Her Grave Secrets (Rogue River Novella Book 3) (6 page)

“And?” Carly offered the dog a bite of fried dough. The dog delicately accepted it and licked her muzzle, her eyes begging for more.

“He said no. That his father wouldn’t come. But I think he doesn’t want his father to come.” Stevie ran a hand down the black fur on the dog’s back, feeling a few burrs, but needing the touch of the animal under her fingertips. “Is family not important to him? I’ve had an epiphany in the last few months and discovered I wanted to be close to all of my family. I guess it surprised me that he didn’t feel the same way.”

“But well before you had this epiphany, you moved away,” Carly pointed out. “You made it look so easy, and I wondered what was wrong with me that I couldn’t do the same. I honestly thought you’d never move back.”

“But I called. I texted and Skyped at least some of the time. Zane doesn’t do any of those things with his father at all and they’re the only two left in that family. Don’t you think they need to be closer?”

“I don’t think that’s your place to say.”

“But what if Zane wakes up one day and his father is gone?” Stevie’s voice cracked. “He’ll have so much regret.” She stroked the dog’s head, keeping eye contact with the lovely dark eyes that didn’t judge her.

Carly’s brown gaze softened. “It’s not your job to protect him. You said your piece, right? You need to let him do what’s right for the two of them. We don’t know the history there. One thing I’ve learned about working with kids and their parents is that sometimes there’s a lot of hidden baggage and you never can tell who’s carrying it. I think you’re letting your own experience influence what you see in Zane’s life.”

“I don’t want him to get hurt.”

“That’s kind of you, but Zane’s a grown-up and doesn’t need your protection.”

Stevie scowled.
Have I been pushing Zane in a direction he isn’t comfortable in?
She moved on. “Is Mom around? I need to talk to her. You too, I guess.”

Carly’s arms tightened around the dog as she studied Stevie’s face. “What’s happened? My God, you still can’t hide what you’re thinking, can you? I thought being a cop would help you with that.”

Stevie tried to wipe emotion from her face. It’d been a curse when she was a child: with a simple glance, her parents had been able to tell when she was lying.

“Help Stevie with what?” Patsy asked as she breezed into the kitchen. “You brought me a present!” Her eyes lit up and she held her hands out for the small dog. Carly passed the dog to her mother, but gave Stevie a cautious look.

Patsy petted the dog, who turned her gaze to Stevie. Patsy followed the dog’s look. “Why, Stevie, she seems to be attached to you.”

“She probably still smells shrimp,” answered Stevie.

“Stevie needs a dog, Mom.”

Patsy’s gaze sharpened on Stevie and concern tightened her features. “What’s wrong, honey?”

“Can we sit down?”

Alarm crossed Carly’s and Patsy’s expressions. The dog gave a small whine.

Patsy ran a comforting hand over the dog’s head. “What’s her name?”

“I don’t know,” Stevie said as she sat at the table. She took a napkin from the pile on the table and started to shred it. The other two women took seats, looked at the napkin, and exchanged a glance. “I assume she’s a stray.” She shoved the napkin away, her fingers wanting something else to do.

Patsy leaned back in her chair and lifted the dog to look directly into her eyes. “Skinny. I can feel her ribs. But so sweet. She needs a delicate name. Something airy and light.”

“Skye? With an
e
at the end,” suggested Carly as she started to pick a cuticle. They casually discussed the dog, but the women knew Stevie had something important to tell them.

“No, let me think on it. She’s too dark to be called Skye.” Patsy turned a wary gaze to Stevie. “What’s going on?”

“You asked Zane a couple months ago to look into Dad’s death. Why did you do that?”

Patsy looked down at the dog and gently tugged at the silky fur on the droopy ears. “Because it wasn’t right. I could feel something was off.” She met Stevie’s gaze. “And now you’re going to tell me I was right.”

Carly sucked in a breath. “What’d he find?”

Stevie steeled her spine. “The medical examiner found traces of C-22 in Dad’s tissue samples he’d kept from the autopsy.”

“What is C-22?” asked Patsy.

“The current street drug that’s invaded southwest Oregon. There’ve been several deaths from it. It seems to mimic a heart attack and it takes a specific test to find the drug in an autopsy.”

“Is it the one that killed the Brandt boy at O’Rourke’s Lake two months ago?”

Stevie nodded. “They ran a ton of chemical screens on Hunter Brandt because his death was so odd. With Dad they stuck to the standard tests. They’d thought he’d had a heart attack and nothing showed up on their usual tox screens.”

“What does that mean?” whispered Carly. “Why did Dad take the drug? Did he not know what it was?”

“Or did someone slip it to him?” Patsy asked softly. “Oh, girls. I knew something was very off about his death.”

“Someone murdered Dad?” Carly shook her head. “That’s impossible. Who’d do that?” Her voice rose.

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out. We stopped one distributor of the drug when Ted Warner died, but the drug is very active in the coastal cities. Zane assumes someone else will step into Ted’s shoes, but his main concern—and Seth’s too—is finding the supplier. Someone’s making this drug. Obviously it doesn’t always kill, so either the deaths are from taking too much or from a bad batch.”

Silent tears streamed from Carly’s eyes. Patsy passed the dog to Carly, who took her without a word and laid her cheek on the dog’s soft head. Patsy held out a hand to each of her daughters and they grabbed them. She looked her girls in the eyes.

“We’ll get through this. It doesn’t change what’s already happened. It’s just cranked up the pain a few notches. We’ve already been through the worst.”

“No! No, this is much worse.” Carly straightened and brushed at her tears. “Someone deliberately
killed
our father! I don’t understand. Everyone loved him. Were they all just being polite to his face? And our faces? I feel like our town has suddenly turned on us.”

“You’re wrong, Carly,” Patsy stated firmly. “This town loves us and it loved your father. I felt their sorrow when he died, and I still get support from the people of Solitude. When he passed they felt like part of the foundation of our town was ripped out from underneath. They’ve had to rebuild too.” She looked at Stevie. “Zane’s gone a long way in helping Solitude get back to normal. Everyone sees him as a perfect successor to Bill.”

“That’s great,” Stevie said faintly, thinking of Zane’s worries that the town still saw him as an outsider.

“What about Roy?” Carly asked. “Seth told me the drug task force is investigating him. Is he tied up in this too?”

“We don’t know yet.” Stevie picked up the remains of her napkin and tore it into smaller pieces. “We’re looking into it.” She stole a look at her mother, who had her gaze on Carly and the dog. Concern shone from her eyes, but not about her husband’s death; it was about the healing of her daughters. Sometimes holding an animal balanced one’s perspective of the world. The little dog radiated this otherworldly charm in spades.

“How about Magic for a name?” Stevie suggested.

Patsy turned understanding brown eyes her way. “That’s perfect.”

Zane returned the third greeting from someone who’d passed him and Stevie on the sidewalk. He’d convinced her to get out of the office to grab some lunch. Both of their heads ached from sorting through Roy’s bank and credit card records. Luckily it’d been a slow morning. No one had needed the services of the Solitude Police Department and they’d worked uninterrupted for hours.

Now he wanted a burger and something really cold to drink.

“It’s freaking hot,” muttered Stevie. “I can’t remember a summer this hot. We’re lucky we haven’t had any fires.” She smiled and nodded at another passerby. “I’ll never complain about the rain again.”

Zane pulled open the door to the Dairy Queen and sighed as the cool air blew over him. “We need better air conditioning at the office.”

“I’ve only suggested that a few dozen times.”

“Not in the budget right now.”

They ordered burgers, fries, and shakes and slid into a hard plastic booth. Zane wondered if the DQ would mind if he brought in his paperwork and set up shop here for a few hours. Looking around at the packed seats, he doubted they’d appreciate his hogging the space. He noticed several people lingering over empty wrappers and trays, loath to go back out into the heat.

“Good afternoon, Chief. Hello, Stevie.”

Zane looked up, his mouth full of burger. Faye O’Rourke and Walt Burrowes, her project foreman from the O’Rourke resort project, were standing beside their booth. Stevie greeted them both and engaged the city councilwoman in a discussion of that night’s Founder’s Day rodeo, while Zane hastily swallowed.

He wiped his mouth as he asked Walt, “How are things out at the resort coming along?” The town had high hopes that the O’Rourkes’ luxury hotel and resort would jump-start the tourist industry. Zane had his own opinion of a town crawling with tourists, but he kept his mouth shut. His budget told him they needed tourists to start spending some money in Solitude. Or else his department needed to start giving out some speeding tickets.

Walt groaned. He was a tall, lean man. Zane was always reminded of Ichabod Crane when he saw him. Something about the skinny angular neck. But Walt knew his business when it came to building. “I had to let another man go this morning. I don’t understand the shoddy work. I’ve had several inspections fail because the work wasn’t done right. The county’s unemployment is at an all-time high, so you’d think people would work harder to keep their jobs.”

Zane frowned. “That doesn’t sound good.”

“It’s not. I’ve got guys driving over an hour from the coast because I need more help. I thought this project would be a good place for Solitude people to work, but few are interested and even fewer are interested in doing a hard day’s work.”

“Walt has high standards,” Faye added, jumping into the conversation. “He’s doing a beautiful job with the hotel. When he’s done, it’ll be a landmark people are dying to stay in.” She looked at him proudly, as if he were her own son, making Zane wonder how Katelyn felt when she saw the two of them together. Katelyn didn’t strike him as the type to share her mother’s affection with an outsider. “We’re going to add a small chapel eventually and take advantage of the destination wedding trend.” Faye met Stevie’s gaze and nodded seriously.

Zane blinked. Solitude? For a destination wedding? He thought people went to Hawaii and Cancún for destination weddings. He looked at Stevie, but she was nodding and smiling at Faye. Which was what everyone did when talking to the town matriarch. Patsy Taylor might be the heart of the town, but Faye O’Rourke was its spine . . . hidden under a baby-pink cardigan on a hundred-degree day.

“How’s the cabin coming along, Zane?” Walt asked. “Did that rainwater recovery system I suggested work out for you?”

“It works perfectly. Say, would you mind looking at some plans I’ve sketched up for another addition? I’m going to have an architect do the master plan, but I’d like an experienced eye to take a look before I give him an idea of what I want.”

“Not a problem,” said Walt. “Glad to know someone’s taking care of that old place. It sat empty for way too long.”

No one knew that better than Zane. He’d fallen in love with the money pit the first time he’d spotted it. Something about its location on the bluff, surrounded by tall firs. It had a sweeping view of the Rogue River, but had been neglected for two decades. He’d spent two years making the tiny place habitable. Now he was ready to make it a spacious home.

“So it’s confirmed that Roy Krueger was murdered?” asked Faye. “I shudder to think that something that violent happened to one of our own.” She placed a hand on her chest, her lined face drooping. “And to someone who held such a position of responsibility. Do you have any leads?”

“We’re working on it, ma’am,” Zane answered politely.

“No murder weapon?” asked Walt.

“Not yet. They’re still searching the area where he was found.”

Faye clucked her tongue. “Such a shame. This town has had too much sorrow. It was suggested at the last council meeting to cancel the Founder’s Day celebration, but I argued that we needed every bit of cheering up that we could get.”

“You have a good point,” said Stevie. “I see the intention of the suggestion, but letting tragedy change how we live our lives doesn’t do the dead any favors. It gives credence to those who committed the acts.”

Faye turned a thoughtful gaze on Stevie. “Well spoken. That’s almost exactly what I told them.” She looked at Zane. “I know you’ll figure out what Roy was up to.”

Walt and Faye said their goodbyes.

“So Faye thinks Roy was ‘up to’ something?” Stevie pointed out, biting into a fry.

“I caught that. I’m guessing she heard about the boat and equipment.”

“Can’t keep anything quiet in this town.”

“Of course not,” said a new voice. “Everyone would be completely bored. Gossip gives them something to do.”

Why can’t we eat in peace?

Zane held his exasperation in check as he greeted Eric Hearne and his brother JD. By the look on Eric’s face, his interest in Stevie hadn’t waned. His green gaze carefully took stock of their seating arrangement, making Zane want to slide into the booth on Stevie’s side and claim his territory. But when in uniform, he and Stevie presented a professional front. JD hung back, shoveling bites of a Blizzard into his mouth. Eric’s younger brother had yet to impress Zane; the twentysomething was perpetually unemployed even though his family owned the hardware store. Rumor had it he wasn’t reliable. And if your family found you unreliable, who else in town would hire you?

“I just wanted to extend my sympathies about Roy Krueger,” Eric was saying to Stevie. “He was a good one, and I know he was close to your family.”

“Thank you. Yes, he was.”