On Her Father's Grave (Rogue River #1)(15)

What was that?

He rubbed at the front of his throat, frowning as he watched Stevie grab more dishes and head inside with Eric on her heels. He stood and slowly stacked dishes, fighting the need to see what was happening in the kitchen.

What does it matter to you?

Stevie had probably known the guy since she could walk. That’s how it was around here. Everyone had a history with someone else. Even though he’d lived here five years, he was still “that new guy.” When he’d first come to town, locals had quizzed him, searching for common ground. Did they know the same people? Did his family have any roots in the area? Once they figured out he came from the opposite side of the state and knew nothing about Solitude, their faces would put on a pleasant mask. We will be nice to you, but you’re not one of us.

Locals still wore that mask. Faye had worn it when she’d spoken to him earlier.

His goal in life was to be accepted as one of their own. What would it take to get there?

He picked up Patsy’s plate and she thanked him with a smile, but put a hand on his wrist, stopping him from leaving. “Zane, can I talk to you?”

He took a closer look and saw her eyes were troubled. He set the dishes back down and sat in Bruce’s vacated chair, giving her his full attention. He adored Patsy. She’d been the only person who’d made him feel like he truly belonged in Solitude. “What’s wrong?”

Patsy set James’s son down with a kiss on the top of his head and sent him back to his meal. He dashed to join his brother and cousin, and Patsy sighed, watching the three children.

“It breaks my heart that Bill won’t see them grow up,” she whispered. She turned soft brown eyes to him. “And I know there will be more grandchildren that he’ll miss out on.”

“He’s watching. He sees them,” Zane answered.

Patsy nodded, her brow clearing. “Very true. I feel him close by constantly.”

“What’s wrong?” Zane repeated, knowing she hadn’t said what was truly troubling her. He took her hand in his, making her look at him.

“It’s Bill. I’d like you to take a closer look into his death.”

Zane straightened. “What? Why? Was there something odd?” Details raced through his mind. He’d read the report. Roy had been the one to find Bill in his police cruiser, slumped over the wheel. There’d been nothing strange at the scene and the ME’s autopsy had clearly stated it was a heart attack.

“Well, not really,” she faltered.

“Then what? What exactly do you want me to do?”

“It just doesn’t feel right.” Her dark eyes pleaded with him to understand. “That’s not how Bill was supposed to die.”

Zane’s heart sank. She was in denial. And pain. “I’m sorry, Patsy—”

“I know you think I’m just grieving. And I am. But something is wrong about the whole incident.”

“Like what?” Curiosity flooded him. He’d heard Patsy had an odd gift . . . like knowing about incidents before they happened. Bill had sworn by her advice and had confided to Zane that Patsy had a way of adding two and two together to get six. And being correct.

Zane had chalked it up to a hyper-awareness and innate understanding of human nature that he’d felt from the woman. People who watched and listened often could see things that others missed. No one listened better than Patsy.

He tried to listen now.

“I’m not sure. I can’t put my finger on it.” Deep lines formed around her mouth in frustration.

Zane nodded. “I’ll look at Roy’s report again. And I’ll talk to the ME. Maybe we’re missing something.” He relaxed. Patsy was simply struggling with understanding something out of her control. Death messed with everyone’s head. Unpredictable, life-changing, and absolute.

There was nothing the ME could tell him that would restore Big Bill. But if Patsy needed some more answers, he’d get them for her.

She patted his hand like she’d done to Bruce during dinner. “Thank you, Zane.” Her face was less troubled, but she still looked unhappy.

Bruce stepped onto the deck, strains of Creedence Clearwater Revival’s “Down on the Corner” coming from the guitar in his hands. Patsy’s face lit up at the music, and Zane was struck by her intense beauty. No wonder she was nearly a star.

Patsy had “it.” That star quality that reality TV shows held contests to find. Her right leg bounced to the rhythm, and she quietly sang a harmony to the line that came from Bruce’s light tenor voice. Bruce grinned at his mom and continued to play, nodding at her to take over.

She sang louder and Zane got goose bumps. Music was the dessert course at the Taylors’. Several times in the past he’d heard the family break into song or pull out some of the dozens of instruments they played.

To a man who couldn’t carry a tune, but loved a live rock or country concert, it was heaven. Zane sat back, the dishes forgotten, and listened.

Debra’s three-year-old couldn’t sit still and started to leap and spin with a child’s beautiful lack of self-consciousness, driving the other two children to join. James stuck his head out the door, grinned, vanished, and then reappeared with a fiddle. Or was it a violin? Zane wasn’t sure there was a difference. James bumped hips with Carly’s daughter and began to play.