Three Can Keep a Secret (2 page)

“Keep him far away,” she said. “Copperheads can be lethal to kids.”

“What about you? You’re smaller than Zach.”

“It’s not necessarily your size that matters.”

“Here it is,” Zach said from the doorway.

Lucy angled her eyes toward him. “Okay.” Her lips barely moved as she talked. “I want you to hand the gun to Stella without taking another step, then the ammo. Then get out of here.”

Zach stretched his arm out, and by leaning slightly to the side I could reach the gun. He was too far away for me to reach the bullet, so I wiggled my fingers and he gave it a gentle toss. I closed my hand over it, then watched as Zach took a backward step and retreated into the hallway.

Lucy’s arm was already stretched over the cow between us. Her eyes, focused on the snake, were cold and hard. By standing on my toes and balancing against a cow I could just get the gun to her fingers. She transferred it slowly to her left hand, swiveling her eyes toward me. I said a small prayer, then repeated Zach’s process of tossing the bullet, which fortunately found her hand.

All of this seemed to be taking an eternity, but in reality it must have only been about five minutes. It took another year for Lucy to get the bullet into the twenty-two and rack it. A tremor shook my chest as she raised the gun to her shoulder. There was no way she’d hit the snake from where she stood. She was much more likely to hit Queenie or ricochet the bullet around the room, killing a cow or one of us.

“Lucy,” I said.

She slid her eyes toward me impatiently, and the look in them silenced me. I shook my head and she went back to taking aim.

The shot pierced the air in the concrete room, and I recoiled violently, slapping my hands over my ears. Lucy’s ears had to be ringing, too, but when I straightened she nodded and walked carefully toward the snake. I stepped out from behind the cows and watched as she scooped up the dead serpent with the barrel of the gun.

“Good grief,” Zach said.

I stared. “Lucy. We need to talk.”

“I hate snakes,” Lucy said.

Chapter Three

“What the hell was that?” I asked.

Lucy and I sat in my office, where a little air conditioner chugged away in the window. My sweat, arising from both milking and the snake confrontation, chilled my skin, and my arm itched like mad.

After the snake had been properly disposed of behind the feed barn, Lucy, Zach, and I had finished the remainder of the milking before we women left Zach to clean out stalls and scrape the walkways. Now I needed a few answers.

Lucy shrugged. “I grew up on a farm. I’ve known how to shoot a gun since I was twelve. One time I shot a bat out of the sky.”

That seemed a bit unbelievable, but then, she had just shot a snake.

“What’s a good Mennonite girl like you doing with aim like that?” I was only half joking.

“We Anabaptists may resist hurting other people, but we can handle killing snakes.”

“Which you do very well. You stayed calm under life-threatening pressure today.”

“Not really.” She leaned back in her chair. “You most likely won’t die from a copperhead bite unless you’re a kid or old or unhealthy. But the pain is almost worse than dying.”

“You’ve been bit?”

“Once. Hurt like the dickens.”

“I bet. So you grew up with cows?”

“And pigs. And chickens. And sheep. Whatever my dad was into at the time. The pigs didn’t stay long. Mom finally said it was her or the oinkers. Couldn’t stand the smell.” She lifted a shoulder. “But there were always the cows.”

I looked her over from where I sat behind my desk. She really was small, but she’d proven she was no weakling.

“So where were you before and why did you leave?” I asked.

She stiffened slightly and looked down at her hand, her fingers picking at the arm of the chair. “I’ve had several long-term jobs at farms, but not for a few years now. I…took a break. My husband was ill, and I stayed home to care for him.”

Suddenly I understood the dullness in her eyes. “And your husband?” I asked quietly.

She swallowed, a tightness forming around her mouth. “He’s been gone a little over a year and a half. He died the day after Christmas.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You can call my last employer if you want. He’ll tell you how I did.” She scribbled down a name and number and I took it and smoothed it on the top of my desk.

“Why get a job now?” I asked.

She cocked her head. “It’s a combination of things. The main reason is I miss it. I miss the cows, the routine. Believe it or not, I miss the smells.” She angled her face away. “But other things have been sneaking up on me. A year and a half is a long time to be grieving a lost husband while living with my parents and my in-laws right down the street. To be honest, they’re driving me crazy. I mean, I love them, but—”

“You don’t have to explain. I’m a great believer in personal space.”

“So you understand. I cut out your ad in
Hoard’s
two weeks ago, but have been holding off on any decisions.” She gazed at me with what looked like desperation, and something deep inside me reached out to her.

“The job is yours if you want it.”

Her mouth quivered, and I wasn’t sure if she was getting ready to laugh or cry. “You mean it?”

“One thing you’ll learn quick is I don’t say things I don’t mean.”

She looked away for a long moment, and when she turned back, determination showed on her face. “I’ll do a good job.”

“I know. When can you start?”

“Today.”

I smiled. “How ’bout tomorrow. I’ll do the morning milking—that’s always been mine. Why don’t you come whenever you want and move into the apartment.…”

The apartment. The space above the garage where Howie had lived. Now Lucy would be living there, and I needed to clean it out. Not that there was much to move. I’d put it off as long as I could, and I certainly wasn’t looking forward to facing Howie’s ghost.

“So I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said.

I suddenly felt emotional, realizing this person was here because Howie was gone, so I stood up. Lucy clasped her hands and peered up at me like a nervous high-schooler.

“What?” I said. “You don’t see another snake?”

“Oh gosh, no. It’s just…I have a couple more things to talk to you about.”

I sat back down. “You’re not an alcoholic, are you?”

“No.” She let out a surprised chuckle.

“Use drugs? Been convicted of something?”

“No.”

“Are you a serial killer? Escaped convict?”

She held up her hand. “Can’t claim either.”

“Okay. Good. So what is it?”

“Is the apartment big enough for two?”

I blinked. “Two?”

“I’ll be bringing my daughter, Tess. She’s eight.”

I thought about this. I liked little girls okay, I guessed. I wasn’t used to having them around the farm, but I could handle it, if it meant having Lucy.

“She’s a good girl,” Lucy said, “and she’ll be in school starting Monday, as long as her registration goes through.” She flushed. “I stopped by the administration building this afternoon, just in case…well, in case it worked out here. School’s the main reason I finally took the plunge and came to apply. I realized it was starting next week, and if we were going to be here I wanted Tess to be able to start on day one. She deserves that chance.” She hesitated. “I promise she won’t be a problem.”

“Why would she be? I’ll be glad to have her. Sorry you can’t stay tonight.”

“I have to go back to Lancaster, anyway. Tess is with my folks. I’ll bring her tomorrow. By the way, is the apartment furnished?”

“Got all the necessities. You want to see it?”

“That’s all right. From your expression I can see it would be better to wait. A good number of my things are in storage, anyway. We’ll just bring a few personal items, until we see what we need.”

“Fine. Was there something else you needed to discuss?”

She winced. “We can work around this issue, of course, with whatever your wishes are, but I want to at least mention it.”

I waited, expecting the worst.

“Might it be possible for me to have Sunday mornings off, so Tess and I could go to church? I mean, unless you go, then I’m willing to miss it.”

I leaned back, relieved her request was innocuous. “I’ll do morning milkings, anyway, so I can’t see why that would be a problem. And I try to keep Sundays relatively free. Sunday could be your day off. That doesn’t seem unreasonable.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “Wow, that’s just…that’s great. I’ll make it up to you the other days.”

I flapped a hand at her. “Gotta have time off sometime. I should know. I haven’t had any lately, and it’s killing me. I can even point you toward a good church, unless you already have one in mind. Some of my closest friends go to Sellersville Mennonite. Been going there for years.”

“Sellersville?” An expression of amusement flashed across her face. “That might work out very well.” She stood up. “I’ll be here to relieve you tomorrow. Unless you really would like me to stay for this evening. I can.”

“No, go home to your daughter. I’ll survive a few more hours by myself.” I could practically feel Dr. Peterson’s presence slapping me on the forehead, but I ignored it.

Lucy walked toward the door before stopping and looking back. “What happened with your last farmhand, anyway?”

I concentrated on my breathing. “He died.”

“I’m sorry.” She didn’t push for a further explanation, perhaps recognizing the grief on my face. For the same reason, I didn’t probe into her husband’s illness and death.

She turned the doorknob. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

When she’d gone, I picked up the paper where she’d scribbled her reference’s name and number. Looked like he lived in Morgantown. It was a little late for a referral, seeing as how I’d hired her already, but I called the guy—Martin Spunk—anyway. He answered, and his voice made me want to laugh. All heart and no bite.

“Stella Crown?” he said jovially. “As in the farm with all them troubles last month?”

“That’s me.”

“I read about that. I was real sorry to hear about Howie.”

“You knew him?”

“From way back. Worked together at a big farm in Wisconsin in, oh, sixty-two or thereabouts. Good hand. Good friend.”

“The best.”

We had a moment of silence.

“So what can I do for you?” Spunk finally asked.

“Wanted to check with you about a former employee. Lucy Lapp.”

“Lucy?”

“I hired her today, and I’m calling to make sure I did the right thing.”

“No doubt about it.”

“She did well for you?”

“Best farmhand I ever had.”

“So how come you let her go?”

“Had no choice. Her husband got hurt and she decided he was a bigger priority than me. Course that’s the way it should be.”

“I thought he was sick. She called it an illness.”

“I guess you could call it that. Fell down the basement stairs. Paralyzed from the neck down. Nasty business.”

Nasty, indeed. “And he died about a year and a half ago?”

“Yeah, real sad thing. She came back looking for a job a month or so ago, but I didn’t have nothing to offer her. I was right sorry about that. How’s that pretty little girl of hers? Tess?”

“I haven’t met her yet, but she’ll be coming tomorrow.”

“You tell her hello from her Uncle Marty, will ya?”

“I’ll be glad to, Mr. Spunk. And thanks so much for the reference.”

I hung up and sat for a moment, wondering if I should consider the small discrepancy in Lucy’s story. Would I call being paralyzed an illness? Perhaps if I didn’t want to explain things. Made sense to me. And she seemed prickly enough I wasn’t about to ask her. At least not till she’d been around a while.

I put that aside and tried to digest the Howie connection I had made. Talking to Spunk I had found out things about Howie I’d never known.

Zach found me in the same position ten minutes later.

“You hire her?” he asked.

I shook myself out of my trance. “She’s ours. Thanks for your input.”

“She seemed to know what she was doing. And was a good shot, too.”

“She’s bringing her daughter with her.”

He brightened. “My age?”

“Is that hormonal interest I’m seeing? Sorry. She’s only eight.”

He grinned. “That’s all right. I haven’t decided to sign my life over to girls yet. That can wait a year or so.”

“Good plan. Besides, I thought I was your only woman.”

“You are my only woman. High school chicks are just girls.”

“As long as we’re clear.”

He laughed. “My dad’s here. I’ll see you tomorrow. Everything in the parlor’s done.”

“Thanks, Zach.”

I walked to the window and waved to Jethro Granger, Zach’s dad and Abe’s oldest brother. His bulk filled the driver’s side of his Chevy Dually, and his arm hung big and meaty out of the window. He waggled his fingers and they drove away, spitting up a cloud of dust.

I stood there, wondering what to do next. I considered going to find some supper, but the heat had pretty much sapped whatever appetite I’d rustled up. I pondered a few other possible activities, but when I actually considered counting hay bales in the feed barn I knew I was just postponing the inevitable.

I had to face my demons and clean out Howie’s apartment.

Chapter Four

The dusk-to-dawn light flickered on as I made my way across the drive. Bad Company’s song
Seagull
—an echo of my loss and sorrow flitted through my head, and I tried to shake off the eerie feeling enclosing my heart.

Queenie trotted after me, making playful leaps at the garbage bags draped over my shoulder. She had no idea they would soon be filled with Howie’s belongings. I guessed technically his belongings were mine, now.

I stopped at the base of Howie’s stairs and took a deep breath, hoping to fortify myself. It didn’t work. I procrastinated more by looking in the garage to make sure the washer and dryer were ready for Lucy. They were a bit dusty, but usable. The cupboard above them even stored part of a container of detergent and some dryer sheets. Howie’s gift to Lucy.

The garage held a lot of other odds and ends, including the generator Howie and I had pulled out of retirement during a power outage last month, but there was an empty space where my hog usually sat. Hog as in Harley. My beautiful black 1988 Low Rider was now recuperating at the Biker Barn, my friends Lenny and Bart’s mechanical nursing home, reclining among other bikes that were in pieces.

Queenie jump-started me by sticking her nose in my crotch, and I gently pushed her away. “Okay, okay, I’ll get to work.”

Queenie followed me up the stairs and lay down on the landing with a huff, apparently not wanting to go inside. I couldn’t blame her. I didn’t want to go in, either, but the door was unlocked so I didn’t have any more excuses. I braced myself for an emotional rush and eased the door open.

Surprisingly, the wave of grief I had expected passed me by. The apartment, devoid of Howie’s presence, felt at first like what it was—an empty space. Sure, there were items of furniture, but nothing felt alive or even remotely as if Howie were lingering there. My headache started to go away.

It came back as soon as I realized I had to move. My first attempt at action was to flip on the main light. At least I’d accomplished something.

I tackled the kitchen first. If any room was in dire need of cleaning, that would be the place. I knew the worst would be gone because Belle Granger, Zach’s mom, had come over after Howie’s funeral to take care of things. The only items she’d left in the refrigerator were baking soda and empty ice cube trays. I filled the trays with water and stacked them carefully in the freezer.

The cupboards still held lots of Howie’s stuff—plates, silverware, and such—and a stash of canned goods and other non-perishables occupied the pantry. More gifts from Howie to Lucy, if she wanted them.

Howie’s little table sat bare, a chair at either end. Just right for Lucy and her daughter. I ran a cloth over the table, displacing dust, and allowed myself a small smile, imagining Howie’s expression if he’d known a woman and girl would be living in his place. He loved women and kids, but, like me, would have blanched at having to share his space. Granted, I have a lot more space in my farmhouse than he had in this little apartment, but our feelings about cohabitation were the same.

Other than the dust and a few mouse turds I cleared away, the kitchen was ready to be occupied.

The living room didn’t need anything, either, other than a light dusting. Howie had a sofa and a television/VCR combo on a stand as his main furniture, with a little desk and folding chair off to the side. On the desk was a blueberry iMac, complete with printer.

I sat in the chair and ran my fingers over the computer keyboard. It was hard to imagine Howie, in dirty overalls, pounding those keys, but I knew he had. It was partly his computer research that had gotten him killed.

Because of that, I considered the fate of Howie’s second-most expensive possession, the first being his truck, for only a moment before deciding it would stay right where it was. I certainly didn’t need to be looking at it every day. It was hard enough having the apartment looming over my shoulder. Besides, Lucy’s daughter could probably use the computer for school, and I had no idea what Lucy did in her spare time. Maybe she was an eBay junkie.

“You okay?”

I twisted around in the chair. Abe stood silhouetted in the doorway, leaning against the jamb, his hands in his pockets.

“I didn’t hear you come up,” I said.

“Soft as a barn cat’s feet. So are you?”

I shrugged. “I guess.” I turned back to the desk and rested my face in my hands.

“I take it this means you hired Lucy?”

“Yup. She starts tomorrow. I think she’ll fit in fine. Real quiet.”

“You mean she’ll let you get on with your life without interfering.”

I didn’t say anything. He knew me too well.

Abe walked across the carpet and I soon felt his hands kneading the steel plates that were my shoulder muscles. I closed my eyes and let the pain radiate from my neck to the top of my head. When I dropped my forehead onto my arms the pain dulled. After several minutes I even relaxed a bit.

“You done up here?” Abe said quietly.

I shook my head and my neck immediately tensed up again. “I have to do the bathroom and the bedroom yet.”

“Want me to check them out?”

I sat up. “No, I should do it.” I looked up at him. “Thanks.”

He ran his hand over my hair and cupped the back of my neck. “How ’bout I come along for the ride?”

We made our way about fifteen feet to the bathroom door, and I switched on the light. Belle had been busy in there, too. Everything was clean under the light layer of dust, and the medicine cabinet held nothing personal. All that remained were Tums, a bottle of ibuprofen, and heavy-duty hand lotion. A small stack of towels and washcloths sat on the toilet, ready for use.

The bedroom was just as bare. The dresser drawers were empty of the most personal clothing, handkerchiefs, or anything else I might have found disturbing, for which I was thankful. The top drawer held a few white—or almost white—T-shirts and a package of socks that hadn’t been opened, but the other drawers sported only lining.

The closet was completely bare except for one pair of fairly new overalls that brought my heart to my throat. The carpet had been swept, removing any trace of Howie’s boots. A wave of dizziness washed over me, and I put out my hand to rest on the back closet wall.

“Stella?”

I shook my head and we stood quietly for a few moments, the crickets outside the only sound.

“What’s that?” Abe finally said, breaking the silence.

I looked where he was pointing and saw a small keyhole hidden in the dark grain of the wood panel next to my hand.

“Don’t know.” I leaned closer and made out minuscule lines in the paneling, forming a square. “Looks like a hiding place.”

“See any keys?”

I searched inside the closet, but didn’t find anything.

“Could be in the living room,” I said. “I forgot to even look in the desk drawers.”

We traipsed back to the computer, where Abe pulled open the top drawer.

“Ta da.” He held up a little key on a string. “How much you want to bet this is the magic opener?”

He was right, and a little door swung out from the closet wall as soon as he stuck in the key. It was a safe, about one and a half by one and a half feet.

Abe looked at me, and I shrugged. I’d had no idea it was there, and wondered if Howie had added it during his years in the apartment or if it had been built in originally. Right now, all that was in it was a flat, square box, which Abe carefully lifted out. He carried it over to the bed and we sat on the mattress. I moved a pile of clean, folded sheets to make room.

Inside the box was a stack of photographs. Not exactly what I’d expected in a wall safe, even if it was a flimsy hiding place. Abe tipped the box onto the bed, and out spilled a collage of color photos and black-and-whites, wallet-sized rectangles, and eight by tens that looked like they had at one time been in frames.

My throat tightened as I began to recognize faces in the pictures. My dad. My mom. Howie, of course. Dogs several generations before Queenie, and lots of the Granger clan, including Abe. From what I could see, the photos ranged in time from my birthday party last month all the way back to the year I was two, when Howie first joined our family. When both of my folks were still alive.

I could feel Abe’s gaze on the side of my face. “Want some company while you look through these?”

I fluttered my fingers over the photos. Dr. Peterson had stressed the need to share my grief, and who better to do that with than Abe? No matter what the state of our romance, he’d been my best friend for almost twenty years, and that hadn’t changed.

I stared at the bedspread, afraid to meet Abe’s eyes for fear I might do something embarrassing, like cry. “Do you mind?”

He picked up a photo. “I’d love to.”

We sat quietly for a few minutes, shuffling through the pictures, occasionally sharing a particularly special one. Abe finally spoke.

“I know I was a little pushy about your bike today. I’m sorry I can’t feel more positive about it.”

“Me too. I know you hate it.”

“It’s not the bike itself. It’s just…I worry about you. There was another article in the paper today. Some poor guy—can you believe his nickname was The Skull?—got killed on his way home from work. Truck pulled out right in front of him. He was thrown a hundred feet. Happened right there in Souderton, at the intersection of Old 309 and 113.”

My head snapped toward him. “Yesterday?”

“Yeah. In the afternoon.”

“Oh my God. I drove by it.”

“The accident?”

“The aftermath. The bike must’ve been hidden behind the truck. I didn’t even see it.”

He looked at me for a moment before picking up another picture. “That’s why I wish you’d stop riding. Because bikers get killed. Not because I want to take something away from you.”

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Guilt crashed into me. Guilt for worrying Abe. Guilt that I hadn’t known a fellow biker had died just feet from where I’d driven.

“So now you know how I feel,” Abe said. “I’ll try to keep my mouth shut about it from now on.”

I nodded, not sure what to say. I was glad he cared about me, but burdened by his anxiety.

“So which dog was this?” Abe asked. “Any relation to Queenie?”

I shook myself out of my thoughts and looked at the picture he was holding of my very first dog—not actually an ancestor of Queenie, although Ringo had been a collie, too.

Life had thrust me into a horrible place during the past few weeks, but now I was here, with my best friend, looking at things that meant a great deal to me. I made myself as comfortable as I could on the bed, and let myself drift into Howie’s compilation of his, and therefore my, history.