UNEASY PREY Read online

  Praise for the Zoe Chambers Mystery Series

  “I loved Bridges Burned. The action starts off with a bang and never lets up. Zoe’s on the case, and she’s a heroine you’ll root for through the mystery’s twists and turns—strong and bold, but vulnerable and relatable. I adore her, and you will, too.”

  – Lisa Scottoline,

  New York Times Bestselling Author of Betrayed

  “New York has McBain, Boston has Parker, now Vance Township, PA (“pop. 5000. Please Drive Carefully.”) has Annette Dashofy, and her rural world is just as vivid and compelling as their city noir.”

  – John Lawton,

  Author of the Inspector Troy Series

  “I’ve been awestruck by Annette Dashofy’s storytelling for years. Look out world, you’re going to love Zoe Chambers.”

  – Donnell Ann Bell,

  Bestselling Author of Deadly Recall

  “An easy, intriguing read, partially because the townfolks’ lives are so scandalously intertwined, but also because author Dashofy has taken pains to create a palette of unforgettable characters.”

  – Mystery Scene Magazine

  “Dashofy has done it again. Bridges Burned opens with a home erupting in flames. The explosion inflames simmering animosities and ignites a smoldering love that has been held in check too long. A thoroughly engaging read that will take you away.”

  – Deborah Coonts,

  Author of Lucky Catch

  “Dashofy takes small town politics and long simmering feuds, adds colorful characters, and brings it to a boil in a welcome new series.”

  – Hallie Ephron,

  Author of There Was an Old Woman

  “A vivid country setting, characters so real you’d know them if they walked through your door, and a long-buried secret that bursts from its grave to wreak havoc in a small community—Lost Legacy has it all.”

  – Sandra Parshall,

  Author of the Agatha Award-Winning Rachel Goddard Mysteries

  “A big-time talent spins a wonderful small-town mystery! Annette Dashofy skillfully weaves secrets from the past into a surprising, engaging, and entertaining page turner.”

  – Hank Phillippi Ryan,

  Mary Higgins Clark, Agatha and Anthony Award-Winning Author

  “Discerning mystery readers will appreciate Dashofy’s expert details and gripping storytelling. Zoe Chambers is an authentic character who will entertain us for a long time.”

  – Nancy Martin,

  Author of the Blackbird Sister Mysteries

  “A terrific first mystery, with just the right blend of action, emotion and edge. I couldn’t put it down. The characters are well drawn and believable…It’s all great news for readers.

  – Mary Jane Maffini,

  Author of The Dead Don’t Get Out Much

  “Intriguing, with as many twists and turns as the Pennsylvania countryside it’s set in.”

  – CJ Lyons,

  New York Times Bestselling Author of Last Light

  “Dashofy has created a charmer of a protagonist in Zoe Cambers. She’s smart, she’s sexy, she’s vulnerably romantic, and she’s one hell of a paramedic on the job.”

  – Kathleen George,

  Edgar-Nominated Author of the Richard Christie Series

  Books in the Zoe Chambers Mystery Series

  by Annette Dashofy

  CIRCLE OF INFLUENCE (#1)

  LOST LEGACY (#2)

  BRIDGES BURNED (#3)

  WITH A VENGEANCE (#4)

  NO WAY HOME (#5)

  UNEASY PREY (#6)

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  Copyright

  UNEASY PREY

  A Zoe Chambers Mystery

  Part of the Henery Press Mystery Collection

  First Edition | March 2018

  Henery Press

  www.henerypress.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever, including Internet usage, without written permission from Henery Press, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Copyright © 2018 by Annette Dashofy

  Cover art by Stephanie Savage

  This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Trade Paperback ISBN-13: 978-1-63511-320-4

  Digital epub ISBN-13: 978-1-63511-321-1

  Kindle ISBN-13: 978-1-63511-322-8

  Hardcover Paperback ISBN-13: 978-1-63511-323-5

  Printed in the United States of America

  In loving memory of my mom, Helen Riggle

  04/10/1920 – 01/04/2017

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Uneasy Prey was a challenging book to write. My mother’s health began to fail and she passed away when I was in the middle of the first draft. I’m ever so grateful to my family at Henery Press for their patience and deadline extensions during that horrible time.

  Much of the story was sparked from something that happened with Mom years ago when she’d let some con men pretending to be with the water company into her home (and I thought I’d trained her better than that). Thankfully, they didn’t harm or rob her, but the incident provided fodder for this tale.

  As always, I had a lot of help with this book and I fear I may leave someone out, but here goes.

  Thanks to Kevin Burns for patiently and thoroughly answering my questions about police procedure, to Lee Lofland and the Writer’s Police Academy for letting me experience some of what law enforcement faces every day, and to Chris Herndon for helping me with questions about the coroner’s office. Mistakes within these pages regarding the police, coroner, or EMS are mine and mine alone.

  Much thanks to Summer Wallace, who has interviewed me numerous times for our local newspapers and who guided my creation of the reporter who plays a key role in this story. Summer, we need to meet for lunch again soon!

  I can’t imagine trying to write a coherent mystery without my critique group. Jeff Boarts, Tamara Girardi, and Mary “Liz Milliron” Sutton, you guys are the absolute best!

  My heartfelt thanks to Art Molinares, Kendel Lynn and everyone behind the scenes at Henery Press; my editors Erin George and Rachel Jackson; and my incredible cover artist Stephanie Savage. I love you all.

  And for providing eagle-eyed proofreading services, thank you, Anne Tiller Slates, Wanda Anglin, and Edie Peterson. I can’t believe how many little flubs slip past me. I’m grateful you ladies pick them up.

  There aren’t words enough to express my gratitude to Pennwriters and to my Pittsburgh chapter of Sisters in Crime. You are my tribe.

  Thanks to Ramona Long and her morning “sprint” club on Facebook. The simple act of signing in every morning and promising to devote one hour to nothing but writing got me through my mom’s illness and kept me moving forward on this book.

  A shout of thanks to Tami McClain, Leta Burns, and all the gang that is the Zoe Chambers Mysteries and Friends Facebook group. You guys and gals are the reason I keep doing what I’m doing. You “get” me and I thank heavens for the fun and laughter you provide as well as the promotional support. (If you’re
on Facebook, search for us and join!)

  A word about my fictional Golden Oaks Assisted Living. Over the years, I’ve dealt with several senior living facilities. Golden Oaks is none of them and all of them. I’ve borrowed and merged and relocated bits and pieces from various places to create what I hope is a bit of reality in fiction. The people who cared for my mom over the last two years of her life are angels on earth. I can’t express how grateful I am for the safe and comfortable life for Mom that you all provided.

  Lastly, I want to thank my husband. He keeps my feet on the ground when I soar too high and he raises my spirits when I get too low. Ray, you are my safe place to fall and I love you forever.

  ONE

  Tony DeLuca snapped a note in her direction. “Welcome back. You’re up. Ninety-two-year-old female. Unresponsive.”

  Not the greeting Zoe Chambers had hoped for from her crew chief on her first day back at work after eight weeks of medical leave for torn ligaments in her knee. So much for easing back into the “routine,” if there was such a thing on an ambulance service. Especially in the middle of January.

  Tony swiveled in the office chair and bellowed toward the door to the crew lounge. “Earl!”

  Zoe accepted the note and took two steps toward the garage before noticing the address.

  Less than a minute later, Zoe perched on the passenger seat of Medic Two. Her long-time partner, Earl Kolter, wheeled the ambulance out of the bay and flipped on the emergency lights and siren. Just like old times.

  While he drove, Zoe clamped a new run report to the aluminum clipboard in her lap and began filling it out. “This is Oriole Andrews’ address, you know.”

  “Yep. And ‘unresponsive.’” Earl echoed the information Zoe had read to him from Tony’s note. “That’s a new one for her.”

  Like most small-town ambulance services, Monongahela County EMS in southwestern Pennsylvania had its share of patients who racked up the frequent flyer miles. Oriole Andrews was one of them. Last spring she’d fallen outside while washing windows and couldn’t get up. In late July, she’d stayed out in her garden too long and suffered heat exhaustion. Zoe and Earl had been on that one, and before Oriole would allow them to transport her to the hospital, she’d insisted they each accept a bag of fresh picked green beans, tomatoes, and zucchini. The woman wouldn’t take no for an answer. Especially when doctors advised her to take it easy.

  Zoe scribbled what information she had on the report. “I hope she wasn’t out shoveling snow.”

  Earl snorted. “There’s barely an inch on the ground. She’d wait until there was at least a foot.”

  Still, “unresponsive” could mean a lot of things. Had she gone out of the house on this bitter January afternoon and fallen? Hypothermia would set in quickly. Heart attack? Stroke? The woman gave the appearance of being indestructible, but at her age, anything could go wrong at a moment’s notice.

  Sirens whooping, they careened into the former coal mining town of Dillard, past the Vance Township Volunteer Fire Department and the police station, its parking lot empty. Earl braked as they rounded the bend at the far end of town and made the hard left turn onto Andrews Lane, named for Oriole’s family. A spattering of early twentieth-century residences dotted the road. Near the top of the hill, Oriole’s world-weary farmhouse predated them all. Earl cut the siren and parked at the edge of the road, next to the winter’s worth of grimy snow piled knee deep by the township’s plow.

  Zoe stepped from Medic Two’s cab into the biting chill. The dilapidated house’s weathered wood siding blended with the gunmetal sky, as did the dented gray Ford Focus in the driveway. Lights blazed from the first-story windows.

  As Zoe grabbed the heart monitor/defibrillator, she spotted Janie Baker, Oriole’s granddaughter, stepping out onto the sloping porch, clutching a bulky cardigan at her throat. “Hurry, please,” she wailed.

  Earl came around from the rear of the ambulance, snatched the jump kit and portable oxygen tank, and trudged toward the house. Zoe trailed behind, picking her way around patches of ice. The last thing she needed was to slip and reinjure her newly mended knee.

  Janie held the door for them, her eyes frantic. “Gram’s in the basement. She must’ve fallen down the stairs. I can’t wake her up.”

  Earl urged Janie to lead the way.

  They followed her down a narrow hall to an open doorway. She gestured toward it. “Down there.”

  Earl stopped on the top step and swore so softly Zoe almost didn’t hear. She craned her neck to see past her partner as they thudded down the stairs, but she didn’t get a good view of the patient until they reached the bottom.

  Oriole Andrews lay in a heap. One leg was twisted at an unnatural angle. An arm was pinned beneath her, either broken or dislocated. Zoe winced. The elderly woman faced a long painful recovery.

  Provided she survived the fall.

  Earl set the equipment down and dropped to his knees beside her. “She’s breathing.”

  Zoe moved around her partner to kneel across from him. “Mrs. Andrews?” She patted the old woman’s pale cheeks. “Oriole? Can you hear me?”

  No reaction.

  Earl opened the jump kit and tugged out the blood-pressure cuff. “I’ll get the vitals.”

  Zoe started setting up the heart monitor. She glanced up at Janie, who remained at the top of the stairs, a hand pressed to her mouth. “Any idea how long she’s been here?”

  Janie didn’t respond.

  “Janie?” Zoe said, louder this time.

  Hearing her name jarred her out of her stupor. “I’m sorry. What?”

  Zoe repeated the question.

  Janie gave a spastic shake of her head. “No. I stopped by to make sure Gram had something for supper, and if not, I was gonna cook for her. She didn’t answer the door, so I let myself in. I couldn’t find her anywhere. Until I looked down here. I kept telling her she didn’t need to go to the basement. I could get anything she needed from down there. But she never listened to me. I’ve been afraid something like this would happen.”

  Earl released the rest of the air from the cuff and removed the stethoscope from his ears. “One-thirty-two over eighty-six.”

  Pretty good for a woman her age. Zoe had a feeling Janie’s BP was considerably higher. They needed to do something to distract her before they ended up with two patients. “Janie, can you do us a favor? Gather all of her medications into a bag so we can take them with us to the hospital.”

  “Okay.” She spun and disappeared from sight.

  Zoe gingerly unbuttoned Oriole’s flannel pajama top and began peeling and sticking the cardiac electrodes to her chest.

  “Respiration’s ten, pulse is thready. Pupils equal and reactive.” Earl connected tubing to the oxygen tank and positioned a mask over Oriole’s nose and mouth.

  Oxygen in place and flowing, Earl started doing a physical assessment, palpating the woman’s skull with a gentle touch. He made a humming sound in his throat. “Feels like a hematoma here. What my mom would call a nice goose egg.”

  “At least these stairs are carpeted.”

  “We probably wouldn’t have any work to do if they weren’t. Well, I wouldn’t.”

  Zoe ignored her partner’s reference to her secondary gig as deputy coroner. With the leads connected, she watched the rhythmic pattern dancing across the monitor. Oriole’s heart rate was fast, but regular.

  Voices filtered down from upstairs—Janie’s and a more masculine one. The thud of footsteps approached the top of the steps.

  “You guys need any help?”

  Zoe glanced up at Vance Township Officer Seth Metzger. “We will when it’s time to move our patient.”

  Janie appeared next to the young cop. “I have Gram’s prescriptions.” She clutched a small clear zippered plastic bag to her chest.

  Earl extended a hand upward toward the granddaught
er, but Zoe reached over and touched his arm, stopping him from asking Janie to bring them downstairs. If the young woman was as unsteady as her voice, she might tumble down on top of them.

  “I’ll get it,” Zoe said. “And I’ll have Seth help me bring some splints and the cot back too.”

  Earl eyed the stairs and then glanced around the dark basement. “Is there a better way to get her outta here?”

  “I’ll ask.” Zoe climbed to her feet and padded up the steps.

  Seth and Janie backed away from the landing to allow Zoe through the doorway into the hall.

  The three prescription bottles contained routine heart and blood-pressure meds. “Your grandmother has a history of high BP?”

  “Yeah.” Janie pressed her fingers to her upper lip and spoke through them. “She had some atrial fibrillation too. That’s an irregular heartbeat.”

  Zoe didn’t mention that she knew what A-fib was and tried to remember if Oriole had been on the same drugs last summer. “When did they diagnosis it?”

  “A couple months ago, I think. Yeah. Right before Thanksgiving.”

  “And the meds control it?”

  “Seemed to.” Janie shot a worried glance at the stairs. “At least I thought they did.”

  “Does she have any other health issues? Anything new?”

  Janie did the spastic headshake thing again. “No. Is she…is she alive?”

  Zoe gave her a comforting smile. “Very much so.”

  Tears brimmed in the granddaughter’s eyes. “I was afraid…” She swallowed. “Is she awake?”