On Her Father's Grave (Rogue River #1)(6)

“Alex. How’re you doing?” answered Zane. “This is Stevie Taylor. Newest addition to Solitude’s force.” He eyed the teen. “Looking a little green there, Peter.”

The teen shrugged his shoulders, still not making eye contact, and his father poked him between the shoulder blades. “Morning, sir. Ma’am,” the boy muttered.

Stevie pressed her lips together, wondering if this was the boy’s first hangover. She noticed that Alex grinned a little bit, enjoying his son’s discomfort.

“Roy told me last night to bring Peter down for an interview,” said Alex. “Seemed to think he might want to talk to him a little more. I figured the earlier the better.” This time Alex gave a big smile.

Stevie’s dad would have done the same thing. No sleeping in if she’d indulged in underage drinking. He would have made her clean out the horse stalls at five a.m. if she’d come home drunk.

When your dad was a cop in a small town, you didn’t get away with anything.

“Roy’s not in this morning,” Zane said. “Stevie and I’ll talk to Peter.”

Stevie gave him a sharp look, but kept her mouth shut. Roy’s quitting must not be public knowledge yet.

She followed the men to a small interview room. The only interview room. It also doubled as the coffee break room, city council meeting room, lunchroom, and storage room. Stevie winced at the wood-paneled walls and ancient folding chairs around the beat-up table. Would it be wrong to do a bit of office remodeling on her days off? She couldn’t bear to work in a place that made her depressed.

An old eight-by-ten photo of her dad, Roy, and two other cops who’d retired hung on a fake-wood wall. She stopped in front of it, trying to remember the other cops’ names. It had to be nearly thirty years old. Her dad looked young and fit and handsome.

Invincible.

Tears threatened at the corners of her eyes, and she brushed at the heavy layer of dust on the top of the simple frame.

Donotcrydonotcrydonotcry.

Who would have dreamed that a simple heart attack would take down a vibrant and powerful man like her father? If only he hadn’t been alone . . .

Donotcrydonotcrydonotcry.

She sucked in a breath and turned away from the wall to find the two men and the teen staring at her. Sympathy flooded Zane’s gaze, and understanding clicked on Alex’s face; he’d placed her name. Peter simply looked ill. She gave a nervous smile. “Let’s get started, okay?”

Peter slumped into a chair, looking as happy as an unprepared teen about to take a calculus test. Zane and Alex stood. Stevie blinked at them and then realized they were waiting for her to sit first.

You’re not in LA anymore.

She quickly sat, the quaint courtesy making her eyes prickle again. Zane slid her a page of notes that turned out to be Kenny’s scribbling from the night before, with Peter’s name at the top. Zane raised a brow at her and nodded, silently handing over the start of the interview. She scanned the notes, squinting here and there at Kenny’s cramped printing. She dug out her own notebook, welcoming the comfort of the pen and paper in her hand, and calming the emotions of the moment before.



Zane sat back and listened as Stevie efficiently questioned the queasy teen. For a moment he’d thought she was going to leave the room after seeing the picture of her father on the wall. Instead she’d pulled it together and gotten to work.

Today was his first day back at work since Bill’s death. He’d asked Roy if he should cut his vacation short when he’d heard the crushing news, but Roy had assured him they were fine. Zane had experienced a moment of pure wrongness when he’d first sat in Bill’s chair, but it’d quickly vanished as he focused on the notes from Hunter’s death.

Hell, he hadn’t even worked with Roy during his short-lived stint in the chief’s position. Zane was still at a loss over his boss’s death. Bill had been a leather-tough cop with a big mushy center. He’d been fearless of any * with a weapon but worried about being home in time for dinner. He’d worshipped his wife, Patsy, and hated to disappoint her in any way.

He’d been a good role model for Zane, whose father had been more interested in farming than in talking to his sons and wife.

Zane quietly studied Stevie as she questioned the teen. He could see Bill’s mannerism in the tilt of her head as she talked. The cadence of her speech was definitely Patsy’s. Along with the curly hair and wide mouth.

“He said there was a swarm of spiders crawling across the lake at one point,” Peter stated.

Zane’s ears perked up. Spiders?

Stevie tilted her head in slight confusion. “Did you see spiders?”

“Naw. Us guys looked where Hunter was pointing but there was nothing there. He was just giving us shit. Um, sorry, ma’am.” Peter looked down at his hands as Zane exchanged an amused glance with Alex.

“So he was joking about spiders?” Stevie asked.

Peter twisted his lips. “I don’t know. He acted freaked out. Said they were moving toward him and ran off like his feet were about to get bit. We were pretty close to the water, but I didn’t see anything.”

Stevie made a note. “You said he seemed drunk?”

“Yeah, a while before he collapsed he kept losing his balance. He also was saying stupid things like the trees were starting to melt.”