Lost Legacy (A Zoe Chambers Mystery Book 2) by Annette Dashofy Page A

mother. Or Tom. No one saw his body. They were told he’d been burned beyond recognition.”
    “Then it makes sense. Even the best mortician couldn’t do anything with someone in that condition.”
    Zoe waved a dismissive hand. “But what if it’s just a ruse? That note said he’s still alive. What if there was a big cover up back then to make it look like he’d died when he didn’t?”
    “A cover up? Zoe, don’t you think you’re stretching a bit? Why would your father fake his own death? He had a wife, a beautiful little girl. He had everything to live for.”
    “I don’t know. But I need to find out. I figure there are three people who can tell me what I need to know. Three people who were there. Who saw—or didn’t see—what went into that casket.” She held up one finger. “The coroner.” She held up a second finger. “The funeral director. And...” Three fingers. “...Chief Warren Froats.”
    Pete rubbed his temples. The pain killers they’d given him for his foot weren’t doing a thing for his head.
    “I’m going to call Franklin to find out who was coroner back then,” Zoe went on. “But if you can arrange for me to talk to Chief Froats—”
    “ Fine .” If the old chief could answer Zoe’s questions once and for all, it was a favor Pete would gladly grant. The longer she clung to this fantasy, the deeper her loss when reality struck.
    “When?”
    “Huh?”
    “When can you arrange a meeting?”
    “Do you mind if we find Harry first? He hasn’t been missing quite as long as your dad, but...”
    “Of course.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry.”
    Pete winced. “No. I’m the one who should apologize.” He reached across the back of the wide bench seat and rested a hand on her shoulder. For a moment he wondered if maybe she would find her father.
    Just as Pete was losing his.

      
    A Vance Township fire engine blocked Pete’s street. The police department’s cruiser idled in front of Mrs. Taggart’s house. Pete spotted Seth on her front porch.
    “I guess they haven’t found your dad yet,” Zoe said. She eased the pickup around the jammed traffic and pulled into Pete’s driveway.
    A red-eyed Sylvia met him at the passenger-side door before he could open it.
    “I’m so sorry.” Her voice caught. “I just went to use the restroom. When I came back to the kitchen, he was gone. If something has happened to that sweet man, I’ll never forgive myself.”
    Pete reached through the open window to pat Sylvia’s arm. “It’s okay. I’m sure he’s fine.”
    Pete hoped she bought his lie. He wasn’t sure he did.
    Zoe appeared next to Sylvia and yanked the door open, taking the crutches from him.
    Sylvia gasped. “My heavens, Pete. What happened? I knew you were limping around last night, but—”
    “I thought so, too,” Zoe interrupted. “You said you broke your ankle at Warren Froats’ place today .”
    These women were going to hound him to death. “It was my foot. And I did.”
    Sylvia was opening her mouth to demand details, but Nate jogged up, a walkie-talkie in one hand and a clipboard in the other.
    For Nate’s impeccable timing, Pete made a mental note to give the officer a promotion. “What have you got?
    “We’ve checked every house within a three-block radius. Lots of folks aren’t home from church yet, but we’ll check back if we need to.”
    Meaning if Harry was still missing.
    “The guys from the fire department are ready to search the cuts.”
    The un-reclaimed strip mines on the outskirts of town. Damn it. Pete hadn’t considered that possibility. The “cuts” were rugged territory. Mounds of slag, an abandoned rail line...Not to mention a number of deep ponds scattered back there.
    Harry, where the devil are you?
    Pete’s usually steady hands shook as he fumbled with his crutches. Zoe took them from him and jammed them into the ground. “One hand on the door, the other on the crutches,” she directed.
    “I’ve got it,” he muttered.