The late afternoon was noticeably cooler although the crowd at the Harvest Festival did not appear to dwindle. Above, in the sky, the clouds were a dark gray, stretched out like chewing gum as the wind in the upper atmosphere tugged and pulled. The sun was nowhere to be seen although it was still light out—but everything was cast through a grayish tinge, almost as if everything was slowly turning black and white. Dried leaves crackled underfoot as they were blown around. The scene was showing signs of an older autumn tingeing on winter.
Mel pulled her jacket closer to her, wishing briefly that she had brought a scarf. The winds were like fingers tugging against her skin and hair. Who was to know if the wind had a life of its own? Stuart walked beside her, seemingly oblivious to Mel’s perceived sinister intent of the wind. In the darker light, one could see his eyes clearly through his glasses—his gaze was mostly fixated on the road in front of them although every moment or so, he would flick a worried glance at the photographer.
“They might not keep a list,” she said.
Stuart dodged a small child who was chasing after a poodle on a leash before he spoke, “There might be someone around who might remember who attended the artists’ workshop or whatever it was that Mad Dog went to. And certainly, someone would have remembered Mad Dog. He isn’t forgettable.”
“No. Not by a long shot.” She clenched her fists inside her pockets. “I hate this. This is so stupid.”
“What is?”
“This whole thing. I let that…whatever that thing was last night to get to me. I’m not some small child. I thought I put all this bogeymen stuff behind me in grade school. It’s just that I don’t know what the hell that thing is.”
“It’s not a bad thing to be afraid of something,” he replied, “especially if it is something unknown. I mean, look at history and folklore. Humans have always been afraid of the unknown. If it was known, we’d have a notion or at least a perception that we could somehow control it or the situation if something like that arises.”
“You make things sound so rational and uncomplicated,” she said. “Ah, if only one could make a dent with a gun or a knife or even an aluminum bat.”
“You’re beginning to sound like a character in a violent video game. Are you sure you haven’t played any of those while I wasn’t looking?”
“Sorry, no.”
The community center came into view. Plenty of people were surrounding the modern metal hulk coming and going. From the window, they could see that many visitors were milling about in the main room doing some sort of craft work. The journalists blended into the crowd and found themselves swept inside the community center and into the welcoming foyer. A table was set up here and several older ladies sat behind it, writing names down for registering for each batch of craft classes during the Harvest Festival. The line was relatively short so in a few minutes, they were able to ask the registration ladies if they knew anything about previous classes that were held at the community center.
One of the ladies shook her head. “Sorry, we don’t work with those programs and I’m afraid that the person who is in charge of the programs, Petunia Granger, is away today. She’s taking charge of foot races and some of the other activities being held during the Harvest Festival. If you come back in a week, she’ll be here and she might be able to help you.”
“Thanks,” said Mel. Her mouth twisted in thought. “Petunia Granger. Where have I heard of that name before?”
“She’s the president of the bingo club,” replied Stuart wryly. “I suppose it’s just as well that she isn’t here at the moment.”
“I know what you can do, although I’m not sure if it’s all that helpful,” spoke up another older woman. “Petunia’s office is just down that hallway and there’s a bulletin board right outside her door where she posts all the activities that she’s in charge of. You might find something there?”
Mel nodded. “We’ll check that out. Thanks a lot.”
The foyer of the community center was the hub of the building. To one side was a large door that led to the main room which all the visitors to the Harvest Festival were participating in a craft class. At the opposite side of the main room was a hallway that led toward more rooms, classrooms, and recreation rooms. Straight ahead in a darkened hallway were the offices of the people in charge of community events. This was the hallway that the registration ladies directed them toward. To light their way, one of the ladies flipped one of several switches at the start of the hallway. Every other light turned on—it wasn’t as light as the rest of the building—giving the hallway an empty, quiet, and grayed-out atmosphere.
Mel and Stuart walked slowly down the hallway, Mel taking the left side and Stuart taking the right side. They peered at the doors and the bulletin boards beside each door, trying to find Petunia Granger’s office. Near the end of the hallway, Stuart gave a triumphant exclamation.
“I think this is it.”
There was a plaque on the door with the words “P. Granger” embossed in white. Beside the door, like the other doors in the hallway, was a bulletin board. A couple pieces of paper were tacked on it—a pink flyer for a beading workshop, a white one for a meditation class, a blue one for some sort of church related potluck dinner, and an orange one for a painting class—which was dated for the following month.
“This isn’t helpful, is it?” said Mel.
Stuart lift the flyers to look at the backs. Nothing. “Nope. There might be something interesting in her office though.”
“You aren’t suggesting?”
“Why not?”
“Isn’t that unethical or something?”
“She won’t know if we don’t tell anyone.” He moved passed her and tried the knob for Petunia Granger’s office. It was locked. “Do you have any wire with you?”
“Oh great.” She rummaged in her tote bag. “If we get caught breaking and entering, it’ll be all your fault. And I’m going to say that I don’t know you at all.”
“Yeah, well, you can’t deny that you’re being an accomplice since you’re here with me.”
“Just being here doesn’t make me anything. I could just say that I accidentally wandered out this way…”
“Like they’ll believe you.”
She glared at him with narrowed eyes. “Ridiculous. Here.” She held up a bobby pin. “That’s all I’ve got. Will it work?”
“Probably.” He took it from her and bent it until it was a straight piece of wire. He stuck it into the lock and twisted and jiggled for a moment. The lock clicked. “Ah.”
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d have thought you were a professional lock picker instead of a reporter.”
“Mel?”
“What?”
“Be quiet. We wouldn’t want anyone around hearing us, would we?”
“Fine.”
Stuart finally opened the door and the two of them slipped inside. He carefully closed the door and turned the lock so they wouldn’t be unnecessarily surprised if Petunia Granger, for some unlikely reason, decided to return to her office. There was a battered oak desk to the left side of the room and the wall behind that was covered with a bookshelf. To the right were two chairs for visitors, a file cabinet, a fake plant, a water cooler, a small fridge, and a small microwave on top of that. At the opposite end of the room was a window with the blinds pulled up. On the desk was a calendar with some hastily scribbled appointments, a desktop computer, and a canister of pens. Mel went to the window and pulled down the blinds in case someone outside saw them. Stuart turned on the office light.
Mel immediately took the drawers at the desk and flipped through various files and looked through mostly future community events. Stuart took the file cabinet. After looking briefly through the top shelf, he determined that everything was filed by date—and the ones on the top shelf were from several years ago. He started on the next shelf. After determining that everything in Petunia Granger’s desk was for future events, she turned to the bookshelf behind the desk and began looking through the folders stacked on them.
“Well, well, well.” Stuart chuckled.
“What?” She turned to see the reporter peering down at the last drawer of the file cabinet. He reached in and pulled out a wine bottle. His eyes gleamed.
“Sneaky, huh?”
“A total closet alcoholic, I’d say,” Mel replied, grinning. “You don’t think there would be something similar in that fridge of hers?”
He walked over to it and opened it. “Yep.” He pulled the fridge door wide and stepped to the side so that she could see the interior. Several packs of unopened beer were stacked tightly, filling up the entire space. “But I’d give her a benefit of a doubt. Maybe she’s keeping all this liquor for a future party.”
“Perhaps.” She pulled out another folder as Stuart moved toward the desk and turned the computer on. “But every time we’ve seen her, she’s been as drunk as a skunk.”
“As well as all her other bingo cronies,” Stuart added as he watched the computer go through the routines. “Actually, we should have looked through this computer first. It’s probably much easier and faster.”
“For you, maybe. You’re the computer geek.”
“Hm.”
Mel opened the folder she had in her hands and found herself gaping and blushing ferociously. “Oh my goodness.” She slammed the folder closed and stuffed it back on the bookshelf.
“What?” Stuart suddenly turned around. He took in her pink face and smirked. “What did you see?”
“Nothing for your sensitive eyes.” She gazed at the rest of the folders on the shelf warily. “I’m sort of afraid to touch the rest of those.”
“Come on, what was it?”
“If you must know, it was a bunch of pictures. Of naked guys.”
“Oh.” Stuart turned back to the computer. “So old Ms. Granger keeps a pornography collection in her office.” He sounded amused. “I take it that you disapprove of naked guys?”
“I don’t disapprove of naked guys, per se,” she replied. “I just don’t like to be surprised like that.”
“I see.”
She turned to watch him go through the files on the computer. “So you see anything promising?”
“There’s this folder labeled ‘registration lists’.” He clicked on the icon and a window popped up with a list of files with dates. He picked out a few of them with the dates that matched Mad Dog’s stay at Gavot. He opened a few of the files and ran a search for Mad Dog’s real name, Ralph Bartlett. There was a match on the third file he opened. On that particular file, there were ten names listed.
Quickly, Mel took a blank sheet of paper from one of the desk drawers and scribbled the names on it before stuffing it in her tote bag. Stuart closed the applications on the computer.
“Do any of the names on the list look familiar to you?” he asked.
“Hm, well…”
A sudden thump came at the office door. There were voices. A woman’s voice, slurred, perhaps drunk, said loudly, “Oh honey, lower, oh….”
Mel and Stuart glanced at each other. He quickly turned the computer off.
“How are we going to get out now?” she whispered.
“We could wait them out,” he suggested.
There was some more thumping on the other side of the door. A man’s voice murmured incoherently. The woman chuckled. “Wait, not out here. Let me get my keys. We’ll be more private inside.”
“Crap,” Mel hissed.
Stuart shook his head. “The window.”
The journalists lurched towards the other side of the room. Stuart pulled up the blinds and unlatched the window before pulling the pane up. There was a scrapping from the office lock and more moans from the amorous couple.
“You first,” he whispered.
“What?”
Instead of responding, he picked up the photographer by her waist and shoved her through the open window. There was a muffled shriek as she tumbled onto the ground at the opposite side. Once she was out, Stuart dove out the window and let out a grunt as he hit the ground. When he looked up, Mel was lying a few inches away, giving him an annoyed glare.
“We didn’t have much time,” he said. “It was for your own good.”
“My own good, my foot.” She reached out and grabbed the collar of his jacket. He grinned, thinking that she was going to kiss him, but instead, surprising for her size, she dragged him toward the wall of the building, out of sight of the window.
They could hear the door to the office bang open and more moaning.
“What’s that window doing open?” said the woman.
“So much for privacy,” replied the man. “Here, I’ll close it.”
Mel and Stuart sat against the wall of the building holding their breath as they heard the pane of the window slide closed and the muffled rustling of the blinds being drawn.
She let out a breath and turned to look at her partner in crime. “You know how when out of all the possible things that could happen, the worst possibility always comes true?”
“Yeah?”
“Well, we just escaped from the worst possibility by a hair. The next time you come up with a stupid idea like this, I’m going to run the other way.”
“Sure, but you’d have to admit, it wasn’t for nothing.”
