In Silence Sealed

by J. R. Lindermuth

  “Sorry for barging in like this, Aaron,” he said, excitement in his voice, “but I think you need to hear this. I should have told you before. Meant to—just didn’t get around to it. Might have avoided this tragedy.”

  Aaron gawped up at the newsman. “Sit down, Izzie, and quit babbling. Just tell me what has you so worked up this early in the morning.”

  Flint flopped down on the visitor’s chair and ran a hand over his bald pate. “It’s about Diane Wozniak. If I’d have told you yesterday, she might still be alive. I’m heartsick, Aaron. I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you before this.”

  “Slow down, Izzie. Let me get you a cup of coffee and you can tell what this is all about.” Brubaker turned to the Keurig in the corner and poured water from a pitcher into the reservoir.

  “I think Stoneroad killed her,” Flint said, and Aaron spun round so fast, the K-Cup flew out of his hand and bounced off the wall.

  * * * *

  “Are you implying I’m responsible? That’s ridiculous,” Stoneroad growled. “Why would I want to kill that woman?”

  “I’m not accusing you, sir. I just asked where you were.” Brubaker asked. Because of the conflict with the murder investigation he’d abided by Runyan’s injunction previously. But this was different—possibly a separate crime occurring in his town and the State Police couldn’t prevent him looking into it. Runyan might have a different opinion about it, Aaron conceded. He’d decided to worry about that later and drove directly out to the farm after his conversation with Israel Flint.

  There’d been no sign of a State Police presence and, fortunately, this time around those damned dogs weren’t lurking in the yard. The writer himself answered the door and appeared surprised by Brubaker’s presence. Still, without question, he invited Brubaker in and bade him follow him back to his office. Nan Calder, busy at a computer, looked up as they entered but made no comment.

  Wearing a green chamois cloth shirt and faded jeans, the writer seated himself behind the library table and gestured for Brubaker to draw up another chair, an uncomfortable plank-bottom like the one he’d endured on his previous visit. This time there was no cordial offer of coffee. Brubaker got right to the point, asking Stoneroad for his location at the time of the hit and run. Stoneroad asked the purpose of the question and feigned surprise when informed of Wozniak’s death.

  “Where else would I have been? I was here.”

  “Are you denying Ms. Wozniak came to see you?”

  “Of course not. She came out…” Stoneroad turned to his secretary, who had stopped typing and sat listening. “Nan, what day was it?”

  “Yesterday morning,” she said, turning in her seat to face Brubaker. She wore a blue and white striped oxford shirt and a khaki skirt. He was surprised to see her feet were bare. “But Clay didn’t talk to her. She wanted an interview and I refused to admit her. When she wouldn’t leave, I threatened to loose the dogs on her.”

  “I didn’t see the dogs this morning,” Brubaker said.

  Her brown eyes scanned him, and he wondered did she want to sic the dogs on him, too. “With the police around nearly every day, we’ve been keeping them locked up,” she told him.

  “Wozniak has a reputation as a pest,” Stoneroad put in. “She bothered me constantly before we came here, and Nan knew I wouldn’t welcome her. She did tell me about it. I guess I forgot how recently it was.” He waved a hand. “Too many other concerns lately.”

  “Understandable,” Brubaker said with a nod. “I’ve been informed, though, Wozniak intended to blackmail you.”

  Stoneroad guffawed, which turned into a cough and a choking fit. Concern on her pretty face, Calder made to rise, thrusting one leg forward and exposing a tanned calf. Stoneroad waved her off but his reddened face and bulging eyes inclined her to go to a nearby shelf, fill a tumbler with water from a pitcher and bring it to her employer. He accepted the water, drank it down and struggled to get his breath back in control as she hovered over him. Only when he’d fully recovered did she return to her seat.

  “Sorry about that,” he said, a wheeze evident in his breathing. “Asthma. Never know what might trigger an attack.” He waved a hand in the air as though apologizing for the condition. “I don’t know who’s been filling your head with this nonsense, Chief. What could she possibly have to blackmail me about? My life is an open book.”

  “You still claim you were here last night?”

  “Not claim,” Stoneroad said, his eyes flashing in anger. “Stating. This is where I’ve been. I haven’t stepped off the property in weeks.”

  “What about you, Miss Calder?” Aaron asked, turning to her.

  “Me?” she responded, one hand hovering over her breasts as though to confirm who he addressed. “I was here, too. In fact, Clay and I watched a film together. Remember?” she added, focusing on Stoneroad. “It came on after Lillian went to bed.”

  “Yes,” he said, nodding. “The one about the woman whose child was taken from her by the nuns.”

  “Philomena,” Calder said.

  “What time was this?”

  She gazed at Brubaker, pondering. “I’m not sure. Probably around midnight. I know it was after the news because Lillian didn’t go to bed until after that.” There was a hint of insolence in her brown eyes as she studied him, as though daring him to refute their alibi.

  “And I take it your wife hadn’t been to town either?”

  “As Nan told you, she went to bed after the news.” He sighed. “She hasn’t been herself since—well, you know. Some days we can’t even convince her to get out of bed. Depression. If it keeps up I’m going to have to convince her to seek some help.”

  “All right, sir,” Brubaker said, rising. “I would like to inspect your vehicles, though. If you don’t mind.”

  Stoneroad hissed between clenched teeth. “I do mind, officer. But, if that’s what it takes to satisfy you…”

  “I’ll go, Clay,” Calder said, bounding up. “Just let me get some shoes and I’ll be right with you.”

  * * * *

  Calder accompanied him to a two-bay garage at the rear of the house. Two cars sat side by side—a black 2011 Mercedes ML350 and a new silver-colored Hyundai Genesis. “Who drives what?” Brubaker asked, envy in his tone at the thought of being able to afford either. Calder, standing at his side, shrugged. “The Genesis is Lillian’s, but I do most of the driving. Clay keeps up his license, but usually prefers to be a passenger.”

  Brubaker walked around, examining both vehicles for sign of their having been in an accident. Both were spotless and unmarred. He gazed at Calder who leaned against the fender of the Mercedes, watching him. “Where’s Jason’s vehicle?”

  She stared back at him without answering immediately. Then she smiled and wiped her hands down her skirt. “It’s an old piece of junk. Clay said I could have it or I could sell it for whatever it’s worth—my choice.”

  “And?”

  “I decided—since I have the use of these—to get rid of it. I thought it might be another bad reminder for Lil if I kept it and she had to see it every day. We took it to a place over in Harrisburg this morning.”

  Chapter 23

  “He shouldn’t have been out there—not without my permission,” Runyan said.

  “It’s a separate investigation,” Hetrick told him. “Still, it might have been better if he’d contacted one of us first.”

  “It’d be better if you’d both stop talking about me as if I’m not in the same room,” Brubaker growled. In response to a phone call from Hetrick, he’d met the two at the diner. Runyan, unhappy about his unauthorized visit to the Stoneroad farm, had complained to Hetrick and the latter had called the meet to try and smooth things out between them.

  “He’s right and you know it, Aaron,” Runyan said. “I might have even gone out with you if you’d just given me the courtesy of a phone call.” He slurped down the dregs of his coffee and, turning in his seat, signaled for a waitress.

  “Like I said, it’s a s
eparate investigation. I didn’t think I needed your permission.”

  “That’s not the point…” Runyan hesitated as Vickie Walker stepped up beside him.

  “You need something, sir?” she asked, a slight tremor in her voice.

  “More coffee, hon,” he told her. “And,” he added before she turned away, “Some sweets to go with it. Sticky buns, or whatever you have that’s fresh.”

  “Your point?” Brubaker reminded him as Vickie went off to fill the order.

  “My point is, you should have called.”

  “I didn’t think it was important,” Brubaker grumbled.

  “It’s over and done with now,” Hetrick put in. “What did they have to say?”

  Brubaker grunted. “Of course they all had alibis and Stoneroad denied Wozniak had anything to blackmail him about.”

  Vickie returned, and the men maintained silence as she refilled their coffees and sat a plate of cinnamon coffee squares before them. “We’re all out of sticky buns,” she said, “but Lena said these are the freshest pastries.” Her hand shook as she poured Brubaker’s coffee and a little splashed off his saucer. “Oh, sorry, Chief. I’ll wipe that up…”

  “No problem,” he said, waving her off. “I usually manage to spill more than that myself.”

  Vickie stalled, the coffee pot held before her, gaze flitting from one man to another.

  “Are you all right, kiddo?” Brubaker asked, eyeing her with concern.

  “Uh, yeah. Just a little tired. It’s been a long day.”

  “Whyncha go take yourself a break, sweetie,” Runyan said. “Other than us, the place has cleared out and we’re good for now.”

  She gave a dubious nod and moved off.

  “The worse part,” Brubaker resumed after she’d gone, “is the cars in the garage are pristine and Calder told me they sold Jason’s Jeep this morning. I wish I’d have got a look at it. Took some prodding before she’d even give me the name of the place where they’d sold it. That makes me even more suspicious.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Brubaker pursed his lips. “She gave the impression they sold it to a dealership. It wasn’t. They took it to a scrap-yard and, by the time I called, it had been stripped and squashed.”

  “If I recall rightly,” Runyan said, reaching for a cinnamon square, “that Jeep was kind of old and beat up.”

  Brubaker eyed the dessert. Helen would kill me if she knew. What the hell, it’s not like I’m gonna tell her. He took his turn reaching for one. “It’s the timing of the disposal bothers me,” Brubaker replied after a big bite of the pastry.

  * * * *

  Seated on a stool down from the men, Vickie nursed a vanilla milkshake and stole surreptitious glances at them, wishing she could overhear their conversation.

  Vickie’s stomach had constricted with fear when they entered the restaurant, her immediate thought being they knew what she’d seen last night and had come to demand her statement. She’d been relieved when they took a booth and Edna Kline, the other waitress on duty, took their initial order. But Edna had gone on break and her fright revived when the one in the State Police uniform beckoned to her.

  Though still shaken, she was a little more at ease now, realizing their conversation had nothing to do with her. That didn’t prevent her wishing she knew what they were discussing. Everyone knew by now Diana Wozniak had died of her injuries and that Vickie had been the sole witness to the hit and run. Flora Vastine had made it very clear she didn’t believe Vickie had told her everything she’d seen. Of course she hadn’t. How could she? At least not then. Now, after her conversation with Corporal Minnich, she wasn’t quite as sure what to do. She needed time to think. Time before they came at her again with their questions.

  “You look tired, hon,” Sally said, sliding onto a stool next to her.

  Vickie started at the sound of her voice. “Oh, I didn’t hear you coming.”

  “Yeah,” Sally said with a chuckle. “You looked like you was six miles away. Whyncha finish your drink, clock out and go on home.”

  Vickie gazed at her thankfully. “There’s still nearly a half hour on my shift. Are you sure?”

  Sally patted her on the arm. “You had a rough time last night. You worked the lunch crowd. Except for those cops, haint nobody else come in for the last hour and it probably won’t get busy again till suppertime.”

  “Won’t Lena mind?”

  “She’s the one suggested I tell you to take off.” Sally shrugged. “When it’s the boss’s idea, don’t fight it.”

  “You people have just been so good to me,” Vickie said, slurping the last of her drink. “Thanks.”

  * * * *

  Nan Calder came out of Grumbine’s laden with two carrier bags of groceries and crossed the lot to where she’d parked the Mercedes. “Oh, crap,” she muttered as she spied Vickie Walker, clad in an old cranberry parka and worn jeans, standing beside the car.

  Spotting her, Vickie gave a forced smile and lifted a hand in greeting.

  “What do you want again?” Nan experienced a wave of anxiety coupled with anger as Vickie stepped toward her.

  “I-uh-I don’t wanna cause you no trouble.”

  “Then stay the fuck away from me.” Vickie didn’t move as Nan came closer. “Get away from the car.”

  Vickie staggered back, her face gone white. She made way so Nan could set down one of the bags and open a rear car door. She swung one of the bags onto the seat, then lifted the other in next to it. Slamming shut the door, her face clouded with anger as she realized Vickie still stood by, gaping at her.

  “Didn’t the cop talk to you? Didn’t he tell you about the fingerprints?” Is that why she’s here now?

  Vickie dipped her head, once, twice. “Yeah. Corporal Minnich. He explained all about them to me this morning.”

  “So? How much more proof do you need to get it through your thick skull? I’m not your damned sister.”

  Vickie nodded again. “I know Va—Nan. I’m sorry. I-I guess I’ve known it for a while. It’s just—you look so much like her and I’ve been searching for so long.” Tears glistened in her eyes. “It’s just—I’m so worried. She’s my sister, you know. I don’t know what else to do.”

  “Oh, fuck,” Nan said. “Look. I’m sorry I’ve upset you. I get it. You love your sister. I guess I should understand. Maybe if I had a sister I would. I hope you find her.” She opened the car door, preparing to leave.

  “I’m sorry I’ve been such a pest.”

  Nan studied her. She had to admit, there was a similarity in their facial appearance. “Look. Can I give you a ride someplace?” Why am I doing this?

  Vickie waved a hand. “No. I’ve bothered you enough. I won’t—I won’t…”

  “Come on. Get in the car.” Let it go. Don’t tempt fate. She must not have seen—she’d say if she did, right?

  Vickie didn’t argue. She came around to the passenger side and slid in. “You’re…you’re being really kind.”

  “Yeah, right. I’m a saint,” Nan muttered. “How’d you know where to find me anyway?” she asked, getting in and shutting the door.

  Vickie gave her an innocent smile. “Oh, I didn’t. It was just dumb luck. I went for a walk after work—you know, just to sort things out and think. And I happened to see you getting out of the car and going into the store. So, I decided to wait.”

  “To apologize.”

  “Huh?”

  “To tell me you’re sorry for having been a pest.”

  “Oh, well, yeah.” Vickie turned in the seat, her eyes scanning Nan and glowing with concern. She hesitated a moment longer, then laid a hand on Nan’s arm. “You don’t have to worry. I promise, I’m not going to tell.”

  Oh, hell.

  * * * *

  Flora was going up Main street shortly after coming on duty that evening when Sally Rickards stepped off the pavement into the street, waving her arms and shouting for Flora to stop.

  “Flora, thank God I saw you,” S
ally shouted, breathlessly.

  “What’s the matter, Sally? Has something happened to Lena?”

  “No, no,” Sally said, leaning with both arms against the cruiser. “Lena’s okay. It’s Vickie. You know—Vickie Walker, my roommate, the new waitress. She’s missing.”

  Flora stared at her. “What do you mean, missing? Didn’t she show for her shift?”

  “Yeah. She finished her shift. Well, that is, Lena let her go early.” Sally chomped gum, blowing a fruity cloud of breath as she spoke. “You know, she saw that accident last night. Then she had bad news this morning when Harry showed her proof that Calder girl haint her sister after all. And she worked the lunch crowd this afternoon. Poor thing she was--”

  “When did you last see her Sally?”

  “When? Why, when she left work. She wasn’t at the apartment when I got home.”

  “Maybe she went out.”

  An angry scowl flashed across Sally’s face. “Where the hell would she go, Flora? She don’t know nobody but us. And it’s gettin’ late. I’m worried about her, Flora. The kid is kind of fragile, you know. Won’t you help me find her?”

  Flora relented. Her initial thought had been Vickie had simply moved on. If Harry’s report on the fingerprint results discouraged the idea of Nan Calder being her missing sister, Vickie might have simply decided to look elsewhere. She had no real ties to the community or reason to remain in Swatara Creek if she’d accepted the fact Nan wasn’t her sister. Still, the waitress seemed genuinely distraught and Flora decided to try and put her mind at ease. “Get in, Sally. We’ll go look for her.”

  Flora radioed in her intent to search for the missing girl and they set off across town.

  “I appreciate this, Flora. I called a couple of the other wait staff to see if anyone had heard from her. And I knocked on Brent’s door, but I guess he wasn’t home either.”