Annette Dashofy - Zoe Chambers 03 - Bridges Burned

by Annette Dashofy

  Which would explain why there was no give to the rickety old doors. Zoe squinted at the gaps where the sun shone through. Maddie was right. Three boards blocked the striped pattern of light. “Okay.” Zoe repositioned her left arm in its makeshift sling and stared into the darkness. “Time for Plan B.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I don’t know yet.”

  “Zoe?” Mrs. Kroll’s weak voice called out.

  “Coming.” Zoe tipped her head at Maddie and led the girl back to where they’d left the older woman.

  Mrs. Kroll was still sitting on the floor, but she was clutching the front of her bathrobe.

  Zoe knelt beside her. “Are you in pain?”

  “Some,” Mrs. Kroll whispered as if trying to keep Maddie from hearing. “But the thing is…I can’t…breathe.”

  The metal steps had been removed from the trailer marked with the number six, so Pete had to hoist himself into the doorway. Inside, Baronick, wearing Latex gloves and holding a crowbar, had a look on his face that tied Pete’s stomach into a knot. “What have you got?”

  Baronick showed the heavy chunk of steel to Pete and pointed at a mark on it. “What’s this look like to you?”

  Pete pulled out his reading glasses. The stain was hard to see even with the magnification, but the bit of short brownish hair stuck to it was pretty clear. “The girl has long blond hair.”

  “I know. If I’m not mistaken, this doesn’t look fresh.” Baronick used the crowbar to point at a spot on the floor. “Neither does that.”

  Pete got down on one knee.

  Definitely blood. Dried. And a lot of it. He looked over his shoulder at the officers standing outside the door. “Nate. Get the crime scene guys out here.”

  Nate gave a nod and backed away.

  “Did you check the rest of the trailer?” Pete asked Baronick.

  “Yeah. No sign of the girl. But look at this.”

  Pete stood and followed Baronick to a set of shelves built into one wall.

  Tools and building supplies lined them in neat order. Except for a roll of black plastic trash bags, which appeared to have been yanked off the shelf and tossed back haphazardly.

  Next to the bags, a roll of duct tape sat alone on the edge of the shelf while five similar rolls were stacked precisely aligned. “Someone with OCD organized these shelves.”

  “And someone in a big hurry or someone with no such compulsion borrowed some tape and a trash bag.”

  “Or two.” Pete exchanged a look with the detective.

  “Want to hear what I’m thinking?” Baronick said.

  “Probably the same thing I am. Go ahead.”

  “Stephen Tierney came here to confront Evans. Maybe to complain about losing the house he wanted. Maybe he was fed up with Evans’ scare tactics and threats. Either way, they had it out.” Baronick held up the crowbar. “Evans whacks Tierney. Leaves him here in this trailer for a couple of days. Then decides he can kill the proverbial two birds with one crowbar. He bundles Tierney up in a couple of these heavy duty trash bags. Duct tapes them together to seal in all the body fluids that might leak out in his truck.”

  “Duct tape would explain the marks Franklin Marshall found during the autopsy. And the plastic would make it easier to slide a dead body.” Pete turned toward the door and the missing steps. “Back the pickup right to the door and in you go.”

  “Drive the body to the farm where Holt Farabee’s living and transfer it into the basement with the help of a convenient old wheelbarrow. But the plastic tears. Some body fluid leaks onto the wheelbarrow, and we find a scrap of the trash bag inside the basement. Evans, however, doesn’t notice and thinks he’s gotten rid of one troublemaker and framed the other one for murder.”

  Pete had to admit, it made more sense than anything else had lately. “Which is all well and good. One problem, though. It doesn’t put us any closer to finding Maddie.”

  Thirty-one

  Even in the thin bands of sunlight filtering through the slats of the window above them, Zoe could see Mrs. Kroll didn’t look good. Beads of perspiration glistened on her too pale face. She wore an almost constant grimace of pain and cradled her left arm as if it were broken.

  Zoe checked her pulse again. Fast. Thready. “Try to stay calm and breathe slow.”

  Mrs. Kroll nodded.

  Zoe patted her uniform cargo pants pockets even though she already knew what was there—two pairs of sheers, a pair of forceps, a penlight, and a pair of Latex gloves. She also knew what was not there—her phone, aspirin, and an oxygen tank.

  If Mrs. Kroll wasn’t having a heart attack, one was imminent. Zoe needed to get her out of there and to medical help immediately, if not sooner.

  She struggled to her feet, gasping as what felt like a red hot dagger drove through her hip. Biting back the pain, she told Maddie, “Stay with Mrs. Kroll. I’m gonna look around for some way out of here. Holler if she gets worse.”

  When Zoe hobbled past Maddie, the girl reached out and caught Zoe’s shirt. “Is Mrs. Kroll gonna die?” Maddie whispered.

  Zoe spotted tears in the girl’s eyes and brushed a finger over her cheek. “Not if I can help it.”

  Leaning heavily on the old broom, Zoe stumbled back toward the smashed staircase. On her way past, she gave the root cellar a quick glance. The potatoes remained piled on the floor, where the crime scene guys had left them. She pushed the memory of Stephen Tierney’s arm sticking out of the pile of spuds from her mind.

  She shuddered at the splintered remains of the stairs. As bad as the damage might be to her hip and shoulder, she was lucky she hadn’t been impaled. While the basement might make a great location for a Halloween party, she was not a vampire and didn’t need a wooden stake driven through her heart.

  She looked up. The lowest surviving stair tread was at her eye level. Two steps above it, the door. And on the other side of it, her phone.

  She rested the broom against the wall and reached up with her good arm. Chin-ups weren’t her forte, but if she had the use of both arms, she could do it. She withdrew her left arm from its makeshift sling. Gingerly straightened the elbow, letting the arm hang at her side. The shoulder ached a little, but not bad. Maybe….

  She lifted the arm—or tried to. The pain, like a hot spike being driven into her shoulder, took her breath away and left her clutching the arm against her side, doubled over and gasping.

  So much for that idea.

  As the agony subsided and she caught her breath, she noticed some odds and ends stashed farther back in the shadows. An even rattier broom than the one she’d enlisted as a cane leaned in a corner next to a galvanized bucket and a couple of cobwebby wooden chicken crates.

  Zoe tucked her arm into her shirt again and collected her broom walking stick. What other forgotten tools and implements lurked down here? A ladder would have been too much to hope for. She knew all too well those were kept in one of the outbuildings.

  She hobbled through the basement, her eyes becoming acclimated to the low light. She searched the walls and corners, hoping to find an ax, a pry bar, even the sledgehammer Evans had used on the stairs. Apparently, he took it with him. The rest of her wish list remained equally as illusive.

  In the farthest corner, she found a rusted coal shovel, a relic from the pre-oil furnace days.

  She reached through a veil of dusty spider webs and grabbed the shovel, hefting it. The thing weighed a ton, but was sturdier than the splintery broom. She swapped the two and used her new cane to hobble back to the bulkhead doors.

  With one bum leg and one useless arm, handling the heavy coal shovel was awkward at best. Zoe shifted her weight until she felt reasonably steady. She tucked her bad arm a little more securely into her shirt. Picked up the shovel. Gave a couple of gentle test swings. And then hauled back and winged it a
s hard as she could muster.

  It thunked against ungiving wood, jarring every electrified nerve in Zoe’s body. The recoil as the shovel bounced back threw her off balance. She spun and hit the ground with a jolt.

  Maddie must have heard either the thud of the shovel or the thud of Zoe biting the dust yet again and came running. “Are you okay?”

  With the little girl present, Zoe couldn’t even swear, except inside her head. “I’m…peachy,” she muttered.

  At least she’d landed on her right side, and as bad as it hurt, she didn’t think she’d done damage. She stretched to grab the shovel and dragged it close, then struggled to get her knees under her. Bracing against her new crutch, and with Maddie’s assistance, Zoe managed to regain her feet.

  “Was that Plan B?” Maddie asked.

  Zoe huffed. “Yeah.” She leaned on the shovel and patted Maddie’s blond head. “Let’s go check on Mrs. Kroll while I think up a Plan C.”

  The older woman remained where Zoe had left her and looked about the same. “How are you?” Zoe asked.

  Mrs. Kroll met Zoe’s gaze, her eyes telling the tale. Not good.

  Maddie hugged herself. “What are you gonna do now?”

  Good question. Zoe blew out a breath. “Since we clearly can’t get out through the doors, I figure the next best choice is the staircase.”

  “But it’s all smashed,” Maddie said.

  As if she needed reminding. “I didn’t say it was going to be easy. I’d try to haul myself up, but my shoulder won’t let me.” She fixed Maddie with a solemn stare. “I’m going to boost you up instead.” Or at least she hoped she was.

  The girl’s eyes widened. “How?”

  Zoe didn’t let on she was making it up as she went. “Well, there are a couple of old chicken crates out there. We’ll make sure they can hold your weight. You can climb on them and from there it’ll be like me giving you a leg up onto a horse. Only you’ll be getting on my shoulders. Doesn’t your dad sometimes carry you on his shoulders?”

  “Yeah.” Maddie sounded doubtful.

  “I can’t lift you onto mine. But if we work at it, we can do it. Then you just climb the rest of the way onto the steps that are left. My phone’s on the stand by my front door. You grab it and hand it down here to me.” The plan sounded remarkably easy. As long as Zoe’s hip didn’t buckle and Maddie didn’t fall. “Okay?”

  Maddie looked apprehensive, but said, “It’ll be like one of those acrobat shows at the circus.”

  Only without a net. “Exactly.”

  Maddie stood a little taller, planting her fists on her hips in a superhero pose. “Let’s do it.”

  “Atta girl.” Zoe knelt beside Mrs. Kroll to check her pulse once more. “You try to relax. We’ll have help coming in a couple of minutes.”

  The old woman tried to smile, but her eyes reflected only pain and terror.

  Phone first, but the second thing Zoe would send Maddie for was a bottle of aspirin.

  Using the shovel and a hand on the foundation, Zoe climbed to her feet. She was about to turn away when movement outside the window caught her eye. She swiped a hand across the filthy window surface. A navy blue pickup with white lettering—the same truck she’d seen parked outside the barn the morning of the explosion—had made the turn off Route 15 into the farm lane.

  Dave Evans was back.

  “Now what?” Baronick asked as they walked back to the office, leaving Nate and Seth to string crime scene tape around the trailer.

  “Find Maddie,” Pete said. It was that simple. And that difficult.

  “Any idea where to look next? We’ve already searched Evans’ home. It’s clear.”

  Pete’s cell phone rang. The screen showed the incoming call was from the station. “Adams.”

  “Chief, the phone company just called with the information you wanted.” Nancy’s voice sounded strained. Probably because her brother-in-law was currently residing in the holding cell.

  “And?”

  “The call to Holt Farabee that sent him on a wild goose chase the day of the explosion came from a number registered to Dave Evans.”

  No big surprise. “Thanks, Nancy.”

  “What?” Baronick asked as Pete stuffed the phone back in his pocket.

  Pete relayed the news. “Evans lured Farabee away from the house so he could slip in and tamper with the gas line to the dryer.”

  “The fire marshal said natural gas explosions are unpredictable. How would he know who would be home when it blew?”

  Pete shrugged. “Maybe it didn’t matter. If Farabee got killed, all Evans’ problems with him would be solved. If he only got hurt or if his wife or daughter was hurt or killed, the message was sent. Ryan Mancinelli said the guy gets his jollies making threats.” A thought occurred to him. He stopped and turned to Baronick. “Evans somehow got into Farabee’s house to rig the explosion. He must keep keys to the houses he’s built.”

  The detective scowled for a moment. Then his eyes widened. “The fort.”

  Pete slapped Baronick’s arm. “Let’s go.”

  No way was Zoe sending Maddie upstairs now. Not with Dave Evans out there. Somewhere.

  But where?

  He might not realize Zoe was in the basement with Mrs. Kroll and Maddie. She might be able to use the element of surprise to their benefit. She could hide in the shadows if he pried open the bulkhead doors to come in. Maybe she couldn’t swing the shovel hard enough to shatter wood, but she could definitely swing it hard enough to flatten Evans.

  Except her truck was parked in plain view. He might wonder if she was in the barn, but he’d be too cautious to be caught off guard.

  “Okay, new plan,” Zoe said after giving Mrs. Kroll and Maddie the bad news. She leaned on her shovel, fixing the whimpering ten-year-old with a determined stare. “I need you to give me a hand.”

  Sniffling, Maddie nodded. Zoe led the way back to the demolished stairs, praying Evans didn’t choose that moment to open the door at the top. She stifled a groan as she eased her left arm from the stability of her shirt. Bending down, she took hold of one of the chicken crates with her left hand. She might not be able to lift the crate, but she managed to drag it. The shoulder still hurt like hell, but she didn’t have the luxury of being a wimp right now. “Bring the other one and come on.”

  Maddie obeyed.

  Zoe hoped Evans couldn’t hear the thumping of the crate along the uneven earthen floor. She and Maddie lugged them to the edge of the pit. Zoe nudged hers into it, hoping the crate held together.

  With Maddie’s help Zoe managed to step down next to the furnace without falling. She lowered the second crate beside the first.

  Within minutes, they’d stacked the crates under the window behind the furnace.

  “What are you gonna do?” Maddie asked, her voice thin.

  Zoe wished she had an answer for the girl. What was she gonna do? In her mind, she pictured climbing onto the stacked crates without falling and without the ancient wood cracking under her weight. She pictured bashing out the window and the sturdy-looking slats with the shovel. And she pictured herself disregarding the searing pain and hoisting herself up and out.

  Basically, Plan D sucked.

  “Go back and try to keep Mrs. Kroll calm,” Zoe told Maddie. “And holler if she seems to be getting worse.”

  “Okay.”

  Once Maddie had climbed out of the pit and headed back to the older woman, Zoe steeled herself. Using the shovel for support, she attempted to step onto the crates. The hot spikes driving into her hip pierced her with an intensity that threatened to throw her to the ground. Instead, she tumbled into the stone wall of the foundation, jarring her shoulder.

  Breathing hard, she waited for the pain to subside enough to try again. Wiser, this time, she sat on th
e crates instead of stepping up onto them. She scrambled onto her knees and worked her weight back onto her toes, thinking a beached whale probably looked more graceful. Longing to hurry, but having already experienced the less-than-stellar results of such foolishness, she wormed her way into a squat. Her hip throbbed, but was tolerable. Reaching out, she grabbed the shovel, which had also fallen against the foundation, and dragged it to her.

  The crates creaked and trembled even more than her legs as she cautiously pushed up to standing. She’d never been surfing, but crashing under a wave had to be preferable to falling—again—onto the rock-hard dirt floor.

  Zoe clawed out a hold on the window ledge to steady the swaying under her feet. So far, so good. She lifted the shovel. Brought the handle up to touch the window’s surface. Turning her face away and closing her eyes, she drew the shovel back and slammed it against the pane.

  The glass exploded, a few shards pelting the side of her face.

  Plan D was going better than she expected.

  She skimmed the handle around the frame, clearing jagged splinters of glass. Now for the slats.

  She flipped the shovel, as if twirling a very heavy baton, bringing the business end of it up to the window, hoping to use the sharp edge to chop the wood.

  A noise from above froze her before she had a chance to try. She held her breath and listened.

  A familiar squeak. Her back door. She’d left it unlocked when she’d come home, which seemed like decades ago. Footsteps. Slow. Deliberate.

  Dave Evans was in the house. Her side of it.

  Do not touch Jade or Merlin.

  As if she didn’t already have enough to worry about with Maddie and Mrs. Kroll trapped in the basement with her, now she had a madman upstairs with her cats.

  The footsteps continued deeper into the house. He wasn’t moving toward the basement door. Was that good or bad?