A soft whistle from Baronick brought Zoe back to the present. She leaned over his shoulder. “Did you find anything?”
He held a pair of folders, not much thicker than the one for Gary Chambers. “Pretty sparse police report. No surprise there.”
“Warren Froats was police chief way back then, too?”
“How’d you guess?” Baronick smirked. “And the coroner was the same, too. No autopsies.”
“Did these guys do anything to earn their pay?”
Baronick scowled into the box. He reached in and picked something up. His eyes widened. “Someone did.”
“Oh?”
He held up a lumpy small brownish envelope with smudged scrawls on the side.
Zoe leaned down for a closer look. “What is that?”
Baronick hastily tugged a glove onto one hand. With his thumb, Baronick popped open the flap. Then he carefully tipped the contents out into his gloved palm.
They both stared at the lump of lead.
“That, my dear,” Baronick said with a grin, “is the bullet that killed Denver Miller.”
Eighteen
Pete surrendered the front seat on the way home so he could stretch out across the back of Sylvia’s car and put his throbbing foot up. He really needed to solve these cases and get to the orthopedist.
“You know I absolutely adore Zoe,” Sylvia said, “but that mother of hers is a real piece of work.”
Pete grunted.
Harry continued to clutch the duplicate letter the way a kid might hang onto a stuffed animal. “Who?” he asked Sylvia.
“Zoe’s mother,” Sylvia replied, her tone softer. “Kimberly. She’s the one we were just talking to.”
Pete watched the back of his father’s head and imagined his puzzled expression.
“She’s the one who poured the potato chips into the bowl while I made lemonade,” Sylvia went on.
Harry nodded. “Right. I remember now. Lovely woman.”
Pete sighed. “How well did you know Kimberly before Chambers’ accident?”
Sylvia adjusted her rearview mirror so she could see Pete. He watched her eyes reflected in it. “Not well. She’s six or seven years younger than I am, so we didn’t run in the same circle. Plus she grew up on a little farm a mile or so south of the Kroll place. I don’t remember her hanging out around Dillard.”
“What about Chambers?”
“Gary was always a really nice guy. He and Tommy Jackson were only a couple of years behind me in high school. Both were jocks. Both went off to college on football scholarships. There was a lot of talk that Gary might have gone pro, except he blew out his knee.”
“That’s when he married Kimberly?”
Sylvia’s eyes narrowed in concentration. “Seems to me she was going to college when she met him. Maybe community college? I can’t remember. Anyway, once she and Gary got married, they moved into an apartment in Philipsburg. Couple years later they built that house on the hill behind the Vance Plaza.”
“You mean the Robertson’s place?” Pete thought of the stone and cedar house that looked more like a ski lodge than a private residence perched on a hillside overlooking the valley between Philipsburg and Dillard.
“Back then it was the Chambers’ place,” Sylvia said as Pete spotted a twinkle in her eye.
“That house had to cost a pretty penny to build. Even back then.”
“As I recall, Gary did okay for himself.” She emphasized the okay, as if what she really meant was only okay. “Owned a little appliance store in Philipsburg. But Kimberly had a reputation for being a social climber.”
“No,” Pete said sarcastically.
Sylvia chuckled. “Hard to believe, huh? Gary was gaga over his beautiful wife and gave her everything he could. She set her heart on a showplace house. He built it for her.”
“With what?”
Sylvia shrugged. “I have no idea.”
Pete made a mental note to look quietly into Gary Chambers’ life insurance. “By the way, where’d you put it?”
In the mirror, her eyes twinkled mischievously. “In my handbag.”
Sylvia’s purse sat on the backseat next to Pete. It had gained some notoriety in the past as a lethal weapon, so he hesitated touching it.
She must have spotted his trepidation. “Go ahead. It should be right on top.”
He gingerly opened the bag. As Sylvia had said, a Ziploc containing Jackson’s Coke can sat on top of the other contents. “Where’d you get the plastic bag?”
“I always carry them with me. You never know.”
Pete chuckled and removed the evidence. “If you ever want to come back to work for me as an officer, just give me the word.”
“I learned a thing or two after all those years as your secretary.”
“I’d say so.”
“What does this mean?” Harry asked, thrusting the letter he’d been studying into Sylvia’s face.
Pete lurched forward to grab his old man’s arm before Sylvia drove them into a ditch. But she beat Pete to it and calmly moved Harry’s hand out of her line of vision.
Pete flopped back in his seat. “What is it, Pop?”
Harry jerked around. “Pete. I didn’t know you were back there.”
Pete closed his eyes in exasperation, sighed, and opened them again. “The letter, Pop. What does what mean?”
Harry looked at the letter in his hand as if he’d never seen it before. Then he gave his head a quick shake. “Oh.” He held the paper up to show Pete, pointing at one sentence.
“Gary was just trying to do what’s right,” Harry read. “What does that mean?”
Pete took the letter from his father and read it again. Zoe had been so focused on the next line, Pete had overlooked the rest of the note. “That,” he said to his dad, “is a very good question.”
Zoe slammed through her back door, sending both cats scurrying. She wanted to talk to her mom and Tom. Now. But their rental car was gone. She spotted a terse note on her table. Gone out to dinner. Great. When had they left? How long before they’d return?
She remembered next to nothing about her drive home from Brunswick, her mind stuck on what Baronick had said. Witness protection? Could her dad be out there somewhere, using a different name? With a new family? Would he simply abandon her and her mother to save his own skin?
No. Of course not. But to save theirs? Yes. That much Zoe could believe. He could and would sacrifice his life with them if it kept them safe.
But safe from what?
A knock at her door jarred her. She swung the door open to find Patsy Greene standing on the porch.
“I was out at the barn and saw you come home,” Patsy said as Zoe waved her in. “Any word on Mr. Kroll?”
Mr. Kroll. Zoe had been so wrapped up in her own problems, she’d let him slip from her mind.
“I stopped at the hospital this morning. But he was still in surgery.” She glanced at her answering machine. No blinking light. No message. “I don’t know if Mrs. Kroll’s home yet.”
“She’s not. I knocked on her door first.” Patsy offered a tight smile as if apologizing for making Zoe her second choice.
“I could call Pete and ask if he’s heard anything.” Zoe reached for her phone.
Patsy shook her head. “Don’t bother him.” She jammed both hands in her jeans pockets. “To be honest, I’m not sure I want to know. I keep thinking how awful he looked yesterday. And all that blood.”
The image wasn’t one Zoe was likely to forget anytime soon either.
“I went ahead and fed everyone and turned them out. I hope that’s okay.”
In the winter, the horses usually stayed in their stalls all night and were turned out during the day. In the summer, the schedule was reversed.
“That’s great. Thanks. I owe you.”
Patsy shrugged. “It’s the least I can do. I feel just awful about what happened.”
“Me, too.”
“There is one thing I didn’t do, though.”
“What’s that?”
Patsy kept her hands buried in her pockets and shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “The manure spreader is pretty full and—well, that’s what Mr. Kroll had been getting ready to do yesterday. Empty it. But the tractor...”
Zoe understood. “It’s Mr. Kroll’s tractor.” To be more precise, it was Mr. Kroll’s baby. And no one else ever touched it. “I don’t suppose he’ll mind if I drive it.” To be honest, she would love to have him home and well enough to chew her out for daring to fire up the old Massey-Ferguson. “I’ll take care of it tomorrow.”
Patsy nodded. “Thanks.” She turned to go. “Call me if you hear anything about him.”
“I will.”
As Zoe watched Patsy climb the path to where she’d parked her pickup, Tom’s rental car crept up the farm lane. Zoe folded her arms and waited.
“Oh, you’re home,” Kimberly said by way of a greeting. “We were going to order take out for you, but I wasn’t sure you’d be here. Or what you’d like.”
Zoe shot a look at Tom. It didn’t surprise her that Kimberly hadn’t thought to bring something home for her only child—and Zoe didn’t for one minute buy the two offered excuses—but Tom? He not only knew precisely what Zoe liked to eat, he also usually remembered she existed. Usually. But from the dark expression on his face, she sensed the lack of a doggy bag wasn’t entirely accidental. “That’s all right. I’m not hungry anyway.”
Kimberly brushed past Zoe. Tom followed. And he continued to follow as his wife headed straight to the stairs.
“Wait,” Zoe called after them. “I wanted to ask you both something.”
Kimberly let out an audible sigh, but Tom wheeled to face Zoe. The look on his face was one she’d rarely seen before. It made her step back.
“I think I’ve answered enough questions for one day,” he growled. “In fact, I think I’ve answered enough questions for my entire lifetime.”
Zoe frowned. She looked at her mother. Had Kimberly been grilling him about something? But Tom’s anger wasn’t directed at his wife. “I don’t understand,” Zoe said.
Kimberly stood with one foot on the bottom step and planted a hand on her hip. “Your friend, the police chief, was here.”
“Pete?”
“You have more than one police chief friend?” Tom snapped.
Zoe stuttered. “Uh, no. What was he doing here?”
Tom placed his hands on Kimberly’s shoulders and gently edged her back from the stairs. “You talk to her,” he told his wife. “I’ve had all I can take for one day.”
Zoe watched in stunned silence as her stepdad, the man who ordinarily championed her when her mother was too self-absorbed to bother, disappeared up the staircase.
Kimberly appeared only slightly less uncomfortable with the turn of events. “So,” she said, dragging the word out. “Does your police chief always travel with an escort of senior citizens or only when he has a broken leg?”
Senior citizens? “Oh. His father’s staying with him.”
“Yes, I know. Harry. Charming gentleman. Can’t say the same for the son.” Kimberly breezed across the room, waving a hand over her shoulder like a flag, beckoning Zoe to follow. “Do you have anything to drink? Wine? Brandy?”
Zoe scrambled after her. “No. I might have a couple beers in the back of the fridge.” From the last time she’d hosted the poker game.
“Beer?” Kimberly wrinkled her nose. “Oh, well. In a pinch, I guess it’ll do.” She pushed through the swinging door to the kitchen.
The rebound of the heavy oak door almost slammed it into Zoe’s nose, but she caught it in time.
Kimberly raked through the refrigerator, emerging with two bottles. She held one out to Zoe, who waved it away. Kimberly replaced one and unscrewed the cap from the other.
When was the last time Zoe had seen her mother drink a beer? Never. “Mom? Are you all right?”
Kimberly reached into a cupboard for a glass and poured the amber brew into it. “No. I don’t think I am.”
Zoe sat on the stool she kept next to the antique Hoosier cabinet. “What’s wrong?”
Kimberly gave a short laugh and took a sip. She made a face as she swallowed. “You have to ask? This hasn’t exactly been a dream vacation, you know. I didn’t want to come. It was Tom who insisted.”
Zoe already knew that much, but hearing again that her mother had not wanted to come see her still hurt. “I’m sorry it’s such a chore to spend time with your daughter,” she said making no effort to hide her sarcasm.
Kimberly set the glass down hard on the counter. “That’s not it, and you know it.”
Zoe knew no such thing and hiked an eyebrow at her mother.
“Oh, Zoe.” Kimberly blew out a disgusted breath. “It’s not you I don’t want to see. It’s this place.”
“My house?” Zoe knew that wasn’t what her mother meant, but her inner obstinate teen had momentarily reared its ugly head.
“No, not your house.” Kimberly swung an arm in an all-encompassing circle. “Vance Township. Monongahela County. Pennsylvania. There are just too many memories here.”
“I’m sorry you hated your life here with me and Dad,” Zoe said through clenched teeth.
Kimberly glared at her. “Stop being petulant.” She sighed and picked up her glass again. “I loved my life here. I loved Gary. I loved you.” Kimberly took a sip, shooting a look at Zoe over the rim of the glass. “I still do.”
Zoe’s eyes burned, and she blinked hard, swallowing against the lump that suddenly rose in her throat.
“Everything was just about perfect back then.” Kimberly gazed at the liquid in her glass as if she could see her past in it. “I was married to the love of my life. I had a beautiful daughter. Wonderful friends. A lovely home. And then in the blink of an eye, everything fell apart.”
“The accident,” Zoe said softly.
Kimberly nodded.
Zoe’s mouth had gone dry, and she wished she hadn’t turned down the beer. “Mom, about the accident—”
“Don’t start on that again, Zoe.”
Zoe opened her mouth to argue, but reconsidered. Her mother was reminiscing about her dad and their lives together. Maybe...“Mom, before the accident, you said everything was perfect?”
Kimberly took a sip. Held it in her mouth and appeared to think back. Then she swallowed and licked her lips. “About as close to perfect as you can get, I imagine.”
Zoe chewed her lip. “Did Dad act...differently at any point?”
“What do you mean?”
“Did he act strange? Scared? Did you get the feeling he was keeping secrets?”
“Scared? Secrets? No.” Kimberly set the glass down again, gentler this time. “Why are you asking?”
Zoe slid off the stool and took a step closer to her mother. “Did he...did he testify in any court proceedings shortly before the accident?”
“No. Zoe, what are you getting at?”
She put a hand on her mother’s arm. “Just listen to me for a moment, okay? Don’t argue, just hear me out. You never saw his body—”
“Oh, for crying out loud.”
Zoe held up a hand. “Just listen.”
Kimberly frowned but closed her mouth.
“Could something have happened before the accident that might have put Dad’s life or our lives in danger? Could he have seen something he shouldn’t have?” Zoe locked her gaze hard on her mother’s eyes. “Could he possibly have faked his death and gone into the witness protection program?”
&
nbsp; The swinging door slammed open. Zoe spun around to find Tom standing there. He no longer looked angry. He looked exhausted.
“Witness protection?” He sounded even more tired than he looked. “You have to be kidding.”
“Zoe,” Kimberly said, her voice gentle. “This has gone on too long. You’re taking it too far. Gary...your dad...is dead. He wasn’t involved in anything that would put him or us in any kind of danger. There was no trial. He didn’t see something he shouldn’t. There was nothing.”
Tom stepped up behind Zoe and rested both hands on her shoulders, giving them a gentle squeeze. “Your mother’s right, Sweet Pea. You need to let this go.”
Zoe turned to face him and looked up into a face that seemed to have aged twenty years in the last two days. “I can’t. I need to know.”
“There’s nothing to know.” He pressed his mouth into a tight thin line and shook his head. “Your mother was right about something else, too. We shouldn’t have come. It’s only stirred up a lot of ideas in your head.” His gaze shifted over Zoe’s head to Kimberly and a look passed between them. The kind of unspoken communication that comes with being married for so long.
Kimberly touched Zoe’s hand with an awkwardness that embodied her lack of practice. “Tom and I were talking over dinner. We’re going to take an earlier flight home.”
Zoe looked back and forth between them.
“Tomorrow if we can,” Tom said.
Zoe stared at him, stunned.
Kimberly dumped what remained of her beer into the sink. Without another word, she and Tom left Zoe alone in her kitchen.
Tomorrow. How was she going to get the answers she needed by tomorrow?
Nineteen
Pete had planned on going into his office early the next morning in spite of being on medical leave. But Harry refused to be rushed, and Pete’s foot slowed him down more than he’d anticipated. Damned crutches. By the time he called Kevin to drive them up the hill to the station, the clock read noon and the thermometer on his porch had inched past ninety.
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