“What do you need?”
“I’m doing a feature piece on Franklin Marshall. About all he’s done for the county during his years in office.”
“That’s so sweet,” Paulette said, her voice still heavy with the strain of grief.
Lauren smiled sadly. “I’d started my research for it before he passed away. Now, it’ll be more of a tribute or memorial.” She looked at Zoe. “I wanted to interview you for it.” Glancing at Paulette, she added, “You too, of course.”
“What kind of deadline are you on?” Zoe asked. “Because unfortunately, you’re right. This isn’t a good time.”
“The paper wants to run it early next week. I could catch up with you at the barn this weekend.” Lauren looked at Paulette. “How’s Monday for you?”
Paulette appealed to Zoe with a raised eyebrow.
“Tell you what.” Zoe checked her watch. “Why don’t you two have lunch today in an hour or so.”
Paulette started to protest.
Zoe silenced her with a raised palm. “It’s okay. I’ll putter around the office and dig out the files I need right now.”
Once the two women agreed on a time and location, Zoe grabbed her handcart and offered to walk out with Lauren. In the elevator, the reporter rocked from one foot to the other, back and forth.
“Claustrophobic?” Zoe asked.
“Not usually. But you have to admit, this is a little like being in a coffin.”
“It’s private. I don’t think a third person would fit.”
The mention of privacy sparked Lauren’s investigative journalist’s curiosity. “What happened with the office at the funeral home?”
“We were…evicted.”
“By the woman I met this morning?”
“Loretta Marshall. Yep.”
“Marshall? Franklin’s sister?”
“Ex-wife.”
Lauren’s eyes widened with a joyful glint. “Really?” She dug into her leather satchel, coming up with a pen and pad. “Tell me, tell me.”
Zoe watched the dimly lit numbers above the door counting down. “Unless you’re willing to help me move boxes, we don’t have enough time.” The offer of physical labor didn’t appear to interest Lauren. “Why don’t you ask Paulette when you two have lunch? She can tell you all about the grieving widow.”
“Huh. That wasn’t the impression I got.”
“Me neither.”
The elevator settled on the first floor with a groan and a jolt. The doors wheezed open, and Lauren whispered a prayer of thanks, stepping off ahead of Zoe. “I’ve changed my mind,” the reporter said. “I am claustrophobic.”
They crossed the high-ceilinged lobby, Zoe’s dolly clattering along behind.
“Since Franklin’s gone, I gather you’ll be taking over the task of testifying at Dustin Landis’ retrial.”
Zoe stopped inside the historic building’s front doors. “Afraid so.”
“Can you tell me anything about Elizabeth’s death? I’ve heard rumors that Franklin didn’t go along with the prosecution’s case.”
“The Landis case is at the top of today’s to-do list. Right after hooking up the computers and finding the files.”
“You’re not very helpful.”
“Sorry.”
“I’m going to keep asking, you know.”
“I have no doubt.” Zoe pushed through the brass-trimmed door into a wall of cold air. Spring couldn’t come soon enough.
Lauren tagged along behind.
Zoe had managed to parallel park right in front of the building and beeped open the cargo hatch.
“I have an appointment before my lunch date,” Lauren said. Zoe wondered if it was an excuse to get out of helping. “Are you going to be around the farm tomorrow?”
“Yep. We’re moving the rest of Pete’s stuff.”
Lauren grinned. “You’re getting a lot of practice at being a mover. You know. In case the gig with the coroner’s office doesn’t work out.”
Zoe didn’t find the comment funny. She leaned into the cargo compartment, maneuvered a box into her arms, and muscled it out.
“I’ll stop by then.” Lauren gestured at the remaining boxes and computer components. “I’ll do some barn work to make up for bugging out on you today.”
“Deal.” Zoe grunted as she thumped the box of files onto the handcart. Straightening, she faced Lauren. “You can be part of the reunion.”
“Excuse me?”
“Scott’s coming down from Erie to help. And Mother’s flying in from Florida.”
Lauren gave her a Mona Lisa smile. “Is your stepfather coming too?”
“No.” Zoe blocked out the hurt by reaching for another box.
“He’s not coming to the wedding?”
“No.”
A pause. “Did you invite him?”
Had she? “He wouldn’t come anyway.”
Lauren closed a hand around Zoe’s arm and forced her to look at her. “Ask him.”
Zoe rolled her eyes and tried to pull away.
Lauren held on. “Ask him,” she said more firmly. Tipping her head as if looking over glasses she wasn’t wearing, she added. “You might be surprised.”
Twenty
Pete returned to the station after settling a family argument and taking an accident report at a minor fender bender. The township’s second police vehicle, a battle-weary Impala, took up the parking spot next to his. Abby was inside.
When he asked about his new dayshift officer, Nancy handed him a short stack of pink callback notes and pointed him toward the bullpen. He found Abby still at her desk, puzzling over her computer.
“What’re you working on?”
She looked up, her mouth drawn to one side, her face the picture of annoyance. “I don’t know. Maybe nothing. Maybe something.”
“Care to be more specific?”
After a thoughtful silence, she responded, “No.”
He waited for elaboration.
She glanced at her screen before coming back to Pete. “I find myself with a lot of extra time on my hands these days, so I’ve been thinking.”
“About?”
“I’d rather not say. Not yet.” She shrugged. “It’s just another of my hunches born out of a sleepless night. I don’t want to send us off on a wild goose chase without at least doing my homework.”
Pete knew all about sleepless nights and the resulting hunches. “Fair enough.” He trusted Abby would work it out and let him know when and if she had anything substantial.
In his office, he was halfway through the pink callback notes when the bells out front jangled. Baronick’s voice drifted back to him. Seconds later, the detective appeared at Pete’s office doorway. “Care to take a ride with me?”
“Where?” Pete asked.
“To Cheryl Vranjes’ house.”
“Why?”
“I
