following Monday I offered an apology, which she accepted with a wave of her hand and a smile.
“Are you still only going out with guys from the city?” I asked, remembering how that was Jenny’s signature response to my friends’ requests for a date. “Or are you married?”
A bemused look came over her face - one I didn’t know quite how to read.
“Actually, I’m living with someone right now,” she said.
“And how’s that working out?”
“Chris and I are getting along great,” she replied hesitantly.
“Chris, huh? It’s not Chris Austin, is it?”
“No, definitely not that loser.”
“So are you happy?” I asked, not remembering any other guys by the name of Chris.
I knew the answer even before the words of confirmation crossed her lips. She just seemed so at ease with the world. Comfort able making a life for herself in this one horse town. Living a No Ulcer Attitude existence.
Truly amazing, I thought.
I placed my lunch order and soon Jenny was back at work taking care of her paying clientele. Every now and then she would drop by the table and sit down for a few moments, reminiscing about high school and updating me on the whereabouts of fellow classmates. When the topic of why I’d returned came up, like Wayne she too found my current occupation much more fascinating than it really was in reality.
It was when I mentioned the name Barry Jones however, that our conversation really started to heat up. Not only did Jenny recall his disappearance, it soon became apparent she knew more about the case than I did.
“How is this possible?” I asked. “When I talked with Doogie, he could only remember a few details.”
Jenny laughed. “The difference between Doogie and I is that he kills pigs for a living, while I on the other hand, feed p-i-g’s on a daily basis - if you catch my drift.”
Indeed I did.
“Can we get together sometime?” I asked, knowing full well we couldn’t have a frank conversation in a crowded café.
“Only if you promise not to kiss me again,” she said with a wide grin.
“I promise to behave myself,” I replied.
After exchanging numbers and leaving Jenny a generous tip, I headed back to Delta with a smile on my face. It had never crossed my mind that coming back could be so much fun. Hooking up with old friends and reminiscing about my youth with other people who were actually part of it.
And all the while charging Global Insurance by the hour.
I reluctantly stopped by my room and was greeted by the telephone’s red flashing light, which I ignored.
I brushed my teeth and was soon back in my van, heading to the east end of town. A few minutes later I stepped into the unbearably hot office of the Delta Sun-Times, the weekly local newspaper.
“Can I help you?” the middle aged woman behind the counter asked as she turned to face me. When our eyes met, a moment of recognition passed between us. “Well if it isn’t little Steven Cassidy. Look at you, all grown up.”
“Mrs. Chambers, how are you?” I replied.
“I’m well. I heard a rumour you were back in town.”
“Bad news travels fast,” I laughed. “Did you finally get tired of teaching bratty eight year olds the difference between a country and a continent?”
“As I recall, Social Studies wasn’t one of your strongest subjects, was it?” she said with an amused smile.
“That, Science and History. They were always my three lowest marks. Thankfully those days are over.”
“Not for me - at least not yet. I still have a few more years to go before I can retire. They’ve really cut back on some of the extra-curriculum activities I used to do, so instead of wasting away in the teachers’ lounge, I decided to work here on a part-time basis.”
“Sounds like the best of both worlds to me,” I replied.
“So what brings you back home?”
“Actually, I’m here looking into the disappearance of Barry Jones. I’m a Private Investigator for his insurance company.”
“Barry Jones huh? I remember when that happened. It must have been five or six years ago.”
“Almost seven.” I would have told her more (as she was one of my favourite teachers), but decided the less everyone knew at this point the better. “I’m actually just beginning my investigation and thought that going over the Sun-Times’ articles written at the time would help. I was hoping they might give me a better feeling for who Barry Jones was and the exact circumstances surrounding his disappearance.”
“From a local perspective.”
“Exactly. As you can imagine the police reports are pretty dry and almost devoid of any emotion.”
“Well you’re welcome to look through the old editions in the archive room. I have to warn you though, it’s pretty cool and dry in there - you know, to keep the newsprint from deteriorating. They’ve been thinking of putting everything on microfiche but haven’t gotten around to it yet.”
I followed her into a large room where crates upon crates covered the walls. I gave her the dates I was looking for and she found the corresponding box in a matter of moments. “It’s fairly heavy, so if you don’t mind carrying it to the table, I’d appreciate it,” she said.
I lugged the box over to the reading table set up in the middle of the room and lifted the lid which read January - September, 1990.
Mrs. Chambers then excused herself, but only after giving me a gentle warning to be careful when handling the newspapers. She also said she’d photocopy any articles I needed. I thanked her and began sifting through the papers.
I found what I had expected. The community had banded together to help one of their own. Search parties were organized. Posters were made. Help was offered to Cathy and the boys. In all of the early articles Barry was described as a good family man and a hard worker at the paint plant. His life was chronicled from the day he and Cathy arrived in town in the late 1980’s, right up until his mysterious disappearance.
The question that permeated each and every article was the same one I found myself asking seven years later: Where was Barry Jones? Sadly, the answer would not be found in these old papers. I put the box back in its place and walked to the front counter.
“Any luck?” Mrs. Chambers asked.
“Not today.”
“There are an awful lot of theories out there about Mr. Jones. I’m sure you’ve heard a few already.”
“I have,” I admitted. “You didn’t happen to know him, did you?”
“No,
