Annette Dashofy - Zoe Chambers 03 - Bridges Burned

by Annette Dashofy

  She met his steely blue eyes. Concern and anger stared back at her. Nothing unusual there. For a moment, she forgot she was mad at him. “How did it start?”

  He aimed a thumb toward the barn wall farthest from the road. “The round bales stacked back there.”

  Before Mr. Kroll had been injured, he’d positioned a half a dozen large round bales of hay against the outside of the barn. Next winter, he would use his tractor’s fork lift to move them into the pasture as needed.

  Provided he was well enough.

  “We must have gotten a bad bale.”

  For a moment, Pete didn’t respond. When he did, his voice was low. “It wasn’t a bad bale.”

  She wasn’t sure she’d heard him, and his expression offered nothing. “What?”

  “It’s arson.” He crooked a finger at her and, keeping hold of her arm, drew her around the corner.

  Arson? Her throat closed and not because of the smoke.

  Four firefighters manned the hose, pouring water on the smoky flames lapping at the side of the barn. Three others used long poles with hooks on the ends to break apart the bale, dragging as much of it away from the structure as possible. Bruce Yancy and several other firefighters in turnout gear, VTVFD emblazoned across their coats, stood with their backs to her like a barricade. Farther up the hillside, a trio of teens watched the proceedings with wide eyes.

  Pete led her toward the human barricade and called out to Yancy. He turned and the firefighters with him shifted, giving her a view of Nate Williams—and a handcuffed Holt Farabee.

  Sixteen

  Zoe froze mid-stride. “What’s going on?”

  Holt’s jaw looked tight enough to snap. “Zoe, Maddie’s in the house with Mrs. Kroll. I don’t want her seeing me like this.”

  Zoe shot a glance at Pete, remembering all too clearly why she was angry with him. Was that a hint of a smirk on his face? When had he become such a jerk? She shifted her attention back to Holt and Nate. Wrestling her arm free from Pete’s grasp, she stormed toward them. “What happened?”

  Yancy stepped in front of her, blocking her advance. “When the first responders got here, they found this guy trying to catch the barn on fire.”

  Holt let out a muffled growl. “I told you I was trying to put the fire out.”

  Zoe threw a shoulder into Yancy’s arm. Considering their size difference, she should have bounced off the fire chief, but determination counted for something. She plowed past him, stopping in front of Nate and his prisoner. Behind her, she heard the soft thud of footsteps and knew Pete was going to try to stop her. She half spun, shooting him a look she’d learned as a child from her mother. Back off and shut up.

  It worked.

  She turned back to Holt. “What happened?” she asked again, keeping her voice conspiratorially low. The last thing she wanted was Holt incriminating himself—provided he was innocent.

  “I was going to replace those broken boards in the stalls. I scrounged up some lumber from a friend who had it left over from a job. I was all set to unload when I smelled smoke. I went looking for where it was coming from and when I came around the back, I spotted the fire. I ran to my truck to get my fire extinguisher—”

  “Convenient cover,” Pete said.

  Crap. She’d forgotten about his exceptional hearing. And his ability to read lips.

  Holt swung on Pete. “I told you, I didn’t do this.” To Zoe he said, “I would never do something like this. I tried to put it out, but it was burning too hot. Too fast. I called 9-1-1. You can check my cell phone.”

  “We will, believe me,” Pete said.

  Another window exploded from the heat, sending Zoe’s heart somewhere into her throat, choking her. When she regained her voice, she demanded, “Why are you so sure it’s arson? And what makes you think Holt had anything to do with it?”

  Pete dug a plastic bag from his back pocket and held it up for her to see. A scorched lighter. “Go ahead and look. You want to be an investigator.”

  Zoe took the bag from him and turned it over in her hand.

  “One of the firemen found it on the ground over there when they first arrived.”

  Smoothing the plastic over the lighter’s surface, she was able to make out the lettering. Holt Farabee, Carpenter. And a phone number.

  “I had a thousand of those made for promotion,” Holt said. “Half the people in the county have them.”

  “Including you,” Pete added.

  Holt stuffed one of his cuffed hands into his jeans pocket and pulled out another lighter. Same design, same lettering, different color. “Yeah, including me. See? I still have mine.”

  Pete took the bag from Zoe and shook it at Holt. “Tell me something, Farabee. How many more of these do you have lying around?”

  Holt’s jaw tensed. “A few.”

  “If I check your truck right now, how many will I find?”

  Holt met Zoe’s gaze for a moment, defeated. “I guess I better use my right to remain silent.”

  “Good idea.” Pete pointed at the group of frightened boarders watching from the hillside. “Nate, question those kids about what and who they might have seen. I’m taking Farabee down to the station.”

  Nate gave a terse nod. “On it, Chief.”

  Pete closed a hand around Farabee’s bicep. “Let’s go.”

  Holt stood firm. “Zoe, take care of Maddie for me.” He glanced around as if searching for…what? “I don’t want strangers around her. I don’t know if Mrs. Kroll is able to protect her.”

  Protect her? From what? But before Zoe could ask, Pete gave his suspect a tug. “Don’t worry about Maddie,” she told Holt. “And don’t say anything else. I’ll have Mr. Imperatore meet you down there.”

  The tension in Holt’s face eased a little. He bent his head toward her and in a soft southern voice too low for anyone else, except maybe Pete, to hear, he whispered, “Thank you.”

  Pete stepped between them. “Zoe—” He opened his mouth, but words didn’t come. Instead he clenched his fist, as if wanting to grab her and shake her, and let out a growl.

  “Excuse me, Chief.” She stressed Chief, something she hadn’t called him since their first meeting. “I have to go make sure Maddie’s distracted so she doesn’t happen to see her father being carted off to jail in a police car.” Zoe took one more look at the barn. Smoke lifted from the blackened siding, but the fire company had soaked it down and dragged what was left of the burning round bale away from the structure. Disaster averted.

  She wheeled and took off at a lope, away from the fire and away from the questions whispering in the back of her mind. Why did Holt want her taking care of Maddie instead of “strangers” when she had been a total stranger four days ago? What was she supposed to protect Maddie from?

  And the big one. Could Pete’s cop gut be right about him?

  Zoe found Earl leaning against the front of the ambulance, arms crossed. “What’s going on?” he asked.

  She gave him the Cliff’s Notes version of the fire. “They’ve arrested Holt for arson. I need to get back to the house to make sure Maddie doesn’t see her dad in the back of Pete’s police car.”

  Earl’s eyes narrowed. “Okay,” he said, dragging the word out. “I’ll pick you up at the house on the way out. And I’ll call your cell if we get an emergency.”

  Zoe glanced back at the police SUV as Pete opened the back door for his passenger. “Holt asked me to watch Maddie.”

  “You’re on duty.”

  As if she needed to be reminded. For a moment she contemplated taking Maddie with them. Kids love sirens. She’d probably think it was grand fun. On the other hand, Holt has specifically said he didn’t want her around strangers. Taking the girl to hang out at the ambulance garage would definitely go against the No Strangers edict.

&
nbsp; Earl coughed.

  She looked at him. He held her gaze and coughed again, obviously faking. “What’s wrong with you?” she asked.

  He rolled his eyes, nodded toward the barn, and coughed again.

  Slowly, his attempt to help her out of her jam dawned on her. “Oh.” She feigned a cough.

  Earl smiled. “Standing too close to the fire, Zoe. You took a lungful of smoke. I could put you on some oxygen, but you probably just need to rest for a while. Maybe the rest of the day. And night.”

  In spite of Pete, in spite of Holt, in spite of burning bales of hay, Zoe laughed, triggering a real cough. “Maybe I really did inhale some smoke.”

  “Go watch the little girl.”

  “Thanks, Earl.”

  He shrugged one shoulder. “I have three kids of my own, remember? I’d want someone keeping an eye on them if I got busted for something I didn’t do.”

  Anthony Imperatore was arguably the best attorney in Monongahela County. He was also a helluva nice man. But when the lawyer marched Holt Farabee out the front door of the police station a mere hour after he’d hauled him in, Pete wished he could have the man disbarred.

  Imperatore had calmly pointed out a promotional lighter as the only evidence at the scene was laughable, especially when the attorney himself pulled an identical one from his pocket. The worst part of it? Imperatore was right. Pete didn’t have a case. Not yet. Farabee stuck to his story about trying to put the fire out. Otherwise, he’d followed Zoe’s and the attorney’s advice to not say anything.

  Sitting alone in his office, Pete slammed his hand down on his desk. Damn it, Zoe.

  Chief. She’d called him Chief.

  “Chief?” Nate stood in the doorway, his thumbs hooked in his service belt.

  Pete rubbed his forehead. “Did you talk to the kids at the barn?”

  Nate stepped into the small office and eased into the chair across from Pete. “No one claimed to see anything, but they’d just come back from riding. Said the bale was already on fire when they got there. They put their horses in one of the round pens out back and checked to make sure there weren’t any other horses inside.”

  “Did they say anything about Farabee?”

  “He was using a fire extinguisher on the hay when they first arrived. The extinguisher wasn’t doing much. By the time they’d taken care of the horses, the first fire truck was pulling up.”

  Pete raked his fingers through his hair. “So the kids basically backed up his statement.”

  “Pretty much.”

  Damn. “Don’t suppose they mentioned seeing anyone else there, did they?”

  “They said some other riders had been there earlier. They were done riding and were putting stuff away while these kids were saddling up.” Nate pulled his notebook from his hip pocket. “I got the names and numbers of those other kids. Want me to call them or do you wanna do it?”

  Pete held out his palm. “I’ll do it.”

  Nate ripped out the page and handed it to him. “I was gonna head out on patrol. You need anything else?”

  That do-over starting with Thursday? “No. Thanks.”

  Nate stood but made no move to leave.

  “What?”

  “Don’t worry, Chief. He’ll slip up at some point. We’ll get him.”

  At least someone around here agreed with Pete. “Thanks.”

  Nate disappeared from the doorway. A moment later, bells jingled, indicating he’d left the station. Pete glanced at the clock on the wall. Seven p.m. He was missing the poker game and had nothing to show for it. Yet. He smoothed the note paper on his desk and reached for the phone. The bells jangled again. What now? He climbed to his feet and stepped into the hallway, nearly colliding with Nate.

  “Sorry, Chief. I was on my out and I ran into them in the parking lot.” The officer shifted to one side and thumbed over his shoulder at Jack Naeser, his wife, and their daughter, Ashley. “They wanted to talk to you.”

  Pete resisted sighing. No matter how upset the Naeser family was with Ryan Mancinelli, he still hadn’t broken any laws, and Pete could not arrest him for attempted murder. He crossed the hall, opened the door to the conference room, and flipped the light switch. “Come on in, folks.”

  With Nate once again headed out on patrol and the Naeser family seated around the big table, Pete pulled out a chair and settled into it. He assessed Jack who sported a bandage on his head. “Other than your odd-looking headgear, you don’t look too worse for wear.”

  Naeser fingered the left side of the bandage and winced. “I must look better than I feel then.”

  Pete leaned back. “What can I do for you?”

  Mrs. Naeser folded her hands on the table. “We want you to arrest my son-in-law.”

  Pete had guessed right. “We talked about this before. I can’t arrest him for refusing to trim his hedges. And refusing to do so doesn’t constitute attempted murder.”

  The three exchanged wary looks. Mrs. Naeser ran a tongue over her lips. “We realize that. But to be honest, Ryan is acting crazy.”

  “How so?”

  The older woman glanced at her daughter before speaking. “Ashley has left Ryan and moved back in with us.”

  All of one door away. One of the downfalls of living next to your parents.

  “Ryan isn’t taking it very well,” Mrs. Naeser continued. “I think he’s been drinking nonstop since the accident last night.”

  Pete thought back to suspecting as much during his own meeting with Mancinelli earlier in the morning. “Has he gotten behind the wheel?”

  “No. Well, he was out this morning for a little while, but he’s been home the rest of the day.”

  “Mrs. Naeser, I’m afraid there isn’t anything illegal about getting drunk in your own home.”

  The woman looked like she wanted to slug Pete. Which would be illegal. “I know, but he’s doing stuff over there. We can hear glass breaking. Crashing noises. I think he’s tearing the house apart inside.”

  Pete eyed Ashley Mancinelli. “Has he hurt or threatened you?”

  “No,” she said. “Never.”

  Mrs. Naeser appeared ready to climb across the table. “But he still might hurt her. Hurt us. He’s crazy. And drunk. Surely there has to be something you can do.”

  Pete rocked back in his chair and studied the trio across the table. Was this visit a case of the Naesers disliking their son-in-law so intensely they would do anything to get their daughter away from him? Ashley had tears in her eyes and certainly didn’t appear to be as gung-ho to see Ryan behind bars as her folks were. Pete came forward again and directed his words at her. “If you’re feeling threatened in any way, I could start the proceedings to get you a temporary PFA—Protection From Abuse order.”

  She ran a trembling finger beneath one glistening eye, catching a tear. “No. He would never hurt me.”

  Her mother put an arm around the girl’s shoulders. “You don’t know that. When he’s drunk, he’s not himself.”

  Pete held Ashley’s gaze. “There’s also a 302D. Involuntary commitment.”

  Her already wide doe eyes widened even more. “Commitment?”

  “If you think he’s a danger and he’s acting bizarre, he’d be taken in and held for observation.”

  Jack Naeser nodded enthusiastically. “That’s what we want.”

  “No.” Ashley sounded on the verge of hysteria. “It’s not. Chief, can’t you just go check on him? Make sure he’s okay? Maybe talk to him. He respects you. He’ll listen.”

  Pete wasn’t so sure about the last part. “Absolutely. And I’ll ask my men to swing by on patrol more often.”

  Mrs. Naeser let her arm fall away from her daughter’s shoulders. The three of them again exchanged looks. “Okay. If that’s what Ashley wants, we�
�d appreciate you stopping by and talking to him. But I’m still afraid he’ll do…something.”

  “If he does or if Ashley changes her mind, all you have to do is call and I’ll come right out.”

  The Naeser delegation rose in unison. Jack extended a hand to Pete. “I wish he’d use all that energy on cutting down those danged hedges.”

  Pete nodded his agreement.

  Mrs. Naeser followed her husband out of the conference room. The young Mrs. Mancinelli brought up the rear, pausing at the door. “He was like this before, you know.”

  “No, I didn’t know,” Pete said. “When?”

  “After he got back from Afghanistan. He had PTSD pretty bad. But I thought that nightmare was behind us.”

  Pete rested a hand on her shoulder. “The stress of the accident last night…” And losing his wife, Pete thought, but decided not to say. “…probably triggered it again. I’ll talk to him. If he’s a vet, maybe we can get him some outpatient help through the VA.”

  The girl managed a weak smile and a nod before trailing after her parents.

  Once they’d left, Pete looked back at his office. Should he call the other boarders at the farm? Or check on Ryan Mancinelli? Blowing out a breath, he grabbed his ball cap before heading out to see what was left of the Mancinelli home.

  Seventeen

  The drought-stunted grass crunched under Pete’s feet as he approached Ryan Mancinelli’s front porch. He wasn’t sure what to expect, which meant preparing for anything. He’d never known Mancinelli to be violent, but until a half hour ago, he hadn’t known Mancinelli suffered from posttraumatic stress either.

  From outside, the house appeared no different than it had every other time Pete had been there, including during last night’s accident. Even those damned hedges remained exactly as they had always been.

  He climbed the steps and pressed the button next to the door. From inside, he could hear chimes. And nothing else.

  He pounded the wood-framed screen door. Still nothing.