From upstairs, the now familiar and dreaded sound of Loretta’s raised voice carried down along with the clomp, clomp, clomp of her shoes on the stair treads.
“Crap.” Zoe darted around the desk and stuffed the deed into the center drawer, slamming it shut as the widow appeared in the office doorway.
Loretta’s dark eyes took in the room and settled on Zoe. “Why are you still here?”
She opened her mouth, but Loretta gave her no chance to reply.
“I told you I wanted you out. At the very least, I expected you to have your coroner stuff packed and ready to go.”
If Loretta truly was the funeral home’s owner now, Zoe wanted nothing to do with maintaining Franklin’s old office. If Loretta didn’t have a legal claim on the property, it would take time to sort through the red tape. And Zoe didn’t need the distractions of Loretta’s constant hounding. “I had a meeting with the DA and two homicides to investigate.”
“I. Don’t. Care. I want you out.” Loretta wheeled on Paulette, whose eyes widened as if facing the Grim Reaper himself. “And you. You’re fired.” She fluttered a hand. “Tell whoever Frank’s been using as the mortician that he’s fired as well.”
Paulette blanched. “What?”
“Do I need to spell it out for you? Effective immediately.” Loretta aimed a thumb toward the ceiling. “Clear your personal belongings and get out. I want you off the premises within the hour.” She came back to address Zoe. “I’ll use her office until you’re gone. Which better be within twenty-four hours or I’ll have the sheriff remove you.”
Zoe wanted to say, “I’d like to see you try,” but she also realized, if Loretta was going to be right upstairs, this office was the last place she wanted to be.
Loretta wasn’t done with her orders. “I want Frank’s body released to Hulton’s Funeral Home immediately.”
“Hulton’s?” Paulette said, her voice squeaking. “He would never want his prime competitor to handle his service.”
“Well, I can’t have his funeral here. Marshall’s Funeral Home is closed for business until further notice.”
Paulette covered her mouth with her hand, a glisten of tears rimming her eyes. Zoe gave her what she hoped was a soothing look before facing the widow. “I’ll be out by morning. On one condition.”
The not-so-grieving widow’s jaw clenched. Clearly this woman was not used to having conditions set. “Which is?”
Zoe nodded at Paulette. “She gets to stay and help me pack.”
“That will be acceptable. But I want her out of the upstairs office now. I’ll be working up there all night.”
Zoe shot a questioning look at the flustered secretary, who gave a quick nod of agreement.
“Fine,” Zoe said. Although at that moment, she couldn’t imagine things ever being “fine” again.
Loretta vacated the building, presumably to have dinner, while Paulette packed her personal effects. Zoe made a phone call to Pete to let him know she’d be late. Very late. He gave her a brief recap of his day, although she had a feeling he was leaving out a lot.
He’d heard about her meeting with Frattini. She wanted to talk to him in depth about the Landis case and her new involvement in it, but not over the phone. She really wanted to curl up in his arms and block out the last couple of days, but that wasn’t happening over the phone either.
“Any idea how long you’ll be?” Pete’s voice sounded as tired as she felt.
Zoe looked around the room. The computer. The wall of file cabinets. Franklin’s collection of forensic science books lurked behind a closed door, but no way was she leaving them behind. The urn and guest book sales displays? Loretta—or whoever the true owner turned out to be—was welcome to keep those. “I have no idea. Paulette’s gonna help, but I expect it’ll take most of the evening. Don’t wait up.”
“Do you want me to come and help?”
Yes, she thought. “No. You need your rest. I appreciate the offer though.”
When Paulette called down to her, asking for help carrying boxes, Zoe told Pete she loved him and hung up.
A half hour later, Paulette’s Honda had a full trunk and backseat, and she and Zoe started on Franklin’s downstairs office. They found more empty boxes in a storage room. Zoe put Paulette to work emptying the file cabinets, while she took on the task of making sure all the computer files had been backed up. She did not want to be responsible for lost records.
Zoe blocked out her memories of Franklin, focusing on the immediate work at hand. Or at least she tried. A folder named James Engle drew her back in time to the case involving a body found in the barn that now belonged to her. The mental image of the old farmer hanging from the rafters choked her. Not so much because of the man as because of the flood of memories that followed.
She scrubbed her face with both hands. Stop it. If she had any hopes of being out of here by morning, she couldn’t allow herself to get lost down that wormhole.
Paulette’s quiet sobs pulled Zoe the rest of the way back. Franklin’s former secretary sat on a chair she’d placed in front of the file cabinets. She was still removing folders and stacking them in a box but wept as she worked.
“Hey,” Zoe said, keeping her voice soft. “You don’t have to stay and pack this stuff.”
Paulette stopped what she was doing long enough to dig a tissue from her cardigan pocket. “I said I’d help, and I will.”
“No. I’m the one who said you’d help. I was just buying you time with Loretta de Vil so you could load up your own stuff.”
Paulette snorted through her tears. “She does bear a striking resemblance, doesn’t she?”
Zoe forced a grin. “It’s scary.”
“She’s scary.” Paulette chortled into the tissue, but the laughter quickly hiccupped into another sob. “What in heaven’s name did Franklin ever see in that woman?”
“I wondered the same thing.” Zoe looked at Paulette, who appeared to be contemplating her knees. “Seriously. You don’t have to stay.”
Paulette lifted her face. “Yes, I do. I may not have a job any longer, but I can help you clear out Franklin’s office. He’d have wanted me to. Besides, I don’t want to leave you here alone when that creature comes back.”
“I’m not afraid of her.” Much.
“I’m staying.”
Zoe gave her a smile. “Thanks.”
Paulette exhaled a weepy breath. “I hate the idea of Franklin’s funeral being planned by his chief competitor and that creature.”
“Don’t worry. If I have anything to say about it, it won’t.”
“But what can you do?”
“Not release the body.”
“You’ll have to.”
“Eventually.” Zoe hoped to have a plan by then. “For now, the coroner’s office is still investigating his death, so the body stays in the morgue.”
Paulette eyed her, probably knowing Zoe was stretching the boundaries of her position, but nodded, satisfied for now.
They settled into their tasks. The soft whish of Paulette thumbing through papers and the ticka-ticka of Zoe fingering the computer keyboard filled the otherwise silent room. Silent except for the murmuring inside Zoe’s head. By the time she’d verified that all the files were securely backed up, she’d formed a plan.
But before she could voice it, the crash of the front door being flung open and the clomp of heavy footsteps overhead shattered the quiet. Loretta was back.
Thankfully, she remained upstairs.
Zoe looked over at Paulette. “You mentioned not having a job anymore. Do you have any plans?”
“No. Until she fired me, I hadn’t thought about it. I still can’t believe Franklin’s really dead.”
Zoe powered off the computer and waited for the light on the tower to stop blinking. “How would you like to work for me?”
Pa
ulette crammed another folder into the box—the last one it would hold—and faced Zoe. “What? Are you serious?”
“I don’t know how long it’d be. I’m still not sure what the procedure is for replacing an elected coroner—”
“You’ll have the job at least until a special election is held.”
Election? After the last one, campaigning for office was the last thing Zoe wanted. “Like I said, I don’t know how long I’ll have this job, but if you want the position as my secretary, you’ve got it.”
Paulette gazed into a corner of the room. Zoe wasn’t at all certain what she was seeing beyond those walls.
“I understand if you don’t want it. But I need you. I’m new to all this. You’ve been Franklin’s right hand for as long as I can remember. Not just in the funeral home business. I’m sure I’ll screw it up if I don’t have you around to keep me in line.”
A sad smile tickled the corner of Paulette’s lips. “You’re right about that. Franklin’s been coroner for ages and he still couldn’t get along without me.” She glanced at Zoe and winked. “Okay. I’ll take the job.”
Zoe sighed in relief. “Great.”
“But I want a raise.”
She wasn’t sure if Paulette was joking or not. “Can we discuss that later?”
“I suppose.”
The light had finally gone out on the computer. Zoe started punching the power buttons on each of the peripherals. “First order of business. We need to find a new office.”
“Tonight?”
“I think we can wait until tomorrow. Maybe the county has an empty storage closet they’ll rent us.”
Overhead, something crashed to the floor. Or was thrown.
“Holy crap,” Zoe muttered. “What’s she doing up there?”
“Should I call the police? What if that’s not Loretta. Someone might be vandalizing the place.”
Zoe weighed the possibility until a string of profanities echoed down the staircase.
“Never mind,” Paulette said. “It’s her.”
Zoe was about to repeat her initial question when she realized what Loretta was doing. “She’s looking for Franklin’s will.”
“That’s what I figured too.” Paulette pushed the full box aside with her foot and leaned down to drag an empty one closer. “She won’t find it. I looked. And I know all of Franklin’s hiding places.”
Another crash. More swearing. Zoe pictured Loretta pulling out drawers and dumping them on the floor. “Never mind the new office. New first order of business.” Zoe met Paulette’s gaze. “Track down Franklin’s attorney and learn what’s in his will that Loretta is so intent on finding.”
A slow smile spread across Paulette’s face. “I know exactly who to call.”
Lights blazed from the windows of Marshall’s Funeral Home as Pete parked in front. He would’ve thought there was a viewing going on except for the lack of other cars.
Overhead, stars sprinkled the night sky, dimmed somewhat compared to the view at Zoe’s farm. Out there, city lights didn’t compete with nature’s more distant source of illumination. Pizza box in hand, Pete wasted no time covering the distance between his department SUV and the front door. Without a blanket of clouds to hold the day’s heat, temperatures had tanked as soon as the sun set.
A neat, hand-lettered sign on the door stated the business was closed until further notice due to the owner’s death. At the bottom, Paulette had added a phone number to contact. Pete rested a hand on the latch, expecting to meet the resistance of the lock. Instead, it clicked open.
The center hallway stood empty. The rooms on either side, while lit, were also vacant. Rustling and a loud thud from what he knew was Paulette’s office brought him fully alert. Intruder? Or the ex-wife Zoe and Baronick had told him about?
Pete took one silent stride to the entrance of one of the front rooms where he could dart behind a wall for cover if needed. Silently, he placed the pizza box on a table, next to a box of tissues. Right hand resting on his sidearm, he called out. “Hello?”
The rustling ceased. A tall, angular woman with dark hair and an even darker expression appeared in the office doorway. “Who’s there?” she demanded in a voice that sounded as if it had been hit with forty-grit sandpaper.
He stepped away from the wall, giving the woman a good look at his police issue coat and ball cap. “Vance Township Chief of Police Pete Adams. And you are?”
“I didn’t call the police.”
“I know that. You didn’t lock the front door either.”
“My mistake.” She crossed her arms. “That still doesn’t tell me what you’re doing here. You’re out of your jurisdiction.”
“And you haven’t told me who you are.” He knew precisely who she was, but he wanted to regain the upper hand.
“The owner of this establishment. Unless you have a warrant, I want you to leave.”
He didn’t budge. “Owner, huh? Funny. You don’t look like Franklin Marshall.”
“Frank’s dead. I’m his widow. Satisfied?”
“Not until I see some ID.”
Her fists went to her hips. “You have no right—”
“I have every right. I’m aware Franklin Marshall died yesterday. I stop by to pay a condolence call to his staff and find you rummaging through his secretary’s office. For all I know, you’re vandalizing the place.” When she didn’t move, he added more forcefully. “ID. Please.”
For the first time since he’d arrived, the woman showed signs of uncertainty. She shifted her weight to one foot. After a long moment of considering her options and not liking them, she lifted her chin. “Fine. Wait there.” She turned and retreated into the office.
Ignoring her order, Pete crossed the hall and moved to the doorway, taking in the widow’s handiwork.
The desk drawers had been removed and unceremoniously dumped on the floor along with every book from the now empty shelves that lined the rear wall. The file cabinets had met a similar fate, folders extracted, papers scattered. The computer, he noticed, wasn’t on. Whatever she was after wasn’t digitized. Nor had she found it yet.
The widow Marshall wheeled, purse in hand, when she realized he’d followed her. “I don’t recall asking you to come in here.”
“Good. I don’t recall having been asked.”
Her lip curled as if she was about to bite him. Or spit. She thrust out one hand, a driver’s license clenched in her bony fingers. “Here.”
Pete studied the card. Her address was listed as a street in Harrisburg. “You’re a long way from home, Ms. Marshall.”
She glared at him without responding.
The photo matched perfectly. Apparently, black was her color of choice and had little to do with mourning. Nor did she look any more pleasant in the image. He couldn’t blame her taught, drawn face on bereavement. Pinning the license between his index and middle fingers, he handed it back.
She snatched it as if afraid he might try to hold on. “You may leave now.”
He made an obvious point of studying the mess on the floor. “Looking for something?”
“I said, you may leave now.”
“I don’t think so. The fact that you’re Franklin Marshall’s widow doesn’t give you the right to vandalize his property.”
She again folded her arms, her purse clamped against her side. “This is my property now, which means I can do whatever I damned well please. And you, Chief whatever your name is, are well out of your jurisdiction.”
“You have a point about jurisdiction.” Pete nodded, as if about to concede. Except he pulled out his phone instead of leaving. “Let me just call Brunswick City Police and Monongahela County PD. Both of those departments definitely have the authority to detain you until your rights regarding this property have been confirmed.”
He thought he heard a snicker from somewhere behi
nd him. Zoe must’ve crept up the stairs and lurked at the rear of the hallway, taking in the show.
The widow pondered his words. “That won’t be necessary.” She stuffed her license into her purse. “It’s late. I can deal with this tomorrow.”
“Excellent idea.”
She grabbed a long black coat, which was draped over a chair and shouldered past him. In the hallway, she paused and shot a glance toward the rear staircase. “Ms. Chambers, I expect you to be gone by the time I return in the morning.”
Apparently, he hadn’t been the only one to notice the snicker.
To Pete, she said, “Lock up on your way out.”
Once Loretta Marshall left, Zoe moved into the light, a hint of a grin on her beautiful face.
“I guess you overheard my chat with the grieving widow,” he said.
“Actually, I smelled pizza and came to investigate.” She closed the distance between them and slipped into his arms. “Thanks for getting rid of Loretta de Vil.”
It was his turn to snicker. “Now that you mention it, I was trying to figure out who she reminded me of.”
Zoe only then noticed the debris in the secretary’s office. “Holy crap.”
“Do you have any idea what she’s looking for?”
Zoe’s gaze remained on the mess. “Yeah. I do.”
Seventeen
After sharing the pizza with Paulette, Zoe told the weary secretary to go home.
“But there’s so much to do yet,” Paulette protested.
“Pete will help me. You’re exhausted, and I have lots of work for you tomorrow.”
She acquiesced and gave the office one last tearful look before heading out into the night.
Alone with Pete and the vestiges of Franklin’s career as county coroner, Zoe posed the question she’d carried with her all day. “What isn’t Frattini telling me?”
Pete hoisted one of the boxes and headed for the door. “What do you mean?”
“He alluded to some opinions Franklin had about the case.” She paused when Pete stepped into the hall to place the box by the back door. Once he returned, she added, “I gather he only wants me to read what’s in the report and keep my take on it to myself.”
TIL DEATH Page 12
