Three Can Keep a Secret (18 page)

Chapter Thirty-four

The surgeon must have told the nurses on Bart’s floor about me, or else they figured Bart’s visitors would look like him. I didn’t have any trouble getting in to see him, although they told me to make it quick.

Bart opened his eyes when the chair screeched as I pulled it closer.

“Well, well,” he mumbled. “If it isn’t…the princess.”

“In the flesh. So how much like crap are you feeling?”

“Like a small pile. How do I look?”

I couldn’t see much since his face was swathed in bandages and his body was covered with a sheet.

“Like the Mummy,” I said. “At least they didn’t cut your braid off.”

“Shaved the…goatee, though. And…they won’t let me…smoke.”

“Well, damn them.”

He laughed, then winced.

“Sorry,” I said. “I’ll try not to be funny. You see Lenny today?” I tried to make my voice casual.

“He stopped by this morning. Snuck up the back way.”

I let out a breath of relief. At least he’d been alive a few hours ago.

“He tell you anything?” I asked. “Give you any idea what’s going on?”

“Just that…it was supposed to be him. Lot of good that does me…now.” He closed his eyes and his head fell to the side. I thought he was asleep, so I started to get up. His eyes snapped open. I sat back down.

“I can’t believe…I actually got…stabbed,” he said.

“Do you remember anything? See anybody?”

He shook his head slightly. “Got me from…behind. You know who it was?”

“Got a good guess.” I hesitated. “Did you know Lenny has a daughter?”

Bart’s eyes got wide. “Sure didn’t.”

“It seems she’s back. And majorly pissed off.”

“Jesus.”

When Bart says this, he means it. He slowly crossed himself.

“So she’s…out to get him? Why?”

“A couple of reasons. It’s a mess. But I think she’s behind the attack at Lenny’s and the break-in at the Barn. And, of course….” I gestured at his face and chest.

He didn’t say anything.

“Remember that customer you had—skinny guy, shaved head, nasty serpent tattoo around his arm?”

“Sure. Just…a few days ago.”

“Lenny’s daughter’s boyfriend.”

“Jesus,” he said again. His eyes shut once more, but I waited this time. He soon opened them. “I wonder….”

“What?”

“You know how Lenny started getting all…cranky last weekend?”

“Yeah.” No forgetting that.

“Well, I finally…got fed up and…asked him what his problem was. He mumbled…something about skulls and then…clammed up. I have no idea…what he meant. Do you?”

“You know a guy who went by the name The Skull?” I asked. “Scott Simms?”

“He was talking about…a guy?”

“A guy who got himself killed Friday morning. Got T-boned by a truck on his way to work.” Bart stared at me. “Twenty years ago The Skull killed some rival gang members. Lenny knew, and The Skull made it clear that if Lenny told anyone, The Skull would kill his family—Vonda and Kristi. I bet you anything that when The Skull got killed on Saturday Lenny saw that as his pardon. He called me and asked if I’d introduce him to Detective Willard. I’m sure he was ready to tell what he knew. But now it’s his family that’s after him, and I just don’t get it.”

“Damn,” Bart said. His skin was even paler than it had been when I’d arrived, and I regretted bothering him with Lenny’s problems.

“And here I am,” Bart said. “Useless as a baby.”

“You just rest. These jerks have messed you up enough.”

His face was stony. “So what’s going…on now?”

“I’m going to talk to the cops. If Lenny’s not going to do anything to stop this from happening to someone else, then I’ll have to do it myself.”

“Lenny’s gonna be mad.”

“Then he should’ve talked to me—or the detective—when he had the chance.”

Bart’s eyes closed and this time he really did start to drift off.

“I’ll be in touch,” I said.

He nodded without opening his eyes. He looked like hell. But at least he was alive.

Chapter Thirty-five

A light rain had started when I walked to my truck. I climbed inside and sat for a moment, listening to the tapping on the cab. I glanced at the sky, hoping it would hold only regular gray rain clouds. It did. My arm itched, and I scratched at it while I thought. Lenny had said he wanted to talk to Willard last weekend. Had it been the break-in at the Barn that had changed his mind? I drove into town, mulling this over.

Willard was pulling into the municipal parking lot as I arrived. I got out and waited while he locked his car.

“Got a minute?” I asked.

“Sure. I need to talk with you anyway.” He opened an umbrella and held it toward me. I scooted under it and together we walked toward the police building.

Inside, Willard gestured toward the locked inner door, and the receptionist buzzed us in. He set his umbrella on the floor of the squad room and led me into his office, where he hung his suit coat on the back of his closet door.

“Sorry I didn’t come around yesterday, like I promised.” He sat in his chair and pointed toward another one. “That storm caused several car accidents I had to take care of. I hear you got clobbered, too. I’m sorry.”

I shrugged, not sure how to answer without my voice betraying my fatigue.

He changed the subject. “Is this visit about your employee again? Or your friends Mr. Spruce and Mr. Watts?”

I sat down, rubbing my arms against the chill of the air conditioner. “It’s about Lenny.”

His face emptied to a blank, listening expression. “Okay. Start talking.”

So I did. I told him about Kristi, The Skull, and the explosion twenty years before. I expressed my anger and frustration with Lenny, along with my fear that something would happen to him now they’d gotten Bart by mistake. And I gave him the stack of news clippings from Lenny’s bedside table. I didn’t stop until I’d told him everything I knew, down to the last detail.

Willard sat quietly, shuffling through the articles, shaking his head. “So he was going to tell me himself?”

“I think so. But then things started happening. Someone tried to be The Barn, Lenny saw his daughter, and Bart was assaulted. I can’t even find Lenny today, although I know he was up to see Bart. I’m not sure if he’s scared or just avoiding me.”

“Probably both. But there’s not much I can do if he’s not in any of his usual haunts. We’ll just have to hope he comes to see me before he gets into trouble. Again.” He patted the papers into a pile and set them in the middle of his desk. “Now, on another subject, is your farmhand home? I was thinking of coming by, talking to her about the graffiti.”

“She’s there. At least she was when I left.”

“Care if I follow you home?”

I sighed, exhausted. “You might as well. Something else is bound to happen that I’ll need you for.”

He almost smiled at that.

***

The Grangers and Peter Reinford’s crew were packing up when we arrived. The rain would make cleanup messy and dangerous. Ma and her kitchen ladies had already cleared out, leaving, I was sure, plenty of leftovers in the fridge. I hopped down from the truck and walked over to where Jermaine was suiting up for his bike.

“You be okay in the rain?”

“You’re kidding, right? I’ve ridden through tidal waves on this thing.”

“Just checking. You know I’ll run you home if you want.”

“And leave my bike? No thanks. Even if it doesn’t get destroyed by a tornado it might make friends with your new Beast. Don’t want to chance that.”

I rolled my eyes. “Thanks for your work today.”

“No problem.” He swung his leg over his bike and started turning switches. “By the way, I moved your ugly bike into the tractor barn. Figured it didn’t need any more rust.”

I thanked him and walked over to Jethro’s Chevy Dually where he stood in the bed, shutting a large, attached toolbox. Belle was bent over beside the passenger door, brushing dirt off her clothes.

“Thanks, guys,” I said.

“Hey, we’re here for you.” Jethro walked toward the lowered tailgate and somehow got down without flattening a tire.

I looked around the farm and was dismayed not to find Lenny’s bike. I hadn’t realized how much I’d been hoping to find him there, safe. A headache that had been threatening since morning suddenly began pulsing behind my temple.

Belle put a hand on my arm. “You okay?”

“Sure. Yeah. Thanks again.”

Willard walked over, his umbrella opened over his head.

“Mr. and Mrs. Granger. Nice to see you.”

Jethro put out his hand. “Detective. How’s that boy of yours?”

“Doing great. And yours?”

“Can’t complain, can’t complain.”

They smiled at each other, bonded in the knowledge that their sons had survived the previous month’s epidemic.

“Here to check out the destruction?” Jethro asked.

“Some of it.”

“Well, you take care of our girl, here.”

Willard laughed. “You think she needs watching over?”

Jethro glanced over and caught me pushing on my temple, trying to ease the throbbing. “Sometimes I wonder.”

Belle patted my arm and climbed into the truck while Jethro headed around to the driver’s side. Before climbing up to the seat, he took a moment to look around at my destroyed garage. He opened his mouth to say something, but ended up shaking his head and getting into his truck. He and Belle were the last to leave.

But not the last to arrive.

A familiar Chevy pulled into the lane, and my spirits sank even lower, if that was possible. Anita Powell, from Children and Youth, got out of the car and opened an umbrella.

“What now?” I said.

She stared at the destruction on my property, her mouth agape. The rain dripped in rivulets off her now off-center umbrella, splashing onto her shoes. Willard eased his umbrella over my head.

“I…I got a call about the garage,” Anita said. “They told me it had been damaged by the tornado, but I had no idea….” Her voice trailed off.

“So what did they tell you? That Lucy and Tess were in the apartment when it went?”

She shook her head. “No. They knew no one was hurt. They’re concerned Lucy and her daughter now have no place to live.” Her glance went to Willard.

“Detective Willard,” I said. To Willard, I said, “And this is the lady from Children and Youth I told you about.”

Anita looked puzzled. “Why are you here, Detective?”

“We’re not on the same mission, I assure you.”

I wasn’t sure she believed him.

The screen door to the house slapped open, and Lucy barreled down the stairs, oblivious to the rain.

“What?” she said. Her voice was the loudest I’d heard it since she moved in. “What now? I’m not feeding her right? Her homework isn’t getting done?”

Anita’s eyes widened and she gestured toward what used to be Lucy and Tess’ home. “You don’t think that deserves a little consideration?”

Lucy’s combative stance only heightened. “We’re obviously okay.”

“You are, anyway.”

Lucy’s eyes snapped with fire. “Fine. You want proof? Tess!” She shrieked the name toward the house, and I flinched. Willard stared at Lucy, surprise coloring his face.

“Tess!” Lucy yelled again. “Come out here!”

Tess soon appeared at the screen door, her face frightened.

“Come here, honey,” Lucy said, her tone softening. “Ms. Powell needs to see that you’re whole and undamaged.”

Tess eased the door open and peeked around. She stepped out, then back in quickly when raindrops splattered off the awning onto her head.

“Hi, Tess,” Anita said.

Tess peered at her from behind the screen.

“Good enough?” Rain ran down Lucy’s face from underneath her hair, but she didn’t move to wipe it away.

Anita tightened her grip on her umbrella. “But what about a home? A place to live?”

“I’d think my house would stand up to your requirements,” I said. “It’s been good enough for me my whole life.”

Anita blinked. “They’re living with you?”

I could feel Willard’s gaze on me.

“Where else?” I said. “They moved in an hour or two after the tornado.”

“And we each have our own bedroom,” Lucy said, her voice filled with fake sweetness. “That should make you happy.”

Ignoring her tone, Anita asked, “Is this a long-term situation?”

My breath caught, but I managed to say, “Until we have the apartment rebuilt. They’ll stay with me as long as they need to.”

“Good enough?” Lucy asked.

Anita looked like she was debating whether or not to demand a tour of the house. I crossed my arms and hoped she understood how unnecessary that would be.

Her shoulders finally relaxed and a ghost of a grin lit her face. “So my caller will have to deal with yet another rejection.”

“And you still won’t tell Lucy who it is?” I asked.

Lucy snorted. “She doesn’t need to.”

Anita looked interested in that. So did Willard. I knew what she was going to say.

“There aren’t a whole lot of people who doubt me that much. People who care about Tess, that is. The general tabloid-focused public doesn’t count.”

“So who do you think it is?” Anita asked.

“Who else? It’s got to be my in-laws.”

Anita didn’t disagree.

“So she’s right?” I asked.

Anita shrugged. “I’ve already told you I’m not at liberty to say. But…let me just acknowledge that if Mrs. Lapp looks closely at the people in her life she most likely will come up with the right candidates for the referent. Now, I think I’m done here. And you, Mrs. Lapp, need to get inside.”

Lucy’s shirt—a new one from a quick trip to Kohl’s—had soaked through, and it sagged dispiritedly across her shoulders. Her hair hung in wet clumps, fringing her pale face.

Willard and I followed Lucy into the house and sat in the kitchen while she went upstairs to change. Tess lounged in front of the TV, watching “Zoom.” She looked tired, like the previous night’s bad dreams were catching up with her.

“No sign of Mr. Spruce, I take it?” Willard asked me.

I glanced at the phone. “No messages, so either he’s incommunicado or Lucy got the call. And no sign of his bike.”

Willard’s concerned expression did nothing to ease my own anxiety.

Lucy soon came down the stairs and leaned down by the sofa, ruffling Tess’ hair and talking to her quietly. After kissing her daughter’s head, Lucy joined us where we’d settled at the kitchen table. She met Willard’s eyes. “Are you here to talk with me?”

“First,” I said, “did you hear from Lenny?”

She shook her head, her eyes wide. “I thought you were with him this afternoon.”

“Couldn’t find him.”

She gripped her hands together so tightly the knuckles went white. “What if something’s happened to him? What if they got him, too?”

Willard’s nostrils flared. “So you know all about his troubles, and the people involved?”

She glanced at me. “Just that Lenny used to be in a gang, and he thinks some outlaw bikers are after him. Why?”

Willard shook his head briefly. “I wish Mr. Spruce would’ve told
me
some of these things.” He blew his hair off his forehead. “Anyway, on another subject, I have a few questions about the graffiti.”

The concern on Lucy’s face didn’t change, but she focused on Willard.

“We were unable to get anything off the blanket, forensically,” Willard said, “but is there any chance you recognize it?” He’d carried a familiar-looking garbage bag into the house, and now he reached into it and pulled out the ratty brown blanket I’d last seen subduing Queenie.

Lucy shook her head. “Looks like any old blanket.”

“Yes,” Willard said, “unfortunately, it does. Now, for a few more questions about who you think might be behind it.”

“Your in-laws?” I said.

Lucy bit her lip. “I really can’t imagine them going to such lengths, but I guess it would fit.”

“Fit what?” Willard asked.

Lucy leaned forward. “How well do you know Mennonites?”

Willard smiled. “I think pretty well. Why?”

“Mennonites—well, other than people like Ma Granger and her brood—are not good at confrontation. It’s much more common to keep everything inside or to talk to everyone but the person you have an issue with. Like my in-laws. Everyone knows they’ve tried to take Tess away from me. Obviously, they’re still trying. My in-laws think I killed their golden boy, Brad. But guess what? We’ve never talked about it, in all the two and a half years since his accident. Not once. Everything I’ve heard has been through lawyers or newspapers. Or an occasional friend. But when I’m with my in-laws, it’s like nothing has come between us. We all miss Brad, so we have that in common, and we all love Tess. But that’s it.”

“They’ve never actually confronted you about trying to gain custody of Tess?” I asked.

“Nope.”

“And you’ve never talked to them about Brad’s death?”

“They don’t want to hear what I have to say. They’d rather pretend to my face that Brad is just gone. That there’s no controversy about it.”

“So as far as the graffiti?” Willard asked. “You say that fits somehow?”

Lucy nodded. “Sure. Yet another way to cast doubt on me without having to do it face to face.”

“So you think they’re behind it?” I wished I’d gotten a better look at the vandals. There was no way I’d recognize them again.

Lucy shrugged. “I’d hate to think who else it might be. I mean, no one else has any reason to say those things about me.”

“Noah?” I asked.

Willard perked up. “Who’s that?”

“A guy I dated briefly,” Lucy said dismissively.

“Noah Delp,” I said. “He’s shown up at the farm. Twice. And he’s an MYF sponsor at Yoder Mennonite.”

Lucy’s head snapped toward me. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“I told you the vandals weren’t big. What if they were teenagers?”

Willard looked interested. “Their motive?”

“Exactly my question,” Lucy said.

“Loyalty to Noah. You said you dated him pretty recently and broke up with him a couple months ago. And now you moved away completely.”

“So?”

“So what if the kids saw how much it hurt him, and they want to get you back? What if he went home after seeing you here, and somehow they found out you banished him from the farm?”