To Thine Own Self Be True (13 page)

Chapter Eighteen

It seemed that only minutes later Nick and I were standing in the foyer, his duffle bag at his feet. Lucy, Tess, and Lenny had said their good-byes, so now it was up to me to let Nick walk out the door.

“Thanks for letting me stay,” Nick said. “And for sharing your Christmas.”

I stuffed my hands in my pockets. “When will I see you again?”

He looked away. “When will you get down to Virginia?”

“Nick, it’s the middle of winter. The farm…”

He closed his eyes. “Yeah. I know. The farm.” He reached down and grabbed the handle of his bag before leaning forward to kiss me. I kissed him back, taking my hands from my pockets and resting them on his arms.

He pulled away and studied my face. “Stay in touch.” He opened the door and stepped out into the cold.

“Nick,” I said.

He turned.

I paused, the right words evading me. “Drive carefully.”

He looked at the ground, biting his lips together. “Yeah. Sure. I will.” He strode to the Ranger, which he’d already started and cleared of snow, then stepped into the cab, and shut the door. I heard the emergency brake let go, and Nick took one last look toward the house. I put up my hand, and he slowly drove out the lane.

When I could no longer see the truck I closed the door and leaned against it, questioning already whether Nick had really been in my house for the past few days. I wondered when—if—I’d ever see him again.

Pans clanged in the kitchen, breaking me out of my thoughts. I followed the sounds to find Lenny elbows deep in the sink, his back tense with the task of scrubbing the roasting pan.

Lucy glanced up from where she sat at the table, picking meat off the turkey carcass. “You okay?”

I wiggled my shoulders up and down, sitting across from her at the table. “Just how set are you about moving out this spring?”

She frowned. “Moving out?”

“To a garage apartment.”

She pulled a piece of brown meat off a bone and ate it. “That’s the plan, right? You rebuild the garage the way it was, and we live in the apartment?”

I leaned forward, my elbows on the table. “I was wondering if we might want to consider something different.”

She paused. “Like what?”

“Like you stay here in the house with me.”

The room went quiet. Lenny even stopped splashing and peered at me over his shoulder.

“What?” I said. “A woman can’t change her mind?”

Lenny turned back to the dishes.

Lucy smiled. “You’re serious?”

“You can think about it. You don’t have to answer now.”

“I don’t have to think about it. The answer’s yes.”

Lenny peered over his other shoulder.

“You have a problem with that, Len?” I asked.

He quickly went back to scrubbing. “Nope. No problem.”

“Good. I’m glad that’s settled.”

Lucy smiled some more and ate another bite of turkey. I was enjoying a good yawn when the phone rang.

“Guess I’ll get it,” I said. “Seeing how you guys are either wet or greasy.”

“And it is your house,” Lenny said.

I pushed back my chair. “Well, Lucy lives here, too.” I picked up the receiver. “Royalcrest Farm.”

“Stella? Merry Christmas.”

I smiled involuntarily. “Abe. What’s going on?”

“Ma and the women are cleaning up the dishes, while us guys are busy watching the kids and arguing over what game we’re going to play. My vote is for Up and Down the River, but I’m being outvoted by Bull.”

“The kids just want to say ‘Bull’ to the adults.”

“Don’t I know it. Hey, I was wondering if I could come over later this evening? Unless you’ve still got company.”

There was a twinge behind my temple. “Nope. He’s gone.”

“I can’t tell from your voice if that’s a good or bad thing. You can fill me in when I come over. Would it be too late if I came after milking? I should probably stick around here for the afternoon.”

“If you don’t mind me conking out while we’re talking.”

He laughed. “Wouldn’t be the first time. I’ll see you then.”

I hung up, and Lenny flung the dish towel onto the counter, having finished up the washing. Lucy still picked at the turkey, popping bites into her mouth. I grabbed the phone book and looked up the Spurgeons’ number. I dialed it, but got their answering machine.

“Stella Crown,” I said. “Rusty’s friend. I wondered if I could come over sometime, ask you a couple questions. Give me a call when you get in.” I left my number and hung up.

Lucy pretended not to hear my phone call, but Lenny stared at me with frank curiosity, which I ignored.

“I’m going on the computer for a bit,” I said. “Unless Tess has hijacked it.”

“About Wolf and Mandy?” Lenny asked.

“Yeah. I want to check out Artists for Freedom and that senate bill.”

Lucy looked up. “You really think it could have something to do with it all?”

I thought of the skinheads. They would’ve been the top of my suspect list, if they hadn’t been in jail. Since they were out of commission, I had to look at the lesser possibilities. Someone had committed these acts.

“You never know. Thanks again for lunch.”

Lucy smiled. “I don’t mind being the house chef.”

I walked out to the living room, where the computer was free of game players. I took a seat and logged on. Lenny appeared at my shoulder.

“What?” I said. I really didn’t want to avoid direct questions about what I was keeping from him. But he surprised me.

“Any chance you could watch Tess for an hour or so this evening while I give Lucy her Christmas present?”

I shrugged. “Sure. When did you have in mind?”

“I was thinking we could stay here till milking’s done, then take off for a bit.”

“Sounds fine. Abe’s coming over, but that doesn’t matter. He always likes to see Tess.”

“Thanks.” He went back to the kitchen.

I found AskJeeves.com and typed in the name of the senate bill, getting dozens of hits but only a few that pertained to my interests. I modified the search, putting quotes around “PA House Bill No. 752.” Now I got only a dozen hits, most of them a well-distributed commentary by a guy at BAEzine, also known as BodyArt.com, an online magazine. Reading it was an education. He took the bill itself, broke it down, and explained the bill’s weaknesses. There were a lot of them, most of which I’d already heard from Rusty and Mickey. I also found the bill itself, in all its unreadable prose. I printed it out, along with the BAE commentary, since I’d left the Spurgeons’ copy at their house.

There were hits for a couple of articles mentioning Artists for Freedom and their work for the tattoo and body piercing community. Mostly the articles centered on Dennis Bergman, the lawyer/tattoo artist who headed up the lobby. There were photos of him, his shop, and his customers. But I found one last article from a small rally the lobby held in Harrisburg when the senate had last met. A raggedy bunch of protestors, and right out in front was a familiar face. Mandy’s. My throat tightened at the shot of her waving a poster proclaiming, “Body Art is Beautiful.” The photographer had caught her at her best, her eyes sparkling, her body tall and strong. I printed it out.

A search for Senator Trevor Farley found more hits than I could ever go through, but I skimmed the first few pages of sites. Lots to do with his campaign, his family, even his cat, for God’s sake. I narrowed the search using his name with the bill number, and came up with a few articles.

“Finding anything?” Lucy peered over my shoulder.

“Some. I’m just now getting to the senator.”

“Senator Farley? Isn’t he the Democrat people were claiming acted more Republican? Or was it the other way around?”

I skimmed the first article. “I think he’s a Democrat. Which makes it even more interesting that he’d go for a bill like this. There’s gotta be somebody else pulling the strings.”

“Or something about his life we don’t know.”

I went on to the next article, but only found more of his rhetoric. Nothing about his reasons for pushing such a bill.

I sat back. “Who would know this kind of stuff?”

“Have you asked Abe?”

“I doubt he’d be up on it.”

“But he might know who is.”

I thought about that. “Good idea. I’ll ask him tonight.”

“What about the other guy?” Lucy asked.

“What other guy?”

“The lawyer. The one who started Artists for Freedom.”

“What about him?”

“Think he might be worth contacting?

I stared at her. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of that.”

She patted my shoulder. “Because you’re too close to it all, and you’re burning yourself out thinking about it. Now come on, take a break.”

“Let me look him up first.”

She sighed and left while I checked out some specifics on Dennis Bergman. He posted his reasons for starting Artists for Freedom—everything you would expect, from the Bill of Rights to personal expression. I also came up with an e-mail address, which I immediately clicked. There was no way I’d find him by phone on Christmas, even if a number had been listed, but lots of people check their e-mail no matter where they are or what day it is. I hoped he was one of them. I wrote out a quick letter telling him of my interest, and sent it on its way.

A twinge shot from my shoulder up into my head, and I rolled my neck, realizing Nick’s backrub had worn off. Lucy was right. I needed to take a break if I was going to be of any use to anybody.

So Lucy, Lenny, Tess, and I hung out in the living room, where we played games and snacked on party mix and Christmas cookies. Then Lenny and I each sneaked in a nap while Tess and Lucy watched “It’s a Wonderful Life.” I love Jimmy Stewart, but after seeing the movie every year since I was old enough to notice, I really didn’t need to catch the ending.

After my nap I glanced at the clock to see it was almost five. Just about milking time. It struck me that Nick should be getting close to home. I wondered if he’d call when he got there, or if I’d be left assuming he’d made it. I had to figure his sisters would call if he didn’t arrive.

I put on my milking attire, trying to convince myself things were now back to normal. And that that was a good thing.

Queenie had yet to be convinced, too, and when waiting by the parlor door didn’t produce Nick, she dropped into her corner with a huff and sulked. I couldn’t help being a bit annoyed with her for missing him and giving me the cold shoulder. It wasn’t my fault, after all, that he’d gone back to Virginia.

I wished each cow a not-quite-heartfelt Merry Christmas, but most of them didn’t respond. They endured the process with their usual patience, and soon Lucy and I were headed back into the warmth of the house.

“Anybody call?” I asked, stomping off my boots.

Lenny looked at me. “You could’ve heard the phone in the barn, right?”

“Well. Yeah.”

He snorted. “Then I guess you know.”

I sank onto the sofa. “I was hoping the detective might’ve found out something.”

He looked at me. “And hoping someone else might call to say he got home?”

I pulled up my sleeve to check out my half-tattoo and avoid Lenny’s smirk. “I’m sure he’s there by now. And aren’t you guys supposed to go somewhere?”

Lucy showered and changed, and Lenny helped her shrug into her coat.

“Take your time,” I said. “We’ll be fine.” I glanced at Tess. “Tess looks pretty beat from our late Christmas Eve. She’ll be snoozing pretty soon, I bet.”

Lucy eyed her daughter. “I don’t know. Maybe I should—”

“Oh, Mooom,” Tess said. “I can go to bed by myself.”

Lenny and I laughed, and Lucy grinned. “Okay, pumpkin. But in case I don’t see you, it’s been a very merry Christmas.” She kissed her on the forehead, waved to me, and they left. I couldn’t help but think of Billy, whose mother wouldn’t be bidding him a Christmas goodnight.

“Want a leftover turkey sandwich?” I asked Tess. “I’m starved.”

“Can I help make it?”

We were spreading the mayonnaise when there was a knock at the door.

“Abe?” Tess said excitedly.

“Probably.”

“I’ll get it.”

I watched from the kitchen as she ran to the door and flung it open.

Abe grinned and reached down to hug her. “Merry Christmas.”

“You, too!” she said. “Want a sandwich?”

He groaned and patted his stomach. “No room at the inn.” He shut the door and smiled at me. “Supper?”

“Yup. Mind hanging out while we make it?”

He sat with us and talked while we finished the sandwiches and ate them with chips and hot tea. A perfect Christmas supper.

Soon after Tess’ food had disappeared, her head began to loll onto her chest.

“Uh oh,” Abe said, laughing.

“Come on, sweets,” I said to Tess. “Time to hit the hay. Say goodnight to Abe.”

Without even a token protest, she hugged him goodnight and headed toward her room. I followed her up the stairs to make sure she was awake enough to brush her teeth and get into her jammies. She shuffled to her room and snuggled under the covers.

“Sing me a song?” she asked.

I grimaced. “You sure you want to end your day that way?”

“Mmm-hmm.” She closed her eyes.

I got through “Jingle Bells” without butchering it too much, then tiptoed out. If Tess wasn’t asleep, she was close.

Back downstairs, Abe waited on the couch, shuffling through the papers I’d printed out that afternoon. I took a seat beside him and put my feet up on the coffee table.

“What’s all this?” he asked.

“A bill that’s trying to restrict tattoo artists and body piercers. Government wants to control them.”

“How would they do that?”

“Make artists go to the extremes—doctor’s signatures saying they’re free of blood diseases, pleasing decor, dumb stuff that makes customers no safer than they were before.”

“So why the bill?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out. Trevor Farley has a bee in his over-sized bonnet, and I don’t know what it is. Any ideas who to ask?”

He considered it. “Have you tried calling his office?”

“You think they’d tell me anything? No reasons have been printed anywhere, and you know the media—they’d snap up the info as soon as the words were uttered.”