Pushed to the Limit (an Emma Cassidy Mystery Book 2) (7 page)

“Damn it!” Emma cried.

The copper pendant light swung from side to
side as Pepper scrambled to stay upright. “Damn it!” he squawked back at her.
“Bad boy.”

“Yes, you
are
a bad boy. Look what
you’ve done to my arm.” A red bite mark swelled on her skin, the pain a sharp
throb. “You bit me.”

Pepper lost his grip on the pendant light. Fluttering
downward, he landed awkwardly on the dining table near her. “You bit me,” he
accused her before leaving a generous dollop of greeny white poop on the shiny
wooden surface.

Emma groaned. The parrot took a couple of
steps toward her, then stopped, as if he were daring her to make a grab at him.
She wasn’t stupid enough to fall for that. Keeping still, she glared at him.
After a few moments, he skittered across the table, plopped to the ground, and
waddled out of the room.

She had shut the back door when she’d
entered, and the rest of the house was locked up, so she was confident the
parrot couldn’t escape. She decided to leave him be while she cleared up this
mess and replenished his food and water. Once his cage was fresh and attractive
again, she’d think about recapturing him. Maybe she could lure him into the
cage using a food treat or a new toy.

She worked quickly. The bird cage was soon
clean, the stainless steel bowls filled with fresh water, pellets, and diced up
apple. Now she had to clear up the bird poop on the table and the mess on the
floor. As she made her way to the laundry, she heard noises coming from the
kitchen. Poking her head in, she gasped.

The rascally bird was ransacking her tote
bag. Notebook, wallet, coins, and makeup lay scattered on the table, while
other objects had fallen to the floor. As she watched, he fished out her cell
phone with his beak and transferred it to one claw.

“Hello. Goodbye. Brrrippp!” He imitated a
ringing phone with unerring accuracy. “This is Faye—wark!” He yelped as Emma
marched up to him. He dropped the cell phone and flapped his way out of the
kitchen.

Muttering a few choice profanities, Emma
held open her bag and swept a forearm over the table, gathering all her muddled
belongings and depositing them into her bag. Faye’s green-and-yellow shopping
bag was still on the table and appeared undisturbed, even though it had been
right next to hers. Obviously Pepper had gone straight for the unfamiliar one.
She dropped to her knees and scrabbled around for the rest of her stuff under
the table. Darn it, this was her brand new lip liner, and now its cap was
missing.

She pulled her bag closed and deposited it on
the deck just outside the kitchen door, relocking the door afterward. Then she hunted
out rags, disinfectant spray, and dustpan and brush from the laundry. When she
returned to the dining room, there was no sign of Pepper. She made fast work of
cleaning the poop from the dining table and sweeping up the mess on the floor.
As she straightened up, she caught sight of a hand-held perch lying on a side
table. The perch had a plastic guard which would protect the holder’s fingers
from the bird. That must be what Faye used to transport her parrot back into
his cage. She picked it up, but before she could test it out, Pepper
reappeared, his claws clicking on the floorboards.

“Bad boy,” he said, and then miraculously
he flapped his wings, whooshed across the room, and hopped straight into his
cage.

Emma blinked at him. “You’re full of
surprises.” She banged the door shut, fastened the lock, and breathed a sigh of
relief. This visit wasn’t turning out to be as easy as she’d first thought, and
she hadn’t even done any investigating yet. She didn’t have much time either
since she still had to gather the clothes and toiletries Faye had requested and
drop them off at Lorraine’s place before three.

She pulled out the list of items from the
pocket of her shorts and hurried through to Faye’s bedroom. Underwear, pajamas,
slippers, and dressing gown. She bundled them into a duffel bag she found in
the closet. In the pink-tiled bathroom, she collected toothbrush, moisturizer,
and hand cream. Okay. She was all done.

But as she hurried down the hallway, she
glanced into the room adjoining the bathroom and groaned as she caught sight of
scattered papers lying on the floor. That pesky parrot must have got in here,
too.

This room was set up as Faye’s study, with
bookcases, a desk and office chair, a personal computer, and a printer. She was
surprised by the PC and printer. Faye didn’t seem to be the type for new
technology, although she did have that fancy new cell phone she’d bragged
about. Pepper the Pest had tossed everything out of the document tray which now
lay askew on the desk.

Bending down, Emma gathered up the sheets
of paper. The last one was under the desk. She fished it out and jumped to her
feet, preparing to dump everything back into the tray, but the image on the
last piece of paper made her pause.

It was a color printout of a photo, a
little blurry but the features of the people in it were clear enough. Clear
enough for her to see it was Councilman Kenneth Bischoff getting up close and
personal with a full-figured woman who was most definitely not his wife.

The two times Emma had seen Kenneth
Bischoff he’d appeared suave and slick. In the picture, despite his navy
business suit, he looked a little more disheveled; his tie was missing, his
hair messy, and his shirt wrinkled. His companion, a toned brunette in her
twenties wearing a tight white dress that showed off her assets, was draped
over him like a rampant vine, one arm twined around his neck, while the other
hand disappeared suggestively into his partly undone shirt.

Emma wrinkled her nose at the picture. She
was no prude, but the woman looked almost young enough to be his daughter.
There was nothing paternal about the way he was holding her, arms coiled around
her like an octopus. The smirk on his lips made her stomach heave. What an oily
sleazebag.

The photo had been taken as the pair was
walking outside a cream-colored building. In the blurry background she could make
out the corner of a sign erected on a pole. “MO” was all she could read. Motel?
Kenneth and his lover outside the motel where they met in secret? That seemed
the most likely explanation.

And Faye had caught them in the act and
snapped a picture of them. Bischoff and his lady friend were so wrapped up in
themselves they probably hadn’t noticed Faye. Who would think anything
suspicious of an elderly lady seemingly going about her business?

So this was what Faye had been alluding to
at Richard’s retirement party when she’d dropped those hints about Kenneth
Bischoff’s wife, and the councilman had gotten enraged with her. Faye had
enjoyed his discomfort. Was that all she got out of this? A sense of
schadenfreude? Or did she want more? Maybe Faye was trying to blackmail
Kenneth.

Emma rifled through the rest of the papers
and paused when she spotted a bank statement. It appeared Faye was still
old-fashioned enough to insist on paper instead of electronic statements, which
made checking her financial situation a whole lot easier for Emma. A quick
glance through showed a healthy balance and no suspiciously large deposits. No
extravagant purchases either, just regular items like groceries and utility
bills. Faye was a frugal person with assets and a healthy pension and no
apparent vices. She didn’t need to try to extort money out of Bischoff.

But she did enjoy taunting Bischoff about
his affair. At the yard sale Bischoff had confronted Faye and warned her off,
but Faye hadn’t been cowed in the slightest. Maybe after the yard sale Bischoff
had come over to convince her to stay silent, and Faye had responded in typical
blunt fashion, and Bischoff had flown into a fit of temper and shoved her down
those stairs. Then he had forced his way through the bushes to the neighboring
property and made his escape moments before Emma had arrived.

Emma glanced at the incriminating photo one
more time, then shoved it to the bottom of the pile. She set the papers in the document
tray, picked up the duffel bag, and returned to the kitchen. She had so much to
think about, and not much time to mull over everything. According to the clock
above the refrigerator, it was already two thirty, and she had to get to Lorraine’s
before three. She was so lost in thought that a few seconds passed before she
heard the click of footsteps on the rear deck.

She tensed up, apprehension screwing her
muscles. Someone was outside, creeping about like they were up to no good. A
shadow appeared in the gap between the back door and the tiled floor. She held
her breath, caught by indecision. What should she do? Was this the would-be
murderer returning for something? Was it Kenneth Bischoff?

She stared at the door knob, wondering if
the person outside would try it. Thank God she had locked the door. But as her
nerves contorted more, she found a measure of strength from somewhere. She
wasn’t going to cower here waiting for the intruder to break in.

She gulped hard, then spoke out, “Who’s
there? What do you want?”

Whoever it was jerked away from the door
and ran off, soft footfalls rapidly dwindling into silence. Emma peered out the
window above the sink and verified that the deck and rear yard were empty
before finally unlocking the door and stepping out. Only then did she remember
her tote bag that she had put outside out of Pepper’s reach. It was still here,
right by her feet. She snatched it up and made a quick rummage through it.
Everything seemed to be there, though it was difficult to know for sure because
she had so much junk in the bag. The essentials were all present—phone, wallet,
keys.

She let out a deep exhale. She really
needed to get away from this place.

She locked the back door and then kneeled
down by the outdoor table to return the key to its hidden hook.

“What do you think you’re doing?” a voice
barked out from behind her.

“Ow!” Emma bumped
her head against the table as she scrambled around to see her interrogator. Her
racing heartbeat slowed as she saw it was only Sherilee in her cop uniform.
“God damn it, Sherilee! You nearly gave me a heart attack!”

The police woman lifted one eyebrow.
“What’s made you so jumpy?”

“I—I heard someone out here. While I was in
the kitchen.”

The other eyebrow went up too. “And what
exactly are you doing inside Faye’s house?”

“Doing my neighborly duty,” Emma snapped. “Lorraine
asked me to feed the parrot and pick up a few things for Faye.” She lifted the
duffel bag. “She’s allergic to birds—Lorraine, that is—which is why she asked
me.”

“I see.” Sherilee rested her hands on her
hips. “And while you were inside you heard someone on the deck. Did you see who
it was?”

“No.” She’d been so spooked she hadn’t been
able to move, but no way was she going to admit that to Sherilee. “I called
out, and whoever it was ran away. It happened so quickly I didn’t get a good
look.”

“And you have no idea who it might be?”

It could’ve been Kenneth Bischoff returning
to steal the photo or to clean up any evidence he might have left behind. But
she had no solid proof, and Sherilee was still giving her the stink eye, so she
decided not to tell her of her suspicions.

“It might have been her neighbor.” Emma
tilted her head in the direction of the overgrown property next door. “I heard
Faye complaining the other day that he sometimes comes over and steals her
peaches.”

“If he’s after her peaches, why would he come
up to the kitchen?”

“I don’t know.” Emma lifted her shoulders
impatiently. “Did you speak to him yesterday?”

Sherilee’s smooth brow pleated into a
frown. “I knocked on his door, but either he wouldn’t answer or he wasn’t
home.”

“Do you still think Faye’s fall was
suspicious? Is that why you’re here?”

“I can’t discuss police business with you.”
Sherilee’s upturned nose made Emma grit her teeth.

“But you’re here, so that must mean a yes,
then.”

“No, it doesn’t. I saw your car in the
driveway, so I thought I’d investigate.”

Meaning she thought Emma was up to no good?
The bones in Emma’s jaw ground harder, and it took a few deep breaths to regain
control. She was not going to let Sherilee wind her up. It wasn’t worth the
aggravation.

“Well, as you can see, I’m just doing my
good deed for the day. Now I have to get going. Goodbye.” She strode off and tromped
down the porch stairs.

“Wait,” Sherilee called after her.

Emma spun around.

“Forgot something?” Sherilee held up Emma’s
tote bag, a smirk on her face. “Consider that my good deed for the day.”

Grimacing, Emma walked back, accepted her
bag from Sherilee, and made her escape.

***

“Please, come in,” Lorraine
urged when Emma arrived at her door.

Emma had assumed she’d simply drop off
Faye’s duffel bag and leave, but Lorraine seemed a little flustered and eager
for company, so she stepped inside the small cottage. The main living area featured
soaring beams and plenty of windows and skylights which flooded the interior
with natural light. A modest kitchen occupied one corner, while the rest of the
area was given over to paintings and art supplies. Half-finished canvasses
leaned against walls and couches. Paint pots, brushes, and rags crowded several
table. Photos and pages torn from magazines and dried flowers were pinned on
walls. Despite the clutter, the room gave off a vibrant, creative atmosphere.
Coming as she had directly from Faye’s rather sterile house, Emma couldn’t help
but notice the stark contrast between the two sisters’ homes. She knew which
one she felt more at ease in.

“Excuse the mess.” Lorraine gave a brief
laugh as she waved a hand around the room. “As you can see, I’m not much of a
housekeeper. I’d far rather spend my time painting or drawing than mopping
floors or doing dishes.”

“I’m glad you’re still painting.” Emma
moved over to inspect a work-in-progress propped up on an easel in the middle
of the room. The still-life of flowers in a vase might be a standard subject,
but Lorraine imbued hers with a light, whimsical flair. “This is beautiful.”

“Oh, it’s pretty pedestrian stuff.” Lorraine
rummaged through the groceries crowded on her kitchen counter. Her hands bore
traces of paint, and there was a smudge of charcoal on one cheek. Her loose
jeans and T-shirt were crumpled and faded. She didn’t look ready for a hospital
visit. “I’m running late,” she said, confirming Emma’s suspicions. “Faye will
be waking up from her surgery by now. I can’t find those grapes she wanted. Oh,
here they are.” She grabbed a bag of fruit and stuffed it into a straw basket.
“I’m sure I’ve forgotten half the things she wanted.”

“I’ve got everything you asked for from her
house.” Emma lifted up the duffel bag she’d carried inside. “And I managed to
feed the parrot and clean the cage.”

“Wonderful.” Lorraine nodded, distracted as
she hunted for something else on the kitchen counter. “Hope the bird didn’t
give you any trouble.”

“No, not really.” No need to bother Lorraine
with unimportant details when she was clearly flustered.

“I can’t find my car keys.” Lorraine puffed
out a breath that lifted her gray bangs. “Probably my subconscious telling me
that I don’t really want to see Faye.” She paused to give Emma a
self-deprecating smile. “Sounds terrible, doesn’t it? Not wanting to visit my
own sister in hospital, but it’s true. Faye has caused so much damage.
Including my marriage. She’s the reason my husband and I divorced.”

“Oh. Um. I’m sorry.”
Well, this was
awkward
. Emma didn’t know where to look.

Sighing, Lorraine propped her elbows on the
kitchen counter, her eyes taking on a faraway look. “Taylor was such a kind,
generous man and an incredibly talented artist. But he had his demons too, like
many artists. Before we met, he’d had a serious drinking problem, but he’d
overcome that. He’d been sober for years. But Faye was always making snide
comments about his weakness. Bit by bit, she chipped away at his confidence.
Then we hit a few financial hiccups, and Taylor became frustrated with his work.
Faye leaped at every chance to point out I’d made a mistake marrying him. We
tried to avoid her, but she was always spreading rumors about him. Eventually,
Taylor broke down and had a drink, which turned into several drinks, and a
drunk-driving charge. He was devastated. Wouldn’t talk to me at all. And then
one day he just left me.” Lorraine stood, stiffening with old resentment. “I
know it’s not the whole story, but he wouldn’t have fallen off the wagon if it
hadn’t been for Faye. She never passed up an opportunity to kick him, even when
he was down.”

Emma nodded sympathetically. “It must have
been hard for you, staying in the same town as Faye. Did you ever think of
moving somewhere else?”

“Why should I?” Lorraine tossed her head.
“I like it here. Faye should be the one who moves.”

A concept that was highly unlikely, and
they both knew it.

“Sorry for blurting all that out,” Lorraine
said as she resumed her search for her car keys.

“That’s okay. You’d be surprised how much I
hear as an event planner.”

“I can imagine. Ah, there they are.” She
plucked out a set of car keys from a fruit bowl piled with pine cones. “I guess
this means I should go see Faye.” She glanced down at her soiled clothes and
pulled a face. “And I should change, too. Gosh, Faye’s fall couldn’t have
happened at a worse time. I’m preparing for an exhibition with all my old art
college friends in Sacramento next week. I believe Taylor will be there, too.
It’ll be good to see him again after all these years.” She moved forward and
took the duffel bag from Emma. “Thank you once again, my dear. I really
appreciate it.”

“No problem,” Emma replied.

On the way home, her thoughts were filled
with Lorraine and her marriage breakup. Even after all these years, it was evident
that Lorraine still missed her ex-husband. The upcoming reunion with her
friends and the possibility of seeing Taylor again must be forefront in her
mind, reminding her of her divorce and the part that Faye had played. Was the
pain raw enough that Lorraine might have finally given in to her urges and
pushed Faye down those stairs? Maybe part of the reason why she seemed so agitated
was because of the guilt. After all, a person would have to be a psychopath to
attempt to kill an annoying sister and not feel any remorse.

***

As the beeping
alarm dragged her from her dreams, Emma groaned and wondered why she’d thought
waking up early on a Monday morning to go to gym was a good idea. Surely there
were easier ways of getting exercise? Then she remembered that Wesley was
taking the body attack class, and that made it a little easier to get out of
bed.

She wrestled herself into a sports bra,
tank top, and three-quarter length leggings. The mirror showed an unflattering
view of the extra pounds padding her waist. Love handles, they were
euphemistically called. She wouldn’t mind them so much if there was some “love
handling” going on in her life. Her father was barely awake when she called out
goodbye to him, grabbed her water bottle and towel, and headed for the door.

The parking lot outside the Ultimate
Fitness Center was half-filled with early morning customers arriving for
classes before work. As she filed in behind a toned blonde woman with rock-hard
thighs, Emma sucked in her waist and pulled the towel closer to her, hoping to
disguise her lack of fitness. She’d just found a spot at the back of the
exercise room when Wesley came in, bouncing on his toes and exuding an indecent
amount of energy.

“Hey, everyone!” His whitened teeth gleamed
in his megawatt smile.

“Hey, Wesley,” several people replied.

The trainer cupped a hand behind his ear.
“What’s that? I can’t hear you.”

“Hey, Wesley!” the class chorused back more
loudly.

He wasted no time in putting on some
thumping music and getting the class started. After ten minutes, Emma was
gasping, red in the face, and wondering if she would make it to the end of the
session or be carried out on a stretcher. Everyone else around her appeared to
be keeping up with the routine, legs and arms pumping, ponytails swinging. Some
of the women even wore makeup that seemed impervious to sweat. Emma had just
wiped her pouring brow for the hundredth time when Wesley approached her, still
bouncing on his feet in time to the beat.

“Hey, Emma. Howya doing there?”

Oh, he knew her name. She forced her aching
knees to lift a little higher as she jogged on the spot. “Not…bad” she wheezed
out.

Wesley had barely broken a sweat. His tank
top was still crisp, his short blonde hair dry. “It’s okay to take things
slower when you’re just starting out.”

“I’m…fine.” Her lungs were on fire, and her
legs felt like they were about to drop off, but other than that she was fine.

He grinned at her. “Yeah, I’m sure you are,
but take it easy, will you? I want you to come back, y’know.”

“You’re right.” She nodded and eased up,
realizing how silly it was to overdo it. Getting fit and slimming down was a
slow process; you couldn’t do it in a couple of days, unfortunately.

Up close, the instructor had an
interesting, well-worn face, with a faint scar running down one side and a
slight dent in his nose that indicated it had once been broken. Had he been in
the odd bar room brawl? Maybe Wesley wasn’t a squeaky clean fitness fanatic,
and she wondered about his past. He might be ex-army, she mused; there was an
air of cool efficiency about him.

“Great!” With a final flash of his pearlies,
Wesley sprang away from her to resume his spot at the front of the class.

The woman next to Emma grinned at her. “Hey,
looks like Wesley’s got a thing for you.” She was a reed-slim twenty-something-year-old
with a friendly smile and Bambi-like arms and legs.

“Pshh.” Emma gave a self-deprecating wave.
“He can tell I need lots of motivation.”

By the end of the class, Emma’s thighs felt
like jelly, and her hair had come loose from its ponytail and was stuck
disgustingly to her wet neck. She towel-dried herself as best she could, but
her pores continued to leak like a sieve. Would she ever stop sweating? Most of
the other participants had already left the exercise room. She gathered her
empty water bottle and damp towel, and hobbled toward the exit.

“Hey, Emma. You did real good today,” Wesley
said at the door.

“If by that you mean I managed not to
collapse, then yeah, I suppose so.”

“Everyone has to start somewhere.”

“And I have a long way to go,” she said.

His gaze flickered over her, assessing her
in a frank, male fashion. “I disagree. You look pretty good already, if you
don’t mind me saying so.”

Once upon a time, if a handsome guy had
talked to her like this, she would’ve been flattered and maybe made a goose of
herself. But she wasn’t naïve anymore; she knew appearances could be
misleading, and there was no danger of her losing her head over Wesley’s casual
compliment.