phone, you could pick up the phone and listen in, or even butt in and turn it into a three-way conversation.
Having a listed number meant you'd be in the phone book. She riffled through the phone book and found several listings for Fred Phillips, Pat's father. None of them were at the right address. She dialed information, wincing as she mentally added up the charges. Information wasn't free anymore.
"May I have the number for Fred Phillips on Farmington Road, please?"
"One moment, please..." The operator came back almost instantly. "I'm sorry, we have no listing for a Fred Phillips on that street."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes. We have several listings for a Fred Phillips but none on Farmington Road."
"Well how about a Fred and Norma Phillips on any road? Maybe they moved."
"No... no listing for a Fred and Norma Phillips. We have a Fred and Connie, Fred and Jeanne, Fred and Nancy..."
"No, but thank you anyway." Slowly she hung up. The morning was taking on an unreal quality like something out of a Twilight Zone episode. One by one she called every Fred Phillips in the phone book. She knew Pat's father quite well as she and Pat had grown up together. She finally hit pay dirt under Fred Phillips on East Avenue. She recognized his voice instantly.
"Mr. Phillips! Hi, this is Ellen. Boy, am I glad to talk to you!"
"Ellen? Ellen who?"
"Ellen, Pat's friend. Pat and I had dinner at your house a week ago Sunday, remember? Ellen? The girl you used to tease about her fiery red pigtails?"
"Who is Pat?"
Ellen hesitated a brief moment. This wasn't making any sense. "Aren't you the Fred Phillips who crushed his knee in a car accident? You work for Kodak, right? And your mother went on a holiday to Kent County, England to research her family tree, which is where she met your father? Right?"
"Yes, that's right. Sounds like you've got the right Fred Phillips, but who's this Pat?"
"Pat is your daughter," Ellen whispered, clutching the phone in a white-knuckled grip of fear.
"No, I don't have a daughter. In fact, I've never had any children. My wife couldn't."
"Your wife! What's her name?"
"Jeanne."
"What happened to Norma? You married Norma! She was your high school sweetheart! I was just at your house! And you were married to Norma! You've always been married to Norma!" Ellen was beginning to panic.
"No, my high school sweetheart's name was Marjorie but we never married. I met Jeanne and she became my wife. I'm sorry, miss, but someone gave you your facts wrong."
Ellen had made no mistake. This was Pat's father - Kent County, the car accident, Kodak, his voice... there couldn't be two like that. This whole scene was very, very wrong. "Thank you anyway, Mr. Phillips. I'm sorry to have bothered you." Slowly, she hung up the phone.
Ellen sat stunned, phone clutched in her lap, her mind retreating into long lost memories. The sun moved a few degrees higher in the sky. People drove past her window on their way to church. Off in the distance a clock tower chimed but Ellen didn't hear it - she was focused inward remembering the crazy stories she had heard as a child...
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Utica, Illinois
The next day brought a flurry of activity in the search for Eric. A missing person's case was highly unusual for this sleepy little precinct that oversaw a town of a thousand people. Every police officer on staff was dispatched to talk to neighbors and interview friends and family. Chief Hunsinger had quickly ruled out the possibility that Eric had left voluntarily. His friends had all stated that Eric would never have willingly left his truck in the condition that they'd found it.
Neighbors told bizarre stories that left Chief Hunsinger with a throbbing headache. Denny Farnsworth, a middle-aged recluse who owned the farm two miles to the west of the Weissmuller's, offered the most descriptive account.
"It was twilight and I was just settin' down to supper. The horses started carrying on and I thought mebbe a cat had come