Bentley Little: The Association

The older woman removed a checkered apron from a hook on the pantry door and put it on, and Maureen had to smile. She'd never seen anyone actually wear an apron outside of movies and early television programs, and the gesture seemed quaint and endearingly old-fashioned.

Liz stirred the spaghetti sauce and looked over at her. "So do you have a job outside the house, or are you a full time homemaker?"

"I'm an accountant."

Liz's face lit up. "Really? Me too! I was an auditor back in New Jersey. Doyle, Bell, and McCammon . Thirty years. What's your specialty?"

"Taxes, primarily, although I handle some payroll and related accounts.

I'm an EA, although that's not something that often comes up."

"I bet it helps to lure in the clients, though."

Maureen laughed. "It doesn't hurt."

"Well, well, well. Another accountant." The older woman shook her head, smiling. "It'll be nice to have someone to talk to who speaks the same language."

Maureen had been thinking exactly the same thing. She liked Liz, and it was a load off her shoulders that the first woman she met in Utah was not some backward small town hick but worldly, smart, and sophisticated. She'd had visions of having to condescend to her companions, feigning interest in church bingo games and soap operas in order to have someone to talk with, and the fact that she'd met someone who was not only intelligent but had a background similar to her own filled her with relief.

The older woman walked over to the refrigerator, took out a head of lettuce and several plastic bags filled with vegetables, and Maureen asked if she could help. She was assigned the job of peeling cucumbers, and the two of them stood side-by-side in front of the long counter, preparing salad to accompany dinner--or "supper," as Liz called it.

They talked of trivialities, the safe subjects broached tentatively by two people just starting to get to know each other and not wanting to offend unfamiliar sensibilities. Despite the difference in age, they were more alike than not, both of them gardeners, both avid readers, both hardcore fans of the Home & Garden channel, and Maureen found herself opening up. She asked Liz about their predecessors, the people who had lived in the house before she and Barry moved in, but Liz said she hadn't known the couple very well.

No one had. They weren't there long, less than nine months, and they kept pretty much to themselves. They'd come and gone without making a ripple, and the house had been empty for over a year since then.

The family before that was something else entirely. The Haslams --a husband, wife, and two sons--had been one of the first families in Bonita Vista, well known and well liked, and their departure had caused a stir. The family had practically disappeared, moving out suddenly in the middle of the night. They'd never returned, never called, never communicated with anyone else in the neighborhood again, something entirely out of character for them, particularly for the mother, Kelli, whom Liz knew quite well. Maureen thought to herself that it was a scenario consistent with the panic and paranoia of the note they'd discovered in the closet, and she told Liz about the warning, describing the way Barry had come upon it while cleaning and the creepy feeling she'd gotten reading the hyperbolic words. Ray walked in at that moment to refresh his and Barry's drinks, and he frowned as he listened to Maureen's description.

"That doesn't sound like Ted or Kelli."

"No, it doesn't," Liz said. "But Maureen's right. It fits in with their disappearance. Or at least it sounds like something that people fleeing in the middle of the night would write." She turned back toward Maureen. "You didn't save the note?"

"No. It was over a week ago, and I had Barry throw it away. I didn't want it in the house."

"You think Ted was doing something ... illegal?" Ray asked his wife.

Liz shrugged. "You knew him better than I did. I was close to Kelli and the kids, but I didn't know Ted that well."

"He was into computers," Ray explained. "He had some type of job with a defense contractor, debugging systems. Wasn't home that much. Spent a lot of time in Salt Lake City." He finished pouring the drinks and picked up the glasses. "I suppose that kind of job would make anyone paranoid. It just... doesn't sound like Ted."

"Just because you're paranoid doesn't mean they're not out to get you."

"Maybe they were out to get him."

"Who?"

"I don't know. The government? Maybe he was selling secrets or something. Who knows?"

Maureen turned toward Liz as Ray left the kitchen and returned to the living room. "But why would Ted or his wife try to warn us? If he'd done something wrong and the authorities were after him, it doesn't follow that the next residents of the house would be in danger."

"None of it makes any sense. The whole thing's strange."

Maureen recalled the spooky feeling she'd had reading the fervent words of the note. "Yes," she said, "it is."

They finished making the salad, Liz put a pot of water on the stove to boil, and the two of them walked back out to the living room to join the men.

"How would you feel about a party?" Liz asked, sitting down on the couch. "Sort of a 'get acquainted' get-together with some of our neighbors. Some of our more normal neighbors."

Maureen looked over at Barry. "That would be fun. We don't know anyone here, except you and Ray, and it'd be nice to meet people."

Barry nodded.

"Good. We'll set it up."

The rest of the evening passed by quickly, and Liz called the next day to find out if the following night was too short notice for the party.

"We're kind of informal here, and nearly everyone has their evenings free--I don't know whether you've noticed, but Utah is not exactly a hub of exciting nightlife--so if you don't mind, we could have a potluck tomorrow night to welcome you two to Bonita Vista."

"That would be fine."

Maureen volunteered to bring soft drinks, and Liz said that she'd work the rest of the details out with the other guests; all they had to do was show up at six.

The next night, Maureen and Barry were once again walking up the road to the Dysons’, this time carrying plastic grocery sacks filled with Coke and Sprite and Diet Pepsi. There were several cars in the driveway and on the street, and Barry, as she'd known he would, began making noises about ducking out early and leaving the party as soon as possible.

Maureen stopped in her tracks. "We're staying," she said simply, "until / say it's time to go. We have a chance to start out on the right foot here, to make some friends and get to know our neighbors, and I don't want you being your usual boorish antisocial self. There's time enough for that later. Next time you can bail. But right now we're going to make a good impression."

It looked like he was about to argue, but the expression on her face must have conveyed her seriousness, because he sighed. "You win,"

Barry said, resigned. "I'll be on my best behavior and we'll stay to the bitter end."

As it turned out, he had a fine time, and he wanted to stay until the bitter end. Ray and Liz had chosen their guest list wisely, and the house was filled with a variety of people: some old, some young, some middle-aged, some married some single. Nearly all of them had homeowners' association horror stories, tales of run-ins they'd had with bureaucratic members of the board of directors, and Barry was in his element, railing against authority and conformity and exhorting them all to band together into a single voting block in order to oust the association's current board.

Afterward, they walked home tired, happy, and a little drunk. The night was moonless, and the black sky was filled with more stars than Maureen had ever seen in her life. Every so often, a meteor streaked across the heavens. She liked the Dysons . They were nice. And most of the other people seemed nice, too.