by Judy Clemens
Our order was finally taken and scooped by a sullen-looking teen with a ring through her nose—probably the reason our line was shorter than the other—and we carried our ice cream toward a picnic table. The table we headed for sat in the middle of three others filled with loud, sticky kids. Not ideal for a serious conversation, but it would have to do. It was too hot to sit in the truck to eat.
We were several yards away when I noticed the quiet. The shrieking of kids had stopped as moms directed wide-eyed stares our way. The children obviously felt the tension and studied Lenny and me with frank curiosity. The moms’ looks weren’t so innocent.
One mom in particular, situated at the next table over, pinned us with accusing eyes. Lenny hesitated, but I kept walking. I sat, watching the mom’s face as she took in Lenny’s beard, tattoos, and Harley shirt. She moved her gaze to me, and when we made eye contact you would’ve thought I’d threatened to rape her and eat her children. Never has ice cream been consumed so fast or such a mess left as remained in her wake.
We soon found ourselves alone.
Lenny finally continued toward the table and dropped onto the bench. I listened for sounds of wood splintering, but, miraculously, the wood held.
“At least it’s quieter,” I said.
Lenny looked at me with such puppy dog eyes I almost gave in and took him home. I contemplated my sundae while trying to think of something comforting to say. “Lenny—”
“I don’t want to hear it.”
“Fine.”
We dug in, me eating my hot fudge sundae, Lenny devouring his five-dip banana split. For not wanting ice cream, what he’d gotten seemed more than adequate.
I’d put the last spoonful in my mouth when Lenny said, “You remember your dad?”
I swallowed. “My dad?” I rested my elbows on the table and thought about the man in the picture on my desk. “I have some vague recollections. Images. But I was only three when he died. Some of the stuff I don’t know if I really remember, or have just seen pictures. You know.”
Lenny smooshed some ice cream with his spoon and swirled it with strawberry topping. “How’d you get by?”
I shrugged. “Mom took over the farm. Dad had life insurance. We survived.” Just like Lucy and Tess were learning to do.
“I don’t mean money. I mean not having a dad while you grew up.”
Queenie thrust her nose onto my lap and I traced my fingers around her eyes. “I had Howie.”
“Well, yeah, but he wasn’t your dad.”
“Says who?”
He sat back. “Huh?”
“If Dad had lived, it would’ve been different. But he didn’t. Howie kind of…took over. Taught me all the stuff my dad would’ve taught me. Introduced me to tractors and lawnmowers and wrenches. Gave me a hard time about boys….” My voice trembled. I swung my leg over the bench and walked toward the nearest waste can. I tossed my trash toward it, but it banked off the edge and landed in the gravel.
“Not enough arc,” someone said.
Nose-ring girl smirked at me from about twenty feet away, then bent under a picnic table to pick up a dirty napkin. I glanced toward the building and saw that the lines had dwindled to just a few people.
She stood up and wrinkled her nose at the empty tables. “Don’t let the asshole moms bother you.”
I jerked my chin toward her nose. “They don’t like you either, huh?”
“Not hardly.” She laughed. “Only reason I got the job is my uncle owns the place. Said if I start losing him business, it might be good. Get some friendlier customers coming.”
“Sounds like a good guy. If not the wisest businessman.”
“Eh. He doesn’t need the money. This is just a hobby.” She tossed the wadded-up napkin at the wastebasket and made it in. She held up her arms. “Three points.”
When I got back to our table, Lenny was staring at his melting ice cream.
“Why do you want to know about my dad all of a sudden?” I asked.
He started, like I’d scared him, then frowned. “Just wondered if you remembered him, that’s all. I didn’t mean to make you think about Howie.”
I put my hands on my hips and rolled my neck, trying to ease out tension. “I think about him all the time, Len. Besides, talking about him’s supposed to make me feel better, according to my doctor.” I pointed at his sundae. “You going to eat that, or not?”
“Not.” He pushed the bowl to the side. “Can we go now? Before more kids and moms come to make us feel like shit?”
“Tell me first. What’s the deal with Mal? He went weird on us after you guys were talking.”
Lenny’s eyes flashed. “He didn’t go weird. Whatever that’s supposed to mean.”
“You guys were talking, and he basically freaked. Come on Len, I want to help, if I can.”
Lenny lumbered up from his seat. “It’s nothing. Really. Besides, you’re the one who needs a hand these days, not me.”
I sighed and placed a hand on my ribs, watching as he walked back to my truck, Queenie at his heels. He was right. I definitely did need a hand. But thinking about his problems was one temporary way to make mine go away.
Chapter Twenty-three
“Hey,” Abe said. “Guess you didn’t get my messages last night?”
I looked up from the filing cabinet to see Abe framed by the office door. “Sorry. A cow calved late and I didn’t hear the message till this morning. Thought we could talk this afternoon.”
“Sure.”
I swiveled my chair around and gestured to visitor chair. “Want to sit?”
He hesitated. “Well, I…uh…not really.”
We stared at each other awkwardly until I realized I was sitting where he usually worked. I jumped up. “Here. Here’s your seat. I’ll get out of your way.”
I scooted around the desk. Abe hesitated, then sat down in the chair I’d vacated. I felt like an idiot, playing musical chairs, but I wasn’t sure how to act. Talking about kisses and romance wasn’t something I was adept at, or really wanted to do.
“Um, sorry I didn’t call you back last night,” I said.
“That’s okay. I understand.”
We stared at each other some more. And I fled.
I rushed down the hall and into the parlor, where Lucy was making preparations for the evening milking. She looked up from where she bent over a bucket of soapy water, then bent back down.
I watched her without speaking as I tried to breathe through my Abe-induced panic.
“Tess home?” I finally asked.
“She’s up in the apartment doing her homework.”
“Homework? At her age?”
“I know, it’s crazy.” She kept her face averted, and I’d reached my small talk quotient. I took another step toward the barnyard to let in the cows.
“You don’t need to help,” Lucy said. “You did the morning. And Zach’s around somewhere, so he can give me a hand if I need it.”
“Oh,” I said. “Okay.” I stumbled out of the barn, almost running into Zach.
“You okay?” he asked.
“I’m fine,” I snapped. “Shouldn’t you be working?”
Always a smart boy, he simply raised his eyebrows and let me pass.
At a loss, I stood in the middle of the drive, my arms hanging at my sides. Lucy was milking, with Zach to help. All of the other cows had been fed and watered. Queenie snoozed in her usual spot in the parlor. Abe hid in the office, probably as freaked out as I was. What was I supposed to do with myself?
I could’ve messed around with my new bike, or taken it out for a ride, but it wasn’t registered or insured yet. Besides, it was so ugly I was going to have to get immune to it before I actually used it.
I also could’ve hung the photos in my office, but I didn’t feel up to the emotions that would produce. Plus Abe was in there, and I certainly wasn’t going to subject either of us to that again. Someday, maybe in a few years, I’d
get around to those pictures.
I had finally decided to get something to eat when a movement around the back corner of the feed barn caught my eye. I stiffened. Who was back there messing around? I watched for another minute, seeing some moving shadows. I wished Queenie were outside to let me know what her take was. I hoped it wasn’t yet another person trying to mess with Lucy. I guessed I’d better check it out.
At least I had something to do.
I walked toward the feed barn, making as much noise with my boots as I could, with the hopes of scaring away whatever it was. But when I stepped around the corner Tess looked up with surprise. I stopped and took a deep breath to calm my nerves.
“What’s up?” I said. “Your mom thinks you’re in the apartment doing homework.”
She looked at me fearfully. “You’re not going to tell her, are you?”
“Depends.”
“I was petting the kittens. Look.”
She held up the gray one—the runt of the litter born about six weeks before. Tess looked so small and vulnerable I decided I’d keep her secret.
“All right,” I said. “I won’t tell your mom. This time.”
She smiled and looked like she wanted to ask something else, biting her lower lip.
“What?” I said.
“Can I…can I have the kitten?”
“Have them all. They’re never-ending.”
“Just this one. I could keep it in the apartment.”
Seeing as how Queenie came in my house, I couldn’t see myself being a usual landlord, adamant about the “no pets” business. Besides, Lucy and Tess were the ones living up there. When Howie was in residence I didn’t step through the door for a period of almost twenty years. So what did I care if they had a cat?
“Fine. But the kitten really needs to stay with her mom a couple more weeks. You can play with her, but she’ll need to go back to her mom every day.”
Tess pouted. “How come?”
“She’s just a baby. She still needs her mom’s milk. Give her a little time, then you can take her inside for good. If your mom says it’s okay.”
“She won’t care!” Tess picked up the kitten and started to skip away.
“What’s her name?” I called after her.
“Smoky.”
“Very nice.”
She left me behind the feed barn, feeling stupid and even more useless. I walked back toward the house, where I really was going to get something to eat. But this time I was stopped by a car pulling into the drive. I angled toward it.
A woman stepped out of the late-model Chevy, watching Tess skip toward the garage. Once Tess had disappeared, the woman turned toward me and held out her hand.
“Anita Powell,” she said. “Bucks County Children and Youth.”
I shook her hand, but could feel the confusion on my face. “What can I do for you?”
“Are you Lucy Lapp?”
“No. Stella Crown. Lucy works for me.”
“Can you take me to her, please?”
“What’s this about?”
“I’m sorry, I really need to speak with her.”
I stared at her, trying to read her face, if not her mind. Successful at neither, I turned toward the barn. “Come with me.”
I led her to the parlor, where Lucy was switching a milker from one cow to another.
“Lucy?” I said. “Someone here to see you.”
Lucy stood up and came toward us, while Zach peeked up over a cow’s back, his face alight with curiosity.
“Lucy Lapp?” The woman put out her hand again. “Anita Powell. Bucks County Children and Youth.”
Ignoring the woman’s hand, Lucy looked at me. I shook my head, knowing no more than she did.
“What are you doing here?” Lucy asked her.
The woman pinched her lips together. “We had a call at the department saying we needed to check out your circumstances.”
“What?”
“The caller said they were concerned for your daughter’s well-being. Her safety and health.”
Well-being. The same word my anonymous caller had used.
Lucy’s face flushed a mottled red. “Who called you?”
“I’m sorry, I can’t tell you that.”
“Can’t tell me—”
I put a hand on Lucy’s arm, and she quieted.
“What exactly did this person say?” I asked.
Anita Powell looked at Lucy. “Is it okay to discuss this in front of your employer?”
Lucy’s head swung back and forth from the woman to me, her face a mask of anger and fear. “Go ahead. I have no idea what you’re here for.”
The woman frowned. “We received a call that your daughter spends a lot of time unsupervised, that you live in a garage, and….” She glanced at me. “That you’re still part of an open homicide investigation in Lancaster County.”
“What?” If steam really came out of ears, Lucy would’ve been a dying combine, ready to blow.
I looked at the woman. “Have you substantiated any of this?”
She held up her hands. “That’s why I’m here. To see what the conditions are. I am legally bound to follow up any allegations of neglect.”
Lucy was still fuming. “Let me give you a tour of our garage, and you can see just how neglected my daughter is.”
She stomped out of the parlor. Anita Powell and I followed, right to the base of the garage apartment steps.
“That,” Lucy said, pointing to the ground floor, “is the garage. This,” she gestured up the stairs, “is where we live.”
She continued stomping, so that I was afraid the stairs might crack and fall down, but we made it up without demolition. Lucy threw open the door to find a startled Tess on the floor of the apartment, Smoky playing on the papers strewn around Tess’ crossed knees.
Anita Powell took in the apartment, stepping into the room and glancing around. “No, I wouldn’t say this is a garage.” She smiled. “This is actually very nice. Cozy.”
Lucy’s face and shoulders relaxed a little, until the woman crouched down by Tess.
“Hi, Tess,” she said. “I’m Anita.”
Tess glanced up at Lucy, who nodded. The girl looked back at Anita.
Anita smiled at her. “I’m here to see where you live and how you’re getting along. Do you like it?”
Tess nodded, but didn’t say anything.
“Is this your kitten?”
Again, Tess’ eyes shot toward Lucy, who raised her eyebrows.
“It is,” I said. “I gave it to her ten minutes ago.”
Lucy looked at me, and I shrugged. “She was going to ask you. She just didn’t have time yet.”
Anita turned back to Tess. “You’ve started school?”
Tess nodded. “Yesterday.”
“You like it?”
“I have some friends now. I met them today.”
“That’s great.” She stood up. “Okay if I peek around a minute?”
Lucy’s face reddened again, but she waved for the woman to go ahead. Anita took a few steps into the kitchen, and again into the bathroom and bedroom. She came back to us.
“You sleep in the same bed?”
“We’ve only been here three nights,” Lucy said. “We slept there one of those nights, and the other two I slept on the couch.”
Anita nodded. “Okay. We can go back out now. I just want to ask you a few more questions.” She squatted beside Tess again and said, “Thanks, Tess. You enjoy your kitten.”
Tess smiled shyly. “I will. Her name’s Smoky.”
Anita patted the kitten’s head, then stood up. “Shall we?”
The three of us trooped downstairs and stood under the shade of a hickory tree in the side yard.
“Everything looks great,” Anita said. “Do you leave Tess unsupervised often?”
“Never,” Lucy said. “She plays by herself some while I’m working, but I’ve never l
eft the farm. If I would, I’d certainly have someone watch her. I’ve already met a teen-ager who would make a great baby-sitter. Now who called you and said these things?”
Anita made a face. “I’m sorry. Like I said, I can’t disclose that. Here’s what you can do, though.” She pulled a notebook out of her pocket and scribbled on it. “This is the address for the Office of Children and Youth, the Department of Child Welfare in Harrisburg. You can write to them, asking that the referent be disclosed.”
“And they’ll tell me?”
“Depends. They’ll contact the referent, and if that person is willing to be named, they’ll tell you. If after forty-five days the referent declines to respond, the Department will write you a letter to that effect.”
“Forty-five days?” I said. “That’s ridiculous.”
Anita grimaced. “The government is a slow-moving monster.”
“And how about this open homicide investigation?” I asked.
Lucy sucked in her breath. “There’s nothing to it. At all.”
Anita regarded her sympathetically. “I understand your husband passed away not long ago?”
“Yes,” Lucy said through her teeth. “He died. After an accident which left him paralyzed. There was no foul play involved. Ask the police.”
“I intend to,” Anita said. “In fact, I already put in a call to the Lancaster police. The detective in charge of the case was absent, but I’m sure he’ll call me back when he can, and get this all cleared up.”
“And until then?” I asked.
Anita smiled. “Until then, I see nothing here to be concerned about. I doubt I’ll be back.”
“But you’ll let us know when you close this report?”
“I will.”
“And what will you tell your caller?” Lucy spat. “To mind their own business?”
“I actually won’t tell them anything. This report is confidential. If they call back, and if I’ve talked to the Lancaster detective by then to clear that up, I’ll simply say there will be no more activity on this report.”
“And if they’re not satisfied?”
Anita smiled wider. “They’ll have to be.”
Lucy crossed her arms and looked at the ground.
“I’m really very sorry,” Anita said. “This is one of the worst parts of my job, upsetting people like you. On the other hand, it’s a good aspect, too, because I get to see children like your daughter who look healthy and happy.” She opened her car door and got in. “I’ll be in touch.” She closed the door, started the car, and drove out the lane.
