On Her Father's Grave (Rogue River #1)(18)

“So there’s no one in charge?”

“In charge? You mean like making and distributing with a purpose?”

“Yes, we had networks of them all over LA.”

Zane sighed. “I bet you did. So far I haven’t seen any of that. The drug dealers up here don’t have much in the way of brains. They seem to just grow or cook it for personal use.”

“Stevie?” Sheila stuck her head in the room. The fiftysomething woman looked like she ate a single saltine for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. She was sewing-needle thin and wore enough bright-yellow eye shadow to be mistaken for a school bus. “I’ve got a call for you. Mrs. Simmons says someone broke into her house overnight. She has a broken window this morning.”

Stevie took the slip of paper with Mrs. Simmons’s address on it. “She didn’t wake up?”

“Nope. Didn’t hear a thing. But she’s hard of hearing to start with. You’re gonna have to yell when you talk to her.”

“Anything missing? No one’s in her house?” Stevie asked.

Sheila smiled. “I’m gonna let you ask her those questions.”

Those should have been the first questions Sheila asked. Stevie narrowed her eyes at Sheila. “She’s that hard of hearing?”

“Yep.” She gave a big grin and batted yellow petals at Stevie. “Enjoy.”



Zane grabbed an oil funnel from one of the packed shelves in his office and handed it to Stevie before she went out on her broken window call.

“What’s this for?” she asked, turning the blue plastic funnel in her hands, looking confused. “Does one of the cars need their oil topped off?

“No. It’s for Mrs. Simmons.”

Puzzled brown eyes looked at him. He took the funnel and held the narrow end next to her ear.

“Can you hear me now?” he said quietly into the funnel.

She jerked her head away and gave a deep genuine laugh that echoed warmly in his brain. Delighted, she took the funnel and went on her call.

He’d used the funnel on previous visits with Mrs. Simmons.

At his office desk, Zane sorted through a box of reports from 2003 and set it aside. He’d found it shoved below the bottom shelf in the closet in his office. Why hadn’t anyone returned the box to the storage room where it belonged? The missing box should have raised a red flag in someone’s bookkeeping. He shook his head. The more he tried to get organized, the deeper the mess seemed to go. No doubt Bill Taylor, and only Bill Taylor, had known exactly where to find everything.

He went and glared at the mess in the closet. How could such a sleepy town have so much paperwork? Paperwork had simply been turned in to Bill, and Zane hadn’t paid attention to where it went after that. He’d always found any old files he needed in the storage room, but maybe he’d simply been lucky. He pulled another box from the crowded closet.

He knew exactly where Bill’s journals were. They were currently sitting in his bedroom. The morning after Hunter’s death, he’d found them on the center of his desk. He’d stared at the familiar notebooks, a small voice in his head telling him to spirit them out of the office until he could go through them. He’d acted on it and now he was glad. Finding James searching his office hadn’t sat well with his gut. Suddenly everyone wanted the journals. Why? Maybe tonight he’d have time to read them.

He’d been too distracted last night. Dinner with the Taylors had been as entertaining as usual, but last night had been different. When Stevie had closed her eyes and started to sing, it’d been like his heart had woken up from a decade-long sleep.

But he’d listened to “Landslide” several hundred times. Why was last night so different?

The singer.

Halfway through the song he’d realized he’d forgotten he wasn’t alone. He’d looked around and blinked, seeing Patsy, Debra, Eric, and the children in the rapt audience with him. Had anyone noticed he’d been struck dumb? Stevie had finished and each sibling had taken a turn to sing, but he remembered no song other than Stevie’s.

He rifled through another box that needed to be returned to the storage room. He really should assign this task to Sheila. She’d probably do it ten times faster than he could. But he wanted to see what Bill had stored away during his decades as chief.

“Zane?”

Zane’s skin crawled. Oh, Lord. Not now, please.

“Knock knock.” Katelyn O’Rourke rapped her knuckles on the door and stepped inside. She was wearing heels, a short skirt, and enough cloying perfume to scent a church full of grandmothers. Zane breathed through his mouth.

“What can I do for you, Katelyn? I haven’t seen Faye yet this morning.”

Katelyn was the youngest of Faye’s four kids and had made it her mission to get Zane to walk her down the aisle. Or into bed. Whichever came first.

According to every other single male in town, her mission changed its primary objective depending on which man was in front of her at the moment. Zane had managed to slip out of her clutches several times, but she’d neatly cornered him this morning.

Katelyn threw back her hair and laughed like he’d told the funniest joke she’d ever heard. “Mama’s council meeting doesn’t start for another hour. She wouldn’t be here yet.” She touched the badge on his chest with a manicured nail and looked up at him. “Are you busy?”