by Judy Clemens
I sat down, rubbing my arms against the chill of the air conditioner. “It’s about Lenny.”
His face emptied to a blank, listening expression. “Okay. Start talking.”
So I did. I told him about Kristi, The Skull, and the explosion twenty years before. I expressed my anger and frustration with Lenny, along with my fear that something would happen to him now they’d gotten Bart by mistake. And I gave him the stack of news clippings from Lenny’s bedside table. I didn’t stop until I’d told him everything I knew, down to the last detail.
Willard sat quietly, shuffling through the articles, shaking his head. “So he was going to tell me himself?”
“I think so. But then things started happening. Someone tried to be The Barn, Lenny saw his daughter, and Bart was assaulted. I can’t even find Lenny today, although I know he was up to see Bart. I’m not sure if he’s scared or just avoiding me.”
“Probably both. But there’s not much I can do if he’s not in any of his usual haunts. We’ll just have to hope he comes to see me before he gets into trouble. Again.” He patted the papers into a pile and set them in the middle of his desk. “Now, on another subject, is your farmhand home? I was thinking of coming by, talking to her about the graffiti.”
“She’s there. At least she was when I left.”
“Care if I follow you home?”
I sighed, exhausted. “You might as well. Something else is bound to happen that I’ll need you for.”
He almost smiled at that.
***
The Grangers and Peter Reinford’s crew were packing up when we arrived. The rain would make cleanup messy and dangerous. Ma and her kitchen ladies had already cleared out, leaving, I was sure, plenty of leftovers in the fridge. I hopped down from the truck and walked over to where Jermaine was suiting up for his bike.
“You be okay in the rain?”
“You’re kidding, right? I’ve ridden through tidal waves on this thing.”
“Just checking. You know I’ll run you home if you want.”
“And leave my bike? No thanks. Even if it doesn’t get destroyed by a tornado it might make friends with your new Beast. Don’t want to chance that.”
I rolled my eyes. “Thanks for your work today.”
“No problem.” He swung his leg over his bike and started turning switches. “By the way, I moved your ugly bike into the tractor barn. Figured it didn’t need any more rust.”
I thanked him and walked over to Jethro’s Chevy Dually where he stood in the bed, shutting a large, attached toolbox. Belle was bent over beside the passenger door, brushing dirt off her clothes.
“Thanks, guys,” I said.
“Hey, we’re here for you.” Jethro walked toward the lowered tailgate and somehow got down without flattening a tire.
I looked around the farm and was dismayed not to find Lenny’s bike. I hadn’t realized how much I’d been hoping to find him there, safe. A headache that had been threatening since morning suddenly began pulsing behind my temple.
Belle put a hand on my arm. “You okay?”
“Sure. Yeah. Thanks again.”
Willard walked over, his umbrella opened over his head.
“Mr. and Mrs. Granger. Nice to see you.”
Jethro put out his hand. “Detective. How’s that boy of yours?”
“Doing great. And yours?”
“Can’t complain, can’t complain.”
They smiled at each other, bonded in the knowledge that their sons had survived the previous month’s epidemic.
“Here to check out the destruction?” Jethro asked.
“Some of it.”
“Well, you take care of our girl, here.”
Willard laughed. “You think she needs watching over?”
Jethro glanced over and caught me pushing on my temple, trying to ease the throbbing. “Sometimes I wonder.”
Belle patted my arm and climbed into the truck while Jethro headed around to the driver’s side. Before climbing up to the seat, he took a moment to look around at my destroyed garage. He opened his mouth to say something, but ended up shaking his head and getting into his truck. He and Belle were the last to leave.
But not the last to arrive.
A familiar Chevy pulled into the lane, and my spirits sank even lower, if that was possible. Anita Powell, from Children and Youth, got out of the car and opened an umbrella.
“What now?” I said.
She stared at the destruction on my property, her mouth agape. The rain dripped in rivulets off her now off-center umbrella, splashing onto her shoes. Willard eased his umbrella over my head.
“I…I got a call about the garage,” Anita said. “They told me it had been damaged by the tornado, but I had no idea….” Her voice trailed off.
“So what did they tell you? That Lucy and Tess were in the apartment when it went?”
She shook her head. “No. They knew no one was hurt. They’re concerned Lucy and her daughter now have no place to live.” Her glance went to Willard.
“Detective Willard,” I said. To Willard, I said, “And this is the lady from Children and Youth I told you about.”
Anita looked puzzled. “Why are you here, Detective?”
“We’re not on the same mission, I assure you.”
I wasn’t sure she believed him.
The screen door to the house slapped open, and Lucy barreled down the stairs, oblivious to the rain.
“What?” she said. Her voice was the loudest I’d heard it since she moved in. “What now? I’m not feeding her right? Her homework isn’t getting done?”
Anita’s eyes widened and she gestured toward what used to be Lucy and Tess’ home. “You don’t think that deserves a little consideration?”
Lucy’s combative stance only heightened. “We’re obviously okay.”
“You are, anyway.”
Lucy’s eyes snapped with fire. “Fine. You want proof? Tess!” She shrieked the name toward the house, and I flinched. Willard stared at Lucy, surprise coloring his face.
“Tess!” Lucy yelled again. “Come out here!”
Tess soon appeared at the screen door, her face frightened.
“Come here, honey,” Lucy said, her tone softening. “Ms. Powell needs to see that you’re whole and undamaged.”
Tess eased the door open and peeked around. She stepped out, then back in quickly when raindrops splattered off the awning onto her head.
“Hi, Tess,” Anita said.
Tess peered at her from behind the screen.
“Good enough?” Rain ran down Lucy’s face from underneath her hair, but she didn’t move to wipe it away.
Anita tightened her grip on her umbrella. “But what about a home? A place to live?”
“I’d think my house would stand up to your requirements,” I said. “It’s been good enough for me my whole life.”
Anita blinked. “They’re living with you?”
I could feel Willard’s gaze on me.
“Where else?” I said. “They moved in an hour or two after the tornado.”
“And we each have our own bedroom,” Lucy said, her voice filled with fake sweetness. “That should make you happy.”
Ignoring her tone, Anita asked, “Is this a long-term situation?”
My breath caught, but I managed to say, “Until we have the apartment rebuilt. They’ll stay with me as long as they need to.”
“Good enough?” Lucy asked.
Anita looked like she was debating whether or not to demand a tour of the house. I crossed my arms and hoped she understood how unnecessary that would be.
Her shoulders finally relaxed and a ghost of a grin lit her face. “So my caller will have to deal with yet another rejection.”
“And you still won’t tell Lucy who it is?” I asked.
Lucy snorted. “She doesn’t need to.”
Anita looked interested in that. So did Willard. I knew what she was
going to say.
“There aren’t a whole lot of people who doubt me that much. People who care about Tess, that is. The general tabloid-focused public doesn’t count.”
“So who do you think it is?” Anita asked.
“Who else? It’s got to be my in-laws.”
Anita didn’t disagree.
“So she’s right?” I asked.
Anita shrugged. “I’ve already told you I’m not at liberty to say. But…let me just acknowledge that if Mrs. Lapp looks closely at the people in her life she most likely will come up with the right candidates for the referent. Now, I think I’m done here. And you, Mrs. Lapp, need to get inside.”
Lucy’s shirt—a new one from a quick trip to Kohl’s—had soaked through, and it sagged dispiritedly across her shoulders. Her hair hung in wet clumps, fringing her pale face.
Willard and I followed Lucy into the house and sat in the kitchen while she went upstairs to change. Tess lounged in front of the TV, watching “Zoom.” She looked tired, like the previous night’s bad dreams were catching up with her.
“No sign of Mr. Spruce, I take it?” Willard asked me.
I glanced at the phone. “No messages, so either he’s incommunicado or Lucy got the call. And no sign of his bike.”
Willard’s concerned expression did nothing to ease my own anxiety.
Lucy soon came down the stairs and leaned down by the sofa, ruffling Tess’ hair and talking to her quietly. After kissing her daughter’s head, Lucy joined us where we’d settled at the kitchen table. She met Willard’s eyes. “Are you here to talk with me?”
“First,” I said, “did you hear from Lenny?”
She shook her head, her eyes wide. “I thought you were with him this afternoon.”
“Couldn’t find him.”
She gripped her hands together so tightly the knuckles went white. “What if something’s happened to him? What if they got him, too?”
Willard’s nostrils flared. “So you know all about his troubles, and the people involved?”
She glanced at me. “Just that Lenny used to be in a gang, and he thinks some outlaw bikers are after him. Why?”
Willard shook his head briefly. “I wish Mr. Spruce would’ve told me some of these things.” He blew his hair off his forehead. “Anyway, on another subject, I have a few questions about the graffiti.”
The concern on Lucy’s face didn’t change, but she focused on Willard.
“We were unable to get anything off the blanket, forensically,” Willard said, “but is there any chance you recognize it?” He’d carried a familiar-looking garbage bag into the house, and now he reached into it and pulled out the ratty brown blanket I’d last seen subduing Queenie.
Lucy shook her head. “Looks like any old blanket.”
“Yes,” Willard said, “unfortunately, it does. Now, for a few more questions about who you think might be behind it.”
“Your in-laws?” I said.
Lucy bit her lip. “I really can’t imagine them going to such lengths, but I guess it would fit.”
“Fit what?” Willard asked.
Lucy leaned forward. “How well do you know Mennonites?”
Willard smiled. “I think pretty well. Why?”
“Mennonites—well, other than people like Ma Granger and her brood—are not good at confrontation. It’s much more common to keep everything inside or to talk to everyone but the person you have an issue with. Like my in-laws. Everyone knows they’ve tried to take Tess away from me. Obviously, they’re still trying. My in-laws think I killed their golden boy, Brad. But guess what? We’ve never talked about it, in all the two and a half years since his accident. Not once. Everything I’ve heard has been through lawyers or newspapers. Or an occasional friend. But when I’m with my in-laws, it’s like nothing has come between us. We all miss Brad, so we have that in common, and we all love Tess. But that’s it.”
“They’ve never actually confronted you about trying to gain custody of Tess?” I asked.
“Nope.”
“And you’ve never talked to them about Brad’s death?”
“They don’t want to hear what I have to say. They’d rather pretend to my face that Brad is just gone. That there’s no controversy about it.”
“So as far as the graffiti?” Willard asked. “You say that fits somehow?”
Lucy nodded. “Sure. Yet another way to cast doubt on me without having to do it face to face.”
“So you think they’re behind it?” I wished I’d gotten a better look at the vandals. There was no way I’d recognize them again.
Lucy shrugged. “I’d hate to think who else it might be. I mean, no one else has any reason to say those things about me.”
“Noah?” I asked.
Willard perked up. “Who’s that?”
“A guy I dated briefly,” Lucy said dismissively.
“Noah Delp,” I said. “He’s shown up at the farm. Twice. And he’s an MYF sponsor at Yoder Mennonite.”
Lucy’s head snapped toward me. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“I told you the vandals weren’t big. What if they were teenagers?”
Willard looked interested. “Their motive?”
“Exactly my question,” Lucy said.
“Loyalty to Noah. You said you dated him pretty recently and broke up with him a couple months ago. And now you moved away completely.”
“So?”
“So what if the kids saw how much it hurt him, and they want to get you back? What if he went home after seeing you here, and somehow they found out you banished him from the farm?”
Lucy stared at me. “You really think that’s possible?”
“Teenagers are the obvious people for graffiti,” Willard said. “It’s not something adults usually do.” He scribbled in his notebook. “I’ll check it out.”
Lucy’s hands were back to their kneading. “Do you have to? Can I try?”
Willard put his pen in his pocket. “It’s a criminal mischief charge if they did it.”
“What would that mean for them?”
He shrugged. “Depends. Some kind of restitution.”
“Jail?”
“Not necessarily. Especially if you don’t press charges.”
Lucy looked at me.
“I’m up for our own restitution,” I said.
Willard groaned. “Ms. Crown—”
“Nothing criminal, I assure you.”
Willard studied the tabletop for a long moment. “If that’s the way you want to work it, I can’t do anything about it. But I’ve got your report from the other night, and I’ll keep this blanket.”
Lucy’s expression relaxed a little.
“Great,” I said. “We’ll be in touch.”
He met my eyes gravely, then stood and walked over to the door. I followed.
“I appreciate your work,” I said. “Thanks for coming over.”
He pursed his lips, looking me in the eye again. “I’m serious about being careful. Don’t do anything…well, anything dumb.” He picked up the umbrella he’d left in the entryway and held it over his head as he walked to his car.
I closed the door and turned to Lucy, who still sat at the table, her back stiff.
“So,” I said. “Let’s go after these folks. Your in-laws, the MYFers. You Mennonites may not like confrontation, but it works for me. Let’s put the fear of God into all of them. They deserve it.”
Lucy smiled coldly. “They do. But that’s not the way I handle things.”
“Fine. What do you want to do?”
She hesitated. “You know that family fun fest I’ve been considering?”
I leaned back against the counter, my headache still hammering away. “Yeah. What about it?”
“I’d like to have a trial run. Saturday work for you?”
I glanced at the calendar. “That’s the day after tomorrow. Doesn’t give us long.”
; “I can pull it together.”
I shrugged. “Okay. But what exactly is that going to accomplish?”
“I’ll invite them all here. They’ll have a great time.”
I stared at her. “Now you’ve completely lost me.”
She smiled, more frigidly than before. “I’m going to do this the Mennonite way. I’m going to kill them with kindness.”
Chapter Thirty-six
The night passed slowly. As soon as I’d start to drift off, I’d have nightmares about Lenny in the hands of the enemy. They got him. Or were chasing him. Or he was hiding out. It made me furious that I had no way of knowing where he’d gone. No way to help him.
When dawn finally crept up the horizon, I gave up on the sleep idea and got out of bed. A hot shower did its best to wake me, but I couldn’t honestly say it did much. At least I’d start the day out clean.
I waited until I was done milking to call the police. Willard wasn’t in, but the cop who answered the phone said there hadn’t been any calls about Lenny during the night. I thanked him and hung up, both relieved and worried. Calls to Lenny’s house and the Barn were just as unproductive.
“No news about Lenny?” Lucy stood in the office doorway, her eyes blackened from lack of sleep. The past week had kept our nights busy, and I was sure Lucy had been dreaming, like I had.
“Nothing. And I’ve run out of ideas.”
She stared out the window, hugging her arms around herself. “I wish I’d have some for you.”
“Until we get some, you need to work on your plans for tomorrow. How can I help?”
“I made a bunch of calls last night. We should have a good group here tomorrow. So now we need to set up.”
We spent the next hour lugging bales of straw to the back yard. Well, she lugged them to the Bobcat and I used it to dump them in a pile. Lucy arranged them in a circle around what would be a campfire. Even though the days were hot enough to roast marshmallows without a fire, the evenings cooled off enough we could enjoy it. We found kindling and firewood and Lucy placed them within a circle of cement blocks. Finally, she clapped her hands together and brushed bark and dust off her pants.
“Now what?” I asked.
“Now I head to Landis’ Supermarket for party supplies.”
I grimaced.