“Ryan,” Pete called. “It’s Chief Adams. I’d like to talk to you.”
Only silence responded.
Pete tried the latch. It clicked open. He grasped the knob on the ornate wood and glass door. It turned easily and the door swung open. “Ryan?” Pete called again.
Nothing.
Pete stepped inside, his hand on his sidearm.
While the outside of the house was pristine, the inside looked like a bomb had gone off.
A throw rug was bunched in the entryway. A decorative painting was smashed on the newel post, which now wore the frame like a gaudy necklace. A hole had been bashed through one wall. The entire place reeked of cigarette smoke. Pete eased toward the back of the house and the kitchen. White cabinets gaped open. Canned goods had been dumped onto the floor. Glassware smashed on the gleaming black granite countertops.
An empty bottle of whiskey lay on its side on the stove, which thankfully was off.
“Ryan?” Pete called again.
Still nothing.
Pete continued around to the left into the family room. A large flat screen TV hung on the wall, shattered. Books had been tossed from their shelves. Two floor lamps sprawled on the Berber carpet. Another empty whiskey bottle rested against one of them. And a third almost empty bottle dripped its contents onto the rug from the coffee table. Next to the damp spot, a half-smoked cigarette and a burn mark.
He stepped through the archway into the room and spotted Ryan Mancinelli, prone on the couch, his head turned to one side, his mouth hanging open.
Pete stepped over one of the lamps and leaned down to slide his fingers into the groove in Ryan’s neck.
The pulse was strong and steady. Pete blew out his breath.
“Ryan? Hey. Ryan.” Pete gave him a shake.
The man moaned.
Pete grabbed him by his shoulders and rolled him none-too-gently onto his back. “Hey! Ryan!”
He winced and groaned. “Lea’me alone.”
Pete straightened, planted his fists on his hips, and surveyed the trashed room again. “Oh, man. Ryan, my boy, you may be alive now, but when your wife sees her house you’ll wish you weren’t.”
Next to the couch, an ashtray overflowed with butts. The idiot was lucky he hadn’t burned his house down. Just what Vance Township needed. Another fire.
Something tucked against the ashtray caught his eye. He squinted and bent down for a closer look before picking the thing up.
He pulled out his reading glasses and turned the small disposable lighter over in his hand. Printed on the side—Holt Farabee, Carpenter.
After the Weekend From Hell, Zoe thought Monday morning would never get there. Once the day crew shuffled in, she bolted for home. On the drive, she thought about the half dozen phone calls she’d fielded on her cell. Word had spread about the fire and Holt’s arrest. Boarders didn’t want their kids being exposed to an arsonist. Or a killer. She’d tried to explain the accusations were merely rumors. But there was talk of moving their horses elsewhere. At least two of them were already actively looking for another facility.
By eight-thirty, Zoe stood on the hillside above the barn, inspecting the scorched siding and broken windows. Two round bales had been reduced to charred marks on the ground. A blackened strip up the tin roof mapped the flames’ path.
“It could have been a lot worse.”
Zoe flinched, startled by Holt’s voice even though she’d seen his truck parked in front of the barn.
He strolled toward her. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“You didn’t. I’m just jumpy.”
“Because of me?”
“No.” Was she lying? She wasn’t sure.
“I wanted to thank you for watching Maddie for me Saturday afternoon.”
Zoe shoved her hands into her pants pockets. “No problem. Maddie’s a great kid.” She studied Holt’s profile as he scowled at the barn. At another time under different circumstances, she might have harbored some seriously lustful thoughts about the man. Now all she saw was the devastation and grief in his eyes. “I’m glad they didn’t keep you.” She didn’t tack on in jail.
He huffed a humorless laugh. “Me, too.”
“And thanks for giving me a lift back to the ambulance garage.”
“I guess we’re even.”
“Where’s Maddie now?”
He glanced toward the farmhouse. “She was still in bed when I came out here. I should warn you…she’s fixing to hit you up for a riding lesson later today.”
Zoe smiled at the thought of the giggling ten-year-old jogging around the arena on George’s back. “I think I can arrange that.”
Holt took off his hat and swiped it across his forehead before replacing it. “I fixed those boards in the stalls. You can inspect my work if you want.”
“Not necessary. Right now I just want a shower.” She raised an eyebrow at him. “Provided we have hot water.”
“Absolutely. I had the new water heater installed Friday night.” He took a deep breath and blew it out. “I guess I should start on this now.” He pointed at the fire damage. “I can tear the siding off, but you won’t be able to use those stalls until I can get new stuff.”
Dollar signs appeared in Zoe’s mind. “We still owe you for the water heater.”
He waved a hand. “I put it on my account at the hardware store. I don’t need the money until the first of the month. And the boards I used for the stalls were headed for the dumpster, so there’s no charge there. But this…” He shook his head. “I’m afraid my accounts at all the lumber yards are maxed out. And I doubt I can scrounge up extra barn siding for free.”
All the talk of money made Zoe think her forehead was in the grasp of a vice. “I don’t necessarily need the stalls, but I hate to have a big hole in the side of the barn. The weather forecast is calling for severe storms by midweek and tarping the opening might not be enough.”
Holt rubbed his chin. “Do you have some plywood lying around?”
“Not enough for that.”
“How about for the busted out windows?”
“Oh. Yeah.”
After directing Holt to the tool shed where she’d spotted some scraps he could use, she shuffled to her truck and drove back to the house. No sooner had she stepped into the enclosed porch than Mrs. Kroll opened her door.
“Zoe, I’ve been watching for you to come home. Can I talk to you for a minute?”
Something in the woman’s face made the vice grip on Zoe’s brain tighten down even more. “Sure.” She crossed the porch and stepped into Mrs. Kroll’s kitchen.
Instead of leading Zoe into the dining room as her landlady usually did, Mrs. Kroll sat down on one of two wooden chairs. Zoe took the other. “Maddie’s in there eating her breakfast and playing one of those…things.” Mrs. Kroll held out her hand, palm up.
“Handheld video games?” Zoe offered.
Mrs. Kroll sighed. “I guess that’s what it is. It’s been so long since I had a young one in the house. And times have changed. I think the poor child was bored to death most of the weekend. No cable TV. No computer. Thank heavens your kids from the barn brought her some toys and gadgets yesterday.”
Her kids from the barn.
If Holt stayed much longer, she’d have some serious damage control to do.
“Anyhow, I wanted to talk to you,” Mrs. Kroll said.
The anxiety in her voice sent Zoe’s mind racing. Did the older woman want Holt gone, just like those nervous parents? Just like Pete? Had something happened to Mr. Kroll? Had there been bad news during the nursing staff meeting the other day?
“I’ve been thinking about something. I need to discuss it with Marvin first, of course. But with everything that’s happened and all the expenses… Now the fire is g
oing to cost quite a bit. Well, I had a visitor, and I think he may have the best solution.” Mrs. Kroll held out a small white card.
Zoe recognized it. Hesitantly, she took the business card and looked at it, although she didn’t need to.
David Evans. Evans Land Development. Baltimore, Maryland.
“When did he…?”
“He said he’s been trying to reach me for a while.”
Duh. Yeah.
“Yesterday. He stopped in yesterday afternoon. Maddie and her dad were out at the barn, so we had a nice chat.” Mrs. Kroll broke into a nervous smile. “He offered me quite a lot of money for our property.”
“But—but—” Zoe stopped. Ran her tongue over her dry lips. “You and Mr. Kroll love this place.”
“Yes, I know. Mr. Evans explained we could keep the house and the yard. Or he could bulldoze it and build us a lovely new modern house on the lot. Marvin’s not getting any younger. He’s not going to be able to do things around here like he used to. And we can’t expect you to pick up all the slack.”
Inside Zoe’s head, she screamed Yes, you can!
“I think it would be nice having a new house. New things. And never have to worry about money ever again. I could pay off Marvin’s doctors’ bills. We’d be completely out of debt.”
“And the barn?” Zoe squeaked. But she knew the answer.
“Oh.” The exaggerated enthusiasm melted from Mrs. Kroll’s voice. “Well, of course, they would tear it down to make room for all the new homes.”
Of course. Tear down the barn. Bulldoze the farmhouse. Bring in the earth-moving equipment to alter the landscape. So city people like the Fort Guy could move to the country.
But that was only a small part of the death knell chiming inside Zoe’s head. The Krolls would have a new home and new things. Zoe—and her horse and her cats—on the other hand, would be homeless.
Mrs. Kroll must have read Zoe’s face. “It will take a while to make happen. You’ll have plenty of time to find another place to live.”
Mrs. Kroll kept talking, but Zoe didn’t hear a word of it until a small voice filtered through. “Mrs. Kroll?” Maddie stood in the doorway between the kitchen and dining room with her nose crinkled. “Oh, hi, Zoe.”
“What is it, dear?” the older woman asked.
Maddie made a face again. “I keep smelling something funny.”
Mrs. Kroll sighed. “Yes. I’ve been smelling it, too.”
“What are you talking about?” Zoe asked.
“Remember last summer when that groundhog died in the crawlspace under the kitchen?” Mrs. Kroll pointed at the floor.
How could Zoe forget? The whole house had stunk like the morgue.
Mr. Kroll could see the source of the eau de decomp by lying on his belly and shining a flashlight through the gap in the stone foundation, but there was no way to reach the poor creature. Its dried, and eventually odorless, carcass was probably still down there. But she didn’t notice the smell they were talking about now.
“I saw a mouse when I was down in the basement the other day and set a couple traps. I’ll check to see if there’s anything in them.” Although Zoe doubted a tiny dead mouse would cause enough of a stink to make its way upstairs.
Maddie’s face had relaxed. “I don’t smell it here.”
“Neither do I,” Mrs. Kroll said. “I only get a whiff every now and again.”
Zoe stood, preferring to think about checking mouse traps rather than contemplating finding a new home.
Maddie stepped toward her. “Zoe? Do you think you could take me riding today?”
Holt had been right. “Sure thing. Let me check those traps and grab something to eat. I’ll come get you in about an hour.”
“Okay. Thanks.” Maddie spun and disappeared back into the dining room.
Mrs. Kroll climbed to her feet and breathed a heavy sigh. “Mice in the basement. Dead groundhogs under the kitchen. More reasons to tear this old house down and start new.”
Zoe tried to appear happy for her landlady, but couldn’t do it. All she could think about was how hard it had been to find a place for her and her animals five years ago and how happy she’d been to strike a deal with the Krolls.
Reeling, she made her way across the porch and into her side of the house. Home. Her home. But for how long?
Jade and Merlin sat next to the door as she stepped inside. She leaned down to stroke both orange tabbies. “Are you guys hungry?” she cooed. “Want kitty food?”
While Jade continued to rub her face against Zoe’s leg, Merlin trotted to his bowl, which was still half full, and looked back at her.
“Who said cats can’t communicate?” Zoe started to unlace one boot. But a familiar smell stopped her. “What the…?” Maddie and Mrs. Kroll hadn’t been kidding.
She retied her boot and opened the basement door. The stench staggered her. Something had definitely died down there. Another groundhog must have found its way in, probably while Holt had the outer doors open.
Zoe flipped on the light switch and picked her way down the stairs. She stretched her collar over her mouth and nose to filter the odor. It helped. A little.
The mousetrap under the staircase remained baited and un-tripped. Still clutching the fabric of her uniform shirt to her face, she passed the ancient canned goods and the root cellar and glanced at the shiny new water heater. She’d placed the second trap near the furnace, on the stone ledge created by the foundation. It had been tripped, but the sneaky mouse had escaped. The smell was not a result of a small rodent.
But she already knew that.
Zoe glanced around the basement. Her gaze settled on the root cellar. She recalled the time when an odor had almost driven her out of her own kitchen…until she’d discovered a couple of rotten potatoes in her pantry. Could a whole bin-full be the culprit this time, too?
She backtracked to the root cellar and stepped inside, knowing full well rotten potatoes didn’t smell like this. Nor did they draw a swarm of flies.
With her stomach pressing upward against her throat, she yanked the pull-string attached to a bare bulb in the ceiling.
Eighteen
Pete carried his coffee and a stack of reports into the conference room to find Wayne Baronick already seated with his feet propped on the table.
Nate sat across from him, leaning on his forearms. “Hey, Chief.”
“Have you stopped at Ryan Mancinelli’s house this morning?” Saturday night, Pete had covered the inebriated hedge-lover with a blanket and left him to sleep off his binge. Yesterday, he’d checked in and found him hungover to the point of begging for sudden death.
“I banged on his door about an hour ago, but didn’t get an answer. I figure he must’ve sobered up enough to go to work.”
“I’ll stop at his in-laws and make sure everything’s okay.” With one deft movement, Pete swept Baronick’s feet from the table. They hit the floor with a thud.
The detective responded with an impish grin. “Sorry, Mom.”
Pete slid into the chair at the head of the table. “Since you’re the big county detective and made the drive here from Brunswick, I assume you have something to contribute?”
“You assume correctly. And I’ll have you know getting information about insurance policies on a weekend is a real bitch. But—” Baronick thumped himself proudly on the chest. “I did it. It’s a good-news-bad-news-good-news thing.”
Pete waited for the detective to continue, but he only flashed that annoying smile. “Well?”
“Good news. Farabee did indeed carry a life insurance policy on his wife. Bad news. It’s barely enough to cover burial costs. If he builds her casket himself.”
“So he didn’t kill his wife for the money.”
Baronick held up one finger. “I said good
news, bad news, good news. I’m not finished.”
“Get on with it already.”
Baronick clucked his tongue. “My. Aren’t we a little crabby this morning?” He winked at Nate. “And I hear he practically proposed to Zoe at a traffic accident Friday night. She must have turned him down.”
Pete launched out of his chair and slammed both hands on the table in front of the smug son of a bitch. None of the retorts that came to mind seemed adequate.
Slugging him would be gratifying, but probably wouldn’t have the best long-term results.
Baronick must have been able to read Pete’s thoughts. The detective cleared his throat, his smile fading. “Uh, I don’t think we should write off the murder for money motive just yet.”
Pete held his intimidating position for another few moments, secretly enjoying the sight of Baronick squirming. “Out with it.”
“I expected to find the house insurance policy to be held by the bank, but it turns out Farabee was the one paying on the policy, so he’s the beneficiary.”
Pete took his seat again. “And?”
“And it’s substantial. He had the place insured for a cool 1.5 mil.”
Nate whistled. “I’d say that’s motive with a capital M.”
Baronick rocked back in his chair and started to swing one foot onto the table again.
Pete glared at him and he reconsidered.
“It’s possible this guy never intended to kill his wife. Maybe he just wanted to collect on the homeowner’s policy. Lillian Farabee was collateral damage.”
“Possibly.” But Pete wasn’t buying it. There was still the accusation of infidelity to deal with. “Nate, any sign of Stephen Tierney?”
“None. I cruised through the development at least a half dozen times this weekend. I never saw any indications of life behind his fence.”
“He’s supposed to be back at work today.” Pete’s cell phone rang. “I’ll catch him there.”
Baronick climbed to his feet. “Tierney works at the Brunswick branch, right? I’m headed back to the city. I can stop in and have a chat with him.”
Annette Dashofy - Zoe Chambers 03 - Bridges Burned Page 16
