from the trip. That's when he started acting weird."

Pam's face lit up. "You mean, it really happened?"

"No!" Frances cried out. The two women laughed, and looked at each other. It was a good thing, since Pam's question seemed to break the tension that was building in the room.

"No!" Frances repeated. "Don't be ridiculous! But I reckon that was the story the sherrif used to cover everything up! I mean, just mention flying saucers, and no one is going to seriously look at the case. Land's sake! They can just write Charlie off as crazy, and call it a suicide! And then the whole thing becomes the running joke of Sikeston, Missouri."