Three Can Keep a Secret

by Judy Clemens

  “Lucy…” I said.

  “Don’t,” she said. “I don’t want to hear it. Now, I’m going to do the milking. By myself.”

  I let her go.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Detective Willard answered his line on the first ring. I sat back in my kitchen chair and scratched my leg, which suddenly burned with itching.

  “Hey, Detective, it’s Stella Crown.”

  “Ms. Crown, sorry I didn’t call you back about that graffiti. I’ve been running ragged. In fact, I just got back from teaching a class, and I’m off to interview a fraud victim in five minutes. Or as long as our call takes. Did something else happen?”

  “Nothing criminal. How’s Brady?” Willard’s son was a recovering victim of last month’s food poisoning scare. It was partly my doing that he survived, and I had a keen interest in how he was faring.

  “Doing great, thanks,” Willard said. “Glad to be back in school. Besides the fact he almost died, the summer bored him. What’s up with you? How are you healing?”

  “Better now I have a farmhand again.”

  He was silent for a moment, probably thinking about Howie’s death, which he investigated. “So you found someone.”

  “Yup. She’s great. But she’s also why I’m calling.”

  “How’s that?”

  “It’s kind of awkward. I like her a lot, but there are some questions about her past that need to be answered. The graffiti we had was directed toward her, and now we had a social worker here saying Lucy might be part of an open homicide investigation. While I’d like to believe Lucy, I need to get this cleared up.”

  “And where do I come in?”

  “Her husband had what someone seems to consider a suspicious fall about two and a half years ago. He became a quadriplegic and died a year afterward. I was wondering if you might be able to check up on the case for me. Find out what really happened.”

  “Where was this?”

  “Lancaster.”

  He clicked his tongue as he thought. “I know a guy there. Went to the FBI academy with him. I can give it a shot. Why don’t you give me the particulars?”

  I told him Lucy’s full name, and Brad’s, and read him her old address, which was on the financial information Abe had handed me a few minutes earlier. We’d been very careful our hands hadn’t touched.

  Willard’s computer keyboard pattered in the background as I spoke.

  “Okay,” he said. “Not sure how soon I can get this for you, but I’ll see what I can come up with. I’ll do some work on your vandalism, too. Maybe tomorrow morning.”

  “Thanks. I sure appreciate it.”

  “No problem. How are you healing up?”

  I grunted. “Other than itching like I’ve got an arm and leg full of poison ivy, I’m doing pretty well.”

  He laughed. “Bring on the cortisone.”

  “A truck load of it.”

  I hung up and took a deep breath before turning to dig in my fridge. I was famished.

  While I ate I watched out the window for any activity. Lucy came out of the barn and trotted up to the apartment, then came back down a few minutes later, Tess in hand. Lucy carried a cooler, which she took with them into the barn. Supper, probably.

  By the time I was finishing my own food, Abe was leaving the barn and heading for his car. I swallowed my last bite, wondering if I should go out to talk with him. He stood for a moment, looking at the house, and I held my breath, wondering if he could see me in the window. Eventually he opened his car door, got in, and drove away. Crisis averted. For the moment, anyway.

  I thought back five weeks, avoiding the painful subject of Howie and dwelling instead on the painful subject of Nick Hathaway. A gorgeous man I’d believed to be a barn painter, who’d turned out to be the furthest thing from it. A man who made my blood run hot just by being in the general vicinity. Who left me standing alone in my drive after a ferocious kiss. I hadn’t heard from him since.

  I pushed myself away from the table and stood up, hating myself for feeling lonely. For wanting someone other than Abe.

  I had to get busy, or I’d drive myself crazy.

  I succeeded in finding plenty to do during the evening that allowed Lucy her space—washing and folding a couple loads of laundry, changing the oil in my truck, giving Queenie a good brushing—and that kept my mind from traveling down dangerous paths. This time, I was grateful that life on a farm offers a non-ending list of chores, and my sore ribs and itching skin were other welcome distractions to keep my thoughts on the moments at hand.

  I was asleep on the sofa when knocking startled me awake. The weather babe was busy pointing out some swirly patterns on the TV screen I couldn’t decipher, and the ice in my birch beer had completely melted, causing condensation to slide down the glass and make a puddle on my coffee table. I didn’t want to get up.

  “Who is it?” I yelled.

  The door opened.

  “Just me,” Abe said.

  “Oh.” I yawned, too tired to react to the sudden tightening in my stomach. “Come on in.”

  He stood at the end of the sofa, looking down at me. I glanced at the clock on the wall. Almost ten-thirty.

  “It’s late,” I said. “What are you doing here?”

  He shifted on his feet, then sat beside me. “Couldn’t sleep. Not your problem, apparently.”

  “I’ve been up since five, Mister Nine-to-Fiver.”

  “Hey. I’m at least an eight-to-sevener with all the hours I put in here.”

  “So sorry.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  I laughed, but it sounded sleepy.

  “Watching the news?” he asked.

  I blinked. “Didn’t mean to. Meant to go to bed an hour and a half ago. Guess I didn’t make it there.”

  The weather gal was talking about a tropical storm making its way up the east coast. Remnants of that would probably hit us by late the next day. Great. Yet another thing to worry about.

  We sat in silence for so long, watching the weather report turn into sports, that I started to drift off again. I woke up abruptly when Abe’s arm slid around my shoulders. I shifted in my seat and looked at him. He didn’t take his arm away.

  “Darn it,” he said. “I feel like I’m in high school again.”

  Abe’s ex-girlfriend, Missy, had gone back to New York five weeks ago, the same time Nick had left. While I wasn’t sure I was ready to take things beyond Abe’s and my best friend status—no matter I was the one who rashly initiated that kiss yesterday—it seemed Abe felt five weeks was long enough to wait.

  “Try to relax,” he said.

  Relax. Right.

  A minute later I felt Abe’s face doing something in my hair.

  “Abe.”

  “Shh.”

  His mouth found its way down my cheek to my neck, and I realized I was tilting my head to give him better access. The arm around my shoulders tightened, and he turned his hips to face me. His free hand began to ruffle my hair, then moved down my neck to my shoulders and continued down my arm.

  “Abe,” I said again, but he silenced me by moving his mouth to mine. I was aware of every millimeter of our skin that was touching, and my mind rattled on hyper alert. I tried to give in to the kiss, but each moment led me into greater and greater panic, until I pushed myself away.

  Abe blinked with surprise, his lips shiny in the dim light from the TV.

  “I’m…I’m sorry, Abe, I just….”

  “It’s okay.” He brushed my hair back with his fingers and looked into my eyes.

  I turned to sit facing forward on the couch, and leaned my elbows on my knees, holding my head. “I’m sorry. I’m really tired. Exhausted, really, and….”

  “Stop, Stella. It’s okay.”

  But it wasn’t. It wasn’t okay at all.

  He left without saying another word, the door clicking shut quietly behind him.

  Chapter Twenty-fiver />
  I had finally fallen asleep, my dreams filled with a strange mixture of Abe and Nick, when the phone shrilled at my ear. I sat straight up, heard the phone ring again, and snatched the receiver off the cradle. Bart’s frantic voice came on the line.

  “Stella! The cops are at Lenny’s. I don’t know what’s going on, but his neighbor called me, and I know you know some of the cops, so I thought—.”

  I shook the receiver, as if doing so would calm Bart. Realizing the futility—and stupidity—of that, I said, “I’m coming,” and hung up.

  I eased out of my bed, gingerly pulled on some clothes, and headed out to my truck.

  ***

  The groan I heard sounded human, so I figured Davey Crockett was at least alive, if not awake.

  Halfway to Lenny’s I’d had the brainstorm that he might need a lawyer, so I screeched into a Wawa, found the phone book, and got Crockett’s home number.

  “It’s Stella,” I said.

  “Who?”

  “Come on, man, I saved your life the other day, remember?”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  I heard him shifting around, probably sitting up.

  “It’s twelve-thirty,” he said.

  “It is. Remember the big red-haired guy who flattened Big Trey?”

  He chuckled. “How could I forget?”

  “Well, he needs you. I just got a call that cops are at his house.”

  “What for?”

  “Don’t know. But I thought this would be a good time to trade in our chips.”

  He sighed. “Okay. Just tell me where to go.”

  I got to Lenny’s first and on Crockett’s orders informed the first cop I came to that Lenny had representation and all questioning was supposed to halt until he got there. The cop gave me a full once-over, taking in my tattoos, jeans, and Harley T-shirt.

  “If you think I’m kidding,” I said, “you’d better believe you’ll be sorry.”

  He turned and trotted up Lenny’s sidewalk.

  The block of rowhomes pulsed with police lights, making it look like a dance arena, and it seemed as if every light in Lenny’s house was on. People were strewn all along the sidewalk looking at the house, their arms crossed, unhappy expressions on their faces. I wanted to tell them they should be glad they were just awake and not being harassed by cops, but I kept my mouth shut.

  I pushed my way through the grumpy crowd toward Lenny’s house, stretching my neck to see what was going on. A hand on my arm stopped me.

  “You’re one of Lenny’s friends, right?”

  A middle-class mom type stood in front of me, a housecoat covering what looked like floral silk jammies, her face anxious. She reminded me of the mom at the ice cream stand and I hardened defensively.

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “Well, I don’t know what’s going on, but I heard through the grapevine they think this is a gang thing. That’s more bullshit than I’ve heard in years. And I have four teen-age boys.”

  “Of course it is,” I said, once I got over the surprise of those words coming from June Cleaver’s mouth. “Lenny’s a straight act.”

  “That’s what I told the cop who came to my door. But they didn’t care what I said.”

  Other neighbors drifted toward our conversation, and I could see they were in agreement with Mom. A weight lifted from my shoulders as I realized they were upset because Lenny was in trouble, not because the cops had wakened them.

  “Stella!” Bart was suddenly by my side. “Come on.”

  I followed him, the crowd parting for us, up the walk to the front door. Once there, a cop stopped us at the door.

  “He won’t let me in,” Bart said, jerking his thumb at the cop.

  I turned to the cop and he shook his head.

  “Detective Willard in there?” I asked.

  The cop blinked. “Yeah.”

  “Tell him Stella Crown’s here and wants to see Lenny.”

  His brows puckered. “What?”

  “Good lord,” Bart said.

  “Just tell him,” I said to the cop.

  He shrugged, gestured to another cop to stand at the door, and disappeared into the house. About two minutes later Detective Willard was in the doorway.

  “Stel—Ms. Crown? What are you doing here?”

  “Lenny’s a friend of mine,” I said. “What’s going on?”

  He rubbed his face. “Come on in, then.” He glanced at Bart, who moved to follow me.

  “He’s with me,” I said.

  Willard checked Bart out a bit more, taking in the hair and tattoos, then moved back into the house. We took that as an okay.

  Lenny sat on his couch in shorts and a T-shirt, looking like he’d been yanked out of bed. His left cheekbone was swollen and red, and his arms rested, handcuffed, on his knees. An officer stood at attention on either end of the couch.

  “Good grief, Willard,” I said. “What are the shackles and the Queen’s guard for? And I’ll assume the shiner wasn’t your doing.”

  “You know it wasn’t. As far as the handcuffs, we didn’t know what situation we were walking into. We had to be careful.”

  “Well, I vouch for him. He’s a big teddy bear.”

  Lenny glared at me, even as Willard had an officer unlock the cuffs.

  “What the hell do you want, woman?” Lenny said. “God, Bart, did you call the whole world?”

  “You’re welcome,” I said as he rubbed his wrists. “Now what’s going on?”

  “A crock of shit, that’s what,” Bart said.

  I looked at Willard.

  He frowned. “We got a call about loud noises and yelling. The caller even thought he heard some shots.”

  “Shots?”

  “Apparently Mr. Spruce here had some visitors tonight. We were afraid it was a gang problem.”

  Bart exploded with some kind of sound.

  “Lenny?” I said. “In a gang?”

  I’d always known Lenny had a checkered past, which had been explained a little bit more that afternoon when I’d met Mal Whitney. But as far as I knew from my own experience Lenny was a good friend, an honest businessman, and a die-hard teetotaler. Sure, I had some questions, like what exactly his connection was to one-percenters and outlaw biker clubs, and why his nickname was Hammer, but I wasn’t about to ask them. It didn’t matter to me. It never had.

  But now I had a strong feeling those skanky people at the Biker Barn, the ones Lenny wouldn’t tell me about, had played a big part in why the cops were here tonight.

  Willard looked at Lenny and Lenny stood up, pushing his hands into his pockets and turning away. The cops by the sofa tensed and moved their hands toward their belts, but Willard stopped them with an irritated gesture.

  “Hello there, Detective.”

  We all looked up at the new voice, and David S. Crockett, Esquire, came into the room, decked out in a suit and looking like a different man than on Sunday. He’d even shaved. Impressive for having just rolled out of bed.

  Willard stood and offered his hand. “Mr. Crockett.”

  They shook, apparently having met before, and Crockett glanced around the room, taking in everyone who was present. He nodded at Bart, put down his briefcase, and walked over to Lenny, where they had a conversation the rest of us couldn’t hear.

  “This your doing?” Willard asked me.

  I forced a smile. “Couldn’t leave Lenny to the wolves, could I? Just like you, I didn’t know what the situation was.”

  He grunted and sat back down in his chair. Crockett and Lenny left the window and settled on the sofa.

  “You may continue your discussion with Mr. Spruce,” Crockett said.

  Willard smiled slightly. “Thank you, counselor.” To Lenny, he said, “Did you recognize the people who broke into your house here tonight?”

  Lenny shook his head, not making eye contact with anyone.

  “You have any idea who might be behind it?”
/>   Lenny shook his head again.

  “Did you tell him about the break-in at the Barn?” I asked.

  Lenny glared at me, and Bart made another unrecognizable sound.

  Willard looked at me, then at Lenny.

  “Someone tried to break into our business yesterday,” Lenny finally said.

  “Why didn’t you report this?” Willard sounded annoyed.

  “Because they didn’t get in.”

  Willard’s forehead became a mass of wrinkles. “Any idea who did that?”

  I stared at Lenny, hoping my brain waves would convince him to tell the truth to Willard. It had to have something to do with that nasty couple we saw.

  But Lenny just shook his head.

  “Okay,” Willard said. “Anything from your past that might give credence to the idea it was a gang fight tonight?”

  Crockett whispered something in Lenny’s ear and Lenny closed his eyes, obviously not happy. When he opened his eyes, he was looking at me.

  “What?” I said.

  Bart shuffled his feet, then burst out with, “Who cares, Len? She’s going to find out sometime.”

  “Find out what?” I asked.

  Bart opened his mouth, but Lenny beat him to it. “About twenty years ago I was part of an outlaw club.”

  I waited for more, but none came. “And?”

  “That’s not enough?”

  “It’s not exactly a surprise. And who cares what you used to be, anyway? That was a long time ago.”

  “Ties are never completely severed,” one of the cops said, earning another glare from Willard.

  “Bullshit,” I said. “Just because Lenny used to be tight with criminals doesn’t mean he is one.”

  “I’d have to agree with that,” Crockett said, a smile tickling his lips.

  Willard thought for a moment, then looked straight at Crockett. “The person who made the call tonight is afraid, justifiably. It’s well known that gang ties are still strong even after someone’s left the club, and the neighbors don’t want their street getting shot up by gangbangers. If Lenny is one, they want to know.”