Three Can Keep a Secret

by Judy Clemens

  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 roo
m.

  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.

  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?”

  “Tom
orrow?” 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.”