How lucky am I?
Working together had turned out to be a positive thing. They meshed well. Zane was a smart cop and a natural leader, and Stevie was proud to serve with him. At the office they kept it business as usual; when she stayed at his cabin in the woods, it was anything but professional.
She sucked in a breath of the fresh air, feeling like the stale odor of the house clung to her hair and uniform. They strolled the fifty feet toward the big utility shed.
“You’re going to help out at Mom’s barbecue on Founder’s Day, right?” she asked.
“Wouldn’t miss it. Patsy put me in charge of the smoker last year. That’s a heavy responsibility at an institution like her celebration. I haven’t heard what chore she’s assigned me this year.”
“I don’t know if I’d call it an institution.” Stevie smiled. “Mom and Dad always took any excuse to invite half the town over to feed them. Mom’s happiest when she’s surrounded by hungry people.”
“Or animals,” Zane added.
“That too,” said Stevie, thinking of the menagerie in her mother’s barn. If it was hurt, lost, or lonely, her mother adopted it. She had a soft heart and a knack for providing refuge for all those down on their luck. Stevie smiled, thinking of her sister, Carly, who’d moved into the guesthouse on her parents’ property after her marriage went south. Carly and her daughter, Brianna, had provided her mother with some much-needed company after the death of her father in May.
“Have you gone to the Founder’s Day rodeo before?” Stevie asked.
Zane raised a brow at her. “Of course. How can you live in Solitude and not go to the rodeo? That’d be a sin.”
“And you’d hear about your absence from everyone in town until the following year.”
“Or longer.”
They stopped at the big shed, momentarily stumped by the chain and padlock. “You circle around, see if there’s another way in,” Zane directed. “I’ll get the cutters from the car.”
Stevie did a quick trip around the shed. No windows; no doors. Zane reappeared with a flashlight and bolt cutters that looked like they could cut a chain as thick as her thigh. He snapped the chain and pulled it off. He pushed the rolling door to one side and let the light into the big shed.
“Hello, beautiful,” Zane said to the boat. “You seen this?” he asked Stevie.
She shook her head, dumbfounded at the expensive boat in Roy’s shed. “What happened to that beat-up old thing he always hauled out for fishing?” This boat looked straight from the showroom floor and was mounted on a trailer to match. “When did he get that?”
“I’ve only seen the old one. I haven’t fished with Roy since last fall, and he didn’t have this back then.”
Stevie blew at the dust on top of the boat. “It looks like it’s never seen the water. It’s a shame to have it closed up in here.”
“Maybe he bought it for his retirement.”
“Could be.” She held out her hand for Zane’s flashlight and flicked it on as she walked to the back of the boat, more and more convinced it’d never been wet. “Holy cow, look at this!” She shone the light toward the back of the shed. Two WaveRunners sat on a double trailer, ready to head out for a trip to the lake. “Zane, did you know he had these?”
“No.”
The grim tone of his voice made Stevie turn and look at him. “What is it?”
“Where’d this stuff come from? Roy’s told me a dozen times how financially strapped he was. I was surprised when he said he was retiring because he’d always told me he’d have to work until he keeled over in his uniform.”
“Money problems?” Stevie’s heart sank. She’d been out of touch with Roy while she was in LA, but she’d never stopped caring. “So this isn’t at all what you expected to see in here.”
“Hell, no. And I don’t like it.”
“Let’s check out the storage.” Stevie pulled open the nearest huge cabinet door and stared at enough fishing rods for a Boy Scout troop. “I’m starting to understand why the chain on the door was so thick.”
Zane opened another door. “Decoys. For every type of waterfowl hunting possible. And camping equipment.”
“It’s starting to look like a Cabela’s outdoor store in here,” Stevie muttered. “And it all looks relatively new.”
“Damn it.”
“Stealing this equipment can’t be the motivation for his murder,” Stevie pointed out. “It’s still here.”
“Maybe we don’t know what’s gone missing. Maybe the killer already cleared out half the stuff.”
“But where’d Roy get the money to buy it all? You thought he was too broke to retire.”
“That might be our murder motivation right there.”
The hair on Stevie’s neck stood up.
Roy, what did you get into?
“You think he was doing something dirty? Like what?” she whispered.
“We’ve suddenly had a drug problem here in Solitude the last few months. I don’t need to remind you of that. We’ve had a few people die from that C-22 street drug, whose manufacturing source we can’t locate.” Zane waved a hand at the contents of the large shed. “Roy came into some money somehow.”
“No!” Stevie didn’t believe it. “He wasn’t that type of man. He’d never stoop to doing something illegal like that. He hated that sort of thing.”
We don’t have a drug problem.
Roy’s words from the night the teen died at O’Rourke’s Lake echoed in her brain. The boy had clearly died from something he’d ingested or injected, but Roy had been absolute in his insistence that Solitude didn’t have a drug problem. Even while the evidence lay dead at his feet.
And he’d abruptly retired that night.
“No,” she repeated.
“You don’t sound as certain now,” Zane stated.
“Roy left the force the night Hunter Brandt died. The first teen to die from the C-22. Did Roy know what was happening?” Stevie’s brain spun in a dozen directions. Did Roy leave because the drugs got too close?
“He told me the boy’s death had made him take another look at his life.”
“Did it seem like he was running away from something?” Stevie asked. “I never saw him again after the investigation that night.”
“No. He seemed like a man who’d had a change of heart and a revelation about his life.”
“Maybe he did,” Stevie said softly as a piece of her world broke away. She couldn’t ignore the identical timing of the drug death and Roy’s departure. “Maybe he saw the results of something he’d had a hand in and the guilt got to him. We need to look at his bank and credit card records and see if there are any unexplained deposits.” She paused. “I have a feeling we’re not going to like what we find.”
CHAPTER THREE
The next morning Stevie jogged up the stairs to her mother’s wide wraparound porch, her work boots clomping in an unfeminine way. Her mother had the door open before Stevie could touch the handle. Patsy smiled, but Stevie could see the puffiness around her eyes and the strain in her face. Her mother had lost her husband and now one of her closest friends in fewer than ten weeks.
“Hey, sweetheart.” Patsy opened her arms for a hug, and Stevie stepped into her petite mother’s embrace, feeling the stress melt away. She felt her mother quiver slightly, and Stevie squeezed tighter.
“I’m sorry, Mom. He was one of a kind.”
Patsy stepped back, her eyes damp. “What happened?”
“What have you heard?” Stevie wanted to know what had traveled through town on the local gossip train. She kept an arm around her mother’s shoulders as they moved through the big house to her sun-filled kitchen. Stevie took a stool at the kitchen island while Patsy set a fresh cup of coffee in front of her and slid over a plate of powdered-sugar heaven.
“Ohhh. You didn’t.”
“Brianna can’t get enough of my beignets.”
“What’s Carly say abo
ut that?”
“Usually ‘Keep them away from me.’ ”
Good point. Stevie had been slightly jealous that her sister currently lived a few steps from her mother, but constantly being in the presence of her mother’s incredible baking and cooking would take a truckload of willpower. Stevie’s tiny apartment in town, with its half-size refrigerator, suited her just fine.
“I’ve had four phone calls since yesterday afternoon,” said Patsy, sipping at her coffee. “The first told me she’d heard it might be Roy’s body that was found down by the river, and the other three let me know it’s confirmed.”
Small Town Rule #6: Skip Western Union; the neighbors are faster.
“What are they saying is the cause of death?” Stevie licked the sugar off her thumb.
Patsy shrugged and brushed her long curly hair over one shoulder.
“Tell me. I need to know what misconceptions to correct.”
Her mother stared into her coffee. “One person said it was suicide. That he’d shot himself in the head. Another said he’d been fishing and was hit by a falling tree.” She glanced up at Stevie with questions in her eyes. “Which one is right?”
“Neither,” answered Stevie, silently fuming at the gossipmongers in town. Everyone knew her parents and Roy had been tight. What made these people want to call and discuss the gory details when they knew they hadn’t been confirmed? “Roy didn’t commit suicide. He did have two bullet holes in his skull. It’s a bit difficult to shoot yourself twice in the back of the head.”
“Stevie!” Her mother looked away.
“Sorry.” She bit her tongue for being so matter-of-fact with the details. “I have to consider those things when studying a crime scene. He was hit by a tree, but the medical examiner says that happened after he was dead.”
“So he was murdered?” Patsy whispered, her eyes wide. “Who would hurt him? I don’t understand. And when do they think this happened?” She took a deep breath. “I knew he wouldn’t leave town without saying goodbye. I’d known all along that something was very wrong.”
“His absence didn’t make sense,” agreed Stevie.
“Your father was concerned about him. He mentioned it in the May journal.”
Stevie nodded, remembering that Zane had held on to her father’s last journal because he had concerns about some of the subjects it dealt with—one of them being Roy’s behavior. “I’m glad Zane finally found that one to give to you.”
Wise brown eyes held Stevie’s gaze. “I know Zane purposefully held on to it longer.”
Stevie blushed and took another bite of beignet.
“I assumed Zane read everything before handing the journals over to me. He’s a cop to the core and had to step into Bill’s shoes. Plus, what better way to get insight into your father’s concerns than to read his journals?” Her mother gave her an understanding smile. “Bill had mentioned that Roy was taking a lot of time off and didn’t have good explanations for why. He let it slide because Roy was his closest friend and figured he’d eventually tell him the reasons. He brought it up to me several times.”
“He did? You already knew something was up with Roy?” Stevie’s mental alarm went off. “What did he say to you?”
“No more than that. He could tell Roy was struggling with something. Bill wasn’t one to pry.”
Stevie’s shoulders drooped. “Whatever it was may have gotten him killed. Did you know anything about Roy’s finances?”
“He asked your father for a raise after the beginning of the year. Bill gave him a small one; he wanted to do more, but it just wasn’t in the budget. Roy always said he’d work through retirement because he didn’t know what else he’d do with himself. He claimed he was afraid he’d be bored, but I knew there were financial concerns.”
“Did you know there’s a brand-new boat and pair of WaveRunners in Roy’s shed?” Stevie pressed her lips together, watching her mother closely.
Patsy jerked her coffee cup, slopping coffee onto the counter. She turned and grabbed a cloth before she spoke. Stevie watched surprise and then concern wrinkle her mother’s forehead. “There’s no way,” Patsy said flatly. “They can’t be his.”
“Why are you so certain?”
Patsy wiped at the spilled-coffee spot for the third time, not looking Stevie in the eye. “Because we loaned him money in January. He’d gotten into a tight spot with his mortgage.”
Dread shot through her spine. Roy had been in serious financial trouble. “You’ve always lectured us kids to not loan money to friends. That’s what banks are for.”
“He’d gone to the bank. He had nowhere else to turn,” Patsy whispered. “Bill knew we’d probably never see the money again. We didn’t care. We had some to spare, and he seemed so desperate.” She looked ready to cry.
“Is this why you weren’t more vocal about his disappearance in May? You thought he’d run away because of financial issues?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry, Mom.”
“I’m sorry too.” Calmer eyes looked at Stevie. “Now find the bastard who shot him and make him pay.”
At his desk Zane read the e-mail from the medical examiner. And then read it again.
Patsy was right.
Footsteps sounded in the hallway, and he waited for Stevie to push open his door. He knew the sound of her steps. She walked with attitude and purpose. The admin, Sheila, strolled like she was window-shopping, Kenny moved silently and always surprised the crap out of Zane, while Carter sounded like he was tripping over his own feet.
Stevie came through his half-open door.
How will she take this news?
Their gazes met. “What’s wrong?” they asked each other simultaneously.
“You first,” Stevie said, shoving her hands into her pockets and planting her feet. “Mine can wait a minute.”
Zane stood and came around the desk. Her eyes widened as she took in his expression, and she glanced back at the door, checking for observers. Zane didn’t give a hoot who saw them right now. He put his hands on her shoulders, struggling to figure out how to communicate what he’d just learned from the ME.
“You know how we asked the medical examiner to test the tissue samples he’d kept from your father’s autopsy?”
She nodded, a jerky tense movement.
“They found a compound nearly identical to C-22.”
He felt her deflate under his hands. “What?” Her voice cracked. “Now? They didn’t find it until now?”
“Your father’s death wasn’t the least bit suspicious. Everything pointed to a heart attack, and Hank treated it as such. He had to run special tests to find this compound in your father’s system.”
Stevie wrenched out of his hands and turned away. She walked over to a picture of Bill Taylor on the wall and stopped, reaching out with a tentative finger to touch the image of her father in his police chief uniform. Zane and Roy were also in the photo, taken three years ago at a small office party for Sheila’s fiftieth birthday. “My mother was right,” she said softly. “She knew his death came too early.”
Zane didn’t know what to say. Patsy often made unusual predictions or comments, and people in town took them very seriously. When she’d asked Zane to take another look at Bill’s death, he’d believed she was making the request out of grief and denial. He wanted Stevie to turn around but knew she wasn’t ready, so Zane settled for studying her long curly ponytail. It quivered slightly as she spoke, and he ached to tuck the one loose tendril behind her ear.
“Someone gave him the drug,” Stevie stated. “There’s no way he took it deliberately. My father never drank anything stronger than beer and that drug’s reputation is its fantastic high. He wouldn’t be interested in that. Someone gave it to him to kill him.”
“Now, Stevie, let’s not—”
“Don’t ever ‘Now, Stevie’ me.” She spun around, fire in her eyes. Her gaze so closely resembled Bill’s that Zane caught his
breath. “He was murdered. And we’ve wasted over two months of investigation because we made assumptions.”
“We haven’t been wasting time. Not at all. We’ve tried for months to trace the manufacturing site of the C-22. We simply didn’t know that investigation would be related to your father’s death. This has been our department priority since the end of May when Hunter died from the drug.” He wanted to pull her close and comfort her, but she had a “stand back” signal on her forehead. Against every instinct, he stayed put.
She turned away and paced around his desk. “We need to look harder. I could have done more to try to find the source of the C-22. We need to interview Loretta again. Perhaps she’s been holding something back. Since her drug-dealing husband died, maybe she decided she’ll just live like nothing ever happened.”
“Stevie—”
“I’m sure Loretta or her son Russ must know more. Hell, his dad was dealing the C-22. Kids listen and watch their parents when they don’t know it.” She paced another circle, cracking her knuckles and staring at the floor. “Kids always know more than they tell us.”
“Stevie!”
She stopped and looked at Zane. “What?”
“Slow down.” Zane held up his hands. “We’re on top of the investigation. Loretta and Russ have talked to us until they were blue in the face. This report from the medical examiner gives us a new direction to explore, and we’ll do that after we carefully study all the angles.”
Stevie stood frozen, blinking rapidly.
To hell with it.
He strode to her and pulled her roughly into him. She wiggled in his arms. “Hold still,” he ordered. “You just found out your father was murdered. Let me hold you.” He felt her soften as she exhaled and buried her face in his shoulder.
“I don’t know what to think,” she whispered.
Her Grave Secrets (Rogue River Novella Book 3) Page 2