The Secret Keeper (7 page)

“So Jonathan was lucky to have swerved just before the bullet hit,” I observed. 

“Depends on which way he swerved,” Stern replied. “If the shooter had seen the passenger’s side of the cab was empty and aimed there, the swerve could have moved the bullet
closer
to the driver.”

Well, that was a helpful bit of information,
I thought. But I still chose not to dwell on what might have happened if he hadn’t swerved.

“There’s a couple of teenagers who live around there who’ve been in trouble before for this sort of thing, and there’s a crossroads with a stop sign just beyond the bridge and right near where your friend described being hit. The city has to replace that particular sign just about every year, it’s so riddled with bullet holes. They might have been aiming for that.”

Uh-huh,
I thought.

“We’ll check those teenagers out,” Pardue said.

“What about Jonathan’s belief that it might have something to do with Clarence Bement’s death, and the fact that someone was following him yesterday?”

“We don’t have the Bement case,” Stein said. “But we took down the information, and will pass it on to whoever has it.”

“Howie Garland and Dave Angell,” I said.

“Ah, okay. So we’ll pass it on to them. But frankly, it seems a little unlikely that there’s any real connection. He said he only worked for Bement for a short time, so I can’t see why someone might be after him.”

I could certainly see their point. “Well, I appreciate your letting Garland and Angell know about it anyway,” I said.

They left shortly thereafter, giving me the okay to take the truck in for a new windshield. “You might ask them to give you the old one, just in case it might be needed as evidence somewhere down the road,” Pardue said.

As soon as they’d gone, I returned to my office to call the auto glass company. 

Chapter 3

I left work a little early to get the truck in and took
the bus home from there. I’d just walked in the apartment door when the phone rang.

“Jonathan Quinlan?” an odd, androgynous voice asked. It might have been my imagination, but it sounded as though the caller was deliberately altering his (?) voice, and I shifted into alert mode.

“No, I’m sorry, he’s not here,” I said. “Can I help you?”

“Uh…no, I don’t think so. When do you expect him back?”

“Can I ask what this is about?”

There was a long hesitation before, “I wanted to speak to him about a landscaping job.”

“Well, if you’ll leave me your name and number, I’ll have him get back to you as soon as he can.”

Another pause. “That’s all right. I’ll try him again later,” was followed by the click of the phone being hung up, and the dial tone.

I held the receiver away from my head and scowled at it as though it might tell me something more. It didn’t, and I eventually replaced it on the cradle. I wondered how the caller had gotten our number, and I was not happy.

Jonathan and Joshua got home without incident. I didn’t mention the call, but asked if he’d seen the black Mercedes; he said he might have but wasn’t sure.

“I was out with my boss most of the day,” he said. “He said it’s fine if I want to take one of my weeks’ vacation now, by the way. Anyway, when we came back just before closing. I think I might have caught a glimpse of it about a block away but couldn’t be sure. I’d parked the car on the grounds, and I left through the back exit onto Freeman. If it was the guy, I’m sure he didn’t see me. It may not have been him, anyway. But I didn’t want to take any chances.”

Smart kid. 

“I’ve been thinking,” I said as we fixed dinner, “that it might be a good idea for me to answer the phone until you and Joshua leave for Wisconsin. And I know it might be a little awkward, but could you ask whoever answers the phone at work to say you’re not in and just get a number if any calls come in for you?”

He looked a little puzzled. “Yeah, I can do that. But why?”

“Well, if anyone calls and leaves a number, it’s probably legit. But if they won’t leave a number, I don’t think you want to talk to them anyway.”

As if a light had gone on in his head, he said, “Oh.”

*

We waited until near the end of dinner to tell Joshua he was going to take an airplane ride to go to see his grandpa and aunts and cousins. He seemed far more excited about the plane ride than seeing the relatives.

After dinner, Jonathan called his dad who, from what I could understand without actually hearing both sides of the conversation, had no problem with the short notice for the visit. After confirming the basics, Jonathan turned the phone over to Joshua, who had been all but hopping up and down to talk to his grandfather.

“I’m coming to see you!” he said happily. “On an airplane!”

They talked for a minute, until Joshua said, “Okay,” and handed the phone back to Jonathan to finish the conversation.

While Jonathan had been very close to his mother and his brother Samuel, his family was not terribly close-knit. He was the baby of the family; Samuel had been five years older, and his three sisters were several years older than Samuel. They had all been married and starting families of their own before Jonathan finished grade school. His father had been too busy trying to run the family farm and working as a long-haul truck driver to spend much of what they now call “quality time” with any of his children.

But Jonathan, being Jonathan, was devoted to them all, and it was he who initiated most of the contacts with them. He never missed a birthday or wedding anniversary.

*

Needless to say, Joshua was a handful all night. We’d intended to start calling the gang to let them know the two Js would be gone for a week but only managed one call, to Phil and Tim—a call made much longer than it would have been by Joshua’s insistence on talking to both of them. He seemed to fear that if he talked to just one, the other would be left in the dark. And a first airplane ride warranted as many people knowing as possible.

After getting a still-hyper Joshua safely tucked into bed, Jonathan and I went into the living room to watch TV.

“You know, I’m a little concerned about something,” Jonathan said as we sat on the couch.

“Yeah? What?”

“I’m worried about how he’ll react to going home.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, though the minute he said it, I think I knew.

“You know how he loves
Sesame Street
? The other day we were talking about it on the way home from day care, and he was telling me that Big Bird was his favorite character. I asked him why, and he said, ‘He doesn’t have a mommy or daddy either.’ It nearly broke my heart. I don’t know why I didn’t tell you at the time.

“Anyway, I’m a little afraid that going back to Wisconsin might really be hard on him. It was home until he came to us, and he hasn’t been back since…since the accident. I know he’s adjusted really well, but maybe going back might bring out a lot of things he’s covered over. I mean, he knows his parents aren’t coming back, but because he didn’t go to the funeral, he didn’t have the closure of knowing for sure.”

“Well, I think you were right in not wanting to expose him to all that, and you weren’t in any shape yourself to handle the extra trauma,” I said. “We’ll just have to see how he reacts to going back and deal with any problems when and if they come up.” Even as I said it, I felt guilty, realizing that it would be Jonathan who had to deal with them, since I wouldn’t be there to help.

“I was thinking,” he continued. “He came here with Bunny, and I think one reason he likes it so much is because it reminds him of his folks and before they…before.”

Jonathan had bought Bunny, a large stuffed rabbit, while we were on vacation in New York, and it had been a fourth-birthday present for Joshua. The two had been inseparable ever since, and while Joshua was beginning to grow out of his doll stage, Bunny was still his bed partner.

“I really hope he doesn’t want to bring Bunny with him on the trip,” he said. Bunny is entirely too big to carry on the plane.

“I’m sure he will. But I’ll ask him if he would leave Bunny here to keep me company when I get lonesome. We’ll tell him we’ll get him something at the airport to take with him. And Bunny’s being here will help remind him that he belongs here now.”

“That’s a good idea! Thanks!”

Our conversation was interrupted by the ringing of the phone, which I hurried to answer.

“Is Jonathan Quinlan in?” the voice asked. It was not the same one who had called earlier, but I was still cautious.

“I’m sorry, he’s not. Can I take a message?”

“Are you his partner?”

That was an odd question.

“Yes,” I said, leaving it at that.

“You’re a private investigator?”

I paused only a second, increasingly curious and not a little suspicious, before saying, “Yes.”

“My name is Mel Fowler. Jonathan worked for my late grandfather, and I was calling him to get your name and number. I’d like to talk to you about looking into the circumstances surrounding my grandfather’s death.”

Well, well,
I thought. So Jonathan isn’t the only one who suspects Bement’s death may not have been a suicide.

“I’ll be happy to talk to you, Mr. Fowler. When would you like to meet?”

“I’ll be starting a three-day rotation Friday, so would you have any time at all tomorrow?”

“I don’t have my schedule with me,” I said, knowing I didn’t have any specific appointments but finding it hard to break the old habit of always acting as if I were busier than I was. “But I think it’s fairly clear tomorrow morning. How about ten o’clock?” I gave him my office phone number and address.

“Thank you! I’ll see you then.”

We exchanged good-byes and hung up.

Jonathan had been watching me, curious, ever since he heard me mention Mel Fowler’s name, and I returned to the couch to fill him in.

“See?” he said. “I knew I was right about Mr. Bement not killing himself.”

“Well, we still don’t know that for a fact,” I said, “but it’s nice to know you aren’t alone in your opinion.” 

*

Jonathan and Joshua left a little early Thursday morning so Jonathan could tell the Bronson sisters of the trip. I took the bus to work so I could pick up Jonathan’s truck on my way home.

Promptly at ten o’clock, a knock at the door pulled my eyes up to the silhouette of a male figure on the opaque glass. I got up from my desk and walked over to open it.

I try not to think in stereotypes, but if the stereotype of a male flight attendant was of a strikingly handsome hunk all but radiating gay vibes, Mel Fowler was it. Not nelly, not fem, but unmistakably gay.

Jonathan’s brief but glowing physical description hadn’t done Mel justice. If he ever decided to hang up his airline steward’s uniform, he could instantly get a job as resident hunk on any soap opera on TV.

He was about Jonathan’s height and build, with a cover-model face and the kind of light-blue eyes that, in my single days, would have made me melt. (Okay, so they still made me thaw a little.) He was wearing a bright-blue sport shirt, white chinos, and dark brown loafers, all of which did nothing to lessen his overall sex appeal. I also caught the slight scent of a cologne I’d given Jonathan for our anniversary and which always drove me to distraction. It took quite a bit of will power to push my libido back into its little box and close the lid.

“Come in,” I said, a little unnecessarily, extending my hand.

His grip was strong and warm, and the thaw factor rose by several degrees. Whatever American was paying him wasn’t enough. But then I realized that, as Clarence Bement’s grandson, he probably didn’t need the money.

I showed him to a chair in front of my desk.

“Coffee?” I asked, having just made a fresh pot in anticipation.

“No, thanks,” he said. His voice would make a great topping for an ice-cream sundae, I decided. “I had a late breakfast.” And again, while most straights probably wouldn’t immediately pick up on it, if I had my eyes closed and heard his voice across a crowded room, I’d have known he was gay. It’s a gift we have.

I moved around to my chair and sat down.

“So what can I do for you, Mr. Fowler?” I always used a client’s last name until otherwise advised.

“It’s Mel…Mr. Hardesty,” he said, grinning. Nice grin.

“Fair enough,” I replied, returning the grin and noticing the lid had come off of my libido box. I forced it back in. “And it’s Dick.”

“See? We’re making progress already.”

“I must admit I was a little surprised to get your call.”

He sat back in his chair. “You shouldn’t be. Grandpa B became really very fond of Jonathan in the short time he knew him, and Jonathan talked about you several times. He’s very proud of you, and you’re really lucky to have him.”

“Believe me, I know,” I said. “But why do you suppose your grandfather would have mentioned all this to you?”

“Well, at first I thought it was just his casual way of letting me know he knew I’m gay—we’d never talked about it, but how could he not know? Anyway, because he knew Jonathan was, he was probably just letting me know he was okay with it.”