The Methuselah Project (36 page)

“Do you want to check out more local listings for old Indiana friends?” Katherine asked. “Even though we struck out on those first dozen classmates, there might still be someone in the area who remembers you. Maybe a student who was a year or two younger?”

Roger shook his head. “I’m feeling too antsy here. Let’s switch to Plan B, placing an ad in the
Indianapolis Star.
If anybody has a grandpa who attended Plainfield High in the late ’30s, a big ad might spark their curiosity.”

The two walked toward the library exit, but then Katherine abruptly stopped. She pointed to a bulletin board of community events. “Roger, look.”

He read aloud: “Award Ceremony for Military Veterans. Overdue medals for valiant actions to be awarded to Hoosier vets of WWII, Korea, and Vietnam who never received proper recognition—”

“Roger, the ceremony will be right here in Indianapolis. If you were to attend wearing that flight jacket, it’s just possible some elderly veteran might see you.”

He rubbed his chin. “Talk about a long shot. But long shots might be all I have left.” His eyes cut to the bottom line. “We’re shaving it close. Tomorrow morning at ten o’clock, Pershing Auditorium, Indiana World War Memorial.”

“Do you know where that is?”

“I never heard of Pershing Auditorium, but they were building the War Memorial when I left for Canada. You and I saw it from the top of the Soldiers and Sailors Monument.” He nodded. “Okay, we’ll go. Meanwhile, let’s place that classified ad in the newspaper and then buzz out of town. If the organization has any more clowns hunting for me, let’s give ’em a run for their money.”

The pair strode back to the car. On the way Katherine explained they didn’t need to drive to the
Indianapolis Star
in person to place an ad. “I can call the paper on my cell phone and pay by credit card. Their number is here in today’s newspaper.”

Roger whistled in amazement. “Just that easy?”

“Just that easy.”

Katherine powered up her cell phone. The moment it was ready for service, it emitted a ring tone. “I missed a call.” She grew animated when she saw the caller’s number. “It’s from Uncle Kurt! He must be home from Africa early.” She punched several buttons and listened to whatever message had been left—a process that still boggled Roger’s mind. Katherine’s face transformed from excited to perplexed.

“What was the message?”

“All he said was there had been some kind of terrible, horrible mistake and that he’ll be headed to Indiana as soon as possible to set things straight.”

Roger’s stomach tightened. “When did you tell him you’re in Indiana?”

She shook her head. “I didn’t. I never had a chance. Besides, we left Atlanta so fast I didn’t bring my phone charger. I’ve kept it off to stretch the battery.”

“Well, somebody clued him in. Three guesses which organization might have done that.”

Katherine’s face clouded. A moment later, she brightened. “The communiqué, the one they sent me with your picture. I received it on Uncle Kurt’s computer. If he’s home, that would be the last e-mail I’d opened, and it has all the details he would need to trace that GPS chip, same as I did. Of course, that would have been before you threw it into traffic.” She keyed in a number, then waited for a reply. “No answer. His phone is turned off.”

“Why do I have a bad feeling about this?”

“Roger, no matter what happens in the HO, I assure you Uncle Kurt will be on our side. Like you said, he probably doesn’t even know what the upper levels are doing—
if
it’s even the same group.”

“I hope so. Meanwhile, go ahead and call in the newspaper ad. By the way, let’s take the battery out of that portable phone when you’re done. Call me suspicious, but these days I just don’t trust gadgets I don’t understand.”

Katherine froze, then stared at him. “You’re right. I’ve been so stupid. I’m not sure how it’s done, but rescue workers can ping a cell phone if someone is missing or unconscious. I’m so used to carrying one, it just never occurred to me.”

The pitiful look in her eyes broke Roger’s heart. He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Forget it. We’re both facing challenges we’ve never dealt with before. Just make the call, then cut the power to the phone.”

Once those tasks were done, Roger asked Katherine to drive any which way to confuse would-be trackers, but then to head out of the city in a generally westward direction. It was anybody’s guess whether the Griffin reported Roger’s last known position before closing in. Still, some inner urge wouldn’t let him come this far without at least a quick glimpse of the small town of Plainfield where he’d lived and worked for the Tuckers. When he spotted the sign for Washington Street, he instructed her to turn west onto it.

Twenty-five minutes later, Washington Street became Main Street in the suburb of Plainfield. Roger pointed out old, familiar landmarks from the more abundant newer homes and businesses. Downtown Plainfield retained a quaint appearance, but it wasn’t the scene fixed in his memory.

“Well? Is it what you expected?”

“I honestly didn’t know what to expect. These older two- and three-story buildings are the same ones I remember, only now they have fancy modern windows, and the names on the signs are different. Even the bricks look different, as if someone gave all these buildings new, modern fronts. Along this street, there used to be Morris Café, Symons Hardware, Beacham’s Dry Goods, Wilson’s Grocery, Plainfield Variety Store, Grimes Café and Hotel. Being here feels like going to see an old friend, only to find a stranger living in the house.” He studied the pedestrians, but none of them looked the least bit familiar.

He tried to dredge up sufficient words to describe the feeling of emptiness evoked by these surroundings. No words he could muster conveyed the peculiar emotions sparked by simultaneously being “home,” yet not.

When Katherine reached the far limits of town, she swung the Passat in a U-turn and cruised back the way they had come.

“Pull over to the curb a second, will you?”

When Katherine obliged, Roger read aloud the sign on their right. “Central Elementary School? That building used to be Plainfield High. They must’ve built a new high school somewhere else.”

“Do you want to find the new one?”

He shook his head. His eyes were still on the two-story schoolhouse of dark brick. “No. A new building won’t hold any attraction for me. This is the place that overflows with memories.”

Like him, she was glancing around, looking for suspicious observers. Good girl. She stayed on the alert. “Describe it, Roger. What was life at Plainfield High like in those days?”

To Roger’s surprise, Katherine’s request pleased him, even if she might be testing him. “For one thing, the school didn’t have a gymnasium when I went here. Mr. Girard—the principal—was always trying to improve the place, even when money was tight. I heard he finally managed to get a gym built in 1939, after I was gone.”

“Did you go out for sports?”

“You bet. I played football and baseball. We didn’t have our own field, though. The Quaker football squad played home games in the city park. We had a swell coach, Mr. Armstrong.”

“I assume you had a lot of girlfriends in school?” Her smiled puckered in a cute way when she teased.

He smiled back and shook his head. “My heart was elsewhere. This might sound funny, but back then I still had a schoolboy crush on Vilma Banky.”

Instead of smiling or laughing as he expected, Katherine stared blankly. Was she kidding?

“You know, Vilma Banky? The famous movie starlet? ‘The Hungarian Rhapsody.’ She costarred with leading men like Rudolph Valentino.”

Katherine shook her head. “Never heard of her.”

Discouragement washed over Roger. “Incredible. If the world has forgotten a gorgeous bombshell like Vilma Banky, how can I hope anyone will remember a nobody like me?”

Katherine changed the subject. “Which school course was your favorite? Literature?”

“Not in those days. For me, shop class ranked tops, but only because they didn’t teach aviation.” He laughed. “Someday I’ll tell you stories about how we used to scare freshmen spitless at the Haunted Bridge.”

Katherine reached for the door handle and popped it open. “Come on.”

“Wait, where are you going?” Roger glanced around. Still no one suspicious in sight, but they’d already lingered longer than he’d intended. They should leave.

“Humor me for two minutes. I’ve got a lot of time and gasoline invested in you. I want to double-check something.”

Not understanding why she cared but gratified to see she took along her handbag containing the pistol, Roger hopped out and joined her. Merely walking up the school sidewalk resurrected countless ghostly memories.

Katherine followed the signs to the school office, and Roger trailed her, furtively looking left and right. When they entered the office, two women looked up.

“Hello,” Katherine greeted. “This might sound strange, but we’re doing a little local research. I’ve heard this building was once Plainfield’s high school. Is that true?”

A brunette secretary stepped to the counter. “You’re right. This building did used to be the high school, but that was eons ago.”

Roger was ready with his best “I told you so” look, but she ignored him.

“The football team used to be called the Plainfield Quakers, right? Is there any way to find out the name of the man who coached the team in the late 1930s? My friend’s family used to live here, and we’re piecing together some family history.”

The secretary brightened. “They still call the sports teams the Quakers. We don’t keep high school records here, but I’m sure I could learn the name of the coach with a phone call.” She stepped to her desk and placed the call.

Roger leaned close to Katherine’s ear. “Got you curious, did I?”

“I’m a freelance editor, remember? This maneuver is what we call fact-checking.”

Before long, the secretary covered the mouthpiece on the telephone. “The football coach in those days was named Scott Armstrong. Anything else you need to know?”

When Katherine merely stared at him, Roger answered. “No thank you. That’s all we needed.”

As he pushed open the exit door, Roger said, “Of course, those details don’t prove anything, but I hope you’re satisfied. Now, let’s put more distance between us and Indianapolis.”

With Katherine behind the steering wheel once more, Roger directed her north and eastward. When they reached the proper stretch of County Road 200 South, he asked her to slow a little, but not to stop. The Tucker farmhouse was gone. In fact, the entire farm had been replaced by a modern neighborhood of a hundred or more homes that glided past his passenger window. “I used to plow that land with a tractor. This whole detour has been disheartening. I knew things would be different, but I was sort of hoping …”

“Hoping what?”

Unsettling feelings of emptiness clouded his heart once more. Which words could describe his sense of purposelessness? After years of being caged like an animal and yearning to return home, he’d finally accomplished the impossible. Yet while he languished overseas, “home” had somehow packed up and moved away, leaving no forwarding address. Bits and pieces of it remained, like crushed paper cups on the ground after the circus leaves town. But nothing more. Plainfield no longer qualified as home, at least not for him.

“Okay with you if we get out of here for the night? Kokomo is north of Indianapolis. At least, it is if they didn’t move it. We could drive a winding, unpredictable course there, spend the night at a motel, and then zip back to Indy in time for that veterans’ ceremony tomorrow.”

“I’ll drive you to Kokomo on one condition. We get to eat supper in a decent sit-down restaurant. I’m getting sick of burgers and fries, but you’ll have to pay. We can’t use my credit card in case whoever is following us can use it to track us down.”

Roger’s jaw dropped. “Boy, life used to be so much easier. It’s a deal. I’m not rich, but I’ve still got some cash.”

Suppertime found the pair ordering fettuccine Alfredo, bread sticks, and bottomless salad at the local Italian eatery they discovered along Highway 31 in Kokomo. A black wig and fake novelty-store glasses transformed Katherine’s appearance. Roger felt conspicuous in his new wig and fake mustache, but Katherine had assured him he looked like a totally different person, especially with the denim jacket from Goodwill, so he maintained the disguise. As an extra precaution, though, Roger had requested a quiet booth in the back. He let the waitress assume they wanted the secluded corner for romantic purposes. The truth was, he wanted a seat where he could observe incoming patrons while not presenting snipers with an easy target through the window.

“Okay if I ask the blessing?”

Before each meal, his request sparked an expression of awkwardness in Katherine. As always, she wordlessly bowed her head with him. This time, however, she tacked on, “Amen to that!” when Roger finished with a request for divine protection.

She took the tongs and dished up their salad. “Did everybody in the 1940s pray all the time?”

“Nope. Some did, some didn’t. Matter of fact, I never prayed seriously in the ’40s. That didn’t start until years later.”