“Hi,” she said, her voice small.
“Hello.” His deep baritone was the same as she remembered.
She pondered what to say next. Good to see you? It’s been a long time? How’ve you been? She settled on, “I’m glad you came.”
He pondered the simple statement as if she’d said something profound. Finally, he gave one nod. “I wasn’t sure you would be.”
Zoe wanted to point out that their estrangement had been his doing, not hers, but decided this wasn’t the time. That left her puzzling over what else to say and wishing he’d help her out. He didn’t.
Long silent seconds ticked off as she thought up—and dismissed—dozens of casual, emotionless, safe comments, all nothing more than small talk.
He lifted his chin, his mouth working into an inverted “U.” “I guess this was a bad idea.” Before she could protest, he called over her shoulder, “Kimberly. Let’s go,” and turned to step back into the Navigator.
Stunned, Zoe stood paralyzed, watching the rear door slam shut. Through the tinted glass, Tom stared straight ahead.
Kimberly’s heels click, click, clicked on the sidewalk behind Zoe. “Why can’t you just admit you made a mistake and apologize?” her mother hissed into her ear before climbing into the front seat. Across the hood, Patsy gave her a sympathetic shrug before getting behind the wheel and starting the big SUV.
As she watched the Navigator pull away, Zoe became aware of hot tears and scrubbed them from her eyes. “I did,” she said, her words hanging as fog in the cold, empty air. “Two years ago.”
Twenty-Four
“Are you spying on my sister?” Scott asked.
Pete had drawn the sheer living room curtains aside to watch the scene playing out on the sidewalk. “Yes,” he replied. Glancing over his shoulder at Zoe’s brother, he added, “Do you have a problem with that?”
Scott’s gaze was on Tom Jackson and Zoe too. “Nope. Who’s that guy?”
“Her stepdad.” As Pete watched, Jackson got back in the black SUV, leaving Zoe looking devastated.
“Doesn’t look like the warm and fuzzy type.”
“I hear he used to be.”
“What happened?”
“I arrested him for murder.” Pete didn’t look at Scott’s reaction but sensed it, nonetheless.
“Was he guilty?”
“Nope.”
“Why’s he upset with Zoe?”
“She thought he was a murderer too.”
Scott grunted. “That would do it.”
Pete let the curtains fall shut as the SUV pulled away. He had to admit, he wasn’t disappointed to not have to deal with Kimberly and Tom Jackson in addition to Scott, Seth, and Abby. This day already promised more than enough tension.
In the kitchen, Seth crumpled his coffee cup and added it to the growing trash bag. “Where do we start?”
“Grab something and start loading the trucks.” Pete looked at Zoe’s brother. “You too.”
Scott snapped a mock salute.
Pete opened the door, letting in a blast of frosty air. “I’ll be right behind you.” But his focus drifted to the folders Zoe had brought home. He flipped open the top one and scanned the first page. An autopsy report on a John Doe. Why were Zoe and Abby so secretive about an unidentified man? Then he noticed the date. He hesitated, wanting nothing more than to pick up the folder and read every word. But that wouldn’t go over well with his volunteers. Besides, he’d get more subtext if he questioned his fiancée and officer directly regarding their findings and suspicions.
He closed the folder, hefted a box, and followed Scott out to the waiting vehicles.
Pete had hoped to put a bigger dent in the moving process than the first load accomplished. He’d also hoped to ride with Zoe to the farm so he could quiz her about John Doe. But she insisted Abby join her, either to talk about the case or to provide distance between Abby and Seth, so Pete drove his Edge alone while Seth rode shotgun in Scott’s pickup.
Lauren’s gray sedan was already there when the caravan arrived at the farm. The reporter, attired in a heavy work coat and rubber boots, stepped from the barn and waited while the three loaded vehicles parked. She waved at Zoe. “Marcus sent apologies for not being here to help, but he’s working on a project for school to raise his abysmal science grade.”
Zoe laughed. “I completely understand.”
Lauren headed for Pete. “Can we talk for a few minutes before you get busy?”
He noticed the others were already unloading and heading toward the house. “Did you find anything?”
“Yes and no.”
Pete waved her into the Edge’s passenger seat. Even with the motor off, it was still warmer than inside the barn. “What have you got?”
“I talked to my contact about the Morgantown homicide. It’s still an open and very cold case.”
“What about the victim’s boyfriend?”
“I was able to get his name.”
Finally, a potential lead. “Great.”
“Not so great,” she said. “He was killed in a drunk driving accident a few months after the second newspaper article ran.”
“Another dead end.”
“The boyfriend? Yes. However, I learned from a confidential source that the Morgantown woman is definitely considered to be one of the DLK’s early victims. No one saw or heard anything. Vacant parking lot. Gunshot wound to the head. It all matches his MO.”
Pete watched as the kitchen door swung open and Zoe led their parade of helpers out for a second load. She looked in his direction, probably wondering why the hell he wasn’t doing his share of the heavy lifting.
“Do you have anything for me?” Lauren asked, sounding hopeful.
“I wish I did.” A serial killer had practically been in his backyard mere weeks before Elizabeth Landis was murdered. Whether or not DLK was behind the crime might never be determined, but the facts as they stood would give Anthony Imperatore ample grounds to argue reasonable doubt. Either Dustin was innocent, and Pete had
