Three Can Keep a Secret (3 page)

Chapter Five

“You ready for me?”

I pulled my head out from under the open hood of my truck to see Lucy standing in the doorway of the tractor barn. I leaned in the truck’s window and turned down Stevie Ray Vaughan, right in the middle of the guitar riff in Jimi Hendrix’s “Voodoo Child.” Talk about sacrifice.

Queenie trotted over and Lucy put down her hand to be smelled and approved.

“Where’s Tess?” I asked.

“Waiting in the car. She’s a little nervous.”

“She like dogs?”

“Loves ’em.”

“Well then, come on, Queenie. Let’s go meet our new neighbor.”

Tess’ eyes could just be seen over the dashboard of the Taurus, and they lit up when Queenie came into view. Lucy tapped on the car window, and Tess rolled it down an inch.

“It’s okay, sweetie,” Lucy said. “Why don’t you come out and pet the dog?”

Tess’ eyes slid to me, and I gave her my friendliest smile. I wasn’t always at the top of my form with kids, but I’d do my best to overcome that and make this one feel welcome.

Tess finally stepped out of the car and giggled when Queenie snuffled around her. She leaned down to let Queenie lick her face, and giggled some more.

Lucy’s eyes crinkled, and even I had to laugh at Queenie’s enthusiasm. I needed to remember that accepting Tess wasn’t a betrayal of Howie. Dogs can appreciate an infinite number of people, and just because Queenie liked the new folks, that didn’t mean she had forgotten the old ones.

“Hello, Tess,” I said. “I’m Stella.”

She stood up, and Queenie flopped at her feet, panting happily. Tess peered at me from below blond eyelashes. “Hello.” Her voice was quiet and sweet. Like a kitten.

“I’m really glad to have you and your mom here,” I said. “I hope you love the farm as much as I do.”

She nodded once, then bent down to Queenie again.

Lucy rubbed a hand across the top of her daughter’s head. “She’s a bit shy till you get to know her. She’ll come around soon.”

“No problem. We have all the time in the world.” I paused and swallowed the lump in my throat. “You want to go ahead and move in? The apartment’s all ready for you.”

“Maybe you could take us up, show us around. But if it’s all the same to you, I’d like to start working. With the dog here, Tess won’t need much else to do.”

I could deal with that.

The morning went quickly. After Queenie and I gave Lucy and Tess the grand tour, including a very brief look at their apartment, it was already eleven o’clock. Lucy seemed antsy to get going, so I set her up on the scraper, moving cow crap from barnyard to manure lagoon. I left her with a funny, pleased grin tickling her face.

After checking on Poppy—still big and uncomfortable with her impending calf, signaling the imminent loss of my bet with Zach—I tromped into my office to see if anything needed my immediate attention. The blinking light on my phone, indicating that I had voice mail, welcomed me. I punched the button to avoid looking at the box of photos I had brought down from Howie’s apartment late the night before. The message was from Lenny. I picked up the phone to call him.

“Biker Barn,” growled a voice.

“Bart, it’s Stella. Got a message from Lenny to call him.”

“Yeah, well good luck figuring him out. He’s been acting damn strange today.”

“Like what?”

“Like he’s got a batch of Olympic ants in his pants.”

I laughed. “Put him on, will you?”

I heard scraping, like he’d set the phone on the counter, then muffled yelling. A couple of bangs and clicks later, Lenny came on the line.

“Stella, thanks for calling back.” His voice was quiet, like he didn’t want anyone to eavesdrop.

“No problem. What’s up?”

He muttered something unintelligible.

“Sorry, Len, I can’t hear you.”

He sighed loudly, then spoke up. “You’re friends with that detective you met last month?”

“Willard? I don’t know about friends, but sure, I know him.”

He cleared his throat. “Think you could introduce me? I’d like to talk to him about something.”

Taken aback, I said, “What?”

“I just thought…if you’re not comfortable with it, you don’t have to.”

“No, I don’t mind. You just surprised me. Sure, I can do that. You want to go today?”

“No, no.” His voice rose. “Today’s Saturday. I’m sure he’s not in. How about Monday?”

“Monday’s fine.”

“And about tomorrow, should I pick you up?”

“Tomorrow?” I wracked my brain. “What’s tomorrow?”

“Our club’s annual pig roast.”

I rubbed my forehead. “Oh, Lenny, I don’t think I—”

“I can see why you forgot, with all that’s happened,” he said, “but you should go. It’ll be good for you.”

I slumped against the wall, defeated. Hadn’t I just been complaining to Abe that I needed my biker friends in my life? “All right. What time will you come?”

We set a time for the morning, and I hung up. Why would Lenny want to talk with Detective Willard? I supposed he’d tell me when he was ready, but I was burning with curiosity.

I looked around the office, not quite sure how I felt about going out and having fun the next day at the pig roast. Until then, I supposed, I should earn my keep. No paperwork was waiting for me, since Abe had been doing most of it, so I gladly left all of my few administrative tendencies in the office and went out to do real women’s work.

An hour and a half later Lucy was almost done scraping the paddock and I had fixed my truck and repaired some damaged boards on the main feed trough. I was famished, and exhausted. I waved to Lucy and she turned off the scraper.

“Come on in and have some lunch,” I said.

She looked at her watch with surprise and jumped down from the machine. “I forgot how fast time goes. I would have guessed I’d just eaten breakfast.” She gestured at her Taurus. “I can take Tess somewhere and get something to eat.”

“Give me a break,” I said. “It won’t bankrupt me to feed you one time. Unless you need something gourmet.”

“Gosh, no. Anything that keeps me going is fine by me.”

Why didn’t that surprise me?

We found Tess brushing Queenie by the side of the house, and she apologized to the dog for leaving her in the middle of grooming.

I shook my finger at Queenie. “Don’t you go getting spoiled now.”

Tess giggled. “I’ll take care of her. She’s nice.”

“Yes,” I said. “She’s a good dog.” I patted my good dog on the head while she gazed up at me with an expression of canine ecstasy.

Lucy and I left our boots at the door, checked our clothes for displaced manure, and found our way to my kitchen, Tess following closely. I pulled some shaved turkey out of the fridge, as well as whatever condiments I happened to have. Miraculously, I found a new bag of chips and had a full pitcher of instant iced tea, which I poured into three cups.

“You stick with the Mennonite brand of chips, I see,” Lucy said, pointing at the blue Herr’s bag.

I popped one in my mouth and talked around it. “I like them the best. And the guy on the back looks friendly.”

“Like Grandpa,” Tess said, and Lucy smiled briefly.

The Lucy that looked at me across the table radiated confidence and strength, and the satisfaction in her eyes had only increased since that morning. Nothing like pushing cow poop around to give you zest for life. If the amount of mayonnaise she put on her sandwich was any indication, the woman had a metabolism the size of my largest cow’s—and cows have four stomachs. She ate half the bag of chips and asked sheepishly if she could have another sandwich.

“You been starving yourself?” I asked.

“Just tired of McDonald’s.”

“Not me!” Tess said.

Lucy made a face. “It was right down the road in Lancaster and way too convenient.”

“Sure,” I said. “Chips and processed lunchmeat are much better. Eat another sandwich.”

Ten minutes later she was ready to get back to work. If she kept on like this, I would soon be able to take a week’s vacation without anyone knowing the difference.

While Lucy finished scraping and Tess galloped around the yard with Queenie, I took some of the newspapers my neighbors had dropped off and ran them through the shredder. We were running low, and I was sure we’d get through our supply when we cleaned out stalls after the evening milking. Newspaper’s cheaper than straw, and works almost as well. And if we can do a little recycling in the process, why not?

I was shredding the last batch when Lucy trotted over to say she was finished, and what did I want her to do next?

I wiped sweat off my forehead, suddenly aware how worn out I was. “Why don’t you go ahead and move into your apartment. You want to feel comfortable sleeping there tonight.”

She put her hands on her hips and stretched her neck. “I guess I could use a break. I’ll find Tess and get our stuff up there. We don’t have that much to move, but it would be good to get it done.”

“You might’ve seen before, I left a bunch of stuff up there. Books, kitchen stuff. If there’s anything you don’t want, let me know and I’ll take it out. And,” I added, the lump back in my throat, “Howie’s truck can sit out. I’ll pull it into the drive and you can park your car in the garage.”

She studied my face. “You sure? I don’t mind leaving the car out.”

I nodded. “I’m sure. Let’s just do it.”

I got the key to Howie’s truck and parked it in the lane, trying to ignore the grief bouncing around in my chest. I contemplated what all I could do to distract me from someone taking over Howie’s space, but couldn’t come up with anything that would work.

So I swallowed my pain and offered to help carry things up to the apartment.

Chapter Six

Ten minutes later their car was unpacked and I felt like a third wheel. I walked down the apartment stairs and headed back to my house, where I could have a little time to sort out my emotions, which were being held tightly in check. I also needed to sit down and rest for at least a couple of minutes before my ribs came bursting out through my skin.

I’d just stepped inside when my phone rang. I walked carefully across the kitchen floor, hoping I wasn’t tracking too much dirt onto the Linoleum.

“Royalcrest Farm,” I said.

“Stella Crown?” The voice was a man’s.

“That’s me.” I leaned down to take off a boot, my ribs protesting the position, and tossed it toward the door. Dirt splattered on the kitchen floor, and I swore under my breath.

“Am I to understand you hired Lucy Lapp to work for you?”

I stood up, my second boot in my hand. “Who is this?”

“A concerned party.”

“Concerned? About what?”

“Your well-being and that of those around you.”

I looked at my boot, then threw it to join the other one. “What’s this about?”

“I suggest you check into your new hire’s past before you let her get too involved in your business. Go back about two and a half years.”

“Now look here,” I said, but I was talking to a dial tone. I depressed the flash button and dialed star sixty-nine, but the number was described as a private one. “Dammit,” I said out loud. What was that about?

Two and a half years ago. According to Lucy, and to Martin Spunk, her reference, that was when Lucy’s husband took ill. Or had his accident. What exactly was the caller implying?

I thought back on the morning and my interview of Lucy the day before. The only thing that had thrown up a red flag was the discrepancy in what had caused her husband’s death. An illness or a fall down some stairs. Other than that, Lucy was fantastic. A bit strait-laced and morose, but a hard worker. I sank into a kitchen chair. If only I had Howie to discuss it with. He’d be the voice of logic. But of course if I had him to talk to, Lucy wouldn’t be on my property or my payroll.

I didn’t regret hiring Lucy. It obviously would take a while to get to know her, but something about her felt right. And real. I couldn’t imagine there was anything to this anonymous caller’s warning. And how credible could he be, not even giving me his name?

But I went to the door and put on a clean pair of boots. I needed to talk with Lucy again, calm my doubts.

I knocked on the apartment door, and Tess yanked it open. “Mom! It’s Stella!”

I stepped inside, and Tess bounded away toward the computer, where she was already playing a game involving little vegetables that talked. I closed the door behind me and looked at the items Lucy had placed around the room. Centered on the shelf above the computer was
Martyr’s Mirror,
one of the thickest books I’d ever seen, which I knew compiled a history of Anabaptists killed for their beliefs. Ma Granger had one just like it on her coffee table. Leaning against the sofa, waiting for its place on the wall, was a hand-painted fraktur with a quote from Menno Simons—a founder of the Mennonite church. “We are people of God’s Peace.”

Lucy appeared in the doorway of her bedroom, a framed photograph in her hand. “You need me for something?”

Again I was struck with Lucy’s air of sincerity, and I felt like a heel for doubting her. The last thing I wanted to do was question her about her husband’s death, no matter what the cowardly caller had implied. I changed tacks.

“I was wondering if you want to know anything about the Mennonite churches around here, or if you’ve already decided where you’d like to go tomorrow.”

She indicated the sofa. “Here, have a seat.” She moved the fraktur to the side and sat on the opposite end of the couch. “You said you have good friends who go to Sellersville?”

“The Grangers. You’ve already met Zach and Abe. Their whole clan goes to Sellersville Mennonite, but I’m not sure if it’s the kind of congregation you want.”

Her eyes lit up, and again I wondered at the amusement. “I think it’s exactly what I want.”

“You know about it already?”

“Gosh, yes. It’s quite the gossip back in Lancaster.”

She placed the photo on the sofa beside her. In the photo were Lucy, a much younger Tess, and a man I had to assume was her late husband.

“Your husband?” I asked.

She touched a finger to his face. “Yes, that’s Brad. Before he…. About three years ago. Handsome, wasn’t he?”

He was.

“Anyway,” she said, “the past ten years we’ve attended the Mennonite church where Brad grew up. My parents are Mennonite, too—my maiden name’s Ruth—but Brad really wanted to stay where his roots were, and my family didn’t move to Lancaster and attend a church there until I was already a teen-ager.” She wrinkled her nose. “I didn’t like his church all that much, but it was important to him.”

“And his congregation doesn’t like Sellersville?”

She laughed harshly. “If you want to put it that nicely. Yoder Mennonite is ultra conservative. Very traditional. The thought of a woman behind the pulpit gives them hives, and gay people? Might as well not even visit. No reason to get involved since you can’t become a full-fledged member. The church seems to think once you put your mind to it you could stop being gay if you really wanted to.”

I snorted. “There are plenty of those churches around here, too. Sellersville isn’t one of them, which is one of the reasons the Grangers like it. As for the women, Ma’s about as strong a one as you can get, and while she wouldn’t want to preach a sermon herself, she’s glad to hear a female up there once in a while. The minister is a man, but one who’s open to women in ministry.”

“And from what the folks at Yoder say, Sellersville accepts homosexuals?”

“They aren’t officially a ‘welcoming’ congregation, seeing as how you get kicked out of the conference for that, but there are gay people who go there and who are members. It’s one of those sad things that kind of gets swept under the rug. At least for now. I know Ma’s doing her best on that front to change things.”

I thought of Jordan, Granger son number three, who, in his late thirties, was still unmarried. Those of us close to him didn’t care, or even think it was our business, but there were those in the community who seemed to think they needed to know why he was still a bachelor. Somehow, no one ever dared to ask Jordan or anyone else who might actually know.

Lucy glanced toward the computer, where Tess was driving a car around a town, picking up characters of the vegetable persuasion. Lucy stood and walked toward the kitchen, gesturing that I should follow. I did.

“And a single mother?” Lucy asked, her voice quiet. “Will there be lots of questions?”

“I doubt it. But if there are, can’t you just tell them the truth?”

A shadow flickered across her face. “The truth. If only….I hate having to talk about it all the time.”

Didn’t I know it. The last thing I felt like doing was what the doc wanted me to do. Talking about Howie was like pounding on a continuously bleeding wound. But it had been a year and a half for Lucy, and I wondered why she’d hesitated when I’d mentioned the truth.

“I don’t think you have to worry about nosy-parkers,” I said. Other than myself, and I was already feeling creepy about it. “Ma will fend off the worst of them for you.”

Again she looked amused. “I’m looking forward to meeting this paragon.”

I headed for the door. “I’m going back to work. Come on out when you feel like it. Make yourself at home.”

She stepped over and grabbed the door, holding it open for me. “We already have. Thanks.”

I made my way carefully down the stairs. I hadn’t gotten any answers, but I was even more sure of two things.

I liked Lucy a lot.

And there was something about Brad’s death she wasn’t telling.