In Silence Sealed

by J. R. Lindermuth

  “I’m sure you contributed, Helen—at least in teaching her how to cook.”

  “She did,” Lydia told him. “I couldn’t have done it without her help.”

  Not a prideful woman, Helen Brubaker couldn’t help but be gratified with the compliments. Passing him the meat platter as a hint to help himself to more, she asked, “Isn’t your mother a good cook?”

  Jason accepted the platter and forked off another slice of beef. “My mother is a talented woman in many ways—an award-winning artist, a devoted wife and mother, an intelligent person. But, in the kitchen, she’s a disaster. Nan—she’s Clay’s secretary—tries to help out. Unfortunately, she isn’t any more of a culinary genius than mother. Mostly, we thrive on take-outs, frozen pizzas, and TV dinners. Though I have to admit, Clay is pretty good with a grill in the summer and makes a decent chili.”

  “I notice you don’t call him dad,” Aaron put in, still awaiting the answer to his previous question. He would have asked again were it not for a sour look from Helen warning him not to do it.

  Jason shrugged. “I was pretty well grown when he and mother married. This is a second marriage for both of them.”

  “You seem to get along, though.”

  Jason chuckled. “Most of the time.” At Lydia’s urging, he piled more mashed potatoes on his plate, ladled them with gravy and reached for the peas and carrots.

  At least the kid has a good appetite, Brubaker thought. This pleased him both as a man who also liked to eat and because he knew a person with a drug habit might be less inclined toward an interest in food.

  Jason laid his fork aside and gazed over at Aaron. “Sorry. I didn’t answer your earlier question. I didn’t intend to evade.”

  “Sure. You were distracted by my women.”

  Jason peered back at him with a serious expression. “Be that as it may, I want to be straight with Lydia, you and Mrs. Brubaker. I care about your daughter—a lot. And I don’t object to your questions, sir. I understand. I think it’s admirable the way you care about Lydia.”

  “It’s what a father’s supposed to do.”

  “Right. Anyway, you asked about college. I attended Temple. Unfortunately, I got kicked out.”

  Aaron blanched, and he was certain his mouth dropped open.

  “Like I said, I want to be frank with you all. Lydia doesn’t even know this. I’ve been meaning to tell her, but hadn’t found the right time. Something terrible happened and I guess it was my fault. At least I feel guilty about it, even though others have absolved me.”

  They were all staring at him now, anxious and with unvoiced questions.

  “Clay isn’t my father. He has been tolerant and very good to me, though—despite some problems I’ve caused for him. See, I’m kind of impulsive and I’ve taken some risks a more cautious person might have avoided. That’s what got me in trouble at school.

  “Trying to be a good father earlier on, Clay bought me things I thought I needed and wasn’t afraid to ask for. Just before my junior year, I took some sailing lessons at the shore and decided I was an expert. Naturally, I wanted something fast and snazzy. He bought me a board boat. It was small and clumsy, but just the right thing to learn on. Being the expert I imagined myself to be, I invited a couple friends to join me one afternoon for a sail on the Delaware Bay.”

  He paused again, collecting his thoughts and Aaron noted a tremor in the boy’s voice when he spoke again.

  “A storm came up. My friends wanted to go in. Like I said, I thought myself the expert.” He exhaled a harsh breath. “The short of it is, we capsized. Neither of my friends could swim. I managed to save the one. The other….”

  “Oh, how horrible for you,” Helen muttered.

  Lydia reached out and took his hand. “It was an accident,” she said. “It could have happened to anyone.”

  “No. It was my fault. I know it now and I accept it. Roy’s parents raised a clamor—who could blame them? The school expelled me as a token gesture. It wasn’t enough. The parents sued. Clay settled with them out of court. I don’t know what it cost him. He never told me. I owe the man big time.”

  “And you didn’t go back to school somewhere else?” Lydia asked.

  Jason shook his head. “I was a mess for a year or more afterward. Even had to see a shrink.” He squeezed her hand and regarded her closely. “I’m okay now. Honest. I mean, the guilt—it’ll always be there. But I’m okay. Clay has told me to take my time before I decide what to do next. I can’t be dependent on him and mother forever. I plan on finding a job of some kind and, maybe, going back to college on a part-time basis.”

  “That’s a smart decision,” Helen said. “What happened is a tragedy. But you must go on.”

  Aaron didn’t comment but wondered if this incident might have anything to do with the prowler Clay Stoneroad had reported to Hetrick.

  * * * *

  “Have you always lived here?” Vickie asked.

  “Yep. Born and raised right here in ol’ Swatara Creek,” Sally said.

  They’d come to Sally’s apartment after their shift, showered, changed into pajamas, and ordered a pizza. Now, seated on the sofa, they were sharing a glass of wine and getting to know one another. Sally had produced sheets, a pillow and blanket from a closet but they were in no hurry to make up Vickie’s bed.

  “Like everybody else, when I was in high school I used to dream about goin’ to the big city, gettin’ some fabulous job and somewhere down the line marrying a dreamboat and havin’ a bunch of kids,” Sally said after a swig of wine. “Truth is, I was scared to leave—not that I had much here. But, I started workin’ for Lena and here I am. Lena’s been like a mother to me and I got no regrets.”

  “What about the dreamboat?”

  “Huh?”

  “A boyfriend. Do you have one?”

  Sally laughed. “Oh, hell no. Not lately anyway. I’ve had guys in the past—oh, shit! I hope you don’t think I’m gay, invitin’ you here to stay with me.” She reached out and touched Vickie’s bare knee. “I’m not. Honest. I like guys. Between workin’ long hours and bein’ too tired afterward…”

  Vickie smiled and nodded. “That never even entered my mind, Sally. I thought it was really kind of you to offer and I’m grateful. I only asked about a boyfriend because I was curious.”

  The wine was flat, and Vickie suspected it had been in Sally’s refrigerator in anticipation of a time when it might be shared with a guest. The apartment was above the Rite-Aid pharmacy, conveniently located on the opposite side of Main street just a block away from the diner. It consisted of a living room facing the street, bedroom, and galley kitchen. Entry to the bathroom was off the kitchen. Aside from the rust-colored sleeper sofa which appeared new, the living room furnishings comprised an end table with a white-shaded lamp, a round wood coffee table and an antique-style rocker. A small TV sat on a cheap stand in one corner and a metal bucket held a plastic palm in another. Slatted blinds covered the windows at the front. The floral carpet showed sign of needing a sweep and Vickie spied dust bunnies under the chair and stands.

  “What about you?” Sally asked now.

  “What?”

  “You got a boyfriend?”

  Vickie shook her head. “Not at the moment.”

  “Pretty girl like you, though—betcha you’ve had plenty.”

  Vickie frowned. “Not that many. There was one—well, it was a while ago. I-uh-I’d rather not talk about him.”

  “Sure. I’m not pryin’. You want some more wine?”

  “No. I think I’ve had enough.”

  “You have family back home?”

  “No. There’s nobody.”

  “Yeah. That makes two of us. Only family I got now is Lena and the other girls at the restaurant. Sometimes it seems like Lena is our mother and we’re all sisters. We’re that close.” She finished her wine.

  Vickie handed over her glass. “And now I’m one of you,” she said. “Like I said, I’m awful grateful to you for taking me in
, Sally. I don’t know how I can thank you.”

  “Ah, it’s nothin’,” Sally said, rising. “What’re sisters for? I guess we better hit the sack now. Let me put these glasses away and I’ll help make up your bed.”

  Vickie had the bed ready by the time Sally returned from the kitchen. “You need the bathroom or anything?”

  “No. I’m good.”

  “Okay. I’ll let the night light on in there.” Sally turned to leave.

  “Sally?”

  “Yeah?” she responded, turning back to her guest.

  “I heard some people talking today at the restaurant. They said some famous writer moved to town. You heard anything about that?”

  “Guy named Stoneroad. I’m not a reader, but there’s been lots of buzz about him. I guess he is kind of famous from what I heard. Me, I’d rather some big rock star moved to town.”

  “I read some of his books when I was in college. Do you know where he lives? It would be neat to get his autograph.”

  “Oh, he don’t live in town. He bought a farm out in the country. I know the realtor sold him the place. She comes in the restaurant we can ask her for directions. Then when we have a day off I could drive you out there and you could ask him.”

  Vickie smiled. “That would be great.”

  * * * *

  Aaron had an opportunity to speak with Jason while the women cleared the table and loaded the dishwasher. After getting them beers, he steered the young man into his den on pretense of showing him his baseball collection.

  “You do like the game, doncha?” he asked, handing him a Miller. “Are you a Phillies fan?”

  “I grew up in Philly. How could I not be?”

  “Good. I collected cards as a kid, played a bit in high school. Never good enough to go beyond that. Have a seat.” He gestured to a chair. “But I’ve always loved the sport. Get down to the city now and then to see a game and I’ve managed to get some autographed pictures and even a couple of signed jerseys.”

  Brubaker plopped down on his recliner, paused for a swallow of beer then turned to the young man. “But I didn’t bring you in here to talk baseball.”

  “You didn’t?” Jason peered at him, puzzled.

  Brubaker had considered bringing up the subject earlier, but decided it wasn’t something the women had to hear. “No. Remember when we met out at the farm, you were curious about the reason for my visit to Stoneroad. Did he ever tell you?”

  Jason Russell shook his head. “Told me it wasn’t my business. I’ll admit, I wondered about it. Old man keeps a lot of secrets from us. Well, at least from me. I didn’t even know we were moving until almost the last moment.” He wrinkled his brow. “Why? Is it something I should be aware of?”

  “Maybe, maybe not. He tried to hire a friend of mine. Told him he was concerned about prowlers. My friend told me, and I went out to see if I could help.”

  “And did he?”

  “What?”

  “Hire your friend?”

  “My friend declined, suggesting he consider hiring some other party he recommended. When I went out there Stoneroad brushed the whole issue aside as though it no longer concerned him.”

  “Odd.”

  “My feelings exactly. You’re sure he never mentioned it to you?”

  “Not a word. This is the first I heard about it.”

  “Okay. Maybe it really wasn’t anything to be concerned about. When you told us about your boating accident—you know, I thought maybe…”

  Jason raised a hand and shook his head. “That was years ago. I haven’t even heard from any of the people involved for a long time. Why would Roy’s parents be bothering us now? After all, they did settle their suit.”

  Aaron nodded. “You’re probably right. It may have been nothing more than a city man getting the jitters over strange noises in the country. But I thought you should know.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate, Mr.—uh, Chief Brubaker. I certainly understand you wouldn’t want Lydia coming out to the farm if there was any danger.”

  “I was thinking about your safety, too.”

  “Of course.”

  Helen poked her head in the doorway. “What are you doing in here—boring this young man with baseball talk? I’m sure he’d rather be out in the living room with Lydia.”

  Aaron grinned. “We’ll be there in a minute. We were just comparing notes on a game we both saw.” He didn’t make a habit of fibbing to his wife, but this wasn’t a matter he wanted to worry her about unnecessarily. Still, learning of Stoneroad’s tendency to secrecy bothered him.

  Chapter 9

  Sticks Hetrick awoke and found his mind already occupied with details of the day’s duties. Rubbing at his eyes with both fists, he wondered why a person couldn’t just wake, rested and grateful to have another day before getting stressed out about matters yet in the future. He reached for his glasses on the nightstand, hooked them on and felt Anita’s gaze on him.

  Turning over on his side, he saw her propped up on one elbow, peering at him, lips spread in a lovely smile. “We could have every morning like this if you’d just agree to move in with me,” she said.

  “And that would be a pleasure,” he said, leaning forward for a kiss.

  “We have talked about it, but so far…”

  “I know.” They’d discussed him selling his house and moving into her condo. It made sense—especially since he’d been spending most nights here since starting his new job as county detective. Yet, there were issues. He’d grown up in the old house on Plum street. He and Sarah had lived and raised their children there. Too many memories. Too many ties. The idea of selling it…

  Anita squeezed his arm. “Sorry. I don’t mean to push. I know how you feel about the place.”

  He took her in his arms and hugged her, grateful they were a couple and thinking himself a fool for hesitating. “I’ll get to it—eventually. I am a natural born procrastinator, you know.”

  She chuckled.

  He considered himself lucky to have this beautiful, intelligent woman in his life.

  “What’s on your calendar for today?” Anita asked.

  “Other than some prep work for Theo,” he answered, referring to the district attorney they both worked under, “nothing much. I’ll be checking with Aaron to see if Doc Furman got to the autopsy on that body found out at the motel. How about you?”

  “Working on a brief for an upcoming trial.” She slid out of bed, leaned over and kissed him. “You can catch a few more winks while I hit the shower. Then I’ll get us some breakfast.”

  * * * *

  “I really appreciate this, Sally,” Vickie said, “but I hate taking up time on your day off.”

  “Ah, don’t worry about it, kiddo. I told you I’d do it. It haint like I have so much on my social calendar today. Just got some wash to do and, you know, cleaning up the apartment.”

  True to her promise, Sally had got directions to Stoneroad’s farm and they were driving out in the country hoping to find the writer at home and willing to autograph the book Vickie had brought with her.

  “I still hate to be a bother. Like I said, I have my driver license and I could have come myself.”

  “It haint that I don’t trust you, but I don’t let nobody else drive my wheels.”

  “Well, when we go back I’m going to do your laundry and you can relax.”

  “That haint necessary. Like I said, I don’t mind doing this. How many famous people you think I ever get a chance to meet? Oh, look—that must be the turn off Lydia told us about.” Slowing down, Sally bumped off the paved two-lane onto a gravel track framed on both sides by closely-planted rows of poplars. Clumps of yellow leaves clung to some branches but more had fallen on the road and crunched drily beneath the tires of Sally’s car as they proceeded up a slight rise. Descending on the other side, the farmhouse, barn, and other buildings came into view.

  As Sally drew up before the house, the same pack of dogs that had greeted Aaron Brubaker on his earlier visit qui
ckly gathered around the car, growling and barking in unison.

  “Oh, jeez, I don’t think we better get out,” Sally said.

  “Blow the horn. Maybe someone will come out and make them go away.”

  Sally tapped the horn and the dogs erupted into even more of a clamor. “What are we gonna do? They look vicious.”

  Vickie started to open the door, then changed her mind. “I wasn’t expecting anything like this. Your friend didn’t mention the dogs.”

  A moment later someone slapped the passenger side door with the flat of a hand and a male voice shouted for the dogs to quiet down. It took another shout before the dogs obeyed and moved back to stand slobbering and glaring at the car from beside the steps leading up to the porch.

  Vickie rolled down her window and she and Sally stared out at the young man who had quieted the dogs.

  “Thanks,” Vickie said. “We didn’t know what to do.”

  “What do you want here?” he snarled in response.

  “We came to see the writer,” Sally ventured.

  “Do you have an appointment?”

  “Uh, no.”

  “Then you’ll have to leave.”

  “It’s not him I want to see,” Vickie told him. “Where’s Vanessa?”

  He bent and peered in at her, brow wrinkled. “Who?”

  “Vanessa. My sister. I know she’s here. I just want--”

  “You’re mistaken. There’s no Vanessa here. I have to ask you to leave. You’re trespassing. If you don’t go, I’ll have to call the police.”

  “Please,” Vickie said, opening the door. “I don’t want to make trouble. I just want to talk to Vanessa.”

  The man put a hand on the door, restraining her from getting out. “I told you, there is no Vanessa here. You must be at the wrong farm.”

  A door opened on the porch and a woman stepped out.

  “Oh, my God,” Sally said. “I don’t know what the hell’s goin’ on, but she looks just like you.”