The Uninvited by William W. Johnstone Page B

changed his hair style in twenty years; did not, for the most part, associate with the “in” crowd; and did not give a damn whether people liked him or not. Although most people did like him.
    Bob was six feet, four inches, and weighed just five pounds over his playing weight of years past: two hundred and thirty pounds. When angered, Bob had a tendency to walk through closed doors. His hair was very blond, now peppered with gray, close-cropped, his skin fair. His eyes were black, giving him a very menacing appearance. Intimidating, sports writers used to say. But, in reality, Bob was a gentle man. He had never engaged in a fight on the field. He had never stepped out on his wife, and had no intention of ever doing so.
    Tanya was a petite woman, having to stretch to reach five-four. She could eat anything without gaining an ounce. She wore the same size clothes she had worn in college. Like her husband, she was fair and blonde, but with pale blue eyes and a traffic-stopping figure. She was as devoted to her husband as he was to her.
    They belonged to the Presbyterian Church, were both workers in that church, but could not be called prudes. They both enjoyed drinks before dinner, wine with certain meals, and small cocktail parties with close friends. Their love-making was often passionate and inventive.
    Among their closest friends were Brett Travers and Kiri Forrest, both employed at Bonne Terre High School as a history teacher and counselor. They were coming over for dinner that evening. Along with a few uninvited and certainly unwelcome guests.
    â€œGo put some Sinatra on our stereo,” Bob suggested. “Turn it up loud. Maybe she’ll get the message.”
    She walked into their huge upstairs bathroom. “Bob! You’re cruel.”
    He bent his head and kissed her, getting a spot of shaving lather on her cheek. “Only joking,” he said, patting her on the fanny as she left the room.
    Suddenly, the house was silent, Sarah’s radio producing only a faint crackle of static.
    â€œI wonder what happened?” Tanya asked from her dressing table.
    â€œThe equipment probably fell over and died from sheer exhaustion,” Bob remarked.
    â€œThe station went off the air!” the teenager wailed. Panics-ville. How does one get dressed without rock and roll music? “Daddy! Do something!” It was bad enough her parents making her get out of bed at the crack of dawn, but no music?
    Bob stuck his head out of the bathroom and yelled, “How about some conversation?” he suggested. “Man struggled for thousands of years to manage more than a grunt in order to communicate. Shall we give it a try in this house?”
    â€œOh, Daddy! Get real, will you?” was the reply from down the hall.
    Bob looked at his wife. “Get real?”
    She laughed. “It means, old timer, get serious.”
    The station remained mute.
    â€œWill wonders never cease?” Bob said, wiping the last of lather from his face. “Silence. Someone up there is really looking after us.” He glanced upward.Thank you so very much, sir.”
    â€œOh, Bob,” Tanya laughed at his mock seriousness. “Really! We listened to rock and roll in the fifties. And don’t tell me you don’t remember.”
    â€œSure, we did.” He smiled at her. “But we also had Sinatra, James, Starr, Laine, Lanza, Dorsey, Damone, Page, the Four Aces, Brubeck, the Hilltoppers—”
    â€œAll right, dear,” she cut him off, before he could run down the entire list of bands and singers of the fifties. “All right, already.”
    â€œWe had the best of all music worlds,” he continued, ignoring her interruption and acquiescence, “and the sense to know and appreciate all forms of music. What’s wrong with the kids of today?” He came out of the bathroom, patting Old Spice on his face.
    He’s a good man, Tanya thought, smiling at her husband. Set in his