Pushed to the Limit (an Emma Cassidy Mystery Book 2) (11 page)

When she was outside she realized she was
covered in a cold sweat.
Ugh
. She shivered, trying to shake off her fit
of the heebie-jeebies. In the brightness of the sunshine, it seemed absurd to
suspect Alvin of attacking Faye. Sure, his life would be a lot easier if she
weren’t around, but he was a peaceable, upstanding citizen. He was devoted to
his wife and kids, and his restaurant was his life. She had never seen him yell
at his underlings, even when under extreme duress. Determined to put a halt to her
suspicions about Alvin, she walked back to her car.

“Emma, oh, Emma,” someone called out.

A woman climbed out of the blue sedan
parked near Emma’s hatchback and hurried toward her. It was Bettina, Alvin’s
wife, and her puckered face indicated she was worried.

What now
,
Emma wondered as she greeted Bettina.

“I just saw Alvin and gave him the check
for Friday’s retirement party,” she said, hoping Bettina wouldn’t want her to
go into the restaurant. The last thing she needed was to face Alvin so soon
again.

Bettina glanced at the restaurant, then
back at Emma. The frown on her forehead deepened. “Could we sit in my car and
talk for a moment?”

“Sure,” Emma said cautiously, wondering
where this was going. She climbed into the passenger seat of Bettina’s BMW
while Bettina returned to the driver’s side. The interior was all buttery beige
leather that oozed luxury. She wondered about the monthly repayments on this
car and how much longer Alvin could keep paying them.

For a few moments Bettina just stared out
the windshield. Then she twisted toward Emma. “I’m sorry for dumping this on
you, but I’m going crazy with worry, and I don’t know who to turn to.” She
waved her manicured hands agitatedly. “Oh, I have friends and family, but this
is something I can’t bring myself to discuss with them because—” she heaved out
a sigh “—because it’s so terrible I can scarcely think about it myself.”

“Go on,” Emma said when Bettina fell into
tortured silence.

“It’s about Alvin.” As if it could be
anything else. “I know about him not paying the business insurance.”

“Oh. So you know…”

“That we might be up for fifty thousand
dollars if Faye decides to sue us and wins?” Bettina ran a hand through her
thick waves of brown hair. “Yes, I know all that. Why Alvin thought he could
hide something like that from me I will never fathom. But that’s beside the
point. I’m so worried about my husband. He knows I know about Faye. We had a
bit of an argument over that, but I feel he hasn’t laid all his cards on the
table. He’s keeping something from me. He’s been acting very strangely the past
week or so. Oh, sure he’s stressed out about the possible damages, but there’s
more to it than that. Call it a wife’s instinct.”

“What has he been doing?” Emma asked.

“Staying out late, saying he’s working back
when I know he isn’t, acting furtively. Not talking to me. Fobbing me off with
excuses.” She cast a dry glance at Emma. “Now, most women would say that he’s
having an affair. But I know my husband. He isn’t cheating on me.”

Emma had to acknowledge that Bettina was
right on that score. She didn’t think Alvin was cheating on his wife, either.
No, the way he’d been sweating back there, it was something else. Something far
more serious.

“Last week, he stayed out late, came back
roaring drunk. Alvin’s never been a heavy drinker. I barely recognized him when
he came home. He woke up the next day and couldn’t remember where he’d been the
night before. Or, at least, that’s what he said to me, but I knew from his face
he wasn’t telling the whole truth.” Bettina clasped her hands together in her
lap and stared ahead. “I’m convinced it’s got something to do with Faye. You
see, the Saturday afternoon when she had her fall, Alvin disappeared somewhere.
He didn’t come home for hours, and when he did he was all sweaty and agitated. I
asked him where he’d been, but he just shrugged his shoulders and said ‘out.’
And then, when we heard the news about Faye’s fall, he turned so white I
thought he was going to pass out. He disappeared into the bathroom, and I could
hear him retching, but when he came out he just said he’d eaten something bad.
I think—” Her voice cracked, and she had to suck in a gulp of air before she
could continue “—I think Alvin had something to do with Faye’s fall. But—but I
can’t ask him because I’m afraid of what he might tell me.” She covered her
face with her hands, her shoulders shaking.

For a while Emma just sat there, her
thoughts blundering about like confused moths. “Alvin might have a perfectly
reasonable explanation for his behavior,” she said.

Bettina sniffed and dropped her hands. “You
think?” she asked hopefully.

Emma wasn’t sure at all, but Bettina was desperate
for reassurance. “You don’t have any solid proof he was involved in Faye’s
fall.” Well, there was the business card, but that was hardly conclusive proof.
Like Alvin had pointed out, anyone could have taken a Tucker’s Bistro card and
dropped it at Faye’s house. And besides, there was no way of knowing if it had
been left there on Saturday.

Dabbing her eyes with a tissue, Bettina
nodded. “No, I don’t, and Alvin has been under so much stress lately. He
probably needs time off to get away from me.” She blew out a breath. “We’ve
been married twenty years. I know my husband. I know he would never do anything
violent, even though Faye is such a pain in the patootie.” She smiled, a brittle,
shaky smile that didn’t fool either of them. “I’m a silly woman. I hope you won’t
take my crazy talk too seriously.”

Meaning that confiding in Emma had
alleviated Bettina’s fears, but now she was at ease she wished the conversation
had never happened. Emma wasn’t offended; she’d seen how close to the edge
Bettina had teetered.

“Of course not,” Emma said. “It’s forgotten
already. And don’t worry. No one will ever hear a word of this.”

Bettina patted her hand quickly. “You have
a nice day now.”

Feeling herself dismissed, Emma climbed out
of the car and watched as Bettina swung the BMW onto the street. Where was she
going now? Off to buy something to distract her from all her ‘crazy talk?’

Emma returned to her car. Now she had two likely
suspects—Alvin Tucker and Kenneth Bischoff—and no real proof it was either of
them. The evidence around Alvin looked bad, but try as she might she couldn’t
picture him doing something as violent as shoving a woman down the stairs. No,
her money was still on Bischoff. She just had to track down his whereabouts on
Saturday afternoon.

Despite her busy workload
that day, Emma found time to look up the motel featured on the matchbook she’d
picked up from Bischoff’s office. Somewhat to her surprise, the Tall Trees
Motel boasted a professional-looking website and the rates to match. Judging by
the photos of tastefully decorated rooms, this wasn’t your average
roach-infested slum where rooms could be hired by the hour. She guessed someone
with access to money like Kenneth Bischoff could afford to conduct his trysts
in comfort. The motel was halfway between Greenville and La Quinta, off the
main road, making it a fairly secluded location for secret meetings. She might
go check out the place; maybe it would give her a clue. The only other option
of confronting Bischoff and asking him point blank where he’d been last
Saturday afternoon seemed, at this point, a little too drastic.

Most of her day was occupied with the
country music night in two days’ time. After lunch, she made her way
downstairs. She had a meeting with the president of the Main Street
Association, which was co-sponsoring the event with the town council, to go
over the layout of the festival. As they traipsed about the shorefront park, a
light breeze blew off the water, bringing a slight relief from the sizzling
heat.

“Phew!” Rhonda, the president of the
association and owner of a quilting store, fanned herself with a printout of
the festival layout. “This heat. It doesn’t help that I’m going through the
change, either. I tell you, sometimes at home I sit in nothing but my underwear.”
She chuckled comfortably. “Thank heavens the kids have all left home and it’s
just me and Bertie.”

Emma smiled. “Want to go over to those
shady trees?”

“Naw, we’re nearly finished here.”

Emma had met Rhonda several times and found
her to be friendly, down-to-earth, and honest. She decided it might be worth
sounding her out about Bischoff.

“Can I ask you something unrelated to the
festival?” she asked as they paced the paved area where the food stalls would
be set up.

“Sure!” Rhonda beamed encouragement.

“What can you tell me about Kenneth
Bischoff?”

“Anything in particular you want to know?”

“Well, what kind of man is he? Would you
say he’s trustworthy?”

Rhonda snorted. “Not if you’re married to
him. That poor wife of his. I suppose she was swept off her feet by his movie
star looks. But I doubt he can pull the wool over her eyes for much longer.
He’s getting very careless. Just the other day I saw him with his fancy woman
right here in Greenville.”

“When was that?”

Rhonda wrinkled her nose. “Saturday afternoon.
I was driving home from the yard sale, and I spotted him behind Louie’s hardware
store. He was with a woman. A brunette, well dressed, high heels, a big floppy
hat so I couldn’t see her face, but I knew it wasn’t his wife. Too tall and
busty and va-va-voom, if you know what I mean. They were having an intense
conversation, almost an argument. They didn’t even notice me. Then Kenneth
shouted something like ‘Fine, I’ll take care of it,’ and they got into separate
cars and drove off.”

Emma’s heart thudded with excitement. She
tried her best to keep her expression bland. “What time was this?”

“Hmm, I’m not sure. Around about noon, I’d
say.” She cast a curious glance at Emma. “Why all these questions about
Kenneth?”

Emma bit her lip. “Ah, well, there’s something
he might be involved in that I’m sorting out for a friend,” she said, figuring
the ‘friend’ fib wasn’t such a big lie.

Rhonda’s curiosity morphed into concern.
“Oh, honey, it’s got nothing to do with financial planning, does it? I’ve heard
some sad tales about his so-called business advice.”

“Um, no, it’s something else.”

Rhonda still looked doubtful. “I hope your
friend isn’t in too much trouble.”

“Oh, I don’t think so.”

Their conversation returned to the
festival, and soon their meeting broke up. Emma walked away, her thoughts
consumed with what she’d learned from Rhonda. So Bischoff had met with his
mystery lover, and they’d argued—possibly about Bischoff’s wife finding out—and
Bischoff had said he’d ‘take care of it.’ Did that include going to Faye’s
house, hiding in wait, and then shoving her down the stairs?

As she reached her car parked outside
Lulu’s, she had a sudden urge to drive past the location where Bischoff and his
mistress had been spotted. She hopped into her boiling hot car. Beads of
perspiration instantly spouted on her brow. With the AC on high, she steered
the car down the length of Main Street. Louie’s hardware store was situated on
the outskirts of the main shopping strip, where a network of alleys stretched
behind the stores.

She turned into the side street next to
Louie’s and edged her car along the rutted road. Behind the hardware store was
a large warehouse. A handful of teenagers in grungy jeans and baseball caps
lounged in the shade of the buildings, one of them spray painting the wall of
the warehouse. As soon as they spotted her, the three boys took off. Two of
them disappeared around the corner, but the third one tripped on something and
landed sprawling in the gravel.

Emma got out of her car and cautiously
approached the prone figure who was still groaning from his fall.

“Are you okay?” she asked, edging closer.
“I didn’t mean to startle you.” The boy rolled over and sat up. He was older
than she’d first thought. “Jason? Jason Wylie?”

The skinny young man squinted suspiciously
at her. “How do you know me?”

“I know your parents, Richard and Helen.
I’m Emma Cassidy. I helped organize your dad’s retirement party.” She scanned
his torn, grubby jeans. It was hard to tell if any of the rips were from his recent
stumble. “Are you okay?” she repeated, tentatively offering him a hand to help
him up.

“I guess.” Ignoring her outstretched hand,
he heaved himself to his feet.

A can of spray paint rolled away from him.
Emma bent and picked it up. Bright orange fluorescent paint. She glanced at the
warehouse wall and saw the fresh graffiti, the wet paint still gleaming in the
sun.

Jason Wylie slouched in front of her, his
greasy hair hanging in his eyes. Despite the faint sneer on his lips, he seemed
anxious about something. Emma had a good idea what he might be worried about.

She waggled the can of spray paint. “Do you
know,” she said conversationally, “I happened to see this exact shade of orange
just yesterday. Want to know where that was?”

Jason’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. He
shrugged and ran his tongue over his lips.

“Someone sprayed graffiti over Faye
Seymour’s house. ‘Snooping cow’, in orange paint. Know anything about that?”