Patsy gave her a sour face. “Just wait and see. I’m heading out to check on the horses. You need me to do anything?”
“Just keep an eye out for unmarked white vans.”
“Will do.” Patsy waved and powered the window back up.
Zoe watched the Toyota maneuver back onto the lane, up the hill, and over the crest toward the barn. She turned toward the house, but paused. Kimberly intended to reach out to her?
Right.
SIX
The next morning, Zoe ambled along the same path she’d once traveled multiple times a day to return from the barn to the Krolls’ house. This was the first time she’d walked it since fire destroyed the old farmhouse she’d shared with the elderly couple. The air was cold, but less biting than the previous few days. However, if the forecast and the leaden gray clouds overhead were any indication, snow was on its way.
She unlaced her boots and tugged them off before carrying them inside. The aroma of brewing coffee and smoked pork filled the house and started her mouth watering.
Mrs. Kroll brought a plate heaping with scrambled eggs and bacon from the kitchen and set it on the table. “Sit down. Have some breakfast.”
Zoe deposited her boots on the rug next to the door. “You’re going to spoil me if I stay too long.”
“Nonsense.” Mrs. Kroll headed back to the kitchen. “I’m thrilled to have you here. I slept like a lamb knowing you were in the house.”
Zoe followed her and poured a cup of coffee. “Did you eat already?”
“I just had some wheat toast. I’m fine.” Mrs. Kroll pointed toward the table. “Eat before it gets cold.”
Zoe eyed the pound of bacon and the carton of eggs sitting next to the stove. “I hope you aren’t expecting to cook all that for me.”
Mrs. Kroll nudged her toward the table. “Alexander called while you were in the barn. Marvin’s doctor signed his discharge papers, and they’re on their way home. I have two hungry men to feed.”
Zoe hadn’t finished even half her breakfast when the rumble of an engine grew louder, and a small SUV pulled up to the back deck.
“They’re here,” Mrs. Kroll announced, pushing up from her chair and hurrying to the glass doors.
Alexander Kroll helped his father from the car, but the older man pulled away from the attempt to steady him.
“I’m so glad you’re home,” Mrs. Kroll said as her husband stepped inside.
“So am I. If I never see the inside of a hospital again, it’ll be too soon.” He looked around the house as if refreshing his memory of the place. “Zoe, I didn’t expect to see you here.”
She shot a glance at Mrs. Kroll, unsure of how much she wanted to reveal to her husband.
But he didn’t seem interested in the reason for Zoe’s presence anyway. “I need to change out of these clothes. They probably have germs on them. Blasted hospitals are full of sick people.” He trudged off to the bedroom.
Alexander stepped inside, carrying a small duffle and several sheets of paper, which he held out to his mother. “They said to make a follow-up appointment with his doctor within a week.”
Mrs. Kroll gave her son a peck on the cheek. “He already has an appointment for Friday, I think. You can check the calendar to make sure.”
“Good.”
She took the bag from him. “You’ll stay for some breakfast?”
“Sure, Mom.”
Zoe climbed to her feet. “I’ll get it started.”
“Thank you, dear.” Mrs. Kroll trailed after her husband.
Zoe heated the skillet and started cracking eggs. “I hope you like scrambled. That’s how mine always end up even if I start out trying for over easy.”
Alexander chuckled as he joined her in the kitchen. “That’s fine. So what’s going on? I mean, I’m happy to see you, but why are you here?”
She told him about his mother and the man she’d let into the house yesterday morning.
Alexander paled. “I heard the news about Mrs. Andrews. Do you think these were the same guys?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Good lord.” He ran his fingers through his thinning hair.
“Your mother refuses to leave, so I moved in until they’re caught.”
“Thank you. It means a lot to me knowing you’re living here again.”
“Only temporarily.”
He smiled. “Of course. But still. It eases my mind.”
Zoe used a two-pronged fork to settle a strip of bacon into the hot skillet. It crackled and spit, and she bit back a yelp as a bead of hot grease seared the back of her hand. “That’s kind of you to say. But my being here didn’t help much the last time.”
“You saved Mom’s life.”
Zoe’s shoulders tensed at the memory. “It was my fault that she was in danger in the first place.” She added more bacon to cover the bottom of the sizzling skillet. The sweet and smoky aroma wafted upward to fill the kitchen.
“I’ve never blamed you.” Alexander rested a hand on her arm. “None of us have.”
They didn’t have to. Zoe blamed herself enough for all of them. “There’s a problem for tonight, though. I’m on duty.”
“I didn’t realize you were back to work. That’s wonderful. And no problem. I was planning to stay tonight anyway to make sure Dad’s okay.”
“Dad is fine,” Mr. Kroll growled as he shambled across the living room, Mrs. Kroll at his arm. “You should be with your wife and my grandkids.”
“They’re not going to be home either,” Alexander said. “Margie’s taking them to her folks’ house for a couple of days, so I’m batching it.” He gave Zoe a conspiratorial wink. “You’d be doing me a favor.”
Mrs. Kroll came around the corner. “You know your father’s kidding. Of course we’d love to have you stay.” She edged between her son and Zoe and lowered her voice. “Did you tell Alexander about…you know?”
“Yes, she did,” he said.
Mrs. Kroll shushed him. “I didn’t tell Marvin and would rather you didn’t either. I don’t want him upset.”
Zoe met Alexander’s gaze and raised a questioning eyebrow. He shrugged and nodded at her. “As long as one of us is around in case these guys come back,” he said.
“What are the three of you whispering about?” Mr. Kroll called from the dining room.
“Nothing, dear.” Mrs. Kroll nudged Zoe away from the stove and took the fork from her. “Now get out of my kitchen. Both of you.”
They moved to the dining room where Zoe realized her half-eaten breakfast had gotten cold.
“Bernice, did you tell her yet?” Mr. Kroll asked.
Zoe picked up her plate and headed to the microwave. “Tell me what?”
“No.” Mrs. Kroll dragged the word out. “I haven’t.”
Zoe didn’t like the ring of guilt in the older woman’s voice. “Tell me what?” she repeated.
Mr. Kroll buried his hands deep in his cardigan’s pockets. “I’m afraid I have some news you aren’t gonna like.”
Neither the police academy nor his years with the Pittsburgh Bureau of Police had trained Pete for some of the tasks he encountered in Vance Township. Such as dealing with a dozen or so escapee beef cows.
He spent a good portion of his morning directing traffic while a local farmer attempted to round up the wayward herd. The break in the fence was plainly visible to Pete and the farmer. Not so much to the cattle, who seemed to prefer congregating in the middle of Route 15. Maybe they’d had enough of winter and were looking for the road south. Finally a couple of neighbors showed up to help coax the Herefords back into their snowy pasture.
Leaving the farmer to patch his fence, Pete returned to the warmth of his station—which was a helluva lot warmer than his bed had been last night. Zoe had left a note for him, but ignored his calls and texts. Okay, maybe
his messages had carried more than an undercurrent of his displeasure with the situation. Calling her a stubborn jackass had likely been too much.
Nancy was on the phone and flagged him down before he could slip past the front office. “He just got in. I’ll let him know,” she said and hung up.
“Let me know what?”
“Detective Baronick will be here in about five minutes with the lab reports.”
“He could just email them.”
Nancy shrugged. “You can call him back yourself and tell him.”
Pete glared at her. At one time, she had been quiet and eager to please. Of course, back then he’d have put money she wouldn’t last a month on the job. “You said he’s five minutes away. He’s not going to turn around and go back to Brunswick.” Maybe he’d show up bearing Starbucks. “Is there anything else I need to know?”
Nancy held out a small stack of pink message slips. “Mostly the usual stuff. No reports of the white van or fake utility workers.”
“Good.”
Pete thumbed through the messages on his way down the hall. Nothing from Zoe. Ordinarily, she’d call his cell phone. But after his jackass comment, he’d be happy with any contact, even a call routed through Nancy.
Lauren Sanders, the reporter from the fledgling newspaper, had called three times. Wonderful. Janie Baker wanted to speak to him. Another slip noted a request from a local woman for Pete or one of his officers to have a chat with her son regarding the hazards of skipping school. Pete knew the kid. Skipping school was the least of the boy’s issues. Pete moved the mother’s request to the top of the pile.
Another of the pink slips caught his attention. Not a local area code. No message other than “Please call Mrs. Jackson as soon as possible.” Mrs. Jackson? The name stirred up a dust storm of unease in the back of his brain.
The bells on the front door interrupted before he could make sense of the note. Nancy’s voice drifted back to him. “He’s in his office.”
A moment later, Baronick strutted in carrying a folder, but sans Starbucks. “Good morning, Chief.” He checked his phone. “Is it still morning?”
“Barely.” Pete lowered into his chair and gestured at the paperwork in Baronick’s hands. “Lab results?”
The detective dropped the folder on the desk and took a seat across from Pete. “Preliminary. They’re still working on the trace evidence, but they pretty much finished sorting through the usable fingerprints.”
Pete spun the folder to face him and flipped it open.
“As expected, the bulk of the prints belonged to Mrs. Andrews, her granddaughter, and the granddaughter’s son,” Baronick said while Pete scanned the report.
“The bulk of them. But not all.”
“No. There was one other person in the house. Unidentified prints were found in the living room, the kitchen, dining room, bathroom, and bedroom. Our con artist was just about everywhere.”
Pete flipped back through the pages and reread the report, slower this time. “Don’t you find it odd that he didn’t wear gloves while searching the house?”
The detective leaned back, crossing an ankle over his knee. “Not really. If he was playing the part of a utility worker, he wouldn’t want to raise the old lady’s suspicions.”
“It’s January. Everyone wears gloves.”
“I don’t know. Maybe she invited him to sit down and have tea or something.”
“Or something,” Pete echoed. “Did Janie Baker mention any caregivers coming to the house? Physical therapists? In-home nurses?”
“Nope.”
The bells on the front door jingled.
Pete ignored them. “And these fingerprints aren’t in the databases?”
“Nothing’s turned up yet, but the techs are still working on IDing them.” Baronick grinned. “You know it’s not like on TV.”
“Really?” Pete muttered sarcastically. “Do you have anything else?”
“Not yet. Our con men must be laying low for a while.” Baronick uncrossed his legs, shifting forward in the chair. “We’ve released statements to the press and have posted on our social-media sites for citizens, especially the elderly, to use caution with strangers at the door. You know, check for official identification and look for utility-company emblems on vehicles, et cetera, et cetera. And we’re encouraging them to call 911 if they have even the slightest doubt.”
“Good.” Pete thought of his father. If Harry was living alone, would he bother phoning the police to report a smiling stranger at his door? “The problem is a lot of older folks are too trusting.”
“Which is what these sons of bitches count on.” Baronick climbed to his feet. “We just have to keep hammering at our senior citizens to keep their doors locked.”
“And remind their neighbors to keep an eye out too.”
“Yep.” The detective headed into the hall. “I’ll keep you posted. You do the same.”
Pete picked up his empty coffee cup and glanced at the equally empty pot in the corner as voices drifted back from the front of the building. The stack of messages beckoned as did the lack of a message from Zoe. He’d call her, he decided. Apologize. Try to convince her to come home. Then coffee, followed by returning the list of calls. Satisfied with his plan, he reached for the phone.
“Excuse me.”
He looked up to find the reporter from the new Phillipsburg paper at his doorway.
“Chief?” She gestured toward the front of the building. “The detective told me to come on back.”
Pete made a mental note that he owed Baronick. Payback would be a bitch. And where the hell was his gatekeeper secretary? “Lauren Sanders, right?”
“Yes.” She smiled, pleased he’d remembered her name, and took it as an invitation to come in. “I received the statement the county police released this morning and wanted to ask you a few follow-up questions. If you don’t mind.”
Pete doubted it mattered if he minded or not. “I don’t know what I could add.”
She claimed the chair Baronick had vacated, deposited her large leather satchel on the floor next to her, and opened a small notebook similar to the one Pete used. “Has there been any progress made on tracking down the van or the men driving it?”
“Every police officer in this end of the state is on the lookout for them.”
Sanders looked up at him. “In other words, no.”
He held her gaze in silence.
She didn’t blink, but her lips slanted in annoyance. “How about Oriole Andrews’ homicide? Do you have anything new to share?”
“It’s an ongoing investigation.” His standard response.
“Come on, Chief Adams. Give me something I can use.”
“Sorry. You have the statement. That’s all I have for now.”
Sanders reached into her satchel and pulled out a single sheet of paper. “This statement…” She held it up in front of Pete. “…contains the exact same precautions I suggested you release yesterday.”
If she was looking for a pat on the back, he wasn’t giving it to her.
“I’m not the enemy here. We’re on the same side, you know.”
He could usually read people. This one, though, was tough. Her eyes never wavered. She sat forward in the chair, her posture straight while not rigid, her jaw set but not clenched. Sanders had been in the game long enough to have honed the appearance of integrity.
And he was pretty sure she was assessing him at the same time he was sizing her up.
He leaned back, striking a practiced relaxed pose. “We’re on the same side as long as it gets you a story.”
Her mouth twitched ever so slightly. “We’re on the same side,” she said, “as long as it results in no more lives lost.” She tilted her head. “Getting the story is the bonus.”
Sanders was good. She said the right words. Offered all the rig
ht body-language cues. At some point he might even invite her to the Saturday night poker game. For now, he wasn’t convinced of her sincerity, but his gut wasn’t sending him any warning signals either. He came forward and stood. “I’m afraid I really don’t have anything else to add to the statement right now.”
“Not even off the record?”
Definitely a pit bull. “Sorry.” He wasn’t and had no illusions that she believed him.
Sanders took the hint though, closing her notebook and gathering her satchel. She stood and extended a hand to him. “I’d appreciate a call if anything breaks on the case.”
Her grip was firmer than that of many men Pete had shaken hands with. “When there’s anything to release to the public, I’ll call a press conference.”
He knew it wasn’t the answer she’d hoped for.
Once he heard the bells on the front door signal the reporter’s exit, he moved a few papers on his desk to find the business card Sanders had left on her previous visit. He intended to do some investigating into the area’s newest newshound.
His intercom beeped, followed by Nancy’s strained voice coming through the speaker. “Chief?”
Ah. His missing gatekeeper. He hit the button. “Why did you let that reporter back here without checking with me first?”
There was a momentary pause. “You know, I do sometimes need to use the facilities. I’d told her to wait.”
Except Baronick had countermanded her orders. Of course.
“Never mind that.” Nancy sounded rattled. “A call just came through county 911. Report of an intruder.”
Dammit. Pete bailed from his chair, snagged his coat from the hook, and charged down the hall. He paused at the front counter. “Address?”
Nancy handed over a slip of paper. He recognized the street name and number and knew she did too.
Oriole Andrews’ house.
SEVEN
“What news?” Zoe held her plate of rapidly congealing eggs and bacon, her intention to nuke it in Mrs. Kroll’s microwave momentarily forgotten.
Mr. Kroll crossed to her and took the plate from her hands, setting it on the counter. Zoe caught the fleeting glance exchanged between Mrs. Kroll and Alexander. Everyone was in on this except her.
UNEASY PREY Page 6
