2 Lost Legacy

by Annette Dashofy

  Nancy, Pete’s police secretary, gave him a forced smile when he mentioned letting Harry hang out with her. Again. Rather than wear out his father’s welcome and risk losing yet another secretary, Pete decided to set up shop in the conference room and asked Kevin to find something for Harry to watch on the television they kept in one corner.

  With Harry occupied, Pete instructed Kevin to drag out the white board. This whole damned mess was getting more and more complicated, and Pete needed to see everything laid out in front of him. He sank into one of the chairs and propped his foot up on the conference table. From there, he directed Kevin to write out the names of the cases, new and old, across the top. James Engle (COD: Undetermined). Marvin Kroll (Shooting Victim). Gary Chambers (Accidental Death, Named in Letter). Miller Brothers (Murder/Suicide).

  Pete leaned back and studied the board. Gary Chambers didn’t really belong up there, but Pete didn’t like all the questions being raised by that letter. Chambers stayed. “Now,” Pete said, “under James Engle, write Tom Jackson, Kimberly Jackson—”

  Kevin shot a questioning look at his boss. “Mrs. Jackson?”

  Pete shrugged. “Engle wrote her a letter shortly before he died. For some reason, Kimberly Jackson was on the man’s mind.”

  Kevin nodded and added the name.

  “Wilford Engle,” Pete went on.

  “Next of kin,” Kevin said.

  “Right. And Carl Loomis.”

  “Found the body.”

  “Under Marvin Kroll, write Tom Jackson and Patsy Greene.” Pete scowled at that short list. He was painfully lacking suspects or witnesses in the Kroll shooting.

  Pete had Kevin jot Tom Jackson, Carl Loomis, and James Engle under Gary Chambers’ name. He finished by adding Tom Jackson, James Engle, and Unknown Female in the Miller Brothers’ column. Who was this mystery woman the two siblings had fought over?

  A knock at the open conference room door interrupted Pete’s study of the names. He looked up to find Zoe standing there.

  Kevin shot Pete a covert glance and nudged the white board with one foot, angling it away from Zoe’s line of sight. “Hey, Zoe,” the young officer said with a too-big grin.

  The kid would never survive in one of their poker games.

  Kevin cleared his throat. “Chief, I’m gonna go work on my reports.”

  Pete held a stern face. “You do that.” After Kevin had left and closed the door, Pete turned his attention to Zoe. Attired in her work uniform, she appeared strictly professional. But for a fleeting moment, his thoughts of her drifted into the strictly unprofessional category. He shook them off. “You’re not on duty yet, are you?”

  “No.” She was scowling in the direction of the white board. “My shift starts at four, but I need to make a few stops before I get there.”

  Harry turned from his television show. “Well, hello, Sunshine.”

  Zoe smiled. “Hi, Harry. What are you watching?”

  “Darned if I know.” He made a sour face. “Some young pretty boy talking about movie actors like they were real stars. None of them come close to the likes of John Wayne. Or Marilyn Monroe.”

  Pete sighed. “You can change the channel, Pop.”

  “No, it’s fine.” Harry went back to viewing the show, even without the Duke on the screen.

  Zoe shifted from one foot to the other.

  Pete motioned to a chair. “Have a seat.”

  She shook her head. “I’m not gonna be here that long.”

  He crossed his arms. “Then why don’t you just tell me what’s wrong.” He knew, but he wanted to hear it from her.

  “You came to the house yesterday to talk to my folks.”

  Yep. That’s what Pete thought. “I did.”

  She fixed him with a look and raised a questioning eyebrow.

  “Tom’s name kept coming up. I wanted to ask him about a few things.”

  “Like what?”

  Pete detected a sense of urgency in Zoe’s voice and in her eyes. “The usual stuff. Zoe, what’s wrong? Did he say something to you?”

  She pressed her lips together into a thin line and flopped into the chair she’d refused a moment ago. “They’re leaving.”

  “Leaving?”

  She gave quick nod. “If the flights out today weren’t all booked, they’d already be gone. Mom got them on stand-by for tomorrow. They’re going back to Florida.”

  Pete mulled that one over.

  “What did you say to them to make them leave?” Zoe demanded.

  He wondered the same thing. Had one of his questions hit too close to home? He glanced at the white board.

  Zoe followed his gaze. She narrowed her eyes at him and rose, crossing to where she could see the board. “What on earth? Pete, why do you have Tom’s name listed under every case?”

  Damn. “I told you. His name keeps coming up.”

  “And my mom?” Zoe swung around to look at Pete as if he’d somehow betrayed her. “Pete, Mom and Tom weren’t even here when James Engle died.”

  “Engle addressed that letter to your mom. And he and Tom Jackson were friends who’d had a falling out at some point. Just because they’re listed up there doesn’t make them suspects.” Something occurred to Pete, and he pulled out his notebook, flipping back through the pages. “By the way, what time did you pick your mom and stepdad up at the airport Saturday morning?”

  Zoe seemed lost in thought, trying to make sense of Tom Jackson’s name linked to all four cases. She gave her head a quick shake. “Um, Saturday morning? I didn’t. They surprised me by taking an earlier flight and rented a car at the airport. They got to the farm around seven-thirty. I was still in the barn cleaning stalls.”

  Pete scowled. “Why did I think you’d picked them up?”

  “Probably because I was supposed to. At ten.”

  Something whispered in the back of Pete’s brain, but he couldn’t quite grasp it.

  “But, Pete,” Zoe said, “it was still after Engle died.”

  “I know. I told you. Just because they’re on the board doesn’t make them suspects.”

  She continued to stare at the list of names, an odd, intense glint in her eyes.

  “Zoe? What’s going on?”

  She blinked, as if coming out from under another spell, and she brushed a hand across her eyes. “I wanted to ask for your help with something.”

  He knew that wasn’t what had been weighing on her mind as she studied the white board, but he decided against pressing it. For now. “What can I do for you?”

  She took a deep breath. Let it out. “I was talking to Wayne Baronick yesterday about my dad. Wayne mentioned something I hadn’t thought about.” She met Pete’s gaze. “What if my dad saw something or was involved in something.” Her gaze became even more intense. “What if he faked his death and went into the witness protection program?”

  Her words had come tumbling out of her mouth so fast, Pete had to take a moment to process what she’d said. “Wayne?” When had she run into him? And when had they gotten to be on a first name basis? “Witness protection? Zoe—”

  “Just hear me out.” She planted her hands on the table and leaned toward him. “I kept wondering why Dad wouldn’t have let Mom or me know where he was all these years, but if he thought we’d be in danger? Yeah, he’d do it. He’d keep his identity and location a secret to keep us safe.”

  “Did he see something back then?” Pete asked, pondering this new theory.

  “I don’t know. I don’t remember anything, but I was just a kid. I asked my mom, but she thinks I’m grasping at straws.”

  Pete didn’t reply.

  “You think so, too.”

  He hiked an eyebrow at her.

  She straightened and folded her arms. “Wayne doesn’t think I’m
crazy.”

  Wayne again. Pete sighed. “And what do you think I can do about it?”

  Zoe came forward again. “How can I find out? Who do I ask? Where do I start looking?”

  Pete gazed into her eyes. The eager eyes of a child on Christmas morning. And Pete was the Grinch. “Zoe, witness protection—WitSec—is run by the U.S. Marshalls, and they do their job. I hate to tell you, but if your dad was in the program, there’s no way the feds would give you any information on his whereabouts.”

  The excitement melted out of her. “But couldn’t you do some digging?”

  Pete shook his head. “They wouldn’t give me any more than they’d give you. There’s a reason WitSec exists. If the feds started giving out information on subjects, the entire program would be compromised.”

  Zoe slumped into one of the chairs.

  Pete lowered his foot to the floor, ignoring the sharp pain that shot up his leg. Gritting his teeth, he stood, hopped to the chair next to Zoe, and flopped into it. He reached over and closed his hand over hers. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but I don’t believe your dad is still alive. If I did—” He squeezed her hand and lowered his voice. “If I did, I’d move heaven and earth to find him for you.”

  She met his gaze, her eyes gleaming with unshed tears. Swallowing hard, she rose. “I have to keep looking.” Her voice sounded moist, strangled. “But thanks.”

  Pete watched her go. Damn Baronick. Why couldn’t he keep his bright ideas to himself?

  Across the room, a chair creaked. Pete glanced over his shoulder. Harry had turned away from the TV and was giving Pete the same look he used to give him when Pete had tormented Nadine as a child. “That girl just asked for your help,” Harry growled. “And you sent her packing. What kind of numbskull move was that?”

  Zoe had left home hours early for work with the intention of finding answers. The Vance Township Police Station had been her first stop, and Pete had been no help at all. Why had she been surprised? He hadn’t been the least bit supportive of her quest to find her dad. Pete kept insisting the letter meant something else. Or nothing at all.

  Yet, he’d asked Wayne to look into her dad’s car crash. What was up with that?

  She climbed into her pickup and headed for her next stop, the Volunteer Fire Department. The only person manning the station was a lanky young rookie who told her Bruce Yancy wouldn’t be in for forty-five minutes. Rather than sit around and wait, Zoe moved to what she’d intended to put off until last.

  Roth Funeral Home stood at the end of an old residential area in Phillipsburg. Zoe parked in the empty lot across the street from the well-kept red brick Colonial. Her throat tightened. The last time she’d been inside that building was last winter following the death of Ted Bassi, Sylvia’s son and Zoe’s best friend’s husband. His murder and the aftermath had nearly destroyed the entire family. Right now, Zoe would give about anything to have Rose to talk to. But she’d taken the kids off the grid somewhere out west for the summer—to heal.

  Zoe shut off the ignition and sat in the truck cab until the sweltering heat encroached on her, forcing her to finally step outside. She fought to swallow the lump rising in her throat as she passed through the front door into an atrium, sickly sweet with the scent of floral arrangements.

  A stout young woman with mousy hair and wire-rim glasses appeared from a back office. She extended her hand. “Good afternoon. I’m Judy Roth. How may I help you today?”

  Zoe accepted the hand and introduced herself. “I’m looking for information about a burial you folks handled twenty-seven years ago. Is there anyone around who might have worked here then?”

  Judy’s eyes widened. “Twenty-seven years ago? Oh. Our computer records only go back twelve years or so. It would take me some time to go through the old paper files.”

  “Thanks, but what I was really hoping for was to talk to whoever actually prepared the body in question.”

  “Twenty-seven years ago?” Judy repeated, her voice weighted with a heavy load of doubt. “That would either have been my father or Mr. Kurtz.” She motioned for Zoe to follow her back into the office where Judy settled behind a polished cherry desk. Zoe took a seat across from her. “You may recall that Roth Funeral Home used to be Roth and Kurtz Funeral Home.”

  “I remember.” Zoe might have avoided the building as much as possible, but Mr. Roth and Mr. Kurtz had been long-time residents of Philipsburg and she’d encountered them at various functions and businesses around town over the years.

  “Mr. Kurtz retired six years ago and moved to Arizona.”

  “What about your father? Would he be willing to talk to me?”

  “I’m sure he would.” Judy smiled sadly. “If he were able to. I’m afraid he’s in a nursing home over in Steubenville. He’s had a number of small strokes and can’t communicate anymore.”

  A sharp rap brought Pete’s attention to Detective Wayne Baronick grinning at him from the conference room doorway. “Speak of the devil,” Pete grumbled.

  Baronick didn’t wait for any further invitation and ambled in. “Now is that any way to talk to the man who’s been doing your legwork while you just sit around?” He set a cup of Starbucks coffee and an evidence envelope in front of Pete.

  Harry swung away from the television to inspect the newcomer. “Who are you?”

  “Pop, you remember Detective Baronick? You met at the morgue.”

  “Hey, Mr. Adams.” Baronick gave him a quick salute.

  Harry had that all-too-familiar vacant look on his face. “Morgue? I ain’t dead yet.”

  Baronick chuckled and stepped across the room to extend a hand and an introduction to Harry, as if they had never met before. Pete rubbed the pain in his forehead. How was it that everyone else could be so at ease with his dad’s mental decline and not him? Pete knew the answer. It wasn’t their dad going through it.

  Harry went back to his TV show, and Baronick dropped into a chair across the table from Pete. The detective pointed at the envelope. “Aren’t you going to open it?”

  Pete took a sip of the coffee first. Then he read the notations on the envelope. He glanced at Baronick who laced his fingers behind his head and gave Pete a self-satisfied smile.

  Pete set the coffee down and carefully dumped the lead slug into his palm. “Froats said this was floating around somewhere.”

  “Somewhere being the courthouse basement. I ran into your girlfriend while I was there.”

  “Zoe?” That answered one thing that had been nagging Pete.

  “You have another girlfriend I don’t know about?”

  He ignored the question. “What was she doing there?”

  “Looking into her dad’s accident. Same as you’d asked me to do.”

  “Did you find anything?”

  “Not much. Accident report states Chambers was run off the road by a drunk driver and the car caught fire. And I understand you’ve already heard that Carl Loomis was the driver of the other car.”

  Pete dropped the bullet back into the envelope. “Yeah. Anything else?”

  “Coroner reported COD as smoke inhalation. But—get this—there was no autopsy done at the request of the family.”

  “Kimberly Chambers Jackson made the request?” Pete’s gaze shot to the white board.

  “That would be my guess.”

  Pete looked back at Baronick. “I need you to do me two favors.”

  The detective shrugged. “Sure. If I can.”

  Pete pointed to the white board. “Write Kimberly Jackson in Gary Chambers’ column.”

  “Easy enough. What else?”

  “Drive me over to Carl Loomis’ place.”

  Twenty

  With a promise from Judy Roth to dig up the funeral home’s file on Gary Chambers, Zoe backtracked to the Vance Township V.F.D. to
meet with Bruce Yancy. After striking out twice, her level of optimism had plummeted.

  The same gangly young firefighter Zoe had talked to earlier buffed an already spotless red and white engine and waved her toward the fire chief’s cramped office just off the truck bay. Boisterous laughter punctuated with some colorful language drifted out to her as she approached the door.

  Yancy looked up with a smile when she knocked. “I heard you wanted to talk to me. Don’t tell me you can’t make it Saturday night.”

  Poker night. And this was Yancy’s week to host the game. Zoe gave him a sheepish grin. “Sorry, Yance. I’m on duty.”

  Yancy’s visitor, who had his back to her, turned with a grunt. “You remember my old pal, our former police chief, don’t you?” Yancy said.

  Warren Froats.

  Zoe tensed. “Of course.” She still hadn’t decided if the man was part of the cover-up to help her father fake his death or was merely incompetent.

  “So, Ms. Chambers, you’re one of the suckers in the infamous poker circle?” Froats said with a gruff chortle.

  Yancy choked out a short laugh. “I don’t know who’s the sucker here. She won twenty bucks from me over the last two weeks, and I intend to get it back.” He shook a finger at Zoe. “Bring a pager. You can be on call from my house.”

  “We’ll see.” Zoe eyed Froats. She’d have preferred speaking with Yancy alone, but Froats seemed quite comfortable and didn’t appear to have any plans to leave. So be it. No way was she going to put this off again. She turned to Yancy. “I was hoping you could answer a question for me.”

  “Promise you’ll come to the game Saturday night, and I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

  She forced a grin. “Promise none of our good citizens will get sick or injured and you’ve got a deal.”

  He gave one quick nod of his bulldog head. “You got it. What d’ya need?”