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

Back in the dining
room, the party was in full swing. Scores of people crowded the buffet, piling
up their plates before heading to the tables dotted around the room. Richard
and Helen were sitting with the mayor and his wife and another couple whom Emma
didn’t recognize. Richard beckoned to Emma, so she walked over to his table,
where he introduced her to the others. Mayor Henry Benson gave her a bland, politician’s
smile—lots of teeth and not much else—while his wife, Monica, examined her
closely.

“Weren’t you the one who did the Whites’
daughter’s wedding?” she asked, her tone indicating it was nothing to boast
about.

“Yes, Madison White and Sean McCluskey’s
wedding,” Emma replied, smiling politely.

Monica Benson looked her up and down one
more time. “Hmm, yes, the same McCluskey who was arrested for that awful
murder.”

A pause fell over the table. Emma felt
everyone looking at her, re-appraising her.

“Yes, the same McCluskey who was innocent
and released as soon as the real killer was apprehended,” Emma couldn’t help replying
as a flush rose in her cheeks. She could have added that she had unmasked the murderer
herself, but didn’t. She had enough notoriety to live down without adding to
it. The murder and her involvement in it had happened three months ago, and
she’d hoped the hoopla would’ve died down by now, but this was Greenville, and
people could chew over an old bone for years.

“You seem to live adventurously,” the third
man at the table drawled. He had been introduced to her as Councilman Kenneth
Bischoff. Tall and tanned with ebony hair worn slicked back, he had the dissolute
air of a matinee idol, one who was slightly past his prime. His suit was
expensive, his lips moist from the whiskey he was drinking, and his glittering
black gaze travelled over Emma in a way that felt over-familiar and
inappropriate.

“I don’t mean to,” she said, trying to be
diplomatic. With the mayor’s wife already disapproving of her, she didn’t need
more enemies.

“Maybe you just have a knack for trouble.”
Councilman Bischoff’s eyes never left hers, and she had to suppress a shudder
of distaste. How could he leer at her not just in front of his colleagues but
his wife, too? Ellen Bischoff sat next to her husband with a faraway look on
her face, making no attempt to follow the conversation, and seeming to take no
exception with her husband’s behavior. Everything about Mrs. Bischoff seemed a
little blurred, from her protruding, unfocused eyes and fluffy brown hair, to
her pastel chiffon dress that billowed about her milky white arms.

Emma pasted a smile on her lips. “I hope
you’re enjoying the food,” she said to the table in general.

Richard and the mayor made a few
platitudes, but Helen Wylie was glaring at someone over Emma’s shoulder.

“Good evening everyone,” Faye Seymour trilled,
nodding and smiling. “Richard, lovely party, and Helen, you must be thrilled.
Now that Richard’s retired, he’ll be with you all day, every day. What’s that
saying about a retired husband being a wife’s full-time job? Hee-hee. I’m only
joking, of course. Mayor Benson, I hope your new crown is settling in—yes, I
saw you come out of the dentist, and I know a few people have had problems with
Doctor Oaks. Mrs. Benson, did you enjoy your stay at the Bedrock Hot Springs
Resort? They say the mineral waters there are so good for detoxification.”

She paused, clearly enjoying the attention
she was receiving from the table. Helen was staring daggers at her; the mayor
was prodding his cheek worriedly; while Monica Benson had an expression of pure
loathing on her face. What did Faye mean by detoxification, Emma wondered?
Could she be hinting that the mayor’s wife had a problem with alcohol?

Emma cleared her throat, eager to cut Faye
off before she caused more mayhem. “Faye, did you try the shrimp? It’s one of—”

The woman ignored her, undeterred by the
stiff faces at the table, and turned her attention to Councilman Bischoff’s
wife. “It’s Ellen, isn’t it?” Her lips stretched into a brash smile. “Ellen and
Kenneth. As I recall, you two have been married for a long time.”

For the first time Ellen Bischoff appeared
to surface from her dreamlike state and blinked several times at Faye. “Oh,
yes,” she twittered. “Ken and I were high school sweethearts.” She cast a vague
smile in her husband’s direction. “We’ve been together ever since.”

“
So
romantic.” Faye simpered before
she caught Emma’s eye. “There’s something special about high school
sweethearts, don’t you think, dear?”

It cost Emma a great deal not to scowl at
the woman. She knew exactly what Faye was referring to. Emma and her high
school sweetheart had fallen hard for each other, but they’d envisaged
diametrically opposite futures after high school, and neither had been willing
to compromise. They’d broken up just before graduation, and ever since then
she’d suffered periodic twinges of regret. Not that she’d admit that to anyone,
let alone Faye.

Determined not to let Faye ruin the party,
she gripped Faye’s elbow, saying sweetly, “I really think you should come and
try the shrimp. Let me help you.”

“I don’t want any shrimp.” Faye wiggled her
arm, but Emma held firm. Shrugging in defeat, Faye twisted her head in Kenneth
Bischoff’s direction. “You’re very lucky to have a lovely wife like Ellen.”

Kenneth finally seemed to notice his wife
and slung a casual arm around her shoulders. “Yes, I’m very lucky.” His drawl
was as oily as before, but as he looked away, Emma caught a glimpse of anger in
his cold black eyes.

She had no time to speculate as she steered
Faye away from the table. When they were well away, she loosened her hold on
Faye’s elbow.

“Honestly, I don’t know what’s got into
you.” Faye huffed as she flexed her arm.

Emma almost rolled her eyes. The woman was
a walking, talking time bomb. What was up with her? She seemed determined to
prick everyone’s cheerfulness with her malicious tongue.

“There seemed to be a bit of tension at the
table.” Emma reached for her best diplomacy, though she had no need to keep on
Faye’s good side.

Faye snorted derisively. “A bit of tension?
Yes, you could say that. Especially for Councilman Bischoff.” She wagged a
finger then tapped her nose conspiratorially. “But I’m not naming any names.”

No, she was only throwing out hints like
hand grenades. Emma gestured at the laden buffet table. “Have you eaten
anything yet?” At least food might occupy her mouth and give her less
opportunity for gossip.

Faye ignored her question. She patted her left
shoulder. “You know I was injured outside this restaurant a few months back?”

While she was spying on Alvin with the
intention of getting him into trouble. Emma made a non committal murmur.

“Alvin was doing some remodeling to his
restaurant without a proper permit,” Faye continued. “There was timber and
rubble all over the place! If he’d done things properly and kept the area clear,
I wouldn’t have injured my shoulder. It’s all his fault.”

“Alvin’s had a tough year,” Emma said, nudging
Faye to the stack of clean dinner plates. “I’m sure he was doing the best he
could.”

“But this restaurant is always busy on
weekends, plus he does catering, too. He should be doing well.”

There was some truth in that, Emma had to
admit. Tucker’s Bistro was popular with locals and visitors, and Alvin had a
good reputation as a caterer. He shouldn’t be in financial difficulties.

“Alvin has been cutting corners,” Faye
declared in her loud, impervious voice. “You should have seen the mess out the
back a few months ago. Perfect breeding grounds for vermin, if you ask me.”

A prim, elderly lady standing nearby looked
askance at them, frowned at the food on the buffet, then put down her plate and
walked away.

Emma heaved a sigh. “You shouldn’t spread
rumors like that, Faye. You could seriously damage Alvin’s business.”

“I have proof.” Faye jabbed a finger at
her. “I bought one of those new fandangle cell phones and the boy in the store
showed me how to take photos. I have pictures of Alvin’s yard. Do you want to
see them?” She was already reaching for her purse which was slung over her
purportedly injured shoulder.

“No, that’s quite all right,” Emma said
quickly. “But I’m sure Alvin’s construction mess was only temporary. It must be
all gone by now.” She certainly hoped so. Alvin didn’t need more trouble.

“Yes, it is. I checked the yard when I got
here tonight.” Faye’s mouth pulled down at the corners. She seemed almost
disappointed that there’d been no piles of building rubble to photograph.

“Well, then.” Emma picked up a plate and
thrust it into the other woman’s hands. “You can eat without fear. If you don’t
want the shrimp, why don’t you try some ham—”

But Faye had already set down the empty
plate and turned toward a man approaching the buffet. “Ah, Walt. Walt Donegan.
Just the man I wanted to see.”

The beefy man with heavy jowls and a
spreading midriff, froze in his tracks, a look of desperation gripping him.
“Uh, Faye, I don’t…” He took a step backward, but it was too late.

Faye closed in on her prey. “I’ve been
trying to get a hold of you all week. Why haven’t you returned my calls?”

Walt was far taller and heavier than Faye,
but under her scrutiny he wilted like a petal in the desert. “I’ve been kinda
busy, you know.”

He glanced at Emma as if asking for help,
but Faye was fixed on him like a guided missile locked onto its target, and she
doubted she could be of any assistance.

“Too busy to do your job?” Faye harangued.
“You are the town manager, aren’t you? That means you’re hired to manage
problems, and I have a big problem with Tom. You do know who I’m talking about,
don’t you?”

Walt, the town manager, wiped his upper
lip. “Yes, Tom Kovacs, your neighbor. Is he giving you trouble again? I’m so
sorry.”

“No, you’re not,” Faye snapped. “Or you’d
do something about it. His house is a disgrace, his yard is a fire hazard, and
his dog is a nuisance.”

“Oh dear, that’s terrible.” Walt had backed
up against the buffet, and there was no escape for him. “I’ll, uh, send someone
out to have a talk with him.”

“Talk?” Faye harrumphed. “You can’t talk
sense into someone like Tom. The man’s a few sandwiches short of a picnic. He
steals peaches from my garden, which is outrageous in itself, but my fruit aren’t
even ripe yet! That’s how batty Tom is. The last time you sent someone to talk
with him, nothing happened. He didn’t fix his house or clean up his yard, and
his dog’s barking is just as bad.” Pursing her lips, she wagged her finger at
the cornered man. “I’ve been telling the council to do something about him for
years, and nothing’s happened. I’m tired of being ignored. So what are you
going to do this time, Walt? Hmm? What?”

Walt did what any desperate man would do—he
stuck his elbow into a bowl of chili and lifted his arm to show the red stain.
“Oh, darn it. Will you look at that? I’ll have to clean this off right away.”
He edged past the women and took off in the direction of the restroom.

Emma had a feeling they wouldn’t be seeing
Walt again anytime soon.

As Emma watched Faye walk off, a resigned
sigh came from behind her. She turned to see Lorraine Atkins, Faye’s sister. Lorraine
was short and comfortably plump with faded blue eyes and a gentle smile.
Tonight her mop of gray curls was caught up in a neat updo, and strings of beaded
necklaces tinkled against her purple-and-white tie-dyed caftan. She had taught
Emma art in high school, but was now retired.

“I see my sister is on the rampage
tonight,” Lorraine said. “Poor Richard. He doesn’t deserve to have his
retirement party hijacked by my interfering sister.”

Emma cleared her throat. “I thought perhaps
she needed some food to, uh, calm her down.”

“She’s in her element here. A large crowd
always loosens her tongue. Not that my sister’s tongue needs any further
loosening.” An acid note had crept into Lorraine’s voice.

“Maybe you could talk to her?” Emma asked
hopefully.

Lorraine pressed her lips together as she
eyed Emma thoughtfully. “Do you know, all my life I’ve had to live with Faye
and tried to make excuses for her. But I’ve finally reached a stage in my life
where I don’t have to do things I don’t want to. And frankly I don’t want to
run after Faye and try to shush her up. I’m tired of doing that. Let her go
ahead and dig her own grave.”

Emma started. “Dig her own grave?”

“It’s just an expression.” Lorraine gazed
after her sister. “But Faye should take care. One of these days that runaway
mouth of hers is going to get her into serious trouble.”

“Those earrings
look pretty on you.”

The man’s words, spoken in a low murmur,
reached Emma’s ears from the other side of the door. She was in the restroom
and about to exit when she overheard the man who was clearly talking to someone
just outside. She backed away, reluctant to eavesdrop on what might be an
intimate conversation, but not before the man’s companion replied.

“Oh, er, thanks, Greg, but you really
shouldn’t be saying things like that.” Even through the door, Stacey’s
discomfited voice was recognizable.

“Why not? It’s the truth.”

Stacey spluttered. “I, uh, really need the
restroom. Sorry.”

Emma barely had time to move away before
the door to the restroom swung open and Stacey tumbled in, looking flustered.
The secretary came to a halt when she spotted Emma.

Emma smiled at her. “I couldn’t help
overhearing. Sounds like you’ve got quite an admirer there.”

Stacey’s already flushed cheeks grew even
redder. “It’s not what you think.”

“Hey, I’m not thinking anything. Is he
nice, though?”

Stacey bit her lip. “Yes, he is,” she murmured,
pushing up her glasses. The softness in her eyes and the blush in her cheeks
made her look ten years younger. “Greg Foster is one of the engineers in the
department.”

“Are you two dating then?”

“No!” Some of the color ebbed from Stacey’s
cheeks. “Of course not.”

“No? It sounded as if he’d like to.”

Stacey shook her head. “I can’t date him.”

“Why not? Is he married or something?”

The blood drained from Stacey’s face.
“N-no,” she stuttered before turning away and diving into the nearest stall.

Darn it. Emma rubbed her forehead. She
liked Stacy and hadn’t meant to upset her. Since Emma had returned to
Greenville, she’d been so busy establishing her new business that she’d had
little time for socializing. Plus, she’d discovered it wasn’t so easy slotting
back into her previous life. Several of her old friends were married with
children and had totally different priorities these days. Others had moved away
to bigger cities and better jobs, like her best friend from high school, who
was now a highly paid software engineer in Silicone Valley. So Emma was glad to
have met Stacey and hoped they’d become close friends. But now she’d
inadvertently put her foot in it.

After a couple of minutes, the toilet
flushed and Stacey came out of the stall.

“Stacey, I’m sorry,” Emma said at once. “I
didn’t mean to upset you. I was just interested in you and Greg, that’s all.”

The other woman waved a hand in apology.
“No, it’s not your fault. It’s me. I’m over-sensitive when it comes to men.”
She moved to the basin and began to wash her hands.

“Yeah, dating is complicated,” Emma
replied. She should know. Her track record with men wasn’t that great. When
she’d returned to Greenville, she’d soon bumped into her old high school
boyfriend, Owen Fletcher, who was now a deputy with the sheriff’s department,
and that had revived some uncomfortably deep feelings she hadn’t been prepared
for. But so far their encounters had been fraught to say the least. He’d
disapproved of her trying to clear a friend’s name and seemed to think she was a
ditz with an over-active imagination. They were not destined for a romantic
reunion, but still she couldn’t wipe him from her mind.

“I’m not looking to date anyone,” Stacey
stated as she dried her hands under the blower. “I’m happy with my life the way
it is.” She took a deep breath and in a different note added, “Are you still
collecting donations for tomorrow’s community yard sale?”

In an effort to network more, Emma had
recently joined the local business council. The Rotary Club was organizing a
big community yard sale which would take place tomorrow at the county
fairgrounds, and Emma had volunteered to man a stall for the business council.
Members had donated items, and all proceeds would go back into the
organization, whose aim was to promote local businesses.

“Yes,” Emma replied, aware that Stacey
wished to change the subject.

“Do you need more donations?” Stacey asked.
“Because I have some things that I’ve been meaning to give away but haven’t got
around to yet. It’s all good stuff, some pieces of jewelry and other things.”

“I can always do with quality donations,
but are you sure about giving away jewelry?”

“Yes. I’m trying to streamline my life. Get
rid of the deadwood.” Stacey pressed her lips together. “Everything’s boxed up.
I meant to drive it to your office today, but my car’s been acting up lately. I
caught a cab here tonight.”

“Oh, that’s too bad. Why don’t I give you a
ride home after the party?”

Stacey blinked in surprise. “Thanks. I’d
appreciate that.”

Emma gestured toward the door. “Come on. I
think they’re about to bring out the big chocolate cake. We don’t want to miss
a piece of that.”

“Chocolate cake. Who could say no to that?”
Stacey smiled, but a shadow of anxiety lingered in the corners of her eyes.

***

The party was
winding down. The speeches had been made, the cake had been cut, and Richard
had been presented with an expensive wristwatch engraved with his name and his
years of service. Most of the guests had already left, and the staff were busy
clearing the tables. Emma walked around the restaurant looking for any
forgotten property. It always amazed her how many possessions were left behind
at parties. Tonight she scored an umbrella, a cell phone, a large diamante
brooch, and a pair of glasses. She hauled out the Lost Property box from behind
the front desk.

Bettina, Alvin Tucker’s wife, was flicking
through some bills at the desk. She glanced at the contents of the box and
sighed. “Some of these things have been in there for months. Like this.” She
picked up a pashmina shawl. “Why don’t you take it for the yard sale tomorrow?”

“Are you sure?” Emma asked.

“No one’s come to claim it in six months. I
think it’s safe to give away. And you’re manning the business council stall,
aren’t you?”

“That’s right.”

Bettina pushed the shawl into Emma’s hands.
“Take it. You’ll be doing me a favor.” She glanced up as one of the last guests
made for the exit. “Goodnight, Faye. Hope you enjoyed the party.”

“Well, the
company
wasn’t bad,” Faye
replied before sauntering out.

Shaking her head, Bettina gave a small
chuckle. “That Faye. Always having a dig at our food. I can’t take her
seriously, though.”

Emma remained silent, wondering what
Bettina would say if she knew that Faye was threatening to sue the restaurant. Alvin
had sworn her to secrecy, but how long could he hide this from his wife? Maybe
he was hoping to somehow dissuade Faye before Bettina got wind of the situation.
But Faye didn’t seem open to persuasion.

Across the room, Stacey stood by the
windows, a solemn expression on her face, and Emma wondered if she was thinking
about Greg Foster, the man who had complimented her. Upon leaving the restroom,
Emma had made a point of examining this Greg Foster, and her first impressions
were favorable. The engineer was under forty, a slim man with trim reddish hair
and beard, neatly dressed in slacks and an oxford shirt. He was attentive
toward Stacey without being presumptuous, and her reticence didn’t seem to put
him off.

By dint of casual questions put to Richard,
Emma learned that Greg had been employed by the council for years and was
steady, reliable, and well liked by everyone. She couldn’t think of any reason
why Stacey wouldn’t want to go out with him. The only argument she could think
of was a lack of chemistry. No matter how suited two people might appear on
paper, if there was no
je ne sais quoi
between them, then no passion
could germinate. And, in her experience, even an excess of
je ne sais quoi
was no guarantee of a successful relationship.

Stacey pulled out her cell phone and
checked it, nibbling on her lower lip. She made a call and after a few seconds
hung up, her worried frown deepening so much that Emma was moved to approach
her.

“Has something happened?” Emma asked.

“I’m not sure.” Stacey glanced about as if
to check that they couldn’t be overheard, then let out a sigh. “The thing is,
I’m concerned about someone. You see, I volunteer at a women’s shelter over in
La Quinta. We provide counseling and legal assistance and organize emergency
accommodation if required. Sometimes, the women just want someone to talk to
and listen to their stories.”

“It’s a worthy cause. I didn’t know you did
that.”

“I don’t make a big fuss over it.” Stacey
shrugged. “Anyway, I recently met a woman through the shelter. Jackie Carrera.
She was desperate to leave her partner, and she seemed to take an immediate
shine to me. She had no money and no one to turn to, but she was hesitant about
moving into a refuge. So I invited her to stay at my place until she got
herself sorted out. She arrived yesterday.”

“Oh, that’s really generous of you.” Somehow
Emma wasn’t surprised by Stacey’s altruism.

 “She seemed to be settling in, but now I
can’t get a hold of her. She’s not answering her phone. I’ve left several
messages, but she hasn’t called back.” Stacey grimaced. “It’s always a risky
time when a woman leaves an abusive relationship. I’m worried about Jackie. Her
ex-boyfriend might have tracked her down, or she might have been persuaded to
go meet him somewhere.”

“How old is Jackie?” Emma asked.

“Early or mid thirties, about my age, I
think. I didn’t like to ask too many personal questions until she felt more
comfortable with me.”

The pinched lines around her friend’s eyes
made Emma come to a quick decision. “Let’s leave now. I’ll drive you home, and
if Jackie’s not there, we’ll track her down together.”

Stacey nodded, her frown easing a little at
having her burden shared.

Five minutes later, they were in Emma’s little
white Toyota. Stacey directed Emma to a modest part of Greenville where small
homes lined crumbling roads and not all the street lights were functioning. Stacey’s
house was on the corner, a simple, two-story clapboard. Emma pulled her car
into the driveway behind a yellow, early model Chevy that looked more worn than
Emma’s Toyota.

They got out of the car and walked toward
the house. Stacey put her key into the door, then frowned.

“That’s odd. The door isn’t locked. I
could’ve sworn I locked it when I left this evening.”

“Maybe Jackie came home and forgot to lock
up. Maybe she’s still up.”

Stacey’s expression brightened. “Yes, maybe
she is.” She pushed open the door and walked into the house, calling, “Hello, Jackie.
It’s Stacey. I’m home.”

Emma followed her into the darkened
hallway. Stacey flicked on a hall light before moving through to a room on the
left. She stopped short with a gasp.

“Oh, no!”

Emma hurried into a small living room. She
could tell it was normally tidy, but now it was anything but. A desk in one
corner had all its drawers wrenched open, the contents upended over the floor.
The cushions of the couch lay scattered about. A vase on a coffee table had
been knocked over. A picture on the wall sat askew. Emma followed Stacey as she
moved into the adjoining dining room. There, a sideboard had also been
disturbed, its cabinets and drawers opened, tableware and serving ware strewn
across the carpet.

Emma placed a hand on Stacey’s arm. The
woman was shaking.

“Where’s Jackie?” Stacey whispered before hurrying
toward the kitchen. Emma was close on her heels. In the compact white kitchen,
a few cupboards had been rummaged through, but no one was there.

Stacey raised her voice. “Jackie?”

This is dangerous
. The thought flashed through Emma’s mind.
We should call the
police. The intruder might still be in the house
.

But Stacey was already dashing for the
stairs, and Emma had no choice but to run after her. The second story held two
modest bedrooms and a tiny bathroom. No menacing intruder, no Jackie, either.

“This is Jackie’s room,” Stacey said as
they glanced into one of the bedrooms.

It held only a twin bed and a night stand.
A duffel bag, which Emma assumed belonged to Jackie, lay on the bed, its
contents—clothes and toiletries—tumbled onto the waffle weave cotton bedspread.
It wasn’t clear whether the intruder had been in here or not.

They moved to Stacey’s bedroom, which had
definitely been tossed over. The closet hung open, clothes disarrayed and
slipping off their hangers, while a pile of paraphernalia lay heaped on the
floor.

Stacey sank onto her bed, her face white.
Emma sat next to her and pulled her phone out of her bag.

“Stacey, we need to call the police.”

“The police?” Stacey’s eyes widened. “Do we
have to?”

“Yes, you’ve been burgled!”

Stacey stared about her then picked up a
wallet off the floor and opened it. “Have I? Look.” She flicked a finger
through a wad of money. “There’s fifty dollars, untouched. And that wallet was
lying in plain sight.” She scanned the possessions strewn about her. “I can’t
see anything obvious missing. Let’s go downstairs.”