Twenty-four

Pete and Baronick left Zoe to finish up with the body and headed around to the front of the O’Keefe house.

“You’re thinking about the neighbor,” the detective said. “Boyd Anderson.”

“Maybe.”

“He has a past history of violence and already attacked the victim with a machete. Didn’t seem too apologetic about it as I recall.”

Pete grunted. “Maybe,” he repeated. Anderson was the obvious choice, but he had to know that. Why would he show up in the early-morning hours today and kill his neighbor? Annoying as his neighbor might be.

One of the paramedics, who’d been sitting with Elaine, met Pete and the detective at the door.

“She’s a wreck,” the medic reported. “I really think she needs to see her doctor.”

“I’ll make sure she calls him before we leave,” Pete said before excusing the EMS crew to return to available status.

They found Elaine O’Keefe curled up in a recliner, hugging her knees and clutching a tissue. A cup of tea sat untouched on the end table. Pete dragged an ottoman across the room, placed it in front of her, and sat. “Are you up to answering a few questions?”

Her dark eyes met his for a moment and then lowered. “I think so.”

Baronick stayed next to the front door, his phone out. Pete had worked with him enough to know he wasn’t texting. He was taking notes.

Pete kept his voice soft. “When was the last time you saw your husband alive?”

The creases in her forehead deepened. “Yesterday. Late afternoon.”

The answer surprised him. “Not this morning?”

She swallowed. “No. When I got here this morning…he was dead.”

He shot a glance at Baronick, who gave a barely noticeable shrug.

After several long moments, Elaine dabbed at her nose and said, “Kristopher and I haven’t been getting along. I guess since burying my brother, my tolerance levels are lower than usual. We—Kristopher and I—had a bit of a disagreement yesterday, and I packed a bag and left.”

“Where did you go?”

“I got a room at the Brunswick Inn.” She choked a laugh. “It’s such a pretty place. I’ve always wanted to go there, but Kristopher never wanted to spend the money.”

“What was your disagreement with your husband about?”

She shifted her weight to her other hip, squirmed to find a comfortable spot, and settled with a sigh. “Honestly? I don’t remember. We disagree over just about everything. Even more so lately.”

“Try to remember.”

She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “This house. Money. My brother. His attitude. Pick one.”

Pete waited a beat before his next question. “What about your neighbor?”

“The Andersons? Heavens, yes. Boyd and his horses were one of Kristopher’s favorite rants.”

“Have there been any recent confrontations between them? In the last week, I mean.”

She took a moment to think. “No. Not that I’m aware of. Nothing face-to-face anyway.”

“Anything not face-to-face?”

She leveled her coffee-colored eyes at him with a hint of a smirk. “I once told you he’s passive aggressive. Kristopher had a talent for the underhanded.”

“That doesn’t really answer my question.”

“It’s the best I can do. Kristopher was always plotting some kind of revenge against those who upset his delicate sensibilities. But he rarely took credit for his actions. And never accepted the blame.”

  

After suggesting Elaine call a friend to come over and sit with her, Pete stepped outside.

Baronick had slipped into another room to talk on his phone but joined Pete on the front porch. “I’ve confirmed that Mrs. O’Keefe spent the night at the Brunswick Inn. Checked in a little before four.”

“Has she checked out?”

“Nope. Still registered as a guest.”

So, she hadn’t planned to move home this morning. “Anybody notice what time she left?”

“No.”

While they’d been inside, the County Coroner had arrived, his van taking the place of the ambulance among the array of vehicles clogging the driveway. Pete looked past it toward the road and the police vehicles from assorted jurisdictions.

And to the weeds at the edge of the yard. The spot he’d thought would make an excellent compost pile for the professor’s grass clippings.

“Dammit.”

“What?” Baronick asked.

Pete didn’t answer. Not yet. He took off at a jog around to the rear of the house and the crime scene. He slowed to a fast walk when the gadgets on his duty belt threatened to bruise his hip.

Franklin Marshall and Zoe were zipping the body bag and looked up when Pete stormed over to the lawn tractor and its attachment. He released the latch and lifted the lid. Instead of being greeted with a whiff of fresh-cut grass, a slightly sour wave of moldering compost smacked him in the face. The stuff on top was dry and brown. He plunged his arm into the filled bin, only slightly surprised at the heat inside, and pulled out a clump of steaming, fermenting grass.

Baronick caught up to him. “What are you looking at?”

“Friday, I caught O’Keefe about to dump a load of clippings over the fence. Anderson wasn’t home, so I stopped him by threatening to arrest him.”

The detective grunted. “For what?”

“Doesn’t matter. I told him to start a compost heap, and when I was leaving, that’s what I thought he was about to do.” Pete dropped the grass back in the bin and shook off the stuff sticking to his hand. “He was down at the weeds along the road. But just now I noticed there was nothing there.”

Zoe joined them, having skimmed off her bloody gloves and biohazard suit. “You mean the professor had this saved since Friday?”

“Looks that way” Pete said.

“It’s a wonder he didn’t burn down his garage. Or wherever he parks this thing.”

Baronick looked puzzled.

Pete thumbed toward the grass. “Stick your arm in there. It’s hot.”

“Spontaneous combustion,” Zoe said. “It’s why you never bale hay when it’s wet. Farmers have lost their barns that way.” She sniffed. “Smells like this could ignite at any minute.”

“Might be why O’Keefe was out here so early.” Pete eyed the wisp of steam rising from the center of the bin. “Dumping the load before it caught fire.”

Zoe raised an eyebrow at him. “If he was smart enough.”

O’Keefe’s intelligence—or lack thereof—wasn’t on Pete’s mind at the moment. The motive he’d been seeking for Boyd Anderson showing up with his machete was. Pete caught Baronick’s eye. “Now, I’m thinking of the neighbor.” He turned to Zoe. “What can you tell me about the murder weapon?”

She glanced toward Marshall, who was busy overseeing the transfer of their body-bagged victim onto a stretcher.

Pete touched her hand. “You may not be acting coroner any longer, but you can still answer the question.”

“It’s not that.” She lowered her head for a moment before meeting Pete’s gaze. “We can’t tell the exact size or type of knife until after the autopsy—if then.”

“But?”

“But we can tell you it was a single-edge blade.”

“From what I saw, I’d say a big one.”

“That’s probably a safe assumption.”

Pete looked at the detective. “We need a search warrant for Boyd Anderson’s property. I want to see that machete of his.”

“I’ll get to work on it,” Baronick said with a predatory grin.

  

Zoe hated the idea that Boyd Anderson had killed his neighbor. She’d understood—even supported—protecting his horses from a citified moron. Despite that long-ago arrest on his record, she’d never have guessed he was capable of the brutality she’d witnessed this morning. But as she’d told Pete, she didn’t really know the man. And as Pete had told her, not all horsemen were good guys.

Perhaps this one had killed more than once.

The burst of fat snowflakes had transitioned to a steady spring rain, dripping from the bill of her ball cap. Pete was engrossed in conversation with Franklin allowing her to slip away unnoticed. She hoped.

Zoe circled the house and found Wayne backed against the garage door, sheltered from the rain, talking on his phone. She sidled in next to him in time to hear him thank whomever he was speaking with.

“Are you okay?” he asked, pocketing his phone.

“I need to talk to you.”

“Okay. Talk.”

She glanced toward the corner, fearing she’d see Pete coming around it.

“You don’t want Pete to find us together? I’m flattered.”

She elbowed the detective. “I’ve sort of done something illegal.”

“And you think I’m less likely to arrest you than he is?”

“I sort of involved his father in this illegal activity.”

“Oh.” Wayne nodded knowingly. “What did you and Harry get into?”

“I sort of stole some of John Kinney’s personal items from his room at Golden Oaks.”

Wayne opened his mouth to reply, but no words came out. He shut it. Appeared to mull over her admission. After a few moments, he said, “When?”

“This morning.”

“Kinney still had personal items at Golden Oaks?”

“Still does. Elaine was supposed to go in and pick up the stuff today, but I doubt that’s gonna happen now.”

“What exactly did you steal?”

“A Rolex.”

“A what?”

She held up her wrist and pointed to her not-Rolex. “And a credit card receipt and a notebook containing an inventory of really expensive wine.”

“Why?”

The question puzzled her. “Uh. Because he liked to keep track of his collection?”

“No, I mean why did you steal his watch, credit card receipt, and wine inventory?”

She’d thought Wayne would question the fact that Kinney had this stuff more than her pilfering it. At least, she’d hoped. “I didn’t mean to steal any of it. In fact, I have it in my truck and want to give it to you.”

“Why not give it to Elaine?”

He wasn’t grasping the potential importance of her discovery. “Because it might be evidence.”

“How so? The killer didn’t take it. Or leave it, for that matter.” Wayne’s phone rang. He silenced Zoe with an upheld finger and answered the call. “Baronick…Yes, sir…That was fast…Thank you…Uh-huh…Yes. Thanks.” He slipped the phone back into his pocket. “Our warrant’s on its way.”

Which meant Wayne and Pete would be leaving in a matter of minutes. “Don’t you find it odd that a retired cop has a Rolex? And a wine collection worth more than…than…” She looked around frantically. “Than this house. And where is all this wine? I didn’t see any of it in his room?”

Wayne shook his head. “Zoe, John Kinney wasn’t destitute. He’d won a rather large insurance settlement years ago, invested well, and as a result enjoyed a few of the finer things in life. As for where the wine went, you said you have one of his credit card receipts. Look at it. You’ll see a monthly charge for a company called Vintage Locker. They store fine wines for restaurants and collectors.”

“Oh.” Deflated, she chewed on her lip and on this news. “You knew about all this?”

“I’ve been working the case since the beginning. That includes looking into the victim’s background. Yes, I knew. My investigators left that stuff there because none of it was deemed relevant to the case.”

She spotted movement from the corner of her eye. Pete appeared, helping Franklin and Basset Hound-eyed Gene wheel the stretcher holding the body of Professor K to the van.

“The warrant’s on its way,” Wayne called to Pete. “I’ll meet you over at the neighbor’s house.”

Pete shot a questioning look at her and the detective but kept going. Zoe slumped against the garage door. She did indeed need to turn Kinney’s watch and notebook over to Elaine O’Keefe. The grieving sister and distraught widow. She pictured the scene. Elaine hysterical. Crying. Shouting at Zoe for having the nerve to rob from the dead. Calling the cops to arrest her.

Calling Pete. To arrest her.

“Give it to me.”

She blinked and looked up at Wayne. “Huh?”

“You said you have the stuff in your truck?”

“Yeah?”

“Give it to me.” Wayne rolled his eyes. “I’ll make sure it gets back to her with the rest of Kinney’s possessions.”

She’d have thrown her arms around the detective’s neck and kissed him, but thought Pete would have some serious questions if he spotted them. “Thank you.”

Wayne shook his head. “Just promise me you’ll stick with the bodies from now on and leave the police work to us cops.”

  

Pete and Baronick parked their vehicles across the road from Boyd Anderson’s driveway to await the arrival of the warrant and additional county officers to assist in executing it. The detective slid into Pete’s passenger seat and flipped back the dripping hood of his raincoat.

“What was that all about?” Pete demanded.

“What?”

Pete glared at Baronick. “With Zoe.”

“Nothing.” Baronick flashed his veneered smile. “Jealous?”

Pete didn’t dignify him with a response. As much as he wanted to press for an answer, he wasn’t in the mood for Baronick’s BS.

They sat in silence for several minutes watching the Anderson place through the rain-streaked windshield. There was no movement. Even the horses were nowhere to be seen.

“What are your thoughts on Zoe’s brother?” Baronick asked.

The fact that, between the detective and Jason, Zoe had been spending a lot of time with other men wasn’t lost on Pete. “She told you about him?”

“I met him.”

“Oh?”

“He showed up at Franklin’s office Friday when I was meeting with Zoe about the Kinney homicide.”

“What’d you think of him?”

Baronick chuckled. “He’s not my future brother-in-law. Besides, I asked first.”

What were Pete’s thoughts on Jason? He rolled around a few possible answers. Some more diplomatic than others.

When he didn’t respond immediately, Baronick chuckled. “That good, huh?”

“He doesn’t think much of me, I can tell you that.”

“Really?” The detective’s voice dripped with faux shock. “You being so soft and cuddly and all.”

“Smart ass,” Pete muttered. He considered the question. “Jason Cox has been going above and beyond to help fix up Zoe’s farm.”

“It needs all the help it can get.”

Pete huffed a laugh. “No argument there.”

“Is he spending Zoe’s money?”

“No.”

“Is he asking anything in return?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“So, he’s sinking his own cash and his own time into Zoe’s dump—I mean farm. You want my advice?”

“Not really.”

“Let him.”

Pete gave Baronick the sternest glare he could muster.

“I mean it. Let him. I know you’d rather Zoe sell the place. Well, how much do you think she’d get for it the way it is now? All her brother is doing is raising its property value.”

The detective had a point. Damn him.

A black sedan came around the bend with its turn signals on. “There’s our warrant,” Baronick said. He turned to face Pete. “As for Jason, if you have your doubts about whether or not he’s legit, check him out.”

“I did.”

Baronick narrowed his eyes at him. “I don’t mean with something as fallible as a law enforcement database. Ask your former secretary.” The detective opened the door and stepped out to approach the car that had pulled off next to them.

Pete closed his eyes. Of course. Sylvia Bassi. Why hadn’t he thought of his greatest resource earlier?