Extreme Exposure (11 page)

“It’s ghastly.” A chilly glance slid up and down her daughter’s body. She let out a frustrated sigh. “You look like you’ve lost weight.”

Emily gave a small smile, realizing the preoccupation with her weight meant the big bandage on her blistered foot had escaped notice.

They walked to the living room, her mother’s heels clicking down the black-and-white-tiled hallway. She gestured to armless leather chairs by the front windows. Emily lifted her right foot to tuck it under the other leg on the chair but stopped herself, planted both feet on the floor. A bad habit, and one her mother wouldn’t overlook.

“You look well,” Emily said, meaning it. Nearing fifty, her mother was a beautiful woman with delicate features, and trim and fit. Today, her dyed blond hair was pulled back in a sleek ponytail and her blouse, a rich royal blue, brought out the blue in her eyes and the sapphire stones in her tennis bracelet.

“Why, thank you, my dear.” Her mother smiled cheerfully. “I hope you’ve come to tell me that you’re coming back to work soon.”

Biting the inside of her cheek, not ready for that fight today, Emily decided to stall. “I’m not sure.”

“It will be good for you. You know I only want what’s best for you.” She picked a piece of lint off her pants. “I hope you still aren’t thinking about going back to law school. Aunt Jean is finalizing Amber’s insurance case from the accident. It’s very upsetting. It looks like half of it will go to the lawyer.”

“I wouldn’t go into law to make money.”

“That’s what they all say.”

Emily smiled tightly, wondering why she had bothered.

“I was talking earlier with Celia. She’s been doing so well lately. She was named one of the firm’s top ten agents last month. Did you hear that? It was for the whole state.”

“No, I didn’t,” she said, recognizing the tactic. Instead of saying outright what a disappointment Emily was, her mother would underline her shortcomings by comparing her to someone truly worthy, usually Celia. The conclusion left for Emily to draw was hard to miss.

“Celia said she ran into you at the police station. What were you doing there?” Waiting for a reply, she pursed her lips.

Emily, trained to watch for signs, answered cautiously. “Getting an update on the investigation.”

“And? Are you satisfied finally?” She twisted the bracelet on her wrist.

Taking a breath, she shook her head. “No.”

“Really, Emily, this is getting old.”

Sucking in a slow, deep breath, she willed herself not to get angry and met her mother’s glassy stare. “Why did you try to stop the investigation in Amber’s death?”

“I didn’t try to stop any investigation. I just gave my opinion when I spoke to Frank. Surely, I’m entitled to that?” Her tone was sharp.

She ignored the question, storing away for future reference the fact that her mother was on a first-name basis with the police chief. “Do you think Jason killed her?”

“The fact of the matter is Amber was on drugs. She overdosed. Whether on purpose or by accident, we don’t know.” She paused, calming a bit. “Even if she was helped, what good would it do to find out why? It would just bring more pain. Why do you have to be so bloody stubborn about this?”

Emily felt a chill run through her. Why was it so hard to understand it wasn’t over until Amber had justice? Never mind that someone had attacked her, that men had chased her, tried to kill her.

Her mother said, “Your aunt, my sister—the only sister I have—wants it to be over. But now it’s being raised again and you know she’s not a strong woman. If you went about it differently, I could see, but you always seem to make a mess of things. Celia tells me that you’ve even dragged some man into this.”

“I didn’t drag him into it.” She took another deep breath. The last thing she wanted was to discuss Matt.

“Well, how did you meet him?”

“Actually, he saved my life.”

Face flooding with anger, her mother glared at her. “Not this again.”

The look her mother gave her—eyes narrowed, lips pressed into a white line—together with the high-pitched tone in her voice stopped her cold. A rush of memories from her childhood flooded her. The details were a blur, but not that terrible suffocating feeling that resulted from being on the receiving end of her mother’s anger. She felt it now in the crushing pressure on her chest, as if a ton of rocks had fallen on her.

Emily turned away, squeezed her eyes shut. She wasn’t going to cry. No way.

The telephone rang in the kitchen. Scowling, her mother sprang up, went off to answer it.

Emily took a deep breath and looked around. She hated this room. Growing up, she’d only been allowed in to be reprimanded. The furnishings had changed over the years. Now it was starkly modern, everything white, including the pickled white stain on the floors.

Ten minutes later, her mother came back. “That was Harold. He’s stopping by.” She walked to the window, looked out onto the street. “Perhaps you could stay to say hello.”

“All right.” It was safer with people around. Usually, but not always, the harshest rebukes were saved for when her mother had her alone. “How is he?”

“He’s fine, busy.” Hesitating, she pinched the skin on her neck. “I may as well tell you, we are planning to be married. But please keep that under your hat for the time being.”

“I’m happy for you, Mother.”

Sitting down, her mother crossed her legs. A bitter smile played across her lips. “Yes, well, we can’t set a date until this business with Amber is finished.”

An awful, sinking feeling puddled in Emily’s stomach. She was to blame for messing her mother’s life up once again. Her mother stared at her, waiting for her to say something. Emily stood up. “I’m going upstairs for a minute. There are some clothes in the closet I’d like to take.” She took a few steps before turning around. “By the way, the friend Celia mentioned is coming by to pick me up.”

“Boyfriend?”

“He’s just a friend.” In the hallway, there was a large painting on the wall, a sort of abstract expressionist work with squiggly black lines, layers and layers of them, on a stark white canvas.

Her mother called out from across the room, “I just bought it at an auction. It cost a pretty penny. I’m not sure I like it, but it’s an investment.”

Walking upstairs, she wondered if her mother saw her as an investment. As a daughter, she was a flop, but there was still some value in her as a chef.

Going away to college had been one of the best things she’d ever done; coming back to work for her mother had been a big mistake.

*  *  *

Mona Blackstock answered the door when Matt returned an hour after he’d dropped Emily off. She introduced herself with a stiff smile, led him into the living room, where Emily stood by the window, her arms crossed tightly in front of her. He wanted to go to her, but Mona gestured to a pair of sofas set up across from each other in front of a tiled fireplace.

“What exactly is it that you do?” she asked after she had sat down across from him, her back to her daughter. “Emily didn’t say.”

He shot a glance at Emily, but she’d turned to look out the window. Something had happened before he had arrived. Tension hung in the air. “I work with a company in Boston, building houses.”

“Really, how interesting.”

Her tone suggested about as much interest as a six-year-old might have in a plate of mashed turnips. “Emily tells me you’re in the hotel business.”

“I own the Carleton, near the downtown. Have you been?”

“Haven’t had the chance yet.” He wondered if the hotel had a similar decor to this room. Everything white, it had all the warmth of a dentist’s waiting room and a peculiar smell, too, like furniture polish mixed with disinfectant.

The room suited its owner. It wasn’t hard to see where Emily had gotten her looks, but Mona gave off a chilly, hard-edged composure that made him sit upright in his seat.

She was talking about the hotel. “It’s a lovely old building. We are very proud of it, aren’t we, Emily?” She didn’t wait for a response. “It has just six floors but one hundred and seventy-seven rooms. It’s certainly a lot of work.”

The doorbell rang. Without turning around, Mona said, “That will be Harold. Emily, be a dear and get it.”

Emily shot him a smile as she walked across the room to the hallway. The conversation died. Behind Mona, a huge frame stood against the wall. There was nothing in it, and it looked antique, although he suspected it wasn’t really, but had been beaten with chains and painted a dozen times to make it look old. It would have looked better if it had something in it, preferably something very colorful. But that was just his opinion. What did he know?

Emily returned with a tall, barrel-chested man in his early sixties. Salt-and-pepper hair and a neatly trimmed mustache gave him a distinguished air. Harold MacDonald exchanged introductions with Matt, who stood to greet him, leaned down to kiss Mona on the cheek, and sat beside her. Emily joined Matt on the sofa across from Mona and the judge.

The judge asked him about home construction. His questions were knowledgeable, and he explained he had recently moved into a custom new build on a five-acre plot of land on a small mountain a few miles north of town. From the description, it sounded very big and very expensive.

Mona, waiting for a break in the conversation, turned to Matt. “Emily and I just had a discussion, and I think we agreed on the importance of not overreacting.”

Emily stiffened beside him but said nothing, so he said, “I don’t know what you’ve discussed, but I haven’t seen Emily overreacting to anything. I’m concerned for her safety, in fact.” He reached over, squeezed Emily’s hand. Her delicate lips lifted in a small smile and when she returned the squeeze his heart did strange things in his chest.

Mona said, “Really? You don’t know Emily like I do. In fact, how long have you known her?”

“A little while.” She threw out the word “really” a lot, in a way that implied she severely doubted the veracity of what he said. He said, before she could say more, “Do you know why Jason Hatt is a suspect?”

Shaking her head, she looked in the judge’s direction. “Harold, do you?” Looking back at Matt, she added, “Harold is a judge. He sometimes knows about such things.”

MacDonald shrugged. “Sorry, no, I haven’t kept up on that case.” He looked at Emily. “But if you believe there are valid reasons to be concerned for your own safety, you shouldn’t ignore them. I once got a threatening letter from somebody I sent to prison. It wasn’t pleasant.”

Mona said, “Harold’s new home has a very expensive security system. It even has a safe room. It’ll be harder to break into than Fort Knox.”

“I don’t know about that, but it certainly gives peace of mind.” Stroking his moustache, he seemed pleased. He glanced at Emily, then Matt. “Do you want me to see if I can make some calls, maybe pull in some favors and get you some police protection?”

Mona’s lips turned inward. “I guess it’s better to be safe than sorry. If Emily really thinks she needs it, I suppose we should pay attention.”

An angry looked flashed from under MacDonald’s bushy gray eyebrows. “You make it sound like she’s at fault, Mona.” He had raised his voice, and seemed to have realized it, because he softened his tone and the anger disappeared. “Like you say, it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

Two red splotches appeared on Mona’s cheeks. “Be careful, dear, your blood pressure.” She put a hand on his arm. “Do you want coffee? Emily, could you put the coffee on?”

Emily left the room, and MacDonald looked at him, waiting for an answer to his question, so he said, “That’s very kind of you, but I think we should be okay.”

MacDonald raised his eyebrows. “Are you sure that’s wise? Do have security training?” He twisted a gold Rolex on his wrist.

“We’ll be okay,” Matt said, getting the feeling that the judge wasn’t the type of person who was used to being turned down. “But thank you.”

Mona said, “I’m sure you will be. Emily always comes out all right in the end. I did my best, really I did, but it wasn’t easy being a single mother. There were times when I struggled, but I think I did pretty well.”

Sitting back, he said nothing, wondering if she really thought this was true. Some things about Emily were beginning to make sense.

Conversation turned once more to home construction, but when Emily returned with coffee a few minutes later, Mona said, “Emily was always so dramatic.” She added cream to a cup and handed it to Harold. “I remember once, she was three, I think, and she was locked in a closet. She was hysterical.”

Emily steadied the coffee cup she’d just picked up with two hands. “How did that happen?”

Mona shrugged, turned to her daughter. “I don’t remember. It was that closet under the stairs—we’ve since had it converted to a half bath—well, anyway, you started screaming.” She took a sip of coffee. “Eventually, you fell asleep.”

Emily said, “I’ve never heard that story before.”

“Really?” Mona’s tone was both surprised and pleased. She glanced at MacDonald, who cleared his throat and shifted in his seat.

“I recall the incident, but what I mean is that I haven’t heard you tell the story before. I didn’t realize it happened here.”

“I would have thought you’d remember. You always did have a thing about being in tight spaces. But you’ve gotten over it, haven’t you?”

Not answering, Emily gaped at her mother for a moment before putting down her cup. Standing, she turned to Matt. “Shall we go?”

Mona said, “I hope we’ll see you both on Saturday.” Her light tone suggested obliviousness to the unease in the air.

The judge rose, brightening. “It’s Mona’s fiftieth birthday. We’re having a small get-together here, about twenty people, very casual. I wanted to have it at my place, but it isn’t ready yet.”

Emily was noncommittal. “I’m sure you’ll have a very nice time.”

Her mother said, “You have to come. You can’t not come to my special day.” She shot a glance at her boyfriend. “Harold has been working so hard that I’ve been feeling neglected.”

Emily glanced at him, but Matt kept his face expressionless. It was up to her. “Perhaps for a few minutes,” she said in a strained voice.