Annette Dashofy - Zoe Chambers 03 - Bridges Burned (25 page)

Twenty-five

Pete blew past Nancy’s office on his way into the station. Her exclamation of surprise trailed after him down the hallway and into his own office. He slammed the door so hard it didn’t catch and bounced back open as if wanting to knock some sense into him. Not willing to give a slab of wood the final word, he slammed it a second time.

It gave up and stayed closed.

Zoe had thrown him out. Out of her house. Out of her life. He wasn’t sure who he was angrier with—himself, Zoe, or Holt Farabee.

Pete had burned his last bridge where Zoe was concerned. There was no going back, no making amends. He, Pete Adams, was an ass.

All there was left to do was solve this case. Find out who killed Lillian Farabee and Stephen Tierney. If, as he expected, it turned out to be Holt, he could at least be satisfied he’d been right.

Not that vindication would keep him warm at night.

He looked around his desk for something to take out his frustration on. He settled on a defenseless stapler, picked it up, and hurtled it across the room. The Swingline bashed into the wall next to his door just as Nancy timidly opened it.

She flinched. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, backing out of the office. “I’ll come back another time.”

“No, no.” Pete leapt to his feet. “I’m sorry. Come in.” He stepped around his desk to retrieve the stapler. “I’m having a bad day. I’m really sorry.”

Nancy stood there, wide-eyed and unwilling to venture further into the lion’s den. “My fault. I should have knocked.”

Pete replaced the stapler on his desk. Gently. “It’s not your fault. What can I do for you?”

Without crossing the threshold, she held out two pink slips of paper to him. “You had a couple of phone calls.” Her hand was shaking.

He took the messages from her. “Thanks. Have you heard anything else from your sister?”

“She told me you were over there earlier.”

“Nothing since then? She hasn’t heard from her husband?”

Nancy shook her head.

“Okay. Thanks.”

She reached to pull the door closed behind her, but Pete held up a hand.

“Leave it open.”

She withdrew her hand as if he might whack her knuckles if she dared touch the knob.

Yes, he—Pete Adams—was an ass.

After his terrified secretary had retreated to the relative safety of the front desk, he flopped into his chair and studied the two messages. The first one was from Deborah Vallina, the mother of two of the girls who had been at the Kroll farm Saturday before the fire, and the only two potential witnesses he hadn’t been able to reach yet. No one else had seen anything or anyone unusual. Odds are the Vallina kids hadn’t either. The second message was from Chuck Delano and marked
urgent
.

Pete set both slips of paper in front of him. Chuck Delano. Hawaii. Palm trees. Pristine beaches. Major pay increase. Major.

Girls in bikinis.

Pete sighed, picked up the phone and called Deborah Vallina.

After three rings, the now familiar recorded voice answered. Phone tag. At the beep, he left his name and another request to return his call.

He pressed the button on the phone base, disconnecting, and held it while eyeing the note from Delano. Urgent.

Pete released the button and punched in the number to paradise.

“Hey, Petey,” came the gruff voice across the miles. “I expected you to ignore me. Again.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“I’m sure you have. Look, I’d love to be able to give you more time to think about this job offer, but my boss needs to fill the opening—”

“I’ll take it.”

“—and he needs to know by the end of business today if you—”

“I said I’ll take it.”

There was forty-six hundred miles of silence on the line, followed by a cough. “You—what?”

“I’ll take the damned job. Unless this was all one of your practical jokes.”

“No. No joke. I just never thought you’d really...Hey, this is great! I’ll have the big guy fax you all the paperwork.”

“I need to turn in my resignation.” And put his house up for sale. And tell his sister and father. And Zoe. Not that she’d care at this point.

“Not a problem. As long as they know you’re taking the job.”

“And I need to solve the case I’m working on right now.”

Another stretch of silence. “How long do you expect
that
to take?”

“Not long.” It had already taken too long.

Pete listened to Chuck prattle on about the Maalaea Bay Grand Hotel and all the perks and benefits of the job and the island lifestyle until the other phone line rang.

“Chuck,” he interrupted. “I have to get back to work if I’m ever going to clear this murder case.”

“Murder? Oh. Yeah. Watch for the fax. And I’ll email you.”

Pete hung up and hit the button for the other line at the same time Nancy did. They spoke over each other saying, “Vance Township Police Department.”

There was a pause at the other end before a feminine voice replied, “Uh, this is Deborah Vallina.”

“I’ve got it, Nancy,” Pete said. He heard the other line click. “Mrs. Vallina?

“Yes?”

“Sorry about that. Thanks for calling back.”

“You said in one of your messages you had some questions about strangers or if anything suspicious happened while my kids were at the barn on Saturday?”

Pete dug out his notebook and pen to cross off the Vallinas from his list. “That’s right.”

“I talked to my girls about it. They said it was pretty much a normal Saturday.”

Which was exactly what everyone else had reported. Another dead end. Pete closed the notebook.

“Except for that one guy.”

Pete opened it again. “What guy?”

“My oldest girl said there was a man walking around the barn, looking at the stalls and such. He asked her a few questions about whether she liked boarding her horse there, how well it was cared for. That sort of thing. Said he was considering moving his horse there and wanted to check the place out.”

“Did she say what the guy looked like?”

Deborah Vallina laughed. “She said he was old. But for her that means anyone over the age of eighteen.”

“Would you be willing to bring her to the station to look at a few photos?”

“I plan to take the girls out to the farm after supper. We could stop on the way.”

“That will be fine. Thanks.” Pete hung up. “After supper” meant staying late for Pete, but he had a lot of paperwork to take care of anyway. Especially if he was about to pack up his life and move to Maui. And if the Vallina girl could identify a photo of Ryan Mancinelli, Pete would be one step closer to solving an arson and two murders.

Once again in uniform and ready for a sixteen-hour shift, Zoe poured out extra cat food into the large bowl next to the kitchen door. Jade and Merlin dug in like two starved beasts even though there had been a considerable amount of kibble there before Zoe added fresh. She stroked both purring felines and stashed the bag before shifting her gaze toward the Krolls’ half of the house. Taking a deep breath, as if she could draw in a healthy dose of courage with the oxygen, she headed out onto the porch and across to Mrs. Kroll’s kitchen.

The older woman answered almost immediately. “Zoe dear. Please come in.” Her voice sounded even more tired than usual.

“Thanks.” The room smelled faintly of chicken and, as Zoe stepped inside, a microwave beeper went off.

“My dinner,” Mrs. Kroll said fluttering a hand at the machine. “It can wait.” She waved for Zoe to follow her into the dining room.

“I don’t want to interrupt your meal.”

Her landlady blew a short raspberry. “If it gets cold, I’ll just microwave it some more. It’s not like it’s real food anyway.” She slumped into a chair at the table. “Sit.”

Zoe obeyed. “I can’t stay long. But I wanted to look in on you.”

Mrs. Kroll lowered her gaze to her clasped hands. “That’s nice.” She breathed a loud sigh. “I had a meeting with Marvin’s care team at the rehab facility today.”

“Oh?” From the look on Mrs. Kroll’s face, it wasn’t good.

“He’s making progress. But slow. And they still don’t know how complete his recovery will be.” She made air quotes around “complete.”

Zoe rested a hand on her landlady’s folded ones. “He’s a fighter. He’ll get better.”

“I know he will. But we’ve had to face facts.” Mrs. Kroll looked around the room, and Zoe spotted a glint of tears in her eyes. “This house, this farm is too much for us. The bills for Marvin’s care are stacking up. And I still owe Holt for the water heater. Plus now that he and Maddie have left there’s no one to handle the repairs.”

“I’ll find someone else.” Zoe heard a hint of panic in her voice, fearing where the older woman was going with all this.

“No. I’ve had to come to accept it’s time to downsize.” For a fleeting moment, Mrs. Kroll met Zoe’s eyes before looking down again. “Marvin and I talked about it for a long time, and we’ve accepted that land developer fellow’s offer. We’re selling the farm.”

“All right, I’m here.” Sylvia tossed her handbag onto Pete’s desk with a thud. “What’s so important I had to drop everything and come to your office?”

Pete eyed the handbag and recalled a time Sylvia had used it as a weapon. The damned thing was huge and would no doubt send him sprawling if she swung it at him. He pulled an envelope from his desk drawer and handed it to her.

“What’s this?”

“My letter of resignation.”

“Your
what
?”

He held her gaze while keeping his peripheral vision on the purse.

Sylvia ripped into the envelope, pulled out the contents, and unfolded it. She pressed one finger to her lips as she read. Her blue-gray eyes raised from the page to lock onto him. “No.”

“No?”

“No, I’m not accepting this. Not without some kind of explanation.”

“It’s not up to you to accept it. There are two other members of the board of supervisors who have a say.”

She shook the letter at him. “But you handed this to me.”

“I wanted you to be the first to know.”

Sylvia flopped into one of the chairs across from him. “You’re serious?”

Pete moved her handbag on the premise of clearing their line of sight. He also made sure it was just out of her reach. What the hell did she keep in there? It had to weigh twenty pounds. “If I wasn’t serious, I’d never have written the letter.”

“Why? You love it here.”

Pete’s chair squeaked as he rocked back in it. “I do. But I’ve been offered a better job.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Better? How?”

“Head of security for a resort. In Maui. Six figure salary.”

Sylvia let out a low whistle. She reread the letter. “Well, don’t expect Vance Township to try to match that kind of pay increase.”

“I wasn’t fishing for a raise.”

She folded the letter and fitted it back into the envelope. “I know you, Pete Adams. You aren’t the sun-and-sand type. And money doesn’t mean squat to you. It’s what makes you a good, honest cop. What’s this really about?”

Pete looked at his desk, but was thinking back to the last conversation he and Sylvia had. That day at the farm. Sylvia had been babysitting Maddie and had been chastising him about his fixation on Farabee as the killer. Sylvia’s prophetic words echoed in his mind.
You’re going to lose that girl
.

“Zoe.”

“Hmm?” He looked up.

“Zoe. She’s the only reason you’d pack up and move half a world away. What happened?”

Good question. What happened? Holt Farabee happened. Pete’s own stubborn stupidity happened. “We…she…” He sighed. “It’s over. That’s all.”

Sylvia looked as though she was winding up to give him a massive portion of her mind, but the bells on the station’s front door saved him.

“I still have a couple cases to work.” Pete stood, scooped up a file in front of him, and circled the desk to plant a kiss on Sylvia’s gray head. “I’ll miss you.”

She was mumbling something as he strode out of the office and headed toward the front of the station. Nancy had left for the day, so Deborah Vallina and her two dark-haired daughters stood just inside the entrance. The mother gave Pete a nervous smile as he approached.

“Thank you for coming in.” He ushered them into the conference room.

Sylvia, her head high and shoulders back, passed him on her way out. “I’m not done with you yet,” she said through a clenched jaw. But he noticed the letter sticking out of her handbag.

Once the Vallinas and Pete were settled around the conference table, he placed the unopened folder in front of him. “You talked to someone at the barn on Saturday who said he was interested in boarding there?”

“I did.” The older girl, who had been introduced as Brianna, appeared to be around twelve or thirteen. Her long hair was braided around her face and down her back, and while she wore jeans and riding boots appropriate for an evening in the saddle, she also wore enough makeup to qualify her for a modeling session.

“Can you tell me what the guy looked like?”

She shrugged. “He was old.”

“How old?”

“Old enough to be a dad.” She squinted at Pete. “Not as old as you, though.”

He stared at the girl, trying to determine if she was a clueless kid or a brat.

“Brianna,” Mrs. Vallina snapped, clearly appalled. “I’m so sorry, Chief.”

“What?” The girl held out both arms. “I don’t know how old the guy was.”

Clueless kid, Pete decided. “Okay. Would you recognize him if I showed you a photo?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

Pete opened the file and pulled out a photo of Ryan Mancinelli, which Ashley had provided, sliding it in front of Brianna.

The girl took the photo. Repositioned it on the table as if to get a better view. She braced an elbow on the table next to the picture, resting her chin in her hand, and made a series of faces.

Pete’s opinion started to waver toward brat.

“No,” Brianna said after an extensive study of the picture. “That’s not him.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.” She held up the picture to her younger sister who shook her head, then handed it back to Pete.

He exchanged it for a photocopy of Holt Farabee’s driver’s license. “How about this guy?”

The girl brightened. “That’s Maddie’s dad. No, he wasn’t the man looking at the barn.”

The younger sister craned her neck to look at Farabee’s photo. “Mr. Farabee’s nice,” she said.

Brittany nodded. “We like him. Maddie, too.”

Great. Pete retrieved the picture and tucked both of them back into the folder. “All right. Thanks, girls. Thank you, Mrs. Vallina, for bringing them in. Do me a favor. The guy who was at the barn? If you see him again, call me immediately.”

The Vallinas agreed, and Pete walked them to the door. As he watched them climb into their minivan, he released a frustrated sigh. Whoever had been hanging around Zoe’s barn the afternoon before the fire wasn’t Ryan Mancinelli or Holt Farabee. So who then? Or maybe he really was just checking out the facilities before asking to board his horse there. For a moment, Pete thought about calling Zoe and asking her if she’d had any inquiries about a new boarder. He reached for his phone. The reality of the situation stopped him cold. She probably wouldn’t answer the call if she saw it was from him.

He keyed in another number.

“Kevin,” he said when his officer answered. “I need you to do something for me.”