Fred walked in, just arriving home from work. He greeted Fran with a friendly kiss on her lips, and said “Hi, Babe. Did you have a good day?” 

“Good enough I guess,” she replied, “I did a little dusting. The stuff just won’t stay outside.”

Fred looked around and said, “Good job, I don’t see any dust except what I just tracked in. Aunt Martha is looking in a different direction from usual.” Fred went to the mantle where Aunt Martha’s picture sat and turned it slightly to its usual position. Something fell from the back of the picture. “Aunt Martha, you’re too old to be having babies,” he said and picked up the object from behind Aunt Martha. It was a piece of paper, folded neatly and had been tucked into a crevice formed in the framing process. The paper was old, maybe as old as the picture. Aunt Martha looked to be in her late twenties. She had been a pretty young woman. Fred and Fran had had the picture for at least twenty years. They had brought it from the old homestead before it was demolished.

“What’s the paper? I must have dusted harder than usual,” Fran said.

“Looks like a note. Come, sit down and let’s read it together.”

The note was nearly a hundred years old, and the paper very fragile. It read,

“May 1913: Jack and Bob were first cousins and nearly the same age. They should have been good buddies. But no; something happened to make them bitter enemies.

“Last time Bob was here, so was Jack. It was when they were finishing the new three-seat privy. Bob had a satchel with him and said he was on his way to California on the night train. Just stopped to say goodbye. I think Jack offered him a ride to the station. Nobody has seen or heard of Bob since. On the other hand Jack seems to be very prosperous. The police have looked around here for clues but found nothing. I have not talked to the police but thought somebody ought to know.

(Signed) Joe Keller”

“Wow, who would have thought there were skeletons in my closet? A guy disappears without a trace. You’d think Bob would have let somebody know that he was still alive and kicking.”

“Maybe so, but did he have something in the satchel he didn’t want anybody to know about?”

“Yeah? Like what?”

“Like something of their granddad’s that could be stolen, and used by anybody else and suppose Jack knew about it. Maybe they were both after Granddad’s stash. Come to think of it, there is no evidence given that Jack and Bob were enemies. It could be only the writer’s opinion. Maybe the enemy thing was only an act in their plan.”

“The note said that maybe Jack offered Bob a ride to the station. We don’t know if Bob accepted the offer.”

“I wonder what could be the significance of the time this event took place. For instance, the building of a new privy and especially one with thee seats.”

“There would be a fresh deep hole in the ground, fairly long, for three seats, and there would be a pile of loose dirt handy.”

“Are you suggesting…”

“Just a possibility.”

“I know that privies get pretty stinky fast, but with a rotting body covered with only a little dirt—how could it not be noticed?”

“As the writer of the note wanted, at last somebody knows. What is there to do about it? Nothing we could do could possibly make any difference now.”

“Unless-- -- Maybe we could find the location of the former privy and put up a marker that says ‘Bob, maybe’,”