Tony came forward, slapping both leather armrests. “Not him again. Don’t tell me Shannon was involved with that scum. Not after everything he did to her before.”
“What did he do ‘before’?”
“He’s the viper who got her hooked on heroin in the first place.” Vincenti’s jaw worked as if he was chewing on glass. “He had her do…God only knows what to pay for her fix.”
Pete waited for him to elaborate, but the man lowered his head, shoulders heaving with his deepened breath. “Tony?”
He straightened and then slumped into the chair with a groan. “You need details, ask my wife. I can’t talk about it.”
“When was the last time you saw Greenslate?”
“I don’t know. Six months ago, maybe? Yeah. It was right after we got Shannon into rehab that last time. He walked into my store looking for her. I tossed the son of a bitch out on his ass.”
“You haven’t seen him since?”
“No. And for his sake, he better hope I never do.”
Pete’s gut told him the man was being brutally honest, but he still had to ask him the big question. “Tony, where were you last night?”
He narrowed his eyes at Pete. “My brother and his wife came by. Took us out to eat in Brunswick. Trying to take our minds off Shannon for a little while. It didn’t work.”
“What restaurant?”
“Delvecchio’s on the hill behind the mall. What’s going on? Why do you need to know where we were last night?”
Pete noted the restaurant. “What time were you there?”
Tony crossed his arms. “What exactly is it I need an alibi for?”
Pete lowered his pen. He met and held Tony’s gaze. “Nick Greenslate died of an overdose last night.”
“Well, hallelujah. The world’s a better place. I hate to tell you though, I didn’t do it.”
“Your cell phone was used to report it.”
“My cell phone?” Tony choked out a humorless laugh. “I don’t have a cell phone. Got no use for one.”
Baronick thumped down the stairs. Without looking away from Tony, Pete held up a hand in the detective’s direction. He stopped short of the bottom and waited.
“A cell phone registered to Anthony Vincenti placed the call to 911,” Pete said.
A flash of realization danced across Tony’s face at the same moment it hit Pete.
Tony wasn’t the only Anthony in the family.
On the drive north along Route 550 to the Durango airport, Zoe shared a sanitized version of her meeting with the FDMI. Rose listened, keeping her hands on the wheel, her eyes on the road, and her mouth shut. Zoe suspected her friend didn’t want to hear the gory details. Once they crossed into Colorado, both fell silent. Zoe watched the rugged scenery pass her window—bluffs and the Animas River on one side, distant snow-peaked mountains on the other. And an expansive field of view in between, unbroken by the familiar rolling hills and tall trees of home.
They arrived at the small airport with fifteen minutes to spare before Sylvia and Allison’s flight was scheduled to arrive. “I should call Pete,” Zoe said.
Rose pulled into a parking spot. “Go ahead. I’ll meet you inside.”
“Hey,” Pete answered. He sounded exhausted.
“Hey yourself. You okay?”
He hesitated then replied, “Busy. We’ve had another OD death.”
She winced. It wasn’t so much exhaustion she’d heard in his voice as sorrow. “Oh, no. Anyone I know?”
“I sure as hell hope not. Have Sylvia and Allison arrived out there yet?”
“We’re at the airport waiting for their flight to get in.”
“Any news on Logan?”
Zoe told him about the meeting with McAllister, sharing more of the details than she had with Rose. Pete didn’t respond right away once she finished and she feared the call had been dropped. “Pete?”
“I’m here. Would it do any good if I told you to get your ass back here and leave that investigation to the LEOs?”
She smiled to herself at the concern in his voice. “Sorry. My ass is staying put until we find Logan.”
“Be careful. Please. Logan’s in way over his head. And so are you. If this monster does something like that to a young girl…”
“I’ll be careful.” Her phone chirped, and a quick check revealed a text from Rose. “I have to go. Oh. Anything new on Dale’s homicide?”
“Not much. I talked to your new boarder.”
“Noah?”
“Yeah. He says he was the first one there for the trail ride at ten thirty. Dale was already gone, and there wasn’t anyone else around.”
“In other words, you got nothing.”
“Not a damned thing.”
The phone chirped again. “Okay, I really have to go.”
“Be careful,” Pete said again, as if saying it with enough intensity would keep her out of harm’s way.
“I will.”
“I love you.”
She smiled. “I love you too.” She ended the call and checked the text as she climbed out of the car.
“Their plane’s on the ground.” And the second one read, “Where are you?”
Zoe thumbed, “On my way,” and jogged into the airport.
She found Rose pacing inside the doors. “There you are. Come on.” She grabbed Zoe’s arm and tugged her past the waiting area toward the TSA checkpoint.
With only the one short hallway between the front doors and the gates, they had no problem spotting the pair. Allison bounded toward them, half carrying, half wheeling her roller bag. Sylvia, looking haggard, trudged along behind.
Allison threw her arms around her mother for a moment before pulling away and glancing around. Expectation faded to disappointment. “I was hoping Logan would be with you.”
Zoe covered a sad smile with her fingertips. It took something this dire for Allison to admit missing her older brother.
“No such luck.” Rose inspected the girl as if making sure she hadn’t been damaged in transit.
Sylvia huffed up to them. “I hate flying,” she muttered. “When did they start making airplane seats so darned narrow? And no leg room at all.”
Zoe and Rose flanked her in a group hug.
Sylvia embraced them for a moment before shrugging free. “Enough already. I’ve been crammed into a flying tuna can for most of the day. Where are these wide open spaces Allison’s been telling me about?”
Allison headed for the door. “This way.”
For the forty-five-minute drive to Aztec, Zoe allowed Sylvia to have the front seat, joining Allison in the back. The teen regaled them with tales of cute cowboys she’d spotted during their layover in Denver as well as sharing the usual horror stories of crying babies and irritating passengers seated next to or near them on the planes.
Sylvia shed her winter coat, informing them of the below-freezing temperatures back home and the forecasted snow showers.
Zoe longed to get Allison alone, out of Rose’s earshot, to ask her questions about Logan’s friends and hangouts. If Zoe could get the information and pass it along to Detective Morales, there would be no need for an official interrogation. And Rose wouldn’t have to know Zoe had traded Allison’s knowledge for the detective’s good will.
Especially since it remained to be seen whether the exchange had been worthwhile.
As they passed the Welcome to Aztec sign, Allison leaned toward the space between Rose and Sylvia. “I’m starved. Can we go to La Cocina?”
“We were there last night,” Rose said. “Zoe might not want to go back so soon.”
“No, I’m fine. We don’t get chile rellenos like that around home.” Not to mention she was hungry too, and didn’t feel like an extended round of Where do you want to eat? I don’t care, where do you want to eat?
; By the time they rolled into the hotel parking lot, the vivid New Mexico sky had darkened to cobalt. The evening air carried a chill, but Sylvia slung her coat over one arm rather than put it on.
While Rose spoke with the desk clerk about the additional room, Zoe finally nabbed her chance and drew Allison toward the lobby’s seating area.
“We need to talk,” Zoe whispered. “Alone.”
Allison’s eyes widened. “You learned something?”
“Not exactly. But you might be able to fill in some gaps.”
Allison glanced toward her mother. “But why don’t you want Mom to know?”
“She doesn’t want you involved in the investigation.” Zoe noticed Sylvia watching them, a suspicious scowl on her round face.
“Well, that’s just bull—”
Zoe shushed her. “She’s your mom. She worries.” Zoe figured she didn’t need to elaborate about past transgressions.
Allison’s expression and slight nod told Zoe she was right. The girl turned toward the front desk. “Mom? Would it be all right if Aunt Zoe and I roomed together and you share the other one with Grandma?”
Rose responded with The Look that all mothers and their children know means trouble. “Why?”
Allison clearly hadn’t thought out the plan. Her mouth opened, but no ready reply came.
Zoe draped an arm over the girl’s shoulders. “We were just talking about staying up all night watching old westerns on TV. Kind of a cowgirl pajama party. I didn’t think you’d be interested.”
From the smirk on Sylvia’s face, she wasn’t buying it.
Rose didn’t look convinced either. Zoe expected an immediate veto, but instead Rose shrugged. “Fine. Sylvia? You okay bunking with me?”
Rose’s acquiescence appeared to startle the older woman too. “Uh, sure. Whatever you want. Allison’s got too much energy for this old gal anyway.”
The teen grinned at Zoe, pleased with herself.
Zoe, however, smelled a rat.
“Besides,” Rose said, “we have adjoining rooms, so we can always leave the door between them open. You know. So I can keep an eye on you two.”
Allison’s shoulders sagged.
As they stepped into the elevator, Rose leaned into Zoe and sotto voce said, “Cowgirl pajama party? You can do better than that.”
Jet lag continued to slam Zoe. By the time she’d moved her luggage and toiletries into the next room, she was ready to crash.
The pajama party and old westerns marathon was definitely not happening.
Rose and Sylvia, however, suffered the same affliction. Once the lights over there went out, Allison padded to the open door between rooms and closed it with a soft click.
She bounced into her bed. “Okay, now tell me what’s going on. What’d you find out about Logan? And Kayla?”
Zoe rearranged her pillows and rested a shoulder against the headboard, facing Allison before launching into a summary of the day’s events. Sans the gory details. Zoe did, however, include the mention of drugs and watched Allison’s reaction. Other than an eye roll at the suggestion of Logan’s involvement, there was none.
Good.
Zoe gave her a moment to process the information overload before continuing. “Your mom doesn’t know who Logan’s friends are out here. I thought you might.”
Allison caught her lip between her teeth and made a show of smoothing the sheets and duvet. “Why? Who wants to know?”
The shift from wanting to help to evasion tightened Zoe’s shoulders. “The detective investigating Kayla’s death and Logan’s disappearance for one.”
Allison continued to fidget and avoid Zoe’s gaze.
“Okay. What’s going on? What don’t you want to tell me?”
“It’s not that I don’t want to tell you. I just don’t want to get some people in trouble with the law.”
The tightness in Zoe’s shoulders spread to her neck. “Your brother is missing.”
“I know that.” Allison’s voice raised, and she shot a cautious glance at the closed door to her mother and grandmother’s room. Quieter, she said, “I need to get in touch with someone. One of the friends you want me to name. He might know where Logan is.”
“Then tell me.”
“No,” she said in a desperate whisper. “The police…you…will never find this guy. Unless he wants to be found. And he may not. Want to be found, I mean.”
“But you can find him?”
Allison smiled a little too knowingly. “Yeah. Well, actually, I can let it be known I need him. He’ll find me.”
Fifteen
Sleep evaded Pete that night. When he did drift off, he dreamed of Zoe walking into a dark cave filled with monsters. He awoke in a sweat at two a.m. and shuffled to his kitchen, where he fired up the coffeemaker and his laptop, determined to focus on what was still under his control. Waiting for the sluggish computer to boot, he thumbed through his notes and his thoughts.
A.J. Vincenti—Anthony Junior—had placed the call to 911 about Nick Greenslate’s overdose. What part did Shannon’s protective older brother have in her ex-boyfriend’s death? As much as Pete wanted to believe the kid had just happened upon the scene, he knew those kinds of coincidences were rare. Plus, A.J. couldn’t be found. His parents hadn’t seen him. Unless they were lying to cover for their only surviving child. Baronick had his task force scouring the county for the boy, and a statewide BOLO had been issued.
The list of township residents Pete was on the lookout for was growing by leaps and bounds. The mysterious Wolf Man. The equally mysterious occupant of the Fort at Scenic Hilltop Estates, who, according to his neighbor, hadn’t been seen since Monday. And now the Vincenti kid.
Once the coffee was ready, Pete poured a cup and slid into his chair at the kitchen table. The drug world would have to wait. At a quarter after two Thursday morning, his prime objective was the Dale Springfield case. Pete typed “Federated Petroleum Resources” into the Google search box and clicked on the link to their website. A scan of the home page led him to a tab titled Company with a drop-down menu offering the Board of Directors and Senior Management.
Mr. Kroll had told him to check out senior vice presidents, so Pete clicked on the second choice. He scrolled through bios and photos of smiling men and women in high-priced suits with fancy titles like Chairman, President, CEO, Executive Vice President, CFO, and COO. Following those were over a half dozen Senior VPs with impressive sounding secondary titles.
None of the faces looked familiar, so Pete scrolled back through the list, paying closer attention to the names. Near the bottom, one of the VPs with the distinction of being in charge of corporate development stopped Pete cold. He set down his coffee cup and leaned closer to the computer screen.
Now he recognized the face. He’d seen it before, but not like this. Not in a designer suit and tie. Instead, he recognized the man from another photo. In that one, the man had been wearing a cowboy hat and standing in front of an oil rig.
Scott Springfield.
“You have got to be kidding me.” Baronick reacted much the same as Pete had to the news. “Dale Springfield, who has made every effort to keep Federated Petroleum Resources out of Monongahela County, has a son who works for them? Un-friggin’-real.”
Pete leaned back in the conference room chair and crossed his arms. Kevin Piacenza sat across from him along with Pete’s other nightshift officer, Seth Metzger. Baronick rose from the chair he’d claimed as his own and turned to study the whiteboard. Pete had already added the younger Springfield to the list of possible suspects under Dale’s name. It was the first name Pete had added that he considered a serious lead.
Baronick faced the table again, a gleam in his eye. “Is there anything else new overnight?” he asked Seth and Kevin.
“Not much,” Seth said. “There still hasn’t been anyone at the Fort. And n
o one has a clue who this Wolf Man dude is.”
Kevin scratched one ear. “No sign of A.J. Vincenti either. I checked all his social media pages, and he hasn’t posted since before his sister died.”
Pete came forward in his chair and opened his notebook. What was going on with all these young guys disappearing into holes? For a moment, his mind flashed across the country to Zoe and her search for Logan. Pete checked his watch. Eight o’clock in Pennsylvania meant six a.m. out there. Most likely, she was still asleep. And safe. He hoped.
He shook off the distracting mental image of Zoe in bed and pulled a legal pad across the table toward him.
Baronick returned to his seat. “If that’s all,” the detective said to the two officers, “you two can go home. Get some rest. Once this thing breaks wide open, we may be pulling some long shifts.”
Kevin and Seth turned to Pete. He kept his smile to himself, but nodded agreement. His men reported to and took orders from him. Not Baronick.
The detective didn’t seem to notice his command being confirmed. After the young officers left the room, Baronick drew his laptop closer, tapping the keys. “Okay. Today’s plan of action—you follow up on Scott Springfield. Find out where he is. If he’s still out west, he’s got a hell of an alibi.”
Exactly what Pete had planned to do even without being told. “On it.” He started copying names from his notebook to the legal pad.
Baronick lifted his gaze from the computer. “Speaking of out west, any word on Zoe and the Bassis?” He grinned. “Sounds like a bad seventies rock band.”
“I talked to her last night.” Her description of Kayla Santiago’s injuries continued to haunt Pete. He tamped down his apprehension. “She’s having about as much luck as we are.”
“Tell her to let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.” Baronick continued working on the computer. “While you’re working on the Springfield case, I’m gonna put a couple of my guys at the Fort. I’d love to get just enough probable cause for a search warrant. I have a feeling our meth and heroin influx might be coming through that house.”
No Way Home Page 14
