TWO

Freshly showered, attired in his favorite jeans and sweatshirt, and starving for supper, Pete Adams flipped on the kitchen light. One of Zoe’s orange tabbies blinked at him from the counter.

“What are you doing there?” Pete asked the cat. Then he realized he was talking to an animal. When had he started doing that? He scooped up the feline and deposited it on the floor by its half-full food bowl.

Zoe could tell the two apart. He couldn’t. All he knew was one had some white on it. The other didn’t. And one was female, the other male. Pete didn’t care enough to check. He just called them both “Cat.”

This one looked up at him with accusatory green eyes and meowed.

“You have food.” Pete, however, did not.

In the eight weeks since Zoe had moved in with him, this was the first evening he had to fend for himself in the supper department. He had to admit, it was nice coming home from a day on duty as police chief in Vance Township to a hot meal. Zoe wasn’t exactly a gourmet chef, but she made a mean roasted chicken. Tonight, though, she was back on her regular EMS shift, and the house felt empty.

The tabby meowed again.

Empty except for the cats.

Pete opened the refrigerator and stared at the contents. A six-pack of beer, some pizza in a zipper storage bag, and a couple of microwave bowls with lids stared back. He pulled out one of the mystery bowls and was about to thumb the lid open when someone knocked on his door.

He stuck the bowl back in the fridge. Who the hell was on his porch at seven o’clock at night? Not a resident in need of police help, or one of his officers would have phoned. Even Sylvia Bassi down the street wouldn’t simply drop in after dark.

He hit the switch for the outside light and opened the door. “Nadine?”

The presence of his sister was a red flag on its own. The strained expression on her face dropped a lead weight on Pete’s heart.

He held the storm door for her and moved out of her way. “Is Pop okay?”

“No, he’s not okay. He’s got Alzheimer’s. He’s never okay.”

Pete closed the door on the biting cold that had escorted Nadine inside. Pointing out that their father’s dementia was nothing new didn’t seem like the right way to calm down his drama-queen sibling. “Is that why you’re here?”

She shed her winter coat and slung it over one of the kitchen chairs. “You got a cat?” She sounded astonished.

“Two, actually.”

Nadine wandered toward the tabby. It looked up at her and meowed. She scanned the counters, the stovetop, the sink, and the dishes stacked in the drainer before swinging around to look at Pete. “You have a woman living here.” It was a statement of fact. Not a question.

“What makes you think that?”

“No dirty pots or plates piled everywhere. And you never had a cat in your life.” Nadine arched an eyebrow. “Zoe?”

Pete didn’t exactly care to go into the details of his personal life. “Why are you here, Sis? What’s wrong with Pop? Besides the Alzheimer’s, I mean.”

Nadine picked up the cat and stroked its head. “Can’t I just drop in for a visit?”

“You never drop in for a visit. The last time you showed up unannounced, you brought Pop along and left him with me.” Pete’s own words gave him a momentary jolt of panic. “He’s not out in the car, is he?”

She rolled her eyes at him. “Of course not. It’s twelve degrees out there.”

“Then what are you doing here?”

Nadine held the cat closer, letting it snuggle under her chin. “I am here about Dad. He’s getting harder and harder for me to handle. My blood pressure is through the roof. I’m not sleeping because he wanders all night.” She swallowed. “I’ve made a decision. I’m putting him in an assisted-living facility.”

“A nursing home?”

She cringed. “Not a ‘nursing’ home. It’s a nice place. Or it looks nice from their website.”

Pete opened his mouth, ready to chastise her for wanting to dump their father in a home. And for picking one from pictures on the computer. But he stopped and took a long look at his sister. The dark circles under her eyes. The sag of her shoulders. And when had she let her hair go gray? Pete softened his stance. “You should check it out, you know. Don’t rely on what you see on their website.”

“That’s really why I’m here.” Nadine lowered the cat to the floor and stood a little taller. “I have an appointment to tour the place tomorrow morning. I want to take Dad. And I want you to come along too.”

“Me?” Pete squirmed inside. “You know I’m on duty. I might be able to come into Pittsburgh tomorrow night.”

“Nighttime won’t work. Pop’s sundowning is getting worse. And your work shouldn’t be a big issue. The place I have in mind is in Brunswick.”

“Why Brunswick? I thought you’d want to at least have him close to you.”

“I’ve had him close to me for a couple of years now. To be honest, I need some distance. And this way he’ll be a lot closer to you.”

Pete wondered if he was imagining the accusatory tone in her voice. You get to take over caring for Pop. You won’t be able to make excuses for not spending time with him anymore. Pete didn’t need Nadine’s criticism. His own guilt cut deeper than anything his sister could say. “What’s the name of the place?”

“Golden Oaks Assisted Living.” She stepped around the cat, dug a business card from her jeans pocket, and set it on the kitchen table. “The street address and website is on there. Our tour is scheduled for ten o’clock.” The look she gave him said don’t be late. “I’d suggest you check it out online before we get there.”

Pete fingered the card without picking it up. “What’s Pop think about this?”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Not really. You aren’t planning to just dump him there without him knowing what’s going on, are you?”

A flash of anger sparked in her pale blue eyes. “I’m not dumping him anywhere. Of all the—”

Pete held up both hands. “Bad choice of words. I’m sorry. But I can’t believe he’s okay with this.”

“He will be. He has to be.” The anger faded to something else. Something Pete recognized. Guilt. The same as he felt when he didn’t spend as much time with their father as he should.

“I’ll be there. If something comes up, I’ll call you.”

She shook a finger at him. “Nothing better come up.”

As if on cue, Pete’s cell phone rang.

Nadine raised her voice. “And if it does, you’re the police chief, for crying out loud. Have one of your officers handle it.”

Zoe’s photo flashed on the phone’s screen. Pete turned his back to his sister and thumbed the green button. “How’s your first night back at work?”

“Not so great.” Zoe’s voice sounded strained. “I think I need to report an assault.”

  

Seth was already waiting at Oriole Andrews’ front door when Pete arrived. “Have you gone back inside yet?”

“No, sir. I locked up for Mrs. Andrews’ granddaughter once the ambulance left.” Seth held up a key ring. “She told me I should hold onto this since it’s a spare.”

“Any sign of forced entry?”

“None. I walked the perimeter of the house. The doors are all locked and appear undisturbed.”

Pete looked at the uneven pavement leading from the street to the porch. “Someone cleared the snow, so we can’t tell about footprints.”

Seth made a face. “That was me, Chief. Sorry. I didn’t want the ambulance crew to stumble when they were bringing Mrs. Andrews out.”

“Were there many tracks before you cleared it?”

“Kinda. I didn’t know I was dealing with a crime scene.” Seth lowered his head. “I screwed up.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Pete might have done the same thing. He noted the letter box next to the door. The mail carrier would have come and gone. Zoe and Earl. The granddaughter. And Seth. But who else?

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” the young officer asked, his voice tense. “Those con men?”

“Yeah.”

Two weeks ago, Janie Baker had called Pete to this very house. She’d been exasperated with her grandmother—and terrified for her at the same time. A generic white van had stopped when Oriole was home alone, and a man from the van came to the door claiming to be with the water company. She let him in and took him to the basement at his request, supposedly to check the pressure.

“I’ve told her and told her to never let a stranger in the house.” Janie shook her head in frustration.

Oriole shrugged. “He was polite.”

Apparently nothing had been stolen. Pete impressed upon the elderly woman the importance of being wary of strangers. “Don’t answer the door,” he told her. “Call 911 if anyone knocks. We don’t mind checking things out. It’s our job.”

Oriole had grinned. Pete didn’t believe for a minute she’d pay one bit of attention to his warnings. And now he feared these fake water-company employees may have returned. With devastating results.

Pete dug the camera from his evidence-collection kit and photographed the door, zooming in on the unmarred lock. “Open it,” he told Seth.

Careful not to smudge any fingerprints, Pete hit the light switch with a gloved hand. The old house smelled dank, as if the windows hadn’t been opened in a decade. A fine layer of dust coated everything from the side tables to the upholstered furniture.

“What do you want me to do, Chief?” Seth asked.

“Run tape around the yard. The county crime investigators are on their way. I’m going to photograph the interior.” And keep his eyes open for anything that looked out of place.

Seth jogged off to get the crime-scene tape from his car. Alone in the house, Pete snapped pictures. Large-scale shots of the living room, dining room, and kitchen as well as tight shots of the ancient television, the marred dining table, and the ancient gas stove. Calling any of it vintage would be kind. Dilapidated was more accurate.

Nothing set off his infamous gut.

He made his way to the hallway leading to the basement door. At the end of it sat an antique-looking dresser, its drawers slightly askew, as if someone had closed them in a hurry. Had Oriole interrupted the thieves going through it?

Behind Pete a floorboard creaked. Seth or the county guys would have made their presence known upon entering. Pete straightened. Holding the camera in his left hand and keeping the right one on his sidearm, he spun.

“Holy shit,” the old man at the far end of the hall yelped, clutching his chest. “I didn’t know anyone was in here.”

Pete relaxed. Slightly. “I could say the same thing. Mr. Troutman, isn’t it?”

“Alfred Troutman. Yes, sir.” He gave a nervous chuckle. “I don’t know if it’s a good thing or bad that the chief of police knows my name.”

“What are you doing in here, Mr. Troutman?” And where was Seth, who should have stopped him outside?

“Trout, please. Everyone just calls me Trout.”

Pete fixed him with a stern gaze but didn’t repeat the question.

“Oh, uh. I didn’t realize you were in here.”

“You said that already. Why are you in here?”

Trout worked his hands as if washing them with invisible soap and water. “I saw the lights. Thought maybe Oriole had come home from the hospital.” He glanced around. “Is she here?”

“No. She’s still in the hospital.”

“Oh. Is she okay?”

Pete studied the man. The confused eyes. The twitching of his mouth. “She’s in good hands.”

Trout nodded.

Pete approached the older man and put a hand on his shoulder. “If I hear anything, I’ll be sure and let you know.”

“Thank you. I don’t think Janie would bother to tell me anything.”

“Right now, though, I need you to step out of the house with me. Okay?”

“Can’t I stay here?”

“No, I’m sorry.” Pete didn’t want to upset the man further by telling him the house was a crime scene and therefore off limits. He guided Trout to the front entryway and was reaching for the knob when the door swung inward.

Seth recoiled. “Oh. Sorry.” His eyes widened at the sight of the old man. “Where’d he come from?”

Trout squinted at him. “You know I live up the hill a ways.”

“I’m aware of that.” Seth shifted his gaze to Pete. “He showed up as the ambulance was leaving with Mrs. Andrews. I sent him home.” Seth turned again to Trout. “What I want to know is how’d you get inside?”

He seemed puzzled by the question. “I walked. How else?”

Seth looked from Trout to Pete and made a face. “He must have slipped in when I was around back.”

“It’s okay. Take Mr. Troutman out to your car and take a statement from him. I get the impression he tries to keep watch over Mrs. Andrews.”

Trout nodded vigorously. “I do.”

“He might have seen something,” Pete said to Seth. “Get any information you can from him and then make sure he gets home safely. We don’t want him falling on the ice in the dark.”

The officer smiled, apparently relieved that Pete wasn’t going to bust his chops for allowing someone to cross a police line. “On it, Chief. And the reason I came back inside…the county guys just pulled up.”

As Seth escorted Trout down the sidewalk to his patrol car, Pete watched a trio of crime-scene techs gather their gear from the county CSU truck. A figure stepped out of a dark sedan behind it, and Pete recognized the man even in the shadows cast by the streetlight.

Monongahela County Detective Wayne Baronick wore a long dark wool coat, the collar turned up against the wind. He strode toward Pete and the house. “We have to stop meeting like this,” Baronick said with his trademark smile.

“Suits me. This is a big county. How do you always manage to get assigned to cases in my township?”

“I know how much you love working with me, so I have a permanent request in to take all calls out this way.”

Pete grunted. Not that he’d ever let the young detective know it, but he was glad to see him. Baronick might be overly cocky, bordering on arrogant, but he was a helluva good cop.

“What have we got?” he asked, his smile fading.

Pete updated him on Oriole Andrews’ fall down the basement steps and Zoe’s report that the woman had regained consciousness long enough to say she’d been pushed rather than fell. And he told Baronick about the so-called water-company employees’ earlier visit.

The detective swore. “We’ve had a rash of those all over the county. You say nothing was stolen?”

“Not that Mrs. Andrews or her granddaughter could tell.”

“These guys usually case a house on their first visit. Then they come back a day or two later to rob the place.”

Pete looked around at the old woman’s battered furniture and meager belongings. “I can’t imagine what they planned to steal. She doesn’t own a computer. Her TV has to be twenty years old. No DVD player. Hell, she still uses an old rotary phone.”

“Does she keep money in the house?”

“I don’t know. Possibly.”

“Doesn’t matter. If they believed she did, they may have roughed her up, demanding to know where she kept it hidden.” Baronick shook his head. “Pisses me off. If anyone tried that with my grandparents, you can bet I’d be guilty of police brutality.”

The trio of crime-scene techs approached, lugging their bags with them.

Pete held up his camera. “I already photographed the front rooms. I got interrupted at the hallway.” He gestured over his shoulder. “There’s a dresser back there that looks like it might have been searched.”

“We’ll check it out,” one of the techs said.

After the team headed inside, Pete nodded toward Seth’s patrol car. The interior lights were on, revealing the officer and Trout sitting inside. “Neighbor guy slipped past my officer while I was in the house. Name’s Alfred Troutman. I bet he doesn’t miss much on this street.”

“Think maybe he saw the assailants?”

“Maybe. Seth’s interviewing him now.”

Baronick gazed toward the Vance Township vehicle. “It would be nice to get a license number. Something to help us nail these bastards who prey on old folks.”

Pete’s thoughts flashed to his father. Confused. Increasingly frail. And like Oriole Andrews or Trout, an easy victim. “We’ll nail them,” Pete said as much to himself as to Baronick. “No one’s going to get away with brutalizing the elderly. Not on my watch.”