Circle of Influence (A Zoe Chambers Mystery)

by Dashofy, Annette

  The two area campgrounds were both closed. Not to mention it was too cold to sleep out. But he drove through them.

  Just in case.

  Nothing.

  The nausea that hit Zoe had no connection to Allison’s flu. How the hell had Baronick found out about that? Pete? No. Pete wouldn’t tell him.

  Would he?

  Pete was a cop after all.

  No. He hadn’t shared the news of Logan’s disappearance with the detective. He certainly wouldn’t have betrayed her.

  But who else knew? It wasn’t something she’d shared with many. Ted and Rose. And Sylvia. They’d been her family back then. No one else.

  “Ms. Chambers? Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.” She swallowed back the bile that seared her throat. “And I’m done answering questions without a lawyer.”

  Baronick tapped his pen on the notebook. “I don’t blame you. I understand it was pretty ugly. But, okay, you don’t want to talk about it. We’ll change the subject.”

  Zoe swallowed. She needed water.

  “Tell me about Logan Bassi’s disappearance. When was the last time you saw him?”

  “I’m done.” Her brain spun out of control. “Get out of my truck.”

  “Why? I’m just trying to help find the boy. His mother and grandmother are obviously distraught by his disappearance.”

  “Yesterday,” Zoe said. “I saw him yesterday.”—true—“At Ted’s funeral.”—half true—“We were all there.” True.

  Baronick made a notation. “Do you think the loss of his father might have gotten to him? Made him run off? Maybe he needed some space.”

  “Maybe. I have to go. I’ve got work to do. Please get out of my truck.”

  “Did Logan feel as strongly as you do that Mr. McBirney is responsible for his dad’s death?”

  Zoe drew a deep breath, chasing the fog from her brain. She turned to face the detective and fixed him with her best I-mean-business stare. “I can’t speak for anyone else. You’ll have to find Logan and ask him.” She failed to mention that she intended to find him first. “Now, get out of my truck. Because I’m going home. If you don’t get out now, you can come to the farm with me and muck out stalls. But don’t expect me to give you a ride back to your car.”

  Baronick sighed. “Really, Zoe, it would be so much easier on everyone if you’d just cooperate.”

  “Yeah. Easier on you. Either arrest me or get out.”

  He gave a troubled shake of his head and closed his notebook. “You have to know this doesn’t look good for you. Or for Logan. Innocent people don’t try to hide things.”

  “Goodbye, Detective.”

  He opened the door and stepped out.

  She watched as he sloshed back up the snowy sidewalk to Rose’s door. Rose met him there. With the windows up, Zoe couldn’t hear the conversation, but it appeared that she had no intention of letting the detective back in. He held his hands palm up, apparently imploring and cajoling her. A minute later, he turned and headed back toward the street.

  Yay, Rose.

  Baronick looked up at Zoe as he reached the end of the walk. Probably wondering why she was still sitting there if she were in such a hurry to get back to the barn. But he didn’t come any closer to the truck. Or his car. Instead, he turned and headed down the street toward Sylvia’s house.

  Zoe cut the engine and jumped out, jogging to Rose’s door.

  She swung it open before Zoe had a chance to knock. Rose caught her arm as she slipped out of her coat and hauled her into the living room. “What did he ask you?”

  “About McBirney. Who might have killed him. When I saw him last. That sort of thing.”

  “Anything about Logan?”

  “Yeah. I told him I saw him yesterday at the funeral. That’s all. Then I kicked him out of my truck.”

  “Nothing else?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Good.” Rose sank to the floor and stretched out on her back, covering her eyes with her forearm. “I want the cops to find my boy. But…”

  “You didn’t answer any of Baronick’s questions?” Zoe sat down next to her.

  “No. Sylvia called me on my cell phone, and we agreed we’d both send him packing. I can’t think straight.”

  “Me either. How’s Allison?”

  “In bed. Poor kid looks like death. Not much of a fever, though.”

  “That’s good.”

  Only the soft rumble of the furnace interrupted the silence for several long moments. Then Zoe remembered what she needed to do.

  “I have to find Logan,” she said.

  “Before that detective does.” Rose pushed herself up to sit cross-legged. “Do you think Pete believes Logan had something to do with McBirney’s death?”

  “Yeah, I do.”

  Rose rubbed her eyes. “I’m so stupid. I’m terrified my son’s hurt. Lying in a ditch somewhere, bleeding, maybe dead. And the cops think he’s hiding because he killed a man? How moronic is that?”

  Zoe longed to comfort her best friend. Tell her everything would be okay. Logan wasn’t hurt. And he wasn’t hiding from the law.

  Rose must have seen the doubt in her eyes. “Zoe? Oh, my God. You think he did it, too. You think he killed that bastard.”

  “I don’t know.” Zoe swiped away a rush of hot tears. “I don’t want to believe he’s hurt. What else is there? Honestly, if he did kill McBirney, no jury would—”

  “Convict him? That’s what you were going to say, isn’t it?” Rose leapt to her feet. “I can’t believe you. He thinks of you as an aunt, for crying out loud. You helped me raise him. How can you even consider—” Her voice broke, and she covered her face with both hands. “Get out.”

  Zoe stood, her head reeling. “What?”

  “You heard me. Get out. Get the hell out of my house and don’t ever come back.” Rose stormed out of the room.

  Zoe’s knees threatened to buckle. She couldn’t catch her breath. This wasn’t happening. None of it. Ted wasn’t dead. Logan wasn’t missing. Rose didn’t despise her.

  The kitchen door slammed, and Sylvia bustled in. She took one look at Zoe and froze. “My God. What’s happened? Logan?”

  Zoe shook her head. “No.” She sucked in air. “I gotta go.” Brushing past Sylvia, she stumbled out into the gray afternoon, barely noticing the fat snowflakes pelting her tear-streaked face.

  She had to find Logan. And if she wanted Rose to forgive her, she needed to prove him innocent.

  Snow covered the edge of the road, but the pavement remained wet. The tires of Zoe’s truck hissed against the slop as she drove back to the farm.

  She’d stopped at a couple of Logan’s friends’ houses only to learn they hadn’t seen him. They had, however, seen Chief Pete Adams, who was also looking for him. She’d prefer to have been there ahead of Pete instead of trailing his efforts. At least no one mentioned Detective Baronick.

  She considered calling Pete, but if he’d had any luck, she figured she’d have heard about it. So Zoe decided to search the only place he wouldn’t know to look—her computer. That’s what Logan was doing the last time she or any of them had seen him. He’d found something there. Something that sent him off—where? To meet McBirney? Or somewhere else? She had to know.

  The fat snowflakes had turned the farm into a Currier and Ives print, coating the grass and the pine trees in pristine white. The path to the farmhouse’s back door was becoming slick, forcing Zoe to pick her way down the slight hill. As she approached the enclosed porch, she heard voices. Mrs. Kroll’s laughter rung out.

  Zoe’s landlady and Matt Doaks were perched on the wooden bench, sharing a chuckle.

  “Matt? What are you doing here?”

  “I came to talk to you. You weren’t home,
but your charming neighbor’s been entertaining me.”

  Mrs. Kroll patted him on the arm. “Such a nice young man. You should come around more often.”

  Only if you want to date him. “What did you want to talk to me about?” Zoe said.

  He motioned to her door. “Mind if we go inside? I’ve been keeping Mrs. Kroll out here in the cold for too long.”

  “It’s no bother. I’m quite toasty.” Mrs. Kroll pulled the afghan she wore as a shawl tighter around her bony shoulders.

  “Matt’s right. You don’t want to get a chill.” Zoe glared at him. “Let’s go inside.”

  He helped Mrs. Kroll to her feet.

  “It was nice meeting you, Matt.” The landlady batted her eyelashes at him like a coquette and excused herself, hobbling off to her half of the house.

  “I think your neighbor was flirting with me,” he said as Zoe unlocked her door.

  “And you love it.”

  “I love all women. All women love me.”

  “Not all.”

  He grinned. “If I want them bad enough, yeah, they do.”

  Zoe fought her gag reflex as she stepped aside and let him pass. How had she ever fallen for him?

  Matt stood in the middle of the room and turned in a complete circle, taking it all in. “I like what you’ve done with the place. What do you call this style? Early American garage sale?”

  “Shut up.” Zoe slipped out of her coat and pulled off her boots.

  “Seriously. It’s—homey.”

  “What the hell do you want?”

  He approached her, moving like a panther stalking a gazelle. She planted her feet and crossed her arms in front of her. Her insides shifted away from him, as though all her internal organs were plastering themselves against her spine. But she wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of winning this game of chicken.

  Matt stopped inches from her, his face tipped downward toward hers. His warm breath smelled vaguely of chocolate. “Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?”

  Zoe avoided looking at those baby blue eyes. Those dimples. Some distant memory of loving the jerk stirred low in her gut. Far away from her brain. She clenched her fists. “Just tell me what you want and leave.”

  He brushed a finger against her cheek. It lingered on her lower lip before curling under her chin, tipping her face up. “Every time I see you, I realize all over again what an ass I was.”

  “Finally. Something we can agree on.” She hated the slight tremble in her voice.

  “Isn’t there some small chance you could forgive me? I never loved anyone the way I loved you. And I know you feel the same way, Zoe. We could be so good together.”

  The distance between his mouth and hers lessened. Where had all the air in the room gone? His lips parted, and he leaned in.

  Forget the damned game of chicken. “No.” Zoe bobbed away from him and darted behind her dining room table. “If you have something to say—some reason other than this stroll down memory lane—then just say it. I’m not having a very good day, and you’re the last thing I need right now.” She pressed her fingers to her lips. Why had she told him, of all people, that she was having a bad day?

  “Why? What’s going on? Oh. Of course.” He thumped himself on his head. “The funeral. How is Rose holding up? Are the kids okay?”

  “They’re great.”

  “Really? This ordeal has to be hell for them. They’re lucky to have you.”

  Good old Matt. She could always count on him to rub salt in her wounds. Even when he didn’t realize he was doing it.

  He prowled around the room, studying the framed photos on her mantle—Allison, several years ago, on a pony next to Zoe on Windstar; a Bassi family portrait; and an old picture of Zoe with her mom and dad before he’d died. Then Matt crossed the room, glanced into her office, and stopped next to a set of shelves holding a cheap CD player and her meager music collection. “I see your taste in tunes hasn’t changed.”

  What the hell was he doing? “What’s this all about? Are you so bored that you need to come here and harass me for the afternoon?”

  “Something like that.” He ambled back to the sofa and flopped down on it, stretching out his long legs. “I’ve come to realize that I miss what we had all those years ago. I’m tired of fooling around. I keep thinking about settling down, and the only woman I’d want to do that with is you.”

  Zoe searched his face for some sign that he was joking. Or stoned. “What happened? Your latest bimbette dump your ass?”

  He chuckled and shook his head. “Come on, Zoe. At the very least, let me be your friend again. That would be a start.”

  She looked at the clock. Crap. She still had barn work to do. “I don’t have the time or energy to be your friend. Maybe you could knock on Mrs. Kroll’s door, though. I’m sure she’d enjoy the company. Now, I really need you to get out of here. I still have to clean stalls before my shift.”

  “You’re on duty tonight?”

  “Yes.”

  “All right.” He sighed and climbed to his feet. “While I’m here…We’re having an emergency board of supervisors meeting tomorrow afternoon at two o’clock. I imagine you heard that Jerry McBirney died.”

  “I heard.”

  “We’re having a meeting to reorganize the board. I thought you’d like to know.”

  “That’s it?”

  “It doesn’t have to be.” He gave her that boyish, flirtatious, cock-eyed grin that melted girls’ hearts. Both young and old.

  “Yeah, it does.” She nodded toward the door. “Bye.”

  He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Okay. But I’ll see you tomorrow, right? At the meeting.”

  “Maybe.”

  “You’ll want to be there. We’ve got some big surprises in store. Trust me.”

  “Trust you?” She bit off a laugh.

  “When did you get so cold?”

  “When I walked in on you and that slut in my bed.”

  He winced. And then he left.

  Zoe exhaled. She looked at the clock. Matt’s visit hadn’t left her much time. But maybe she could still squeeze some luck out of this crappy day and find something—anything—on the computer to help locate Logan.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Once school let out, Pete checked the rest of the list of Logan’s friends. One of them thought he might have spotted Logan at the JV basketball game the night before, but he couldn’t be sure. Pete suspected the kid was on something, with his eyelids at half-mast, and made a note to keep an eye on the boy.

  By five o’clock, the roads were beginning to glaze over and snow continued to fall. Pete had depleted all his ideas of where a kid would hide and considered the strong possibility that Logan was no longer in Vance Township. Maybe he’d headed into Brunswick.

  The mall.

  If Pete was seventeen and trying to disappear, he’d go to the mall in Brunswick, where every teenager in Monongahela County hung out. On a night like this, the parking lots would be largely deserted. Spotting a silver Taurus—or any vehicle—would be simple.

  Pete headed for the police station, his shift over. He planned to drop off the evidence from the break-in at the Helping Hands Store, stop at home to change into his civvies, and then drive to the Brunswick Mall. Sears was having a sale on tools. If he happened to pick up a missing teen in the process, so much the better.

  As he wheeled into the Vance Township PD lot, he noticed a vehicle in his spot. An unmarked black Ford sedan that he recognized as Baronick’s.

  Seth sat on the edge of what had been Sylvia’s chair. “He’s in your office,” the young cop said. “I told him he should wait in the conference room, but he wouldn’t listen.”

  Pete waved a hand at him. His office door was closed. Without knocking, Pete entered
and found the detective making himself at home in Pete’s chair, poring over a file.

  “If you’re going to set up camp in my station, you might want to do it in the conference room,” Pete said. “More space.”

  “Thanks, but I’m fine.” Baronick motioned to the seat across him. “I’m glad you’re here. I’ve spent the day chatting with your local citizens and could use your help sorting through my notes.”

  Instead of taking the chair Baronick had indicated, Pete moved around the desk and stood over the detective.

  “You knew the Bassi kid was missing,” Baronick said.

  It wasn’t a question so Pete didn’t answer it.

  “Any thoughts?”

  “About what?”

  “The missing Bassi kid.” Baronick finally looked up. “Any luck locating him?”

  “Not yet.”

  “So what do you think? Is he another victim? Or a suspect?”

  “What I think,” Pete said, “is that you’re in my chair.”

  The detective met his gaze. The young hot shot probably fancied himself to be a master poker player. But Pete caught the minuscule muscle twitch beneath his right eye.

  Seth appeared in the doorway and froze.

  Keeping his eyes on Baronick, Pete said, “What?”

  “I’ve got a call. Vehicle accident out on Oak Grove Road. No injuries.”

  “So go.”

  Seth vanished, obviously not eager to get in the middle of this pissing contest.

  Baronick’s twitch turned into a full-blown blink. He gathered his papers and vacated Pete’s chair, taking a seat in the one he’d motioned to earlier.

  Pete reclaimed his desk, rearranging his mess to suit him. Sylvia always said no one but Pete could find anything there, and that was the way he wanted it.

  “So about the Bassi kid?” Baronick said.

  “He left without telling his mother where he was going. What teenaged boy hasn’t done that at one time or another?” Pete didn’t buy his own words for a moment, but wasn’t about to throw Sylvia’s grandson to the wolves. Especially this wolf.