Circle of Influence (A Zoe Chambers Mystery)

by Dashofy, Annette

  A commotion drew Seth’s attention back to the front offices.

  “The murder victim’s wife just pulled in,” came a shout.

  Three of the four reporters spun in unison and charged past Seth, flattening him against the wall.

  “I got it, Chief,” he said before Pete had a chance to bark orders again. Then he disappeared after the group.

  The one remaining reporter thrust a small digital recorder in Pete’s direction.

  “Excuse me, Chief Adams, but would you like to comment about the Bassi homicide or the skirmish at the magistrate’s office this morning?”

  Pete fixed him with a stare. The reporter’s hand started to quiver. Then he withdrew the recorder and turned to follow his colleagues toward a potentially more talkative subject.

  “Is it safe to assume,” Elizabeth Sunday said, her hand still resting on McBirney’s arm, “since Mrs. Bassi has returned that your detective is also back with the evidence?”

  “You can assume whatever you like,” Pete said. “But you’ll have to do it somewhere else.”

  McBirney’s grin turned into a broad, victorious smile. Zoe was glad she hadn’t had a chance to eat lunch.

  “Yes, of course,” McBirney said. “Ms. Sunday, let’s go see what kind of interview the widow Bassi is giving the reporters.”

  “You’re a pig,” Logan said, his voice cracking.

  Sylvia patted his hand, while Zoe put an arm around his shoulders and shushed him.

  McBirney chuckled and turned to leave. But before he and the attorney took a step, a tall, rather attractive man appeared in the hallway. Wearing a long, dark wool coat and an exuberant grin, the new arrival seemed familiar to Zoe. She’d seen him before. But where?

  “Chief, I figured you’d want to log that computer into the evidence room yourself,” the man said.

  McBirney extended a hand toward the newcomer. “You must be Chief Adams’ detective. Baronick, is it? I’m Township Supervisor Jerry McBirney.”

  The man raised an eyebrow at Pete, who gave a slight nod. “Mr. McBirney.” He took the offered hand. “Yes, I’m Detective Wayne Baronick. But I’m afraid you’ve got it wrong. I’m not Chief Adams’ detective. I’m with the Monongahela County PD.”

  Of course. That’s why he looked familiar. His picture had been in the newspaper a few weeks back, escorting a drug dealer he’d arrested.

  “And I find it very interesting that our homicide victim was found in your car,” Baronick continued. “Don’t you find it interesting, Mr. McBirney?”

  The color drained out of McBirney’s face. Even the red, swollen blotch faded to a pale pink. “That car was stolen.”

  “Yes, so I hear. But I still think it’s interesting.” Baronick turned his attention to Pete. “The flatbed will be here in an hour or so to pick up the car.”

  “Pick it up?” McBirney stuttered. “The car? My car?”

  “My evidence in a homicide,” Baronick corrected. “County will be taking over the case from here.”

  McBirney leaned toward Elizabeth Sunday’s ear, but his harsh whisper carried all the way back to Zoe, Logan, and Sylvia. “What about the computer?”

  “Oh, Chief Adams can keep the computer,” Baronick said. “I’m not interested in evidence from a simple theft case.”

  Some of the color seeped back into McBirney’s complexion.

  “Of course,” Baronick went on, “if it turns out that the theft and the homicide are related—and when you consider the theft suspect and the homicide victim are mother and son, it does seem likely—then I’ll be back to claim it, too.”

  McBirney’s face turned white again. “Let’s get out of here,” he said to the attorney and stomped away with her sashaying behind him.

  “Gee, Wayne,” Pete said, “if I didn’t dislike you so much, I’d keep you around just to repel the pests.”

  “Baronick Asshole Control, at your service,” the detective said, displaying a mouthful of brilliant white teeth.

  Pete turned toward Zoe and Logan. “I need you two out of here.”

  “But what about Gram?” Logan demanded.

  Sylvia squeezed his hand. “I told you not to worry about me. I’ll be out of here soon. Won’t I, Pete?”

  He squirmed, something Zoe rarely saw him do. “You know I don’t have anything to do with that. For chrissakes, you slammed McBirney with that lethal weapon you call a purse. In front of the judge, no less. You’re damned lucky he just cited you with contempt of court. He could have charged you with assault.”

  Zoe suppressed a laugh. “You hit him with your purse?”

  “Damned right. Only way I could shut that mouth of his. Judge Mitchell should have given me a medal.”

  “He probably wanted to,” Pete said. “That’s why it was only contempt.”

  Baronick stepped forward. “You mean this is our computer thief?”

  Sylvia puffed out her ample chest. “I didn’t steal it.”

  Pete introduced Baronick to everyone.

  “You have my condolences,” the detective said, shaking hands all around. “I’ll need to talk to all of you in the next day or so.”

  Logan stuffed his hands deep into his baggy jeans pockets. “Chief Adams already asked us questions.”

  “Yes, well. That’s how it works.” Baronick seemed apologetic, but Zoe suspected it was a practiced response. “He asks you questions. Then I ask you questions. And there will no doubt be twenty more people asking you the same damned questions. Do yourself a favor, kid, and get used to it.”

  Pete touched Zoe’s arm, and a little flutter raced beneath her skin. “Get him out of here.”

  “Yeah. Come on, Logan. We need to find your sister and your mom.”

  Logan’s eyes widened as he looked at Sylvia. “Gram?”

  “You go on, now. I’ll be out of here before you know it.”

  He gave a half-hearted nod and turned away from the cell, pressing past Zoe, Pete, and Baronick with his hands still in his pockets and his shoulders hunched.

  Before Zoe could follow him, Pete closed his fingers around her elbow and leaned in toward her ear. “We have to talk,” he whispered. “Soon.”

  “You know how to reach me.”

  He released her arm. “Okay, Baronick, let’s go log in that evidence.”

  As Zoe rounded the corner toward the front offices, she heard Sylvia’s plaintive voice behind her. “Pete, you make sure I get out of here. I have to bury my son. After that, I don’t care what you do to me.”

  EIGHT

  Hurricane Jerry had swept through the police station, leaving the front alcove in stillness. First, Zoe had managed to lose Allison and now Logan had vanished, too. Certainly he wouldn’t have followed McBirney and the attorney outside.

  Would he?

  Crap. The kid wasn’t even armed with his grandmother’s purse.

  The only human she found was Matt Doaks, standing with his back to her as he peered through the vertical blinds hanging on the station’s front door.

  It had been years since she and Matt had shared a life. And love. He’d been her first true romance, her high school sweetheart. Their perfect world began to unravel when he blew out his knee and lost his basketball scholarship to Penn State. The resulting depression and addiction to pain killers further frayed the relationship. And when she’d walked into their house and found him in bed with that slut from the Tastee Freez, her world hit a brick wall that shattered her heart.

  Fifteen years had passed. But seeing him always stirred those old aching memories.

  “Hi, Matt.” Zoe made a concerted effort to keep all emotion from her voice.

  He spun around. “Zoe. I didn’t hear you coming.”

  “What’s going on out there?”

  He shrugge
d. “More of the Jerry McBirney Show. He’s preening for the media.”

  A rush of anger engulfed her. “How can you keep doing this?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Me? Doing what?”

  “Don’t act stupid. You know what I mean. How can you support that bastard? It doesn’t matter what he’s voting on or pushing through the board, you back him up. Is he paying you? Exactly how much does it cost him for you to be his lap dog?”

  The outburst took her by surprise, and she took a deep breath to regain her composure.

  Matt studied his boots for a moment. “Jerry’s not so bad. He has some great plans for the township if folks’d just give him a chance.”

  “A chance? To do what? Bankrupt us? What about Sylvia? How can you sit by and let him railroad her into jail?”

  “I had nothing to do with that.”

  If she didn’t know better, she’d have thought he was about to shed a tear. “You sure aren’t doing anything to stop it.”

  “She clubbed Jerry with her purse in front of the judge. You can’t blame me.”

  “You could have ended it before any of this happened.” Heat simmered around her collar. “You knew he was going to call for her arrest and have her fired. You had to know.”

  “I swear. I didn’t.”

  Yeah, right. “You’re lying.” Again. Zoe heard the quiver in her voice. She turned her back to Matt before her anger reduced her to tears.

  Silence closed around them.

  Finally, he drew a deep, audible breath. “Look. If there was anything I could do, I would. I like Sylvia.”

  Zoe pinched the bridge of her nose, hoping the physical pain would keep the emotional tears at bay. “You have a damned funny way of showing it. What about Ted?”

  “What about him?”

  She spun to face him, clenching her fists. “Sylvia’s son is dead and that bastard McBirney is probably the one who killed him. Why? And don’t tell me you don’t know. You live in McBirney’s hip pocket, for crying out loud. You have to know something.”

  Matt’s eyes shifted side to side under his furrowed brow, as if the possibility that McBirney were guilty of murder had never occurred to him, and he needed to process the news. “Huh.”

  “That’s it? That’s all you’re going to say? ‘Huh.’”

  Matt tipped his head to check the hall behind Zoe then glanced over his shoulder at the group gathered outside. He took her arm and drew her close to him. She resisted, but curiosity overcame her anger. “I hadn’t given it much thought before, but now that you mention it, there is something.”

  He paused, and she waited for him to continue. In the quiet, her heart pounded loud enough that she feared even the reporters in the parking lot would hear.

  “Jerry…” Matt licked his lips. “Jerry thinks Marcy is fooling around on him. And…” He glanced around again. “He was pretty sure that the guy she was messing around with was Ted.”

  By the time Seth Metzger showed up to inform Zoe that Rose and the kids had been stashed in the conference room, she’d gained control over the tremors that wracked her body. Matt’s bombshell left her weak-kneed, but the coward hadn’t stuck around to comfort her. Not that he could have anyway. Don’t murder the messenger, they said. But she desperately wanted to beat the crap out of Matt Doaks.

  Ted loved Rose. He’d never cheat on her. The way Matt had cheated on Zoe. Never.

  “Are you all right?” Seth said as Zoe hesitated outside the conference room, her hand on the knob. “Can I get you some water or a pop?”

  Bourbon maybe. “Okay. Yeah. That would be great. Whatever you have is fine. Thanks.”

  As Seth headed down the hall to score a beverage, Zoe took a deep breath and entered the room.

  Rose sat at the long table with Logan next to her, holding her hand. Allison reprised her seated fetal position on the floor, her back against the corner of the room. Only Logan looked up when Zoe closed the door behind her.

  “There you are,” Zoe said, her voice not as light as she had tried to make it. “I’ve been looking all over.”

  “That cop herded us all in here so McBirney couldn’t bug us anymore,” Logan said.

  “And to keep me from killing him,” Rose muttered.

  Zoe pushed a mental image of Ted with Marcy out of her brain. It wasn’t true. Matt was a liar.

  But what if he wasn’t? Marcy and Ted. Maybe McBirney found them together in the Buick. Maybe that’s what Ted was doing in McBirney’s car. It might also explain the vendetta against Sylvia—Ted’s mother.

  Did Sylvia know? Or suspect? Did Rose?

  Zoe shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut tight. Stop it. Stop thinking about it.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Rose asked.

  “Nothing,” Zoe said. “Headache.”

  “You need some sleep.” The dark bags under Rose’s eyes indicated she had personal experience with this diagnosis.

  “Yeah? Look who’s talking.”

  “There’s no way in hell I’m going to sleep. But you stand a chance of getting a nap if I stop dumping my kids on you.”

  Logan met Zoe’s gaze. “We’ll be quiet,” he said.

  Rose drew a deep breath and stretched, arching back in the chair until her shoulders popped. “Actually, I want you guys home with me anyhow. I thought I could get more done with the house to myself. But the place is too quiet.”

  Logan glanced between Zoe and his mom. “Take Allison home with you, then. I was in the middle of helping Aunt Zoe with her computer and—and it’s almost fixed and—”

  “It’s okay,” Zoe interrupted before the kid babbled them both into the holding cell next to Sylvia. “My computer isn’t going anywhere. You can fix it later. Your mom needs you now.”

  Logan’s face contorted in frustration. Zoe sent him a look that she hoped said cool it. He must have received the message because he sighed and dropped his gaze to the table.

  Rose gave Zoe a sad, but appreciative smile. “Thanks. By the way, Ted’s viewing is tomorrow. The funeral is Thursday.”

  The door opened, and Seth entered holding a can of Coke, which Zoe accepted. “Looks like the circus out front is breaking up,” he said to Rose. “I’ll let you know when it’s clear to leave.”

  Rose thanked him, and the young officer closed the door on his way out.

  Zoe reached for a chair. “I’ll sit with you.”

  Rose waved her off. “No, no. You should go home and rest. We’re fine here. Pete and Seth are taking good care of us. Pete’s a good guy, you know.” Her tone suggested more than just an offhand comment.

  Zoe knew. But as attracted as she might be to him, it would never work. Between the two of them, they lugged enough baggage into a relationship to sink a small yacht.

  She hugged Rose and Logan. Allison had retreated into her shell and didn’t even look up when Zoe stood in front of her.

  “Allison,” Rose said with an authoritative edge to her voice.

  “It’s okay,” Zoe assured her. Then she knelt and touched the girl’s knee. “Anytime you want to come out to the farm, Merlin would love to snuggle with you. And the horses are always ready for a ride.”

  Allison almost lifted her eyes to meet Zoe’s, but lowered them again. Crap. She thought she was making progress with the girl. But she recalled her own struggle with the grief of losing a dad. Time. Just give Allison time.

  Zoe left the station through the same back door as she and the kids had arrived. Temperatures were dropping and gray clouds rolled in, crowding out the blue sky. She pulled her collar tighter around her neck and lowered her head against the wind. As her cold fingers fumbled with the keys, she became aware of a gnawing in her gut. And it wasn’t the soda on her empty stomach. She felt eyes on her. Someone was watching.

  She look
ed up. The wind bit at her face drawing icy tears. At the front corner of the building, Jerry McBirney stood staring at her, expressionless. The chill that rushed through her had nothing to do with the weather. McBirney’s face morphed into a self-satisfied grin. He winked at her.

  Zoe started shaking. She couldn’t breathe. Her keys slipped from her gloved fingers and fell into the wet slop on the ground. She bent down to retrieve them. Clutching the keys, she lifted her gaze to search for McBirney, but he was gone. For a moment, she wondered if he’d really been there. Or had she only imagined him?

  Pete managed to get maybe an hour of sleep after he’d gone home from the station. Thoughts of Sylvia behind bars mingled with annoyance over Wayne Baronick taking charge of the homicide investigation. Pete wanted this one. Nothing would give him more satisfaction right now than tossing that sanctimonious bastard Jerry McBirney into lockup.

  Giving up on his bed, he slipped into a pair of rumpled jeans he found draped over the chair in the corner of the room. He dug an equally rumpled sweatshirt from the dresser drawer and tugged it over his head.

  In the kitchen, he drained a half cup of nasty looking brew from the coffee maker into a clean mug, rinsed the pot, and started a new batch. In the meantime, he nuked the day-old stuff. As he waited for the microwave timer, he thought of Zoe.

  She was lying to him.

  He wasn’t sure what she was lying about, but she definitely was. Or at the very least, she was keeping something from him.

  The microwave beeped, and he pulled the cup of murky black sludge from it. He took a sip. And winced. God, that was awful. But the fresh pot wasn’t near ready yet. He carried the cup to the round oak table and sank into a chair.

  Pete had long ago grown used to Marcy lying to him. Like the big one. ‘Til death do us part. What a load of bull.