Stanley lived over on Roseneath Road in an older suburb of Richmond not too far from the Fan district.
Alan parked a block away and slowly strolled toward the address. Parked out front was Wallis’ Jag with the spider and the circle of stars with a line through the middle, scratched into the paint. He considered calling Norman back to give him a heads up but decided to find out more information first.
He approached the open door quietly and as he neared he could hear someone rooting around inside.
“Wallis?” He said it without concern, hoping she would be the one to emerge as his fingers lightly touched the gun strapped just under his jacket.
“Alan?” Wallis came out into the light with a look of surprise on her face. “Did Norman call you? He told me to let it go, but something is wrong. Stanley’s not here.” Her voice was strained, so unlike her.
“Why does that mean something’s wrong?”
“Good point. I’m not sure I know the answer to that one,” said Wallis, looking quickly around at the small mess she had made. Tucked under a small pile of newspapers she saw the travel book Stanley had carried out of the bookstore.
“Can you look for Stanley?” she asked Alan. “Till you find him?”
“Yes,” he said, slowly, his Appalachian accent drawing out the word even more. He had never seen Wallis so out of balance. “Absolutely. I’ll make it a priority.”
“Good, good.” Wallis stepped around the piles on the floor as Alan came further into the room. “Until you find him,” she said, “and then call me. Me,” she said with emphasis, tapping her chest.
Wallis drove off toward Patterson Avenue playing a hunch. Esther was sitting behind the front desk in the bookstore carefully writing down all of the week’s sales in an old bound composition notebook. She looked up as the bell jingled above the door and saw the look of concern on Wallis’ face.
“It’s Stanley, isn’t it?”
“How did you know?” asked Wallis, hesitating for just a moment. She reached out to steady herself, placing a hand on top of a tall pile of children’s books that were stacked on a table just inside the door. There were books piled on the two tables in the front room and on the floor nearby.
“Why else would you seek me out?” she said. “Is he alright?”
“I have no idea,” said Wallis. “This is going to sound selfish but I came because I didn’t know where else to go and I feel like the ground is slipping out from under me a little.”
“Self preservation must come first, dear,” said Esther, “otherwise the other side already has the advantage. You do know there are two sides here, no?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Esther. Only that there are a few strange things going on and I have pitifully little information.”
“I told them that was a mistake, keeping you out of the loop like that. No one listened.”
“Who? Who wouldn’t listen?”
Esther came from around the counter and locked the front door, turning the closed sign around and dimming the lights.
“Come with me inside this maze of books. There is a little genius to my style of housekeeping. No one will see or hear us in there, I am sure of it. I have taken precautions,” she said with a wink.
Esther gently took Wallis’ hand and led her back into the stacks till they were sitting in a little cove of books.
“Sit,” said Esther, gesturing toward a small velvet loveseat. She stood in front of Wallis and began to pace the small space. “This is an old story. It’s not generally worth telling because no one would ever believe it. It’s brilliant really and so easy to dismiss.”
“We’re still talking about Stanley, aren’t we?” Wallis was taking long deep breaths willing herself to calm down.
“Indirectly, yes. Normally, I would tell someone that Stanley got mixed up with the wrong characters and hint at some criminal element. People can understand that and they feel better. All is right with the world. But you, my dear, are in a unique situation and I like you, I always have. Yes, I’ve known who you are for quite some time. It’s a small town and you are a big fish,” she said, shrugging her shoulders. “Besides, it has always amazed me how you can be in the middle of such a big plot and know absolutely nothing. It’s breathtaking really and I don’t mind admitting just a little envy. I was actually hoping Norman was right this time.”
Wallis sat up at the mention of her husband. “Norman? You know about Norman. What does he have to do with any of this?”
“Now, now, no need for anger although it’s touching. Norman sits at the center of this too, but very reluctantly. You see, he is a second generation zwanzig, descended from one of the twenty survivors, but with a twist. I know all of this means nothing to you, my dear and sweet Norman hoped to keep it that way. But things have changed and not for the better.”