In Silence Sealed

by J. R. Lindermuth

  Vickie spied her, too. She stuck her head out the window. “Vanessa! It’s me—Vickie. Please, tell him to let me out. I just want to talk.”

  The woman turned and went back in the house as the man drew a cell phone from his pocket. “That’s not who you think it is. Her name’s not Vanessa. This is your last warning. Leave now or I’m calling the cops.”

  Sally put the car in gear and started backing up. Vickie reached out and clasped her wrist. “Please, Sally,” she pleaded. “Don’t go. I need to talk to my sister. I can’t--”

  “Sorry, kid. I can’t take no chance on bein’ arrested for trespassing. I don’t know what’s going on, but I got an idea what we can do. We’ll go talk to Lydia. She’s been out here. She’s even datin’ that guy. Don’t worry. Everything will be all right.”

  The car crunched over gravel as she turned. Vickie choked back tears, turned in her seat and gazed out the rear window at the young man who still stood in the yard, now surrounded by the yammering dogs.

  * * * *

  “I’m sorry, Vickie,” Lydia said. “Jason wasn’t lying to you. The woman you saw must have been Nan Calder. She’s Mr. Stoneroad’s secretary. She’s not from around here.”

  “Neither am I,” Vickie told her. “I don’t care what name she’s using. I think I would recognize my own sister when I see her.”

  “We only saw her from a distance,” Sally chimed in.

  “Yes,” Vickie agreed. “But you did say she looked like me, didn’t you?”

  They’d found Lydia Brubaker having lunch at the diner after Sally had made several calls to trace her down. Vickie wasn’t happy about making it all public, but she liked Sally who’d told her she could trust Lydia. I’m not sure I can trust anyone. But, what else can I do? She studied the girl opposite them in the booth. Lydia Brubaker was about her age, a tall, pretty woman with her brown hair done up in a bun. Flawless complexion and make up so perfect Vickie couldn’t help envying her looks. Though it was a work day, Lydia seemed casually clad in a violet fisherman-style sweater and khaki pants.

  “Haincha workin’ today, Lydia?” Sally asked. “She’s usually dolled up like one of them fashion models,” she added in an aside to Vickie.

  “Office-bound today. Paperwork. Not meeting any clients.” Her gaze swung from Sally back to Vickie. “Don’t you girls want something? I hate eating in front of you.”

  “Hamburgers okay, Vic?” Sally asked, sliding out of the booth. “I’ll go get us some.”

  “The man who turned us away,” Vickie asked, oblivious to concerns about food. “Sally said he’s your boyfriend.”

  Lydia took a dainty bite of her sandwich before replying. “Jason. Yes. We’ve been seeing one another. I’m sure he came off seeming worse than he is.” She shrugged. “He’s—very obligated to his stepfather. I’m sure his only concern was protecting Mr. Stoneroad’s privacy.”

  “I had no intention of bothering Stoneroad. I just wanted to talk to my sister.” She felt a tear rolling down her cheek and brushed it away with one hand. “Do you think you could talk to your friend, make him understand why…”

  Lydia lay down the sandwich on her plate and picked up her coffee cup. Peering over the rim, she took a sip before lowering the cup. “Other than appearance, what makes you think Nan is your sister?”

  Vickie choked back a sigh. “I don’t know why she’s using that name. Or why she’s here. None of it makes sense.”

  “Why don’t you start at the beginning and tell me the whole story. You know my dad’s the police chief, right? If there’s something fishy going on, we can go and talk to him.”

  * * * *

  “Still no results?”

  “Doc says he’s been so tied up he hasn’t had a chance to get to it,” Brubaker said.

  “I could have him turn it over to the State Police,” Hetrick said. “I’m sure they could get a pathologist from their lab to do the autopsy.”

  Brubaker shook his head and raised a hand. “Doc promised he’ll get to it tonight—no matter what. I don’t wanna go intruding on his turf if we don’t have to. Besides, based on his preliminary, he said it looks like the guy might have died of a heart attack.”

  “Then it would be off your books.”

  “Right. I’m hopin’ that may be the case. Got enough going without adding a possible murder.”

  “Anything that makes you think it might have been something other than natural causes?”

  “Only the witness who said he saw somebody leaving the room right about the time the guy died. But that don’t necessarily mean anything. If he had a hooker with him don’t mean she killed him. She just might not have wanted to get involved.”

  “Could be,” Hetrick agreed. “We’ll still need to find her and talk to her, though.”

  * * * *

  Coming down the apartment stairs with a laundry basket balanced on her hip, Vickie nearly collided with a man coming out of another apartment. She staggered, almost dropping the basket.

  “Careful,” he said, grasping her shoulder to steady her. “Let me take that,” he added, reaching for the basket as she pulled away from him.

  “I don’t bite,” he told her with a broad smile. Nudging open his door with a shoulder, he reached inside and retrieved a cloth bag. “If you’re headed for the laundromat, we’re going the same way. It’s a couple blocks up the street. My car is right outside. I’ll give you a lift.”

  Vickie studied him. A handsome young man with close-shorn dark hair, flashing green eyes and a ruddy complexion, he wore jeans and a charcoal hoodie over a gray turtleneck. Against her better judgment, she decided to accept the offer. He didn’t look like a creep, he lived in the same building and—to be truthful—it had been some time since a man acted concerned about her. She grinned. “That’s nice of you.”

  He swung the sack over one shoulder, took the laundry basket from her and led the way outside. “That’s mine,” he said, nodding toward a silver Dodge Dart sitting at the curb. “Door’s open. Get in while I stow this stuff in the rear.”

  “Nice ride,” Vickie said as he got in the driver’s side.

  “I like it.” Extending a hand, he added, “Brent Taylor. You just move in?”

  “Vickie Walker. Actually I’m only staying with Sally Rickards until I can find my own place. I just got a job at the diner.”

  He gave her another of those smiles as he started the car. “Oh, then I’ll probably be seein’ a lot of you. I eat most of my meals at Lena’s. It’s only a short distance to the laundromat, but you better fasten your seat belt.”

  Buckling in, she asked, “And what do you do?”

  “I’m a police officer.”

  Oh, no. Not another cop.

  Chapter 10

  “I wanted her to come with me, daddy,” Lydia said. “You’ll look into it, won’t you?” she added in the slightly petulant tone which never failed to move Aaron Brubaker to do whatever his little girl asked. Lydia had come to his office right after lunch and her conversation with Vickie Walker. She didn’t often visit him here. When she did, it meant she wanted something from him.

  Aaron bent forward, desk chair creaking in protest of the shift in his weight. He leaned with his elbows on the desk and peered at Lydia who perched on a guest chair and gazed back at him, expectantly. “This new friend of yours, she thinks Stoneroad’s secretary is her sister?”

  “That’s what she said. Vickie says Nan Calder is actually Vanessa Walker, though she doesn’t know why her sister would be using a different name.”

  “But she’s sure it is her?”

  “Uh-huh. Vickie said her sister disappeared one night about two years ago and she’s been hunting for her ever since. She reported her missing but the co—police, never did anything.”

  Aaron scratched at his head. “That doesn’t sound right. Where did this happen?”

  “Cheltenham. I guess that’s, like, one of the suburbs of Philadelphia.”

  “And she did report the disappearance t
o the police?”

  “That’s what she told me.”

  “Was there any reason for her sister to disappear?”

  Lydia gave him a puzzled look. “Like what?”

  “Like was she having boyfriend trouble? Anyone threatening her? Debt? Gambling? Drugs? People don’t disappear without a reason.”

  “I don’t know, dad. That’s why I wanted Vickie to come and talk to you herself.”

  Aaron nodded. “That would have been the right course. What makes her think Nan is her sister?”

  “Vickie said she saw a story in a newspaper about Mr. Stoneroad moving here. There was a photo and Nan was standing next to him. Vickie said it wasn’t a real clear picture, but she thought the woman looked like Vanessa. That’s what prompted her to come here. She got Sally Rickard to take her out there today and now that she’s seen Nan she’s convinced…”

  “She hasn’t seen her sister for some time. It’s possible she only wants Nan to be her sister. But--”

  Lydia scowled. “She’s certain, daddy.”

  Aaron gave a pacifying nod. “Look, here’s what we’ll do. I’ll call Cheltenham and see what the police there can tell me. Meanwhile, you prevail on your friend to come in and talk to me. We’ll see where we go from there.”

  “Can’t you go out and talk to Mr. Stoneroad and Nan? Vickie is real worried about her sister.”

  “I’m kind of busy at the moment. I promise, I’ll do what I can as soon as I can. Talk to your friend. Get her to come in and talk to me. The more I know, the more I can do to help.”

  He wasn’t sure he’d satisfied Lydia until she rose, came around his desk and planted a kiss on his forehead. “You’re the best, daddy.”

  * * * *

  Aaron’s mood was decidedly soured later that afternoon when Sticks Hetrick stopped to see him on the way home.

  “I hope that expression has nothing to do with me dropping by your office,” he said.

  Aaron raised a deprecating hand. “Not unless you’re here to tell me Elmer Finkbine wants to see me again.” He drew a cigar from a shirt pocket and removed the cellophane. Despite the prohibition against smoking in public buildings he was tempted to light up. He needed a smoke.

  Hetrick perched on the edge of his desk and regarded him with a tight smile on his lips. “What’s the great man up to now?”

  “He called me over to his office earlier. I didn’t mind since I wanted to talk to him anyway. I wanted to see if I could get some money to upgrade vests for our people. You know, with what’s been happening elsewhere? Not that I think anybody’s gonna be taking pot-shots at police here—though we did have that incident up in the Poconos. But, aside from that, our vests are old, and I’m concerned for the safety of our troops.”

  “He didn’t want to hear it?”

  “Never even got that far. He had another reason for calling me in. I got orders to hire Jimmy.”

  Hetrick frowned. “As a police officer?”

  Despite his annoyance with his boss, the elder Finkbine, Brubaker grinned. “Look, you’re still focused on him as a troubled teen and a pot bust that got you in trouble with the old man. Jimmy’s not the same kid you remember. You know I wasn’t happy when his dad insisted on setting up the auxiliary police unit. Since then I’ve got to know him and Jimmy Finkbine has proven himself to me a dozen times over. He’s never said anything directly to me, but through Harry I found out the boy would like to be a real cop.”

  “So you think he got his dad to put the squeeze on you?”

  “No, no. I don’t think Jim had anything to do with this. He may have mentioned his hopes to his dad and Finkbine decided to impose his will. If we had the money in the budget, I’d hire Jimmy on the basis of what I know about the guy. What I don’t like is his old man comin’ down on me like the dictator he is.”

  Before either of them had a chance to comment further, they were interrupted by a call on Aaron’s phone. After answering, Aaron smiled. “Maybe this will improve my mood. Doc Furman’s here.”

  * * * *

  “So, the guy had a heart attack?” Brubaker asked.

  Dr. Furman grinned. “You sound disappointed, Aaron.”

  “No. I just thought you might have turned up something suspicious.”

  “The victim apparently had been smoking cannabis,” Furman said. “Flora found some spliffs in the room. I also found traces of a number of other drugs in his system—prescription medications for high blood pressure and diabetes along with some possible recreational drugs. It looks like what he smoked may have been one of those synthetic cannabinoid blends which have been linked to deaths. In this particular case, the mix may have raised his blood pressure or stimulated his heart rate to a dangerous level.”

  “He may have supplied himself with the weed,” Hetrick mused. “Then again, it might have been provided by his guest—in which case, there’s still something to investigate.”

  “Right,” Brubaker conceded. “Thanks for your help, Doc. Looks like my department still has some work to do.”

  “One other thing,” the doctor added. “I ran some tests on the spliffs. Like I said, they were enhanced with something else. Maybe PCP. I didn’t have enough for a conclusive result. You might want to have Harry check those Flora found. It might not be fatal for the average smoker. But the combination certainly wasn’t healthy for this guy.”

  * * * *

  “Can you describe him?” Flora asked.

  The bald little man in a white lab coat shifted his feet and jangled coins in his pocket, staring at the floor as he replied. “My attention was focused on the knife,” he said, his voice breaking with tension. “I’m sorry. I hate to admit it, but I was scared.”

  “No reason to be ashamed. You had every reason to be frightened, Mr. Seiler. But you must have looked at him at some point. Before he pulled the knife?”

  Seiler cast a glance at the elderly woman who sat on a bench being comforted by one of the pharmacy clerks. “I was busy filling Mrs. Daugherty’s prescription,” he said, gesturing at the woman. I guess he came in after her. Maybe she got a better look at him.”

  “No, sir,” Janice, the clerk, interrupted, coming over to where they stood. “I saw him come in. He wandered around in the aisles, then made his way back to you. Mrs. D. came down the other aisle and I guess got to you before him. Tell the truth, he did make me nervous the way he was skulking around.”

  “You might have warned me,” Seiler snapped.

  The clerk hung her head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think--”

  “That’s not important now,” Flora said. “Can you give me a description?”

  Janice focused on her. “He was kind of tall and skinny with red hair. I noticed that. He needed a haircut. And his eyes—he looked right at me once—they were, you know, evil.”

  Hearing footsteps behind them, Flora spun around.

  “Chief sent me down to see if you needed any help,” Brent Taylor said.

  Taylor had been at the station when she came in. She’d remarked on his cheerful appearance. Brent confided he’d met someone, but the call had interrupted any further conversation. She recalled that he lived in an apartment in this building.

  “Janice was giving me a description.” Flora turned back to the woman. “His eyes—can you be a little more specific. Like, color?”

  Janice shook her head. “I’m not sure. Maybe brown. They just seemed—you know, scary.”

  “Any scars, distinguishing marks?”

  “Not that I noticed.”

  “What about his clothes? What did he wear?”

  “A grimy baseball cap. I think it was a dark color. And a dirty denim jacket. One of those with the fleece lining. It wasn’t buttoned. I think he had a tee shirt underneath with some kind of design. I didn’t get a good look at it. And, black jeans. I remember that.”

  “So, you think you’d recognize him if you saw him again?”

  Janice nodded.

  “Had you ever seen him before? I mean, do yo
u think he might be a local?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t think I’d seen him in the store or around town before. But, you know, people are moving in and out all the time.”

  “Okay. You’ve been very helpful, Janice. Thank you. Brent, you wanna talk to Mrs. Daugherty? The woman over there. See if she can add anything.”

  While Taylor did as she asked, Flora asked the druggist for a list of items the thief had taken.

  “He was real nervous and in a hurry. I gave him what he asked for—a couple bottles of OxyContin and some Vicodin and the cash from the register. Might have been about eighty dollars in cash.”

  Flora knew armed pharmacy robberies were on the rise, fed by a growing demand for such narcotic painkillers. In the past, thieves usually sought to feed their own habit. More recently, it was for profit, the drugs selling on the street—depending on location—for anywhere from ten dollars to a hundred dollars per pill.

  “Do you think you’ll catch him, Flora?” Seiler asked.

  “We’ll do what we can, sir.” It seemed necessary to provide this assurance, though she knew with Swatara Creek being just off a major highway the thief probably wasn’t local and likely would be bound to a major city to dispose of the goods.

  “What’s goin’ on?” another voice intruded.

  Sally Rickards and Vickie, the new waitress at Lena’s, walked toward her. “There’s been a robbery,” Flora said. “You’ll have to come back. Store is closed until I’m done here.”

  “They live upstairs,” Brent Taylor said, returning to where they stood. Flora noted his goofy expression as he gazed at Vickie. So she’s the one put him in such a good mood.

  * * * *

  Lydia slapped a palm against the steering wheel. Tears burned in her eyes and she had to pull off the road or risk an accident. She brushed a hand across her eyes and fumbled in her purse for a tissue.