Twenty-Two

Zoe lay awake most of the night, wondering what she might have missed in the Kinney homicide case. She must have fallen asleep at some point because she didn’t hear Pete come in. Nor did she hear him get up and leave for his morning shift. The phrase “ships passing in the night” floated through her mind.

She dressed in layers—long-sleeved T and a zippered hoodie to start. But the forecast called for falling temperatures, rain and even snow as the day wore on, so she tucked a fleece vest under one arm on her way out. Providing added insurance, she had a battered barn coat behind the seat of her pickup.

Her first stop was the farm to feed the horses. It had been dark by the time she’d done her chores last night. Jason’s truck had been absent, so she assumed he hadn’t fallen and broken his back. In the daylight, she was awed to see the roof had been completed. And looked incredible, gleaming in the early morning sun. With only the horses to witness her joy, she squealed and danced an awkward but enthusiastic jig of delight.

She fired off a grateful text to her brother, signed it with a TTYL and a heart, and stepped inside the barn to feed the insistent equine quartet.

An hour later, she was still pondering the investigation as she reached the traffic light at the edge of Brunswick. She’d intended to go straight to Franklin’s office to take a fresh look at the autopsy results, but on a whim, decided to visit Harry.

And Golden Oaks.

She found Pete’s dad in his room. A game show blared on his TV, but he seemed to be watching the painting on the wall, a vacant stare on his face. “Good morning, Harry,” she called as she breezed in.

He blinked, looked up, and smiled. “Good morning, Sunshine.”

“How are you today?”

The smile faded to a baffled scowl. “Oh, fine. I guess. They left me in this room and never came back for me.”

She made a point of looking around as if she’d never seen the place before. “It’s a nice room.”

“I suppose. I’m ready to go home though. Do you know my daughter, Nadine?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Have you seen her? I wish she’d come get me.”

“How about we go for a walk until Nadine gets here.” Zoe glanced at the television. “Unless you’d rather watch your show.”

Harry wrinkled his nose. “I’m not watching that. Someone else must’ve turned it on.” He climbed to his feet and offered Zoe his arm. “I would love to take a walk with you. As long as you keep an eye out for Nadine.”

Zoe picked up Harry’s cane, handed it to him, and tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow.

They stepped into the hallway and came face-to-face with Barbara and her walker. She wore a powder-blue sweater set over matching polyester pants. Outdated, perhaps, but classic. As were the pearls draped around her neck. “Oh.” Her eyes widened briefly in surprise. “I didn’t realize Harry had company. I was coming to check on him.” Her expression saddened. “He seemed a little out of it at breakfast.”

Out of sorts or not, Harry was forever the flirt. He hooked his cane over the arm Zoe held and reached his now-free hand to Barbara. “Well, hello, lovely lady. I don’t believe we’ve met.”

She raised an eyebrow at Zoe in a silent I told you so, then took the offered hand. “I’m Barbara. I live across the hall.”

Zoe winked at her. “We were taking a walk until Harry’s daughter shows up.”

“Yes.” Harry released Barbara’s hand and resituated his cane. “Join us.”

“I hate to interrupt your visit—”

“You aren’t.” He tipped his head. “Please?”

Barbara looked at Zoe.

Investigating a homicide with Harry tagging along was one thing. Bringing an entourage hadn’t been in her plans. But she wasn’t about to stand in the way of young love. Or old love for that matter. “Yes, please walk with us, Barbara.”

The three of them with one cane and one walker strolled, hobbled, and rolled down the hall toward the staircase and the elevator. No one complained as Zoe led the way past them and down the opposite wing.

She’d expected yellow police tape to remain across the door to what had been John Kinney’s room. But the county crime scene techs had completed their search and collected all the evidence they could find. The door stood open. She stopped at the entrance and gazed inside.

The bed had been removed. So had the lamp that had first been thought to be the cause of Kinney’s fall. Personal photographs no longer hung from the walls. The only piece of furniture remaining was an institutional-style dresser with chipped veneer. However, three large, dented cardboard boxes sat in the corner. A fourth smaller one perched on the dresser. They’d all been closed by folding and overlapping the top flaps.

“Hello?”

Zoe released Harry’s arm and turned to find Connie Smith.

“Oh.” Connie rested a hand on her chest. “It’s you. That door is supposed to be kept closed and locked, but I just finished a tour and had shown the room to the family as an example of what was available.” She moved forward, a key in her hand. “I’ll lock it up now.”

Zoe moved to block her as inconspicuously as possible. “What’s in the boxes?”

“Those are John’s personal effects. You know—blankets, throw pillows, the photos from the walls, and such. After the police gave us the all-clear, I had our staff pack up John’s things, so the family wouldn’t have to.”

“I’d have thought his sister would’ve picked all this up already.”

“Different families react differently. Needless to say, I’d prefer she collect his things sooner rather than later, so I can get the room cleaned and painted for a new resident. But I don’t have the heart to rush her.” Connie smiled sadly.

Zoe thought of the tarp crammed behind the seat in her truck and its empty bed. “As a matter of fact, I could haul it. I have a pickup and live near her.”

Connie’s eyes lit for a moment before turning downcast. “I can’t simply turn over a resident’s personal property to someone without authorization. I’m sure you understand.”

Zoe also wondered if the crime scene team might have missed something that was now packed in one of those boxes. “Why don’t you call John’s sister? Tell her I’m Pete Adams’ girlfriend.”

In her peripheral vision, she noticed Harry turn to look at her.

“I suppose I could do that.” Connie rested a finger on her lips. “Yes. I suppose a verbal authorization would be fine under the circumstances.”

“Circumstances” meaning a vacant room lying fallow with paying clients waiting in the wings.

She motioned to the room. “You’re more than welcome to wait inside while I place the call. If you like.”

Zoe thanked her and watched as the director hurried eagerly down the hall.

“Now, I remember you.” Harry’s vacant stare had bloomed into a grin. “You’re Pete’s girl. Zoe, right?”

“Right.”

Barbara beamed. “How about me? Do you remember me too?”

“Absolutely.”

Zoe brushed her fingers over her lips to hide a grin. Maybe Harry remembered Barbara. Maybe he didn’t. The man was a pro at covering his lapses. She tipped her head toward the room and lowered her voice. “Do you two care to help me snoop?”

Barbara looked like she’d have clapped her hands if she’d dared take them both from her walker. “Sounds like fun.”

Harry swept an arm toward the door. “After you, ladies.”

Zoe moved toward the boxes but paused, trying to recall where things had been that afternoon when Kinney sprawled lifeless on the floor. Divots in the carpet indicated the placement of the bed and nightstand. Unlike on bad TV shows, they didn’t do chalk outlines to show where the body had been. But a rust-colored stain on the beige carpeting marked where Kinney’s head wound had bled. Zoe’s memory filled the gaps. Plaid shirt. Khaki pants. A lamp cord.

Someone had taken the time to wrap the cord loosely around Kinney’s ankles to give the illusion of an accidental fall. Where was the lamp now? The crime scene guys most likely confiscated it. There might be fingerprints.

She crossed to the boxes and glanced back over her shoulder. Barbara and Harry stood just inside the room watching Zoe. She gestured to them. “Push the door shut.”

Harry did as he was told.

“Barbara, listen for anyone coming and let me know if you hear someone in the hall. Harry, can you come over here and give me a hand?”

Barbara re-positioned her walker and leaned an ear against the door.

Harry shuffled to Zoe’s side. “What are we looking for?” His tone was joyfully conspiratorial.

“I wish I knew.” If Elaine O’Keefe permitted Zoe to haul the boxes back to Vance Township, she’d have plenty of time to snoop through them. The dresser, however, was another matter. Then again, if Elaine said no, this was the only opportunity Zoe would have. “Go through the drawers and make sure nothing gets left behind,” she told Harry while she flipped open the smaller box.

The contents had been tossed inside with no attempt to pack neatly or conserve space. Or protect breakables. With the sound of each drawer scraping open and thunking shut next to her, Zoe skimmed through a stack of framed family photos, some old, some newer. There were a couple of vases, a snow globe, and a carved sandalwood jewelry box. She thumbed open the lid to find Kinney’s badge, several masculine gold rings, and a nice dress watch.

Harry moved around her, and she sidestepped out of his way.

On closer look, it was a very nice dress watch. She removed it from the box and turned so the light from the window fell on it. Rolex. Knock off. Had to be.

Harry straightened. “All I found was a crumpled-up letter. Shoved way in the back of one drawer. The rest were empty.” He squinted. “What do you have there?”

She handed him the watch. “Nice fake, don’t you think?”

He held it up, studying the timepiece.

Zoe shoved the jewelry box aside and skimmed through several books by Tony Hillerman and Larry McMurtry. Sandwiched between them was a black and white composition notebook. She slid it out and opened it. At first glance, it appeared to be a handwritten wish list of wines. She’d never been a connoisseur and knew nothing about what she was looking at, but the names seemed impressive. And French. Which she had never studied in school. Chateau something, 2009. Bordeaux something else 2000. Chateau Lafite, 1865.

Chateau Lafite 1865?

Next to each listing was a price. Some were in the hundreds. A few were priced well into the thousands.

Zoe looked at the top of the page where the words Wine Inventory were hand printed in block lettering. It was dated six months ago.

“Someone’s coming,” Barbara said in a stage whisper.

Not even a second later, the metallic click of the doorknob sent Zoe’s heart slamming into her throat, plugging her breath like one of those wine corks. So much for Barbara as an early warning system.

Harry either felt the same panic of being caught as she did or picked up on hers. She glimpsed him stuffing the crumpled paper into his pants pocket.

Barbara thumped back away from the door as it opened a crack. And stopped. Connie’s voice filtered in. It sounded like someone had stopped her in the hall with a question.

Zoe shoved the notebook inside her hoodie and yanked the zipper up. She slammed the flaps closed on the box, clumsy hands struggling to tuck the final corner under to secure it.

The door creaked the rest of the way open. Zoe and Harry struck innocent poses, their backs to the dresser. She crossed her arms over her chest—casually, she hoped—to conceal the notebook and keep it from dropping to the floor at her feet. Barbara gazed toward the window and primped her sprayed hairdo.

If Connie noticed they’d closed the door she’d left open, she didn’t mention it. “I spoke to Mrs. O’Keefe on the phone. She asked me to thank you for the offer, but she plans to come in today to collect everything and take care of her brother’s final bill.”

“Oh.” Zoe wondered if Connie noticed how out-of-breath she sounded. “Okay. Well, we should get out of your way then.”

“Yes. I want to lock up so no one is tempted to help themselves to John’s belongings.”

Keeping one hand resting on her belly, protecting the notebook, Zoe caught Harry’s arm with the other. “Let’s go.” She winced at her too-cheery chirp.

The trio had made it to the door before Connie’s voice stopped them. “Excuse me.”

Zoe’s heart plugged her throat a little tighter. She turned.

Connie held Harry’s cane. “Don’t forget this.”

He chuckled. “I wouldn’t get very far before I missed it.”

Connie met him midway across the room to hand it back. “You all have a nice visit.”

“We will,” he said. “Thanks.”

He sounded so relaxed, Zoe wondered if he didn’t realize they’d been doing something they shouldn’t.

None of them spoke as they strolled, hobbled, and rolled back to Harry’s room. Zoe regained her ability to breathe once they were inside.

His face lit with an impish grin. “That was fun.”

Barbara risked taking both hands from her walker to clap. “Yes. The most I’ve had in ages.”

Zoe sagged against the door she’d just closed. “That’s not what I’d call it.”

Harry hooked his cane over one arm and dug in his pockets, coming up with the crumpled paper. “What should I do with this?”

She unzipped her hoodie, retrieved the other ill-gotten gain from their mission, and tossed it on his bed. “Let me see,” she said, holding out her hand.

Harry plopped the paper ball in her palm. Barbara shuffled over to sit on the edge of the bed and picked up the notebook.

Zoe smoothed the paper. Not a letter as Harry had thought. A credit card statement. Oh, good. Not only had she swiped an ex-cop’s personal wine inventory, now she had a document that could be used for identity theft.

She would just fold it up and stick it back in the notebook when she returned it to the family. How she’d manage that without giving herself away, she had no idea. But before she made the first crease, the long list of transactions on the statement caught her attention.

Apparently, John Kinney was quite the online shopper. And not cheap stuff. Wine seemed to be a favorite item, but not his only big expenditure by any means.

Behind her, Barbara said, “My heavens.” Zoe turned to find her reading through the notebook.

“Do you know about wine?” Zoe asked.

“As a matter of fact, I do. My late husband and I loved Paris and Tuscany. We used to pick our vacation spots according the vineyards. We had a wine cellar filled with the best vintages we could afford, but these?” She pointed to the open page. “My husband would be green with envy.”

Zoe looked over Barbara’s shoulder and followed her finger as she slid it down the list. “I can’t imagine John owned all these.” There had been no bottles of wine in his room. And he wouldn’t have kept stuff of this quality in a box under his bed.

Barbara lifted her eyes to meet Zoe’s gaze. “It says ‘inventory’.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” And the credit card statement with a charge from an online wine seller—a rather mind-boggling charge—supported the theory that John Kinney had quite a collection.

What did it mean? Anything? The police investigators had left the notebook behind, so they apparently hadn’t thought it was important to the case. Still, a high-priced wine inventory seemed out of place when in the hands of a retired cop.

Zoe took the notebook from Barbara, tucked the credit card statement inside, and closed it. “I’ll give this to Detective Baronick. If he doesn’t think it has any value to the investigation, he can at least return it to John’s family.” And Zoe wouldn’t have to try to explain to Connie Smith or Elaine O’Keefe how she came to steal it from a box of his possessions. “Thanks for your help.”

“My pleasure.” Barbara winked at her. “Beats playing pinochle at card club.”

Zoe crossed to give Harry a kiss on his cheek. “I should be going.”

“Come back again,” he said with a grin.

“I will.” With the notebook clamped under her arm, she headed for the door.

“Oh. Hey, Sunshine?”

She stopped and turned.

Harry brought his hand out of his pocket and opened his fist. Nestled in his palm was the fake Rolex.

“Crap,” she breathed.

“This belong to the same guy who has the wine?”

“Yeah.” And it was going to prove a bit more embarrassing to explain how she not only confiscated a two-dollar notebook from a dead man’s personal effects, but also a dress watch. Even if it was a knock off.

Harry picked up his glasses from his nightstand and put them on to inspect the Rolex. He blew a low whistle.

Zoe returned to his side and held out a hand.

He ignored it. “I used to collect old watches. Pocket watches mostly. I’d take Pete to flea markets and antique stores when he was small just to look for old timepieces. It was kinda my hobby, I guess you could say. Found some real treasures during those shopping trips.” Harry looked up from the Rolex to gaze out the window. “I wonder whatever happened to them.”

She knew Pete had one. “Yeah, well, that’s only a fake,” she said, touching the watch in Harry’s hand.

His attention snapped back to her. “A fake? Oh, no, Sunshine. This Rolex is the real deal, all right. And worth a pretty penny too.”