The Day Will Come Page 8

  “You’re sure, honey?” Lucy asked, apparently not quite sure herself.

  “Can I have it? Pleeeease?”

  Lucy studied her for a moment. “All right. If that’s what you want. Need some help putting it on?”

  So we rode home, Tess pleased as punch to have her new skull cap flattening her hair under her helmet, and the rest of us weary but pleased to have had such a nice ride. It had been a lovely day.

  We pulled into the driveway and rode around the white Chevy truck sitting in front of the house. We parked and turned off the bikes.

  “Who’s that?” Lucy asked.

  I watched the man sit up in the front seat of the truck, where he’d apparently been taking a nap.

  I took a deep breath and let it out. “Thank God. It’s Jordan.”

  Chapter Eight

  Lenny took off in a roar, having promised Bart he’d check in at the shop before heading home, and Lucy herded Tess into the house, where she’d get her busy with something before figuring out our after-milking supper. I walked up to Jordan’s truck, where he leaned against the front bumper. Queenie snuffled around my feet, and I reached down to pet her.

  “Your family’s worried sick about you,” I said.

  Jordan made a face. “I know.”

  He looked like hell, his hair greasy, his eyes sunken above dark circles. His skin was pale almost to the color of his truck, and I wondered when he’d last eaten.

  I sat beside him, crossing my ankles on the gravel. “Where have you been?”

  He leaned forward, his hands pressed against the steel under him. “Here and there.”

  I waited, but nothing else was forthcoming. “I heard you hung out at the police station for a while on Friday night.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Saying Genna was your fiancée.”

  He kicked at a stone. “I guess.”

  “Is it true?”

  His eyes flicked up toward me, but didn’t stay. “Unofficially. But don’t tell Ma.”

  “She already knows.”

  He lurched off the bumper and took a few steps away, running his hands over his face and through his hair. Lowering his arms, he turned toward me. “What’s she doing?”

  “What you’d expect. Trying to get in touch with you. Threatening to head off to Philly to find you herself. You know.”

  “Yeah. I know.” He came back to the truck and leaned over it, resting his elbows on the hood. “God, I feel awful.”

  “Come on. Let’s get you inside. You need something to eat.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “Maybe not. But you’re gonna keel over if you don’t put something in your stomach.”

  He dropped his face onto his arms, then pushed himself up. “Okay. But you’re not going to make me call Ma, are you?”

  I studied him. “Let’s just get you inside and fed. We’ll see what happens next. Deal?”

  He nodded, and I got up to turn toward the sidewalk. “Stella?” His voice was quiet.

  “Yeah?”

  “The band’s having a memorial service tomorrow. For Genna. Will you go with me?”

  I looked at him. “You’re sure?”

  “Please. I need you.”

  He had seven brothers, six of which were in the area. Five sisters-in-law. And Ma. Ma, I could understand not wanting to take to the memorial service for the woman he loved. She was his mother, after all, and he’d want to be treated like an adult, not a protected child. But why not the others?

  “I take it no one else in your family knows the truth about you and Genna?”

  “Not from me. Well, except for Jermaine.”

  “And in the band?”

  He laughed, but it was a sad sound. “Everyone in the band knows about me and Genna, in some way. At least they think they do. But everyone also thinks she’s still…she was Ricky’s girlfriend.”

  I winced. “What did she ever see in him, anyway?” But I knew. That bad boy, good body, rock-and-roll star thing was what she saw. It took her a while to see the good boy, ordinarily handsome, blue-collar guy standing in front of me.

  “Don’t ask me that,” Jordan said.

  We walked side by side up the walk, Queenie trotting along behind.

  “So where have you been?” I asked again. “Other than the police station?”

  He blew his bangs off his forehead. “Outside the club, in my truck, stopped off at my place for a while.”

  “Didn’t think to check your answering machine? Or your cell?”

  “Didn’t want to. I knew what would be on them.”

  His family, wanting to make sure he was okay. Maybe Ricky. But not the only person he truly wanted to hear from.

  I stopped, my hand on the door handle. “Do they know yet how it happened?”

  He breathed through his nose. “No. Can you believe they’re doing some gangsters first? The freaking Mafia?”

  “I heard.” I pushed open the door and led him inside.

  Lucy came out from the kitchen. “Hey, Jordan.”

  He swallowed. “Hey, Lucy. Just so you know, the band’s still planning to play your wedding on Saturday. They’ll honor the contract. And I’ll do the sound at the church.”

  “I’m not worried about that, I’m worried about you.” But I saw the relief in her eyes.

  “He needs food,” I said.

  “Yes,” she said, “he does.”

  I sat him in one of the kitchen chairs, and Lucy put a glass of orange juice in front of him.

  “Drink,” she said.

  He took a sip.

  “Now finish that while I make you a sandwich.”

  He took another swallow. “Yes, ma’am.”

  I leaned against the counter and watched Lucy layer turkey, cheese, and lettuce on some of her oatmeal bread. It looked good, but I was still stuffed from our late lunch.

  It took Jordan a minute to get going on the sandwich, but once he started I’d lay bets he set a record in speed eating.

  “Another one?” Lucy asked.

  “Better not,” he said.

  I glanced at a Tupperware container on the counter. “How about some of your brownies, Luce?”

  She grabbed the box and tossed it beside Jordan. “All yours.”

  He didn’t say no. Along with the glass of milk Lucy poured him, he finished off the entire batch.

  “You know the cops are interested in you,” I said when he’d finished.

  Jordan jerked his chin up. “In me? What for?”

  “For everything. The bomb, Genna…”

  “Genna?” His face went back to its pre-meal color, and I was afraid I’d shared the news too quickly.

  “They say someone heard you arguing before the concert. They’re making it seem like a big deal.”

  He looked across the room, toward the feed store calendar hanging above the phone.

  “Jordan? Is it true?”

  “We…talked. Maybe it got a little loud. But I didn’t think anyone heard us.”

  “What were you talking about?”

  He snapped his head toward me, and Lucy glared at me from across the kitchen.

  “I’m not trying to be nosy, Jordan,” I said. “Really. But could someone have heard something important?”

  He picked up his glass, drained the last few drops of milk, and set it back down. “It was important to me. To us. But not anyone else’s business.” He stood up and pushed his chair in. “Thank you for the food, Lucy. I do feel better.”

  “You’re welcome.” She put a hand on his arm, then took his plate and glass to the counter.

  I got up. “I’ll walk you out.”

  “Whatever.”

  Queenie met us on the sidewalk, and Jordan absently let his hand fall onto her head. She licked his fingers, and he jumped, as if surprised to remember where he was.

  “You going home?” I asked him.

  He sighed. “I guess.”


  “You’ll let your family know you’re okay?”

  “I’ll let them know I’m back. I’m not sure I’m okay.”

  I watched his hunched shoulders as he turned toward his truck. “Want me to drive to the memorial service tomorrow?” I asked.

  He stopped. “Sure.”

  “What time should I pick you up?”

  He stared at the barn so long I thought he’d forgotten what I’d asked. “Eleven-ish?” he finally said.

  “I’ll be there. At your house. Oh, and Jordan?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Call a lawyer. The cops are going to find you, and they’re not going to be sympathetic.”

  He bit his lips together. “I didn’t do anything.”

  “I know that.”

  He closed his eyes and tipped his head back, blowing out a gush of air. “Fine. Any suggestions?”

  “Actually, yes. Hang on.”

  I trotted to my office and scribbled the number of David Crockett, a lawyer I’d met at a HOG event last summer. He’d already helped Lenny out of a jam, and I was sure he’d be able to help now.

  I jogged back outside and handed the paper to Jordan. “Don’t talk to the cops without him.”

  He took the paper, and without another word got into his truck and drove away.

  Chapter Nine

  The cows were remarkably willing to re-enter the barn for milking. I guess they really did feel the call to empty their tight udders. But they were eager to get back outside when they were done, and scurried away (if grown cows can scurry) as soon as their collars were unclipped.

  “You know evenings are my job,” Lucy said, scraping some sodden newspaper onto the manure conveyor.

  I tossed some clean bedding into a nearby stall. “Yeah, I know. But what else am I going to do?”

  She paused, leaning on her pitchfork. “Anything you need to figure out before, say, Saturday?”

  Oh.

  “Clothing stores aren’t open this time of night,” I said. “Especially on Sundays.”

  She gave me a level look.

  I feigned surprise. “They are? I guess I wouldn’t know.”

  “No.” She stuck her pitchfork into another lump of paper. “I guess you wouldn’t.”

  I spread out my remaining bedding and went to get some more. When I came back I said, “I’ll figure something out, Luce. Really.”

  She didn’t answer. I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

  Once we made it inside, washed up, and ate, I was feeling the effects of Friday night’s lost sleep. I said goodnight to Lucy and Tess and went upstairs. Nick still hadn’t called, and I wasn’t sure what to do about that. I stared at the phone, willing it to ring.

  But the next sound I heard was my alarm clock, telling me it was time to get up and start another day.

  ***

  Jordan still wasn’t on the news, which was a good thing, but the bomb and Genna’s murder had practically disappeared, which wasn’t. They were mentioned in passing, when the call went out that Robert “Bobby” Baronne was still missing, but only because they were associated with the time frame of when he disappeared. The dead Mafia guys, being more newsworthy, apparently, got at least two minutes of air time.

  A few of the cows lay in their stalls in the barn, but this morning I needed Queenie to help me round up the rest of the herd from the pasture. I was still slapping the flanks of a last lazy few when Zach arrived, dropped off by his dad. He didn’t usually work weekday mornings, but his school was closed for a teacher development day, or something.

  “You wanna get them clipped in?” I said.

  He started on one aisle while I did another. We worked in silence until we met at the end of the row.

  “Jordan’s home,” he said.

  “Oh?”

  He squinted at me. “I thought you knew. At least, he said so.”

  “Right. I just didn’t know that you knew I knew.”

  He nodded slowly, clearly thinking I was being a weird adult. “I’ll get the buckets.”

  “Great. You do that.”

  He didn’t talk to me again for a while.

  I spread out the hay and distributed the grain while Zach milked. When I finished I went and stood beside him while he wiped off Lady’s udder. Seemed I was always looming over him while he was doing this.

  “So did you actually see Jordan last night?” I asked.

  He glanced up. “Huh-uh. Jermaine called to say Jordan was back, and my dad and mom drove over to his place.”

  “What did they say? How was he?”

  He looked at me again. “You saw him.”

  “I know. I just wondered what they said.”

  He sat back on his haunches, his elbows resting on his knees. “They said he looked terrible, like he hadn’t slept since Friday. And that he told them all to just leave him alone.”

  I was afraid of that. “Anything else?”

  He made a last swipe at Lady’s teats and stood up. “Not that they’re telling me.”

  So nothing about the police interrogating him or anything.

  We finished up and headed outside, where Zach helped me check the silos that had been emptied over the winter. We’d soon be filling them again, and they needed to be ready. We worked for about an hour until the milk truck came, and I went over to make sure the driver had everything he needed.

  Lucy and Tess were in their vegetable patch, Lucy planting tomatoes and Tess putting cages around them. Lucy was determined to have the crops entirely in before the weekend, so she could go on her honeymoon free of guilt. Knowing her, she’d still feel guilty about leaving me on my own, but at least she’d know the garden was in good shape.

  A little while later Zach and I had seen off the milk truck and were sitting in the side yard drinking lemonade and taking turns wrestling with Queenie when a police cruiser pulled into the drive. I watched it come with growing tension, until it stopped and Detective Willard got out.

  “Break time?” he said.

  “Yeah. Want some?”

  He looked at the glass I held up. “What is it?”

  “Lemonade.”

  His eyes lit up. “Lucy’s homemade?”

  “You called it.”

  “I’d love some.”

  Zach drained his cup. “I’ll get it. I need a refill, anyway.”

  “Here,” I said. “Fill me up, too.”

  He grabbed my glass and went inside.

  Willard stuck his hands in his pockets and surveyed the farm.

  “What’s with the cop car?” I asked. “And the uniform?”

  He looked down at his clothes. “I’m heading to do security for a big library function. Special fund-raiser tea thing, with some cash involved.”

  “Why are you, Mr. Fancy Detective, pulling guard duty?”

  He smiled. “I do my share of grunt work. Keeps the officers on my side.” He sank to the ground beside me and rested his elbows on his knees.

  “Glad you didn’t bring your little buddy Alexander today,” I said.

  Willard grimaced. “He’s no buddy. But as a favor to the Philadelphia police I did tour guide duty.” He looked sideways at me. “And I’m here today to ask something else.”

  I glanced back to make sure Zach was still inside. “What?”

  “Do you have any idea if Jordan knows Robert Baronne?”

  “The guy who’s missing?”

  He nodded.

  “I guess he probably does. I mean, working at the club and all, he’d at least know who he was. Why? Does Alexander think Jordan had time to kidnap Baronne at the same time he was murdering Genna and trying to blow up the club?” I couldn’t keep the sarcasm from my voice.

  Willard held a hand up. “He’s just covering all the angles.”

  “Yeah, yeah, whatever. So why are you asking?”

  He was quiet for a moment, but he looked like he wanted to tell me. I waited him out.


  “Seems like Jordan’s been talking on the phone to Mr. Baronne,” Willard said. “A few times last week, including the morning of the concert.”

  “So what? Baronne worked at the club. Jordan is the band’s sound man. Wouldn’t it be a natural thing for them to be talking logistics?”

  Willard plucked a long grass strand and put it between his lips, talking out of the side of his mouth. “It would.”

  “And I’m sure Baronne was talking to lots of other people, too.”

  “He was.”

  “So there’s something else?”

  He raised his eyebrows, not looking at me.

  “What?” I said.

  He took the grass out of his mouth. “Jordan say anything to you about arguing with Baronne before the concert?”

  “Oh, good lord.”

  The screen door slapped shut, and we stopped talking while Zach came out and handed us each full cups. I took mine and downed half of it.

  “I’ll be out helping Lucy till you’re ready for me again,” Zach said.

  I nodded. “Thanks, buddy.”

  Willard held up his cup in a salute. “Thanks for the drink.”

  Zach loped to the garden, sipping as he went.

  “Nice boy,” Willard said.

  I ignored him. “So not only was Jordan fighting with Genna before the show, he was also fighting with Baronne? Anybody he wasn’t fighting with, according to your sources?”

  “These things are coming to us—”

  “And Alexander’s not looking for them? Give me a break.”

  Willard’s mouth straightened into a hard line, and his eyes grew thoughtful.

  “What?” I said. “There’s something else, isn’t there?”

  He sighed, dropping his head.

  “Come on.”

  He raised his face and looked at me straight on. “You keep reminding me that Jordan is the Tom Copper Band’s sound man.”

  I lifted a shoulder. “He is. That’s why he was there.”

  “Well, you see, that’s the problem.”

  I stared at him. “Why would that be a problem? It’s a legitimate occupation.”