Keeping Victoria's Secret by Melinda Peters Page B

over and plucked the empty envelope from
the table, examined the return address before snickering and
dropping it again. “Seems like you’ve got a letter from Albany.
Looks like a letter from a lawyer now, don’t it?”
    Fred would probably advise me to reveal
nothing. “I haven’t anything to say to you. Have a nice day and you
can leave the property, please.” This was all she could manage
under the circumstances.
    The porcine Van Winkle sat for a moment
leaning back, filling the wicker entirely. “Well now that’s not
very neighborly. And just when I’ve come to make a deal with you.
How’d you like a way to stay here in your grandma’s house?” He
paused for effect, and then continued. “I expect you and that
knucklehead Conner have a real friendly arrangement, you being the
owner of this place, and him being the muscle you might say. Jack
Conner has to go, but I can help you out, if you’re willing. Now
I’m gonna be the owner and you can keep things real nice for
me.
    She shrank away from the smell of his sweat
as he leaned even closer.
    “You’re taking good care of Jack living in
his house while he takes care of the barn, the planting, and such.
How’s about this? You can take care me, just like you take care of
him. I’ll do the farming work. You do some cooking, maybe you could
kind of be the housekeeper, take care of whatever I need.” At this,
he nodded towards the house, indicating her place in the
arrangement. He paused, leering at her.
    She felt helpless. God only knew what this
cretin had in mind. At a loss for words, she knew how a mouse feels
when it’s waiting for the cat to pounce.
    Van Winkle opened his mouth again to speak,
but was cut short.
    “I believe, Mr. Van Winkle that you are
trespassing. You’ve been harassing this nice young lady and I
suggest you be on your way.”
    She recognized that voice. They both turned
to see the silver haired man leaning on the porch railing. It was
the elderly man that had visited her last week, claiming to be a
Willet relative. How did he materialize so quietly?
    “I don’t know who you are old man, but why
don’t you shuffle off. This lady and I are talking business.”
    The elderly man shook his head. “Where I come
from….” His voice trailed off and he gazed around at the
surrounding woods and fields. “Where I come from a gentleman
doesn’t talk to a young lady like you’ve been doing. I’ll ask you
once more to just go on your way and leave her be.”
    The smile dropped from Van Winkle’s face.
Angrily he barked, “Who the hell are you?”
    Sighing, the man sadly shook his head. Slowly
a shotgun barrel rose into view and rested across the railing, the
stock nestled into the older man’s shoulder.
    “Van Winkle, I’m your worst nightmare!” the
man said, leveling the gun at Jonathan’s head.
    For such a chubby man, he moved quickly. Van
Winkle stood up so fast that the wicker chair he was sitting in
toppled backwards. Taking a couple of quick steps back, he lifted
his hands palms out saying, “Now wait just a minute, you
can’t….”
    “Go on. Keep heading back to that truck
there. Get in and get on down the road. Go on now,” said the gray
haired man confidently.
    Van Winkle took a couple more steps back,
still protesting and before he realized what was happening, ran out
of porch. He stepped off into mid air, lost his footing, and did a
complicated little dance down the front steps losing his balance,
regaining it and finally ending up on the lawn. He scurried for the
truck, got in, and started it up. Pulling slowly into the road he
stopped and looked back at the old man.
    To her horror, the man raised the shotgun
towards Van Winkle’s truck and in quick succession fired both
barrels neatly above the cab. Two thunderous booms echoed off the
walls of the house.
    She screeched in surprise pushing her chair
back to the clapboard wall. She heard the truck quickly accelerate
and burn rubber as it took the bend in the