He met her gaze.
“About my wedding.” She could feel the heat rising in her cheeks. “I want to ask you a favor.”
He lowered his eyes and winced, cooling the flush. “I need to talk to you about that.”
Her heart sank low in her chest. Whatever he had to say wasn’t good.
“I’m glad I was able to help today. And tomorrow. But I’m not going to be at your wedding.”
She didn’t want to know, but the words slipped out unbidden. “Why not?”
He opened his mouth. Shut it again. “Something’s come up. I’m sorry.”
“Because of Christopher?” It wasn’t really a question. Scott’s son—her nephew—had been a huge granite wall between them from the moment they’d met.
Scott struggled with the non-question. He clearly wanted to say more, but only repeated, “I’m sorry.”
Zoe nodded. She wanted to understand. Christopher, in spite of his criminal activities, in spite of having left her to die last winter, in spite of a lifetime of living outside of the law, was still Scott’s only child. Scott had raised the boy as a single parent. Meanwhile, Pete was doing his best to put the young man away for a very long time.
And Zoe was slated to be a key witness for the prosecution.
She and Christopher might be on even footing as Scott’s blood relatives, but she and Scott had only met a few months ago. He’d invested a lifetime in trying to keep his boy out of trouble and out of jail.
She knew all of this. Knew he’d choose Christopher over her. And perhaps that was the way it should be. But it didn’t make her hurt any less.
“If you’d rather I didn’t show up tomorrow, I understand.” Scott looked as anguished as she felt.
“No.” Zoe blinked away the disappointment. She’d take whatever he could offer. For now. “I’d appreciate your help.”
He smiled. Not a big smile but a relieved one. “Good. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Once Scott had gone, Zoe collapsed onto her stacked boxes, staring out the dirt-streaked window, thoughts and emotions racing inside her skull like deranged bumper cars. She’d joked about walking down the aisle by herself, but really doing it? Not her preference. And not her dream. She closed her eyes, and an image floated from the depths of her subconscious. A smiling face. Unforgettable blue eyes, not quite the same shade as her own. Jason. The man she’d believed was her brother. The man she’d bonded with and loved from the moment they first met. The man who still reminded her of her father.
Except, he’d come into her life for one purpose and had wreaked havoc on her heart and soul. More than six months later, why did she still feel a deeper connection to him than to her real brother? Why did she still secretly wish she could talk to him one more time? To find out how much of their connection had become as real to him as it was to her? She knew deep down he’d had feelings for her at the end. Not enough to stop him from his mission. Not enough for him to lay down his gun.
She opened her eyes, letting the light through those grimy windows burn away the memory. Her gaze came back to the printouts of Elizabeth Landis’ autopsy findings. Zoe swiped a sleeve across her face and drew the papers closer, sorting them into order. “Okay,” she said to the air around her. “Let’s see what’s in here that made Franklin believe Dustin was innocent.”
The first few pages revealed nothing beyond what she already knew. As she began to delve into the detailed notes Franklin had compiled regarding the bullet’s trajectory, Paulette stormed into the office, her face a mix of fierce determination and smug satisfaction.
“The file cabinets and chairs will be here within the hour. And we’re getting free delivery and 15 percent off the original cost.”
“Wow. How did you manage that?”
Paulette’s chin lifted as a pleased smile played over her lips. “Let’s just say I’m on a close, first-name basis with the gentleman who acquires supplies for a number of the offices in the courthouse, and if he was convinced to take his business elsewhere…”
“Isn’t coercion illegal?”
“I’m also on a first-name basis with several very good defense attorneys.”
“Remind me not to get on your bad side.”
Paulette shrugged out of her coat. “Did you get the printer to work?”
Zoe held up the report she was reading. “My brother stopped by and worked some magic.”
“Bless his soul.” Paulette stood over the spot where her office chair should be, planted her fists into her hips, and shifted her gaze to the boxes along the wall. “I’ll start unpacking until our delivery arrives.”
Zoe lowered Elizabeth’s report, thinking of Abby’s request. “Do you happen to know where I could find a file dated nine days after the Elizabeth Landis homicide?”
Paulette scowled. “What file are you talking about?”
Zoe gave her a brief summary of the case Abby was interested in and why.
“The man was homeless?” Paulette said doubtfully. “And there’s nothing tying him to the case other than this young officer remembers him as ‘looking fit’?”
“And the timing.”
Paulette appeared dismayed. “Don’t we have enough to deal with right now without digging into old cases that have no bearing on anything?”
“We don’t know that.”
“I know Franklin is—was—thorough. I’d remember the case you’re talking about had there been anything questionable about it. I don’t, so it didn’t.”
Zoe eyed the secretary. Apparently, Paulette’s confrontation with the office supply store had given her an adrenalin rush that she wanted to maintain at Zoe’s expense. Or maybe Paulette was making perfect sense. “I promised I’d look into it. If you’re right, I’m out a few minutes of my life. If Abby’s right, we might find the answer to a nine-year-old homicide.”
“A few minutes?” Paulette swept her arm at the unpacked boxes. “Make that a few hours.”
Zoe leaned her forearms on the desk, interlaced her fingers, and gave the secretary her most stubborn stare.
After long moments of silence, Paulette sighed. “Fine.” She bent over her computer keyboard and started typing. “Nine years ago. It should be easier to find in here than figuring out which box Franklin’s handwritten notes are in.”
Zoe rose and crossed to Paulette’s side, watching the monitor over her shoulder. The time period in question had been a busy one for the coroner’s office. Fortunately, most of the cases had names attached. “There.” Zoe placed a finger on the screen, marking a John Doe with a date of death nine days after Elizabeth’s.
Paulette slapped Zoe’s hand. “Stop putting smudges on my screen.” But she clicked on the file bringing up a single page.
“That’s it?”
“I told you. If there’d been anything interesting, I’d have remembered it.”
Zoe leaned closer, reading. John Doe. Six-foot-two. One hundred and ninety pounds. A pair of fishermen found him in a tent, which he’d evidently called home, along a creek. “He showed evidence of long-term drug use. Cause of death, opioid overdose. Heroin laced with fentanyl.”
“Accidental overdose.” Paulette stressed the accidental part. “Case closed.”
“I guess you’re right.” Zoe straightened. Abby would be disappointed that her hunch hadn’t paid off, but at least she could let go of it and put her attention back on her regular work.
Twenty-Three
Saturday’s breakfast consisted of instant oatmeal microwaved in disposable bowls since all the real stuff was packed, ready for their volunteer movers to arrive. Even the two cats ate from paper plates. Pete watched Zoe maneuver around the boxes, stuffing dirty plastic spoons and paper dishware into a large trash bag. “You okay?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
Her answers had been largely one syllable since she arrived home late
last night. The lack of chattiness continued this morning. Her reddened eyes weren’t lost on him either. Something beyond the stress of moving and planning a wedding was bothering her. Something she didn’t want to talk about. He had his suspicions. At one time, she hadn’t trusted him with her heart and would keep any number of personal injuries to herself. They’d grown beyond that. She shared almost everything with him now.
With one exception.
Jason.
Make that two. Tom Jackson, her stepfather, was another topic she avoided. With the wedding only a week away and her mother coming into town this morning, Pete wondered if Zoe’s mood had to do with the rift between her and the man who’d raised her after her father died. And who no longer spoke to her.
Thanks to Pete.
He moved behind her, wrapped an arm around her waist, drawing her against him, and pressed a kiss against the top of her blonde head. “Something’s bothering you.”
She sunk back into him. “I’m just…nervous,” she said, her voice flat. “We have a lot to get done today.”
“And tomorrow. And Monday. And…”
She huffed a laugh and turned to face him. “You’re not helping.”
“And you’re not telling me everything.”
Her lowered lids hid her eyes.
From outside, a slamming car door interrupted whatever Zoe might’ve been about to say. She broke free of his embrace. “Our help has arrived.”
“We’re going to talk,” he called after her as she headed for the door. “Later.”
She paused, glanced back, and gave one quick nod. “Later.”
Zoe opened the door to Abby, who stepped inside, shot Pete a look he could only describe as guarded, then turned a more eager smile at Zoe. “I thought you could use an extra hand.”
Pete swore they were conducting a full-scale conversation without exchanging a word. Whatever was going on, he didn’t like it. “I didn’t expect to see you today.” Especially since Seth had promised to help out as well.
Abby glanced at him. “I didn’t have anything else to do.” Her eyes shifted back to Zoe. “You don’t mind, do you?”
“Not at all.” Zoe looked beyond Abby. “Here comes Scott.” Zoe spun to face Pete. “Can you get him started loading stuff? I need to lock the cats in the spare room.” She looked at Abby. “Give me a hand?”
He wanted to ask why she needed help with the cats but sensed he’d only receive a clipped evasive answer. “Okay.”
Zoe scooped up the orange tabby that didn’t mind being held and shoved him into Abby’s arms before corralling the squirmy one for herself. The women retreated to the far end of the house, but not before Zoe snagged one of two folders from the antique washstand next to the door. Pete hadn’t noticed what was in either of the folders, which she’d brought home last night. As he moved to let his future brother-in-law in, he flipped the second one open. Elizabeth Landis’ autopsy report.
“Welcome,” Pete said as Scott entered. “Thanks for agreeing to drive down and lend a hand.”
“Glad to help.” Scott looked around. “I thought I saw Zoe.”
Pete thumbed toward the bedrooms as he closed the door against the chilly air. “She and one of my officers are discussing business.”
Scott stuffed his hands deep into his jacket pockets. “I think she might be avoiding me.”
“Why would she be avoiding you?” Pete headed for the still-unpacked coffee maker.
“Because I’m not coming to the wedding.”
He stopped and pivoted slowly to face his future brother-in-law.
“She didn’t tell you?”
She had not, but that explained Zoe’s mood and quick exit when she’d spotted Scott. “Does your decision have anything to do with me?” Pete asked. “Because I’d like to remind you, she’s your sister first and foremost.”
Scott held his gaze. “No. First and foremost, Christopher is my son.”
They stared at each other, like two bull elks contemplating battle. A knock at the door behind Scott shattered the silence but not the tension.
“I promised to help, and I will,” Scott said. “Unless you’d prefer I leave.”
“No.” If Zoe had already agreed to having him here regardless of his decision to blow off her big day, Pete wasn’t about to be the one to toss the jerk to the curb. He shot a glance over his shoulder. “There’s coffee ready. Help yourself.”
He and Scott brushed past each other as Pete returned to the door and swung it open to Seth’s smiling face.
Great. Zoe and Scott. Seth and Abby. And Kimberly was en route. It was going to be an interesting day.
Standing in the spare bedroom, Zoe watched Abby read John Doe’s autopsy report. “It took me three hours to find those,” Zoe said. “The computer file didn’t give me much, so I dug up Franklin’s written notes in case they had more details.”
Abby’s disappointment was evident. “I’m sorry I made you waste so much time.” She closed the folder. “I guess my hunch was wrong.”
“You sure?” Zoe took the folder, opening it again.
“What do you see that I don’t? He was an addict who overdosed. Nothing suspicious about it.”
Zoe reread the notes for the fifth or sixth time. “I have a feeling Franklin had a few questions about it.”
“Why?” Abby moved to Zoe’s side, looking over her shoulder.
“Franklin noted that John Doe showed obvious signs of a history of drug use.”
“Right.”
Zoe placed a finger on the page. “But this part wasn’t in the official computerized report. All the old needle marks had healed over. Franklin felt the deceased had been clean for some time prior to the fatal overdose.”
“So? Do you know how many junkies get out of rehab, clean and sober, and go right back to using?”
“And there’s this.” Zoe flipped to the lab results. “The fatal dose of heroin contained high levels of fentanyl.”
“Let me repeat. So?”
“I thought…” Zoe met Abby’s disappointed but resigned gaze and realized she was right. John Doe was just another addict who temporarily got clean only to be sucked back into old habits and fall victim to heroin laced with deadly fentanyl. Zoe closed the folder. “Looks like we both wasted our time on this one.”
“I appreciate you trying,” Abby said. “It means a lot to me.”
Zoe tucked the file under her arm. “Grab a box. We need to make it look like we haven’t been wasting time this morning too. And make sure neither of the cats sneaks out.”
They returned to the kitchen as Pete opened the door to Seth. Zoe caught the look of unpleasant surprise on his face and turned to see Abby wearing the same expression.
“Coffee’s ready,” Pete said to Seth and gestured to the kitchen.
Scott leaned against the sink, a Styrofoam cup in hand, and nodded a greeting at Zoe. “Hey, sis.”
She returned the nod, wishing she could fill the hollowness in her chest with joy at the sight of him.
“You too,” Pete told Abby, pointing toward the coffee maker.
“No, thanks.” She shot a glance toward Seth before lowering her eyes to the box. “Where do you want me to put this?”
Zoe gently elbowed her. “We’ll start loading my truck.” She wanted to avoid her brother as much as Abby wanted to avoid Seth.
Pete held the door. Zoe caught his eye and knew he was thinking the same thing. Today was going to be hell. She set the folder on top of the one containing Elizabeth’s autopsy report and followed Abby outside.
Her multicolored ancient Chevy pickup sat on the street in front of the house, right where Pete had parked after picking it up at the garage last night. “These boxes are light,” she said to Abby. “Let’s put them in the cab for now. We should fill up the bed with heavier stuff that won’t crush first.�
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Abby didn’t respond. Zoe noticed the gleam of tears in her eyes, but from the set of Abby’s jaw, Zoe interpreted them to be angry ones rather than sad.
“You wanna talk?”
Abby shook her head. “I’ll be fine. I just didn’t realize he’d be here.”
Zoe opened the passenger door, set her box on the bench seat, and slid it toward the center. “You and I can stick together today and let the men do their own thing.”
Abby gave her an unsteady smile. “Sounds like a good plan.”
A faint rumble grew louder as a black Lincoln Navigator made the turn onto Pete’s street and crawled toward them. Zoe swore, recognizing Kimberly’s rental vehicle of choice.
“Who’s that?” Abby asked.
“My mother.” Her cousin, Patsy, would be chauffeuring.
The huge SUV parked at the tail end of the string of cars and trucks lined up in front of Pete’s house. Zoe wasn’t surprised to see the two front doors open, but the rear passenger-side did as well. Patsy climbed from behind the wheel. Kimberly exited the other side.
And Tom Jackson stepped out from the backseat.
Forget hell, Zoe thought. Today was going to be Armageddon.
Patsy immediately headed toward her while Kimberly exchanged words with her husband. Zoe couldn’t hear what was said, but Tom’s gaze never left Zoe. Until a few years ago, he’d have given her a loving and goofy grin. Would’ve strode to her and swept her up in a bearhug. Today, there was no trace of a smile beneath the mustache, and his feet appeared rooted in place.
“Hi.” Patsy sounded as if she’d spent days locked in a cage surrounded by predators. Then again, a few hours on a plane from Florida with Tom and Kimberly might well have felt the same.
Zoe returned the greeting but kept her gaze on the action back at the Navigator.
Kimberly said something more to him, still too quiet for Zoe to hear—which struck her as oddly amusing. “Kimberly” and “soft-spoken” were words that rarely graced the same thought. Tom shot a stern glance at his wife before bringing his gaze back to Zoe, still no smile, still no move to approach. Kimberly stamped her boot like an unhappy child and stared up at her husband for another few moments before wheeling and strutting toward Zoe.
TIL DEATH Page 17
