The Secret Keeper (5 page)

I was fairly sure his deductible was higher than the cost of a replacement windshield would be—contrary to their ads, altruism is not an insurance company’s primary motivation in selling policies—but I didn’t want to say anything. He was already unhappy enough.

*

Maybe I’ve been in the P.I. business too long, but something about the broken windshield niggled at me. It was not until I’d gotten home Tuesday—Jonathan’s chorus practice night—that I realized why.

I’d stopped on the way home to pick up a bucket of chicken, since time was a factor in his being able to get to rehearsal. In deference to time, I forewent my usual predinner Manhattan.

“How was your day?” I asked, setting the sack on the counter and transferring the bucket of chicken and tubs of mashed potatoes and cole slaw to the table, which Jonathan and Joshua had just finished setting. Jonathan took a gallon of milk from the refrigerator and filled our glasses. “Did that guy call back?”

“No,” he said as we sat down, “but something kind of strange happened.”

The muffled sound of alarm bells echoed through my head. 

“What’s that?” I asked, as casually as I could.

“I think someone was following me when I left work.”

The mufflers came off, and the bells were impossible to ignore.

“How do you know?” I asked, feeling rather stupid the minute the words left my mouth. Jonathan may be naive, but he’s certainly not stupid. If he says he was followed, he was followed.

The conversation was interrupted by Joshua’s nearly knocking the bucket of chicken over in search of a drumstick.

“About half an hour before we got off work,” Jonathan said, ladling out scoops of mashed potatoes and cole slaw onto Joshua’s plate, “I had to go out front to bring in a couple shrubs we’re going to be delivering tomorrow. I noticed a black Mercedes just up the block. You don’t see many Mercedes in that neighborhood. It had tinted windows, and the driver’s window was rolled down. I’m sure I saw someone sitting in the driver’s seat, but I couldn’t be sure.

“Anyway, as I was pulling out of the lot, I noticed that the Mercedes was still there. And then, about two blocks from work, I looked into my mirror and saw the same black Mercedes several cars behind me.

“I turned on Froberg, like I always do, and sure enough, the Mercedes did, too. Why would anyone be following me? It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Coincidence, probably,” I said. I was lying.

“I don’t think so. Just to be sure I was right, when I was the last car through the green light at Kling and I saw he was stuck there until the light turned again, I took a quick left onto Kling and then, as soon as I couldn’t see his car, I turned into the alley right behind the row of stores. I watched in the mirror and sure enough, he’d turned left on Kling, too. I saw him drive past the alley, but I don’t think he saw me. And then I came on home, and didn’t see him again.” 

I was impressed, but didn’t want to add fuel to his concern.

“Well, like I say, probably just a coincidence,” I said, not believing it.

He looked at me with a slightly raised eyebrow. “Do you suppose it was that guy who called me, and he’s really mad at me for not showing up?”

“I doubt it,” I said. Damn, I hated lying.

I had little doubt it was whoever had made the call that had lured him out onto a deserted road on the edge of town, and I was sure the guy wasn’t concerned about Jonathan’s not having shown up. I was rapidly becoming convinced Jonathan had shown up exactly as he was supposed to—but that whoever it was had just missed the chance to kill him.

I was suddenly very interested in having a look at Jonathan’s windshield.

“You know, if your windshield is broken maybe you should take my car to practice tonight and to work tomorrow. I can take your truck in to get the windshield fixed. We might as well get it taken care of right away.”

“Would you mind? It isn’t a very big hole, but it goes all the way through, and there are a bunch of cracks around it. They’ll only get worse.”

“Consider it done,” I said, and we finished our dinner.

*

As soon as Jonathan left for practice and Joshua and I had cleaned up from dinner, I said, “Let’s go take a walk downstairs for a minute. I want to take a look at Uncle Jonathan’s truck.”

Joshua, who never passed up an opportunity to go somewhere—anywhere—waited impatiently by the front door while I rummaged through our top dresser drawer to find Jonathan’s spare set of keys.

Since Jonathan always backed the truck in, the minute I unlocked and opened the door to the garage and switched on the light, I saw the hole, almost directly in the center of the windshield, just to the left of the driver’s seat as seen from the front. I moved up for a better look. Though it was warm in the garage, I felt a definite chill.

“Where are we going?” Joshua asked.

“Nowhere,” I said. “I just want to look for something.” Wanting to keep him from getting into any mischief or wandering into the alley while I was about it, I said, “Tell you what—why don’t you sit in the driver’s seat while I look.”

“Can I drive?” he asked excitedly.

“You can pretend-drive,” I said, “but don’t touch any of the buttons, okay?”

“Okay,” he said, unconvincingly.

I let him in the driver’s side and moved around to the passenger door, stepping partly into the truck to check for what I was afraid I was going to find. And I found it—a small round hole in the upholstery about a foot to the right of the driver and in line with but slightly lower than the hole in the windshield.

Luckily, the truck had a split seat, so I was able to pull the passenger’s side forward without disturbing Joshua. He couldn’t reach the brake or clutch pedals, or anything on the dashboard, without leaning far forward, which of course he tried to do until my loud “Ahem!” stopped him in mid-motion. He returned to moving the steering wheel rapidly back and forth and making “brrrmmmmmmm” sounds.

Returning my attention to the issue at hand, I saw a dent in the back wall of the cab and, searching the floor, spotted a flattened blob of metal—obviously, a bullet. 

Leaving it where it was, I put the seat back, got out of the truck, closed the door and went back to the driver’s door. 

“Okay,” I said. “Let’s go.”

“But we just got here!” Joshua observed plaintively. Reluctantly, he turned to get out of the truck, and I lifted him down to the floor. 

“You’re a good driver,” I said, tousling his head, and he beamed.

We then left the garage, closing and locking the door behind us.

When we returned to the apartment, Joshua ran off to his room, and I went right to the phone to call Marty Gresham’s number at police headquarters. I knew he wouldn’t be in, but left a message for him to call me the minute he arrived in the morning.

*

I had just come out of Joshua’s room after Story Time when Jonathan came home.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said. “Practice ran a little longer than normal. And we ran through my solo tonight!”

“Great,” I said. “How did it go?”

The forthcoming concert was to feature a selection of songs from Disney movies, and Jonathan had been given a solo on “A Dream Is a Wish Your Heart Makes,” from
Cinderella
. I’d found it odd that, excited as he was, he didn’t practice it at home. In fact, he almost never sang at home. I’d asked him why, and he said, “I know it sounds funny, but, well, I don’t have any trouble singing around other people, but I’d get embarrassed singing around you.”

“Embarrassed? Why in the world would you be embarrassed?”

He’d shaken his head. “I don’t know. I just would be. And besides, I don’t want you to get tired of hearing the song. I want it to be special when you hear it at the concert.”

I’d learned Jonathan had his own rules of logic, and not to question them. So I hadn’t.

“Whatever you say, Babe,” I’d said, laying my hand on his leg.  

We sat on the couch and switched on the TV to catch one of Jonathan’s favorite P.I. shows,
Riptide
, which I always viewed with a certain bemusement for the ease with which the cases were solved. Jonathan was convinced the characters played by Perry King and Joe Penny were romantically involved. I didn’t quite understand how he reached that conclusion, but it was an interesting thought and probably another example of Jonathan-logic, so I didn’t argue with him.

During a commercial break, I broached the subject I’d been thinking about since Joshua and I left the garage.

“You know, I’ve been thinking. Maybe now’s a good time to make a trip back to Wisconsin to see your dad and your sisters.”

We’d talked several times about his desire to take Joshua back to visit family. He hadn’t been back since he came to us, and while he spoke to his grandfather and/or aunts every month or so, Jonathan didn’t want them to become just voices on the phone.

“You deserve a little time off,” I said. “You said the other day that work was a little slow at Evergreen. Your boss would probably be willing to have you take some time off. You’ve got some vacation time coming, and now would be a perfect time to go, while you don’t have any freelance jobs.”

He was quiet for a few moments, thinking. “It
would
be nice to go back home for a while,” he said at last. “I’d like you to meet my family.”

I smiled. “I’d like that, but I think I’d better stay around and hold down the fort. Besides, this is a family thing.”

“You’re family,” he said.

“I appreciate that,” I said, “but this will be your first trip home with Joshua, and I’d just be a distraction. I’ll go with you next time.”

“But it won’t be a vacation without you,” he objected.

“You’ll have another week coming,” I said. “We can all go somewhere together then.”

“Well, I don’t know. I just don’t like going anywhere without you.”

“I know, and I’ll miss you, too. But I definitely think you should go.”

The program resumed, and we went back to watching.

At the next commercial, he said, “Yeah, I suppose now would be a good time to go home. When do you think we should go?”

“The sooner the better,” I said. “How about this Thursday?”

He looked at me suspiciously. “The day after tomorrow? Are you serious? No way I couldn’t leave that soon! I have to clear it with my boss, see if Dad will be able to pick us up, pack, let the gang know. All sorts of stuff. Maybe Saturday, that way I won’t miss more work than I have to.” He turned to face me full-on. “Something else is going on here. Tell me.”

He deserved the truth. My trying to protect him with evasions and half-truths hadn’t worked, and he was right to resent my trying.

So, I told him.

“Look,” I said, trying to appear as casual about it as I could, “if—and that’s a big if—you’re right about Clarence Bement’s not having committed suicide, that means somebody killed him. And if whoever did it knows you and Mr. Bement talked a lot, it’s not impossible he may think Mr. Bement told you something he shouldn’t have.”

“But he didn’t!” 

“You and I may know that, but the guy who called you to come out to a deserted stretch of road doesn’t.”

“So, it wasn’t a stone that broke my windshield.” It was more a statement than a question.

I shook my head. “Afraid not.”

“And if I hadn’t swerved to avoid that pothole…”

I reached over to take his hand, entwining our fingers.

“But you did,” I said, “and that’s what matters.” I squeezed his hand. “Look, we can’t be sure about any of this. The window could have been an accident and your being followed a coincidence.”

“But you don’t think so.” 

“Hey, I’m a private investigator. I see bad guys lurking behind every tree whether they’re there or not. But just to be safe, I want to look into it further, and I’ll be able to do that a lot easier if I don’t have to worry about you and Joshua while I’m doing it.”

“You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?”

“Trying to protect me. I do appreciate it, but I really can take care of myself.”

“I know you can, Babe, and that’s not the issue. It’s not even a question of just you and me. We have Joshua to think about now, too. Just in case there
is
a real problem here, we can’t let him be involved. I can’t help but worry about you and try to protect you—that’s what I’m here for. So humor me. Look on it as my being selfish—by protecting you, I’m protecting myself. You’d do the same for me.”

He smiled. “Of course I would. But I’d try not to be so obvious about it.”

*

We watched the late news in relative silence, and I could see, glancing over at him frequently, that he was thinking about everything that had been going on. I was very impressed that he seemed to take the possibility someone might have deliberately taken a shot at him and then followed him as calmly as he was.

As the news ended, he looked at me and said, “You’re right. We really should go. I’ll check with my boss tomorrow then call Dad to see if it’s okay with him and if he can pick us up in Rhinelander. I’ll have to miss chorus practice next week—I’ve never missed a practice before.”