Annette Dashofy - Zoe Chambers 03 - Bridges Burned (14 page)

Fourteen

Groggy from a Friday night of nonstop calls and little sleep, Zoe sat in the ambulance garage office at the desk, filling out the last incident report. The coffee in front of her would do nothing to hinder slumber if she could only manage to sneak off to the bunkroom. The morning sunshine streamed through the large picture window, promising a gorgeous Saturday. Which meant folks would be outside, playing sports, riding motorcycles—and getting injured.

Her cell phone buzzed in her cargo pants pocket. She pulled it out and checked the screen, but didn’t recognize the number. For a moment, she considered ignoring it, but touched the button to answer the call instead.

“Zoe? It’s Holt.”

The grim tone of his voice tightened her chest. “Holt? Is something wrong?”

“No, no. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I have some business I need to attend to today, and Mrs. Kroll will be visiting her husband. I was wondering if you know of someone dependable who could watch Maddie for a few hours.”

A babysitter? Zoe rubbed the space between her eyes, trying to coax her brain into action. With Patsy Greene in Florida and Rose Bassi still somewhere out west, her first two choices weren’t available. But an even better choice leapt to mind. “Sylvia,” Zoe said.

“Who?”

“Sylvia Bassi. She loves kids.”

“Is she…” His voice sounded strained. Cautious. “…reliable?”

Zoe laughed. “As reliable as they come.”

A shadow swept the room as a pedestrian passed the window.

“I hate to be a pest,” Holt said, “but if I call her, she won’t know me from Adam.”

“I’ll call her and have her phone you at the house.” The front door to the office scraped open, and Zoe looked up to see Pete with the sun at his back. In a flash, all her conflicted emotions steamrolled over her. Joy. Longing. Pain. Heartbreak. She turned her attention back to the phone. “Unless you’d rather have her call your cell?”

“Either is fine.”

“And if I can’t reach her, I’ll call you back and let you know.”

Holt, sounding relieved, thanked her and hung up.

Zoe hesitated, staring at the screen and the End button. Clicking it would mean having to deal with Pete. She could feel his gaze on her. And no footsteps from the back indicated anyone else was coming to invite him in. She tapped the screen and rose to face him.

Deep creases furrowed Pete’s brow. Wearing a faded t-shirt and jeans, he stood with a hand on the doorknob as if unsure whether he was coming or going. Or staying.

Zoe let the phone slide back into her pocket before crossing her arms. “Did you want something?”

He winced. Opened his mouth. Closed it again. And stepped the rest of the way inside, shutting the door behind him. “How about a do-over?”

He looked so uncomfortable, Zoe had to resist an urge to smile. “A do-over? Of what?”

“Of yesterday. And Thursday night if I can get two.”

Zoe pretended to consider it. “Nope. No do-overs.”

He lowered his gaze. “Damn.” Raised an eyebrow in her direction. “Well then, can you just throw something at me? Or punch me? I deserve it.”

“Is this your way of saying you’re sorry?”

“God, no. I tried that last night and it made things worse.”

They stared at each other for several long moments, the silence only broken by the staticky transmissions from the scanner on the shelf above the desk. Zoe unfolded her arms, planting her hands on her hips instead. “You really suck at apologies, you know.”

“I do. Yeah.” He gave her a hint of a grin. “But what they lack in quality, they make up for in sincerity. I really am sorry.”

“For what?” There was the little profession of love he’d already apologized for.

He must have thought of that, too, because he took a moment to weigh his words. “For being a jackass?”

Zoe gave him an exaggerated eye roll. “I guess that’ll do.”

He stepped toward her with an extended hand. “Friends?”

She looked at the hand. Friends? So they were back to that? Well, maybe it was for the best. She slipped her hand into his. “Friends.”

But he held onto it for longer than a friendly handshake, and the heat of his skin against hers sent a flush of warmth all the way up to her cheeks.

Gently slipping from his grasp, she said, “You’re out and about early on a Saturday.”

“I’m meeting someone at the station at eight. I thought I’d swing by here on my way.”

“On your way?” The police station was a little more than two blocks up the hill from Pete’s house in Dillard. The ambulance garage was two miles away at the other end of Phillipsburg.

Pete grinned sheepishly. “Okay, I took the long way around. I hated the way I left things with you yesterday.”

“Who are you meeting?” Zoe thought of Holt saying he had
business
to attend to.
Police
business?

A fleeting scowl crossed Pete’s face. “Ryan Mancinelli wants to see me.”

Zoe hid her relief. “How’s his father-in-law doing?”

“I haven’t heard.”

“Keep me posted, okay? He had me a little worried.”

Pete’s eyes had grown guarded again and he glanced at his watch. “Okay. I’d better go or I’ll be late.” He gave her a look she couldn’t quite decipher before leaving.

She watched him pass in front of the big window. He may have apologized, in his own way, but he was keeping her at arm’s length about something. And she suspected the
something
was Holt.

Which reminded her… She pulled her phone back out and scrolled through her address book in search of Sylvia’s number.

No way was Pete going down that rabbit hole again. Zoe didn’t need to know the reason he was meeting Ryan Mancinelli was because he claimed to have information about Holt and Lillian Farabee.

Pete slid behind the wheel of the Explorer, fired it up, and headed back to Dillard.

Zoe hadn’t exactly accepted his fumbling excuse of an apology with wild abandon. But had he really expected she would? While he might have hoped she’d run sobbing into his arms, offering her own request for forgiveness—along with a promise to give Farabee the boot and never see him again—Pete knew better. As long as Farabee was in the picture, Pete had two options. Prove the widower was indeed guilty, followed by refraining from any and all I-told-you-sos. Or prove Zoe was right and Farabee had nothing to do with the explosion, followed by the biggest apology of Pete’s life, which may, or may not, have the desired effect.

Something else bugged him. Who was she on the phone with when he’d arrived? He’d wanted to ask. Casually. And up until a few days ago, he would have. He was a cop. Being nosy was a hazard of the job. Zoe understood. Or used to. But he had a feeling he knew who she was talking to. And if that was the case, her answer would have put an end to any kind of reconciliation he’d been attempting.

His SUV’s dashboard clock read 7:56 as he wheeled into the lot in front of the station and parked in his usual spot. A shiny, but dented Impala with the Vance Township insignia took up another slot, and a massive black Ram pickup with “Ryan Mancinelli Building and Remodeling” painted on the side took up two others.

Bells on the front door jangled as Pete pushed through, his travel mug of coffee in hand. Seth sat at Nancy’s desk, sifting through some papers. He looked up. “Hey, Chief. I put Ryan Mancinelli in the conference room.”

“Good. Any word on Naeser?”

“I haven’t heard anything. Do you want me to call Nancy and ask about him?”

“Yeah. Anything else going on around here I need to know about?”

Seth grinned. “It’s your day off, or have you forgotten?”

Pete glared at his officer. “Smartass.” As chief of police, days off were little more than wishful thinking.

“It was a busy night. Besides the pile-up involving Naeser and Mancinelli, there was a minor car versus tree on Covered Bridge Road. Drunk driver had a nice goose-egg, but wasn’t feeling any pain.” Seth ticked off a half dozen other relatively minor calls before tipping his head toward the rear of the building. “Nate’s back in the bullpen getting ready to head out on patrol. I’m looking for some phone numbers in Nancy’s stuff so I can finish one more report and then I’m outta here.”

Pete nodded approval. “Do me a favor. Catch Nate before he leaves and tell him to wait for me. I want to talk to him.”

“Yes, sir.”

Ryan Mancinelli sat at the conference table, facing the door, and rose when Pete entered. He swayed as if he’d caught a breeze, and his bloodshot eyes widened, leading Pete to wonder if the kid had been drinking.

Pete motioned for Mancinelli to sit and eased into the chair across from him. “You said you had information on the Farabees?” Unblinking, Mancinelli gave a quick nod. When he didn’t respond, Pete asked, “What kind of information?”

Mancinelli looked down at his hands, which were clasped on the table in front of him, as if he were praying. “They were having problems.”

Pete waited for more, but Mancinelli simply stared at his fingers. “What kind of problems?”

Mancinelli flinched. “Marital problems. Holt found out his wife was having an affair. It made him crazy. He threatened her.”

“He threatened her, how?”

Mancinelli shot a glance at Pete before once again examining his hands. “He said he’d kill her.”

Pete studied what he could see of Ryan Mancinelli’s face, which wasn’t much. But the man’s entire body appeared so tightly strung, Pete wouldn’t have been surprised if he keeled over at any second. “Did you hear him threaten her?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

Mancinelli sneaked another look at Pete. “I don’t know. A couple of different times.”

“You’re friends with Farabee?”

Mancinelli opened his mouth, but no sound came out for a moment. Then he said, “Yes.” And nothing more.

“How long have you been friends?”

“I don’t know. About three years, I guess.”

“You say Farabee threatened to kill his wife. Do you believe he did?”

Mancinelli looked up at Pete and held his gaze this time. The look on his face was pained, almost pleading. “Yes.”

“I don’t suppose you know with whom Lillian Farabee was supposedly having this affair?”

Mancinelli gave a quick nod. “Their neighbor. Stephen Tierney.”

The fort dweller.

After ascertaining Mancinelli had nothing else to share, Pete thanked him and watched as the man bolted out the door. Pete leaned back in the chair, took a sip of his coffee, and pondered the story. Mancinelli had confirmed several of Pete’s suspicions about the events at Scenic Hilltop Estates. He’d verified Holt Farabee was a viable murder suspect.

The problem nagging at Pete now was simple.

He was pretty damned sure Ryan Mancinelli was lying through his teeth.

“Seth said you wanted to see me, Chief?” Officer Nate Williams took up most of the doorway to the front office. If there was ever a police officer who could settle an altercation by simply stepping out of the cruiser, it was Nate. No one in their right mind wanted to mess with this guy.

“I gather Seth updated you on what’s been going on?”

“Yeah.” There was an air of caution in that one word.

Pete wondered how much detail Seth had shared regarding Farabee’s current living arrangements. “I want to talk to Stephen Tierney.”

“The dude who lives behind the big fence?”

“That’s the one. He’s been out of town on business and I know he’s supposed to be back at work on Monday. What I don’t know is when he’s coming home. I’m heading there now to check on his house. I’ll call you if he’s there. If not, make an extra effort to patrol the area, and let me know if you spot him.”

“Is this an official BOLO?”

Pete thought about it. “No. Be on the lookout, but not officially. Not yet.”

One corner of Nate’s mouth tipped up. “Got it, Chief.”

A few minutes later, Nate was heading north in the old Impala, and Pete headed south along Route 15 toward the Kroll farm—by way of Scenic Hilltop Estates.

Nothing much had changed at the remains of Farabee’s house. Yellow caution tape marked the perimeter. The state fire marshal’s car sat at the edge of the road, and Pete recognized Reggie O’Brien still combing through the debris along with another uniformed man.

Reggie spotted him and waved. Pete powered down his window, letting in a blast of sultry air. “Hey, Reggie. Anything new?”

The fire marshal picked his way through the shards of wood and glass toward the tape. “Nope. Nothing that would interest you, anyway.”

Pete pointed toward the fort. “Don’t suppose you’ve seen anyone coming or going over there, have you?”

“I haven’t noticed. But I’ve been busy.”

Pete thanked him and eased the SUV into Tierney’s driveway. Nothing had changed there either. Still, Pete climbed out of his vehicle and strolled around the house. No one responded when he knocked on the door. He peered through the window, shielding his eyes from the glare. What he could see of the interior looked spotless and impersonal. It could easily have been a display model rather than a lived-in home.

If he wasn’t going to get any answers from Tierney about this alleged affair, he’d get them from Farabee. At least this time, Pete wouldn’t have to deal with Zoe’s interference. But how was he going to question the father without the girl overhearing? Maybe he could get Mrs. Kroll to keep an eye on the kid. One way or the other, he intended on getting those answers. And he was going to get them today.