Murder Most Likely (an Emma Cassidy Mystery Book 3)

by Karen Chester

  “But you haven’t even told me what you’re planning to do.”

  “I’ll tell you when I get there. See you soon.” He hung up before she could get a word in edgewise.

  Sighing, she set down her cell phone to pack her cereal bowl into the dishwasher.

  “What’s the sigh for, pumpkin?” her father asked as he walked into the kitchen, tugging on his tie.

  “Oh, nothing. I’m just being bulldozed into doing something I know nothing about.”

  “Something to do with the school anniversary?” He knotted his tie, squinting as he did so.

  “No, this is something else. Speaking of the anniversary…” She stepped forward to straighten his tie for him. “I can’t do decorations this morning. Something came up. I’ll call Janet and apologize.”

  “She’ll understand. You’re already doing a lot for the anniversary. Far more than some people.” Bending to set his briefcase on a chair, he picked up a slip of paper on the table. “What’s this?”

  “It’s just an ad for an apartment to rent,” Emma said. “I saw it on a notice board at Becky’s Diner. Thought I might as well get the details.”

  A worried frown furrowed Andrew’s face. “But Emma, there’s no rush for you to move out. When you came back, I said you could stay here for as long as you wanted, and I mean that.” He huffed in concern, pulling at his tie and making it skew again. “I don’t want you to feel pressured. This is your home. It’ll always be your home.”

  “I know that, Dad,” she said softly. “But I also know that I’m nearly thirty, and I think that you and Janet could, uh, do with a little privacy around here.”

  His cheeks grew a little pink but he held her eye. “If Janet and I need a little, um, privacy, we can always go over to her house. I don’t want you picking apartments off notice boards. You never know what you’ll end up with. If and when the right place comes along, well, then you can think about it.”

  She could have reminded her father that she had rented her fair share of dodgy apartments in suspect neighborhoods during her years in New York, but he didn’t need to remember that. And his obvious concern warmed her heart.

  “Okay, Dad.” She fixed his tie for him.

  He kissed her forehead. “Glad that’s sorted.”

  She would go and inspect the apartment anyway, she decided. Even if her father loved her company, she needed to find a place of her own.

  ***

  Emma was glad she was wearing jeans because it made it easier to slide into Mervyn’s red Lamborghini. She had seen it parked in his driveway, but this was the first time she’d ridden in it.

  “Oh, so this is what a hundred-thousand-dollar car feels like,” she said as they rolled off, the engine rumbling beneath her, the leather seats cocooning her in luxury.

  “More like two hundred thousand dollars.” Mervyn smirked at her and stroked the steering wheel. “Sweet ride, huh?” He revved the engine, causing a few passing motorists to gawk at them.

  The Lamborghini was too flashy for her tastes, but it seemed to put Mervyn in a good mood. An almost recklessly good mood. His clothes appeared to match his flamboyant mood—black leather trench coat, black cowboy boots, and a red fedora that matched his sportscar’s paintwork.

  “What’s with the outfit?” She laughed. “Are you auditioning for a Quentin Tarantino movie?”

  His smile slipped. “Are you saying I look ridiculous?”

  She instantly regretted her levity. “Oh, no! You look great. Really dangerous and, uh, cool.”

  He squirmed a little. “Guess I do look just a bit goofy,” he said with an embarrassed smile. He snatched off the fedora and tossed it in the back. “Is that better?”

  “You don’t look goofy.” Goodness, she hadn’t meant to hurt his feelings. Sometimes she forgot how sensitive Mervyn could be. “Why don’t you tell me your plan for today?”

  Mervyn began talking excitedly. “I’ve got the guy’s address. I thought we could take a ride out there and check it out. A real stakeout! What do you say?”

  Emma clung to her seat as Mervyn took the corner too fast and the Lamborghini skidded around the curve. “A stakeout? In this car? We’d stick out a mile.”

  His face fell. “Oh yeah. Good point. I wasn’t thinking.” He gave her a sheepish grin. “I just thought you’d like a spin in my Lamborghini.” He patted the steering wheel as if the car were his favorite pet.

  “It’s a very nice car, Mervyn, but if you want to check out where this Otto Wiseman lives, we need a less conspicuous vehicle.”

  “You’re right.” He thought for a while before snapping his fingers. “We’ll go borrow my mom’s car. It’s a sedan, nothing flashy.” He spun the Lamborghini around in a dizzying circle, causing the tires to squeal as puffs of smoke rose from the rubber.

  A police cruiser approaching from the opposite direction flashed its lights at them.

  “Uh-oh.” Mervyn pulled over at the curb. “Looks like we’re in trouble with the law.”

  Emma, who was still holding fast to her seat, wondered why he sounded so cheerful. For some reason Mervyn seemed to be enjoying playing the maverick today.

  Officer Sherilee Ackerman climbed out of the cruiser, walked over to them, and lowered her head to peer into the car. Her unsmiling face tightened when she spotted Emma before she focused her attention on Mervyn.

  “Mervyn Butterick,” she said.

  “Hey, Sherilee! I heard you were a cop now. How you doing? You know Emma, I’m sure. I was just taking her for a drive in my Lamborghini.”

  Two vertical lines bracketed Sherilee’s thinned mouth. “You were also driving recklessly.”

  “I’m sorry. Guess I was excited.”

  “Where were you two headed?”

  Mervyn glanced quickly at Emma before replying, “To my mom’s place. Are you going to give me a ticket? Want my driver’s license and registration?”

  “No, I’ll let you off with a warning this time. Just drive more carefully, will you? We don’t need any hooligans around here.” She aimed a frown at Emma, and it felt like she was conveying a special message of disapproval.

  Emma was all too aware of the unfavorable impression she was making. In Sherilee’s view, Owen had clearly indicated his preference for Emma, so with that in mind it wasn’t right for Emma to be out on a jaunt with another man in his ridiculously expensive sportscar. That Owen had made no attempt to connect with Emma, and that Mervyn was simply an acquaintance, were facts that Emma could hardly point out now. So Emma kept quiet, accepting Sherilee’s silent censure, until the policewoman returned to her cruiser.

  “Boy, Sherilee hasn’t changed, has she?” Mervyn said as he drove off at a much more sedate pace. “Zero sense of humor.”

  “She’s a good cop,” Emma felt compelled to point out. She and Sherilee had their differences, but these days the situation was more complicated, and she didn’t feel the usual antipathy toward the officer. “Let’s not talk about her.”

  Fifteen minutes later, they were back on the road, this time in Vera’s plain, dark green sedan with tinted windows, a much more suitable vehicle for a stakeout.

  “I heard Todd’s parents are in town,” Emma said. “Have you spoken to them?”

  “Yes.” Mervyn’s face grew serious. “They’re coming to visit me this afternoon. They want to see where it happened.” He sighed. “They were very civil to me over the phone, but I can’t help wondering if they blame me in some way.”

  “Oh, surely not, but if they are, you shouldn’t let it affect you. They’re grieving.”

  “I guess so. They’re planning on burying Todd back in Missouri as soon as the coroner releases him.” He firmed his grip on the steering wheel. “If Wiseman had anything to do with Todd’s death, I want him arrested before they put Todd in the ground.”

  “But we have to be absolutely sure,” Emma cautioned, a little alarmed at Mervyn’s intensity.

  “Oh, we’ll be sure, all right.”

  A short wh
ile later they reached Otto Wiseman’s home, a large plot of land on the outskirts of town. The neighborhood was less than salubrious, situated in the shadow of a disused quarry, the trees scrawny and undernourished. An assortment of different fence partitions formed a cordon around Wiseman’s property. Beyond that were glimpses of a worn, single story house, several vehicles, and bits of rusting equipment. Two tall iron gates guarded entry to the property, both of them solidly padlocked.

  “Well, here we are!” Mervyn scrabbled through the backpack he’d brought with him and pulled out a pair of binoculars. He whistled tunelessly while he peered at the house. “I can’t see anyone around. It’s a weekday, so he must be at work.”

  “Is he married? Does he have any kids?”

  “I was told he lives here on his own.” He reached for the door handle. “Come on, let’s take a closer look.”

  “Wait,” she called out, but it was too late; Mervyn had already climbed out of the car. Emma jumped out, too. Mervyn was scurrying across the road toward the property, his black trench coat flapping around him like oversized bat wings.

  For heaven’s sakes… Emma ran after him.

  “Mervyn, wait. I thought this was supposed to be a stakeout.”

  Mervyn had stopped at the chain link fence and was squinting through the binoculars at the house. “No sign of any activity. No one’s home. This is our chance. Come on!” He tested the padlocked gates, but they refused to budge. Next, he pushed against the fence, and the partition sagged, creating a gap. He wriggled through it and turned back to Emma, holding his hand out to her.

  “What are you doing?” she squeaked in disbelief.

  “Isn’t this exciting?” His face shone, and he was breathing hard. Grabbing her hand, he hauled her through the gap.

  “Mervyn!” she gasped out when she was on the other side of the fence. “Are you high on something?”

  “Yes, I’m high on life!” He set off toward the house, still holding her hand.

  This was madness. She considered pulling free and stopping, but she couldn’t let Mervyn blunder on by himself. Clearly he wasn’t thinking straight. He would injure himself or do something really crazy if she let him loose. So she followed him as he snuck between the vehicles that littered the front yard. Some of the cars were in okay condition; others were little more than rusting hulks, marooned in a sea of weeds. The house loomed ahead, silent and forbidding with its faded paint and barred windows. Her heart thumped as they neared the decaying porch.

  “We are not breaking in,” she whispered fiercely to Mervyn. “We’re in enough trouble as it is coming this far.”

  “Aw, come on, where’s your spirit of adventure?”

  “There’s spirit, and then there’s stupidity.”

  He frowned at her, his enthusiasm dimming for the first time. “I thought we were having fun together?”

  “It won’t be fun if someone sees us and calls the police. Or, worse, what if Otto Wiseman catches us? What if he has a gun?”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll protect you.”

  Emma gaped at him, her unease tripling. “Mervyn, please tell me you didn’t bring a gun.” He can’t have. He had told the police he didn’t own a gun, and she’d believed him.

  “Okay, I didn’t bring a gun.”

  In his flippant mood she didn’t know how to take that. Was he telling the truth, or was he only saying that to lull her into a false sense of security? That trench coat of his was ideal for concealing a weapon. “Please, let’s leave before we’re spotted. I don’t want to get arrested for trespassing.”

  He blinked at her, and her plea finally seemed to get through to him. “Fine. I don’t want to get you into trouble.”

  But just as she was about to breathe a sigh of relief, a loud bark sounded from behind them. They turned to see a huge bullmastiff emerging from a kennel.

  “Oh, jeez.” Mervyn groaned.

  With menacing growls, the dog advanced on them, saliva dripping from his jowls.

  Panic spiked in Emma. She grabbed Mervyn’s arm. “Come on!”

  With the dog blocking their path to the road, they had no option but to run around the side of the house. There, more vehicle carcasses slept in an overgrown field. The bullmastiff was close on their heels, baying in outrage, so close behind them that Emma fancied she could feel his hot, slavering breath on her legs.

  “That way!” She charged across the field toward the chain link fence, desperately hoping they wouldn’t trip and fall. Mervyn was puffing laboriously just a few paces behind, his trench coat flapping like a sail behind him. That coat was holding him back, she thought as she reached the fence and launched herself at it.

  As Mervyn went to follow suit, the bullmastiff lunged at him and chomped its jaws around the trench coat. Mervyn’s arms wind-milled as he teetered, in danger of falling over backward onto the dog.

  “Take off the coat!” Emma shrieked at him as she scrambled to the top of the fence. Straddling the rickety barrier, she stared back in horror.

  Wheezing and red-faced, Mervyn yanked off the trench coat and threw it over the bullmastiff. The dog, smothered in leather, skittered around in confusion while Mervyn made his escape, clambering up the fence to join her.

  The furious dog shook himself free of the trench coat and launched himself at the fence, causing it to wobble. Emma and Mervyn fell to the ground on the other side. As one, they got to their feet and staggered away, the bullmastiff still snapping and snarling at them from behind the fence.

  Emma collapsed into the passenger seat of the sedan, unable to speak as her heart struggled to recover. Mervyn flopped into the driver’s seat, crossed his arms over the steering wheel, and rested his head on his forearms. His noisy breathing filled the interior. After a while, his shoulders started to shake, and a strange bubbling noise rose from him.

  Was he laughing or crying?

  Tipping his head back, he let out a raucous guffaw. “Ha-ha-ha! That—that was priceless!” He held his sides, helpless with laughter.

  “Mervyn, that dog could have seriously injured us,” Emma felt compelled to protest.

  “Oh, rubbish!” He waved away her concerns. “That was fun. Come on, don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy that? You’re not an old stick-in-the-mud like that goody two shoes Sherilee Ackerman, are you?”

  Emma opened her mouth to protest. She wasn’t a goody two shoes, not by a long shot, but she didn’t find anything funny in what they had just done. It had been reckless and stupid. Why had they trespassed on Otto’s Wiseman’s property? What had been the purpose of that? They hadn’t learned anything about him except that he was a hoarder of rusty old cars and he kept a vicious dog. But Mervyn appeared to find the whole episode hilarious.

  “I’m sorry, but I clearly don’t share your sense of humor on this,” she said, feeling rather like the stick-in-the-mud he had accused Sherilee of being.

  His laughter petered out. “Well, excuse me. I thought we were having fun together.” He sounded cross and a bit sulky, which in turn made her feel bad.

  “Let’s not argue,” she said, trying to sound more conciliatory. “I was scared, but you obviously weren’t. You must be braver than me.”

  His smile returned. “Must be.”

  “What about your trench coat? Can it be linked to you? Do you want to try and retrieve it?”

  “Ugh, no. There’s no ID in it, and it’ll be covered in dog slobber now. I don’t want it.” He waved it off as a trifling matter, a trench coat that had to have cost hundreds if not thousands of dollars, and turned on the ignition. “So, where to now?”

  “You want to forget about Otto Wiseman?”

  “Sure, for now. We’ll come back and check him out again some other time.”

  She couldn’t understand Mervyn in this unpredictable mood. One minute he was hell-bent on investigating Wiseman, the next he had lost interest. Was there something affecting Mervyn, making him impulsive? Had something happened with him and Georgia? Maybe they had argued, and tha
t had put him in this strange mood. Or maybe he was anxious about seeing Todd’s parents this afternoon. Whatever it was, she needed to calm him down.

  “In that case, why don’t we go to Becky’s Diner and have some coffee?”

  “Great!” He trod on the gas, and they roared off.

  Emma surreptitiously crossed her fingers beneath her tote bag and prayed they’d make it to the diner without running into Sherilee again.

  Chapter Eleven

  The apartment for rent was a studio at the back of a twenty-year-old house. The building, though not that old, had been shoddily built with cheap materials. A hasty paint job failed to disguise the leaky ceilings, the cracks in the walls, or the mold in the bathroom. The living room and bedroom looked out onto a concrete yard and a sagging washing line, shared with the main house.

  “No problems with safety around here,” the brisk, solidly built woman who was showing Emma the property said. She jerked a thumb at the house across the yard. “My husband is a licensed gun dealer. We’ve got plenty of firepower over there.”

  “Uh, that’s something to think about,” Emma replied.

  Her shoes sunk into a matted carpet that gave off some strange odors. She imagined herself sitting in this room, gazing out the window at the concrete and the washing line, and just managed to suppress a shudder.

  “Thank you for showing me the apartment, Mrs. Gray.” Clutching her bag, Emma moved toward the door. “I’ll call you if I decide to take it.”

  “Don’t dawdle too long,” Mrs. Gray said as she locked the apartment. “Places this cheap to rent don’t hang around for long. I’ve already shown it to five other people.”

  Five people more desperate than she, perhaps, Emma mused as she walked quickly down the driveway toward her car parked on the street. She crumpled the piece of paper advertising the apartment and shoved it into her pocket. So much for that one. She had made the appointment to inspect it with unrealistic optimism, she now realized. The apartment was depressing, but was that all she could afford? How much more would she have to pay for a half-decent place? Maybe moving out of her dad’s place wasn’t a feasible option right now.