2 Lost Legacy

by Annette Dashofy

  “Your dad?” Zoe asked as Pete closed the phone.

  He gave a loud sigh. “Yeah. Harry’s missing.”

  Nine

  Pete rooted his good foot into the floorboards and clutched the armrest as Zoe accelerated out of one of the bends on Route 15. She may have been a skilled ambulance driver, but passing slow-moving vehicles on a two-lane road without benefit of lights and sirens set his teeth on edge. He had told her they needed to get back to Vance Township now, but he preferred to arrive with only the one broken bone. “If you get a speeding ticket, don’t expect me to fix it for you.”

  “You said to hurry.”

  “We’re not going to be any good to Harry if we’re dead.”

  Zoe snorted. “When did you become such a weenie?” But she did back off the gas.

  Pete’s cell phone rang again. Officer Nate Williamson’s number flashed on the screen. “Nate, what’ve you got?”

  “I’m at your house with Seth and Kevin. We’re gonna start knocking on all the neighbors’ doors. The fire department is calling in a crew to help with the search. Your father’s on foot, so he couldn’t have gone far.”

  Pete checked the clock on Zoe’s dashboard. “We’re still about ten minutes out. Call me if you find him.”

  “Will do, Chief.”

  Pete rammed the phone back in his pocket.

  “I can make it in five,” Zoe said.

  “Ten’ll do.”

  “He’ll be okay, you know,” she said. “They’ll find him.”

  “Yeah.” But in what condition? Nadine had been caring for their father for years, and the old man had been fine. Less than thirty-six hours and Pete had lost him twice.

  They covered the next mile or so in silence except for the roar of the engine and the rush of the wind through the open windows. Then Zoe blurted, “I need a favor.”

  Pete turned to look at her. She stared straight ahead, focused on the road. But he could tell from the set of her jaw and the narrowing of her eyes, she wasn’t asking him to fix a speeding citation. She was still obsessed with that damned letter.

  “I need to talk to Warren Froats,” she said.

  “Why?”

  “I never saw my dad’s body.”

  “That doesn’t mean—”

  “Neither did my mother. Or Tom. No one saw his body. They were told he’d been burned beyond recognition.”

  “Then it makes sense. Even the best mortician couldn’t do anything with someone in that condition.”

  Zoe waved a dismissive hand. “But what if it’s just a ruse? That note said he’s still alive. What if there was a big cover up back then to make it look like he’d died when he didn’t?”

  “A cover up? Zoe, don’t you think you’re stretching a bit? Why would your father fake his own death? He had a wife, a beautiful little girl. He had everything to live for.”

  “I don’t know. But I need to find out. I figure there are three people who can tell me what I need to know. Three people who were there. Who saw—or didn’t see—what went into that casket.” She held up one finger. “The coroner.” She held up a second finger. “The funeral director. And...” Three fingers. “...Chief Warren Froats.”

  Pete rubbed his temples. The pain killers they’d given him for his foot weren’t doing a thing for his head.

  “I’m going to call Franklin to find out who was coroner back then,” Zoe went on. “But if you can arrange for me to talk to Chief Froats—”

  “Fine.” If the old chief could answer Zoe’s questions once and for all, it was a favor Pete would gladly grant. The longer she clung to this fantasy, the deeper her loss when reality struck.

  “When?”

  “Huh?”

  “When can you arrange a meeting?”

  “Do you mind if we find Harry first? He hasn’t been missing quite as long as your dad, but...”

  “Of course.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry.”

  Pete winced. “No. I’m the one who should apologize.” He reached across the back of the wide bench seat and rested a hand on her shoulder. For a moment he wondered if maybe she would find her father.

  Just as Pete was losing his.

  A Vance Township fire engine blocked Pete’s street. The police department’s cruiser idled in front of Mrs. Taggart’s house. Pete spotted Seth on her front porch.

  “I guess they haven’t found your dad yet,” Zoe said. She eased the pickup around the jammed traffic and pulled into Pete’s driveway.

  A red-eyed Sylvia met him at the passenger-side door before he could open it.

  “I’m so sorry.” Her voice caught. “I just went to use the restroom. When I came back to the kitchen, he was gone. If something has happened to that sweet man, I’ll never forgive myself.”

  Pete reached through the open window to pat Sylvia’s arm. “It’s okay. I’m sure he’s fine.”

  Pete hoped she bought his lie. He wasn’t sure he did.

  Zoe appeared next to Sylvia and yanked the door open, taking the crutches from him.

  Sylvia gasped. “My heavens, Pete. What happened? I knew you were limping around last night, but—”

  “I thought so, too,” Zoe interrupted. “You said you broke your ankle at Warren Froats’ place today.”

  These women were going to hound him to death. “It was my foot. And I did.”

  Sylvia was opening her mouth to demand details, but Nate jogged up, a walkie-talkie in one hand and a clipboard in the other.

  For Nate’s impeccable timing, Pete made a mental note to give the officer a promotion. “What have you got?

  “We’ve checked every house within a three-block radius. Lots of folks aren’t home from church yet, but we’ll check back if we need to.”

  Meaning if Harry was still missing.

  “The guys from the fire department are ready to search the cuts.”

  The un-reclaimed strip mines on the outskirts of town. Damn it. Pete hadn’t considered that possibility. The “cuts” were rugged territory. Mounds of slag, an abandoned rail line...Not to mention a number of deep ponds scattered back there.

  Harry, where the devil are you?

  Pete’s usually steady hands shook as he fumbled with his crutches. Zoe took them from him and jammed them into the ground. “One hand on the door, the other on the crutches,” she directed.

  “I’ve got it,” he muttered. But when he slid down from the seat, the jarring impact sent daggers of pain shooting up his right leg. He caught Nate eyeing the cast. “I’m fine.”

  “I didn’t say a word. Do you want to take over command?”

  What Pete wanted was to get out there and look for his father. But thanks to his bum foot, that wasn’t going to happen. “Yeah.”

  Nate held out the clipboard and walkie-talkie, but Pete’s hands were occupied with the crutches.

  “I’ll take those.” Zoe collected the stuff from Nate and motioned toward the house.

  Once inside, she set the clipboard and radio on the kitchen table. Pete hopped to a chair and flung himself into it.

  Sylvia had trailed in behind them and stood fretting by the door.

  Pete studied the list of names and locations. Searchers and their assignments. Nate had done an excellent job planning out the search and tracking its progress.

  Where the hell was Harry? Was he injured? Or simply wandering around somewhere in a daze?

  The handheld radio crackled to life. “Metzger to base.”

  Pete snatched it up with a silent prayer for good news. “Base here.”

  “State Street is clear all the way to Lincoln.”

  Pete made a note next to Seth’s name. “Copy that. Start checking residences on Lincoln from State to Dunbar.”

  “Roger.”


  He looked up to see two worried females standing over him. “Sylvia, where was Harry the last time you saw him?”

  “Sitting right where you are now.” Sylvia pointed at a cold, half-full cup of coffee near Pete’s right hand. “He’d had his breakfast and was on his second cup. I got up to use the bathroom. I couldn’t have been gone more than five minutes.” Her voice broke. “When I came back, he was gone. I checked the bedrooms. I looked in the garage and outside around the yard. I called and called for him.” Tears streaked down her face. “I’m so sorry, Pete.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” He held out a hand which she clutched. “It’s not your fault. He sneaked out on me yesterday at the morgue, too.”

  “He did?”

  “Yeah.” Pete forced a grin. “Scared the hell outta me.”

  Sylvia tried to smile, but didn’t quite make it.

  Zoe put a hand on her shoulder. “I think the guys could probably use some coffee. Why don’t you put on a fresh pot, and I’ll tell Nate to spread the word.”

  Sylvia stood a little taller and puffed out her ample chest. A woman with a task. “Good idea.” She shuffled toward the kitchen counter.

  “Thank you,” Pete mouthed to Zoe.

  “What about you? Do you need anything?”

  Harry back safe and sound would be good. Plus a handful of Vicodin. “No. I’m fine.”

  “Okay. I’m going to talk to Nate. And Yancy, too. He and I have discussed forming a mounted search-and-rescue team. If they don’t find your dad in town, I can call in the gang from the barn and trailer the horses here to search the cuts.”

  Zoe headed for the door without waiting for a reply. Horses. Pete should call in the state canine unit, too.

  The walkie-talkie crackled again. “Piacenza to base.”

  “Base here.”

  “No sign of him on Veterans Way. I’m moving up to Main Street.”

  “Copy that, Kevin.” Pete slammed the radio on the table a little too hard and the battery cover popped off. Swearing, he fumbled with the piece of plastic. He wanted to be out there, finding his dad. Not stuck in his own kitchen.

  Sylvia dumped a pot of water into the coffee maker and flipped the switch. “Did you get a chance to talk to Warren?”

  Pete snapped the battery cover back in place. “I did.”

  “And?”

  “The man wasn’t much of an investigator.”

  “I never said he was. He was popular, but not because he solved a lot of cases.” Sylvia pulled out the chair across from Pete and sank into it. “Thankfully, back then there wasn’t a lot of crime in these parts. His job mostly involved writing speeding tickets and directing traffic if there was an accident.”

  “Well, he may have had a double murder to solve forty-some years ago, but he dismissed it as murder/suicide.”

  “You’re talking about the Miller boys?”

  “He never recovered the gun Vernon allegedly used to shoot Denver. Just the .38 caliber slug they dug out of the body. And the witness who claimed Vernon owned a .38 conveniently hanged himself two days ago.”

  The crackle of the radio interrupted him. “Pete? This is Yancy.”

  “Go ahead, Yancy.”

  “I’ve got a team of my boys getting ready to head out into the cuts. Zoe’s making calls to line up some horses and riders to help.”

  Pete rested his head in his hands and closed his eyes. But he couldn’t block the images of Harry lost out there. Hurt. Or worse. “Thanks, Yance.”

  When he looked up, tears glistened in Sylvia’s eyes. “This is all my fault,” she said, choking on her words.

  He reached across the table to pat her arm. But before he could say anything, something clanked somewhere in the house.

  “What was that?” Sylvia asked.

  Pete held up a finger to silence her. He listened.

  Nothing.

  He climbed to his feet. Pain in his foot threatened to knock him back down, but he clenched his teeth and grabbed his crutches.

  He took two slow, quiet steps. Stopped. Listened. There. A faint shuffle. Then a clunk.

  “Harry?” Pete called.

  “Hello?” came a faint reply.

  “It’s coming from the basement.” Sylvia was on her feet.

  She and Pete moved for the door at the top of the steps at the same time. Pete reached it first and flung it open. “Harry?”

  “Yeah? I’m here.” The voice was shaky. “Help.”

  “Oh, heavens.” All color drained from Sylvia’s face. “I never went downstairs. I called from here, but didn’t get a reply. My knees have been bothering me and...Oh, dear, I should’ve gone down anyway.”

  Pete waved a hand at her. “We’ll talk about this later.” He fumbled with his crutches. How was a person supposed to maneuver with a pair of sticks in their hands?

  “Hello?” Harry’s voice filtered up from the basement.

  Pete tossed the crutches. They clattered on the floor. “Get on the radio and tell them to call off the search,” he said to Sylvia. “And get the paramedics in here.” He grabbed the railing and pounded down the steps, ignoring the searing pain.

  He spotted Harry standing next to Pete’s workbench, fingering the reproduction flintlock rifle stock he’d been carving.

  “Pop?”

  Harry looked up with dazed eyes. Then his face broke into a smile. “Son. I’m so glad to see you. I—I can’t seem to remember how to get out of here.”

  Pete sagged against the railing. “Are you all right?”

  “Of course. I’m fine. I came down to see your workshop.” He patted the gunstock. “You do this?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Jaeger, right? Nice.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Anyhow, I sat down to rest.” Harry pointed to the ancient recliner tucked behind the staircase. “Must’ve fallen asleep.”

  “Pete?” Sylvia called from the top of the steps.

  “He’s okay,” Pete called back.

  Footsteps thudded behind him, and he turned to see Zoe.

  “Hey, Mr. Adams,” she said when she reached the bottom.

  “Well, hello.” Harry beamed. “I didn’t know we had company. Zoe, isn’t it?”

  She raised an eyebrow at Pete. “That’s right. What are you doing down here?”

  “Taking a nap,” Pete whispered to her.

  “Checking out my boy’s handiwork,” Harry said. “Now will you two kindly show me how to get out of here?”

  Zoe crossed to Harry’s side and took his arm, directing him toward the stairs. “Right this way, Mr. Adams.”

  “Oh, please. Call me Harry.”

  Pete hopped out of the way. From the top of the steps, voices drifted down. Sounded like the whole damned rescue team had crowded into his kitchen.

  Pete watched as Zoe assisted Harry up the stairs. Then he looked down at the cast on his foot. He grasped the railing. Placed the bad foot on the first step. When he put his weight on it, the pain set off fireworks behind his eyes.

  Nope. That wasn’t going to work.

  Footsteps descending the stairs drew his attention. Zoe, again. This time she had his crutches in her hands.

  “Do I need to call in the rescue squad to carry you out of your own basement?” she asked with a wink.

  “Don’t be cute.”

  She doubled up the crutches and showed him how to use them in one hand while keeping the other on the railing. “Step up with the good foot first.”

  It worked. “Smartass,” he grumbled.

  In the kitchen, Harry sat with a fresh cup of coffee, while Sylvia fussed over him. Seth, Yancy, and a pair of firefighters milled about, eyeing Pete.

  “What are you looking at?”

&
nbsp; Seth snapped to attention. “Nothing, Chief. Just wanted to make sure everything was all right before we head home.”

  “Everything’s fine. Get out of here and enjoy the rest of your weekend.”

  Seth grinned. “Okay then. See ya.”

  “Hey,” Pete called as the team headed for the door. “Thanks.”

  “No problem.” Yancy gave him a nod.

  As Seth opened the door, Nate pressed in. Pete considered reaming him out for not checking the basement earlier. But the look on the officer’s face stopped him.

  “Chief, I just got a call from emergency dispatch.” Nate’s gaze shifted past Pete.

  Pete glanced over his shoulder to Zoe.

  “There’s been a shooting.” Nate took a breath. “At the Kroll farm.”

  Ten

  A shooting at the Kroll farm. Her farm. Home.

  Zoe mashed the gas pedal to the floor. The engine of her old pickup roared in response. Ahead of her, Nate’s police cruiser screamed along Route 15. Medic Two filled her rearview mirror. Sirens in stereo blasted her eardrums. Pete and his crutches occupied the other side of her truck’s bench seat, his cell phone pressed to his ear.

  “Okay,” he said to the county emergency dispatcher at the other end. “If you find out anything more, call me back.” He snapped the phone shut. “The caller reported a male gunshot victim. No shooter at the scene. Nothing else.” His voice was low, calm.

  It did nothing to sooth Zoe’s panic. Male gunshot victim? She started ticking off the possibilities, but couldn’t bear the thought of any of the men at the farm being hurt. Or worse.

  Over the roof of Nate’s cruiser, she spotted a box truck rumbling along ahead of them, making no effort to pull over for the sirens. A semi barreled toward them in the other lane. She rammed the heel of her hand into the horn, expecting a whoop. Instead, the honk startled her. In the adrenaline rush, she’d forgotten she wasn’t behind the wheel of the EMS unit. Her pickup had been tucked in between police cruiser and ambulance as a courtesy.