MONDAY
Under normal circumstances, Doug Fischbach's drowning would have occupied everyone's attention completely. But the intoxicating addition of a missing, almost-respected movie actress, with irrefutable ties to the deceased, turned what would have been avid small-town speculation and theory-mongering into a sideshow.
The early breakfast crowd at the cafe was wide-eyed with a weekend's worth of unsubstantiated rumor and local press coverage.
"Maybe she wouldn't run away with him again," Rhonda, who had no morning classes at the university on Mondays, said thoughtfully, pouring coffee into already full cups. She'd forgiven me for holding out on her Saturday, and was spending every free moment in the cafe. "Maybe he was despondent and killed himself because Janelle was the only woman he ever loved."
"If despondent means 'drunk and nasty,' that describes Doug." Ron blinked. "Though I can't imagine him killing himself because he was a jerk."
Ron did not belong to the School of Speak Well of the Dead.
"That doesn't explain why Janelle is missing. If she wouldn't run away with him, why isn't she here? And if she did run away, why did she go? And when?" asked Neil, who had been spending more time than usual at the cafe too. "Besides, I don't remember anyone saying anything else about suicide."
"I suppose they can't rule it out entirely," Hugh Kincaid said, just finishing up his breakfast. "Since there really isn't a question as to cause of death, what else is there to talk about? And when it comes to suicide, who's to know what will trigger a decision like that?"
"Well, actually," Rhonda said, "there have been numerous studies on the causes of suicide and it's been pretty well-documented—"
"What's the school's take on all this?" I interrupted, hoping to forestall a rehash of Rhonda's psych class. "Seeing as how Doug was an employee."
"I expect we'll get the official reaction this morning." Hugh stood and handed me his usual tip. "But the superintendent called each teacher personally and asked us not to give interviews or speak to the media. I know he's frantic to downplay any connection between the school and all this.
"To give him his due, I think he's really more concerned about Cameron and the other Fischbach boys than collateral damage to the reputation of Delphi High School."
"How is Cameron, anyway?" Neil asked. "And his mother?"
"I went out to see them yesterday, and they're doing about as well as could be expected."
"The poor kid was publicly humiliated by his father at the football game, and then got into a fistfight with him the very same night," Rhonda said, ready to resume her lecture. "And then the father dies before any of those issues can be resolved. Cameron is going to carry that baggage around with him for a long time."
"Rhonda's right," Neil said, smiling at her. "Even if the death is ruled accidental—and with Doug's blood alcohol level, and the fact that he mentioned skinny-dipping earlier in the evening, it's pretty well a given—Cameron is going to have a rough time."
"I'll be keeping as close an eye on him as I can," Hugh said, at the door. He was still the senior class adviser, and he took his assignment seriously. "I just hope he hangs in there until a little time passes and everything falls into some sort of perspective."
The fascination with Doug's death only heightened the interest in Janelle's whereabouts. No trace of her had been found along, or in, the James River. Her motel room appeared not to have been used. Though Stu wasn't actually talking about the situation, he had given everyone to understand that Janelle had not slept in her bed on Friday night.
Of course, he didn't say that to me. Since Saturday, he had not spoken to me at all.
The officials were treating Janelle's disappearance carefully. They didn't really think she was dead, but they could not rule out that possibility, and so an investigation into her disappearance was ongoing. A check of local airline reservations had not turned up anyone matching Janelle's description or known aliases. She seemed to have dropped off the face of the earth.
Benny Nelson, however, was wailing and sobbing for the benefit of every camera and microphone he could find. His current theory was that she had been kidnapped. He'd made tearful pleas for her return.
"What do you make of this guy?" Rhonda pointed over Ron's shoulder at a photo of mournful Benny in the paper.
"Phony as a three-dollar bill." Ron blinked. "I saw the letter Janelle wrote to the reunion committee, and she didn't mention no husband."
"Yeah, but I do recognize him," I said. "I've seen pictures. In magazines and stuff. I'm pretty sure it's the same guy. But when we saw him at the football game, Janelle was desperate to avoid him. She made me promise not to say anything about the party at the river."
"I seem to remember a divorce mentioned somewhere," Neil said, getting ready to leave. "I'll go home and check this Benny Nelson out, and see what I can find."
"Great idea," I said. "Whatever he is to Janelle, I don't trust him. Or his crocodile tears."
Janelle's status as a semicelebrity had vaulted the story into immediate regional airplay, and the nationals were beginning to express interest. And unfortunately, someone had uncovered the fact that Janelle and Doug shared a rather colorful history.
"It's in the paper and everything." Ron read aloud, "'A teenage beer party held in the exact same spot in 1969, also after a homecoming football game, resulted in the tragic death by drowning of sixteen-year-old Lawrence Pendergast.'" Ron turned the page and continued, "'The death of that young man and the disappearance from Delphi of J. Ross Nelson (then 1969 homecoming queen) and Douglas Fischbach (1969 homecoming king) have long been considered Delphi mysteries. This new drowning, under conditions suspiciously similar to the earlier accident, reopens questions that have never been adequately explained. Perhaps it is time for a new investigation of both incidents.'"
"That's what I've been saying all along," Rhonda crowed triumphantly.
I hated to encourage Rhonda, but I was also starting to think that there were just a few too many coincidences to ignore. "It would help if we knew where in the hell Janelle was." I sighed.
Though nothing had been confirmed, there had been numerous alleged "Janelle sightings."
"It says here," Ron read, "that someone bearing a striking resemblance to J. Ross Nelson was seen boarding a flight to Denver at the Aberdeen airport."
"She could be dead," Aphrodite weighed from the kitchen, sliding a couple of burger platters across the counter for me.
"She could be anywhere—she had plenty of money, and a talent for melting into the background when she wanted to hide," I said, ferrying burgers.
"I bet she's still around," Rhonda said, chewing a lip.
"No one in their right mind would abandon a '57 Vette." Ron blinked.
Janelle's car was still parked behind our trailer, and the keys were still in my pocket.
"A trucker I know said he heard one of his buddies picked up someone who looked a lot like her on the highway and gave her a ride into St. Paul," Del said, startling us all. She was not on duty for another couple of hours and we had been so intent on our conversation that we had not seen her come in.
Looking tired and a little frazzled, she poured herself a cup of coffee and slid into the booth opposite Ron, who rattled his papers, cleared his throat, and for the first time in history, ignored Del completely.