Dead Silence (Stillwater Trilogy 1)

Grace’s hands tightened on the arms of her chair. This woman had once thrown a ruler at her for being unable to answer a question in class. In high school, Grace hadn’t done much homework. She’d been too busy working at the pizza parlor and helping with the farm—and worrying, always worrying, about the shallow grave in the backyard. During those years, it had been a struggle just to sleep through the night.

“I heard you were back,” the white-haired Mrs. Reese said when Grace greeted her.

“Yes, for a few months.”

“I see.” Her eyes scanned the items on display. “I must say I’m glad to hear you’ve turned your life around. Making assistant D.A. and all that. Came as a bit of a surprise, to be honest with you.” She focused on the Vicki Nibley For Mayor sign Grace had finally placed in the yard. “But I can’t say as I like your politics.”

“Then I can’t say as I like yours, either,” Grace responded.

Mrs. Reese’s mouth opened and shut twice, but nothing came out. Turning to Teddy, she frowned. “Your grandma know you’re over here?” she asked.

Teddy wouldn’t look at her. His chin bumped his chest as he nodded vigorously.

“I can’t imagine she likes it.”

Grace cleared her throat. “Did you stop for a reason, Mrs. Reese?”

The older woman glared at her, then waved at the jars of peaches. “Those Evonne’s?”

“They are. We brought them out of the cellar just yesterday.”

“I’ll take three jars.”

Grace let Teddy collect the money. Determined to remain polite, she nodded as Mrs. Reese glanced her way before returning to her car.

“What was that all about?” Grace asked Teddy as the older woman disappeared around the corner.

“I guess she doesn’t like Mrs. Nibley,” he said sheepishly.

Grace studied him more closely. Something was going on here, and she figured she’d waited long enough to find out what. “Mrs. Reese acted as though she knows your grandma pretty well.”

A pained expression appeared on his face. “Everyone knows my grandma.”

“Who is she?” she asked, but before he could answer, a 1950s truck stopped at the curb and her heart leapt into her throat. It was Jed Fowler. She knew because he’d been driving that truck ever since she could remember.

He emerged looking ruddier than ever. He’d obviously lost some weight, but he still had a barrel chest and wore the same style coveralls she remembered from when he’d come out to fix the tractor all those years ago. A tattered red ball cap advertising his auto shop covered his head, so she couldn’t tell if he’d lost any more of his hair.

Wondering what the police had told him about last night—if he knew it was Madeline who’d broken into his shop—she stood up as he walked over. “Hello, Jed,” she said nervously. “How are you?”

When their eyes met, she got the impression he could see right through her. Had Kennedy told him she’d been with Madeline? That she was the one who’d taken the reverend’s Bible?

She wiped her clammy hands on her cotton skirt and took a deep breath. “Something I can get for you today?”

“You make those cookies?” he asked, pointing to one of five platefuls at the far end.

“I did.”

He picked up a bar of soap, smelled the lavender, then grimaced and put it back. “I’ll have a jar of pickles.”

“That it for you?” she asked.

Teddy hovered eagerly at her elbow. “I’ll take the money.”

Jed’s eyes rested on the boy. He seemed as surprised as Mrs. Reese to see Teddy, but handed him a twenty while motioning toward the cookies. “Give me a plate of those, too.”

He was buying her cookies. That made Grace feel even worse about last night.

She helped Teddy calculate the change, which he dropped into the old man’s callused palm. Jed started to walk away—but Grace called him back. “Mr. Fowler?”

He turned.

Folding her arms across her chest, Grace forced herself to go on. “I—I heard about what happened last night. I’m sorry, truly I am.”

She swallowed hard, wondering how he might respond. But he didn’t say anything. Which wasn’t all that unusual. His gaze wandered to Teddy again. Then he nodded.

Grace’s heart was still pounding as she watched him climb into his truck. She hated the thought that she’d been an accomplice to breaking open his door and invading his privacy.

“What happened last night?” Teddy asked.

She didn’t answer. She wasn’t about to tell him. She had her own questions. “Why is everyone so surprised that you’re with me?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” he said. But he was staring at his shoes again.

“Who’s your grandmother, Teddy?”

The sun nearly blinded them as midafternoon approached. He lifted a hand to shade his eyes. “Can I tell you later? When you meet my dad and he asks you to go camping with us?”

“Camping?”

“Yeah. I asked him if you could go and he said yes!”

“Teddy—” Grace shook her head, trying to stay focused on the bigger question. “Tell me about your family.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Why not?”

“Because we just got the stand going. And if you don’t like what I say, you’ll want me to go home.”

“That’s silly. I don’t care who your family is.”

“You don’t?” He seemed relieved.

“Of course not.” She tugged on the bill of his ball cap, and he grinned.

“That’s good,” he said. “Because it won’t be my fault if my dad beats Vicki Nibley, right?”

His dad? Grace’s knees went weak. “What’d you say?”

Obviously confused by her response, he glanced between her and the Vicki Nibley sign closest to them. “I won’t be mad at you if Mrs. Nibley wins,” he told her.

She brought a hand to her chest. “You’re not telling me you’re Kennedy Archer’s son!”

He nodded, but only halfheartedly as if he was afraid to admit it.

“You can’t be,” she said.

He bit his lip. “Why not?”

“Because you don’t look anything like him.”

“I don’t?”

“No!” she said stubbornly. But now that she knew, she could see some resemblance. Teddy had his father’s square jaw, wide mouth and confident, All-American smile. He also had the Archer bone structure, which would probably make him a very handsome man some day.