Three Can Keep a Secret

by Judy Clemens

  Jermaine put up his hands and stepped back. “Don’t put me in the middle of you two psychos. I’m just here to help.”

  Jethro winked at me. “I’m just joshin’ ya. You know that.”

  “Uh-huh. Anyway, I appreciate the help. You guys happen to know where Lucy is?”

  Jethro hooked his thumb over his shoulder. “Took my truck down to that new Home Depot there on Bethlehem Pike. Need a few things to do some patching up, so she went to get ’em. Told her to put ’em on your tab. Hope that’s okay.”

  My tab. Not something I liked thinking about. “Sure, that’s fine.”

  “What I want to know,” Jermaine said, “is what that piece of trash bike is doing in your yard.”

  We all looked at the Beast where it sat alongside the drive, bringing down my land value.

  “Present from Lenny,” I said. “Till my bike’s back on the road.”

  “Too bad it wasn’t in the garage when it went,” Jermaine said.

  Talking about the bike made me wonder where Lenny was, and who was with him, but my thoughts were interrupted by the milk truck pulling into the lane. Doug, the driver, jumped out and looked at the carnage, his mouth open.

  “Holy crow,” he said, walking over to me. His mouth dropped a little further as he sized up Jethro and Jermaine. “What happened?”

  “Tornado.”

  “Nobody was hurt?”

  “Thank the Lord, no.”

  “Well, that’s good, anyway.” He looked uncertainly at me. “Anything I can do?”

  “Don’t think so.” I jerked my chin at the Granger boys. “I’ve got some good trash haulers at the moment.”

  Jermaine and Jethro grinned and introduced themselves. Doug closed his mouth long enough to smile back and shake their hands. He took another look at the destruction and slowly shook his head.

  “I’m glad everybody’s okay.” He glanced toward his truck. “Should I get started?”

  “Be my guest. Luckily nothing here should interfere with your job.”

  He tipped his hat and wandered, still awestruck, to his tanker.

  I turned back to the guys. “Any luck with Howie’s truck?”

  Jethro winced but put on a brave face and led me toward the battered Ford, with me stopping to say hello and thanks to the other Grangers and Sellersville Mennonite members who had found their way to the farm. The Grangers were easy to spot: Jordan patching up a hole in my house, Josh pushing trash around with the Bobcat, Jacob busy hauling pieces of charred lumber to the Dumpster, and Belle doing her best to get glass shards out of the driveway. Abe was nowhere to be seen.

  Peter Reinford, along with a good handful of volunteers from Sellersville Mennonite, traipsed back and forth from the yard to a wood chipper, hauling downed branches. Willie, Zach’s MYF sponsor, leaned on the machine, wiping sweat from his forehead.

  “Thanks for coming out, everybody,” I said.

  Peter straightened and flexed his shoulders. “Can’t say I’m used to this kind of work, but it feels good. The usual Mennonite Disaster Service folks from church are already down in Florida with the hurricanes, so you have to take us leftovers.”

  “Hey, now,” one of the other men said with a laugh. “We’re doing the best our old bones can manage.”

  “And I appreciate it,” I said. “You don’t know how much.”

  “We’re glad to be here,” Peter said. “Just leave the cleaning up to us.”

  He turned back to his task of feeding downed branches to the chipper.

  I gestured to Willie, and he stepped away from the machine, pulling ear-protectors off his head.

  “I hear Zach got to regale you with his tornado story last night,” I said.

  He grinned. “Boy, did he ever. He’s a good storyteller.”

  “I’m sure he didn’t leave out a detail. I’m also sure telling about it was the best thing for him.”

  Willie grew serious. “I was afraid he wouldn’t be able to sleep, otherwise. I went through a tornado as a kid, and every time there was even a little storm after that, I’d lie in my bed sweating and shaking.”

  “It was pretty terrifying.”

  He smiled gently and his eyes radiated kindness, reminding me of Dr. Peterson.

  “Thanks for looking out for him,” I said.

  “I look out for all my kids.”

  He slipped his ear protectors back on, and I continued after Jethro and Jermaine.

  Howie’s truck sat looking like a broken old man on a park bench. One of its side windows was shattered, and it leaned to the right on a flat tire, reminding me of Lenny’s friend Mal Whitney. The side had several deep dents, caused by flying lumber, I supposed, and the paint had been scratched to the metal at some points. Like everything else in the yard, it sported a splotchy coat of debris.

  I sighed. First my bike, now Howie’s truck. Completely trashed.

  “Don’t despair, girlie,” Jethro said. “We can fix ’er up good.”

  I looked at the truck, wondering if nostalgia alone was enough to force a vehicle out of almost certain retirement.

  “Is it worth it?” I asked.

  Both brothers looked shocked.

  “You’re not serious,” Jethro said. “Howie’s truck?”

  I shrugged and looked away, stuffing my hands into my back pockets. I could feel the guys’ eyes on me.

  The quiet was broken when a trio of vehicles pulled into the lane, Ma Granger in the lead at the wheel of her old Mercury. She and several ladies from church piled out of the cars, and I had to smile.

  “Kitchen committee?” I said to Jethro.

  “You got it, babe.”

  I met Ma on the driveway and she put her arms around me. “Thank the Lord you’re safe,” she said. “You can replace the garage and barn. Even the trees. You we couldn’t do without.”

  I hugged her back. “Thanks, Ma. I’m glad to be here, too.”

  “Okay, ladies!” Ma stepped back and gestured to her crew. “Let’s set up.” To me, she said, “You care where we put things?”

  “You can have the run of the place. Need tables?”

  “Abe’s coming with those. I sent him over to the church to bring back a few from the fellowship hall. He should be here any time.”

  So that’s why he was absent.

  “I sure appreciate it, Ma.”

  She clucked her tongue. “We can’t have people starving, can we? They’re working hard. Now, Jethro and Jermaine, stop standing there with those smirks on your faces. Get back to work.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” both men said, and immediately did their mother’s bidding.

  “And you,” Ma said to me. “I don’t want to see you working out here. Abe told me how you’ve been killing yourself. Now that you have that nice girl Lucy working for you, you need to take it easy.”

  “Yes, Ma.”

  “I mean it. Don’t you try to sneak it past me.”

  “Yes, Ma.”

  “Now come here a second.”

  I followed her to her car, where she pulled out two garbage bags.

  “I don’t know what kind of bed covers you have for those two, but here are a couple quilts. Before you know it, these evenings are going to get chilly, and without heat in your upstairs—”

  I held out my arms and took the bags. “Thanks, Ma. You’re the best. Where are these from?”

  She pulled back the top of one of the bags. “This was made by my grandmother Myers. And this,” she pulled back the next one, “was given to Pa and me on our wedding day.”

  I opened my mouth to protest, but she cut me off.

  “We got two, and besides, Pa’s not around to lie under it with me anymore, is he? So you give it to that girl of yours.”

  “Yes, Ma. Thanks.”

  “Now go on. I have things to do.”

  I carried the quilts into the house and laid them on the sofa before sinking down beside them. I wasn’t quite sure w
hat to do with myself. I hated to leave the volunteers cleaning up the place, but I wasn’t in any condition to be heaving heavy objects into the Dumpster. I certainly would only get underfoot of the food preparers, and wasn’t anywhere near wanting their wrath—or their spatulas—to descend upon me.

  I decided I might as well make myself useful and work on Lenny’s problem, while I could. I hadn’t heard back from Harry, so I assumed Lenny was in the good hands of someone from the club. I pushed myself off the couch and limped out to the truck, where I grabbed Lenny’s pillowcase. I’d just shut the truck door when yet another car drove in the lane and Queenie went crazy.

  The two people who got out of the familiar dark blue Buick stood speechless, their eyes wide. They apparently weren’t expecting a natural disaster. I walked toward them, my blood boiling and my hand on Queenie’s collar. The man took a step back as I neared, his eyes boring into me with a silent request.

  I ignored it.

  “Noah, it seems to me Lucy was quite clear when she told you to leave and never come back. What was it about those words you didn’t understand?”

  The woman standing beside the passenger door turned slowly to stare at Noah, her jaw jutting out to a dangerous angle. “You said you hadn’t been here. You said you hadn’t talked to Lucy for weeks!”

  Noah’s eyes darted from side to side. “Oh, yeah, well. I guess I forgot I stopped by the other day. I was in Souderton on business. You know. For the church. Just thought I’d come for a minute.”

  “Is that so?” Her voice could’ve shattered it was so chilly.

  “And that’s how long you’re staying today,” I said. “A minute.”

  “And who might you be?” the woman said.

  Noah looked like he wanted to die.

  My smile felt as cold as the woman’s voice. “I might be the one who owns this farm. I’m Lucy’s boss.”

  She crossed her arms and pouted. “So where is Lucy? I didn’t come all this way to be turned out.”

  “That’s too bad, because Lucy’s not here.”

  “Out gallivanting around already?”

  I wanted to slap her. “And just who are you? Seeing how you’re trespassing.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Lucy’s sister-in-law. Shelby. I’m sure you’ve heard all the horror stories.”

  I smiled some more. “Actually, she’s never mentioned you.”

  Her mouth twitched. “I’m Brad’s sister. I hope she’s at least mentioned him.”

  I’d had enough. “What do you want? I’m not really in the mood for visitors.”

  They looked at the throng of people in my yard.

  I clarified. “Unwelcome ones, I mean.”

  Shelby turned to Noah. “Well, this is just great. I’m so glad you convinced me not to call ahead of time.”

  Noah blushed fiercely.

  “We all know why he did that, don’t we?” I said. “Now why don’t you folks head back to Lancaster. There’s nothing for you here.” I looked at Noah. “Unless you really want to wait for Lucy. I’m sure she’d be ever so happy to see you.”

  Shelby stomped the gravel. “I’m not leaving till I talk to her. You go on home if you want, Noah. I’ll call Scott to come get me.”

  Noah shook his head. “He’d love that for sure.”

  I tuned out their bickering and thought. My very being wanted to heave them out on their cans, but having Lucy tell them to take off would probably be more effective in the long run.

  “Okay,” I said. “Here’s the deal. You get back in your car and wait over there.” I pointed toward the end of the lane where there was a graveled side spot. “When Lucy gets home you may get out.” I smiled at Noah. “If you dare.” I wasn’t envying him his time in the car with Shelby, who looked ready to pop him one. But that was his own fault, for disobeying Lucy’s direct orders.

  I kept smiling until they got back in the car and pulled it to the side. Then I found Jermaine and Jethro.

  “See those folks?” I pointed toward Noah and Shelby.

  “Sure,” Jermaine said.

  Jethro nodded.

  “Why don’t you give them a wave, let them know you see them.”

  They did as I asked, and I tried not to laugh at our guests’ shocked expressions.

  “If they even try to get out and snoop, could you discourage them?”

  Jethro smiled. “It would be our pleasure.”

  I patted his right biceps, appreciating the hard muscle underneath his T-shirt. “I owe you one.”

  Feeling more secure about my uninvited guests, I slung Lenny’s pillowcase over my shoulder and continued the trek to my office. With a groan I settled in my chair and pulled the newspaper clippings from the bag. I ignored the headlines of the articles and stacked them according to date. Several area newspapers were represented, the Philadelphia Inquirer being the most prominent, and there were a few pictures mixed in with the prose.

  The first article was innocent as far as I could tell. Mal had shown his bike at Lansdale’s Bike Night, held in mid-August of 1976, and had won first place for the original paint job. A very young-looking Lenny stood smiling beside Mal, who sat astride his fancy Sportster. Probably the bike he had told me about—the red and black one his wife was jealous of. I wondered if Lenny had done the painting or if Mal was just as talented.

  The next article was a study of motorcycle gangs in the area—namely the Pagans, the largest outlaw club in the nation other than the Hell’s Angels—including what their different personalities and businesses consisted of. The Priests were mentioned—Lenny’s club—as well as a few other small groups. The InSex, the Wild Ones, and the Serpents.

  I sucked in my breath. The Serpents. The mother of Lenny’s daughter and his daughter’s boyfriend had serpents tattooed around their biceps.

  I skimmed the article and understood why the Mrs. Joneses of the world were afraid of bikers. If I thought these folks comprised the whole biker world, I’d never sleep at night, either. Drug smuggling, prostitution, Mafia connections, production of methamphetamines. Just to name a few stellar contributions to society. For being only one percent of the biker world they sure did a lot of nasty stuff.

  The Pagans are some of the worst, and they hang out all along the Eastern seaboard and beyond. There are a lot of Pagans in the Philadelphia area, and probably in my northern suburb, too, but they keep to themselves. If you need to compare them to something, I’d say they’re kind of like sharks. You leave them alone and don’t spread blood in their water, they’ll most likely ignore your very existence. Unless, of course, you accidentally cut them off with your truck and they decide to pull out their sawed-off shotguns. But that’s about as likely to happen as Jaws showing up in your swimming pool.

  Lenny’s name popped up again in an article, and that familiar chill ran down my spine. The Priests and the Serpents both figured in this article. Seems the two gangs were having disputes over who owned what territory and things were getting a bit out of hand. Lenny, Mal, and that guy named Scott Simms had been brought in for questioning after a bloody fight broke out at a bar in Hatfield. No one had been killed, but several people had been treated and released at the North Penn Hospital ER.

  I took a moment to stand up and pace, shaking my hands and doing some deep breathing. Nothing I was reading was making me feel any better about Lenny’s present predicament. And seeing what Lenny’s life had once involved, I was really wondering what had sent him toward his current law-abiding lifestyle. Perhaps it was the simple fact that he had acquired a family, and had decided they deserved something better.

  Chronologically, the next article was the one I had already read at Lenny’s. The one detailing the explosion and deaths at the Serpents’ clubhouse. I read it again, making sure I hadn’t missed any details.

  After digesting that article again, I didn’t want to read more, but knew I had to. And the next story clinched the bad feeling that had been growing in my gut.

>   It seemed the Priests finally took over the Serpents and their territory after the explosion. From what law enforcement officials could make out, the Serpents had been storing weapons and explosive devices—illegal, of course—in the back room of their club. Something had caused the materials to ignite during a supposedly secret meeting of the club’s officers. The president and the secretary/treasurer had both been killed, while the enforcer and vice president hovered in critical condition at the hospital. The sergeant-at-arms had somehow escaped with no more than minor injuries.

  Police didn’t have much hope of clearing up what had happened, seeing as how the Serpents weren’t willing to help much. The little the club members told the police led the investigation nowhere, and while nothing overt was said about the Priests’ part in the killings, law enforcement was waiting on pins and needles for retaliation to begin.

  A spokesman from the Priests said none of their members could have been responsible. The entire club had been at the Reading Beer Bash, and no one wanted to miss that—it was their biggest annual outing. Besides, who ever said they were involved in criminal matters? Needless to say, law enforcement was skeptical about such a vague and unprovable alibi.

  “Let them kill each other off, as far as I’m concerned,” said one officer, who for obvious reasons wanted to remain anonymous. “I just hope they do it somewhere innocent people won’t get caught in the cross-fire.”

  Kind of like how TV preachers—and churches like Yoder Mennonite—thought about gays and AIDS until they learned better.

  But even though law enforcement couldn’t prove anything, Lenny, along with Mal and Scott Simms, had been dragged in to “help the police with their inquiries.” All had been released with no further questioning that had been reported.

  Had Lenny really killed people? My stomach contracted, and I hoped I wouldn’t have to make use of my wastebasket. The nausea eventually eased, and I forced myself to take a look at the last article.

  This announced the birth of Kristi Rochelle Spruce to Lenny and a woman named Vonda Dane. I swallowed. Vonda was the name tattooed on Lenny’s arm. I had never known who was behind the design, and certainly had never imagined she was the mother of Lenny’s child. I still couldn’t believe Lenny was a father and had never told any of us. I wonder if Bart even knew.