“Hello, darling,” Kimberly said with forced perkiness. She caught Zoe by the shoulders and breezed an air-kiss past her cheek. “Are you excited? Only one more week until the big day.”
“I didn’t realize Tom was coming.”
Kimberly released the joyful façade with an exasperated sigh. “Yes, well. We wanted it to be a surprise.” She spread her arms wide. “Surprise.”
Zoe looked at her. Was Kimberly exhibiting a sense of humor? Zoe choked at the idea of her mother trying to be funny. She turned her gaze to Patsy, knowing her cousin would be a better source of truth. “What’s going on?”
Patsy raised both hands. Don’t ask me.
“Tom is being such a man,” Kimberly snapped. She looked back at him and then at Zoe. Lowering her voice, she said, “You should talk to him. He wants to patch things up with you, but he’s being a stubborn jackass. Says this…” Kimberly made fluttering circles with both hands. “…disagreement was your doing, and it’s up to you to make the next move.”
“Next move? That implies he’s made one. I apologized—or tried to—the last time he was here.”
Kimberly narrowed her eyes at Zoe. “You believed he was a murderer. Your fiancé arrested him and made terrible accusations. A simple ‘I’m sorry’ isn’t nearly enough.” She looked away and huffed. “It was all I could do to talk him into coming with me to my only daughter’s wedding.”
Zoe gazed at the man standing as still as a statue, tall and stoic with his hands buried in the pockets of a long black wool coat. After her father had been killed, this was the man who’d done his best to fill her dad’s shoes, had been her champion, a buffer between her and Kimberly.
Now Kimberly was attempting to be the buffer between Zoe and Tom.
“I hate the way things have been between us the last few years.” Zoe met her mother’s gaze. “I want to patch things up. But right now? We have a whole crew here to help us move. Now isn’t a good time.”
Kimberly leaned closer to Zoe, her voice a whisper. “Sometimes now is all we have. Go talk to him. Make a start. A bridge isn’t built in one day.”
Zoe swallowed. Looked at Abby, then at Patsy, seeking help. Neither offered anything other than agreement with Kimberly.
“Talk to him,” she said again. “Then Patsy can drive us to our hotel, and we’ll get out of your way.”
And out of the work. But the thought of Kimberly fretting over a broken nail and Tom being cold and distant all day made Zoe more than willing to give them—and Patsy—a pass. “All right. I’ll talk to him.”
Her stepfather continued to stand tall and motionless—no attempt to meet her halfway, no smile—as Zoe approached him. She stopped in front of him, hoping he’d reach for her. A hug might be too much to ask for, but a handshake? He offered neither. Unsure what to do with her own hands, she mimicked him and stuffed them in her coat pockets.
“Hi,” she said, her voice small.
“Hello.” His deep baritone was the same as she remembered.
She pondered what to say next. Good to see you? It’s been a long time? How’ve you been? She settled on, “I’m glad you came.”
He pondered the simple statement as if she’d said something profound. Finally, he gave one nod. “I wasn’t sure you would be.”
Zoe wanted to point out that their estrangement had been his doing, not hers, but decided this wasn’t the time. That left her puzzling over what else to say and wishing he’d help her out. He didn’t.
Long silent seconds ticked off as she thought up—and dismissed—dozens of casual, emotionless, safe comments, all nothing more than small talk.
He lifted his chin, his mouth working into an inverted “U.” “I guess this was a bad idea.” Before she could protest, he called over her shoulder, “Kimberly. Let’s go,” and turned to step back into the Navigator.
Stunned, Zoe stood paralyzed, watching the rear door slam shut. Through the tinted glass, Tom stared straight ahead.
Kimberly’s heels click, click, clicked on the sidewalk behind Zoe. “Why can’t you just admit you made a mistake and apologize?” her mother hissed into her ear before climbing into the front seat. Across the hood, Patsy gave her a sympathetic shrug before getting behind the wheel and starting the big SUV.
As she watched the Navigator pull away, Zoe became aware of hot tears and scrubbed them from her eyes. “I did,” she said, her words hanging as fog in the cold, empty air. “Two years ago.”
Twenty-Four
“Are you spying on my sister?” Scott asked.
Pete had drawn the sheer living room curtains aside to watch the scene playing out on the sidewalk. “Yes,” he replied. Glancing over his shoulder at Zoe’s brother, he added, “Do you have a problem with that?”
Scott’s gaze was on Tom Jackson and Zoe too. “Nope. Who’s that guy?”
“Her stepdad.” As Pete watched, Jackson got back in the black SUV, leaving Zoe looking devastated.
“Doesn’t look like the warm and fuzzy type.”
“I hear he used to be.”
“What happened?”
“I arrested him for murder.” Pete didn’t look at Scott’s reaction but sensed it, nonetheless.
“Was he guilty?”
“Nope.”
“Why’s he upset with Zoe?”
“She thought he was a murderer too.”
Scott grunted. “That would do it.”
Pete let the curtains fall shut as the SUV pulled away. He had to admit, he wasn’t disappointed to not have to deal with Kimberly and Tom Jackson in addition to Scott, Seth, and Abby. This day already promised more than enough tension.
In the kitchen, Seth crumpled his coffee cup and added it to the growing trash bag. “Where do we start?”
“Grab something and start loading the trucks.” Pete looked at Zoe’s brother. “You too.”
Scott snapped a mock salute.
Pete opened the door, letting in a blast of frosty air. “I’ll be right behind you.” But his focus drifted to the folders Zoe had brought home. He flipped open the top one and scanned the first page. An autopsy report on a John Doe. Why were Zoe and Abby so secretive about an unidentified man? Then he noticed the date. He hesitated, wanting nothing more than to pick up the folder and read every word. But that wouldn’t go over well with his volunteers. Besides, he’d get more subtext if he questioned his fiancée and officer directly regarding their findings and suspicions.
He closed the folder, hefted a box, and followed Scott out to the waiting vehicles.
Pete had hoped to put a bigger dent in the moving process than the first load accomplished. He’d also hoped to ride with Zoe to the farm so he could quiz her about John Doe. But she insisted Abby join her, either to talk about the case or to provide distance between Abby and Seth, so Pete drove his Edge alone while Seth rode shotgun in Scott’s pickup.
Lauren’s gray sedan was already there when the caravan arrived at the farm. The reporter, attired in a heavy work coat and rubber boots, stepped from the barn and waited while the three loaded vehicles parked. She waved at Zoe. “Marcus sent apologies for not being here to help, but he’s working on a project for school to raise his abysmal science grade.”
Zoe laughed. “I completely understand.”
Lauren headed for Pete. “Can we talk for a few minutes before you get busy?”
He noticed the others were already unloading and heading toward the house. “Did you find anything?”
“Yes and no.”
Pete waved her into the Edge’s passenger seat. Even with the motor off, it was still warmer than inside the barn. “What have you got?”
“I talked to my contact about the Morgantown homicide. It’s still an open and very cold case.”
“What about the victim’s boyfriend?”
“I was able to get his name.”
Finally, a potential lead. “Great.”
“Not so great,” she said. “He was killed in a drunk driving accident a few months after the second newspaper article ran.”
“Another dead end.”
“The boyfriend? Yes. However, I learned from a confidential source that the Morgantown woman is definitely considered to be one of the DLK’s early victims. No one saw or heard anything. Vacant parking lot. Gunshot wound to the head. It all matches his MO.”
Pete watched as the kitchen door swung open and Zoe led their parade of helpers out for a second load. She looked in his direction, probably wondering why the hell he wasn’t doing his share of the heavy lifting.
“Do you have anything for me?” Lauren asked, sounding hopeful.
“I wish I did.” A serial killer had practically been in his backyard mere weeks before Elizabeth Landis was murdered. Whether or not DLK was behind the crime might never be determined, but the facts as they stood would give Anthony Imperatore ample grounds to argue reasonable doubt. Either Dustin was innocent, and Pete had arrested and helped put away the wrong man…or Dustin was guilty and was about to be acquitted.
“If you do learn anything…”
“I’ll let you know.”
Lauren nodded. “I’m going to keep digging into the local case.”
Pete wanted to tell her to stop. He didn’t want to hand Imperatore more ammunition.
Unless Dustin really hadn’t done it.
After the third trip, Zoe stood surrounded by stacks of boxes in what would soon be her living room. The space bore a striking resemblance to the first time she’d laid eyes on it. A ring of burglars had used the then-abandoned house as storage for their loot. At least the stuff in these boxes had all been legally obtained.
Pete passed the doorway with another load and paused to look around.
Zoe wondered if he was remembering the house when it had been a crime scene too. “I think we made a fatal flaw in planning. We should’ve brought the furniture over first.”
He made a face. “Oops.”
Lauren came up behind him, a suitcase in each hand. “Keep it moving, fella,” she said, sounding slightly winded.
The help was getting tired. Zoe stepped around one pile and reached out to take the luggage. “That’s my clothes. I’ll take those upstairs.” She looked at Pete. “Why don’t you start getting the lunch fixings out of the fridge.”
“I’ll do it,” Lauren said. “I’ll even try not to eat it all as I set it out.”
A few minutes later, a makeshift buffet covered the kitchen counters—the only place Zoe had insisted be kept clear. She watched as everyone filled paper plates and found places to settle and eat. Scott and Seth seemed to have bonded over sports and chose the hearth in what would eventually become the dining room to sit and good-naturedly argue Cleveland Browns or Pittsburgh Steelers. Abby, still avoiding Seth, retreated to the living room. Pete joined her. Lauren waited as Zoe constructed her sandwich.
“Mind if we talk?” the reporter asked.
Zoe licked mayo from her finger. “About what?”
“The feature I’m writing on Franklin Marshall. I still want to interview you for it.”
“Sure.” Zoe crossed to the folding table and chairs and gestured with a tip of her head for Lauren to join her.
“I’m almost finished with the piece,” Lauren said as she took a seat. “He was very popular with most folks.”
Zoe stopped with her sandwich halfway to her mouth. “I gather you didn’t interview Dr. Charles Davis.”
Lauren blew a short raspberry. “I heard enough from him during the election. Pompous bag of wind.”
Zoe was glad she hadn’t taken a bite yet.
Lauren placed her phone on the table between them. “Mind if I record this? It’s easier than me taking notes when I’m doing a casual interview.”
“Not at all.”
Lauren began with a series of open-ended questions prompting Zoe to tell how Franklin had mentored her in recent years, how he dealt with victims’ family members with kindness, and how he taught her to treat the deceased with respect.
“This is perfect,” Lauren said. “Now, tell me about the widow.”
Zoe had been talking so much, most of her sandwich remained un-eaten while Lauren’s was nothing but crumbs. She intentionally took a huge bite and chewed. Slowly.
Lauren waited.
When the mouthful was manageable, Zoe covered her lips with one hand and pointed to the phone with the other. “Not with that running.”
Lauren tapped the stop button. “Off the record then.”
Zoe continued to chew, debating how much to say. She didn’t entirely trust “off the record” to mean her words wouldn’t come back to bite her.
“Okay, fine.” Lauren leaned back and crossed her arms. “I’ll start. Loretta Marshall’s a bitch.”
Zoe grabbed for a napkin, choking.
“Sorry.”
After regaining her composure, Zoe said, “No, you’re not.” She swallowed and took a long drink from her bottle of pop. “I don’t know how much I can tell you other than to confirm your assessment.”
“I went back to the funeral home after I talked to you yesterday.”
“And?”
“She ran me out. Insisted the business was hers now and was closed until further notice. When I asked for details, all she said was ‘no comment.’ Then she threatened to call the cops if I didn’t leave.”
“Sounds like her.”
“But how can she own the business?”
“Paulette found the deed. Franklin’s father signed it over to them shortly before he died.”
“Even if she and Franklin had joint ownership when they were married, one or the other would’ve gotten it in the divorce. No court would’ve granted the final decree without all the property having been dealt with.” Lauren made a face. “I know this stuff from personal experience.” She shook her head. “Don’t ask.”
Zoe took another bite and chewed. Maybe Loretta really didn’t own it as she claimed.
“What’s she looking for, anyway?” Lauren asked. “When I was there, she’d ransacked the office.”
“I’m not sure.”
“My guess?” Lauren came forward, bracing her elbows on the folding table. “She’s trying to find some legal documentation backing her claim.”
“Or she’s searching for the legal document disproving it.”
Lauren’s eyes brightened. “So she can destroy it.”
Allowing Loretta to drive her out of Franklin’s old office might’ve been a mistake.
“Moving on.” Lauren wiped her fingers and deposited the crumpled napkin on the empty plate. “What can you tell me about Elizabeth Landis’ autopsy?”
“I have the report at Pete’s house but haven’t looked at it yet.”
Lauren scowled. “Why not?”
“I got sidetracked.” Zoe glanced toward the living room where she could hear Pete and Abby talking. “I was helping Abby with something. A John Doe we thought might be connected to the case.”
“The Landis case?”
“Yeah.”
Lauren moved to wake up her phone’s recorder app again.
Zoe reached across the table, stopping her.
“Aw, come on. You’re killing me.”
“It turned out to be nothing but a waste of time.”
“Tell me anyway.”
Zoe narrowed her eyes.
Lauren raised both hands clear of the recorder. “Totally off the record. I’m just curious.”
Zoe gave her a brief summary of why the John Doe had sparked Abby’s curiosity and how Zoe’s digging had shot it down.
“Interesting,” Lauren mused.
“But a dead end.”
Scott strolled in
to the room carrying his empty plate. “Are we allowed seconds?”
Zoe pointed to the buffet. While it looked like vultures had attacked, it still offered plenty of food. “All you can eat.”
Pete ambled in. “So eat all you can.” He called over his shoulder, “Abby. Seth. That means you too. Come refill your plates.”
Scott and Pete made sandwiches and scooped extra potato salad and coleslaw onto their plates, but the younger couple didn’t appear. Voices drifted from the living room. Zoe shifted in her chair, trying to pick out a word or two.
“Eavesdropping?” Scott said around a mouthful of potato salad.
She shushed him. “No. Yes. Sort of. I’m hoping they’re patching things up.”
Scott looked at Pete, clearly confused.
“Young love gone bad,” Pete said.
Scott nodded, as if those four words explained all.
The volume of the conversation in the other room rose, making eavesdropping unnecessary.
Abby’s voice, while louder, remained even. “I’m not trying to stick my nose where it’s not wanted, but don’t you think—”
“What I do and with whom really isn’t any of your business anymore, is it?” Seth’s tone carried a razor-sharp edge.
“I couldn’t care less what you do in your spare time.”
“Then why were you spying on us last night?”
“I wasn’t.” Abby’s pitch rose half an octave. “I just happened to be picking up takeout.”
“Just happened,” Seth said, mimicking a girlish voice that sounded nothing like Abby. “You need to make a point to ‘just happen’ to be anywhere but where I am.”
“You’re being an ass.”
“And you can’t let go.”
There was a thud as if one of the stacked boxes had fallen over. “Maybe you’re the one who can’t let go.” This time, Abby’s voice lowered.
Zoe realized she wasn’t the only one in the kitchen straining to hear. When heavy footsteps headed their way, she—and Pete, Scott, and Lauren—became very interested in the food on their plates.
TIL DEATH Page 18