UNEASY PREY

by Annette Dashofy

  Kimberly started toward the van, but Zoe caught her arm. “Don’t get any closer.”

  Her mother jutted her jaw. “It’s parked in my barn. I can do whatever I want.”

  “Not this time.” Zoe dug out her phone. “Right now this is a crime scene.”

  Again.

  The Toyota Tundra’s doors opened as Pete pulled up behind it, and Zoe and Patsy bailed out. A third person remained inside the idling pickup. He glanced in the window as he passed. Kimberly Jackson glared at him from under a hat that looked like it belonged on a lumberjack. Not her usual style.

  Zoe led the way toward the barn. “It’s in here.”

  He did a quick survey of the farmyard as he followed her. The only tire tracks into the place were the Tundra’s. Footprints trailed from the truck to the house and around to the far side. But even those were in the process of being buffed out by the wind and filled in by the blowing snow. He suspected the van Zoe had told him about on the phone had been parked there since before last night’s snowfall.

  Drifts made fully opening the barn door impossible without some shoveling. Zoe started to squeeze through, but Pete caught her arm. “I’m going first.”

  “We’ve already been inside. There’s no one else here.”

  He gave her a look, and she backed down, stepping out of his way. He noticed the hole hacked in the door.

  “I did that,” she said. “I told you they had it padlocked. The house too.”

  The narrow opening was a tight fit for Zoe and a nearly impossible one for Pete. Taking the time to chisel out the frozen earth or rip the door apart might have been the wiser move. His duty belt snagged on the ragged edge of the door. He managed to free the stuck case holding one of his Glock’s spare magazines and wedged his way inside.

  The barn had been emptied of all hay and equipment. Snow blew through gaps in the siding, revealing just a few of the repairs Zoe would face if she accepted her mother’s “gift.” The damaged white van was not part of the package.

  “Can we come in?” Zoe asked. “It’s nasty out here.”

  “How close did you get to the van?”

  “We didn’t. As soon as I saw it, I called you and then shooed everyone back to Patsy’s truck to wait.”

  Good girl.

  Other than the van, there was nowhere for anyone to hide, except for a small enclosed room in the far corner of the barn. Feed or tool storage perhaps. “Give me a minute,” he told her. He stayed along the walls, not wanting to risk destroying any footprints or trace evidence near the vehicle.

  The plank door to the small room stood open. One hand on his sidearm, he cautiously peeked inside. The air reeked of moldy grain, but the room, like the rest of the barn, had been stripped bare. Relaxing, he retraced his steps. “Come on,” he called to Zoe, who was peering in at him. “But stay by the door.”

  She slid inside, Patsy close on her heels.

  He dug the department’s point-and-shoot digital camera from his coat pocket and snapped a wide-angle photo of the van before he started his approach. He took more pictures of the barn floor as he got closer. There weren’t any obvious footprints or clumps of mud that might have been left from boot treads. He took a few tighter shots of the damaged grill and fender. A glance through the passenger window revealed an empty cab.

  Pete finished with a couple more photos before tucking the camera in his pocket. Once again ready to unholster his sidearm, he released the catch on the sliding side door with his left hand and yanked.

  The door glided open. No one jumped out at him. In fact, the interior of the van was as empty as the barn.

  “What’s in it?” Zoe called.

  “Nothing.” He took a few more photos and left the rest for the crime-scene techs, who were on their way from Brunswick. He returned to the women, noticing that Zoe was uncharacteristically underdressed for the weather. “Did you check inside the house?”

  “Couldn’t,” she said through chattering teeth. “I was looking for a pry bar or something to break in with when we found the van. That’s as far as I got.”

  “Your mother’s still owner of record, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And she’s okay with us gaining entry?”

  “Absolutely. She talked to her attorney and he said he had nothing to do with the locks, so she’s pissed.” Zoe grinned. “Someone’s been eating her porridge.”

  That’s all he needed to know. “I have bolt cutters in my trunk. You two wait in the pickup.”

  FIFTEEN

  Zoe knew why Pete had ordered them back to the Tundra. He feared Oriole Andrews’ killers might be inside the house. But curiosity overpowered Kimberly’s thin Floridian blood. When Zoe told her Pete was about to cut the locks, she leapt out of the truck, brushed past Zoe, and followed him and his bolt cutters.

  “Wait,” Zoe called to no avail. She jogged after her mother, who proved to be amazingly fast in shin-deep snow and borrowed boots.

  Wearing his patented take-charge expression, Pete blocked Kimberly. “I told you to wait in the pickup.”

  Zoe couldn’t see her mother’s face but had a pretty good idea these two would have quite the standoff where stubborn determination was concerned.

  “It’s my property. You can’t enter without my say-so.”

  Pete caught Zoe’s gaze and a silent conversation passed between them. You said she was okay with me cutting the locks.

  Zoe held up her hands in surrender. It’s Mother.

  Pete’s mouth twitched. He turned his gaze back to Kimberly. “You’re going to make me get a warrant?”

  “No. I’ll give my permission to search the place, but not while I’m sitting idly by in the truck.”

  Zoe put a hand on Kimberly’s shoulder. “Mother—”

  She shrugged her off. “Not negotiable.”

  Patsy stepped forward. “Kimberly, the bad guys might be inside.”

  “Get serious. You think they went inside and latched the padlocks from the outside?”

  Zoe met Pete’s gaze again. Her mother had a point.

  Pete glanced at the house, still ten feet away, then narrowed his eyes at Kimberly. “All right. But you stay right here until I make sure it’s clear.”

  Kimberly lifted her triumphant chin. “That will be fine. You may cut the locks.”

  “Thank you,” he said through clenched teeth and stomped toward the rotted porch.

  Patsy nudged Kimberly. “You do realize if there are bad guys inside, they could easily shoot us through the windows from here.”

  Kimberly gave her a patronizing glare. “There’s no one inside. Unless they locked someone in there from the outside.”

  Patsy nudged her again. “Or unless they’ve been coming and going through the basement doors on the other side of the house. Zoe did say it was locked from the inside. They could still be in there.”

  Kimberly’s imperial façade gave way. Apparently she hadn’t considered this.

  Zoe hid a smile behind her glove. Patsy once again proved to be the only person who knew how to deal with Kimberly Jackson.

  “I’m cold,” she announced. “You girls make sure he doesn’t do any unnecessary damage to my house.”

  Not Zoe’s house.

  As Kimberly retreated to the warmth and safety of the pickup, Patsy looked at Zoe and twisted her mouth into an annoyed frown. “I better stay with her, or this time she very well may decide she prefers the warmth of her hotel room and leave us stranded.”

  The locks proved no match for the bolt cutter, and Pete disappeared into the house. Zoe had hoped once her mother backed off, Pete would invite Zoe inside. She knew to stay out of his way and not contaminate a crime scene. The icy wind continued to slice through her jeans as if they were tissue paper. Her cheeks and feet stung. Pulling her hat down and her collar up provided little relief as
a blustery gust sandblasted her face with snow that was more ice pellets than flakes.

  After several excruciatingly long minutes, Pete appeared in the doorway and waved her in.

  Zoe stepped into a cold stark kitchen. Whoever had installed the new locks hadn’t bothered to turn on the furnace. At least the house provided shelter from the wind.

  But not much. The faded curtains rippled in the breeze seeping through the windows.

  New ones would definitely have to top her remodeling list.

  “Stay here.” Pete’s jaw was clenched, and Zoe suspected it wasn’t from the cold. “I’ve cleared the first floor, but I still need to check the second floor and the basement.”

  He strode out of the room, and from the clump-clump of his hollow footsteps on the bare wood floor, she could tell he was headed upstairs.

  The kitchen needed work. The cabinets were nothing more than varnished plywood. All appliances had been removed, leaving only gaps in their place. The ancient linoleum was so filthy she wasn’t sure if there was a pattern beneath the grime.

  Add new cabinetry and flooring to the list. Right after a refrigerator and stove.

  She peered through the doorway into the next room and gasped.

  Unlike the naked kitchen, the adjoining room was crammed with televisions, computers, monitors, and other assorted electronic gizmos sitting on cardboard boxes.

  “I told you to stay put.”

  Pete had appeared in a second doorway to the kitchen. Only then did Zoe realize she’d moved from her original spot. At least she hadn’t set foot into the room used to warehouse stolen merchandise. “Sorry.”

  His stern glare softened. “They didn’t put anything upstairs. Yet. Only these two rooms.” He gestured to the room she was looking into and the one behind him. “I’m going down to the basement. Do not move out of the kitchen.”

  She threw him a salute and he shot a faux angry look her way before disappearing again.

  He’d told her not to leave the kitchen—not simply “do not move”—so she crossed to the second doorway. This room’s layout was the mirror image of the other except it had a staircase against one wall. Hinges hung along the edge of an opening to what Zoe assumed were the steps to the basement. No door.

  Something else to add to her remodeling list.

  While there weren’t any televisions in this room, there were boxes, some open revealing assorted stuff including a large silver punch bowl, some closed with other stolen items—laptops, jewelry boxes, cameras—perched on top. There were even a couple sets of luggage stashed against the far wall.

  These guys had been way busier than she’d thought.

  Footsteps clomped up the basement stairs, and Pete appeared in the doorless opening. “Nothing down there.” But the growl in his voice told her there was more.

  “That’s good,” she said. “Isn’t it?”

  He shooed her back into the middle of the empty kitchen. “Part of what’s not down there should be.”

  He’d lost her. “Huh?”

  Pete fixed her with a look she’d seen before. Usually right before an argument. “They’ve torn out all the copper pipes. You have no plumbing.”

  “Oh.” She did a slow three-sixty, taking in the house her mother was “giving” her to “make amends.” No appliances. Crappy windows. Ancient flooring. Missing doors. And now, missing plumbing. Her little fixer-upper had rapidly deteriorated into a money pit. In addition to being a crime scene.

  “You’re not keeping it.”

  Zoe spun to face him again. “Of course I am.” The words slipped from her lips before she had a chance to consider whether he was right.

  The muscle in Pete’s jaw throbbed. “Do you know how much work this dump needs? Where are you going to find the money?”

  She wished she had an answer to throw back at him, but the only honest responses were yes and I have no idea. Instead she planted her gloved fists on her hips and said, “I’ll figure something out.”

  His expression darkened. “Zoe.” He sounded as if he wanted to add tsk-tsk to her name. “Don’t be a fool. You already have a place to stay. Tell your mother thanks but no thanks.”

  True. She had someplace to stay, but not a place of her own. And there was another reason Pete couldn’t sway her. “No. I’m keeping it. The house might be a wreck right now, but I need the barn. I need a place to keep my horse.”

  Pete spent the rest of the morning and the early part of the afternoon working with Wayne Baronick and the county crime-scene techs on processing the farmhouse.

  Zoe’s farmhouse. Unless he could talk some sense into her.

  He’d seen the devastated look on her face when he told her about the stolen copper pipes. She knew damned well the place was uninhabitable in its current condition, and she had to know how much time, money, and sweat was needed to edge it even close to livable.

  He’d also seen the mule-headed look on her face as he’d sent her, her mother, and Patsy away. The pipe dream of having her own farm excited her. The reality would eventually break her heart.

  He felt like a heel for secretly being glad Zoe wouldn’t be moving out of his house any time soon. The only smart thing she could do would be to turn down her mother’s grand gesture.

  Maybe Kimberly already knew about the farm’s condition and was unloading the dump on Zoe intentionally. He wouldn’t put it past her. Kimberly Jackson would never win Mother of the Year.

  By one o’clock, County had towed the damaged van off to their garage. Pete left Baronick to oversee the rest of the evidence collection as well as the confiscation and inventory of the stolen merchandise. He needed to talk to Janie Baker and get a list of what was missing from her grandmother’s house.

  Pete called Janie from his car, expecting to be put off yet again. She had a valid excuse. The funeral had been this morning. He was surprised and pleased to learn she’d already started on the task and invited him to meet her at Oriole’s house.

  As he parked behind Janie’s car, he spotted Trout on the front porch. Janie stood in the doorway, arms folded, and they appeared to be engaged in a heated discussion. However, before Pete could get out of his vehicle, the argument ended, and the old man shuffled across the yard, toward his house, head bowed, hands shoved deep into his coat pockets.

  Seeing Trout again reminded Pete of the key. He’d neglected to return it to Janie, and since he’d left the thing in his desk drawer back at the station, wasn’t going to return it today either.

  “Hello, Chief.” Janie held the door for Pete and then closed it behind him. Her short mousy hair looked like it had been smashed under a hat, and dark circles smudged with mascara, which hadn’t survived the funeral service, underlined her bloodshot eyes.

  Pete removed his hat, careful not to dump snow on the floor, and wiped his feet on a well-worn throw rug. “I’m sorry to bother you today, but we’ve had a break in the case, and I really need that list of missing items.”

  Her eyes widened. “A break? You’ve caught the guys?”

  “Not exactly. We’ve found their hideout, the van, and some of the stolen goods. They weren’t there at the time.” For which he was deeply grateful. He didn’t want to think about Zoe stumbling into the hornets’ nest had the hornets been home.

  Janie blew out a relieved sigh. “Oh. Well, that’s something at least.”

  “Don’t worry. We’ll get them.”

  She attempted a tired smile and failed. “I’m sure you will.”

  Pete glanced back at the door. “I see Mr. Troutman was here.”

  The creases around Janie’s mouth puckered. “I don’t suppose you could talk to him again and tell him to leave me alone. And to stay away from this house. He acts like he’s entitled to come and go as he pleases.”

  “He was…” Pete searched for an adequate word “…fond of your grandmother. I think
he spent quite a bit of time here.”

  Janie didn’t appear swayed.

  Footsteps from the room to the right drew Pete’s attention. His hand instinctively moved to his sidearm.

  “Mom?” Marcus appeared in the doorway and paused. “Oh.” The kid didn’t sound thrilled to see Pete. “I heard voices but thought it was still Mr. Troutman.”

  “Mr. Troutman went home,” Janie said.

  Marcus kept his sullen gaze on his mother. “I went through Gram’s china cabinet like you told me to. I can’t tell if there’s anything missing.”

  “Thanks, son.” To Pete, she said, “I didn’t expect there would be. Gram didn’t have any fancy china or silverware.” She moved to a small table next to the front door and picked up a scrap of paper with scribbling on the back. “I did notice a few missing items though.”

  Pete pulled his reading glasses from his pocket as she handed the note to him.

  “Gram kept some cash in a dresser upstairs. It’s gone.”

  Three items had been scrawled. The first was a row of dollar signs. “How much?”

  “I don’t know exactly, but she never kept more than a hundred dollars or so handy.”

  He glanced up from the second notation. “What kind of jewelry?”

  “Nothing really valuable. Just a couple necklaces. And a brooch. Oh, and a ring.”

  From the corner of his eye, Pete noticed Marcus shove his hands in his jeans pockets and lower his head. “Can you give me a description of them?” Pete asked Janie.

  Her brow furrowed. “The necklaces were gold. One had a blue pendant. The brooch was a circle and had some stones in it. I’m pretty sure they weren’t real diamonds. The ring was real gold though. Vintage, you know?”

  “Do you have any photographs? Maybe something with your grandmother wearing them?”

  “I’m not sure. I have that box of old photos at home. I’ll look through them again.”