“Hey, just askin’. Thought maybe you had family or somebody there.”
“Something like that.” She turned her head, gazing out the window into the dark.
Be like that, bitch,” Tim thought. Probably some guy. Usually was. Stuck up little twat. I could show you how to squeal.
* * * *
Vickie had struggled to stay awake. It had been a losing battle. Somewhere around Valley Forge, just before he’d merged onto I-76 West, she’d begun to nod and finally gave in to sound sleep. Whatever preceded his picking her up and the monotony of the ride afterward had combined to obliterate any fear of Tim’s intentions.
Tim fought drowsiness, too. He kept shaking his head, humming to himself and utilizing other driver’s tricks to fight off the danger of succumbing to a need for rest. His thermos was empty, and he didn’t have any pills. Shit, I wish she’d wake up. Talking might help. He reached across and poked his index finger against her shoulder. She didn’t budge.
Nearly another eighty miles to Harrisburg by his reckoning. How far could it be to the next exit and a restaurant or rest stop? As often as he’d run this route, his tiredness didn’t give him an immediate answer. He needed to wake her. He needed to talk, or they’d be ending in a ditch or worse. Tim stretched out a hand and gripped her thigh.
“Wha…!” Vickie came awake with a shout. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
“Sorry,” he said, drawing his hand away as though he’d touched a hot stove. “Didn’t mean to scare you. I just need you to talk to me. I was scared I’d fall asleep, too.”
“Oh.” She rubbed at her eyes with the backs of both hands. “Where are we? Looks like it’s getting light. Are we close to Harrisburg?”
“Not yet. Still some distance to go. How many layers of pants you got on? I couldn’t feel your leg if I wanted to. All I had a hold of was seven or eight layers of cloth.”
She chuckled now. “Only two. It was so cold when I started out this morning—or yesterday, or whenever it was—I layered my clothes to stay warm. Aren’t there any restaurants around here?”
“That’s what I’m hopin’.”
“Haven’t you driven this route before?”
“Sure. Lots of times. Only thing, when you get too tired you forget the landmarks. That’s why I need you to keep talkin’ to me so’s I can get awake enough to get my bearings.”
“What do you do when you don’t have somebody like me to keep you from falling asleep?”
“Drink coffee, pop pills, take some weed.”
“Why haven’t you been doing it?”
“Coffee’s all gone, and I didn’t stock up on the other stuff.”
A billboard flashed by.
“Hey,” she said. “I think I saw--"
“Yeah. I know where I am now. There’s an exit comin’ up.”
* * * *
Rejuvenated and fully awake now after a cup of hot coffee and a burger, Vickie intended to stay awake for the remainder of their journey. She didn’t trust Tim or believe his touch back there was meant to wake her. She’d had experience with his kind before.
They’d separated at the rest stop, both heading directly for the restrooms. After relieving herself, Vickie entered the restaurant. She’d hoped to find another ride, but the place was empty, save for a tired-looking waitress and the kitchen staff. Reluctantly, she paid for her food and took it back to the truck to wait for Tim.
He gave her a surprised look when he finally came. “Oh, you’re still here,” he said with a wide grin. “Thought you might have run off on me.”
“Where did you think I’d go?”
He chuckled. “No other rides, huh?”
Vickie ignored the question. “Would you turn on the heat? I got cold waiting for you. What took so long?”
“Had to stock up on some stuff.” He tossed a Mounds bar onto her lap. “Chocolate’s good for warmin’ up.” He took his time peeling the wrapper from another and chomping on it before starting the engine.
“It took that long to buy a couple candy bars?”
“Nah. Got some spliffs, too. I remembered I’d bought from one of the dishwashers here before. He was gone, but his replacement fixed me up. Rather have got some joints. These was all he had.”
“And you’re gonna smoke it while you drive?”
“Hey, done it before. No problem. Besides the candy and us yakking only works for a while. You want me to getcha where you’re goin’, doncha?”
Vickie studied him in the parking lot lights while he finished his candy. Short and stocky, a shock of reddish hair protruding from under an old baseball cap, he wore a faded flannel shirt and jeans that appeared stiff with dirt or grease. He turned his head to gaze at her with faded blue eyes and gave her a grin displaying uneven, yellowed teeth. “Like what you see?” he asked.
“I’m waiting for you to turn on the heat.”
“Whatever.” He reached over to adjust it. “Told you, it don’t work good anyway.”
Tim worked the gears and rolled back toward the ramp to rejoin the highway.
“What’re you carrying,” she said, jerking a thumb in its direction, “back there?”
“What—are you worryin’ I might be transporting drugs or mebbe firearms, somethin’ to get you in trouble?”
“No. Just curious. You did ask me to talk to you to keep you awake.”
He tapped blunt fingers with dirty fingernails on the wheel. “It’s nothing exciting. Just auto parts. I haul from a distributor in Philly to shops and garages. This load’s all bound for one retailer in Harrisburg.”
“That wasn’t hard, was it?”
“No. We could be talkin’ about something more interesting, though.”
“Like what?”
He peered at her, tongue working and bulging out the soul patch under his lower lip. “Got a proposition for you.”
“What kind of proposition?”
“Suppose you go along into the city with me. After I unload this stuff, I’ll take you to Swatara Creek.”
“Why would you do that?”
Another grin. “Cause I’m a nice guy.”
When Vickie didn’t reply, he added, “Look, I violated company policy pickin’ you up. I didn’t have to do it. Just helpin’ keep me awake isn’t enough to pay for the risk I’m takin’. You understand?”
She did, and his implication wasn’t entirely unexpected. “What do you think the ride is worth?”
“Think about it. You can decide and let me know what you’re willin’ to offer.” He reached into his coat pocket and drew out a spliff. “You want one?”
Chapter 5
Off shift together for the first time in weeks, Flora Vastine and Harry Minnich ran across the parking lot through the rain and ducked into Roman’s Pizza. Laughing and shaking the wet from their hair and jackets, it took two calls and a wave from Lydia Brubaker to attract their attention.
“It’s crowded tonight,” Lydia called. “Come and join us.” She sat in a booth across the room with a young man Flora didn’t recognize.
Flora and Lydia had attended high school together. Though the Chief’s daughter was friendlier these days, the two weren’t exactly friends. Still, glancing round, Flora noted the restaurant seemed near capacity with customers of all ages, the air thick with the scent of pasta, cheese, and damp clothing. Striding over, followed by Harry, she said, “You’re sure we won’t be intruding?”
Lydia gestured for them to be seated. “I wouldn’t invite you if I thought that, Vastine.” Turning to her companion, she said, “Jason, you don’t mind sharing with a couple cops, do you?”
“Not me,” he replied with a boyish grin. “I haven’t committed any crimes I’m aware of. Jason Russell,” he said, extending a hand first to Flora and then to Harry. They exchanged introductions and Flora studied him.
A handsome young man with bleached blond hair, frank brown eyes and a ready smile, Russell wore a green turtleneck with jeans. He caught her looking and Flora fel
t herself redden. She diverted her gaze to the normally stylish Lydia who was dressed simply tonight in a blue fleece-lined flannel over a white top and faded jeans.
“So, have you set the date yet?” Lydia asked now. “Let me see the ring. Dad told me about your engagement, but I haven’t seen you since.”
Flora extended a hand to display her diamond. “We haven’t decided,” she said. “I’m still getting used to the idea of being Harry’s fiancé.”
“Nothing set in stone,” Harry added. “Probably sometime this spring.” His remark bought him a buoyant smile from Flora.
“Well, I’m happy for you both,” Lydia said. “You make a great couple.”
“Congratulations,” Jason said. “Have you been going together long?”
Harry and Flora exchanged a glance. “A few years,” they said in unison.
A waitress interrupted to take their orders. Lydia and Jason already had their pie but ordered another pitcher of soft drink. “Too bad this place doesn’t serve beer,” Lydia said. “Can’t do a proper toast with Pepsi.”
“That’s okay,” Harry said. “You can hold it till the wedding.”
Lydia smirked. “I don’t know if Flora would want me at her wedding.”
“Why wouldn’t I? What a silly thing to say. Of course, you’re going to be there.”
“We weren’t always as close in the old days,” Lydia told her friend.
“Do you live in Swatara Creek, Jason?” Flora asked, anxious to deflect attention from herself.
“We just moved here recently.”
“His stepfather is Clay Stoneroad, the writer.”
“Oh, your big sale,” Harry said. “Your Dad told us all about it.”
“That’s how we met,” Jason added. “Lucky day for me.”
“For both of us,” Lydia put in.
Flora leaned with her elbows on the table to be better heard over the babble of other conversations around them. “I’ve read a couple of Mr. Stoneroad’s books. Anita Bailey sent him a request to talk to our book club, but we haven’t heard back.”
“You probably won’t,” Jason told her.
Flora gave him a puzzled look.
“I don’t mean to say he’s an arrogant bastard who doesn’t care about his fans. Nan, his secretary—she screens everything. Probably didn’t think a small-town book club deserving of the great man’s attention. I’ll mention it to him. Can’t make any guarantees—but since you’re a friend of Lydia’s it might make a difference. He adores my girl.” He gave Lydia a hug to emphasize the point.
Flora couldn’t recall having seen Lydia looking so pleased in the company of an admirer.
* * * *
“Why don’t you show me how grateful you are?”
As soon as they’d entered the motel room Tim had shucked his coat, cap and shirt and sprawled across the bed.
Other than the bed having been made up, the room looked as though it hadn’t been cleaned since the previous occupant left. A funky odor hung in the air, a waste basket in one corner overflowed with discarded detritus and an empty beer bottle sat on the dresser. The murmur of a TV in an adjoining room penetrated the thin walls of the unit.
“Can’t I have a shower first?”
“What for?”
Vickie glowered at him. “Because I fucking stink,” she snapped. “That may not matter to you, but it does to me.”
Tim laughed, irritating her even more. “Sounds like just an excuse to delay payin’ up,” he said.
“I told you I’d do it. And I will. Can’t you be just a little patient with me? I promise, I won’t take long.” Tears shone in her eyes as she waited for his response. “Couldn’t we at least go take a look at the town first? Then I’ll do whatever you want.”
He snorted. “You take me for some kind of fool? I take you into the town and you’ll run away. That’s what you’re figgerin’, ain’t it?”
“No. I promise, I won’t…”
“Not gonna happen, baby. Get undressed. Go take your shower.”
As Vickie unzipped her coat, Tim’s gaze fell on the empty bottle. “Wonder how far I’d have to go to get us some beer. We had us some, might mellow you down.”
“Why don’t you go ask the clerk while I get my shower?” Vickie suggested.
Tim laughed again, wagging a finger at her. “Oh, you think you’re so clever. Soon as I’m out that door you’d be runnin’ off on me. Shouldn’t have let on the clerk told me the town is only a mile or two down that road we passed comin’ here.”
“I won’t. I promise…”
“Yeah, yeah. Like I’m gonna trust you to keep your word. Go on. Get yourself all cleaned up for me.”
Shoulders slumped in disappointment at the lost opportunity, Vickie turned to the bathroom doorway. Behind her, the bed springs recoiled as Tim rose. She swung round to face him.
“Know what,” he said, groping at himself, “I think I’m gonna watch. Get me right stimulated.”
* * * *
Missing her presence, Aaron Brubaker went in search and found Helen in the kitchen. “Whatcha doin’, hon?”
“Just getting this brisket prepared,” Helen said over her shoulder. “Remember? Lydia’s friend is coming for dinner tomorrow.”
Hands on her shoulders, Aaron peered down at the roast, the thought of it prompting salivation. “Thought she wanted to learn how to cook it?”
“She does. I’m just doing the preliminaries to save time tomorrow. They’re on a date tonight. I’ll fill her in on all the steps later.”
He went to the refrigerator and drew out a bottle of Miller Lite. “Want one?”
“I’ll share yours,” Helen told him.
Great. He’d have preferred a full-bodied Bud, but Helen insisted they needed to watch their calories. Stuff leaves my tongue numb after a couple sips. He popped the cap and got a glass for Helen. He poured some in the glass and sat it before her on the counter. Took a sip from the bottle. At least it’s cold. “She tell you anything about this guy?”
After a pause for a sip of her own beer, Helen smiled. “Mostly with the glow in her eyes and the lilt in her voice when she talks about him. Seems as if she really likes him. When was the last time she invited a boy here for dinner?” She went on with rubbing a mix of spices on the roast.
“I mean like real facts. Do we know anything about him? Is he local? Do we know his folks? How’d they meet? Stuff like that.”
Helen nudged him with her hip. “All right, Mister Suspicious. When he comes, I don’t want you interrogating him. You hear?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“She didn’t tell me a whole lot. Well, not the kind of details would interest you. She did say he’s that writer’s stepson.”
“Stoneroad?”
“Yes.”
“Well then, I have met him.”
Helen squared on him, eyebrows raised. “When?”
“When I went out there the other day. Young fellow called their dogs off me and introduced me to his step-dad.”
“Oh, maybe you should be informing me about him rather than the other way around.”
“Seemed like a nice kid—except for needing a haircut. Didn’t talk to him long. But he seemed okay. I guess they must have met when Lydia showed them the farm.”
“That’s what she told me.”
“Didn’t say what kind of work he does.”
“I suppose you’ll find all that out tomorrow. But, heed my warning, Aaron Brubaker. Don’t go spoiling things for your daughter. I believe he might be Mister Right as far as she’s concerned.”
‘I don’t plan on spoiling anything. I do want to know some facts about any guy who thinks he’s right for my little girl.”
Chapter 6
The body sprawled across an unmade bed, the torso clad in a yellowing tee, the lower limbs bare and exposing penis and scrotum to her view. Officer Flora Vastine turned and gave her attention to Ida Daubert, the motel’s owner, who stood leaning in the open doorway.
&nb
sp; “When did you discover the body?” Flora asked.
“Didn’t. Maid found him when she came to clean the room this morning.”
“Have you called anyone else?” Flora had just reported on duty when Chief Brubaker sent her out in response to Ida’s phone call. “Got a dead body out at the motel,” he’d told her. “Medical examiner will meet you out there.” The twelve-unit motel had a Swatara Creek address but sat as though in exile two miles out on the highway.
“Who else would I call? Not like he needed an amb’lance. I could tell he was dead.”
“Right. You or the maid touch anything in the room?”
“Nope. Neither one of us. I didn’t go any further than this doorway.”
“That’s good, Mrs. Daubert. You can go back to your office. I may have more questions for you when I’m done here.”
“It’s Miss, if you don’t mind. Never had any need for a man tellin’ me what to do.” She turned away, then paused. “You want me to shut the door?”
“You can leave it open. Doctor Furman should be here shortly.”
Flora drew on a pair of latex gloves. As first on the scene, there were certain steps she had to take to assure the integrity of the scene. Harry would arrive later to carry out forensics, but she would attend to preliminary steps. The owner had retreated and there were no other potential intruders to worry about. Flora logged the time of her arrival and a description of the immediate scene. She’d brought a camera with her from the cruiser and now stopped to take a series of photos from various angles. The victim’s death might be the result of natural causes. That remained for the examiner to determine.
The man’s clothing lay in a pile on the floor beside the bed. Flora knelt and drew his wallet from the pants pocket. Cards identified him as Timothy J. Nagle of Jenkintown. She recalled it as a Philadelphia suburb. There was a photo of a woman, possibly a wife; several credit cards and a lottery ticket for the previous night’s drawing. The billfold contained no money.
In Silence Sealed Page 3
