Circle of Influence (A Zoe Chambers Mystery) (9 page)

EIGHT

Hurricane Jerry had swept through the police station, leaving the front alcove in stillness. First, Zoe had managed to lose Allison and now Logan had vanished, too. Certainly he wouldn’t have followed McBirney and the attorney outside.

Would he?

Crap. The kid wasn’t even armed with his grandmother’s purse.

The only human she found was Matt Doaks, standing with his back to her as he peered through the vertical blinds hanging on the station’s front door.

It had been years since she and Matt had shared a life. And love. He’d been her first true romance, her high school sweetheart. Their perfect world began to unravel when he blew out his knee and lost his basketball scholarship to Penn State. The resulting depression and addiction to pain killers further frayed the relationship. And when she’d walked into their house and found him in bed with that slut from the Tastee Freez, her world hit a brick wall that shattered her heart.

Fifteen years had passed. But seeing him always stirred those old aching memories.

“Hi, Matt.” Zoe made a concerted effort to keep all emotion from her voice. 

He spun around. “Zoe. I didn’t hear you coming.”

“What’s going on out there?”

He shrugged. “More of the Jerry McBirney Show. He’s preening for the media.”

A rush of anger engulfed her. “How can you keep doing this?”

His eyes narrowed. “Me? Doing what?”

“Don’t act stupid. You know what I mean. How can you support that bastard? It doesn’t matter what he’s voting on or pushing through the board, you back him up. Is he paying you? Exactly how much does it cost him for you to be his lap dog?”

The outburst took her by surprise, and she took a deep breath to regain her composure.

Matt studied his boots for a moment. “Jerry’s not so bad. He has some great plans for the township if folks’d just give him a chance.”

“A chance? To do what? Bankrupt us? What about Sylvia? How can you sit by and let him railroad her into jail?”

“I had nothing to do with that.”

If she didn’t know better, she’d have thought he was about to shed a tear. “You sure aren’t doing anything to stop it.”

“She clubbed Jerry with her purse in front of the judge. You can’t blame me.”

“You could have ended it before any of this happened.” Heat simmered around her collar. “You knew he was going to call for her arrest and have her fired. You had to know.”

“I swear. I didn’t.”

Yeah, right
. “You’re lying.” Again. Zoe heard the quiver in her voice. She turned her back to Matt before her anger reduced her to tears.

Silence closed around them.

Finally, he drew a deep, audible breath. “Look. If there was anything I could do, I would. I like Sylvia.”

Zoe pinched the bridge of her nose, hoping the physical pain would keep the emotional tears at bay. “You have a damned funny way of showing it. What about Ted?”

“What about him?”

She spun to face him, clenching her fists. “Sylvia’s son is dead and that bastard McBirney is probably the one who killed him. Why? And don’t tell me you don’t know. You live in McBirney’s hip pocket, for crying out loud. You have to know something.”

Matt’s eyes shifted side to side under his furrowed brow, as if the possibility that McBirney were guilty of murder had never occurred to him, and he needed to process the news. “Huh.”

“That’s it? That’s all you’re going to say? ‘Huh.’”

Matt tipped his head to check the hall behind Zoe then glanced over his shoulder at the group gathered outside. He took her arm and drew her close to him. She resisted, but curiosity overcame her anger. “I hadn’t given it much thought before, but now that you mention it, there is something.”

He paused, and she waited for him to continue. In the quiet, her heart pounded loud enough that she feared even the reporters in the parking lot would hear.

“Jerry…” Matt licked his lips. “Jerry thinks Marcy is fooling around on him. And…” He glanced around again. “He was pretty sure that the guy she was messing around with was Ted.”

By the time Seth Metzger showed up to inform Zoe that Rose and the kids had been stashed in the conference room, she’d gained control over the tremors that wracked her body. Matt’s bombshell left her weak-kneed, but the coward hadn’t stuck around to comfort her. Not that he could have anyway. Don’t murder the messenger, they said. But she desperately wanted to beat the crap out of Matt Doaks.

Ted loved Rose. He’d never cheat on her. The way Matt had cheated on Zoe. Never.

“Are you all right?” Seth said as Zoe hesitated outside the conference room, her hand on the knob. “Can I get you some water or a pop?”

Bourbon maybe
. “Okay. Yeah. That would be great. Whatever you have is fine. Thanks.”

As Seth headed down the hall to score a beverage, Zoe took a deep breath and entered the room.

Rose sat at the long table with Logan next to her, holding her hand. Allison reprised her seated fetal position on the floor, her back against the corner of the room. Only Logan looked up when Zoe closed the door behind her.

“There you are,” Zoe said, her voice not as light as she had tried to make it. “I’ve been looking all over.”

“That cop herded us all in here so McBirney couldn’t bug us anymore,” Logan said.

“And to keep me from killing him,” Rose muttered.

Zoe pushed a mental image of Ted with Marcy out of her brain. It wasn’t true. Matt was a liar.

But what if he wasn’t? Marcy and Ted. Maybe McBirney found them together in the Buick. Maybe that’s what Ted was doing in McBirney’s car. It might also explain the vendetta against Sylvia—Ted’s mother.

Did Sylvia know? Or suspect? Did Rose?

Zoe shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut tight. Stop it. Stop thinking about it.

“What’s wrong with you?” Rose asked.

“Nothing,” Zoe said. “Headache.”

“You need some sleep.” The dark bags under Rose’s eyes indicated she had personal experience with this diagnosis.

“Yeah? Look who’s talking.”

“There’s no way in hell I’m going to sleep. But you stand a chance of getting a nap if I stop dumping my kids on you.”

Logan met Zoe’s gaze. “We’ll be quiet,” he said.

Rose drew a deep breath and stretched, arching back in the chair until her shoulders popped. “Actually, I want you guys home with me anyhow. I thought I could get more done with the house to myself. But the place is too quiet.”

Logan glanced between Zoe and his mom. “Take Allison home with you, then. I was in the middle of helping Aunt Zoe with her computer and—and it’s almost fixed and—”

“It’s okay,” Zoe interrupted before the kid babbled them both into the holding cell next to Sylvia. “My computer isn’t going anywhere. You can fix it later. Your mom needs you now.”

Logan’s face contorted in frustration. Zoe sent him a look that she hoped said
cool it
. He must have received the message because he sighed and dropped his gaze to the table.

Rose gave Zoe a sad, but appreciative smile. “Thanks. By the way, Ted’s viewing is tomorrow. The funeral is Thursday.”

The door opened, and Seth entered holding a can of Coke, which Zoe accepted. “Looks like the circus out front is breaking up,” he said to Rose. “I’ll let you know when it’s clear to leave.”

Rose thanked him, and the young officer closed the door on his way out.

Zoe reached for a chair. “I’ll sit with you.”

Rose waved her off. “No, no. You should go home and rest. We’re fine here. Pete and Seth are taking good care of us. Pete’s a good guy, you know.” Her tone suggested more than just an offhand comment.

Zoe knew. But as attracted as she might be to him, it would never work. Between the two of them, they lugged enough baggage into a relationship to sink a small yacht.

She hugged Rose and Logan. Allison had retreated into her shell and didn’t even look up when Zoe stood in front of her.

“Allison,” Rose said with an authoritative edge to her voice.

“It’s okay,” Zoe assured her. Then she knelt and touched the girl’s knee. “Anytime you want to come out to the farm, Merlin would love to snuggle with you. And the horses are always ready for a ride.”

Allison almost lifted her eyes to meet Zoe’s, but lowered them again. Crap. She thought she was making progress with the girl. But she recalled her own struggle with the grief of losing a dad. Time. Just give Allison time.

Zoe left the station through the same back door as she and the kids had arrived. Temperatures were dropping and gray clouds rolled in, crowding out the blue sky. She pulled her collar tighter around her neck and lowered her head against the wind. As her cold fingers fumbled with the keys, she became aware of a gnawing in her gut. And it wasn’t the soda on her empty stomach. She felt eyes on her. Someone was watching.

She looked up. The wind bit at her face drawing icy tears. At the front corner of the building, Jerry McBirney stood staring at her, expressionless. The chill that rushed through her had nothing to do with the weather. McBirney’s face morphed into a self-satisfied grin. He winked at her.

Zoe started shaking. She couldn’t breathe. Her keys slipped from her gloved fingers and fell into the wet slop on the ground. She bent down to retrieve them. Clutching the keys, she lifted her gaze to search for McBirney, but he was gone. For a moment, she wondered if he’d really been there. Or had she only imagined him?

Pete managed to get maybe an hour of sleep after he’d gone home from the station. Thoughts of Sylvia behind bars mingled with annoyance over Wayne Baronick taking charge of the homicide investigation. Pete wanted this one. Nothing would give him more satisfaction right now than tossing that sanctimonious bastard Jerry McBirney into lockup.

Giving up on his bed, he slipped into a pair of rumpled jeans he found draped over the chair in the corner of the room. He dug an equally rumpled sweatshirt from the dresser drawer and tugged it over his head.

In the kitchen, he drained a half cup of nasty looking brew from the coffee maker into a clean mug, rinsed the pot, and started a new batch. In the meantime, he nuked the day-old stuff. As he waited for the microwave timer, he thought of Zoe. 

She was lying to him.

He wasn’t sure what she was lying about, but she definitely was. Or at the very least, she was keeping something from him.

The microwave beeped, and he pulled the cup of murky black sludge from it. He took a sip. And winced. God, that was awful. But the fresh pot wasn’t near ready yet. He carried the cup to the round oak table and sank into a chair.

Pete had long ago grown used to Marcy lying to him. Like the big one. ‘Til death do us part. What a load of bull.

But Zoe was different. Or so he’d thought. She was painfully honest. Oh, sure, there were parts of her life she kept to herself. Her past relationships for example. He sensed she didn’t want to talk about them, so he didn’t ask. And it wasn’t as though they were dating, much as he’d contemplated the idea.

Even so, if he did ask, he knew she’d tell him. The truth was he didn’t
want
to know. He already thought Matt Doaks was a huge waste of flesh and bone. Beyond the obvious—even Pete had to admit Doaks was a good-looking son-of-a-bitch—there seemed little to attract someone like Zoe to him.

And he long suspected there had been something between Zoe and Ted before Ted and Rose married. But no one involved seemed stressed over it, so he guessed it hadn’t been much. Ted and Zoe acted more like siblings than past lovers.

The coffee maker stopped dripping. Pete got up to dump the old stuff in the sink, but noticed his cup was empty. He’d drained it without realizing. He poured a fresh cup and carried it to the basement. His workshop was his favorite spot in the house. It was the one area that carried no memories of Marcy. She’d hated it and never went down there. Too many spiders.

He flipped the light switch. His vast collection of wood carving tools sat on shelves in plastic boxes. The ones he had used most recently lay on the workbench next to his current project—a reproduction Jaeger flintlock muzzleloader. He touched the bare wood of the chunky gun stock, tracing the swells and grooves of his past work. Slipping on a pair of cheap reading glasses, he selected a chisel and bent over the workbench. The curved blade shaved a sliver of maple from the stock.

Pete attempted to focus on his work, but instead of the mental picture of the finished engraving that he tried to hold in front of him, his mind’s eye conjured up Marcy. The way she’d nearly pitched forward on her face at the news of Ted’s death.

The blade slipped and gouged a deeper crevice than Pete had intended. Swearing under his breath, he returned the chisel to its box. Instead of whittling away at the Jaeger’s stock, he decided he needed to be whittling at McBirney’s story. The truth remained buried somewhere under the surface. He needed to gouge out the lies to find it.

He had to talk to Marcy.

Zoe stared at her computer. She longed to continue with Logan’s snooping. If only she knew how. She should’ve had him show her what he was doing.

She didn’t dare phone him and risk having Rose overhear what they were up to, so for now, Zoe was stuck. She checked the clock on the mantle. Maybe not.

After a quick call confirmed that Ted’s autopsy had been completed, Zoe grabbed her coat and made the half hour drive to the county seat where the Marshall Funeral Home was located across the road from the Brunswick Hospital. Convenient, Zoe mused. The hospital’s failures didn’t have far to travel.

She pulled into the funeral home’s parking lot and entered via the back door. Bells jingled, announcing her arrival. Inside, the scent of lilies and carnations and other assorted flowers assaulted her nose. The fragrance brought back memories of long ago, when her dad had been in a similar building. Different mortuary. Same aroma. Grief smelled like floral arrangements.

Zoe shivered off the memory just as a round-faced woman appeared at the end of the hall and came to meet her. The woman’s hair was pulled back so tight it gave her face the look of bad plastic surgery. She wore a dark burgundy skirt and blazer and black comfortable shoes.

“Zoe, dear, how lovely to see you.”

“Hi, Paulette. Is Franklin around?”

Franklin’s secretary escorted Zoe into a large room. Shelves bearing urns, boxed thank you notes, and guest books stood against one wall. In a dark corner, three caskets, one brass, one platinum, and one wood-grained, displayed their comfortable, silk-lined interiors.

The Monongahela County Coroner sat at an Early American desk, bent over a stack of papers. He lifted his head and offered a tight smile, extending a slender hand in Zoe’s direction.

“Zoe. I see you made the trip even when I told you not to.”

She smiled as she clasped his hand. “This one’s special.”

“All the more reason you should stay out of it.” Franklin Marshall was thin and pale with equally thin and pale hair swept into a comb-over. Zoe suspected he was much younger than he appeared but the old-fashioned half-glasses he wore low on his beak didn’t help. 

“You know I can’t do that,” she said. “What did you find out?”

Franklin heaved a sigh and used one finger to bump the readers higher on his nose. He thumbed through a neat stack of papers in an organizer tray, gingerly removing two paper-clipped pages. “Ted Bassi died from massive brain trauma. He suffered multiple skull fractures including his nasal and frontal bones.” He placed the palm of his hand on the top of his forehead. “A blow right here compressed the skull into the frontal lobe. That’s your cause of death.”

“A blow? Someone hit him?”

Franklin shrugged. “Or a boulder fell on him. The damage was extensive. Whatever struck him was large. Flat, would be my guess. Not like a baseball bat. And it would take considerable force to create that kind of trauma.”

Zoe’s mind raced. Large and flat? Considerable force? She held out a hand. “May I?”

He hesitated. “You’re too close to this case. I really shouldn’t.”

“Come on, Franklin. I’m the one who processed the body at the scene. I brought him in.” Somehow, she kept her voice from wavering.

His mouth drew to one side of his face, and he squinted. “Fine.”

Zoe snatched the papers and studied the notations. Ted had also suffered assorted abrasions on his face, which she’d seen for herself. There was some bruising to the front of his body and a number of his teeth had been broken. What the hell had happened to him? “Do you have any theories about what might have caused all these injuries?”

“Not a clue. Sorry.” Franklin wiggled his fingers, indicating he wanted his report back.

She ignored him. “I assume Chief Adams attended the autopsy and knows about this.”

Franklin shook his head. “Detective Baronick observed, and County homicide gets the report.” He did the finger wiggle thing again. “Please.”

“I’d like a copy of this.”

“You know I can’t do that.”

Crap. “Can’t you just make a photocopy for me? Please. I won’t tell.”

For a moment he said nothing. Then, he ran his bony fingers through his sparse hair and glanced toward a dark corner where a copier sat next to a set of file cabinets. “I can’t. Sorry. Now, if you’ll pardon me, I need to visit the little boy’s room.” He rose and shuffled out of the room, closing the door behind him.

Zoe grinned. She owed Franklin. But what kind of gift do you send a coroner/mortician? Flowers? Not likely. She decided to think about it later. Right now, she had copies to make.

And then, she needed to track down Pete. She hoped he’d have some ideas about what Ted’s injuries meant. Because right now, the coroner’s report raised more questions than it answered.

NINE

The aroma of roasting chicken wafted through the closed door at the McBirney farm and set Pete’s mouth to watering. Regardless of her other failings as a wife, Marcy had been a terrific cook. He raised a fist and knocked.

The curtains parted revealing a sliver of his ex-wife’s face and one of her dark brown eyes. Her scowl was evident even on that small glimpse. The door swung open.

“I told you on the phone to stay away,” she said.

“And I told you we need to talk. You wouldn’t agree to meet me somewhere else, so what was I supposed to do?” He slid past her into the kitchen. Pots simmered on the stove. Silverware graced two places at the table. “Besides, you mentioned Jerry would be late.”

“As far as I know. He might have changed his plans. He might be on his way here right now.” She hadn’t closed the door.

“If he shows up, I’ll leave.” Pete took a seat without waiting for an invitation.

Marcy’s sigh was audible over the bubbling pots. She shut the door and moved to the oven. “I don’t have anything to tell you.”

He pulled out his notebook and pen. “Where were you last night?”

She kept her back to him. “I was here, of course. Just like my husband told you.”

“I’d like to hear your version of the evening.”

“It’s like he said. I was here when he got home.”

“Marcy, look at me.”

She fidgeted with a towel, opened the oven and peered inside, and then shut it. Dropping the towel on the counter, she picked up a spoon and stirred the aromatic contents of a large cast iron skillet. Gravy. “I’m busy. I don’t want to burn dinner.”

Pete stood and moved to her side. If she wouldn’t turn around to face him, he’d position himself where she had no choice. “Okay. Now you can look at me
and
keep an eye on your cooking.”

“It doesn’t matter. I was still here. You can’t change that.”

“I know. The part I question is when your husband got home.”

“Whenever he said he did. Really, Pete, you should leave.”

“If you keep evading my questions, I could be here all night.”

For the first time since she’d let him in the door, she met his gaze. He read a mixture of terror and pleading in her eyes. What the hell was she hiding?

“Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. Ask your damned questions.”

“Where were you last night?”

She went back to stirring the bubbling gravy. “Here.”

“At the stove?” He said it with a grin, meaning to lighten the mood, but his humor missed its mark.

“No,” she snapped. “In the living room. I was reading.”

“Okay. What time did Jerry return home?”

Her eyes narrowed. “I didn’t look at the clock. It must have been eight thirty, quarter to nine.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure he came home. But as to exactly the time, no. The roads were bad. It may have taken him longer than usual.”

“That’s odd. I’d think you’d have been keeping an eye on the clock. Don’t you worry when your husband’s out on a bad night?”

“It wasn’t that bad earlier. I didn’t know the roads were getting icy until later.”

“Later? When?”

She gave him an exasperated look. “After Jerry got home and told me how slick they were.”

Pete thumbed through his notes. He needed to trip her up. To locate the point where Jerry’s and Marcy’s stories parted company. “Did he leave the house again after he arrived home?”

“No.” Her voice carried a note of uncertainty, as if she were asking a question rather than answering one.

“Did you hear any noises outside?”

“No.”

“Nothing? You didn’t hear another car pull in?”

“No.”

“Or the Buick start?”

“No. I told you a thousand times,
no
. I didn’t hear anything.”

“But you’re so isolated out here, it’s not like you’d mistake it for traffic passing by. If someone pulled in and stole the Buick, you must have heard them.”

“Maybe they didn’t drive in. Maybe they walked in.”

“So you did hear the Buick start up?”

“I didn’t hear anything.”

No one ever hears anything. The world was full of deaf and blind witnesses to crime. But Pete wasn’t buying it this time.

“How can that be, Marcy? Where were you? What were you doing?”

The spoon in her hand quivered. “I was here. Reading.”

He leaned toward her. “What book?”

Her mouth opened almost as wide as her eyes. “I—um—”

Got her
. “Guess it wasn’t that good, huh?”

“I need to finish setting the table. Please go.”

Pete ignored her. “Are you sure Jerry didn’t leave again? If you didn’t hear anyone pull in, maybe it was Jerry who took the car.”

The spoon slipped from her fingers and flopped into the skillet, splattering gravy over the stovetop. Marcy swore under her breath and grabbed the towel.

He waited until she’d mopped up the mess before continuing. “What really happened, Marcy? Did you go upstairs to take a shower? Take a load of laundry to the basement? Get involved in a phone call? Couldn’t Jerry have slipped out when you weren’t looking?”

She clutched the towel, her hands trembling. “I don’t know. He could have. But he didn’t. I’m sure he didn’t.”

“How are you sure?”

“Because I am. That’s it. No more questions.”

“Because you are? That’s bullshit, Marcy, and you know it.” He wanted to grab her and shake the truth out of her. Make her admit she was covering for her husband. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time McBirney had encouraged her to deceive Pete.

“No, Pete. I’m serious. If you want to ask me anything else, you’ll have to arrest me. And then I would demand a lawyer. I know the rules, remember? And right now, I want you to leave.”

From her tone, she meant it. He tucked his notebook back in his coat pocket and gave her a sad smile. He’d really hoped to reach her. As he crossed the kitchen to the door, one last question formed in his mind. He paused with his hand on the knob and turned back to face her. “Just tell me one thing, Marcy.”

She brushed the back of her hand across her forehead. “What?”

“What’s Jerry done that has you so frightened?”

Her face went white.

Zoe stood in the middle of the pantry, studying the meager offerings stored on the shelves. She really needed to go shopping. As she reached for a can of tomato soup, her phone rang. It had to be Pete. She’d left messages for him on his cell phone, his home phone, and at the station.

“What’s up?” Yes, it was indeed Pete.

She bit back a smile at the sound of his voice and informed him she had a copy of the coroner’s report. And some other important information. She didn’t elaborate. Matt’s tale of McBirney’s suspicions was better not shared over the phone.

“Have you eaten yet?”

She thought of the soup. “No.”

“Meet me at Parson’s”

“I’ll be there in a half hour.”

Folks didn’t just happen across Parson’s Roadhouse. The crowd consisted of regulars, familiar with the township’s back roads. The gravel parking lot was full of four-wheel-drive trucks and SUVs. Zoe added her Chevy to the collection and spotted the Vance Township police vehicle parked well away from the rest.

Inside, the rumble of conversation and the clink of glassware and dishes mingled with the strains of country music filtering through ancient speakers. The aromas of grilled meat blended with that of beer and overused cooking oil.

She spotted Pete chatting up some locals at one of the booths in the dining room, and her heart warmed. He’d shed his uniform for jeans and a sweatshirt. She wished the jeans were a little tighter, but her imagination had no problems filling in the gaps. She valued the easy comfort of their friendship. But, sometimes…

She drew a deep breath and made her way to Pete’s side. “Hey,” she said.

“Hey, yourself.” He smiled. “I got us a booth over here.”

She followed him to a secluded corner. His jacket had been folded and stowed on one of the benches. She slipped out of her parka and settled into the other seat. No sooner had Pete taken his place across from Zoe than a waitress in a grease-spotted brown uniform appeared with menus and a pot of coffee. “Regular or decaf?”

Zoe weighed her need for sleep against her desire to stay awake long enough to make it home after dinner. “Regular.”

The waitress poured. “I know better ‘n to ask you,” she said, winking at Pete.

“It’s high-test or nothing.” He gave her a crooked smile.

After the waitress had left them to study their menus, Zoe pulled the crumpled copies of the coroner’s report from her purse and set them on the table.

Pete snatched them and squinted as he read. “So what does this tell us?”

“I was hoping you’d know.”

He rummaged through his jacket before coming up with his reading glasses. “Fracture of the frontal bone. Cause of death, blunt-force trauma to the frontal lobe.”

“Franklin said he was probably hit with something large and flat.”

“Large and flat? Like a two-by-four?”

“Maybe. I hadn’t thought of that, but I suppose it could be.”

Pete studied the papers, flipping back and forth between the pages. “No mention of wood fragments.”

“Or anything else embedded in the wound.” Zoe could almost hear his brain processing the report. “Has Baronick called you with an update on the investigation?”

Pete gave a short laugh. “Hell, no. As far as County is concerned, we’re out of it.”

“And as far as you’re concerned?”

“What do you think?”

The waitress reappeared, pad and pen at the ready.

Without consulting either the menu or Zoe, Pete ordered. “I’ll have a large order of ribs with fries. The lady will have a cheeseburger with the works and a side of coleslaw.”

The waitress scribbled on the pad and left with a nod.

Zoe suppressed a laugh. “Either I’m entirely too predictable or you know me too well.”

“Did I order the wrong thing?”

“Of course not. That’s my point.”

Pete stuffed his glasses back into his jacket and took another sip from his cup. “I talked to Marcy this afternoon.”

“Oh? Why?” Zoe flashed on Matt at the police station, revealing Marcy’s secret.