Pushed to the Limit (an Emma Cassidy Mystery Book 2) (3 page)

They trooped down, and Stacey poked through
the piles lying in the living and dining rooms for a few minutes. “I don’t
think they took anything.”

Emma, crouching down beside Stacey, shook
her head. “That’s beside the point. Someone broke into your home. You should
call the cops.”

“Please, Emma.” Stacey reached over and
clasped Emma’s hand. “Please don’t.”

The anxiety in her eyes got to Emma. How
could she ignore the plea in her friend’s voice? Yet something wasn’t right. Squeezing
Stacey’s hand, she said slowly, “Is there any reason why you don’t want to report
this?”

Stacey swallowed. “I don’t have much faith
in the police.” Her voice shook before she made a visible effort to steel
herself. “They didn’t protect me from my husband when he threatened me. I had
to escape him all by myself.”

For a few moments
Emma was too shocked to respond. Then, as Stacey’s words sank in, and
everything about the reserved secretary began to make sense, she kneeled down
and put an arm around Stacey.

“I’m so sorry,” she burst out impulsively, then
hesitated. What more could she say? There was so much she wanted to ask but
couldn’t.

But Stacey was already pulling away and
rising to her feet. She smoothed a few stray strands of hair away from her
forehead, plucked some lint off her dress. “We’re divorced now. It’s over. I
don’t like to talk about it, if you don’t mind.” Only the faint trembling in
her hands gave her emotions away.

“Of course.”

After a few seconds, Stacey murmured,
“Thanks for being so understanding. And thanks for being here, too. I would’ve
been terrified to go through this house on my own.”

Because she had feared finding her ex-husband
here? The thought disturbed Emma, and once again she wished Stacey would call
the police. She didn’t know where Stacey had been living when her husband had
terrorized her. Stacey had made Greenville her home for almost ten years, and
Emma had never heard a whisper about a husband, so her marriage and divorce must
have taken place somewhere else.

Straightening up, Emma glanced about the
mussed up room. “It doesn’t look like there was a struggle here, so that’s
something. Where should we go look for Jackie?”

“I’m not sure.” Stacey bit her lip. “Maybe
we should go over to the refuge center. It’s closed now, but she might be
nearby.”

Just then, footsteps sounded on the porch
outside, and Emma’s nerves tightened as she wondered if the intruder had
returned. She and Stacey huddled together, both holding their breaths. The
person opened the front door and walked in, making no attempt to enter quietly.

A woman appeared in the entrance to the
living room and let out a yelp when she caught sight of Emma and Stacey.

“Jackie!” Stacey exclaimed.

Emma heaved a sigh of relief as Stacey hurried
toward the slightly built woman. Jackie wore baggy jeans and a checked shirt,
the clothes not quite fitting—perhaps they’d been donated to her. Thick, shaggy
brown hair fell to her shoulders, half-concealing wary eyes in a thin, scrubbed
face that seemed oddly blank as Stacey gave her a hug.

“Oh my God!” Jackie squeaked, pressing a
hand to her throat as she surveyed the wreckage. “What happened here?”

“Never mind that. Where have you been all
night?” Stacey’s brow was creased with anxiety. “I tried calling you a few
times but you never answered. I’ve been so worried.”

“I’m sorry.” Jackie’s face fell. “I went
out to get something to eat, and my cell phone ran out of juice. I didn’t mean
to cause you so much worry. I should’ve come home early.”

“No, it’s a good thing you were away or you
might have disturbed whoever did this.” Stacey gestured to Emma. “This is Emma
Cassidy. She gave me a lift home after the party. Emma, this is Jackie Carrera.”

Jackie peeked at Emma from beneath her
thick bangs. “Hi,” she said warily. According to Stacey, Jackie was in her
early or mid thirties, but she could easily have passed for twenty.

“Hi, Jackie.” Emma kept her tone light and
her smile brief.  The woman seemed nervy and highly strung, like a baby bird
that had fallen out of its nest. Little wonder that generous-hearted Stacey had
offered her a place to stay. “I’m glad you’re safe.”

After a brief nod, Jackie glanced about the
room once more, taking in the shambles. “Oh, this is so awful. Who could’ve
done such a thing? What did they take?”

“That’s the weird thing,” Stacey replied. “It
looks like they didn’t take anything. I
think
everything is still here, but
you should check your room. I don’t know if anything is missing from there.”

Jackie lifted her shoulders. “I had my
purse with me. There’s nothing else worth stealing in my room.”

“That’s good.”

“What are you going to do, Stacey? Are the
police coming?”

“No, I’m not calling them.”

“You’re not?”

Stacey’s expression firmed. “No.” She bent
to pick up a vase from the floor. “I just want my house back the way it was.”

Emma dropped to her knees and began
gathering up some scattered books. “It won’t take long if we all pitch in.”

“Yeah.” Jackie walked over to a pile of
strewn mail. After a moment, Stacey smiled faintly. “Thanks, both of you.”

As Emma tidied up, she couldn’t help
noticing how few personal belongings Stacey owned. There were no photos, for a
start. It stood to reason she wouldn’t want to remember her ex-husband, but
what about parents, siblings, or friends? She didn’t appear to receive any
Christmas cards or birthday cards either. No diplomas or certificates. No
mementos or souvenirs. Nothing to indicate her past. Stacey was turning out to
be quite the mystery woman.

“Are you sure about not calling the police?”
Jackie asked as she replaced the cushions on the couch.

“I don’t see what good it would do.” Stacey
sighed. “It’s not like I own anything valuable.”

“Don’t you?” Jackie’s eyebrows rose up. “No
family heirlooms or keepsakes?”

Stacey was cleaning up the sideboard. She poked
her head into one of the cabinets, her voice muffled as she replied, “Not
really. I don’t collect that stuff. Too much clutter.”

Too much clutter? Emma glanced about the
living room. It was spartanly furnished with just a couple of couches, a TV,
and the desk. The only picture was an inexpensive print of Shamrock Lake. And
she’d noticed that the rest of the house was similarly austere. Was Stacey a
minimalist? Or did she simply want to forget the past with its painful
memories?

“Well, that’s a pity,” Jackie said. “When I
turned eighteen, my granny gave me a cameo brooch. I don’t wear it much, but I
treasure it. I’d never part with it.”

Stacey’s shoulders seemed to stiffen, but
she remained silent.

Five minutes later, they finished tidying
the living and dining rooms.

“I’ll do my bedroom myself,” Stacey said to
Emma. “It won’t take me long. Thanks for everything.”

Stacey looked exhausted, and Emma was
beginning to long for her bed, too. She had to be up early tomorrow to set up
for the yard sale, which was due to start at seven am.

“Make sure to check all your doors and
windows tonight,” Emma said as she picked up her bag and headed for the door.
She might have been nervous leaving Stacey after the break-in, but Jackie was
here.

“I will.” Stacey snapped her fingers. “Oh,
I almost forgot. That stuff for your yard sale. It’s in the trunk of my car.”

She followed Emma out of the house and
unlocked the trunk of her yellow Chevy. She heaved out a large box and handed
it to Emma.

“Just some trinkets and gadgets I don’t need
anymore,” Stacey said.

“Thanks.” Emma transferred the box to her
car.

Jackie had come out of the house with them.
She stood with arms folded, narrow shoulders hunched. The expression on her face
was difficult to interpret. Frustration seemed to be the best description. But
why would Jackie be frustrated?

Emma leaned toward Stacey. “Are you sure
you’re all right?” she asked in a low voice, too low for Jackie to overhear.

Stacey glanced up and down the street. It
had rained earlier, and damp leaves lay scattered on the sidewalk. The
neighborhood was quiet; only a few houses had lights still on.

“I’m fine.” Stacey rubbed her upper arms.
“Nothing to worry about. Jackie and I will look out for each other. You go home
now. I’ll probably see you at the yard sale tomorrow, and maybe I can persuade Jackie
to come, too.”

There was nothing more she could do, so
Emma hopped into her car and drove off. But as she glimpsed Stacey in her rear
view mirror, she couldn’t completely suppress her unease. She liked Stacey; she
wanted to be her friend. She just hoped the break-in wasn’t a portent of more
dire events to follow.

“What’s this?” Emma
asked as her father deposited a cardboard box on the kitchen table where she
was finishing breakfast. “Donations for the yard sale?”

Andrew nodded. “Some classic books I
thought deserve better homes.” He paused. “And a few things of your mother’s
that she was always meaning to donate and never got around to.”

Emma glanced up at her dad, a half-chewed
piece of toast in her mouth. After her mother’s death two years ago, Emma had cleared
the clothes from her mom’s closet—a heart-rending task that she’d wanted to
spare her father—and taken them to the local charity store, but most of her
mom’s other possessions were still in the house, as far as she knew.

Emma swallowed the last of her toast and
lifted the flaps of the box. “What things?”

“Oh, some bowls and vases and knick-knacks.
You know how she loved to shop whenever we were on vacation.” A fond smile
lingered on Andrew’s face. “Supporting the local economy, she’d always say.
Then she’d bring the stuff home, and nine times out of ten she’d realize she
didn’t really like the thing and give it away or stick it in the garage to sort
out later.”

Emma lifted out an orange hand-blown glass
bowl and smiled. “Yeah, I remember this. We were in Arizona, weren’t we?” She
picked up an enormous conch shell. “And was this from our trip to San Diego?”

“I hope you don’t mind me giving these away.
You’re welcome to keep anything for yourself.”

At the hint of concern in her father’s eyes,
she replaced the bowl and conch shell back in the box. “That’s okay, Dad. I’m
sure there’s someone out there who’d love them.”

And besides, where would she keep the
ornaments, seeing as she was living at home with her dad? When her business
partner had run off with all their money, and her then-boyfriend had charmingly
deserted her in her hour of need, Emma had returned to Greenville with little
more than the clothes on her back and barely enough money for an ancient car.
Her widowed father had welcomed her back to the family home with open arms, and
she loved spending time with him, but nevertheless she was determined to move
out when she could afford to. With her thirtieth birthday looming on the
horizon, she had never imagined she’d still be living at home.

“Thanks, Dad.” She wiped a crumb away from
her mouth. “I’d better get going. You know these yard sales. I don’t want to
miss those hungry early birds.”

Her father helped her load boxes into the
back of her hatchback. With her car filled up, she set off. The morning air,
though fresh at six thirty, held the promise of a scorching day ahead. School
was out, and summer was in full swing. Greenville and the other towns
surrounding Shamrock Lake were filling up with visitors and holiday-makers.
Hopefully many of them would come to the yard sale, eager to part with their
money.

The community yard sale was being held at
the county fairgrounds just outside Greenville. When Emma arrived, attendants directed
her to the stall that the local business association had hired. It was nothing
fancy, just a couple of fold-out plastic tables, a camp chair, and an umbrella
to keep off the worst of the sun. Other stall holders had already arrived, and
everyone was busy setting up before the hordes arrived.

With the help of a teenager volunteer, Emma
carted her boxes from her car to the stall. Then she began to arrange her stock
on the tables, organizing them by type and price bracket. She had sole
discretion on pricing. Some items, like kitchen appliances, were easy to value,
while others, like paintings, were more subjective. Not wanting to be left with
a lot of unsold merchandise at the end of the day, she set her prices competitively,
with the aim of reducing them as the day wore on. She was still putting out
wares when the gates to the general public were opened, and eager bargain
hunters descended on the yard sale like seagulls swooping on a dropped French
fry. The early birds were voracious shoppers.

“This bowl has a crack in it.”

“You’re kidding. You want
how
much?”

“If you throw in the silver spoons, I’ll
give you ten bucks.”

Emma tied the rather hideous fanny pack for
holding money around her waist, got out her receipt book, and set to work. An
hour of brisk trade went by, and she was pleased and relieved to see the goods selling
at a steady rate. The tables weren’t large enough to hold all her stock, and
she had several more boxes underneath waiting to be unpacked.

She was dealing with a pair of customers, a
mother-daughter combo, when Faye Seymour arrived at the stall. In beige slacks,
loose cotton shirt, and sturdy walking shoes, with an enormous shopping bag
slung over her arm, she was dressed for some serious shopping.

“Don’t mind me,” she said loudly to Emma.
“I’m just browsing.”

Emma nodded before returning her attention
to her customers. The mother and daughter began to ask questions about a crock
pot. Not being much of a cook herself, Emma tried to answer as best she could.
As she talked to her customers, she couldn’t help noticing what Faye was doing.
The woman was rifling through several boxes where Emma had placed smaller items
that might otherwise have gotten lost. Faye picked up a cut glass perfume
bottle, spritzed it on her wrist, then dropped it into her shopping bag.

Emma’s eyes widened. Had she witnessed Faye
stealing a perfume bottle?

“What if it doesn’t work?” the mother asked
as she peered into the crock pot.

“I’m sorry, can you excuse me for one
moment?” Sucking in her stomach, Emma moved over to Faye, who was sifting
through another box. “Faye,” she said in a low voice, “did you just put a
perfume bottle in your bag?” She nodded toward the plastic, yellow-and-green bag
hanging from Faye’s arm.

Faye’s lips pursed into an indignant knot.
“I did. You don’t have any shopping baskets, do you?” she said accusingly.

“Um, no, I don’t.”

“Well, there you are, then.”

Emma had no option but to return to the
mother and daughter customers. As the sharp-eyed mother continued to haggle
over the crock pot, Faye worked her way through all the boxes of small items on
the table.

“I’m sorry, I can’t give you any
guarantees,” Emma finally said to the mother. “This is an unpowered stall. If
you can find an electrical outlet somewhere, you’re welcome to test the crock
pot, but otherwise all goods are sold as is. No exceptions.”

“Well!” The mother plunked the crock pot
back on the table and jerked her head at her daughter. “Come on, we’re
obviously wasting our time here.” With final glares of disgust, the two women
marched off, muttering to each other.

Emma pressed her fingers to her temple,
hoping she wouldn’t be saddled with an unwanted crock pot at the end of the
yard sale. She was still kneading her head when thirty dollars was shoved in
front of her.

“You owe me three dollars change,” Faye
declared.

“Excuse me?”

“I’ve added up everything, and it comes to twenty-seven
dollars.”

Emma eyed the capacious shopping bag
dangling from Faye’s fingers. “Do you mind if I check what you have in there?”
she asked as politely as possible.

The older woman instantly bristled. “I beg
your pardon? Of course I mind. How outrageous.” She gripped the bag tighter.
“You don’t think I’d try to cheat you, do you?”

Indecision knotted Emma’s stomach. She
could insist on seeing inside the shopping bag, but that pugnacious scowl on Faye
indicated she was in no mood to comply. And within an hour the news would be
all over Greenville that Emma had accused an innocent, law-abiding woman of
theft. Emma would be cast as the villain trying to bully a helpless senior; not
the best image for someone trying to build up her business. And besides, Faye may
have a lot of personal flaws, but Emma didn’t really think petty theft was one
of them.

“No, of course not,” Emma conceded. She
reached into her fanny pack for three dollars in change. “I hope you chose some
nice things.”

Faye shrugged. “They’re okay. I have to tell
you some of your stuff is pure junk.”

Emma pressed her lips together and tried to
sound upbeat as she replied, “Well, you know what they say—one man’s trash is
another man’s treasure.”

“Huh. You got the trash part right.”

Emma’s jaw was in danger of cracking when Stacey
arrived with Jackie in tow. Glad to see some friendlier faces, Emma greeted
them.

“We would’ve been here sooner if I didn’t
have trouble starting the car,” Stacey said.

“I’m just glad you could make it,” Emma
replied.

“Ooh, a crock pot.” Stacey opened the lid
and peered inside. “I’ve always wanted one of these. And look, it’s got all
these different functions.”

“It might be broken,” Faye said, as helpful
as ever. “And you can’t bring it back if it is. That’s what Emma said.”

Once more Emma bit back the retort that
rose to her lips. She moved to the far end of the stall where Jackie was
squinting at the goods on the table. “See anything you like? I’ve marked
everything as cheaply as I could, so you might find a bargain or two.”

Jackie wore the same baggy jeans and
checked shirt from the night before. “I’m just looking,” she murmured, head
down, a swathe of hair obscuring her face. Her long, thin fingers scratched
through a box containing costume jewelry. Picking up a necklace of crystals,
she peered more closely at it.

“Hello, dearie. New around here, aren’t
you? Where are you from?” Faye asked Jackie with her typical bluntness.

Jackie’s fingers tightened around the
necklace. As she glanced up, Emma fancied she caught a glimpse of consternation
in her half-hidden eyes. “What’s it to you?” Jackie said with equal directness.

Faye wasn’t fazed a bit. “I like to know
who’s in town. You’re staying with Stacey, I take it?”

“Yes.”
Not that it’s any of your
business
, Jackie’s wooden expression seemed to convey.

Clearly Jackie was reluctant to inform Faye
that she’d met Stacey through a women’s shelter, and Emma didn’t blame her. If Jackie
had fled an abusive relationship, the last thing she needed was her circumstances
and whereabouts broadcast by a human megaphone like Faye.

With pointed deliberateness Jackie turned
her back on Faye to continue her search through the jewelry. A dark frown
descended on the older woman’s brow. Every resident in Greenville knew that you
snubbed Faye at your peril. Issuing a very loud and indignant sniff, Faye spun
around so hard her hair quivered, and stomped off, leaving Emma to sigh with
relief. Stacey, still engrossed in the crock pot at the other end of the table,
hadn’t heard a word of the exchange.

“What a cow,” Jackie muttered, lifting out
a large brooch encrusted with pearls and diamante.

Emma frowned, caught off guard. For such a
meek and browbeaten creature, Jackie’s remark was unexpected. But then, who
knew what Jackie had gone through? Maybe in the past she’d suffered from busybodies
like Faye.

“Are you looking for anything in
particular?” Emma asked, deciding to ignore Jackie’s comment.

“I like old-fashioned jewelry, family mementos,
that kind of thing. Didn’t Stacey give you a box of stuff yesterday?”

“Yes, I put the smaller items in there.”
Emma pointed at the carton that Jackie had been dipping into.

“Have you sold much of them?” Jackie asked.

“I think Faye might have bought a few
things.”

“That old busybody, you mean?”

“Yes, Faye Seymour,” Emma said, frowning
slightly.

Stacey finally moved toward them, the crock
pot still in her hands. “That’s my great-aunt’s brooch.” She nodded at the
pearl and diamante brooch Jackie was holding. “It came to me when my
grandmother died, along with a few other things. I never wore any of them. Not
really my style. I don’t know why I hung onto them, but I’ve finally decided to
let them go. Guess I want a clean slate.”

Jackie combed through the box before waving
the brooch. “I’ll take this, then. Ten dollars, right?” She reached into the
pocket of her jeans to pull out a small wallet.

“If I’d known you liked the brooch, I
would’ve given it to you,” Stacey said, frowning a little.

“That’s okay.” Jackie shrugged as she
handed some crumpled dollar bills to Emma. “You’ve already done so much for
me.”

Stacey’s face softened. “I don’t feel I’ve
done enough.”

Jackie carefully pinned the brooch to her
shirt. “How do I look? Pretty silly with these jeans and shirt, huh?”

“No, of course not. You look gorgeous,” Stacey
said. “And I’m going to buy this crock pot.”

When Stacey’s transaction was completed, she
and Jackie wandered off to inspect the rest of the yard sale. A steady flow of bargain
hunters kept Emma busy for the next couple of hours. At ten her friend Becky
stopped by with a coffee and cream cheese bagel for her, and offered to mind
the stall while she took a break. Emma gratefully accepted and passed the fanny
pack to Becky.