Authors: Steve Lookner
That’s it, it’s settled: we’re moving back to Nick’s hometown of Carthage, Missouri.
Why? Well for one, it’s crazy cheap. And second, Nick’s mom and sister are there. Nick says he and his sister are going to start a business together, but he won’t tell me what it is. For the life of me, I can’t figure out why he’s being so secretive about it. It’s not like they’re gonna open a cat cafe or something.
I had a bit of a panic attack today thinking about how I was gonna spin this move to my friends to avoid total loss of status. I thought of telling them we were moving to Paris. But I finally decided that I just wouldn’t tell them we were moving at all.
We spent all afternoon and evening packing stuff into the U-Haul, which sounds like a pain, but I actually enjoy moving. There’s something therapeutic in packing up all your stuff and getting rid of what you don’t really need. But I didn’t tell Nick that I enjoyed it. Instead, I complained about it all day, just because I could.
It had been a while since I’d asserted my wife power and gotten the heroin-like high that comes with it, so I suddenly insisted on taking our terrible old sofa with us. Nick argued with me about it for half an hour, which just made my ultimate victory that much more satisfying. Watching him struggle as he tried to lug a giant sofa by himself down two flights of stairs was the highlight of my day.
NICK DUNNE: Three Days Gone
The number of volunteers at Find Amy Dunne headquarters had been steadily increasing day after day. But this increase was almost entirely due to an increase in the number of homeless people. A police officer had now been assigned to watch over the pastry table because certain “volunteers” had been trying to fill shopping bags with pastries, and there’d even been a couple of fistfights when the jelly donuts were brought out. Also, someone had put up a sign on the wall saying, “Please shit only in the bathroom.”
I went up to a couple of homeless guys who were manning phones for the tip line. One of them was on the phone, talking very animatedly.
“Did we get a good tip?” I asked, pointing at the guy.
“Nah, he’s just talking to himself,” said the other guy. “He does that a lot.”
My disposable phone rang once again. I
really
needed to shut off this ringer.
“Hey, you wanna good tip?” said the homeless guy who’d been talking to himself. “Get a real phone.”
Now that I’d shown my face at the volunteer center, I needed to get out of there and keep working on the treasure hunt. It was very important that I complete it before the clues got moved or thrown away. Because there was a present at the end! Who knows what it could be? Maybe it was an iPad Mini, or some Beats headphones!
When I was safely out of the Days Inn and away from prying eyes, I opened up clue #2. When I’d first read it I was completely baffled, so I’d decided to sleep on it. Maybe now it would make more sense. I read it again:
Clue 3 is in another place
You took your coed to fuck:
The house of the famous writer
Who gave us Tom Sawyer and Huck!
Huh? What the hell is she talking about? Who does she think I am, a fucking World War II codebreaker?
Ok Nick, slow down, think through this.
Another place you took your coed to fuck
...oh she’s talking about the girl from my class I was fucking, the same girl as in the first clue! Ok, good. But how about this last part?
The house of the famous writer who gave us Tom Sawyer and Huck
...think, Nick, think. Oh! Why not Google it?
I Googled “Tom Sawyer and Huck writer” and got the name “Mark Twain.” Who? Never heard of the guy. Shit, I am fucked. But then I spotted a picture of the Mark Twain House on the search results page. Hey, I know that place! I went there once because the girl I was fucking wanted to see it for some reason. Ohhhhhhhhhhhh, that’s it! That house is the solution to Clue 2! All hail Nick Dunne, super-genius!
I hopped in the car and drove out to Hannibal, Missouri, where the Mark Twain House is located. As I drove, I wondered how Amy had known I’d had sex there with the girl from my class. But then I remembered Amy’s crazy. Note to men: if you’re going to marry a hot girl who’s crazy (i.e. a hot girl), at least make sure she has a job so she doesn’t have infinite time to follow you around.
When I got to Hannibal, I remembered how odd the town was. The entire town was basically a tourist attraction devoted to Mark Twain, but it was staffed mostly by Mexicans. On the main street, a bunch of Mexicans dressed like Mark Twain walked up and down the street saying, “
Hola! Me llamo Mark Twain! Quieres un photo conmigo?”
There were also little 1800s-style businesses. Hmmmm, interesting: I didn’t realize the cobbler in 1840 was named Juan and watched soccer nonstop on Univision.
I found the Mark Twain House, bought a ticket, and went down to the basement. We’d done it inside a gigantic wash basin, and underneath the basin I found an envelope. Like the envelope in my office, this one contained two notes. I opened up the first one.
My love,
I know I’ve been a total bitch to you since we got married. But that’s going to stop. Here’s one change I’m making immediately: I agree to your long-standing request that I pick up girls and bring them back for a three-way, and I won’t complain during the three-way when you’re really just hooking up with the other girl and not me.
Xo,
Amy
She was once again using the treasure hunt to win me back. And in spite of myself, it was working. Because I was a guy, and guys are genetically programmed to buy into every promise a hot girl makes, no matter how unrealistic the promise actually is.
I put the other note into my pocket without reading it. Trying to figure out another clue would be too much mental strain for one day.
I headed back to Go’s, where I was staying semi-permanently because my house was still a crime scene. I was sitting on the couch watching TV when Go walked in, looking exhausted. When she saw me lounging on the couch, she didn’t look particularly pleased.
“Hope you enjoyed your field trip,” she said.
“Rough day?” I said.
“
You
try running a cat cafe by yourself and managing 60 cat personalities. Plus, three of the cats called in sick, so we were shorthanded.”
My non-disposable cellphone rang. I answered it.
“Hey Nick, it’s Boney. Sorry to bother you so late, but there’s some new information I think you need to know.”
“What is it?” I said, hoping it would involve Amy and the phrase “never coming back.”
“Looks like Amy was afraid of you, Nick.”
“Huh? Why do you say that?”
“UPS delivered a package for Amy at your house today. We opened it up...and found a bazooka.”
AMY ELLIOTT DUNNE: October 16, 2010
Happy anniversary to me! It’s been one full month as a Missouri resident, and to mark the occasion Nick’s mom is hosting a housewarming party at our house. Even though we don’t know many people in town, there are a lot of guests, because Nick’s mom knows everyone from her days working in the mall at Landlinez. As I’m sure you recall, Landlinez was
THE place for corded phones
, and all the women in town went there because the phones on display had free long distance. (They never advertised this fact but I suspect it was intentional.) Like Nick, however, Nick’s mom lost her job when her industry died. Landlinez did briefly try to save itself by merging with Blackberry Barn, but I think we all know how that went.
Once the housewarming party gets going and I start interacting with the guests, I’m quickly reminded why I never wanted to move to Missouri in the first place. These people have never seen civilization.
“Honey, look, she’s got email on her phone!”
“What the—is that an ice cream sandwich made with cookies???”
“Holy crap, that phone’s got a camera on it!”
“Honey, they get their TV through the wall!”
“Well, I’ll be! There’s soda with no sugar in it!”
Aside from increasing my hatred of humanity, the party initially goes well. Too well, in fact. So I start complaining to Nick about something stupid—I don’t even remember what—and then storm out of the house. Nick loses either way. If he comes after me he’s a doormat. And if he doesn’t, I get to give him crap about being inconsiderate.
I’m really good at this whole wife thing.
NICK DUNNE: Four Days Gone
I met Boney and Gilpin for breakfast at IHOP because they wanted to talk again, and also because I’d figured out I could get free meals if we had our meetings at restaurants. Actually, I always ordered way more than I could eat and brought the rest home, so it was like getting two free meals.
“Just because she bought a bazooka doesn’t mean she was afraid of me,” I said.
“Uh, Nick, Amy didn’t just buy a bazooka,” said Boney. “She also bought nunchucks and body armor and a crossbow and a stun gun and a book called
How to Protect Yourself From Your Husband Who Wants to Kill You
.”
“Huh. Well that explains that credit card charge from Nunchucks ‘N Things.”
The waitress brought over our food. She clearly recognized me from the news coverage and thought I’d killed Amy. When she’d taken our order, she asked if I wanted the “Rooty Tooty Fresh ‘N Murder,” and then asked if I wanted my eggs “scrambled, fried, or murdered.”
I looked down at my pancakes. Instead of the happy face in whipped cream they usually draw, there was a dead face with Xs where the eyes should be.
“Nick, we also want to ask you about the big argument you had with Amy the night before she disappeared,” said Gilpin.
“What argument?”
“Your neighbor Noelle Hawthorne said she heard you arguing,” Gilpin said. “What were you arguing about?”
“Uh...lobster karate.” It was the first two things I thought of.
“That’s funny, Nick, because Noelle actually recorded the argument and it sounds like it’s about something much different than lobster karate.” Gilpin pulled out a portable voice recorder and hit play. On the recording I could clearly be heard shouting, “I swear, Amy, I will kill you! And I’ll make it look like you were kidnapped and they’ll never find you and I’ll get off scot-free!”
“Oh come on,” I said. “What couple doesn’t have that argument like twice a month?”
“And where are you with the treasure hunt?” Boney said.
I threw up my hands in frustration. “The clues are so harrrrrd,” I said. “The last one had a reference to this person ‘Mark Twain.’ They’re getting to the point where they’re basically unsolvable.”
I told Boney and Gilpin I’d keep working on the treasure hunt, but that I’d forgotten to bring clue 3 to breakfast. Which was a lie. I’d brought it, but I just didn’t want them solving the clues before me and finding my Beats headphones.
As soon as breakfast was over and Boney and Gilpin were gone, I pulled out the envelope containing clue 3. As usual, there were two notes inside. The first note read:
Dearest husband,
Fine, I will do anal.
Xo,
Amy
Damn her! She knew my exact weaknesses! I told myself to stay strong and not give in, then opened the other note which contained the clue.
Don’t you feel guilty for bringing her here?
You must admit it seems a bit queer
To do it doggystyle with your coed whore
In the
Idiotic Amy
section of the local bookstore.
After staring at this clue for a couple of hours, I’d finally figured out that it was most likely telling me to check out the
Idiotic Amy
section of the local bookstore. I drove over there and started going through the
Idiotic Amy
books page-by-page, looking for the next clue. The problem was, the store had just gotten in a huge shipment of
Idiotic Amy
books, because they were selling like hotcakes since Amy disappeared. An even bigger problem is that I was having another outbreak of massive diarrhea. This had started a few days ago when I’d eaten some Frito pie that one of the women volunteers at Find Amy headquarters had given me. I should’ve realized that Frito pie would cause diarrhea, since it basically is diarrhea.
I took my huge stack of
Idiotic Amy
books into the bathroom with me because I didn’t want to leave them unattended and have someone else purchase the one with the clue in it. I was sitting on the toilet paging through a copy of
Idiotic Amy and the Time She Asked an Amputee Where His Arm Was
, when finally an envelope appeared. I went to grab it but it slipped and fell down towards the toilet, and in a panic I reached for it with both hands and dropped the book, which fell into the toilet.
Suddenly there was a loud knock on the door of the stall. “Security!” a voice said. “We heard there was somebody taking large qualities of merchandise into the restroom. Could you open up please?”