2 Lost Legacy

by Annette Dashofy

  “I suppose you’re talking about the Miller brothers.”

  Pete waited for Engle to continue.

  “That was a long time ago. One brother killed the other, then killed himself. It was over a woman as I recall.”

  Baronick scribbled furiously in his notebook. “What woman?”

  “I don’t know. Ain’t like I was their—whatcha call it—social secretary.”

  “I understand one of the men was found hanged,” Pete said.

  Engle’s eye twitched. “Could be. It was a long time ago.”

  “Does it seem odd to you that a man hanged himself in your brother’s barn all those years ago and now your own brother’s done the same thing?”

  The grizzled farmer stood up with a grunt, his joints cracking. “No, I don’t think it’s odd. It’s just what it is. A coincidence. We’re done here. I got things to do. Like plan a funeral.”

  “Coincidence,” Pete said through clenched teeth as he and Baronick made their way toward his SUV in Wilford Engle’s driveway. He’d have parked closer if he’d known he’d be walking on a busted-up ankle. But he refused to limp. “I hate coincidences.”

  “Me, too.” The detective slapped his notebook against his palm. “Do you believe him?”

  Pete looked back toward the house. Engle stood at the screen door watching their departure. “No. He’s hiding something.”

  “Yeah. He sure didn’t like that I was snooping around in his brother’s house. Makes me believe I need to do a little more digging out there. And what was that about another hanging in that barn?”

  “Just something I heard today.” Pete slid behind the wheel, relieved to be off his feet at last. “I think I need to find out a little more about our local history.”

  And he knew just the person to ask.

  Three

  Zoe was right about one thing. Carl Loomis hadn’t been the only farmer racing to get his hay in ahead of the rain last night.

  Two wagons overloaded with fresh green bales stood in the center of the indoor riding ring at the Kroll farm. She breathed in the fragrant aroma—perfume to a farm girl. Then again, she enjoyed the earthy tang of fresh horse manure, too.

  Although the farm currently boasted fifteen boarders, Patsy Greene was one of the rare few willing to jump in and help with the barn chores, and the only one who offered to help with the hay. Patsy had almost ten years on her, but Zoe often commented that Patsy acted more like a twenty-something than a forty-something.

  They stood shoulder-to-shoulder, gazing up at the mountain of work. “What time does your folks’ flight get in?” Patsy asked.

  “A little after ten.” Zoe checked her watch. Seven a.m.

  “Guess we’d better get busy.” Patsy nudged her with an elbow, grabbed a manure fork, and headed toward one of the two dozen stalls that ran along both sides of the arena.

  Zoe selected another fork from the feed room and entered the stall next to the one Patsy was mucking. “Thanks for the help. I’d never get done in time to leave for the airport on my own. And with the hay to unload this afternoon, I’ll have enough to keep me busy.”

  “No problem. How’s Mrs. Kroll doing?”

  “Pretty good. She’s still in remission.”

  In addition to her duties as a Monongahela County paramedic and one of Franklin Marshall’s deputy coroners, Zoe also managed the Kroll farm. She’d needed a place to board her Quarter Horse gelding. When Mrs. Kroll was diagnosed with leukemia, she and her husband—both well into their seventies—needed someone to keep the horse operation running while they dealt with her health issues. They’d been a perfect match. Zoe took over the riding and boarding facility in exchange for a stall for Windstar and half of the huge nineteenth century farmhouse for her and her cats. She picked up a little extra spending money by giving riding lessons on occasion.

  “When was the last time you saw your mom?” Patsy called from the next stall.

  “I drove down to Florida six years ago.” And swore she’d never take on that task again. “They haven’t been up here for probably ten years.”

  “To what do you owe the honor of their presence now?”

  Zoe sifted sawdust bedding through the tines, keeping the brown lumps of manure on the fork. She had been pondering that question ever since her mother phoned a month ago to announce their visit.

  “Well?” Patsy said.

  Zoe tossed the manure into the wheelbarrow positioned by the stall door. “I really don’t know.” She wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to, either. Life was never peaceful when Kimberly Chambers Jackson was around. Plus Zoe hated how she always reverted to the age of twelve in her mother’s overpowering presence.

  “How long are they gonna be here?”

  “I don’t know that either. Probably a week.” A week that would feel like a month.

  Patsy poked her head around the corner, a big grin on her face. “If they’re still here on Friday, be sure and bring them to my birthday party. Barbecue and a keg at my house.”

  “My folks at your party?” Zoe snorted. “I thought you wanted your birthday to be fun.”

  Thirty minutes later, they’d cleaned almost half the stalls. Sweat trickled down Zoe’s forehead, and she wiped it away with the back of her arm. “I thought it was supposed to be cooler today.”

  “It is.” Patsy laughed. “Instead of ninety-two, it’s only going to get to eighty-eight.”

  “Great.” Zoe would have to grab a quick shower before heading to the airport. Meeting her mother and Tom in her old Chevy pickup was bad enough. If she stank like a farmhand on top of it, her mother would be appalled. Not a good way to start a visit.

  Patsy deposited one more forkful of soggy bedding onto the mound in the wheelbarrow. “My turn,” she said, propping the fork against the wall and wheeling the load toward the door and the manure pile. “Hey,” she called over her shoulder. “Here comes Mr. Kroll.”

  The throaty rumble of the quad he used to travel between the house and the barn grew louder. Zoe heard him cut the engine and shout a greeting to Patsy before he appeared at the door. “Zoe!” he yelled across the barn. “You have company.”

  “What? Who?”

  “Your folks. I hope you don’t mind. I let them into your place.”

  “My folks?” Crap. “They weren’t supposed to be here for...” She glanced at her watch again. Yes, it was only seven-thirty. “...two-and-a-half more hours.”

  “That may be so, but they’re here. Now.”

  Patsy returned with the emptied wheelbarrow. “I’ll finish up. You go.”

  “Are you sure?” Zoe looked down at her filthy hands and dusty jeans and shirt.

  “I’m sure. Go.”

  “Want a ride?” Mr. Kroll pointed to his quad.

  She’d ridden with Mr. Kroll before and nearly been bounced off into a ditch. “No, thanks. I’ll walk.”

  Instead, she jogged. What in the world were her mother and Tom doing here so early? Had she misunderstood their arrival time? And now she was going to greet them, not only late, but looking like she’d been toiling in a barn. Which she had. Much to her mother’s chagrin. Kimberly had never appreciated Zoe’s passion for the outdoors or her love of animals.

  Zoe arrived at the small stoop outside her kitchen door and kicked out of her grungy sneakers. She patted the dust from her Wranglers as best she could and slipped inside.

  Her kitchen, long and narrow with appliances that would have been considered retro except for the fact they actually were that old, ran along the back side of the house.

  In stocking feet, she padded across the floor to the swinging door leading into one of the two huge downstairs rooms she called home. Summoning her courage, she plunged in.

  Kimberly Chambers Jackson, wearing a cream suit with some kind of glit
ter on the lapels and honey blond hair done up in a curly cascade that even a hurricane wouldn’t have budged, spun toward Zoe with a smile that froze into a look of horror.

  “Hi, Mom.” Even if Zoe’d had the urge to hug her mother, the thought of transferring sawdust and sweat onto that spotless suit—not to mention Kimberly’s horrified reaction—stopped her cold. Then again, it might be amusing to see Kimberly bolt for the door after only a fifteen minute stay.

  However, Tom Jackson, tall and still ruggedly handsome even though well into his sixties, strode across the room to her without hesitation. “Hiya, Sweet Pea,” he said. A big grin beneath his graying mustache kicked up a ripple of creases that Zoe remembered as dimples.

  “Hey, Tom.” She surrendered to being caught up in a bear hug that lifted her off her feet. A rush of affection for the man who had been her late father’s dearest friend, and who had stepped in to raise the distraught eight year old and comfort the grieving widow, swept through her.

  He set her down and planted a kiss on her cheek. “It’s good to see you, Zoe.”

  She brushed some transferred dirt from his blue polo shirt. “You, too. But what are you two doing here? I thought I was supposed to pick you up at ten.”

  Kimberly clasped her hands in front of her as if afraid to touch anything. Especially Zoe. “We caught an earlier flight and decided to rent a car. We didn’t want you to have to drive us everywhere, after all.”

  Zoe kept her relief to herself.

  “So this is where you live?” Kimberly did a slow pivot, taking in the room.

  Zoe imagined her mother’s thoughts as she inspected the furniture. The lumpy couch, the set of worn easy chairs—one of which was currently occupied by a pair of sleepy orange tabbies—and the wobbly end table had come with the house. The small dining table and chairs were products of a shopping trip to IKEA. Other odds and ends had been garage sale and flea market finds. Any other day, Zoe loved the lived-in atmosphere. Comfortable chic, she called it. But through her mother’s eyes, she realized it could also be considered dilapidated and cheap. “Be it ever so humble—”

  “It’s charming,” Tom said, giving his wife a look that said be nice.

  “Where will we be sleeping?” Kimberly leaned a little to peer into the other downstairs room without moving her feet.

  “Not there. That’s my office. You can have my bedroom on the second floor.” Zoe reached for a pair of the suitcases stacked at the foot of the stairs.

  Tom intercepted her. “I’ll get those. And we really don’t want to put you out of your own bed.”

  Zoe caught the look her mother gave him. Clearly, displacing Zoe didn’t bother Kimberly.

  “It’s okay.” Zoe motioned to the lumpy couch. “That’s a sleeper sofa. It’s pretty comfortable, actually.” If you liked having springs poking you in the back. “I don’t mind. Really.”

  “See.” Kimberly smiled at her husband. “She doesn’t mind. And goodness knows there isn’t a decent hotel within twenty miles of this place.”

  A hotel. Now there was a thought. Zoe made a mental note for their next visit.

  Then again, if history were any indicator, that wouldn’t happen for another ten years or so.

  Tom tucked a bag under each arm, plus caught the handles of the other two, one in each hand. “Lead the way, Sweet Pea.”

  “Oh, Tom, you don’t have to take them all in one trip,” Kimberly said. “Let Zoe carry some.”

  “You could take one,” Zoe said to her mother, knowing full well that wasn’t going to happen.

  Kimberly looked appalled at the suggestion.

  “I can handle them,” Tom said.

  “I’ll help.” Zoe wrestled two of the bags from him and started up the stairs. When the house had been a single-family unit, Zoe’s staircase had been the back one. It was enclosed, narrow, and steep. Tom followed and the clop of Kimberly’s high heels indicated she was bringing up the rear.

  “Oh, dear,” Kimberly said. “Spider webs. And it’s so dark. You should put more lights in here.”

  Zoe suppressed a string of sarcastic remarks. “Yes, Mom.”

  The thump thump thump of a miniature stampede mingled with a shriek, as Jade and Merlin, the two cats, raced up the stairs brushing past their ankles.

  The top of the stairs opened into Zoe’s bedroom. “I’ve cleared a couple of drawers for you. And there’s space in the armoire.” She’d moved a bunch of her things into the office downstairs.

  The cats had taken possession of the double bed, daring the interlopers to make them move.

  Tom dumped their bags on the floor. “I’m sorry we’re putting you out.” He crossed to the window and looked toward the view of the barn and rolling pastures. “Wow. No wonder you like it here.”

  Kimberly tested the mattress’s firmness with her fingertips, while keeping an eye on the felines. “I didn’t realize you had such a small bed. And these cats won’t have the run of the place the whole time we’re here, will they?”

  Tom spun, a dark scowl on his face. “Kimberly, stop.”

  Zoe bit her lip to keep from smiling.

  “But—”

  “But nothing. This is a lovely old house and your daughter is bending over backward to give you a place to stay. So stop your bitching.”

  Pretending she didn’t notice the storm clouds gathering in her mother’s eyes, Zoe set the bags she’d been carrying in the middle of the floor and pointed at the door opposite the staircase. “That’s the bathroom.”

  Kimberly cleared her throat. “You mean you’ll have to come through here to use the facilities?”

  “Kimberly...” Tom’s voice was a low growl.

  “I’ve arranged with the Kroll’s to use their guest bath while you’re here.”

  Kimberly’s eyes lit up, the storm clouds gone. “Is it nicer than this one?”

  Tom closed his eyes and shook his head.

  “It’s only half as big.” Zoe nodded at the door. “Mine has a big claw-foot tub and a shower.”

  “Oh. Well. This’ll be fine then.”

  Zoe headed for the stairs, but remembered the one thing she wanted to talk to her mother about. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Of course. Anything.” Kimberly’s body language said otherwise.

  “Do you remember the Engle farm?”

  Kimberly turned her back to Zoe and popped the latch on one of the suitcases. “You mean the old Miller farm.” It wasn’t a question, but a correction.

  “Yeah. I recall you telling me something about your uncles being killed there. What was that all about?”

  Tom had been examining the armoire. “This is interesting. Where did you get it?”

  “Yard sale,” Zoe said without looking away from her mother’s back. “Mom?”

  “My uncles Vernon and Denver Miller owned that farm. They were a couple of bachelors. One morning, they were found dead out in the barn. One was shot, the other hanged.”

  “Kimberly, do you want to unpack now?” Tom interrupted. “Maybe you want to lie down and take a nap first.”

  Zoe scowled at her stepfather. What was up with him? To her mother, she said, “Wasn’t there a connection to James Engle?”

  Kimberly flung the dress she’d been unpacking down on the bed and faced Zoe. “The police said that Uncle Vernon and Uncle Denver fought over a woman and that it was a murder-suicide. But we all knew James Engle was responsible.”

  Tom crossed to Zoe and took her by the shoulders. “Your mother’s tired. Can’t this wait until later?”

  Funny. Kimberly didn’t look tired to Zoe. “It’ll just take a minute. Who thought Engle was responsible? And why?”

  “My mother for one. That was our family farm. It should have gone to her in their wills. But for some reason, the
wills had been changed a few months before Vernon and Denver died, leaving everything to James Engle.”

  Whoa. There was a lot more to the story than Zoe had known. “When did all this happen?”

  Kimberly looked to Tom. “How long was it? Forty? Forty-five years ago?”

  He sat on the edge of the bed with a sigh. “Closer to forty-five.”

  “Why all the interest in family history?” Kimberly asked.

  Zoe thought about the gruesome body hanging from the rafters the night before. “James Engle was found hanged in his barn yesterday.”

  Kimberly’s eyes widened and she looked at her husband. “Oh my God. Tom? I’m so sorry.”

  Sorry? Zoe stared at her mother, then at Tom. “What’s going on?”

  Kimberly touched his shoulder and their eyes met. “There was a time when Tom looked up to James almost like a father.”

  Four

  Pete hobbled across his kitchen to answer the pounding at the door. His damned ankle still hurt like hell. He’d promised Franklin he would be at the morgue by nine. The last thing he needed was company to delay him further.

  He swung the door open to find a grandmotherly version of the Pillsbury Dough Boy wearing a pink t-shirt and khaki shorts. Sylvia Bassi, his former police secretary turned township supervisor, didn’t wait for an invitation and bustled inside.

  “I got your message,” she said. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

  He’d expected her to call him back. Not simply drop in. But he sure wasn’t about to tell her that. He closed the door to block out the heat of the morning sun. “Did you hear about James Engle?”

  “Yes, I did. Terrible thing. I can’t imagine how much agony he must have been in to end it that way.” She shivered.

  Pete took one step on his bad leg, gritting his teeth against the pain, and eased into a chair. “What do you know about the Miller brothers?”

  “The Miller brothers? Good heavens, you’re going back a few years.”