UNEASY PREY

by Annette Dashofy

  Which was what happened in the ambulance. “But you can’t tell whether she fell on her own or was pushed,” Zoe said.

  “On the contrary. In addition to the more obvious injuries, we discovered some fresh perimortem bruising on her upper arms.”

  “What kind of bruising?” Wayne asked.

  Franklin exchanged a look with Pete, who, from his scowl, appeared to already know the answer. Franklin mimed two claw hands gripping air. “Someone grabbed Mrs. Andrews by the arms with considerable force. I think it’s a valid assumption that there was a struggle, at which time she was either pushed or fell down the stairs as a result.”

  The room fell silent. Zoe imagined the scene. An intruder demanding money. Oriole, scared and alone, probably gave him whatever she could. He wanted more. Grabbed her. Shook her. Terrorized the old woman. And ultimately shoved her. The fall. The pain. The screams.

  Zoe suspected Pete, Franklin, and Wayne were visualizing variations of the same thing. “We have to nail these guys,” she said.

  Pete’s eyes glinted. “We will.”

  Zoe’s phone put a halt to further comment. The Krolls’ number came up on her screen. The owners of the farm where she kept her horse. She excused herself and ducked out into the hallway to take the call.

  “Zoe?” Mrs. Kroll sounded odd. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

  “Of course not. What’s wrong?”

  “Oh, nothing really.” The tension in her voice said the opposite. “It’s just…well, I think I’ve done something bad. Can you come over?”

  Zoe thought of her promise to accompany Pete to Golden Oaks. “What did you do that was bad?”

  “I’d rather not say over the phone.”

  “Are you okay? Did you fall?”

  “No, no. Nothing like that. If you’re busy, don’t worry about it.”

  Zoe still didn’t like Mrs. Kroll’s tone. She knew the older woman was alone at the farm since Mr. Kroll had been admitted to the hospital late last week for chest pains. “I’m in Brunswick right now. I can stop on my way home.”

  “Wonderful. That will be fine. I’ll see you soon.”

  “Is everything all right?” Pete asked as he joined her in the hall outside the morgue.

  Zoe pocketed her phone. “I don’t know. Mrs. Kroll asked me to stop on my way home.”

  “Did she say why?”

  “No. She sounded…I don’t know…embarrassed. Said she didn’t want to tell me over the phone.”

  He reached over and ran a hand up and down her back. “If you want to skip touring the nursing home, I understand.”

  She looked up at him and noticed the uncharacteristic nervous tension in his ice-blue eyes. “No way. I haven’t gone with you to see Harry in a couple of weeks. I’ll take the tour with you, but I’ll skip out when you start to talk business.”

  “Business?”

  “Yeah. You know. Money. Levels of care. All that fun stuff.”

  “Great,” Pete mumbled. He checked his watch. “I guess we’d better go.”

  “I need to talk to Franklin a minute. I’ll meet you over there.”

  Once he left, Zoe slipped back into the morgue and found the county coroner and Wayne going over some paperwork. “Franklin? Do you have a minute?”

  He glanced at Wayne. “I’m done here,” the detective said. “Send me your preliminary report as soon as it’s ready.”

  “Of course.”

  Wayne paused at the door and turned to wink at Zoe. “When you get bored with that small potatoes police chief, call me. I’ll take you out for dinner and dancing.”

  She grinned at him. Wayne’s flirtation had become a game between them, although he usually made a point of hitting on her in Pete’s presence. “When I get bored, you’ll hear from me,” she said, knowing it would never happen.

  He winked again and was gone.

  Franklin faced her, crossing his arms. “You want to ask me about the case?”

  “Actually, this has nothing to do with Oriole. Do you know anything about Golden Oaks Assisted Living?”

  The question seemed to startle him. “Why?”

  If Pete hadn’t told him about his dad, Zoe wasn’t about to. “Just checking for a friend.”

  “I’ve been to the facility a number of times, but in my funeral-home-director capacity. Not as coroner, if that’s what you mean. And I’ve never been called upon to investigate them or anyone who’s died there.”

  “That’s exactly what I mean. Thanks.”

  FOUR

  Pete helped his father out of the backseat of Nadine’s sedan in front of the double doors of Golden Oaks. The sidewalk and driveway were dry, with a smattering of salt crystals providing evidence that the maintenance crew was doing their job.

  Nadine sped off to find a place to park, leaving Pete with Harry staring at the entrance. A security keypad was mounted to the wall next to the doors, along with a button, an intercom, and a sign stating late-hours visitors should buzz for admittance.

  Pete looked down at his father. Harry Adams had definitely declined in recent months. Getting shot last summer hadn’t helped. Now his frail frame seemed lost inside the winter coat that used to fit like it was custom made. He clutched a cane in one thin hand, Pete’s arm with the other. Pete knew he needed to get Harry inside and out of the cold, but the thought of crossing that threshold—into that world—rooted his feet to the ground.

  Harry didn’t seem especially keen on the idea either. He eyed the varnished oak doors with their polished brass fixtures. “Looks fancy.”

  “Yes, it does, Pop.”

  “I don’t need any of that…what do you call it? Filet mignon? Just take me someplace I can get a good burger. And a milkshake.”

  Harry thought they were going out for dinner and this was a restaurant. “We’ll get a milkshake later,” Pete told him. “Hey, Pop, did you know Zoe’s going to meet us here?”

  “Zoe? That’s nice.”

  But Pete could tell his father had no clue who Zoe was.

  Nadine hurried toward them, her boots crunching on the heavily salted walk. “Okay, let’s go in.”

  Pete glanced toward the street. “Zoe’ll be here in a few minutes.”

  “She can find us inside. It’s too cold to wait out here.”

  They stepped through the double doors into a spacious entryway decorated with antiques. Or faux antiques. Floral and lace draperies hung in the windows. Forties big-band music drifted through the air along with the smell of potpourri. To their right was a sitting area done up like a formal living room complete with an upright piano. To the left, a currently unoccupied dining room. In front of them, a woman sat behind a desk next to a sweeping staircase.

  Not at all what Pete had imagined.

  The woman at the desk smiled at them. “May I help you?”

  Nadine stepped forward. “We have a ten o’clock appointment for a tour.”

  “Wonderful.” The woman gestured toward the living room. “Please have a seat. I’ll let Connie know you’re here.”

  No sooner had they gotten Harry settled in a sturdy but comfortable-looking chair than Zoe breezed in, paused to look around, and headed over to them.

  “Sorry I’m late.” She smiled at Pete and then at his sister. “Hi, Nadine.”

  The two exchanged a quick hug before Zoe stepped over to Harry. “Well, hello, handsome.”

  He beamed at her. “Hello, sunshine.” She bent down, wrapped him in an embrace, and kissed his cheek. “Pete told me you were coming.”

  So he did remember her. Or he did a helluva job of faking it. Pete wasn’t sure which.

  “We’re waiting to be seated,” Harry added.

  Pete whispered in Zoe’s ear, “He thinks we’re here for dinner.”

  To Harry, Zoe said, “I hope we get served soon. I�
��m starved.”

  A thin woman with short gray hair bustled toward them, extended a hand, and introduced herself as Connie Smith. After making a fuss over Harry, she directed them to follow her.

  The tour took maybe ten minutes as Connie showed them the different style of rooms available as well as the nurses’ stations, activities room, and the dining room. Pete trailed behind the others. Nadine and Harry, arm in arm, stayed with Connie, the two women discussing details, Harry looking around in a daze. Zoe kept veering off to chat with residents, some in wheelchairs, others in easy chairs. Pete felt their eyes on him, scrutinizing the man in the uniform.

  Why hadn’t he worn his civvies?

  Because, technically, he was on duty.

  When the tour concluded, Nadine directed Pete to take Harry back out to the living room while she conducted business with Connie. From the satisfied expression on his sister’s face, Pete surmised the decision had been made, with or without his approval.

  He sat with his father on a sofa. Zoe perched on an ottoman facing them and took one of Harry’s hands in hers. “This place is pretty swanky, don’t you think?”

  He didn’t answer. Instead he continued to scan the room with a perplexed scowl.

  She turned her gaze to Pete. “What about you?”

  “Better than I expected.”

  She tapped Harry on the knee to get his attention. “I wouldn’t mind moving in here.”

  He brightened. “Are you and Pete going to live here after you get married?”

  Pete wasn’t sure if Zoe laughed or choked.

  “I already have a house, Pop,” he said a little too quickly. But at least his father seemed to realize it wasn’t a restaurant.

  Zoe regained her composure and checked her watch. “I should be going. I promised Mrs. Kroll I’d stop and find out what she did that was so awful.”

  Pete stood with her, but she motioned for him to sit back down. “I know my way out. You stay with Harry.” She bent down to give him another kiss on the cheek. “Good seeing you again.”

  “Behave yourself, sunshine,” he told her with a wink. “Take care of that son of mine.”

  “Will do.” She grinned at Pete. “I’ll see you at home later.”

  “You bet.”

  He watched her go, wishing her thigh-length winter jacket was just a bit shorter.

  “She’s a good girl,” Harry said once Pete was seated again.

  “Yes, she is.”

  “You ever gonna marry her?”

  “One of these days. If she’ll have me.”

  Harry nudged him with an elbow. “She will.” He grew somber, looking around the room, his gaze settling on a white-haired gent pushing an equally white-haired woman toward the dining room in a wheelchair. “This is a really nice place.”

  Pete relaxed. Maybe the transition wouldn’t be as rocky as he’d feared.

  “Really nice,” Harry repeated. He nodded and then added, “But I sure as hell never want to end up in a place like this.”

  “Thank goodness,” Mrs. Kroll said as she opened the sliding-glass door for Zoe. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

  The modular home sat on part of the footprint of what had been a circa-1850s farmhouse—a venerable old structure the Krolls had shared with Zoe. And one she still missed as if it were a member of her family.

  Zoe stomped a skiff of snow from her boots, stepped into the overly warm house, and slipped out of her jacket. “I came as soon as I could. What’s wrong?”

  Mrs. Kroll pulled out a dining-room chair and motioned for Zoe to sit in it. “I have coffee made. Do you want some?”

  She ignored the chair. “You sit down and let me get it.”

  Mrs. Kroll waved off the offer and shuffled into the kitchen.

  Rather than stand there and argue, Zoe followed her and leaned back against the counter as the older woman filled two waiting cups. “What is it you did that was so bad?”

  Mrs. Kroll handed her a steaming mug and made a pained face. “This nice young man came to my door this morning. Told me he was from the water company and needed to come in and check my pipes.”

  A chill icier than the January winter pierced Zoe’s brain. “Mrs. Kroll, you don’t have city water.”

  “I know. And I told him that. But he said they were going to run lines out here next week and were testing residents’ pipes to make sure they could handle the increased pressure.” She grinned sheepishly. “He was so nice and polite.”

  And, if Oriole was any evidence, deadly. “You didn’t let him in, did you?”

  “Well, yes. He seemed so…”

  “Nice.” Zoe’s jaw ached at the word.

  “Yes,” Mrs. Kroll said brightly, pleased that Zoe understood. “He wanted me to take him down into the basement, but of course this new house is on a slab.”

  Thank heavens. Oriole hadn’t fared so well with the basement stairs.

  “So he had me take him back into the bathroom and flush the toilet.”

  Zoe eased around the corner to glance into the living room. The TV and DVR were still there. And the Krolls didn’t own a computer to steal. “Where’s your purse?”

  “In my bedroom.”

  Which they would’ve had to pass through to get to the bathroom. “Did you check it to make sure your money’s still in there?”

  “No.” Mrs. Kroll dragged the word out.

  “You should do that now. And check any other money you might have stashed around here.” Zoe dug her phone from her pocket. “I’m gonna call Pete.”

  Mrs. Kroll fluttered a hand at her. “Oh, you needn’t bother him.”

  “Yeah, I do. What kind of car was this guy driving?”

  “A white van. It looked very businesslike.”

  “Did it have a logo or emblem on the side?”

  “No.” That same doubtful tone. “There was a second person who stayed in the van. He looked like he was texting on his phone.”

  “Did the guy who was in here have his phone out?”

  “No. He had one of those bigger gizmos. What d’ya call them?”

  “A tablet?”

  “Yeah. He was making notes on one of those.”

  Probably communicating with his partner outside. Sending him a list of what they might come back for.

  “He might have been telling the truth. Maybe we are gonna get city water out this way.”

  If they were, Zoe would’ve heard about it. “Afraid not. Go make sure your cash is still where you kept it. I’m calling Pete.”

  It was almost noon by the time Pete returned to Dillard and the Vance Township Police Station. His sister had signed the papers and written a check to Golden Oaks after the Connie woman assured them a room would be available later in the week. Just as soon as it had received a fresh coat of paint and the carpeting had been cleaned. The staff all appeared genuinely caring and skilled. The home seemed more like a bed and breakfast than a hospital or rehab facility. But he still couldn’t shake the heartache of Harry’s comment.

  I sure never want to end up in a place like this.

  A gray Chevy sedan sat in front of the station with a woman behind the wheel. Pete parked the Explorer in his usual spot and headed inside.

  Nancy, his secretary, had the phone wedged between her ear and her shoulder and held up one finger to stop him outside her door. “He just walked in. I’ll give him the message.” She hung up and glared at him. “It’s about time you got here.”

  “I was at the morgue.”

  The glare didn’t waver. She held out a handful of pink message slips. “Most of these are reporters wanting a quote. Lucky for you they’ve already talked to Detective Baronick or they’d have been camped out front.”

  He took the stack and thumbed through them. Baronick and his veneered smile were good for something.

&n
bsp; “One of those is from Janie Baker. She wants to know when she can get back in her grandmother’s house to get some things.”

  “Once the crime-scene team is done,” Pete said more to himself than to Nancy. “I’ll call and talk to her.”

  “And there have been several calls from some of our older residents or their families. They’re worried something like this might happen to them or their loved ones.”

  “Not if I can help it.”

  “One more thing,” Nancy said just as the front door swung open, setting the attached bells to jingling. The woman from the gray Chevy stepped inside with a leather satchel slung over her shoulder. Nancy tipped her pen at the woman. “This lady is here to talk to you.”

  The woman gave him an appraising look before offering him a hand and a smile. “Lauren Sanders. I’m a reporter with The Phillipsburg Enterprise.”

  Pete studied the woman as he shook her hand. “I’m sorry, but the last I heard, Phillipsburg doesn’t have a newspaper. Hasn’t since before I moved here.”

  “Which was eight years ago. The Phillipsburg Gazette went out of business ten years ago when their parent company downsized.”

  “You’ve done your homework. But that doesn’t change the fact that—”

  “The Enterprise is a new weekly edition being put out by the same publisher who owns several other papers in the tri-state region.” She held out a business card, which confirmed in print what she’d just told him. “I’m new to the area, but you’re right. I’ve done my homework. Right now I’m working on a story about the series of home invasions involving senior citizens taking place around Monongahela County. I was hoping you’d grant me an interview about last night’s homicide.”

  Something about the glint in the woman’s eyes made Pete think he was dealing with a human pit bull. This wasn’t some eager kid, but rather a newshound determined to make a name for herself. Or at least a byline. “County Detective Wayne Baronick is handling the media on this case. You should check with him.”

  “I already have. He’s very good at talking a lot without saying much.”