Sixteen

Pete spent the morning introducing Abby to Vance Township. The back roads. The residences that were notorious for frequent visits by law enforcement. The bars where she should always call in backup before entering. And the best places to grab a meal. Once she hit nightshift, the options would diminish, so he pointed out the late-hours convenience store between Dillard and Phillipsburg and suggested she stock up before they closed.

They stopped at the Dog Den for lunch. Footlongs with the works. Despite her trim figure, Abby wolfed her meal like a hotdog-eating champ.

As they climbed back in the Explorer after depositing their trash, she asked, “Now what?”

Pete clicked his seatbelt and shifted into drive. “We’re going to swing by the O’Keefes’ place.”

“Oh? Any particular reason?”

“Several. For starters, John Kinney’s visitation hours are this afternoon and evening. His sister will definitely be at the funeral home.”

“But not O’Keefe?”

Pete pulled out of the lot. “That’s one of the reasons I want to drive by. I’m curious. O’Keefe had some animosity toward his brother-in-law.”

“From what I’ve gathered, he has some animosity toward almost everyone.”

Pete chuckled. “You’re catching on. I’m interested to know which is stronger. His support of his wife? Or his dislike of her brother? And if he did go to Pittsburgh with her, that means their house is vacant and a prime target for bad guys who read the obits looking for easy pickings.”

“Don’t they have some kind of home security system?”

Pete grinned at her. “Probably. But it’s a good excuse.”

She appeared to consider his words. “And you never know. A good thief might know how to circumvent those things.” They drove in silence for a mile or so before she turned in her seat to look at him. “You mentioned that Kinney was your FTO. I’m surprised you’re here and not at the funeral home yourself.”

“I’m short-staffed, otherwise I would be. I’ll drive into the city this evening. And I’m attending the funeral tomorrow morning.”

Abby shifted to face forward again and fell silent. Watching the road? Learning the lay of the land? Or lost in thought? Pete wasn’t sure.

Ten minutes later, they approached the intersection with Silver Maple Drive and the O’Keefes’ residence on the corner lot. Pete’s question about the man being at his wife’s side during this difficult time was quickly answered. The professor was bumping along on his riding mower with its bagger attached.

Pete slowed but cruised past.

“I guess we don’t have to worry about burglars taking advantage of their absence today,” Abby said.

True. But something else concerned Pete. Boyd Anderson’s horses grazed peacefully in the pasture. “Dammit.”

Abby shot him a puzzled look.

He pulled into Anderson’s driveway. A battered red Honda Civic, which hadn’t seen a fresh coat of wax in years, sat in front of the garage. No sign of the pickup. No movement from the house.

“What am I missing?” Abby asked when he shifted into park and opened his door.

“Anderson and his wife agreed they would bring their horses into the barn next time O’Keefe mowed grass in case the good professor hasn’t gotten the message yet.”

Abby climbed out of the SUV and jogged to catch Pete as he headed toward the porch. “Message?”

He thumped up the steps and knocked on the door. “I’ll explain later.”

No response. He pounded again. Nothing. He looked across the pasture. The horses had lifted their heads, their attention drawn toward O’Keefe, who had pulled his mower next to the fence.

“Dammit.” Pete thudded down the porch steps and jogged toward his vehicle. Behind him, Abby hustled to keep up.

He slid behind the wheel, jerked the shifter into reverse. As soon as Abby leapt in beside him, he mashed the gas pedal to the floorboard. Tires spewed gravel. A quick check for traffic revealed none, so he didn’t brake until he’d backed onto the road. Slammed the shifter down into drive and stomped on the accelerator. He didn’t bother with lights for the two-hundred-or-so-yard trip to the next property. The horses were ambling their way toward O’Keefe. The professor had climbed off his mower and was fiddling with the bagger. Pete hit the siren for one short whoop as he passed O’Keefe and wheeled into Silver Maple Drive and then his driveway. Abby clawed at the dashboard and armrest to keep from being flung into the center console.

Pete slammed on the brakes short of careening into the corner of the house, exited the car, and charged around the corner of the house toward O’Keefe.

The professor stood tall. Too tall. Too stiff. A kid caught with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar and determined to play innocent. “Chief Adams. What seems to be the problem?”

“You’re the problem,” Pete said, gesturing at the bagger. “If you’re about to do what I think you’re doing.”

O’Keefe’s gaze shifted to beyond Pete to Abby and back. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t play dumb, Professor. You’ve been told not to dump your grass clippings over the fence.”

O’Keefe wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Oh, please. The Neanderthal has you serving as bodyguard to his ponies now?”

“Part of my duties is to keep the peace. That includes preventing your neighbor from killing you.”

The professor perked up. “You finally agree that the man’s a menace?”

Pete wasn’t about to mention Anderson’s possible involvement in Kinney’s homicide. “Only if you continue providing him with motive.”

“What motive?” O’Keefe waved an arm toward the horses lined up at the fence, ears pricked. “They’re livestock. They eat grass.” His tone suggested he was explaining the situation to a toddler. “I’m helping the man feed his beasts.”

Pete might have thought the same had Zoe not educated him about the delicate equine digestive system, something he knew Anderson had tried to tell O’Keefe numerous times. No wonder the horse owner had shown up with his machete last weekend. Attempting to reason with the professor was a waste of energy. “Let me put it this way. If you dump even one handful of your grass clippings over that fence, I’m going to haul your ass into jail and charge you with criminal trespass, animal cruelty, and anything else I can come up with. You can pay your attorney to sort out which charges stick.”

The color drained from O’Keefe’s face. Pete wasn’t sure whether it was the threat of jail or the idea of having to fork out big bucks to a lawyer that grabbed the professor’s attention. “You wouldn’t.” He stuttered. “I’m not breaking any laws.”

Pete moved closer, intentionally invading the man’s personal space. “You might want to read up on Pennsylvania statutes. Especially the part about defiant trespass.” Pete knew a halfway decent attorney would get any charges tossed, but he was counting on O’Keefe not wanting to sully his good name with even the hint of an arrest record.

The professor’s eye twitched. “What do you propose I do with these clippings then?”

“Bag it for the trash. Compost. Mulch. Frankly I don’t care. As long as you don’t continue to create problems with your neighbor by dumping it on his property.” Pete leaned closer yet. “Have I made myself clear?”

O’Keefe did his best to maintain his superior posture while conceding. “Fine.” He looked toward the horses at the fence before slapping the bagger’s latch closed.

Pete stepped back. The man climbed onto his mower and turned the key. Shooting an angry glance Pete’s way, O’Keefe roared off.

“Were you seriously going to arrest him for defiant trespass?” Abby asked.

Pete turned to find her watching him with a look that said she was debating if he was as nuts as the professor. “Probably.”

“Even if he never set foot on the neighbor’s property?”

Pete shrugged. “That’s why I threw in the animal cruelty part. Willfully or maliciously poisoning a domestic animal is a misdemeanor of the second degree in Pennsylvania.”

“I don’t think he intended to poison anything.”

Pete strode past her, heading back to the SUV. “You working for his defense attorney?”

“No.” Abby jogged to keep up. “But I’m not sure charging the man would have been the wisest move. He seems like the type to turn around and file a false arrest lawsuit.”

“Which he would lose.” When they rounded the corner of the house, Pete spotted O’Keefe standing next to his bagged load of clippings at the weeds edging the road. A good spot to start a compost pile. Pete opened his car door and climbed in. When Abby settled into the passenger seat, he turned toward her. “Have you ever dealt with farmers?”

“Not much.”

“Have you ever played poker?”

She started to reply, but closed her mouth, a slow smile spreading across her face. “You were bluffing.”

Hell, yes, he was bluffing. But he replied, “Maybe.”

“What if O’Keefe had called your bluff?”

“He wouldn’t. He’s a lousy poker player.”

“You’ve played cards with him?”

Pete chuckled. “I don’t have to.”

Abby’s smile turned into a puzzled scowl. “But…”

Pete shifted into reverse. “You want to know if I really would have arrested him.”

“Yeah.”

“Yes. I would have. Would the charges have stuck? Maybe. Probably not. But Anderson has asked him repeatedly to stop. He threatened the professor with a machete for crying out loud. Maybe the threat of being jailed is what’s needed for him to take this seriously.”

“You’re that concerned about a herd of horses?”

“No.” Although Zoe would be. “I’m actually concerned about the professor.” Pete gazed across the pasture to Boyd Anderson’s farmhouse. The man had been arrested in the past for aggravated assault. He’d used a machete against his neighbor. Could he have taken revenge on the man who arrested him all those years ago? “O’Keefe’s not smart enough to realize he’s poking a bear. I’m doing all I can to get him to put down the stick.”

  

“My little sister, the detective.” Jason scoured through his takeout container of roast pork with Chinese vegetables, pinching a chunk of broccoli with his chopsticks.

“Some detective. I can’t figure out how to use these things.” Zoe fumbled with her own chopsticks as a piece of General Tso’s chicken slipped free from her grasp. In the time she’d struggled to get her first bite, Jason had wolfed down half his meal.

He tossed her a plastic fork. “I don’t think it’s a job requirement.”

Once Wayne had left, Jason offered to bring back lunch, allowing Zoe to work on her reports. She could definitely get used to this family stuff.

“Now what?” he asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Sounds like you and that detective have your man. Do the two of you go out and arrest him now?”

“Not the two of us for sure. My job is dealing with the body and the evidence on and around it. Wayne’s humoring me by letting me be this involved on the police end of the investigation.” Zoe forked a piece of succulent chicken into her mouth and chewed. The spice sent an inferno through her sinuses and into the top of her head. She grabbed for her bottle of water.

Jason chuckled at her. “So, Wayne’ll make the arrest by himself?”

She swallowed and sniffed at her heat-induced tears. “He’ll probably do more investigating first. Look for additional physical evidence so they have a solid case before getting an arrest warrant.”

“I thought that video stuff looked pretty solid. What’s the word? Incriminating?”

Zoe picked up a cellophane-wrapped fortune cookie and winged it at him. “Stick with your computer stuff and leave the dead bodies and homicidal maniacs to me.”

Jason missed the cookie and had to bend down to retrieve it from the floor. “You can keep the dead bodies. I’m not crazy about you and homicidal maniacs though. Make you a deal. I’ll stay out of your coroner work, and you stay out of the police work.”

Pete had made a similar request on more than one occasion. Not that she’d ever listened to him. “You do realize I’m involved with a cop, right?”

Jason squinted into the takeout box and set down the chopsticks. “Speaking of…When do I get to meet the man who’s won my sister’s heart? How about dinner tonight?”

Before she had a chance to answer, her cell phone rang. The screen identified the incoming caller. Zoe held up a finger to Jason and answered. “Hello, Dr. Abercrombie.”

“I’ll be at the morgue to do the autopsy at seven. Do not be late.”

“Tonight?”

“Tomorrow morning. I have to give a luncheon speech in Erie at noon, so there’s no time for dilly-dallying.”

“I think Franklin plans to be discharged sometime today—”

“I just spoke to his doctor. He’s not going anywhere for a few more days. You’re acting coroner. Be there.”

The line went dead.

“Problem?” Jason asked.

“Not exactly.” She wasn’t going to bore her brother with her calculations of what time she needed to get up in order to grab breakfast, run to the farm to feed the horses, and make the half-hour drive to Brunswick for a seven a.m. autopsy.

“I gather something’s come up for tonight?”

“Uh. No. I have to be in autopsy, but not until early in the morning.” Very early.

“Wow. You have all the fun. What about dinner then? You? Me? Your cop?”

Zoe dragged her mind away from the body across the street in the morgue. “I think we’re going to the funeral home in Pittsburgh.”

“Oh?” He brought the corner of the box to his mouth and tilted his head back to drain the last of its contents.

“John Kinney, the murder victim? Pete wants to go to his visitation.”

“Okay. How about lunch tomorrow?”

“No good. That’s the funeral.” She did some more calculations. Autopsy in Brunswick at seven. Funeral service in Pittsburgh at eleven.

“You spend entirely too much time with dead people.”

“True. How about an early dinner tomorrow? I’ll cook. Pete has to be on duty starting at four, but you’re welcome to stick around and keep me company.”

“Sounds good.” Jason ripped the cellophane from the cookie. “In the meantime, I’ll keep working out at your place. I’m almost done with the tarpaper. What kind of shingles do you want?”

“Shingles?” The mental image of her brother working up the barn roof all alone set off her guilt alarm. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I know I don’t. I want to. I heard the forecast. They’re saying a rain and snow mix for Monday. I started this project. I’m not gonna let it get ruined now.”

“But shingles are too much work.” Not to mention too much money. “I was just going to put down some of that rolled roofing stuff.”

He made a disapproving face at her. “Tell you what. I’ll take care of picking the material for the roof.”

“But—”

He held up a finger, silencing her. “No buts,” he said firmly.

Zoe feigned anger. Or tried to. Stubbornness must run in her family.

Jason cracked open his cookie and pulled out the tiny slip. He read it and nodded his approval. “Even my fortune bears me out.” He slid it across the desk to her.

If you refuse to accept anything but the best, you very often get it.

“I’m refusing to accept rolled roofing crap for my little sister’s barn.” Jason stood and gathered the empty containers, stuffing them into the bag from the restaurant. “Take your time finishing yours. I’m outta here.” He came around the desk to plant a kiss on the top of her head. “See you later, Sis.”

Zoe watched him head for the door. “Love you,” she called after him.

He froze. Turned.

She thought she spotted a gleam in his eyes.

“I love you too,” he said, his voice strained. And then he ducked out.

Zoe sat for a moment, basking in the sweet warmth of having someone who shared her blood, her DNA, in her life. She noticed the remaining fortune cookie next to the container of rice and picked it up, shucking the wrap. Breaking the cookie in half, she unfurled the paper inside. And shivered.

Be on the lookout for coming events; they cast their shadows beforehand.