Before heading into work the next morning, I call the history department at Northern University of Arizona. A small voice answers.
“History,” the voice says. A statement, a question, and a surprised exclamation all rolled into one.
“I’m looking for Melinda Bakersfield.”
“I’m sorry, Ms. Bakersfield retired last year, are you one of the students from the, er, event?”
“Yes, I am.” I’ve never been particularly good at lying, but it turns out it’s much easier on the phone.
“So look,” the small voice now sounds pained, like it’s running through a script, “the university has done all it can do. Ms. Bakersfield was not operating with the university’s interest in mind, and obviously wasn’t thinking about her students. But there’s nothing else we can do beyond the free classes we’ve already offered.”
“Yes, I know that, but, look, I realize this might sound crazy, but I want to speak with Ms. Bakersfield directly. She, er, changed my life that day, and I need to hear more.”
The voice on the other end of the line goes silent, the sound of a pen tapping against a desk is the only sign they haven’t hung up the phone completely.
“She changed my life too, you know,” the voice whispers, “Look I only have an email address for her, that’s it, but maybe she’ll reply. It’s m-bakersfield@earthlink.net.”
“Thank you.”
“Good luck, then,” and the line clicks.
An “event” sounds exciting. Not sure I’d call it a lead, but at least it’s something. Not that I’d know a lead when I heard one anyway. But this is certainly a sign this woman was into something weird, anyway. I guess I could have gathered that from the title of her book, Six Secret Societies: The Untold Story of the Groups Nobody Wants You to Know About too.
On my way into work, I stop by Leonard’s to pick up the copy of Bakersfield’s book Gus had special ordered for me. The shop’s not open yet, so I have to knock on the door. When I do, I hear the sound of boxes falling followed by cursing.
“What,” he says, opening the door, “oh, it’s you.”
I laugh, “I always figured you as a morning person, Gus, I guess I was wrong.”
“Sorry, Sally, it’s new release day and I’ve just been running a bit behind. This Owl stuff is keeping me up at night.”
“Me too, did my books come in?” I’d asked him to try and find a copy of Margo Linet’s Catastrophes Caused By Witchcraft too.
“Yeah, come on in.” He motions for me to enter and locks the door behind me.
I follow Gus as he maneuvers through a maze of cardboard, with several boxes of Harry Potter paperbacks taking up most of the space.
“The movie is coming out soon,” Gus mutters, not exactly at me, but in my general direction, “so here we are.” He trails off. I can’t tell if he’s annoyed or appreciates the business. When we get to the cash register he leans underneath and pulls out the two books.
“Here you go, then.” He hand them over. “I’ll be honest I wasn’t expecting to find either of these, but it turned out they’re both distributed by the same small press collective, based out of Sedona, Arizona.”
I grab the books and flip through them casually, “I called the history department this morning, apparently Melinda Bakersfield retired last year after an ‘event,’” I motion quotation marks as elaborately as possible.
“An event?”
“That’s all I know. But I did get her email address to follow-up with. I’ll send her an email when I can get online at the office.”
“That’s progress, anyway.” Gus almost seems exciting. “An event, huh? Well, I’ll be.”
“I need to get to work, I’ll give you a call if I hear anything.”
