“Who the fuck does he think he is, talking to me like that?”
She took a deep breath, switched off the ignition, and searched her purse again for cigarettes. She withdrew a crumpled pack. It contained a single cigarette. Her hands shook as she lit it and inhaled a quick drag. The act made her cough and brought on a fresh rush of tears. “Shit!” Dabbing at her eyes again with the damp tissue, she cursed herself for being such a damned baby. She shut her eyes and took another pull on the cigarette.
The nicotine coursed through her bloodstream but failed to have the desired effect. She held a hand out before her and saw the fingers tremble. Her eyes burned with the smoke in the car and Lydia sneezed. She rolled down a window, stared out at the dark road ahead, her mind entering into a fugue as she reviewed the words that had passed between her and Jason.
A figure loomed up before her.
“Lydia.”
The voice startled her, jarring her mind back to the present. She glanced out the window and saw Clay Stoneroad stooped over, gazing back at her. “I thought it was your car,” he said. “Is something wrong?”
“Mr. Stoneroad. What are you doing here?”
“I was out for a walk. I came out on the road down there and spied your car. Are you all right?”
“Not really,” she said, heaving a sigh.
“Is there anything I can do?”
She gave him a weak smile. “No. I don’t think so. I’m just behaving like an idiot.”
He gave her a puzzled look.
“I had a fight with Jason,” she explained.
“Ah,” he replied as though that explained everything. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“No. I don’t want to take up your time. I’ll be all right. I just needed some time to sort things out. I’m okay.”
Without asking permission, Stoneroad came around and got in the passenger side. “I know the boy better than most,” he said. “He can be an ass. Why don’t you tell me what happened? You’ll feel better getting it off your chest.”
“It’s not that important. Really. I don’t…”
“I insist,” he said, the fingers of his hand brushing across her cheek. “Believe me, you’ll feel better if you talk about it rather than keeping it bottled up inside. Now, come on, tell me what happened.”
Her cigarette had burned down to the filter. She tossed the butt out on the road. “Do you have any cigarettes?”
“Sorry. I only smoke the pipe.”
His hand had come to rest on her shoulder. Lydia gazed at it. She felt the warm pressure of his fingers through the thin fabric of her blouse. She wanted to ask him to remove his hand but didn’t want to insult him by making him think she resented the contact.
“You can trust me,” he whispered.
Somehow, Lydia thought she did.
Chapter 11
Israel Flint, publisher, editor and all things else of the Herald, Swatara Creek’s weekly paper, sighed and ran a hand over his nearly bald pate. He’d spent the last half hour sorting through a selection of photos and still couldn’t make a decision. Though digital cameras made things easier, photography still wasn’t his forte.
He stepped away from the desk.
Maybe I need a drink.
He started back toward the drinks machine in the rear hall, his mind on a Pepsi. The sound of the office door opening interrupted him on his goal. Damn. It was late. He’d forgotten to lock the door and put the closed sign in the window.
“Hello,” a feminine voice called. “Is there anyone here?”
Flint had turned off the lights in the front of the building and neither he or the intruder could see one another until he stepped into the pool of light at his desk. “Back here. Sorry. I forgot to put up the closed sign. If you want to place an ad or something, you’ll have to come back in the morning.”
High heels clicked over the floorboards and a woman stepped into view. “Mr. Flint? I’m not here about an ad.”
A portly woman with shoulder-length blonde hair, she wore a gray pant suit with a red blouse. She extended a hand with scarlet-painted nails as she approached. “Diana Wozniak, Star-Gazette. How are you?”
Izzy gave her hand a brief shake. Star-Gazette, a Philly tabloid.
What the hell does she want here?
“How can I help you, Miss Wozniak?”
She smiled, and Izzy noticed her hair was shot with gray. Older than he’d thought at first glance.
“You’re familiar with my work then?”
“I-uh-I’ve heard of your paper.”
She gave him a sour look, apparently disappointed he didn’t know her by name. “We saw your story on Clay Stoneroad. Nice work.”
No one other than Izzy Flint had been more surprised when the writer agreed to a short interview after he and his family moved to Swatara Creek. The wire services, not having been successful in their own efforts to get access to Stoneroad, had picked up the story. Stoneroad hadn’t been happy about that, though Izzy was relieved the man hadn’t blamed him.
“Thanks. You haven’t answered my question.”
“I’m doing a piece on Stoneroad. I’m hoping you can help me get an opportunity to talk to him.”
Izzy chuckled. “Sorry. The man does value his privacy. I was fortunate in--”
Wozniak laid a hand on his wrist. “Oh, I think he’ll agree to talk to me if you give him a message.”
“A message?”
She grinned. “Uh-huh. I have evidence for a story that will knock your socks off. I don’t think Stoneroad will want me to run my story without having a chance to buy me off.”
* * * *
Nan Calder seemed more amused than annoyed as she handed back the snapshot Aaron Brubaker had got from Vickie Walker. “I guess I should be flattered someone thinks I look like her,” Nan said. “She’s much prettier than me.” She cocked her head and grinned, flicking back a lock of hair that had fallen across her forehead with fingers devoid of any sign of paint or special care. Hers were the hands of a woman not afraid to get them dirty or nicked with work.
Aaron thought the woman seated across the desk from him was pretty—even though he agreed she had only a cursory resemblance to the one in the photo. She’d responded without delay to his request to come in and talk to him about Vickie’s claim.
“I appreciate your coming in,” he’d told her as she removed her parka and took a seat before him.
“No problem. I had errands in town anyway.” She combed fingers through her hair and peered at him with intelligent brown eyes. “Jason told me this girl thinks I’m her sister. Obviously, she’s mistaken. I can show you identification if you’d like.”
Aaron nodded. “The woman in question is about your age. She went missing several years ago and there’s been no trace of her since. Naturally, the sister is distraught. When she saw you, she jumped to a conclusion. I agree, there’s a superficial resemblance between you and the woman in the photo. But, seeing you up close, I think she’s mistaken.”
“I understand it must be awful for her, not knowing all this time what’s happened to her sister. I wish I could help.”
“You can if you’re willing.”
Nan tilted her head. “How’s that?”
“Would you be willing to meet her? Let her see you up close? It might set her mind at ease and prevent any further episodes like the one out at the farm.”
“Well…” She hesitated. “I suppose I could do it. Where would I meet her?”
Aaron stood, reaching for his cap and jacket on the clothes tree behind him. “We could go now, if that’ll fit your schedule. She’s a waitress at the diner down the street.”
* * * *
“Have I done something wrong, Vanessa?” Vickie asked in a quivering voice. She stretched her arms across the booth and gripped Nan’s hands in hers. “Why won’t you tell the truth?”
Nan gave Brubaker a pleading look. “I’m sorry, but you’re mistaken,” she told Vickie. “I’m not who you think I am. What can
I do to prove it?”
Vickie released her grip on the other woman’s hands, flung herself back in the booth and gave a raspy exhalation. “Why are you doing this? I know some time has passed. But did you honestly think I wouldn’t recognize you? Seeing that picture in the paper was the first glimmer of hope I’ve had in two years. Admit it, Vanessa. I know you.”
Nan shook her head. “I’m sorry. I know this must be hard on you and you’re grasping at straws. I thought seeing me in person you’d realize I’m not your sister. That photo in the paper—it was so fuzzy I don’t understand how you could even see any resemblance.”
Vickie gave a moan and slapped a hand on the table between them. “Don’t do this to me! I can’t stand it.”
Her shout brought stares from other waitresses and the few customers in the restaurant. Lena Stroble waddled over from behind the counter and laid a hand on Vickie’s shoulder. “There, there, dear,” she said, handing the girl a handkerchief. “Everything’s going to be all right. You have friends to lean on now.”
Vickie took the handkerchief, dabbed at her eyes, and blew her nose. “I just want the truth,” she mumbled.
Tears shining in her own eyes, Nan Calder stared at Brubaker. “I want to help. What else can I do?”
Aaron went around from his seat next to Nan and slid in beside Vickie. He placed a fatherly arm around her shoulders. “Vickie, does Vanessa have any scars or other identifying marks on her body? If Nan would be willing…” He glanced at her.
“Of course I’m willing. I’ll do whatever it takes to prove I’m not Vanessa.”
Vickie looked from one to the other. “You’d do that?” she asked Nan.
“Yes. Anything.”
Vickie gazed at Aaron. “Vanessa has a strawberry birthmark on her left breast. It isn’t very big, but it always embarrassed her.” She glanced at Nan.
“I don’t have one. Where can I show her?”
“Back here. In my office,” Lena gestured for them to follow her.
Brubaker moved so Vickie could get out and go with Nan and Lena. He waved to Sally. “Can I get another cup of coffee?”
* * * *
In Lena’s small office, Nan shucked her parka and tossed it onto the desk chair. Quickly, she unbuttoned her blouse, threw it aside, unhooked her bra and turned to face Vickie. Cupping her small breasts in her hands, she displayed them to both witnesses. “See. No birthmarks.”
The flesh above the pink aureoles was clear, smooth, and white.
“Does that satisfy you, Vickie?” Lena asked.
“You could have had a surgeon remove it.”
“Oh, for Christ sake!” Nan snapped. “What do you want from me?”
Vickie began to sob. Lena threw an arm around her shoulders. “She just needs some time to take it all in,” she said. “I’m sure when she has time to think it over--"
Nan didn’t wait for more. She dressed and strode out to where Brubaker sat drinking his coffee. “Let’s go back to your office, Chief. Fingerprint me or whatever else you can do to prove once and for all I am not Vanessa Walker.”
* * * *
Vickie wiped down a table and set it up with silverware and napkins in readiness for fresh customers. Several hours had passed since her confrontation with Nan Calder. Vickie had calmed down, though she still wouldn’t concede Nan wasn’t her sister. She still thought it possible Vanessa had her birthmark removed despite Sally’s and Lena’s questioning why she would go to such lengths. Vickie had no ready answer for them. She wasn’t ready to accept defeat. Nan had to be Vanessa—even if it made no sense why her sister would want to conceal her identity.
Only a few customers lingered after the noon rush and there was little for the wait staff to do in the interim. Vickie could have joined the majority who were enjoying a break off their feet, grabbing a bite to eat or a cup of coffee while they shared the latest gossip. A quick glance to where Sally sat with Lena and another girl convinced Vickie she was the topic of conversation in that booth. Sally motioned for her to join them, but Vickie turned away, walking back the aisle to sit by herself at the last booth.
She’d just sat down and was toying with the condiment rack, wiping the lids of the salt and pepper and cleaning the cap on the catsup, when the door opened and she heard footsteps coming down the aisle. Vickie looked up and saw the policewoman stopped by the booth, conversing with Lena. The officer glanced in her direction and came on.
“Vickie, may I join you?”
“Officer Vastine, isn’t it? Can I get you something?”
“No. I’d just like a word with you.” She sat down across from Vickie and smiled. “We don’t have to be formal. You can call me Flora.”
“What do you want to talk about?” Vickie supposed Chief Brubaker had sent Flora to try and convince her she was wrong about Vanessa.
“When did you get into town?”
The question caught her off guard. “Uh-I guess it was day before yesterday. Why?”
“And how did you get to town?”
“Whadya mean? Why does it matter?”
“I have a reason for asking.”
“I’m sure you do, but I don’t know why it should matter.”
“I understand you came here because you thought you might find your sister.”
“Is that a crime?”
“Of course not. I’m sure you love her very much and you’ve been worried about what might have happened to her. My question has nothing to do with that. I’m only asking how you got to town.”
Vickie glared at her and hissed a sharp exhalation. “I hitchhiked, if you must know. Why is it so important?”
“Your ride—did he bring you all the way into town?”
Vickie hesitated, her gaze darting from Flora to Lena and Sally who stared back at her.
“You walked in from the highway, didn’t you?”
“So? What difference does it make? My ride wasn’t coming into town. It wasn’t so far. I’ve walked further.”
“Of course. You’re not in trouble. I’m asking these questions in the hope you might help me out with a case I’m working. Would you do that?”
“How can I help? What would I know that has anything to do with your case?”
“What time was it when you got to town?”
Vickie shrugged. “I don’t remember. It was night, but the moon was bright. The only time I got a little scared was passing that bar out the road. You know, because you can never be sure how drunks will act when they see a woman alone. But there was no one outside and I didn’t have any trouble.”
“Good. When you were walking in, did you see anyone else? Anywhere along the road?”
“No. Why?”
“The night you arrived a man died out at the motel on the highway. A witness saw someone leave. That would have been around 10 or shortly thereafter. Would that have been near the time you were walking in?”
Vickie shrugged again. ‘I’m not sure," she said, a quiver in her voice. “It might have been.”
“So when you got into town, what did you do? I mean, the stores and everything were closed. You didn’t talk to Lena until the next morning. Where did you go? How did you pass the night?”
“The pizza place. It was open. I went in and had a slice and a drink, sat around until they closed. Then I walked around a while. I didn’t know if there were any hotels in town and didn’t have much money anyway. So I just walked. I ended up in the park down the street. I found a bench and curled up. It was cold, and I didn’t get much sleep. When I went to the diner in the morning for breakfast I saw Lena’s sign. I went in and talked to her and she hired me. Anything else you need to know, Flora? If not, I have work to do.”
Flora smiled. “Okay. Thanks for talking to me. Harry or me might want to talk to you again. Would that be all right?”
“Sure. I have nothing to hide.”
Vickie slid out of the booth and headed back to the kitchen. She felt Flora’s gaze on her, but she didn’t look back.
&nb
sp; Chapter 12
Sally was driving Lena home and had explained she did so most nights. They’d asked Vickie to accompany them, but she’d declined. Sally had given her the apartment keys and said she wouldn’t be long. Vickie didn’t mind. She wasn’t in the mood to have more questions thrown at her.
The streets of town were near deserted, though well lighted and Vickie had no fear of walking the couple of blocks between the restaurant and the apartment building.
It was cold, and she drew her parka closer around her. The audible hiss of traffic out on the highway, the rumble of a freight down on the flat and the honk of a horn from a car passing on the street were the only sounds save for the shuffle of her sneakers through fallen leaves on the sidewalk. She passed a group of teenagers, a mix of boys and girls, at the intersection. Except for one lanky lout who nudged a companion and whistled, they paid her no mind.
Vickie was tired after a full day of work and she heaved a sigh of relief as she reached the building. She longed to get off her feet and hoped for some time to think before Sally returned. She inserted the key, unlocked the security door, and entered the downstairs hallway.
Based on Flora’s questions she knew Tim’s body had been discovered. She hadn’t known anyone saw her leaving the motel. Fortunately, the witness hadn’t provided a good enough description, or the questioning would have been worse. What am I going to do? I can’t leave until I have more time to see why Vanessa is pretending not to know me. But if I stay…
She started up the stairs, mulling these questions, when a voice startled her.
“Hey.”
Vickie spun around.
The other cop. In uniform this time, one hand clutching a handful of mail.
Brent Taylor jogged up the stairs to join her. “How’d the day go?”
“Where’d you come from?”
In Silence Sealed Page 7
