Lost Legacy (A Zoe Chambers Mystery Book 2)
edge of the deck against the table. “Patsy Greene—she boards her horse at the farm? Her mom had Alzheimer’s. I used to help her out sometimes.”
    Terrific. Zoe was more help to a friend than he was to his own sister.
    “It’s a horrible disease,” Zoe added. “You’ve never mentioned your dad had it. In fact, I don’t remember you ever mentioning your dad at all.”
    “He lives with my sister in Pittsburgh. She’s taking a vacation for a few weeks.”
    “Caregivers need a break every so often.” Zoe reached across the table and rested a hand on his arm. “It’s great that you’re pitching in to help.”
    He eased away from her touch, leaning back in the chair. What would she think if she knew the truth?
    “What do you need me to do?” Zoe asked.
    “Do?”
    “You asked me to stick around after everyone else left. I figured you wanted to ask me to help out with your dad.”
    Damn it. The letter. He’d almost forgotten. “Um, actually, no. That’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.”
    “Oh?” She frowned, but then her eyes widened. “Oh. The autopsy. What did Franklin find out? Was it really a suicide?”
    “We don’t know yet. There’s nothing to indicate anyone helped Engle along, but Franklin ruled the manner of death as undetermined.”
    “So you’re still investigating?”
    “Oh, yeah.” Pete met her eyes. “There’ve been a couple of unexpected developments today.”
    “Really? Such as?”
    “First, James Engle didn’t have lung cancer.”
    Zoe choked. “But—wasn’t that the reason he supposedly killed himself?”
    “According to his brother.”
    “And Carl Loomis,” she reminded him.
    Pete had almost forgotten about the irate farmhand. He made a mental note to add Loomis to his list of interviewees.
    She turned the deck over in her hand, cut it, and shuffled. “I talked to my mom about her uncles.”
    “And?” Pete slipped the letter from his pocket, but kept it palmed.
    “The story goes that their deaths were a murder/suicide.”
    “That’s what I heard.”
    She shuffled the deck again. “But their wills left the Miller family farm to James Engle instead of their sister...my grandmother. Apparently both wills had been changed a few months before they died.”
    “Interesting.” Pete fingered the folded paper. “Still, I have a hard time finding a logical rationale to link a forty-five year-old case to Engle’s hanging.”
    Zoe set the deck of cards down on the table. “James Engle and his hanging are the links.” 
    Pete held up one hand with what he hoped was the same authority he used to stop oncoming traffic. “I didn’t say I’m not going to look into it.”
    Her posture softened. “Oh.” She pointed to his other hand. “What’ve you got there?”
    “I said there were a couple of unexpected developments. The health of Engle’s lungs was only one of them.” He slid the folded paper across the table to her. “This is the other.”

      
    Zoe eyed the note on the table between them. It looked like a standard page of copy paper folded twice. A little rumpled around the edges, the whole thing was slightly rounded from having been in Pete’s hip pocket. She reached for the page and found it warm to her touch. Pete’s body heat. But that look in his eyes? This wasn’t good news.
    Bracing herself, she unfolded it and read.
      
    Dear Mrs. Jackson,
     
    I suppose you’re wondering why I would be writing to you now. My days are numbered and I hope to make things right as much as possible while I still can.
    As part of that mission, I feel I need to let you know about your husband. Gary was just trying to do what’s right. Mrs. Jackson, your husband did not die in that car crash.
    I wish I could tell you more.
     
    With Deepest Remorse,
    James Engle
      
    What the hell?
    A million questions crashed around inside her head, jamming in her throat. When one finally found its way out, her voice was little more than a squeak. “What is

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