With a Vengeance

by Annette Dashofy

  Rose braced an elbow on the table and rested her chin in her hand, one finger tapping her cheek. “Rick Brown? There are a lot of Browns living around Elm Creek. Is he one of those?”

  “I doubt it. From what I heard, he’s not local.”

  “Who is he?”

  “Someone Lucy Livingston dated before Curtis.”

  Rose blew out a noisy breath. “That girl’s dated just about every man and boy in Monongahela County. Guess she’s sampled the goods elsewhere too.”

  It struck Zoe that she and Rose had dated and “sampled the goods” quite a bit in their wild youth too. She wondered how many times women had sat at a table and talked about them in the same manner as they were now discussing Lucy.

  Except neither Rose nor Zoe had ever been suspected of killing someone.

  “Do you think Allison might know who this guy is?”

  Rose slammed a hand down on the table. “Do not bring this up with her.”

  Zoe flinched. “Why not?”

  “I can’t believe I have to explain it to you. This whole business with Lucy has threatened to push Allison back over the edge.”

  “Because of Jason?”

  Rose stood, nearly tipping her chair over. “Yes, because of Jason. Allison had a huge crush on him.”

  “But I thought that was quite a while ago.”

  “She’s not even sixteen.”

  True, Zoe thought. How long ago could it have been?

  Rose took her cup to the sink, rinsed it out, and opened the dishwasher. “She’s been in love twice.” Rose said the words as if they tasted bitter on her tongue. “Once with Jason Dyer and then with…” She shook her head, unable or unwilling to speak the name of the man who had nearly destroyed her daughter.

  “Pete thinks this Rick Brown guy might be the key to what’s been going on.” Zoe kept her voice soft. “If Allison knows something—”

  “No.” Rose spun and glared at Zoe. “Leave Allison out of it. If Pete thinks this man has something to do with his case, let Pete do the investigating to find him. But you’re not going to use my child.” The glare intensified. “Not again.”

  The reference to last winter’s disaster stung more than a slap to her face. “I wouldn’t—”

  “And another thing.” Rose jabbed a finger toward the appliance. “You did it again. Stop taking one thing out of the goddamned dishwasher and closing it again so I don’t know if it’s been run or not.” She slammed her mug into the sink. Hard.

  Zoe winced as it shattered. “I didn’t.” She spotted the blood on her friend’s hand and jumped to her feet. “Oh my God, Rose. Let me get some bandages.”

  “No.” Rose jerked her hand away. “Just leave me alone. Leave all of us alone.”

  She stormed out of the kitchen, leaving Zoe stunned, her mouth hanging open.

  What on earth was going on in this house?

  “He’s pulling over.” Baronick’s words over the radio weren’t what Pete had expected to hear.

  “I didn’t tell you to stop him,” Pete snapped into his mic as he sped south on Route 15.

  “Wasn’t my intention,” Baronick replied. “He must have made me.” The location the detective reported was only about a mile from Hector’s driveway.

  “Don’t stop. Wait up ahead in case he decides to keep going. I’ll be there in two minutes.”

  Hector’s truck and trailer sat at the edge of the road right where Baronick had said. Pete pulled his SUV up behind the rig, switched on his four-way flashers, and stepped out. All senses on high alert, Pete approached the driver’s door, glancing at the empty trailer and hitch as he passed.

  The truck’s driver’s window was open. Inside, Hector stared straight ahead, both hands on the steering wheel.

  Pete gave the interior of the cab a quick inspection. No weapons in sight. In fact, the thing was cleaner than the interior of Pete’s personal vehicle. “Hector? Is anything wrong?”

  The man shot him a dark glance before returning his gaze to the front.

  “Are you having car troubles? Do you want me to call for a tow?”

  “Truck runs just fine.”

  “Are you waiting for someone?”

  “Nope.”

  The man’s monosyllabic responses were wearing on Pete’s patience. “Mind telling me where you’re going?”

  Hector turned his head and fixed Pete with a level stare. “As long as you and your cop friends are in my rearview mirror, I’m not going anywhere.”

  Pete held his gaze for a moment and then smiled, which, from the puzzled look on Hector’s face, wasn’t what the man expected. “Oh, Hector, I’m afraid you are.” He pulled out his cell phone and punched in Baronick’s number. “Detective, I need you to call Bud Kramer and order a flatbed out here to transport a truck and small trailer. Then meet me at the station. I’m about to bring Hector Livingston in for questioning.”

  “Are you okay?” Earl asked as he pulled in front of Kramer’s Garage.

  Zoe realized she hadn’t said a word since they’d left the funeral home. “Not really.” She forced a tight smile. “I’ll be fine.”

  She’d hated funeral homes since she was eight years old and had been told the man inside the closed casket was her dad. Only recently had she come to terms with not seeing the body—believing he really wasn’t in there.

  Barry’s casket was open, and she couldn’t get the image of him, in repose in his dress uniform, out of her mind. She closed her eyes and recalled the big, tough, loud, funny man she’d worked with instead.

  “You don’t look fine.” Earl gestured toward Medic Two parked along the fence. “I guess she’s ready.”

  Zoe’s Chevy, however, was nowhere to be seen. She hoped that meant it was inside, being worked on. Begging rides was growing old. Besides, as snippy as Rose had been this morning, Zoe might need to bunk in her truck sooner rather than later.

  The mingled odors of motor oil, paint, and tires greeted them the moment they stepped inside the garage.

  Bud Kramer rolled over to the cashier’s window, an invoice in hand and a stern look on his fleshy face. “Which one of you is paying for this?”

  Earl wore a deer-in-headlights expression that had to match Zoe’s.

  Bud glanced at both of them and erupted into laughter. “You two should see your expressions.” He waved the invoice. “I just need a signature. The bill goes to Mon County EMS.”

  Earl leaned on the counter. “You are an evil man, Kramer.”

  As the garage owner chortled at his own joke, Zoe left Earl to handle the paperwork and wandered into the work area. A red Toyota with heavy front-end damage occupied the first bay. A panel truck with the hood yawning open sat in the second. On the other side of it, she found her Chevy. None of the mechanics were crawling in, over, or under it, leading her to wonder if the work had been completed.

  “We should get to it later today,” said a voice behind her.

  She spun to find Gabe Webber, the mechanic who’d offered to cut her a break on repairs had she only called before she needed a tow. “Oh. I was hoping it was already finished.”

  He shook his head. “We’re waiting on parts.”

  “You haven’t even started on it?”

  “Sorry.”

  She heaved a disappointed sigh and rested a hand on the front fender, as if she could comfort the lonely beast.

  “You should’ve called before wasting a trip in to check on your truck. Besides, the boss’ll call you when she’s done.”

  “I know. It’s not a wasted trip though. Earl and I are picking up the ambulance. We’re on duty tonight.”

  “Oh. Good. You won’t need your truck today anyway.”

  Zoe hated to agree, fearing if Gabe didn’t feel rushed he might push hers off until tomorrow. Or the next day. “I guess not. But I’d really like to p
ick it up first thing in the morning.”

  “No problem. First thing.”

  She watched him shuffle away and feared she might as well have told him, “No rush. Next month will be fine.”

  She wandered back toward Earl and Bud. Once she rounded the panel truck, she could see the two of them with their heads bent together over the invoice. Opting against getting involved in any line item debates, she strolled toward the rear of the garage, studying the array of tools on the walls and workbenches. She had vague but happy memories of her dad’s garage and of handing him wrenches and sockets while he puttered on his car.

  A greasy tarp was draped over a large odd-shaped mound near a rear door. Her gaze slipped past it, but something drew her back. She studied the thing and noticed the tarp didn’t quite reach the concrete floor in one spot, revealing a nubby tire.

  Her breath caught. She glanced toward Earl and Bud. Both remained intent on the invoice. She crept toward the tarp. Looked around again.

  No one appeared to notice her. She gingerly pinched a corner of the cover and lifted it, cringing at the rustle the movement created. But the sight of a plastic fender, a headlight, and handlebars whipped her pulse into high gear.

  A gruff voice bellowing, “What the hell are you doing?” nearly stopped it.

  Hector Livingston’s gaze could almost scorch grooves in the interrogation room table. He slouched in a chair, his arms crossed defiantly across his barrel chest, his jaw clenched.

  Pete studied him from the opposite chair. “Tell me about the accident on Oak Grove Road.”

  “I have the right to remain silent.”

  “You do. But if you have nothing to hide, why wouldn’t you want to help us clear your name?”

  Hector jutted his chin and looked away.

  “All right. I’ll do the talking then.” Pete made a production of opening his notebook and thumbing through pages, settling on the one he wanted. “Three and a half weeks ago, you had a minor traffic accident on Oak Grove Road. Among those responding were Bruce Yancy, Curtis Knox, and Barry Williamson. Does it seem odd to you that those same three men have since been killed or wounded? Shot by a high-powered rifle?”

  Hector’s jaw worked ever so slightly, but he remained silent.

  “The shooter eluded capture by escaping on an ATV.”

  As expected, Hector continued to stare at a spot on the wall.

  “Hector,” Pete said, acting as if he’d only now realized it, “you happen to have an ATV. And I’ve heard you’re quite the hunter. I’ll bet you own a high-powered rifle. Specifically, a thirty-ought-six.”

  Hector, wearing a smirk, brought his gaze back to Pete. “Yes, I do. So does most of the population of Monongahela County.”

  “That’s true. In fact, so does your daughter.”

  The smirk melted away. “Leave Lucille out of this.”

  “Sorry. I can’t do that.” Pete shifted forward, resting his arms on the table. “You see, Hector, all of the motives we have for you also apply to her.”

  “She has nothing to do with those shootings. Nothing.”

  “Then where is she?”

  Hector’s shoulders hiked closer to his ears, but he pressed his mouth into a tight line and again looked away.

  Pete sat back in his chair. “That’s okay. I really don’t need you to help me find her. Detective Baronick is on his way to see a judge right this minute. We’re getting a warrant to ping her cell phone. The wonders of modern technology.”

  Hector growled like a defeated bear. “She has nothing to do with these shootings. I’m telling you the truth,” he said, his voice softening.

  Pete held his gaze and waited.

  With a sigh, Hector said, “The girl’s got a bug up her butt about competing in some sort of ATV cross-country race next month out near Harrisburg.” His lip curled. “Total waste of time and gasoline, if you ask me. But she’s my little girl, so if she wants to do it, I’ll let her.”

  “That’s next month. Where is she now?”

  “I took her and both quads down to Greene County yesterday morning. She and a friend were going riding, but the friend’s quad broke down so Lucille begged me to let the friend use mine.”

  “A friend,” Pete said. “Male or female?”

  Hector glared at him. “A girlfriend. You all like to make Lucille out to be some man-hungry floozy, but she’s not.”

  Pete held up a finger and started counting. “Jason Dyer. Snake Sullivan. Rick Brown. Curtis Knox…”

  Hector slammed both hands down on the table and leapt to his feet. “Shut the hell up.”

  Pete was on his feet too. “Sit down, Hector. Now.”

  He glanced at the door as if expecting an army to burst through at any moment, but he slowly lowered back into the chair.

  As did Pete. “So you dropped your daughter and your ATVs off in Greene County yesterday morning?”

  “Yeah. She was spending the night with this girl. I was supposed to pick her up this morning.”

  “That’s where you were headed when you pulled over?”

  Hector nodded. “I saw that unmarked car you had sitting by my place. Ain’t nobody’s business where I go. Or where Lucille spends her time.”

  “As long as you’re both innocent of murder, that’s true.” Pete clicked his pen. “Give me an address.”

  “For what?”

  “Lucy’s girlfriend.”

  “No. I told you, it’s—”

  “Nobody’s business. I know.” Pete clicked his pen again. “And like I said, it doesn’t matter. As soon as Detective Baronick gets that warrant, we’ll be able to track her cell phone anyway. I just figured if you’re both innocent as you claim, you’d want to cooperate.”

  Hector’s gaze darkened. “Cooperate? Go to hell. Get your gawddamned warrant. We got nothing to hide.”

  Pete closed his notebook and rose. “We’ll see.” Because what he hadn’t told Hector was the warrant to track Lucy’s phone wasn’t the only one Baronick was requesting.

  He’d also filled out an affidavit for a warrant to search the Livingston property for a thirty-ought-six hunting rifle.

  Twenty-Three

  Zoe whirled toward the booming voice, dragging the tarp with her. Bud Kramer glared at her from the cashier’s window. A startled Earl—and she imagined every mechanic in the place—stared at her too.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Bud demanded again, speaking slowly as if she was dense.

  “Um…” She glanced back at the tarp, one corner of which was still clenched in her fist. It continued to do a slow slide to the floor, revealing an ATV with cracked plastic fenders, but not a speck of dirt on it. Or its tires.

  Someone came up behind her and gently tugged the tarp from her hand.

  Gabe. “Don’t mind him. The boss likes to keep his toy clean, and if we don’t keep it covered, it gets coated in gook.”

  His toy? “Sorry,” she said to the mechanic.

  He gestured for her to rejoin Earl. A wise move.

  Bud continued to glare at her as she approached. “I’m really sorry. I was looking for my truck and—”

  “It’s over there.” Bud pointed.

  “Yeah, I know. I found it, and Gabe said he hadn’t started on it—”

  “So you decided to go poking around my garage?”

  Considering that was exactly what she’d been doing, she couldn’t find a good excuse for it. So she apologized again.

  Bud aimed a thumb at a sign tacked to a nearby post. “Can’t you read?”

  Authorized Personnel Only Beyond This Point.

  Another apology seemed useless.

  “I don’t usually enforce it, but my liability insurance would skyrocket if anyone got hurt monkeying around with all the tools and machinery in here.” He shook his finger at her. “Th
anks to you, I may have to toughen my stance.”

  Chagrined, Zoe stared at her shoes. But the sight of the quad gnawed at her. “If you don’t mind my asking, what are you doing with an ATV?”

  “I do mind,” Bud said. “I can’t exactly take a hike in the woods like I used to. That little buggy gives me back some of my freedom.”

  Earl bumped her with his elbow and held out the keys to the ambulance. “We better get going.”

  Good ol’ Earl, rescuing her from embarrassing herself any further. She snatched the keys and mumbled yet another apology to Bud.

  Still, as she headed across the parking lot to Medic Two, she couldn’t help wondering if Pete knew about Bud Kramer’s “toy.”

  One of the county officers stood outside the Livingston house with Hector, who was snarling like a wounded grizzly, while Pete and Baronick stood in the middle of the dining room.

  “I’m not impressed,” Baronick said.

  Pete took in the antique china cabinet filled with delicate plates and tiny cups. “What did you expect? Nazi posters on the wall?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know. But I expected something other than Grandma’s house.”

  The detective had a point.

  As far as survivalists’ residences went, so far the Livingston house appeared remarkable in that it was totally unremarkable. “How long has Hector’s wife been dead?” Pete wondered out loud.

  “About sixteen years, I think.” Baronick scavenged through the drawers in the cabinet searching for the burner phones listed along with the thirty-ought-six hunting rifles on their warrant. “Maybe seventeen. Why?”

  Pete made a slow pivot, taking in the outdated wallpaper, the sun-faded curtains, the clean but scratched dining table, and the formerly plump cushions on the chair seats. “It looks like nothing’s been updated since then.”

  Baronick turned away from the china cabinet and scanned the rest of the room. “You might be right.”

  Pete adjusted his gloves. “On the other hand, maybe even survivalists keep their weapons somewhere other than near the food.”