TIL DEATH

by Annette Dashofy

  “You’re under a lot of stress.”

  “Almost as much as being questioned in connection with a murder.”

  The faint upturn at the corners of her mouth told Pete her words carried a dose of ironic humor rather than anger. He nodded. “I imagine so.”

  Nineteen

  Present day

  Seated on opposite sides of Franklin Marshall’s desk, Pete watched Zoe process the story, her emotions vivid on her beautiful face.

  “I gather her alibi checked out?”

  “It did. The night of the murder, Jenna was having dinner with a half dozen colleagues almost 500 miles away.”

  Zoe locked her gaze on his. “She works at your dad’s assisted living facility. Why haven’t you mentioned any of this to me?”

  Pete drew invisible circles on the desktop with an unclicked pen. “It’s ancient history. Jenna’s a good kid. She managed to finish her degree while caring for her mother. She got married to a nice guy. Has a beautiful baby. I think she’s redeemed herself for her past transgressions. You of all people should appreciate that.”

  The last sentence stung. He saw it in Zoe’s face and immediately regretted saying it.

  “I’m sorry.”

  She shook her head. “No. You’re right. I have the lousy-judgment-in-men thing in common with her.”

  “And you’ve both eventually found good men.” He gave her a grin, hoping she didn’t disagree after his bout of foot-in-mouth disease.

  She feigned anger at him, but those lips he loved gave her away, tipping into a reluctant smile. “I can’t argue.”

  He again grew serious. “Jenna testified against Landis in his first trial and paid for it dearly. The local media was hard on her, more so than his other mistresses.”

  “Why?”

  “She was the most recent, I suppose.”

  After a thoughtful pause, Zoe said, “That’s why she was so upset at Golden Oaks this evening.”

  “That. And the fact Pop fell while she was on duty. She feels responsible.” The memory of his father stubbornly cradling his arm and of his lady friend Barbara’s worried eyes as she told about him losing his balance added to a weight pressing down on Pete. “He’s getting worse.”

  Zoe reached across the desk and placed a hand on his. “He’s not gonna get better,” she said gently. “Alzheimer’s doesn’t work that way.”

  “I know. Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

  She caressed the back of his hand with her fingertips and appeared on the verge of saying something but retreated into silence.

  “What?” he urged.

  She hesitated. “I’ve been thinking about our wedding…”

  “It’s not much more than a week away. I’d be surprised if you weren’t.”

  His teasing tone failed to bring even a hint of a grin. “I’d like Harry to walk me down the aisle.”

  The announcement caught Pete off guard. “Oh.”

  She looked at him, worried creases marring her forehead. “You don’t think it’s a good idea?”

  “I assumed you’d asked your brother.”

  “He’s another possibility. But we haven’t bonded as much as I’d hoped.” Her gaze lowered. “I’d also thought of asking Franklin.” Her voice trailed off into the stillness of the office.

  Pete covered her hand, sandwiching it between his own. “I think Pop would love to give you away.”

  Her eyes came back to his, speaking volumes without her saying a word. If he’s able.

  Only a week to go before the wedding, and his father’s ability to do something as simple as escort his future daughter-in-law down the aisle was a big question mark. A lump wedged in Pete’s throat. He blinked, surprised at the heat behind his eyelids, and released Zoe’s hand to scrub his face. “Speaking of Scott, have you called him yet about helping us move?”

  “Oh, crap.” She reached back to tug her phone from her hip pocket. “I’ll do that now.” Rising, she swiped at the screen and walked away from Pete as she waited for the call to connect.

  Pete’s gaze wandered to the boxes and books waiting to be loaded into his vehicles. He thought about even more boxes at his house, also awaiting transport, and tried to figure out the logistics. Franklin’s stuff was going home with them tonight but would have to go into a new office tomorrow. Zoe couldn’t maintain the coroner’s office as a mobile unit, especially when both vehicles and her pickup were needed for Saturday’s big move.

  Scott must’ve answered the phone. Zoe kept her voice low, so Pete couldn’t make out the words. He had mixed feelings about her newfound brother. His feelings about Scott’s son were a lot clearer. With any luck, Pete’s testimony would put the young man in jail for a very long time. All of which didn’t help the budding but strained relationship between Scott and Zoe.

  After a brief conversation, she ended the call and returned to the desk, a pained look on her face. “He’ll be at your house Saturday morning, ready to work.”

  “Good. I think. What’s wrong?”

  She held up her phone. “While we were at Golden Oaks, I missed a text from my mother.”

  That explained the expression. “What’s up with Kimberly?”

  “She managed to get an earlier flight. She’ll be arriving early Saturday too.”

  The next morning, Pete found Abby already at her desk well before daylight shift began. At first, he thought she’d come in to see Seth, but he was out finishing up his patrol.

  “Hey.” Pete made an exaggerated point of looking at his watch. “You aren’t on duty for an hour yet. The township commissioners raise hell when I run overtime pay past them even when it’s a necessity.”

  “I’m not on the clock yet.” She gave him a weak grin. “I guess my brain is still used to being nocturnal.”

  “Insomnia?”

  “A little.”

  Pete understood. He’d spent many a night at the station rather than lie awake, staring at his bedroom ceiling. “Been there. Done that. But I need you rested.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I have to make a trip to Brunswick later. Think you can run things here without me?” He smiled to let her know he was kidding about questioning her abilities.

  She sat taller and struck a military pose. “Sir. Yes, sir.”

  Chuckling, he left her to her computer.

  A half hour later when Seth returned to the station, Pete noticed the two did no more than grunt a greeting at each other. He’d have to have another talk with them. Even if they weren’t on the same shift, they needed to be able to work together…to have each other’s backs.

  Following a busy night—a vehicular accident with two fatalities and an apparent drug overdose—and the resulting busy morning in autopsy, Zoe lugged a handcart loaded with Franklin’s boxed files into a tiny and antiquated tenth-floor office in the historic Monongahela Trust Building across the street from the courthouse.

  “Wayne Baronick joked about moving into a broom closet at the hospital.” Zoe set the handcart upright and stretched her back. “I think one of those would’ve been bigger.”

  Paulette planted her hands on her hips. “Beggars can’t be choosers. Your confrontation with the powers-that-be at the hospital shot any chance we had at getting anything there. I wouldn’t be surprised if they reclaim the autopsy suite.”

  “They’d have to take that up with the coroner’s office.”

  Paulette gave Zoe a look. “You are the coroner’s office now. Remember?”

  “Oh. Yeah.” Without Franklin’s guidance, this job was proving to be a pain in the ass.

  “Speaking of the autopsy suite at the hospital,” Paulette said, “we could’ve moved into the small office in the morgue.”

  Zoe pictured the room. Smaller than this one, it was stark and industrial with windows on two sides from which the squeamish coul
d observe the postmortem. Even Franklin didn’t spend any more time there than he had to. “No, thanks.”

  “That’s what I figured.” Paulette heaved the top box from the handcart to one of the pair of vintage gray metal desks facing each other. “I spoke with two of the county commissioners I’m friends with and asked them about permanent office space in the Courthouse Annex. They told me they’d work on it. In the meantime, this was the only place within our budget available for immediate occupancy.”

  Zoe dropped the next box onto the second desk and looked around. The space boasted one huge dirty window that did little to block February’s chill, a tiny closet, and linoleum flooring that was probably original to the early twentieth-century building. Besides the twin desks, no furnishings came with the rental. “It’s…quaint.”

  “They haven’t started renovating this floor yet, which is why it’s vacant. I placed an order for a pair of chairs and a file cabinet.” Paulette looked down at the final and biggest box of the load. “At least there’s an office supply store on the next block. And they deliver.”

  One file cabinet wasn’t going to cut it. But with their limited floor space and the temporary state of their residency here, one would have to do. “What about phones?”

  “I’ve had all calls transferred to my cell. And the Post Office will forward the mail too. For now.”

  “I guess we’re in business then.” Zoe groaned as she tried to lift the last box and recalled her struggle getting it out of the Edge’s cargo compartment. Rather than further strain her back, she shoved it off the handcart. “I have two more loads of boxes plus our computers and a printer.”

  Paulette’s eyes widened in shock. “There was more than that in Franklin’s office.”

  “The rest is in Pete’s Explorer. He’s gonna bring it by later.” Zoe swept an arm at the boxes she’d already lugged up the claustrophobic elevator and into the office. “I loaded all the important and current stuff in the Edge, so we’ll at least appear competent.”

  “I’m surprised Charles Davis hasn’t shown up to say, ‘I told you so.’”

  Zoe shushed her. “Don’t even mention his name. You might conjure him up. After dealing with Loretta, I have no patience left for another self-important jackass.”

  A knock on the open door spun Zoe around to find a hesitant-looking Lauren Sanders. “I hope you weren’t talking about me.”

  Zoe laughed. “Not at all. Come in.”

  Lauren didn’t move. Instead she surveyed the office. “Nice.” She sounded doubtful. “Cozy.”

  “It’s temporary.”

  She still didn’t enter. “I went by the funeral home and was greeted by a rather interesting woman who said you no longer worked out of her business.”

  “Did she direct you here?” Paulette asked.

  “No. She claimed she had no idea how to reach you.”

  Zoe sighed. “I posted signs on both the front and back doors.”

  “She must’ve torn the one off the front, but I did go around to the back and saw the sign there.” Lauren looked around again, settling her gaze on Zoe. “This is a bad time.” Not a question.

  “What do you need?”

  “I’m doing a feature piece on Franklin Marshall. About all he’s done for the county during his years in office.”

  “That’s so sweet,” Paulette said, her voice still heavy with the strain of grief.

  Lauren smiled sadly. “I’d started my research for it before he passed away. Now, it’ll be more of a tribute or memorial.” She looked at Zoe. “I wanted to interview you for it.” Glancing at Paulette, she added, “You too, of course.”

  “What kind of deadline are you on?” Zoe asked. “Because unfortunately, you’re right. This isn’t a good time.”

  “The paper wants to run it early next week. I could catch up with you at the barn this weekend.” Lauren looked at Paulette. “How’s Monday for you?”

  Paulette appealed to Zoe with a raised eyebrow.

  “Tell you what.” Zoe checked her watch. “Why don’t you two have lunch today in an hour or so.”

  Paulette started to protest.

  Zoe silenced her with a raised palm. “It’s okay. I’ll putter around the office and dig out the files I need right now.”

  Once the two women agreed on a time and location, Zoe grabbed her handcart and offered to walk out with Lauren. In the elevator, the reporter rocked from one foot to the other, back and forth.

  “Claustrophobic?” Zoe asked.

  “Not usually. But you have to admit, this is a little like being in a coffin.”

  “It’s private. I don’t think a third person would fit.”

  The mention of privacy sparked Lauren’s investigative journalist’s curiosity. “What happened with the office at the funeral home?”

  “We were…evicted.”

  “By the woman I met this morning?”

  “Loretta Marshall. Yep.”

  “Marshall? Franklin’s sister?”

  “Ex-wife.”

  Lauren’s eyes widened with a joyful glint. “Really?” She dug into her leather satchel, coming up with a pen and pad. “Tell me, tell me.”

  Zoe watched the dimly lit numbers above the door counting down. “Unless you’re willing to help me move boxes, we don’t have enough time.” The offer of physical labor didn’t appear to interest Lauren. “Why don’t you ask Paulette when you two have lunch? She can tell you all about the grieving widow.”

  “Huh. That wasn’t the impression I got.”

  “Me neither.”

  The elevator settled on the first floor with a groan and a jolt. The doors wheezed open, and Lauren whispered a prayer of thanks, stepping off ahead of Zoe. “I’ve changed my mind,” the reporter said. “I am claustrophobic.”

  They crossed the high-ceilinged lobby, Zoe’s dolly clattering along behind.

  “Since Franklin’s gone, I gather you’ll be taking over the task of testifying at Dustin Landis’ retrial.”

  Zoe stopped inside the historic building’s front doors. “Afraid so.”

  “Can you tell me anything about Elizabeth’s death? I’ve heard rumors that Franklin didn’t go along with the prosecution’s case.”

  “The Landis case is at the top of today’s to-do list. Right after hooking up the computers and finding the files.”

  “You’re not very helpful.”

  “Sorry.”

  “I’m going to keep asking, you know.”

  “I have no doubt.” Zoe pushed through the brass-trimmed door into a wall of cold air. Spring couldn’t come soon enough.

  Lauren tagged along behind.

  Zoe had managed to parallel park right in front of the building and beeped open the cargo hatch.

  “I have an appointment before my lunch date,” Lauren said. Zoe wondered if it was an excuse to get out of helping. “Are you going to be around the farm tomorrow?”

  “Yep. We’re moving the rest of Pete’s stuff.”

  Lauren grinned. “You’re getting a lot of practice at being a mover. You know. In case the gig with the coroner’s office doesn’t work out.”

  Zoe didn’t find the comment funny. She leaned into the cargo compartment, maneuvered a box into her arms, and muscled it out.

  “I’ll stop by then.” Lauren gestured at the remaining boxes and computer components. “I’ll do some barn work to make up for bugging out on you today.”

  “Deal.” Zoe grunted as she thumped the box of files onto the handcart. Straightening, she faced Lauren. “You can be part of the reunion.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Scott’s coming down from Erie to help. And Mother’s flying in from Florida.”

  Lauren gave her a Mona Lisa smile. “Is your stepfather coming too?”

  “No.” Zoe blocked out the hurt by reaching fo
r another box.

  “He’s not coming to the wedding?”

  “No.”

  A pause. “Did you invite him?”

  Had she? “He wouldn’t come anyway.”

  Lauren closed a hand around Zoe’s arm and forced her to look at her. “Ask him.”

  Zoe rolled her eyes and tried to pull away.

  Lauren held on. “Ask him,” she said more firmly. Tipping her head as if looking over glasses she wasn’t wearing, she added. “You might be surprised.”

  Twenty

  Pete returned to the station after settling a family argument and taking an accident report at a minor fender bender. The township’s second police vehicle, a battle-weary Impala, took up the parking spot next to his. Abby was inside.

  When he asked about his new dayshift officer, Nancy handed him a short stack of pink callback notes and pointed him toward the bullpen. He found Abby still at her desk, puzzling over her computer.

  “What’re you working on?”

  She looked up, her mouth drawn to one side, her face the picture of annoyance. “I don’t know. Maybe nothing. Maybe something.”

  “Care to be more specific?”

  After a thoughtful silence, she responded, “No.”

  He waited for elaboration.

  She glanced at her screen before coming back to Pete. “I find myself with a lot of extra time on my hands these days, so I’ve been thinking.”

  “About?”

  “I’d rather not say. Not yet.” She shrugged. “It’s just another of my hunches born out of a sleepless night. I don’t want to send us off on a wild goose chase without at least doing my homework.”

  Pete knew all about sleepless nights and the resulting hunches. “Fair enough.” He trusted Abby would work it out and let him know when and if she had anything substantial.

  In his office, he was halfway through the pink callback notes when the bells out front jangled. Baronick’s voice drifted back to him. Seconds later, the detective appeared at Pete’s office doorway. “Care to take a ride with me?”