Annette Dashofy - Zoe Chambers 03 - Bridges Burned

Praise for the Zoe Chambers Mystery Series

BRIDGES BURNED (#3)

“I’m a huge fan of Dashofy’s Zoe Chambers series and I loved
Burned Bridges
. The action starts off with a bang and never lets up. Zoe’s on the case, and she’s a heroine you’ll root for through the mystery’s twists and turns—strong and bold, but vulnerable and relatable. I adore her, and you will, too.”

– Lisa Scottoline,

New York Times
Bestselling Author of
Betrayed

“So polished, so intriguing, and so darn good.”

– Donnell Ann Bell,

Bestselling Author of
Buried Agendas

“Dashofy has done it again.
Bridges Burned
opens with a home erupting in flames. The explosion inflames simmering animosities and ignites a smoldering love that has been held in check too long. A thoroughly engaging read that will take you away.”

– Deborah Coonts,

Author of
Lucky Catch

LOST LEGACY (#2)

“A vivid country setting, characters so real you’d know them if they walked through your door, and a long-buried secret that bursts from its grave to wreak havoc in a small community—
Lost Legacy
has it all.”

– Sandra Parshall,

Author of the Agatha Award-Winning Rachel Goddard Mysteries

“A big-time talent spins a wonderful small-town mystery! Annette Dashofy skillfully weaves secrets from the past into a surprising, engaging, and entertaining page turner.”

– Hank Phillippi Ryan,

Mary Higgins Clark, Agatha and Anthony Award-Winning Author

CIRCLE OF INFLUENCE (#1)

“An easy, intriguing read, partially because the townfolks’ lives are so scandalously intertwined, but also because author Dashofy has taken pains to create a palette of unforgettable characters.”

–
Mystery Scene Magazine

“Dashofy takes small town politics and long simmering feuds, adds colorful characters, and brings it to a boil in a welcome new series.”

– Hallie Ephron,

Author of
There Was an Old Woman

“The texture of small town Pennsylvania comes alive in Annette Dashofy’s debut mystery. Discerning mystery readers will appreciate Dashofy’s expert details and gripping storytelling. Zoe Chambers is an authentic character who will entertain us for a long time.”

– Nancy Martin,

Author of the Blackbird Sister Mysteries

“New York has McBain, Boston has Parker, now Vance Township, PA (“pop. 5000. Please Drive Carefully.”) has Annette Dashofy, and her rural world is just as vivid and compelling as their city noir.”

– John Lawton,

Author of the Inspector Troy Series

“An excellent debut, totally fun to read. Annette Dashofy has created a charmer of a protagonist in Zoe Chambers. She’s smart, she’s sexy, she’s vulnerably romantic, and she’s one hell of a paramedic on the job. It’s great to look forward to books two and three.”

– Kathleen George,

Edgar-Nominated Author of the Richard Christie Series

“A terrific first mystery, with just the right blend of action, emotion and edge. I couldn’t put it down. The characters are well drawn and believable…It’s all great news for readers. I can’t wait to meet Zoe and Pete again in Vance Township, Monongahela County, PA.”

– Mary Jane Maffini,

Author of
The Dead Don’t Get Out Much

Books in the Zoe Chambers Mystery Series

by Annette Dashofy

CIRCLE OF INFLUENCE (#1)

LOST LEGACY (#2)

BRIDGES BURNED (#3)

Copyright

BRIDGES BURNED

A Zoe Chambers Mystery

Part of the Henery Press Mystery Collection

First Edition

Kindle edition | April 2015

Henery Press

www.henerypress.com

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever, including Internet usage, without written permission from Henery Press, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Copyright © 2014 by Annette Dashofy

Cover art by Fayette Terlouw

This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Related subjects include: cozy mysteries, women sleuths, murder mystery series, whodunit mysteries (whodunnit), book club recommendations, audio books for download, private investigator mystery series, amateur sleuth books.

ISBN-13: 978-1-941962-41-1

Printed in the United States of America

Dedication

To my mom, with love.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I want to thank the incredible group at Henery Press: my editorial team of Kendel Lynn, Anna Davis, Rachel Jackson, and Erin George; Art Molinares, who answers all my business and publicity questions; and graphic designer Stephanie Chontos. And a huge thank you to Fayette Terlouw for creating this fabulous cover art.

I strayed into some foreign territory while writing
Bridges Burned
. Thanks to Kathie Rumbaugh for answering my banking questions, to Tiffany Nolan for answering my insurance questions, and to David Dean for helping with my police procedure questions.  I’m beyond grateful to Joe Collins, Wes Harris and the rest of the gang at Crimescenewriters, without whom this story could not have been told (at least not by me) and to Chris Herndon for all the gory photos of dead bodies. Also I owe a huge debt of thanks to Lee Lofland and the instructors at the Writers Police Academy who helped me add a layer of authenticity to the story.

And a special shout-out to my Sister in Crime, Diana Stavroulakis, who keeps watch over my writing for any legal slip-ups.

Any mistakes in any of those areas are solely mine.

Thanks to my ever-vigilant critique group, Jeff Boarts, Judy Schneider, and Tamara Girardi who deserve much more acknowledgement than I can possibly give them here. You guys are the best.

And thanks to Anne Slates and Mary Sutton for being my sharp-eyed proofreaders, because I cannot see my own typos to save my life.

I can’t express enough gratitude for the support and guidance of my fellow Pennwriters and Sisters in Crime. You are my friends, my co-workers, my teachers, and my publicity team…and so much more. Thank you.

Finally, to Ray, who is still waiting for the movie to come out, thanks for having my back even when you had your doubts. I love you. 

One

The intense heat and drought of late July must have set everyone’s nerves on edge. Chief Pete Adams had no other explanation for the spate of domestic dispute calls his Vance Township Police Department had received as of late. At least “domestic dispute” meant something different in rural Monongahela County than it had when he worked with Pittsburgh’s Bureau of Police. Too often he’d walked into situations wondering if he’d end up taking a bullet. This week he’d dealt with two unarmed marital screaming matches, two farmers brandishing a shovel and pitchfork and quarreling over a wayward bull, and a frantic family terrified by their son who was off his meds and smashing lawn furniture.

Not a semi-automatic in sight. Pete loved it.

Until he wheeled into Jack Naeser’s driveway to find the paunchy, red-faced sixty-year-old waving a revving chainsaw and bellowing like that wayward bull. The object of Naeser’s tirade appeared to be Ryan Mancinelli, a good twenty years Naeser’s junior and every bit as livid as the older of the two. Mancinelli was Naeser’s next door neighbor—and son-in-law.

A row of hedges, exquisitely sculpted with a precision which clearly did not come from Naeser’s chainsaw, stood between the two men. A young woman on Mancinelli’s front porch clutched a handful of tissues to her face. An older woman holding a broom like a baseball bat stood halfway between Naeser’s house and the chainsaw wielding man himself.

Mother and daughter.

Pete was acquainted with the family because the Naesers’ other daughter was his police secretary. As he climbed out of his department SUV, he offered a silent prayer that he wouldn’t have to shoot the stubborn old fool today. “Mr. Naeser.”

Jack Naeser continued to spew profanities at his son-in-law. “You won’t listen to good sense. I’ll cut the whole goddamned row to the ground!”

“Over my dead body, old man.” Mancinelli’s arms, dark from long hours working construction in the summer sun, were knotted and tight.

If Mancinelli decided to slug his father-in-law, the older gent would most likely not get up unassisted.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Pete strode toward them, hands raised, nonthreatening, yet commanding. He hoped. “Let’s all cool off a moment. The air conditioning’s out at the station, so neither of you would enjoy sitting in my holding cell.”

For the first time since Pete had arrived, Naeser acknowledged his presence by swinging toward him. The chainsaw came around too.

Pete stepped back and brought one hand down to his sidearm. Not releasing it. Yet. But ready. “How about shutting that thing down before someone gets hurt?”

“The only thing I plan to hurt are these goddamned hedges.” Nevertheless, Naeser cut the motor and the contraption fell silent.

“That’s better.” Pete reached out and took the saw. “Now tell me what seems to be the problem.”

Both Naeser and Mancinelli started telling their stories at once. Mrs. Naeser and her broom stomped over, adding her version. A weepy Ashley Mancinelli joined the group, all talking over each other.

Pete brought his middle finger and thumb to his lips and cut loose with one of his patented ear-piercing whistles. The two couples shut up.

“Now, one at a time,” Pete said.

Naeser opened his mouth, but Pete held up one finger which he then pointed at Naeser’s wife.

She sputtered for a moment as if she didn’t know how to speak without the other noise drowning out her words. “These two—two jackasses are fighting about the hedges.”

“I got that much, ma’am.
Why
are they fighting about the hedges?”

She nodded toward her husband. “He can’t see to pull out of the driveway because the hedges are too tall. We asked Ryan to trim them down some, but he won’t.”

“They’d look hideous,” the younger man snapped.

Naeser planted his fists against his hips. “You’d rather I pull out in front of a semi and get killed?”

Mancinelli shrugged.

Swearing, Naeser stepped toward the hedge and his son-in-law. His wife grabbed him from behind. “Stop it, you pig-headed fool.”

Pete rubbed his forehead where sweat beaded and a dull ache threatened. “Mancinelli, if these hedges are a visual impediment to Mr. and Mrs. Naeser’s view of the road, they’ll need to be cut back.”

Mancinelli folded his wiry arms across his chest and tipped his head toward his own driveway. “I have no problem seeing.”

“Because you drive a big ass pickup truck, you son of a bitch,” Naeser shouted. “I drive a Hyundai.”

Mancinelli’s eyes narrowed. “They’re
my
hedges on
my
property. You touch them, old man, and I’ll kill you.”

Pete blew out a heavy breath. Why did people always threaten homicide in his presence?

“I’d like to see you try,” Naeser countered.

Both women jumped back into the fray, daughter wailing, mother shaking her broom and threatening to knock sense into the two idiots. Maybe a few hours in an un-air-conditioned holding cell might be the best choice after all. In the midst of the melee, Pete’s police radio crackled.

His secretary’s voice sounded unnerved, but he couldn’t make out Nancy’s words above the shouting match. Had she somehow gotten wind of his “visit” with her family?

“All right.” Still holding the chainsaw, Pete stepped between Naeser and the hedge. “Mr. Naeser, I’m placing you under arrest.”

“What?” The man’s shocked question was echoed by his wife and son-in-law.

Pete displayed the saw.

“Assault with a deadly weapon. You’ll have to come down to the station with me.” He swung around to Mancinelli. “I’ll need you down there, too, to swear out a complaint.”

“Oh.” The younger man appeared to give the prospect of an afternoon in the police station serious thought. “Well. I don’t know. I don’t really want to see Jack arrested.”

Mrs. Naeser gave her husband a nudge with the broom. “For heaven’s sake, you danged fool. Apologize. We’re all family.” To Pete she asked, “If he apologizes and Ryan doesn’t want to press charges, do you still have to arrest Jack?”

Nancy’s frantic voice sizzled over Pete’s radio again.

He hefted the chainsaw. “If Mr. Naeser promises not to threaten either his son-in-law or the hedges with this thing.”

Naeser had deflated, but his displeasure was clear. “But I can’t see traffic coming when I try to pull out.”

Pete turned to Mancinelli. “He has a good point. The way I see it, you have two choices. Completely remove the first six feet of the hedges...or trim them, so your wife’s father can see over them.”

Mancinelli’s jaw tightened.

Pete stepped around the hedge to Mancinelli’s side and lowered his voice. “Come on, man. Admit it. You’d feel pretty lousy if your beautiful wife’s dad was seriously injured or worse because of your own stubborn pride.”

Mancinelli’s shoulders slumped. “All right. I’ll trim them. But only the first six feet. The rest stay high. I don’t want that nebby old man poking his nose in my business.”

Two minutes later, after relinquishing the chainsaw into the custody of Mrs. Naeser, Pete slid behind his SUV’s steering wheel and keyed his mic. “Vance Base, this is thirty. What’s going on, Nancy?”

A moment passed before static burst from the speaker. “Chief, I’ve been trying to raise you. There have been multiple reports of the smell of natural gas at Scenic Hilltop Estates. The gas company’s been notified, and the fire department is en route.”

In his rearview mirror, he watched the shouting match between Naeser and Mancinelli start up again. Mrs. Naeser, however, was carrying the deadly weapon and her broom to the garage and out of temptation’s way. “Roger that,” Pete said into his mic. “I’m on my way over there right now.”

“
Ter-ROT
.” Zoe Chambers barked out the trot command in two syllables. The dark chestnut two-year-old colt circling her twenty feet away at the other end of the lunge line continued his lanky extended walk. She flipped the long whip in the direction of the horse’s hind legs and repeated the command.

This time he broke into the faster gait, but tossed his head in expression of his displeasure.

“Pretty cool.”

The unfamiliar voice from across the large indoor arena distracted Zoe for a moment, something she couldn’t afford with this colt. He’d already bucked her off twice when she’d tried to ride him, forcing her to revert to basic ground work. She couldn’t allow the idea of a hundred-and-thirty-pound female being no match for a thousand-pound equine to further ingrain itself in his head.

She gave a hard snap to the lunge line while taking a big step to the left, as though cutting off the horse’s forward movement. At the same time she called out, “
Whoa
.”

The colt skidded to a stop and turned to face Zoe with a snort.

“Good boy,” she cooed.

The stranger who had interrupted her training session applauded. The sound echoed under the arena’s rafters, and the skittish colt leapt sideways.

The man clearly knew zilch about horses. Zoe muttered under her breath as she reeled in the long flat nylon lead, drawing the colt to her in the process. With one hand on his halter, she patted his neck and then led him toward their visitor. “Can I help you?”

The man stood silhouetted by the sun shining through the big open door. Zoe couldn’t see his face, and didn’t recognize his voice or his stance. He ambled toward her. Once he was fully in the shade, she got her first good look at him. Tall and built like an overstuffed box, he wore dark-rimmed glasses and a short-sleeved plaid shirt partially tucked into his khaki trousers. She guessed him to be fortyish, but his dimpled smile made him look much younger. Cute. In a nerdy kind of way.

But definitely not very bright where horses were concerned.

He extended his hand. “Name’s Dave Evans. I’m looking for Mr. or Mrs. Kroll.”

Zoe wiped her dusty palm on her jeans before shaking his hand. “They’re not home right now.” Mr. Kroll was still in rehab, recovering from a gunshot wound and head injury he’d incurred a month ago. His wife spent most of each day at his side. None of which Zoe was willing to share with a stranger. “I’m Zoe Chambers. I manage the farm for them.”

Evans pointed at the horse. “That’s pretty impressive, how you handled him out there. You can actually control him with only a long rope? And he keeps going around in circles?”

On a good day. “That’s right.”

He gave a nod of appreciation and echoed his earlier comment. “Pretty cool.”

“Is there something I can help you with?”

Evans fumbled in the pocket of his rumpled khakis and pulled out a small leather folder. “Mr. and Mrs. Kroll… Any idea when they’ll be home?”

“Sorry. No.”

He extricated a business card and held it out to her. “Perhaps you could give this to them when they return?”

She studied the card.
David Evans. Evans Land Development. Baltimore, Maryland.

“I’ve managed to acquire several farms in the area. We’re putting in upscale homes. Providing work for local construction laborers. Growing the local economy.”

Zoe handed the card back. “I don’t believe the Krolls would be interested.”

Evans shook his head. “Please. Give it to them anyway. I hear Mrs. Kroll’s been ill recently. And Mr. Kroll was seriously hurt. Am I correct?”

“Not entirely.” Zoe patted the colt’s neck. “Mrs. Kroll’s ‘illness’ isn’t recent. In fact, she’s been in remission for a year. And Mr. Kroll is recovering nicely. No one here is ready to sell out.”

“Keep the card all the same. You never know. I’ve already purchased several of your neighbors’ properties. And I pay top dollar. The Krolls won’t find a better deal anywhere.”

Zoe shoved the card into her jeans pocket where she expected she’d forget about it until she did her laundry. “I’ll give it to them, but don’t hold your breath.”

“That’s all I can ask.” He bumped his glasses up on his nose. “Except for one more thing. I don’t suppose you’re free for dinner tomorrow night, are you?”

The unexpected proposal took her by surprise. “No. I’m not.”

He gave her a shy smile. “My loss. But you have my card if you change your mind.”

As Dave Evans turned away, a boom that sounded like a cannon rattled the barn windows. The ground beneath Zoe’s feet bucked. The colt reared, dragging the lunge line through Zoe’s fingers, searing her hand. Stall doors clanked against their hinges.

“What on earth?” Evans clung to the big barn door’s frame.

Zoe dug in her heels to keep the colt from dragging her. “Whoa, boy,” she called, keeping her voice firm, but low.

From outside, a rumble continued in the distance, like thunder. But it didn’t fade away, and the sky was cloudless.

Zoe reached the colt and grabbed his halter. Clucking to the spooked animal she guided him to an empty stall, unclipped the lunge line, and swooshed him inside. After latching the door, she jogged across the arena.

Dave Evans stood outside, staring slack-jawed into the distance. Zoe looked in the direction he was staring and gasped.

Flames leapt above the trees on the hillside nearly a mile away. A thick plume of smoke rose from the inferno. The roar reminded Zoe of the farmhouse’s oil furnace when it lit, only louder.

“Good God,” Evans whispered.

She glanced at the barn. The colt was secured in a stall with hay and water. The gates were latched. The feed room closed. “If you’ll excuse me,” she told Evans, “I have to go.”

She’d taken only a step when he caught her arm. “You aren’t going over there, are you?”

Zoe jerked free. “I have to. I’m a paramedic.” As she raced down the farm lane toward the house and her truck, she prayed her medical skills would be needed more than those of her other occupation. Deputy coroner.