Less than a half hour later, Pete parked behind Kevin’s cruiser in front of Sylvia’s house. Zoe’s pickup sat in front of the township vehicle. She’d phoned Pete fifteen minutes earlier to let him know Sylvia, bolstered by the bourbon, insisted on returning to her house the moment she’d spotted Kevin’s car.
The hazard of living only a block and a half away on the same street. Sylvia missed nothing.
Zoe opened the kitchen door when he knocked. He asked her a silent question with his eyes. How is she? Zoe responded with a big shrug and a tip of her head toward the older woman, who stood with her back to them at the doorway to her living room.
“Sylvia?” he called.
She didn’t move.
“Sylvia.”
Still nothing.
Pete crossed the kitchen and caught her arm with the intention of ushering her to the table and a chair. She turned her head away from him, but not before he caught a glimpse of her tear-dampened face. “Hey,” he whispered and wrapped his arms around her.
Sylvia—the strong, independent matriarch of the entire township—crumpled against him, sobbing.
He looked at Zoe, meeting her worried gaze.
As quickly as Sylvia had collapsed, she recovered, squirming free. “I’m fine.” Her quivering voice belied her words. She sniffled into a tissue she dug from her pocket. “I’m just…really…pissed.”
Now she sounded more like the Sylvia Pete knew and loved. “Me too. Now come sit down.”
She seemed willing to comply until Kevin appeared in the hallway from the rear of the house and strode toward them, a camera in his hand.
“I’ve photographed everything.” He hesitated before adding, “They made a mess back there.”
Sylvia took a step toward the hall, but Pete caught her. “Hold on. Let us do our job before you storm in there and destroy evidence.” He looked at Kevin. “Do we need to call in the crime unit?”
“No.” Sylvia tried to pull away from him. “I don’t want those county clods going through my things. I’ll behave. If anyone is going to search through my underwear, I’d rather it be the three of you.”
“Three?”
She gestured at Zoe. “Three.”
“But there’s no b—” Zoe stuttered. “I’m a deputy coroner. Not a crime-scene technician.”
Pete filled in the blank. But there’s no body. “Besides, I have another job for her,” he told Sylvia.
“What?” both women said in unison.
To the older one, he said, “Taking you back to my house and keeping you there.” He lifted his gaze to Zoe.
She gave him a sheepish shrug and mouthed, “I tried.”
“Try harder.”
Sylvia attempted to wiggle free of him again. “I’ll go. On one condition.”
“This is not a negotiation.”
“You’re damned right it’s not. My house. My rules. I want to see what those bastards did to my stuff before you start messing it up more. I won’t touch anything. I promise.”
It was a reasonable request. “You aren’t to step foot in any of the rooms. You can look from the hall, and let us know if you notice anything missing.”
“Yes, yes. Now let go.”
Pete eased his grip, but continued to hold one arm. Hopefully she would think he was steadying her instead of being ready to stop her. The look she gave him said he wasn’t fooling anyone.
The hall was clear. They stopped at the first doorway. Her spare room. The dresser drawers had been pulled out and were empty.
“What did you have in them?” Pete asked.
“Nothing. They were for company to use.” Sylvia pointed to the top of a chest of drawers. “I had a small TV up there. It’s gone.”
“Anything else?”
“Like I said. This room was for company. I didn’t keep anything in it.”
The next room was the bathroom. In shades of avocado and pink, it was desperately in need of a remodel. The medicine cabinet hung open. Bottles of aspirin and a package of Benadryl lay in the sink along with a couple bottles of nail polish.
“Did you have any prescription meds in there?” Pete asked.
“No. I’m not on anything. I’m healthy as a horse. Or I was until last night.”
Pete gave her arm a gentle squeeze. “We’re going to get these guys.”
“You better.” They moved on to the final doorway, and Sylvia choked. “Dear God.”
The mattress and box springs had been dislodged and slumped half off, half on the bed frame. Every drawer had been removed from the dresser, the bureau, and both nightstands, their contents strewn on the floor. The closet door gaped open. Shoes had been dumped from their boxes, and several plastic storage bins had been opened and searched. A fireproof box sat in the middle of the mess, its lock broken, papers scattered.
Pete could only imagine what Sylvia was feeling. And after spending the night in the hospital for chest pains. He tried to nudge her away from the door. “Let’s go.”
“No. You need to know what’s missing.”
“We can do that later.”
Sylvia stood firm. “My jewelry box is gone. I kept my wedding bands in it. And some diamond earrings Ted gave me for Christmas one year. And I had the laptop the kids gave me for my birthday sitting on the nightstand. It’s gone.” She pointed at the broken fireproof box. “My husband’s Army revolver was in there.” She huffed an acrid laugh. “I hope they try to use it. The firing pin’s missing. But…” She nodded toward the closet. “Ted’s hunting rifle was in there, way in the back. I bet they found it.”
Pete tightened his arm around her shoulders. “Okay. Now I want you out of here so we can do our work.”
“But—”
“No buts. When we catch these guys I don’t want our case to be tossed out because you contaminated our crime scene.”
She seemed to shrink. “All right.”
Back in the kitchen, Zoe was wearing her jacket and held Sylvia’s purse and coat. Pete took it and helped Sylvia put it on.
“Go back to my house,” Pete said. He looked at Sylvia. “And you get some rest.”
For once in her life, she didn’t argue.
Zoe sidled closer to him. “I need to keep an eye on Mr. and Mrs. Kroll,” she whispered.
Pete rubbed the space between his eyes. “Convince them to go stay with their son until we get these guys off the street.”
“They won’t go. They’re afraid of leaving their house unattended.”
Damned stubborn fools. Zoe included. “I’d rather they had to replace their possessions than see them get hurt.” Or worse. “Same goes for you.”
“No one’s going to mess with them when I’m there.”
They’d been having this same argument for two days, and he wasn’t making a single dent in her resolve. He growled. “Fine. Go.”
Zoe kept her voice low. “But Sylvia really shouldn’t be alone. In spite of her insistence that she’s okay, they found something during her stress test. She has orders to make an appointment with a cardiologist. I’m afraid…” Zoe shot a look over his shoulder at the ransacked living room and then brought her gaze back to his, leaving the rest unspoken.
She was afraid Sylvia might have a full-fledged heart attack.
“What are you two talking about?” Sylvia stood at the door, boots on, coat buttoned.
“Nothing,” Pete said. He leaned down, bringing his face next to Zoe’s. Sylvia would think he was kissing Zoe goodbye. Instead, he whispered, “I’ll get someone else over there as soon as I can.”
She brushed her cheek against his, eliciting a deep-seated urge to lift her off her feet and carry her away to someplace quiet and private. When she drew away, her smile told him she was also having less-than-professional thoughts at the moment. “I’ll call the farm and make sure everything’s
okay over there. Then I’ll wait until backup arrives.”
Pete watched the women slip out, slamming the door behind them. He turned and found Kevin grinning at him. A stern glare wiped the smirk from the officer’s face. “You can go home too.”
“I thought I’d help you dust for fingerprints.”
“You’ve already been on duty…” Pete checked his watch. “…almost twelve hours. Go home.”
Kevin deflated.
Pete walked over to him and clapped him on the back. “Get some sleep. I need you fresh for tonight.”
Bolstered, Kevin nodded and headed to the door.
Once Kevin had gone, Pete stood in the middle of Sylvia’s living room and surveyed the voids on the entertainment center. As angry as he was about the robbery, the knowledge that these bastards had sent Sylvia to the hospital—and could have done much worse had she been home for their return visit—sent him into a rage. One he needed to control if he was going to nail these punks.
And he was definitely going to nail these punks.
Pete tugged his phone from his pocket and pulled up his contact list.
TWELVE
The Alberta Clipper blasted in earlier than forecast. Nate Williams, Vance Township’s weekend officer, had shown up to keep an eye on Sylvia. Nate had once played professional football, or so went the rumor, so his intimidating presence should keep the troublesome patient in line. Maybe. Grateful to be momentarily relieved of her duties, Zoe sped back to the farm through the snow squalls. A phone call assured her that Mr. and Mrs. Kroll were fine, so she continued out the farm lane, past the house to the barn. The wind had the horses kicking up their heels, but the Siren’s call of grain rattling in a bucket overcame their playfulness and lured them into their stalls.
With her charges bedded down and the barn doors closed against the winter storm, Zoe climbed back into her truck, her cheeks tingling. When she cleared the top of the little hill and the house came back into view, she spotted Patsy’s pickup parked in the backyard. Not in the normal spot higher on the hillside, but right next to the house where Alexander had parked yesterday to drop off his father.
Zoe, however, left her Chevy where she usually did, pulled her hood over her head, and picked her way down the path to the deck, cautious of the slippery footing. As Zoe stomped the snow from her boots, Mrs. Kroll opened the sliding glass door. “Don’t worry about that, dear. Come in out of the cold.”
The old couple kept the house warmer than Zoe was used to, but at the moment, she wasn’t complaining. “Thanks.” She shucked off her jacket and bent down to unlace her boots.
“You have company,” Mrs. Kroll announced brightly.
Patsy was hardly company.
Zoe removed her thawing footwear and set them beside Patsy’s on the rug next to the door.
Mr. Kroll occupied his favorite recliner. Patsy leaned over a portable electric heater that Zoe had never seen before, adjusting one of the settings. For a moment, Zoe didn’t notice the person seated and partially obscured by Patsy and the heater.
Mrs. Kroll stepped into the middle of the room, spreading her arms with a ta-da flourish. “Surprise!”
Patsy straightened and stepped aside. A blonde woman in a winter-white pantsuit perched in the chair next to the heater.
Zoe blinked. “Mom?”
Kimberly Chambers Jackson made no move to rise. “Hello, Zoe.” Her tone was chillier than the Arctic blast outside.
Zoe looked at Patsy for some clue about what was going on, but her Mona Lisa smile provided nothing.
Zoe stuttered, her questions colliding inside her brain, her self-editor keeping her from asking the big one—what the hell are you doing here? Instead, she said, “I didn’t expect to see you.”
“Why would you?” Kimberly picked at something on her sleeve. “You never write. You never call.”
“I did.” Zoe winced at the shrillness of her own voice. She bit down on her lower lip to keep from saying the rest. You told me to never call you again.
Kimberly’s expression soured further. “And that man you’ve been seeing doesn’t return my calls either.”
“Pete?”
“Or have you screwed up that relationship too?”
“Kimberly,” Patsy said sharply. “Be nice. Remember why you’re here.”
Zoe crossed her arms. If her mother wasn’t going to at least give the pretense of congeniality, why should she? Besides, her stepfather, who had always been the peacekeeper, wasn’t around to intercede. “Why are you here, Mother?”
Kimberly shot a look at Patsy. Zoe translated. Because you made me come. Patsy made a stern face back at her, eliciting an exasperated growl. Kimberly cleared her throat. “I understand you have a situation with your horse.”
“A situation?” Zoe sneaked a glance at Mr. Kroll, who watched with a look of pity on his face. Did he feel bad for her because Kimberly was her mother? Or because he felt guilty about the situation to which she referred?
Kimberly waved a hand at the Krolls. “They’re evicting you, right?”
Zoe had forgotten just how insensitive her mother could be. “No.” Zoe’s voice wavered. “Not really.”
Kimberly turned to Patsy. “You said they were kicking out all your horses.”
“They’re selling the farm, and the buyers want the horses out,” Patsy said.
Kimberly rolled her eyes. “Same thing.” She sat forward, fixing her gaze on Zoe. “I know we didn’t part company on the best of terms last summer.”
That was an understatement.
“And I want to make amends.”
Amends? That was the word Patsy had used a couple days ago.
“I’ve decided to give you the family farm.”
Zoe realized her mouth was hanging open. Surely her mother couldn’t mean…“What family farm?”
Kimberly cocked her head and gave her a look that made Zoe expect her to say duh. “The Miller place up on Ridge Road.”
She did mean…
Memories from last summer flashed through Zoe’s consciousness. An approaching storm. A barn.
A dead body hanging from the rafters.
“I thought you’d at least show some gratitude,” Kimberly said.
“I don’t know what to say.”
“‘Thank you’ would be nice.”
A place of her own. A farm. Acreage.
A rundown house. Fences in poor repair.
Memories of a man with a noose around his neck.
“Thank you,” Zoe said without much enthusiasm.
Apparently it was enough for Kimberly. She beamed, smugly satisfied with her own generosity. “Good. That’s settled. We’ll drive out there tomorrow morning to look at the old homestead.”
“Why not do it now?” Patsy said.
Kimberly leaned forward, extending her hands toward the heater, palms facing it. “Because it’s too damned cold. We’ll wait until it warms up tomorrow.”
Zoe’s mother clearly hadn’t seen the local forecast. “I don’t think it’s gonna get any warmer until the weekend.”
Kimberly gave her a dismissive wave. “Of course it’ll be warmer tomorrow.” As if the power of her will would make it so. She looked at Patsy. “And then you can drive me to the airport for my flight home.”
“I’m done back there.” Pete lugged his evidence-collection kit into Sylvia’s living room to find Baronick lifting a fingerprint from the entertainment center. The sight of its shelves, now smudged with fingerprint powder, made Pete cringe. “Sylvia’s going to kill me.”
“Why? For letting me inside her house?”
Baronick had a point. Sylvia had never warmed to the county detective. “That too. But at least I didn’t let you into her bedroom.” Pete had processed the back rooms himself, leaving Baronick to the living room and kitchen.
Th
e detective added the fingerprint card to the others he’d collected and peeled off his gloves. “I’m done too.” He glanced out the window and swore. “And I’m heading back to Brunswick before I get stranded. Nothing personal, but I don’t want to end up snowbound out here in Mayberry.”
Until now, Pete had been too busy to notice the weather. Snow blew sideways. At least an inch had collected on the trees, shrubs, and cars since he’d last looked outside.
“I’ll add Sylvia’s stuff to the list of stolen items.” Baronick slipped into his long black coat. “My men are monitoring all the local online buying sites and social media pages as well as the bigger ones like eBay. Firefighter memorabilia is hot right now.” He grinned. “Firefighter? Hot? Get it?”
Pete was too irritated to even bother with a groan. “Check the pawn shops around the county. And the gun shops. Watch out for that Army pistol and Ted’s rifle.” Sylvia had been right about the burglars taking it.
“Already on it.”
“I’ll stop at the one in Phillipsburg. I still need to talk to Janie Baker. She hasn’t gotten back to me with an inventory of what’s missing from her grandmother’s house.” Plus he needed to have a chat with her about Marcus. He didn’t want to put it off until Oriole’s viewing later.
“Keep me posted.” Baronick gathered his evidence and his gear and headed for the door. “Hopefully the bad weather will keep these punks at home tonight.”
“Amen to that.”
Pete’s intention to chat with Janie hadn’t gone as planned. No one was home when he dropped by. He tried the phone number she’d given him, only to have a machine answer. He explained he wanted to speak with her, but she hadn’t called back.
He managed to catch Bub McDermott, proprietor of Phillipsburg’s sole pawn shop, as the balding and paunchy wheeler-and-dealer prepared to lock up. Bub tapped the large-faced watch he wore on his wrist. “It’s after quittin’ time already, Chief.”
“I’ll only need a minute.” Pete handed him the printout of Sylvia’s stolen property. “Has anyone been in here today trying to sell any of this stuff?”
Bub squinted and scanned the sheet. “Nuh-uh.” He lifted his gaze to Pete. “I’m guessin’ this been stolen, you bein’ the one to ask and all.”
UNEASY PREY Page 11
