Free Three Can Keep a Secret by Judy Clemens

to worry about.”
    “I hope you’re right,” Zelda said. “For your sake and for hers.”
    Abe and I stood, saying our good-byes.
    “I’ll walk you to your truck,” Abe said as we moved away.
    “I’ve got to snag Lucy and Tess. They came with me.”
    He looked uneasy. “Stella, are you sure—”
    “—she won’t murder me in my sleep? Quite sure. Besides the fact I can’t believe the rumors, Queenie wouldn’t let her get near the house without causing a ruckus. Queenie may like her, but she’s pretty territorial, especially at night.”
    Abe still hesitated, holding my arm.
    “Abe, let go. I’ll survive the night, I promise. Now come and be your usual charming self to Lucy and Tess, or she’ll know exactly what we’ve been discussing.”
    I managed to tear Lucy away from the friendly group surrounding her, and we made it out to the truck with only a few people stopping me to ask how I was doing. Luckily for Abe’s health no one else mentioned my doctor’s concerns. And I managed to grab the second plate of turtle cookies while Abe was busy studying Lucy.
    On the way home, conversation was stilted. Lucy and I didn’t have a whole lot to talk about yet, and Tess about fell asleep. By the time I parked the truck and we went our separate ways, I was feeling claustrophobic and crabby. Thank goodness Tess had to get to bed.
    I liked Lucy and Tess, but God…
    I missed Howie more than ever.

Chapter Twelve
    Once Lucy and Tess had retired to their apartment, I headed to the office, even though I desperately needed to hit the sack. A welcome refuge from the heat, the office was also where I could do a little confidential detective work. If Lucy was going to hedge whenever I asked questions about her husband, I’d have to do some researching on my own, or I’d never get any sleep at all.
    I logged onto the Internet, eating another cookie, and went to AskJeeves.com, my favorite site for finding out whatever I wanted to know. I typed in, “newspaper articles about Brad Lapp,” and got quite an array of hits. I then spent at least fifteen minutes weeding out the articles about Brad Lapp the painter in New York City, Brad Lapp the actor in Philadelphia, and Brad Lapp the rodeo cowboy in Wyoming. I pared it down to articles in the Intelligencer Journal and the Lancaster New Era —the papers the Souders had suggested and which I should’ve checked to begin with—about the Brad Lapp I wanted.
    Factually, there wasn’t as much as I’d hoped for. As far as the actual event and physical trauma, it seemed Brad tripped at the top of the basement stairs and fell down the entire flight, breaking his neck and irreparably damaging his spinal cord. The newspapers didn’t go much farther than that about the injuries, except to say Lucy quit her job a week later to stay home and take care of her now quadriplegic husband.
    The motive angle was much juicier. Everything was suggested, from Lucy being angry over a lover to Brad indulging in drugs and mistaking the basement door for the bathroom. Insurance policies, past relationships, and disagreements over religious issues were all discussed, as well. But as the Souders had said, the most popular theory—strangely enough, considering the usual societal fascination with extramarital sex—was Lucy’s desire to run her own dairy operation. There didn’t seem to be much of anything supporting all the gossip, but that didn’t keep the newspapers from speculating.
    A few weeks into the investigation the articles petered out, and the most closure I could get was that the police were looking for whatever help people could offer. Didn’t sound too promising.
    A year later a new rash of articles appeared on the occasion of Brad’s death. The whole sordid affair was brought up again, and several anonymous sources complained that Lucy had not been questioned more closely. It seemed someone at the paper wasn’t afraid to damage Lucy’s reputation. Perhaps it was already damaged