“Oh, great,” Lydia said. “Now I know we have to get out of here. That guy’s one of the auxiliary cops. If he tells my old man he saw me here I’m toast.”
“Drunk as he is he probably won’t remember where he was by tomorrow,” Jason told her. He glanced at his watch. “It’s early yet. What say we have another beer before we leave?”
Lydia sighed. “Against my better judgment.” She opened her purse and handed him some money under the table. “Only because I like being with you, too—no matter where.”
He grinned and took the money. “Feeling’s mutual, my lovely.”
She watched him wend his way between tables, heading for the bar. Vinnie kept the lights low in this back part of the establishment, which provided some security for those who didn’t want to be noticed. And that covered a good part of the clientele, she mused. Glancing around, Lydia realized—unlike the serious drinkers up front—those back here included couples cheating on their spouses as well as some who sought out the dark because they were dealing or buying dope. She was in exactly the part of the bar her dad would object to most.
Someone put money in the juke box. Frankie Ballard’s "Sunshine and Whiskey" blared across the room. Oh, great, Lydia thought. Shit-stomper music. Just what I need. Country music wasn’t her thing.
Jason came back with the beer. He put a bottle down in front of her and said something she didn’t hear over the music. “What?” she asked, leaning toward him.
“I said, we even have entertainment now,” he told her with his mouth close to her ear. She smelled the beer on his breath along with the more pleasant scent of his aftershave. He drew his chair around closer to her and Lydia felt his fingers, cool from the bottles, against her knee.
“It’s so damned loud we won’t even be able to talk.”
“That’s okay. I’m just happy to be with you.” Lydia felt his fingers slide under her skirt and a wave of heat enveloped her.
Later, nestled close together in the front seat of his Cherokee, Lydia didn’t resist as they kissed and he drew her hand down on his erection. She squeezed it through the cloth of his jeans and darted her tongue between his lips. Heat swept over her and she closed her eyes as Jason unbuttoned her blouse. She only objected when he attempted to remove her bra.
Her hands on his shoulders, Lydia drew away from him.
“What’s wrong?”
Lydia opened her purse and fumbled for her cigarettes. It was only after she’d lit one with trembling hands and inhaled a lungful of smoke she was able to answer. “I want you to make love to me, but we aren’t kids anymore.”
She saw his eyes flash a reflection of the parking lot lights. “Whadya mean?”
“I mean I’m not gonna do it with you in the backseat of a car like some high school slut.”
Jason laughed. “Okay. But neither of us has a place we can go.”
Lydia ran the tips of her fingers across his cheek. “I’m sorry. I just can’t do it this way.”
Silhouetted against the driver’s window, she saw him shrug. “We could go to a motel, I guess.”
Where I’ll pay again. The taste of his lips, the pleasant touch of his hands on her flesh. Lydia tingled with desire. “You do have condoms, right?”
* * * *
Helen Brubaker stood at the stove, stirring a pot of oatmeal, when Lydia came in the kitchen the next morning. An arm around her mother’s shoulders, Lydia leaned close and kissed her on the cheek.
“Well,” Helen said with a smile, “It’s been some time since I warranted this kind of a good morning. Somebody must be in a good mood.”
Lydia returned the smile. “I just realized I don’t tell you and Dad often enough how much I appreciate all you’ve done for me.”
Helen hugged her daughter. “The fact you do realize it is payment enough.” She patted Lydia on the rear. “Now be a good girl and set the table. Your Dad should be out of the shower and this oatmeal is ready.”
Lydia opened the cupboard and drew out a couple bowls. “I have an early call. I think I’ll just have a glass of juice before I run.”
“A good breakfast…”
“I know, I know,” Lydia said with a chuckle. “I’ve heard it a thousand times. If it’ll make you happy, I’ll at least have a piece of toast.”
As she finished setting the table, Lydia turned back to her mother. “Mom, I know I haven’t given a shit about it since grade school, but do you think it’s too late for me to have some cooking lessons?
Helen gave her a shocked look. “What brought this on?”
“I—well, you know that slow-cooked brisket you make…”
Helen grinned. “Lydia Brubaker, do I sense a man in this sudden interest in culinary skills?”
Lydia flushed. “I—yeah. I met this guy. I’ve, uh, been seeing a lot of him lately. I—do you think we might have him over for dinner one night?”
“Of course,” Helen said, embracing her daughter. “That’s wonderful, honey. Do we know this guy?”
“What guy is this?” Aaron Brubaker asked, coming into the kitchen, surprised to see his women with their arms wrapped round one another—something he hadn’t seen in a while.
Chapter 3
A pack of dogs, snapping and growling, swirled round the cruiser as Aaron Brubaker pulled into the courtyard in front of the farmhouse. Brubaker drew his leg in and slammed the door, leaning on the car horn at the same time.
A young man came out on the porch, gazed in his direction, and came down the stairs into the yard. A good-looking fellow, save for the shaggy bleach-blond hair falling over his ears, he wore a fleece-lined flannel shirt over a gray Henley. The young man yelled and waved the dogs off. Brubaker rolled down the window. The dogs had quieted but still trotted around the car, snarling and showing no sign of docility.
“Something I can do for you, officer?” he asked, leaning with one hand on the cruiser’s hood.
“You’re not Stoneroad?”
The youth laughed. “No, thank God.”
“I need to see him.”
“You have an appointment?”
“No.”
The young man shook his head. “I can’t disturb him, then.”
“This is a police matter. It’s not a request.”
The youth raised his hands and guffawed. “Whoa, never expected the old man to be in trouble with the law.”
“Mr. Stoneroad is your father?”
“Step-father.” He extended a hand. “I’m Jason. Jason Russell.”
They shook. “Aaron Brubaker. I’m chief, Swatara Creek Police.”
Russell bent and studied him, a smile dimpling his cheeks. “You’re Lydia’s father.”
“You know my daughter?”
“Yes, sir. We’re—good friends.”
Aaron didn’t recognize the name. Lydia had lots of friends. And she had handled the sale of this place. That’s probably when she met this fellow. “Good to meet you, Jason. Now, will you take me to Mr. Stoneroad?”
“Yes, sir. I’ll be glad to. I’m sure he’ll be happy to meet Lydia’s father. He was very pleased with her professionalism. She showed us the property and did all the stuff for the sale. Well, I’m sure you know all about that. Come on. I’ll show you to Clay’s office.”
Aaron hesitated, peering at the dogs which had quieted down and lay on the grass around the cruiser.
“Oh, don’t worry about them,” Jason said, noting the reason for his delay. “Their bark is worse than their bite.”
“I’d rather not find that out.”
“Don’t worry. They won’t bother you so long as you’re with me.”
Brubaker was still a bit leery. But he took the young man at his word and stepped out of the cruiser. One of the dogs rose and sniffed his pant leg. The others ignored him as he followed Jason into the house.
They passed down a cool, long passage to the rear of the house. Jason halted and knocked on a door.
“What?” came a muffled response from inside.
/> Jason opened the door and stuck his head in. “Someone to see you, Clay. It’s Chief Brubaker—Lydia’s father.” Jason gestured for Aaron to enter.
Stoneroad sat behind a library table at the far end of the book-lined room, a yellow legal pad before him and a pen held in one hand. There was a large painting on the wall behind him, an abstract in shades of red, yellow, and orange. Aside from the colors, which were pleasant in and of themselves, the design conveyed no meaning to Aaron. “Sorry to bother you, sir,” he said.
“Come in, Chief. Grab a seat.” He indicated a plank-bottom chair by the bookshelves. “Normally I don’t like to be disturbed during my work-time. But for Lydia’s father…”
Aaron drew the chair over by the table and seated himself. He studied the man before him. The writer was clad in a red and white mini-checked shirt and chinos. His dark, hooded eyes seemed larger than normal behind gold-framed glasses. His cheeks were unshaven, and his bristly mustache twitched as he clenched his teeth.
Stoneroad glared at Jason who leaned in the doorway. “Make yourself useful, boy. Bring us some coffee.” He gave his attention to Aaron. “Unless you’d like something stronger?”
“No, no. Coffee’s fine. Don’t even need to bother with that if it’s--”
“No trouble. Jason will get it.” He laid the pen on the pad, leaned back in his chair, and cradled his head in his hands. “Now, what brings you out here, Chief? I don’t suppose you’re looking for a donation for the policeman’s ball.”
“Not something we have around here, Mr. Stoneroad. No. I’m here to see if I can help you.”
Stoneroad jerked his chin at Jason who stood rooted to the same spot. “Are you going to get that coffee?”
“Sorry. I’m going.”
Once Jason had moved on, Stoneroad said, “I’m not sure I understand.”
“Dan Hetrick told me about your problem.”
The writer slammed his hands down on the table. “He had no right to do that,” he barked.
“I’m afraid he did, sir. When a citizen feels threatened it’s important the police be informed. How would it look if harm was to come to you or any of your family and we hadn’t done our duty to protect you?”
Stoneroad scowled. “Point taken. Hetrick suggested I hire private security. I’d rather have hired him.”
“And did you—hire security?”
“Uh, not yet.” He squirmed uncomfortably and avoided Aaron’s gaze. “Hetrick indicated it might just be my imagination. Maybe he was right. Nothing more has happened.”
Jason returned, carrying a tray with a silver coffee carafe, cups and containers of sugar and cream. He sat it down on the table and confronted his step-father. “What’s going on? What’s happened?”
Stoneroad flapped a hand. “Nothing you need to be concerned about. Thanks for fetching the coffee. Off with you now. And close the door on your way out.”
Reluctantly, Jason did as he’d been told.
Stoneroad poured the coffee and edged a cup closer to Brubaker. “I don’t know how you take it. Help yourself.”
Brubaker lightened his coffee with the cream but skipped the sugar in deference to one of Helen’s demands. He took a sip of the coffee. Better than some he’d been offered. “Dan was inclined to believe you didn’t think it was your imagination. I could have an officer make periodic checks out here. Or you could take Dan’s advice and hire some private help. Or, there is an auxiliary unit in town. I’m sure I could arrange to have them take turns on watch.”
Stoneroad waved a hand. “Thank you for your concern. I don’t think any of that will be necessary.”
They finished their coffee in silence. Brubaker rose and handed the writer one of his cards. “In case you change your mind. Don’t hesitate to call. Office and home numbers on there.”
Stoneroad stood and reached across the desk to shake hands. “Thanks. I’m sure it won’t be necessary. But thank you. And give my best regards to Lydia. Delightful girl. She was a big help to us.”
“I’ll be sure and tell her. Nice meeting you, sir. I hope I haven’t disrupted your day too much.”
Brubaker made his way out the hall. When he came outside there was no sign of the dogs or Jason. He got in the cruiser, conscious of eyes on him from somewhere in the house. He cranked the engine, put the car in gear and backed out to the lane. He drove off, wondering what had happened to change Stoneroad’s mind about being under threat.
* * * *
“You didn’t see the dogs?” Brubaker asked.
“No,” Hetrick told him. “I wasn’t at the house. He met me in a field up by Kroh Road. Big dogs, were they?”
The two of them had met at Lena’s Diner for a late lunch and were seated in a booth in the rear of the restaurant after the noon rush. “Three or four of ’em,” Brubaker said. “German shepherds. The way they carried on I can’t see how any prowler would have gone unnoticed.”
“Then it does seem like his earlier concerns were imaginary.”
“Maybe. Still I got the impression the man wasn’t being totally honest with me.”
“How so?”
“I’m not exactly sure. Just he acted—kind of funny. And the stepson apparently didn’t know about his meeting with you or the alleged threats. Stoneroad shooed the kid out of the room when he started to ask questions.”
“What about his wife and the secretary?”
“Never saw them. It was just the boy, Jason; Stoneroad and me.”
“So he didn’t take my advice?”
“No. And he wasn’t any more receptive to mine.”
“You can lead a horse to water…” Hetrick said and shrugged.
“I’m gonna ask Jimmy to have his boys do some rounds out that way,” Brubaker said, referring to the auxiliary police unit. “I don’t want egg on my face if something should happen to the smug bastard on my watch.”
Chapter 4
A slim figure stepped out of the gloom and extended a thumb in his direction. The driver swore under his breath and swerved, afraid of striking the fool. The rain had quit, leaving in its wake a thick fog swirling across the highway and obscuring vision to a narrow patch cut by his headlamps. Not more than twenty feet down the road, the driver slammed on his brakes, skidded on the wet asphalt, and pulled off on the berm. He glanced back over his shoulder and tapped the horn, uncertain whether the hitchhiker had seen him stop.
Already late and it was against company policy. Still a man got lonely on these long hauls. Companionship could always pay for the violation in more than one way.
The passenger side door clicked open and the kid slid in, throwing a knapsack up on the ledge behind him. “Thanks,” the hitchhiker said in a decidedly feminine voice.
The driver glanced her way. “You oughta be more careful on a night like this,” he said. “I could have hit you.”
The engine thrummed, the girl shifting on the seat, getting comfortable and stretching numbed hands toward the heater. “I’ve been standing out there so long,” she said, “I thought nobody would ever stop.”
There was a quiver to her voice and he couldn’t be certain whether it came from the cold or nervousness. It was a nice voice, though. Kind of a lilting accent he couldn’t place. In the dim light of the cab he couldn’t make out her features. He switched on the overhead for a better look. Young. Maybe early twenties. She pulled off a knit watch cap and shook out a honey-blond shag. Clear complexion. Nice full lips. Big doe-like brown eyes gazing at him, wondering had she made a wrong decision. He gave her a smile, switched off the light and put the truck in gear.
One good thing, the hour, the rain and now the fog had thinned a lot of the traffic that would have been cluttering this route. Except for the big rigs on tight schedules and small delivery vans like his, other drivers had pulled into motels to await better weather. An occasional truck splashed by in the opposite lane, usually at a higher rate of speed than wise. Looking in the rearview mirror, he saw only one set of headlights far behind him.
“Sorry to disappoint you.”
“Huh?”
“I mean, if you prefer guys.”
He laughed, pulling back onto the highway. “Nah, nah. I ain’t like that. I mean, I just wasn’t expecting a girl to be hitching a ride along here.”
She shrugged. “Didn’t have any other way to get where I’m going.”
“Yeah. Where might that be?”
“West,” she told him, apparently not willing to commit further. “Not much heat coming out,” she added.
The driver nodded in its direction. “Turned up full blast. Nothin’ works right in this old rig.” The girl was bundled up in a raspberry-colored down jacket. Couldn’t tell what she wore under it but, given the chance, he’d warm her up.
She drew her hands back from the heater, tucking them into the pockets of her coat.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Vickie.”
“Like from Victoria?”
“That’s usually where it comes from.”
He cackled. “Jeez, you don’t need to be snarky about it. Victoria. Yeah, I like it. Better than all the stupid celebrity-inspired names you hear these days.” He extended his right hand to her. “I’m Tim. Nice to meet you, Vickie.”
She hesitated a moment, then took his hand. He gave it a squeeze, not holding on too long. Didn’t want to spook her. Take your time, old buddy. Plenty of time for us to get friendly. “So, how far west you goin’?”
“You ever hear of a town called Swatara Creek?”
Tim wrinkled his brow. “That’s a crick, ain’t it?”
“There’s supposed to be a town, too. Somewhere around Harrisburg.”
“Well, you’re in luck. Harrisburg’s where I’m headed. How come you’re goin’ there?”
“I don’t think that’s your business.”
In Silence Sealed Page 2