Nobody Knows Your Secret (2 page)

W
hen Hadley arrived home
, she called her good friend, Delta Arden. Delta was a waitress at the Greasy Spoon.

“Hey, girlfriend,” Delta said. “What’s up?”

“Maury and I were just riding around. Brinkley’s truck came up. I’ve been meaning to ask you how those flowers are doing since you dosed them with the manure we loaded in Brink’s truck bed.”

“Girl, those things are growin’ like weeds. I never seen a patch of flowers take off so. I’m really glad you helped me, Hadley,” Delta said. “I think the dirt I had them in was lacking something. That was the sorriest flower bed I ever had in my life until I got that compost mixed in.”

“You should have seen Brinkley eye the bed of that truck when I returned it to his garage that day,” Hadley said. “Wouldn’t have surprised me one bit if he’d pulled a microscope out of his back pocket the way he was looking over it. Making sure I’d cleaned all that fertilizer out.”

“Ha, ha, I can just imagine. He treats that rust bucket like it’s the Hope Diamond.”

“The engine does hum.”

“Yeah. He keeps that part running smoothly, “but a little soap and water and some elbow grease would do that bucket of bolts a world of good.”

“What it lacks in looks,” Hadley said, “it makes up for in dependability.”

“I guess,” Delta said. “What else did you do?”

“Nothing much. Maury and I got off on Rayna Croft.”

“Why did she come up?” Delta asked. “I try to forget her, Hadley. I really do.”

“I know. It was a jolt,” Hadley said. “Her confession that she killed Eustian Singlepenny because she believed he’d negligently stored gas in cans marked kerosene was something.”

“Junior Croft died because he mistook that fuel for kerosene when he poured it into that orchard heater that night,” Delta said.

“I know. But I just can’t believe it! And just think, Delta. Who knew Rayna was so cunning and patient! She waited all those years, biding her time, incubating her plan until she felt she could pull it off. And grinding up apricot kernels and putting them into a pie crust so that Eustian would die from cyanide poisoning! How unbelievably clever is that!”

“Yeah. Rayna’s a lot smarter than anyone gave her credit for.”

“She’d have to be, I guess. She ran that orchard single-handedly after Teddy disappeared. Until Richie grew up enough to help out. I’m sure having a son like Richie was a comfort. It didn’t bring Junior back, though. I think losing Junior was harder on Rayna than Teddy disappearing after Junior’s death.”

“Me, too. Junior was her stepson, but I think,” said Delta, “she loved him as much as her own son. By the way, how is Richie since his mom was sent to prison?”

“He’s fine. I guess young people bounce back fast.”

“I’ll say,” said Delta. “He married and got Florene pregnant before you could say ‘boo.’”

“I know. But hormones race hot at that age. Besides, Richie needs somebody like Florene. She’s got a good head on her shoulders. Together, she and Richie will do just fine running the orchard. I’m really happy that he found such a nice girl. He’s lucky. It had to be a horrible shock for him to hear his mother confess to killing a neighbor, like that.”

“Yeah,” said Delta. “I guess it is a good thing the young bounce back quick.”

I
t was Sunday afternoon
. A small crowd had gathered on the front porch of Ruth Elliot’s new shop. The Band-Aid was more successful than she had hoped. She’d chosen the name to symbolize her work at the rescue shelter she ran for sick and orphaned wildlife in the area.

Ruth and her friend, Sandy Miller, had opened it several weeks ago. It showcased the work of local craftsmen and artists. But the primary goal of The Band-Aid was to educate folks to respect animals in the wild and to recruit volunteers to help out at the wildlife rescue shelter.

Sandy had asked local musicians to play on Saturday nights and Sunday afternoons as an added attraction. The response had been heartwarming. Hobarth Stricker had agreed to teach young people interested in learning to play the guitar. The fact that Hobie had consented to give free lessons was a boon for the shop.

Hobarth Stricker was a legend in the area. Not only did he play stringed instruments, he made them.

“He’s just got the knack,” musicians would say. “Hobie knows when an instrument is gonna sound right.”

Famous celebrities had purchased Hobie’s guitars. In his little brick shop near Windy Creek, Hobie worked 14 to 16 hours a day churning out acoustical guitars just for the love of it. Everyday, he turned an ordinary piece of mountain hardwood into something magical. Nobody could explain it.

Hobie would sand and saw and glue, just like anybody else. But somewhere along the process, he left a piece of his soul in any instrument he made. The mellow sound of his babies could not be replicated, no matter how hard anyone tried. Hobie Stricker wasn’t your everyday craftsman. He was the master. And he played the instruments he so lovingly created.

“Hadley Pell!” Lou Edna exclaimed. “You’ll strain something Doc Emory can’t repair. Those little kiddie seats are not made to hold up an adult. You’re gonna go crashing down and bust your behind!”

“I’ll admit,” Hadley said, “these tiny chairs aren’t the most comfortable. And I think I’m gonna need a crane to hoist me up. But I want to learn to play a guitar, Lou Edna. I swallowed my pride and got here first, this afternoon. Hobie is teaching these kids. I decided I wanted to get in on the lessons. I’d swallow my pride and look ridiculous any day just to have Hobie teach me.”

“But ain’t it just for kids?” Lou Edna asked.

“There’s no age limit on the poster advertising the lessons, today. I am the biggest kid at heart. So, I qualify.”

“Yes, you are, Hadley,” Hobie said, walking up with his instruments. “Where’d y’all get all those little brightly colored chairs. It looks like a rainbow up on this porch.”

“The five-year-old Sunday School Class donated them,” Hadley said.

“Hobie, do you mind if I learn along with the kids?”

“Shoot no,” Hobie said. “Somebody took the time to teach me. I apprenticed under Minta Bartholomew. All it takes is somebody who’s really serious about learning. It’s a code we go by. It’s what keeps the music alive. I’m just passing on the tradition to the next generation. Anyone who wants to learn is welcome on my porch.”

“Thanks, Hobie. Could you give me hand? I really don’t think my oversized frame was made for this munchkin chair.”

“No problem.”

Hadley thought Hobie Stricker was the nicest man.

T
hat following Monday
, Hadley walked into Lou Edna’s Beauty Boutique. She was greeted with catcalls and whistles.

“When you gonna show us what Hobie taught you, Hadley?”

“Look, Lou Edna,” Hadley said, “it may come as a surprise to you, but learning to play the guitar is something I’ve always wanted to do. Hobie was generous enough to let me sit in on those lessons he’s giving the kids.”

“I know, girl. I’m just messin’ with you,” Lou Edna said. “Have a seat in this bodacious, pink beauty, and let me get started on your wash and set.”

Lou Edna’s décor was a riot of pink. Her chairs, dryers, walls, and even her uniform glowed
Pepto
.

“If you wasn’t a sight though in that iddy biddy kiddie chair,” Lou Edna said. “It was all I could do not to bust a gut laughing.”

“You said it.” “I realized what a mistake I’d made plopping down in that tiny thing. Not only were my knees in my nose, but, for a minute there, I thought I was going to have to toss my stomach over my shoulders. Those Sunday School chairs are low.”

“I declare if you waddn’t a sight for sore eyes sittin’ in that iddy biddy thing,” the beautician said, scrubbing Hadley’s scalp. “And a lot braver than I’d ever be. One squat down that far would be all she wrote. I’d bust a hamstring or something as sure as the world.”

“Lou, you ain’t lying,” Hadley said. “I was sweating bullets there for a minute. I kept waiting for that sickeningly, horrific sound of inseam giving way. But thank goodness for double stitching. My pants made it through, even if my pride took a licking.”

“You going back for more lessons next week?”

“You bet. I learned three chords, yesterday. Next week, Hobie promised to teach us a song.”

“Oh, Hadley,” Lou Edna said, “you ain’t gonna sing? That would scare the daylights out of them little ones.”

“No,” Hadley said. “But I might hum along softly.”

“Well, “you see one of them little ones start tearing up like he’s gotta do number two real bad, you stop. Okay?”

“I will. I know I can’t sing. Harry told me I had to stop singing in the shower. He was afraid my high notes would crack the tiles.”

“I know the Good Book says something about making a joyful noise,” Lou Edna said, “but I’ve sat beside you in church. Your noise may be joyful to Him, but to the rest of us, it’s pure misery.”

“I just want to learn how to play. Not sing, Lou Edna,” Hadley said.

“Good,” Lou Edna said, wrapping a towel around Hadley’s head and causing her face to disappear beneath a veil of cottony pink. “How ’bout a little color, today, Hadley?”

“I promise not to sing if you promise to leave the dye on the shelf behind you,” Hadley said from underneath the towel.

“Deal,” said Lou Edna. “Now, scoot under the dryer. I think a 30-minute break won’t get you too done.”

S
kip Whittaker was
up to his eyeballs in stock. Dorie Squares, the boss’s daughter, had triple-ordered on the kitty litter, toilet paper, and feminine hygiene products. Pixie-Squares was going to have to run a sale drastically discounting the items, if it ever hoped to unload them in the next century.

“Son!” Maury said, “these rows are so cluttered with boxes, I can barely get my cart through.”

“You’re telling me,” Skip said. “Dumb Dorie’s done it this time. I’ve put these things on just about every shelf. There’s no nook and cranny I haven’t squeezed in an extra bag of granulated kitty dump clay. Not to mention those feminine unmentionables. These things have been packed into every aisle, and I still have boxes and boxes to unload. The back is full, too. At this rate, I’ll be setting up shelves on Pixie’s roof, just to get some of this mess organized.”

“Mmmm,” Maury said, “not something you use everyday. Well, except for the striking paper.”

“Mama,” Skip said, “what am I gonna do? Pixie doesn’t want to hurt Dorie’s feelings and make her send this stuff back. He’s willing to eat the loss. But it’s my job to make sure the store looks nice. I’d pull my hair out, but the only problem that would solve is I’d no longer have to worry about going to the barber shop.”

“Don’t do it, Skip,” Maury said. “That’s not a good fashion statement. Trust me.”

Skip laughed.

“I better get busy. Need any vaginal creams, tampons, sanitary napkins, maternity maxi pads, or panti-liners? Pixies is your one-stop-shop.”

“Hah! You’re talkin’ to a post-menopausal mom, remember. But I could use some rolls of tidy wipies. We’re running low. Thanks for reminding me. I forgot to put TP on my list.”

“Buy several packs, Mom. Any help you give me is appreciated,” Skip said.

“Get creative. Offer a contest. You know your Aunt Hadley will enter to win anything. You’ll sell this stuff. I know it,” Maury said, doubtful, but trying to encourage her son.

“Hope we don’t get litter and napkins for our Christmas bonus this year,” Skip said

“I do, too. I know what I’ll be getting under the tree if you do,” said Maury.

“Yeah. Ain’t re-gifting a bummer!”

Maury laughed.

“See you for Sunday lunch, Skip.”

“Love you, Mama.”

“Me, too,” said Maury.

“Don’t forget I’m playing with Hobie Sunday afternoon at The Band-Aid,” Skip said.

“Got it marked on my calendar.”

“Radio station’s sending out a crew to broadcast us live.”

“My little boy up yonder with Hobie Stricker. You make me so proud, Skippy.”

Even though Skip still had a gazillion boxes left to stock on Pixie’s shelves, he couldn’t help but smile. Playing with Hobie Stricker was special. Any musician within a hundred miles would give their eyeteeth for the chance.

“Well,” Skip said, looking at the seemingly insurmountable task, “it’s a dirty job, but at least I got enough toilet paper to last me.”

H
adley’s cell rang
.

“Hey, Aunt Hadley,” Skip said. “You home?”

“Yes, Skipper, I sure am.”

“Great,” Skip said. He cleared his throat and began reading from a sheet of paper that Pixie had given him. “I am pleased to announce that Hadley Pell is the winner of the latest contest from the good folks at Pixie-Squares. We appreciate our customers at Pixies. And thanks for entering!”

“I won!” Hadley screamed. “I won! Wait a minute, Skip. Exactly what did I win?”

“Well, Aunt Hadley,” Skip said, “uh, well. Um, let’s just say you were the winning entry, and Pixie’s been most generous. He’s decided to double the contest winner’s prize. So, you get two times as much. I’ll be delivering your winnings, shortly. See you in about 15 minutes.”

Thirty minutes later, Skip had unloaded 24 cases of feminine hygiene products on Hadley’s kitchen floor.

“Thanks, Skip. I think.”

“No, Aunt Hadley. You really helped me out. With Pixie deciding to double the contest prize, the aisles down at Pixies-Squares are a lot less cluttered. Thanks a million. Gotta run. The truck’s coming this afternoon. No telling what surprises Dorie’s got waiting for me.”

Hadley gave Skip a peck on the cheek. He raced out of her house like his briefs were on fire.

Hadley’s cell rang, again.

“Maury,” Hadley said. “Get over here! I won that contest at Pixies.”

“You did what? Hadley, tell me you didn’t stuff that contest box with entry slips. It’s not goat cheese this time, Hadley.”

“No,” Hadley said. “Of course not. I only filled out one measly entry form. I’m pushing sixty. Why in the world would I need all those feminine hygiene products they were giving away? I wanted to win the kitty litter. Pixies is crammed full of that stuff. For kitty litter, I would have stuffed the box. I never thought in a million years I’d win. But it was a contest. I just couldn’t resist. You busy? Come over, help me unpack this stuff.”

“Be there in a sec, Sis,” Maury said.

Hadley looked at the mountain of boxes. The cases were huge. How many products had she won? And Pixie had doubled the winnings!

“Hadley Jane Pell! It looks like a warehouse in here!” Maury said.

“I know,” said Hadley. “That’s why I needed your help.”

“I brought a box cutter,” said Maury.

“Good. I didn’t want to use my best kitchen knife on all this cardboard,” said Hadley.

“You gonna have a truck load of cardboard for the recycling place, if nothing else.”

“Ain’t that the gospel truth. Well, time’s a-wasting. Let’s inventory this bounty.”

“What in the world is this stuff?” Maury asked, unpacking the first box.

“I don’t know. You and I haven’t needed products like these for a long time. Let’s see here,” Hadley said, opening a small box.

Out popped a small silicone cup.

“This feminine hygiene product is flexible and easy to use,” Hadley read from the leaflet that came inside the box. “A menstrual cup is placed . . . oh, Maury. You put this thing inside you and wear it for up to twelve hours. Pour the mess in the toilet and wash it and reuse it.”

“Ouuu. Hadley, I don’t know. That sounds a lot like drinking milk out of a dirty glass.”

“No. You wash it, but by-granny, I think I’d want it sterilized or something before I popped it back in. Ugh. Call me old-fashioned, but I’d be afraid my fingernails would fall off.”

“Nonsense,” Maury said. “That’s the same thing you used to say when you saw me changing Skip’s diapers. How many you got?”

“Twelve dozen,” Hadley said.

“Twelve dozen!”

“Maybe,” Hadley said, “I could tie them on the end of a fishing pole and use them as kitty toys for Onus. Or put them on my eyes, like this, and use them to block the light out when I’m napping.”

“You look ridiculous,” Maury said, holding up a cup and pinching the flexible thing like an accordion. I still think I’d wear a pad, Hadley. I just wouldn’t feel safe with just this. Would you”

“I’m glad I don’t have to think about it,” said Hadley.

“Well,” Maury said, “that uses up one or two, but what about the rest?”

“I don’t know,” said Hadley. “Let’s see what’s in these other boxes.”

“What in the world is this?” Maury said, cutting into a large cardboard box with her cutter.

“An anti-panti,” said Hadley.

“What?”

“For the gals who hate wearing panties but want to wear their jeans multiple days,” Hadley said, reading the brochure.

“You gotta be kidding me,” said Maury.

“If I’m lyin’, I’m dyin,’” Hadley said. “Apparently, you put this little dot of fabric on the inside of your jeans.”

“No thong lines!” said Maury.

“Mary Maureen! Stop putting those images in my head. Tell me you aren’t a thonger.”

“It’s my business what I wear as underwear. I know you go in for those big, old weather balloons, but granny panties aren’t for me. I’m a modern woman, Hadley, whether you like it or not. Besides, Bill likes them.”

“Stop. Whoa. Too much information,” Hadley said. “You want these. I got quite a few cases.”

“No, thanks,” Maury said. “Bill likes slinky, but invisible? I think he’d think he needed to see the eye doctor to have his bifocals changed.”

“Well, let’s see what other lovelies I won,” Hadley said. “Butt Bleach.”

“Butt what?”

“Do blondes reeeeally have more fun?”

“Stop, Hadley. How many?”

“Oh, looks like about four dozen bottles.”

“Oh, Hadley, this is a lot of stuff. What are you going to do with it all?”

“I dunno. Look, Maury!” Hadley said, diving into a newly opened box. “A funnel. Next time you and me take a road trip, you can stand behind any tree and relive yourself! No squatting.”

“Hadley!”

“I know. What was Dorie on when she ordered all this stuff? Speaking of drugs, has Bill made any headway finding out who killed Kyle Winthrop?”

“I don’t know, you know how closed-mouth he is when he is on a case. But wasn’t it awful about Kyle getting murdered in his own bed like that?”

“I know,” said Hadley. “But I’m not surprised. That boy’s been nothing but trouble since the day he was born.”

“Kyle’s not a boy, anymore,” said Maury. “He was 25. A few years older than Skip.”

“I read about it in the paper, this morning,” Hadley said. “Murdered in his own home! I told Onus I’d be afraid if he wasn’t such a good watch cat.”

“Hadley, don’t joke about this. Bill says drugs are taking over. Even way out here! He says that there are no good jobs for our kids around here, anymore. Young people who grow up in these mountains only want out. If they stay, a lot of them fall prey to drugs.”

“I know,” said Hadley. “I think about Skip.”

“Me, too. So far, Bill and I have nothing to complain about.”

“Skip’s a good boy,” said Hadley.

“But he’s restless. Something’s wrong. I don’t know if he’s on the outs with his new girlfriend, Katie, or what.”

“Who do you think might have done Kyle in?” Hadley asked.

“I don’t know,” Maury said. “The list is endless. Drug dealers. Some of Kyle’s buddies. He didn’t hang around with
Boy Scouts
. Anyway, if you’re okay here, I gotta run and fix dinner.”

“Sure. Thanks for your help.”

“Not a problem.”

Maury stood at the door, hesitating.

“What is it?” Hadley asked.

“Maybe this year would be a good year to drop our names from each other’s Christmas list,” Maury said.

“Not on your life, little sister,” Hadley said. “And I want to be the one to decorate your tree this year, too. Can’t you just imagine all these beautiful silicone cups and polka dot anti-pantis hangin’ on that tree? Oh, it will be magnificent! Displayed in your living room window will be a lighted advertisement for hygiene!

“I know! We’ll bleach the tree. A blonde Christmas tree! Oh, Maury! You’ll be the talk of the neighborhood!”

“Hadley, if you don’t stop right now, I’m going to shoot you! Don’t forget to lock your doors. There’s a maniac running loose in Hope Rock County.”

“But you forget,” Hadley said, “I have Onus the wonder cat. Best guard cat in the county.”

“Oh, pooh,” Maury said. “And lock your doors! And while you’re at it, figure out what you’re going to do with all those boxes. If you’re not careful, your house will look like that pack rat, Eustian Singlepenny’s.”

“Beanie and I are going to start that job, Monday. I’ll let you know how it goes. Onus! Come here, you fierce feline! I may need you to eat this wicked sister who’s threatening to shoot me! See you later, Maury.”

Those last statements were said in jest, but Hadley couldn’t help but feel uneasy. A murderer here in little Hope Rock County!

Scary beyond belief.