Keeping Victoria's Secret (28 page)

They watched helplessly as the fire burned,
flames leaping high in the sky.

The volunteer firemen came quickly and doused
what remained of the fire to prevent it from spreading. After they
left, Jack persuaded Vicky to return to bed, but he remained on the
porch, his gaze fixed on the smoldering embers.

As the sun was coming up, Victoria slipped
silently onto the porch and handed Jack a steaming mug of
coffee.

“Thank you very much Victoria. I really need
this.”

“You were up all night.” When he didn’t
respond she said, “I couldn’t sleep either.” Vanishing into the
house, she returned coffee in hand to sit beside him. Blowing
across the rim of her cup to cool the liquid, she sipped.

“I can’t imagine who would have done
something like that. This must have been an accident. Just a
careless cigarette butt thrown out a window, something like
that.”

“No Victoria, it was intentional. Someone
vandalized us.”

“Well who then, Jack?”

He had an idea who, but just shrugged. He was
thinking that someone crazy and malicious enough to do this might
have bigger ideas yet. Next time it could be the barn, or even the
house. Not wanting to alarm Victoria, he kept these thoughts to
himself. I’ll have to talk with Vince. Maybe even put up a motion
detection camera or something. Vince will know what to do. In
silence, he considered his options.

A red Ford mustang came cruising down the
road, slowed, and pulled into the driveway.

“Here comes Paul Revere, but he's a little
late,” said Jack.

John Van Wart climbed out, waved to them, and
then stood hands on hips eyeing the blackened remains of the fruit
stand. Turning he made his way to the porch. “That just happen last
night?” he asked.

“Yup,” said Jack.

Vicky got up. “John, have a seat. How about I
get you some coffee?”

“Thanks Vicky. That would be great. Just
black, don’t need to put anything in it.”

She went inside and John took one of the
wicker chairs. “I came out here this morning for a reason. Had
something specific I wanted to tell you.”

Jack grunted, “Didn’t think you drove all the
way out here because they’d run out of coffee in town.”

“If you don’t mind my saying so Jack, you
seem like you’re in an unusually disagreeable mood, even for you. I
came out to warn you about something, but it looks like I’m too
late.”

“Some bastard torched my fruit stand in the
middle of the night. Of course I’m in a bad mood. Why shouldn’t I
be?”

“Yeah well, what I was going to tell you was
that Rip Van Winkle came into town yesterday, like he always does.
About the same time every Wednesday afternoon, Rip shows up. Goes
to the grocery and picks up a case of beer and some food, then over
to the Shell Station to gas up. Same routine, every week. Old Rip
is, if nothing else, a creature of habit. The operative word being
creature.”

“Is this a long story John? Is there a point
you’re trying to make?”

“Bear with me. Remember when you asked Vince,
Jimmy and me to watch Van Winkle to see if he did anything unusual?
You weren’t sure if it might help the legal case, but you wanted to
know anyway. I told my guys working at the station to tell me if he
did anything out of the ordinary, and yesterday he did.”

“And that would be what,” asked Jack.

“Every week he pulls in and fills up his
pickup with regular and fills his five gallon gas can that he keeps
in the back of the truck. Guess he uses that much with his lawn
tractor and equipment at the cider mill. Then he comes inside and
pays cash, and always, without fail, buys two Hersey bars with
almonds. Yesterday he did something different. He filled two five
gallon gas cans instead of just the one.”

Both men looked across the lawn at the
charred stumps of lumber and debris from which tendrils of blue
smoke still climbed skyward.

“I’m not saying that Rip used that extra
gasoline to start a fire or anything like that, but….”

Vicky emerged from the front door and handed
a mug to John. “You’re thinking that Jonathan Van Winkle did this,”
she said.

“No way to prove it, but I’d say that was a
pretty fair guess. I don’t believe in coincidences,” said Jack. “So
then, the next question is what do I do with a barn full of
vegetables without the stand to sell them?”

Neither John nor Vicky answered him, then
Vicky rose and slowly walked to the end of the porch. She turned
and walked back, and stood giving the porch an appraising look.

“What are you doing?” asked Jack.

“I’m thinking. You want to know what I’m
thinking.”

“Sure Victoria, I’ll play along. What are you
thinking?”

“Jack, you don’t need that stand on the road.
The porch here is what, maybe forty feet long and ten feet wide. We
just sell the stuff from the porch. What’s the difference? So
people have to drive another hundred feet up to the house.”

“Jack shook his head. “I don’t know,” he
said.

“Jack! Vicky has a great idea. Don’t know why
I didn’t think of it myself. You’re just so pissed off that you’re
not thinking clearly,” offered Van Wart.

“I’ll help you Jack; we can sell the
vegetables from right up here on the porch. Why not?” said
Vicky.

“All you have to do is let everyone know
about the change,” said John. “If people hear that the stand burned
down, they might not bother driving out. I’ll put a notice up in
the window of the Shell station informing them you’re still in
business, and I’ll tell Vince and Jimmy. Those two will spread the
word faster than the evening TV news.”

Vicky returned to her chair. “You’re right,
John. Come on, Jack, let’s do it. You’re not going to let Van
Winkle win this thing are you? If I remember, you’ve always said
you’d fight him to the end. I’ll help you. We’ll turn the porch
into a little store.”

“She’s right Jack, it’s a good idea.” added
Van Wart, his voice rising an octave. “Of course, if you want to
try a more direct approach, you and I can sneak over to Van
Winkle’s tonight and burn down something on his property. Maybe a
chicken coop or something. Better not tell Vince though.”

“Don’t think that’s a good idea, John. You
two are right though. I’ll admit that. I’m not going to let that
little tub of lard get the best of us. Okay, so I agree with you.
Why not use the porch.”

“All right, lady and gentleman, I’m off to
town to spread the word and go to work on this. Thanks for the
coffee.” John gave a salute, and in a moment, was speeding down the
road in his red Mustang.

Marsha Chandler drove slowly, not wanting to
miss her destination on the unfamiliar country road. Her windows
were down and the fresh air wafted in. The day was picture perfect,
sunny and mild, under a brilliant blue cloudless sky. Approaching a
curve in the road, she saw there were orchards with rows of neatly
pruned trees to either side. Her GPS spoke, informing her, “You
have arrived at your destination, four hundred feet, on left.” She
glanced down at the print out of Vicky’s email on the seat beside
her. It was always comforting when the GPS agreed with the
old-fashioned written directions.

Marsha heard the voices and laughter before
she saw the crowd of people. Rounding a bend in the road, the GPS
confirmed her successful arrival. She braked, coming to a full stop
and once again glanced at the written directions. “This can’t be
right. It doesn’t look at all like Vicky described the farm,
though…” She squinted at the number on the mailbox at the end of
the drive. That’s correct, so it must be the right place.

Down the road lay a tangled heap of blackened
timbers. “Wonder what that’s all about?”

Cautiously she turned into the drive that was
filled with parked cars and trucks. Some spilled onto the lawns. A
good looking guy in jeans, cowboy boots, and blue work shirt was
leaning against a red Mustang convertible. He was in conversation
with a pretty, dark haired girl, a mug in one hand gesturing with a
half-eaten muffin in the other. Glancing at the Mustang’s bumper,
she saw a National Rifle Association sticker and another that was a
pink ribbon with the words, “SAVE THE TA-TAS.” Another
pink-ribboned sticker proclaimed, “SAVE THEM ALL, BIG OR
SMALL.”

“O-kay.” she said, drawing out the word and
rolling her eyes.

Several young children were squealing with
glee as their father tossed a Frisbee into the air for them. A
large dog chased after the Frisbee along with the children.
Everywhere people stood about chatting and laughing. Up on the
front porch there were perhaps a dozen more people picking
vegetables from baskets ranged along one wall. They were filling
bags while others patiently waited their turn. Marsha scanned the
faces, hoping to see Vicky, but she was nowhere in evidence. This
looks more like a farmer’s market than anything else. It was the
right address, and it looked like the farmhouse as Vicky had
described it, but she’d said nothing about this.

She picked her way through the crowd that
parted for her, everyone smiling and wishing her a good morning.
What’s with this? Vicky said this was a quiet sleepy little town
and she lived a quiet existence on this out-of-the-way little apple
farm.

Marsha mounted the steps and saw a tall dark
handsome man who seemed to be the one in charge. At least he was
taking money from customers who were coming up clutching their
paper bags filled with beans and squash. She made her way to the
end of the porch where the tall man was in conversation with a
young woman holding a baby.

“Hey,” she said with a smile. “I’m looking
for Vicky Buonadies. I’m a friend of hers. Hope I’m in the right
place. Are you Jack?”

“I plead guilty! Name is Jack Conner.
Victoria said she had a friend coming this weekend. That would be
you, I guess. Sorry things are so hectic now. Excuse me. Yes Mrs.
Johnson, let’s see, I suppose that’ll be four dollars and fifty
cents. Thanks very much. Yes indeed those are certainly some lovely
cucumbers. You have a nice day now, okay?”

The girl with the baby stepped forward
beaming, “Hi, I’m Penny Smith and this is Charlotte.” Little
Charlotte rewarded them with an exceptionally cute, high-pitched
baby squeal.

“What a darling. I’m Marsha Chandler, glad to
meet all of you,” she said with a wave.

The screen door banged open and Vicky emerged
balancing a large tray filled with enormous muffins. “Marsha! So
glad you got here okay. Welcome to Pippen’s Grove. Come on in, have
some coffee and a blueberry muffin.” She set the tray down on a
table next to a coffee urn surrounded by cups, cream, and
sugar.

Marsha went to her friend and gave her a hug.
“Vicky, Honey, this is the sleepy little town with nothing
happening? Didn’t know you were running a grocery store. I’d love
coffee and a muffin, thanks.”

Another woman was at her elbow putting a
muffin on a paper napkin. “I’m Diane Vandersmoot. Nice to meet you.
Vicky says you live in the city?”

“I do. Vick and I’ve been friends, oh; I
don’t know, six, maybe seven years now. So Vick. What’s going on
here?” said Marsha with an inclusive wave of her arm at the throng
of people.

“It’s a long story. I’ll tell you everything
later.”

“I just met your friend Jack,” she said with
widened eyes and an inclination of her head toward the end of the
porch. “Nice! You really stepped in it. This is totally different
than your life in Jersey.”

“Well yeah, that’s another long story.” She
laughed.” We’ll have plenty of time to talk tonight after things
calm down. If you want to get your stuff, you can put it in the
bedroom at the top of the stairs on the right. No, wait a minute.”
Vicky looked over the crowd on the lawn until she spotted the
person she was looking for. “John, hey, John Van Wart,” she
called.

He heard her and left the pretty girl he was
conversing with, eased away from his Mustang, and came trotting up
to the porch.

“John, this is my friend Marsha Chandler.
She’s staying with me for the weekend. Could you give her a hand
with her stuff? I think her car is right behind yours.”

Van Wart’s eyes made a lightning quick
appraisal of the extremely attractive woman next to Vicky. Her hair
was long, the color of honey and her eyes were large and bright
blue, her complexion a summery peaches and cream. She wore a light
blue dress, which made the most of her full breasts and shapely
legs.

“I would be honored and pleased beyond
measure to be of assistance Vicky. Consider it done. Marsha, come
and show me what you need carried in, and welcome to the Grove.
Beautiful day isn’t it?”

Marsha followed him down the steps with brows
raised in a quizzical look over her shoulder. Vicky just grinned.
In a minute, John came trotting back, gaily whistling some
unidentifiable tune. He carried a small suitcase and overnight bag
on one shoulder. Marsha followed behind with her purse and laptop
bag, threading her way through the crowd on the lawn.

As she passed by Vicky again, she murmured,
“Some sleepy little town. Is this everyone in town or what?”
Laughing she called out, “We’ll talk. Right now I’m going to get
this stuff upstairs, then relax with one of those blueberry muffins
and coffee.”

Vicky took the sizzling pan from the oven,
while Marsha looked on, inhaling the fragrance of roasting meat and
herbs. “What is that Vick? It smells incredible.”

“One of Grandma Buonadies favorite one dish
suppers. It’s usually just called ‘Chicken, Sausage, and Potatoes’,
but it also contains a bunch of onions, garlic, olive oil, and a
generous sprinkling of basil, parsley and oregano. It’s really one
of the easiest things to put together. I love this, but be warned,
it’s not exactly low calorie.”