Her face had contorted, tears wetting her cheeks. “I can’t go to jail.”
Pete glanced at Seth, who kept his gun trained on the woman and eased along the wall, circling behind her. Pete held up his left hand. Slowly holstered his sidearm. “Let’s not do anything rash.”
Janie’s eyes darted from him to Seth. She sidestepped. “Stop. I’ll do it. I swear I will.”
Zoe’s throat constricted. “You don’t wanna do this. Think of Marcus.”
The mewing began again. “He’s all I’ve ever thought of. He loved Gram. And I took her away from him. I’m a horrible person.”
“Not horrible.” Pete had both hands raised now. “You’ve been under duress. You snapped. Everyone will understand. Give me the gun so we can talk about it.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.” Janie’s finger tightened on the trigger.
Zoe half rose from her kneeling position next to Trout. “Yes, there is,” she said. “You’ve been a good mom to Marcus. I know it’s been rough, but we’ll get you help.”
Zoe spotted Janie’s eye twitch at the mention of her son’s name. “Trust me, you don’t want Marcus to go through the rest of his life knowing his mom committed suicide. That’s too much of a burden to put on a kid his age. He loves you.”
Janie locked her gaze onto Zoe, her eyes so filled with tears Zoe wondered how she could see. “I love him too. Be sure you tell him that.”
“You tell him,” Pete said. “Just put the gun down and we’ll let you see him and tell him anything you want.”
“Please, Janie,” Zoe said. “You don’t want the image of you killing yourself to haunt your son the rest of his life, do you?”
Janie appeared to weigh Zoe’s words. The tension in her face relaxed. “No. You’re right.”
For a fleeting moment, Zoe believed Janie had decided to surrender. To not take her own life.
Then Janie tipped her head toward the table. “Make sure Marcus gets the money.”
Before Zoe could process the meaning of the words, Janie extended her arm and pointed the muzzle of the gun—at Zoe.
And a gunshot exploded inside the room.
THIRTY-THREE
“Get EMS in here now,” Pete bellowed over the radio as he leapt to Zoe’s side.
“Hold this.” She took his hand and placed it on the blood-soaked jacket she’d been using to slow Trout’s blood loss.
“Got it.” Pete wanted to ask her if she was okay, but thanks to Seth, there would be time for that later.
She jumped to her feet and rushed to Janie’s crumpled form.
Seth’s face had lost all trace of color. He kept his gun directed at the young woman he’d just shot until he managed to slide the revolver she’d dropped well out of reach with his foot.
The front door banged open. Baronick, weapon drawn, burst in ahead of two paramedics with their gear. He surveyed the scene before holstering his gun and waving the medics in.
The pair split up, one moving to Zoe’s side, the other dropping to his knees next to Pete.
“Are you okay there, Chief?” The medic clipped a pulse oximeter to Trout’s finger and strapped a blood-pressure cuff to his arm.
“Yep.”
Zoe’s back was to Pete, so he couldn’t see her expression. Nor could he see much of Janie. What he did see wasn’t moving.
Baronick crossed to stand over Pete. “What the hell just happened?”
He explained how Janie threatened to shoot herself. As long as she kept the gun pressed to her own chin, Seth wouldn’t shoot. Janie must have decided the only sure way she could get him to end her life would be to threaten someone else. Zoe.
Baronick swore under his breath.
“We need a second ambulance,” the medic working with Zoe called out.
The detective pulled his phone from his pocket. “On it.”
The medic taking vitals on Trout raised one finger. “Hold up a minute.” He placed the stethoscope on the old man’s chest.
Only then did Pete take a good hard look at Trout. His face had lost its ruddy tint, his lips weren’t quite blue, but nor were they pink. Most telling, his eyelids had opened, revealing an unfocused gaze.
The medic touched Pete’s arm. “You can stop holding pressure.” To Baronick, he said, “No need for that second ambulance.” Then he gathered his gear and crossed to their other patient.
Pete sat back. The oximeter remained clipped to Trout’s finger, registering nothing. Dammit. He’d been right about the old coot all along. He wasn’t a killer. Just a harmless old man in love with the neighbor lady. Looking at him now, Pete again saw his pop—and brushed his sleeve across the sudden burst of heat behind his eyes.
Across the room, Zoe and her two colleagues were working frantically on the young woman Pete had dismissed as a suspect. Mousy, invisible Janie Baker. One of the paramedics climbed to his feet and headed for the door, calling for Baronick to give him a hand. Zoe rose up on her knees. Pete recognized the position. And the subsequent smooth up and down of chest compressions.
He got to his feet. Ignored the screaming pain in his knees. With one more glance at Trout’s body, he moved to the table and tossed back the linen cloth. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but the bundles of twenty-dollar bills shoved into a dozen or so gallon plastic bags stunned him. If he’d had to guess, he’d estimate there was at least thirty grand piled there. A velvety hinged box perched on top of the cash. He flipped it open to reveal a necklace. Vintage. Obviously the treasure the old man had been searching for. And for which he’d lost his life.
Pete turned away from the bounty and moved to Seth’s side. “Are you okay?”
The young officer never took his gaze from the woman he’d shot. “Not really.”
Pete clapped a hand to Seth’s shoulder. “You saved Zoe’s life.”
“Did I?”
Pete understood what he meant without asking. Would Janie really have pulled the trigger? There was no way to know. With a suicide by cop, there were always unanswered questions.
And from the looks of it, those questions would remain that way.
A late January thaw raised temperatures to near forty under a dull gray Saturday sky. Mounds of dirty snow edged roads, and melted slop pooled in ruts and ditches.
Standing shoulder to shoulder, Zoe and Patsy leaned against the front of Zoe’s pickup and watched a team of professionals install a four-rail composite fence around the small pasture next to the barn.
Zoe’s barn.
“Where did you get the money for this?” Zoe had her suspicions, but asked anyway.
Patsy didn’t take her eyes from the workmen. “I’m not at liberty to discuss it.” She glanced askance at Zoe, a trace of a smile on her face.
“My mother.”
Patsy shrugged. “She didn’t think you’d accept the money from her, so she gave it to me to get the repairs started.”
With less than a week before they needed to clear out of the Krolls’ barn, Zoe had to admit, her mother had done okay this time. “Tell her thank you for me.”
“Tell her yourself.”
Zoe thought about it. After watching Trout and Janie die in front of her, life seemed more precious. Holding grudges, especially over money, seemed ludicrous. A phone call might not patch things up, but it might ease their long-held tension. “I will.”
The answer drew Patsy’s full, stunned attention. “Good.”
They spent a couple of quiet moments watching the fencing crew dig postholes with a massive auger attached to the back of their tractor.
“I want one of those,” Patsy said.
“The auger or the tractor?”
“Both.”
Zoe snorted. “I’ll ask my mother to buy you one.”
Patsy snickered. “By the way, how’s Sylvia?”
�
��Crabby. Her cardiologist ordered her to lose fifty pounds.”
“Think she’ll do it?”
Zoe remembered the brisk walk around Dillard’s streets she’d taken with Sylvia that morning. The woman griped the entire way—except when Zoe had suggested they take a break. “Oh, no,” she’d said, “we have another mile to go.”
“Yeah.” Zoe grinned. “I think she will.”
At the slushy rumble of an approaching vehicle behind them, Zoe looked over her shoulder. She’d expected Pete to meet them, but it was Lauren’s gray sedan pulling up behind the pickup. She climbed out attired in her same dark wool coat, but wearing what appeared to be new barn boots on her feet.
“Isn’t that the reporter from the nursing home?” Patsy asked.
“Lauren Sanders. Yep.”
As Lauren approached, Zoe officially introduced the two women and added, “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
Lauren shook Patsy’s hand then gazed out at the pasture, a smile lighting her face. “I wanted to check the place out. And to ask…” She met Zoe’s eyes, her smile turning nervous. “…are you planning to board horses?”
Zoe once again thought she knew where this was headed. “I’ll have to, just to make ends meet.”
“Because I would really like to buy one, and it would be great if I could keep it with someone I trust.”
The trust thing caught Zoe off guard. “The only problem is I’m kind of limited right now. Until I can afford to expand, I only have four stalls.” She held up four fingers and ticked them off. “My horse. Patsy’s Arabian. And two current boarders at the Krolls’ place who don’t have anywhere else to go and already asked.”
Lauren’s disappointment was palpable. “Oh.”
Patsy bumped Zoe with an elbow, but directed her question to the reporter. “How well can you ride?”
“I took lessons for quite a while. My instructor said I was a natural.”
Zoe feigned a critical scowl. “Have you ever fallen off?”
Lauren looked down sheepishly. “Yeah. Once.”
“Good.”
The reporter lifted her face, her brow furrowed. “Good?”
“Yeah,” Patsy said with a grin. “You aren’t a real rider until you’ve hit the ground at least once. The reason I asked…I’m going to Florida for a couple of weeks next month. If you’re willing to jump in and pick up my slack with the barn work, I’ll let you ride Jazzel.”
Zoe had seen kids at Christmas who were less excited.
Lauren clapped her hands. “Yes.”
Patsy held up a hand in a stop gesture. “Jazzel can be a handful. You’ll need to lunge her first to wear her down.” She glanced at Zoe, nonverbally asking for help.
Zoe nodded.
“And only supervised rides,” Patsy added, “until we’re convinced you can handle her.”
“Fine. Great. Yes. Whatever you say.”
A white SUV slowed on the road in front of the farm. Pete. He made the turn into the driveway, slowing even more to splash through the water-filled ruts.
“This place has gotten to be the local hot spot,” Patsy said.
One of the workmen hollered and waved. Zoe pushed away from the pickup, but Patsy caught her arm. “I’ll go. You have company.”
A minute or so later, Pete strode up. “Hey, Beautiful.” He pressed a quick kiss to Zoe’s lips, sending a tingle along her spine.
Remembering her jealousy, she glanced at Lauren, who had looked away. In spite of all that had happened, Zoe still suspected the reporter had a thing for Pete. But the important part was that he only had eyes for Zoe. “Hey, yourself.”
He slipped an arm around her waist, and she leaned against him, grateful for his warmth and strength. To Lauren, he said, “I’m glad to see you here. I was going to call you later about Golden Oaks.”
The reporter crossed her arms. “Didn’t Zoe tell you? I dug as deeply as I could and didn’t find anything out of the ordinary. In fact, I might just move in there myself. Your dad is perfectly safe.”
Zoe felt Pete tense.
Lauren pressed her lips together, trying not to laugh. “You know, you could have told me the person calling the place into question was your father.”
Pete made a couple of false starts at responding and then said, “Yeah, I guess. But that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about anyway.”
“Oh? What then?”
“Barbara Naiman.”
Zoe looked up at Pete. She had no idea what he was talking about, but a glance at Lauren told her the reporter did.
“Oh,” Lauren said.
Zoe tugged at Pete’s jacket. “What’s going on with Barbara?”
He shot a look at Lauren. “Go ahead and tell her. She’s going to dig it out of one of us.”
Lauren squirmed. “I didn’t want anyone to know.”
When she didn’t say any more, Zoe elbowed Pete. “Someone tell me already.”
Pete waited, but Lauren remained silent. “All right, I’ll tell her.” He looked at Zoe. “Lauren anonymously paid one year in advance for Barbara’s stay at Golden Oaks.”
Stunned, Zoe met Lauren’s sheepish gaze. Wow. She’d had the reporter pegged wrong. All wrong. “How? Why?” Zoe stuttered.
Lauren shrugged. “I live rather modestly. My father made a killing in the stock market years ago and left it all to me when he died. And I felt bad for Barbara.” She looked at Pete. “And for your dad. He’s quite fond of her, you know.”
“Yeah. I know. I owe you,” Pete said. “I just came from visiting Pop and he’s as content as I’ve seen him in years. The move and this…‘friendship’ with Barbara have been the best thing that could happen to him. Thank you.”
Lauren beamed. “You and your dad are very welcome.”
Pete cleared his throat. “I’ve heard rumors Barbara isn’t the only beneficiary of your generosity.”
Zoe looked from him to Lauren and back. Good thing she wasn’t jealous anymore. He seemed to know an awful lot about the reporter, none of which he’d shared with her over breakfast that morning.
Lauren turned up her collar to hide a blush. “I’m late for an appointment. Zoe, please thank Patsy for me. I’ll be in touch.” She turned and picked her way through the slop back to her car.
Once the sedan had turned and was headed to the road, Zoe faced Pete. “Now what about Lauren’s generosity?”
He buried his hands in his jacket pockets. “I just found out she’s spoken with Children and Youth Services about fostering Marcus Baker.”
Zoe blinked against an unexpected threat of tears as she watched Lauren turn onto the road and speed away. Memories of Janie thundered over her. From the kids in school taunting her with calls of “Plain Jane” to the quiet, submissive caregiver to her grandmother and the worrisome mother to her fatherless boy.
After the shooting, they’d learned that Marcus had suspected his mother was responsible for his grandmother’s death. He’d confessed he knew Janie owned the gun she’d claimed had been stolen from Oriole, but he’d kept quiet to protect her.
Marcus finding a home with Lauren Sanders might be the best thing for him. And for Lauren as well.
It troubled Zoe that she couldn’t close her eyes without seeing Janie bleeding out and dying. In time that image might fade, leaving her to remember the woman who’d been her friend. But that last memory led her to another. “Did you talk to Seth?” Officially, the young officer who’d saved her life was on desk duty. However, he’d taken a leave of absence after the shooting and hadn’t been returning Pete’s phone calls.
“I swung by his house on my way here. Woke him up.” Pete gazed into the distance, his eyes narrowing. “The kid looks awful. Hasn’t shaved. I don’t think he’s washed his dishes or taken out his trash in a week.”
Not the news she’d hoped for.
“Taking a life isn’t like they make it out to be on the cop shows.”
She stepped closer to Pete, slinging an arm through his and pressing against him. “You’re thinking about the boy you shot years ago. Donnie Moreno?”
“No.” A sad smile drew Pete’s lip up on one side and he met her gaze. “Maybe.”
“Do you think it would help if I stopped by to see Seth?”
“I think that would be nice.”
“Okay. I’ll head there after I drop Patsy off at her house. Maybe I’ll even wash Seth’s dishes for him.”
“Don’t spoil him.” Pete chuckled. “He’ll expect you to keep house for him all the time.”
“No way.” She nodded toward the rundown house. “As far as housekeeping goes, I have enough to deal with. Thanks to my mother’s ‘gift.’”
He slipped his hands from his pockets and slid them around Zoe’s waist, pulling her close. “So you’re really planning to move out here?”
“Eventually. But there’s a lot of work to do first.”
“I warned you.”
“I can do some of it after I move in.”
She felt the grumbled response in his chest more than heard it.
“But in the meantime, is it okay if I stay where I am?”
He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “You know it is.”
“And you never know. You might get tired of your place.”
Pete tensed. “What?”
Zoe hid her smile against the front of his jacket. “Have you ever considered living on a farm?”
About the Author
USA Today bestselling author Annette Dashofy has spent her entire life in rural Pennsylvania surrounded by cattle and horses. When she wasn’t roaming the family’s farm or playing in the barn, she could be found reading or writing. After high school, she spent five years as an EMT on the local ambulance service, dealing with everything from drunks passing out on the sidewalk to mangled bodies in car accidents. These days, she, her husband, and their spoiled cat, Kensi, live on property that was once part of her grandfather’s dairy.
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