Mr. Heston nodded, and the bags under his eyes seemed to grow heavier. “A month ago, she said Marjorie was trying to poison her, and she refused to eat anything her mother cooked for her. A couple of months before that, she said the physiotherapist tried to drown her in the pool, even though dozens of people there at the time saw nothing, plus CC footage showed nothing suspicious whatsoever.” He rubbed his neck, his entire body drooping. “My daughter is a fantasist. She makes up outlandish claims. Her doctors say it’s a result of her brain injuries. So please, if you have any sympathy for her, ignore whatever she said to you.”
Emma, awed by his words, nodded. “I understand. She did seem very convinced, though.”
“Oh, yes, she’s that, all right. When she accused the physiotherapist, we were shocked and horrified, and naturally we called the police right away. They took the complaint seriously. The man was interrogated several times, witnesses were questioned, all the footage collected. In the end, there wasn’t a shred of evidence, and the police concluded it was a hoax. Of course, they didn’t do anything against Katrina because her doctors spoke up for her and said she wasn’t responsible. I was afraid the physiotherapist might try to sue us, but he’s a good man. He didn’t want to cause us any more distress.” He spread his hands out like a supplicant. “Katrina can be very convincing because to her it is all true.”
Which was why she had reacted so violently to Emma’s skepticism. Wouldn’t it be a nightmare to believe all these horrible things were happening and not have anyone speak up for you?
“Marjorie and I do the best we can,” Mr. Heston added a little defensively.
“I’m sure you do,” Emma hastened to assure him. “And don’t worry; I won’t say anything about Katrina.”
He nodded and trudged out, a weary man with a heavy burden to shoulder. As Emma picked up the box of decorations, she wondered if Katrina and her parents would still attend the anniversary dinner that evening, or would they stay away, fearful of another outburst. It was a difficult decision.
And then she wondered if there could be any grain of truth in what Katrina had told her. She might make up a lot of things, but what if one of her fantasies was true? Could there be any possibility that her car crash had been deliberate and that someone had tried to kill her? It seemed too far-fetched. Katrina might have snubbed a lot of people and trampled over them without a second thought, but she hadn’t made any real enemies. No, like Mr. Heston said, it must be a complete fantasy.
With the box in her arms, she left the building and began making her way across the parking lot toward the street. She was halfway there when she spotted a man lurking behind a pickup truck. Conrad Dupree. Why was he acting so furtively? For a moment she wondered if he was continuing with the prank car accident apology notes, but then she saw the Hestons a few cars away, struggling to get a clearly uncooperative Katrina into their minivan. He needn’t have worried about being seen; the Hestons were too busy with their daughter. As Conrad slunk away, it struck Emma that here in fact was one man who resented Katrina intensely. In fact, he could be classified an enemy of hers. Was he somehow involved in her car crash? After all, he had supplied the car.
***
With the final banner in place, Emma climbed down the stepladder and breathed a sigh of relief. All the decorations were done. Turning around, she realized all the helpers had left, and she was alone in the hall. She circled the floor, inspecting the tables and straightening a fork or glass here and there. Eventually she was satisfied with everything. She slung her bag over her shoulder and made her way to the kitchens. The catering was in full swing and on schedule, thank goodness. Now she could run over to Mervyn’s to pick up the check, then head home to shower and get herself ready for the big night.
Dusk was falling as she made her way to her car, and the street lights hadn’t come on yet, which meant she didn’t see the person standing by her car until it was too late.
“Hey, Emma,” Conrad said, walking toward her. “You skipped out on me last night. No one skips out on the Big D.”
She hesitated, wondering if it was too late to turn tail and run back to the WAC. But then she told herself not to be nervous. It wasn’t dark yet, and there were people around, in the WAC or walking by. She didn’t have to avoid Conrad.
“You deserved it,” she said. “You were acting like an idiot.”
He pulled a face, looming over her. “And then you snitched on me. I had that Sherilee yakking at me for hours.”
“I had no choice.” She waved at her car, her keys jingling. “Do you mind? I have to go home.”
Instead of shifting out of the way, Conrad leaned against the driver’s door. “I had a good time last night, even though you ditched me.” He didn’t seem annoyed now; in fact, he seemed almost wistful. “I haven’t had fun like that since Katrina and I were in high school.”
His casual mention of Katrina made her mental antenna quiver. Did he know something about Katrina’s accident? She might learn something if she tried to draw him out. “Yes, you mentioned earlier that you and Katrina enjoyed pulling pranks together.”
“Uh-huh.” Conrad stood lost in thought for a while before his face creased up with amusement and he let out a chuckle. “Yeah, we pulled some pretty good ones.”
“I suppose you were the mastermind behind them.” Nothing like buttering up his ego to lower his barriers.
“Oh, yeah, I was the prank master.” He puffed out his chest. “But Katrina planned some real gems. Like this one time, she pretended to this dork that she was interested in him. Told him she found his IQ so sexy, and the dimwit fell for it. And he’s meant to be such a genius!” Conrad wiped a hand over his grinning lips.
“So one Friday night she invites him over to her house. Tells him her parents are away, and she’s desperate to get her hands on him. She takes him into the basement, dims the lights, and tells him to take his shirt and pants off. She leaves the room, saying she’s going to slip into something comfortable. The dork’s sitting there in just his boxers and socks when I come rushing in. I’ve got a Scream mask and a baseball bat, and I yell at him that I’m going to bash his head in. The guy gets such a scare he wets himself and then passes out!”
Conrad held his sides, chortling and sniggering, while Emma grimly hung onto her silence. She couldn’t speak or she’d lose her temper.
Wiping his eyes, Conrad continued, “The best part was, Katrina filmed the whole thing, got all the details, and I mean all of them.” He winked salaciously. “We sent him a copy, and we had a special screening for all our friends. He learned his lesson, all right.”
Finally, Emma allowed herself to speak. “And what lesson would that be?”
He blinked a few times, as if he didn’t understand. “Huh? Well, he learned not to pester Katrina, didn’t he? After that, he ducked out of sight whenever he saw her coming. See, we didn’t do it out of spite. We’re not like that. We just wanted the punk to leave us alone.”
“Why didn’t you just tell him? You didn’t have to play a mean trick like that on him.”
He furrowed his brow, looking perplexed. “We did tell him, but he didn’t stop. It was like he was living in his own fantasyland. We were doing him a favor.”
Why had she wasted her sympathy on Katrina when she had behaved so cruelly toward others? Gripping her keys, Emma used them to point to her car. “If you don’t mind,” she said frostily, “I’d like to get home.”
“Well, aren’t you a cranky pants!” With ill grace, Conrad shifted away from the car, leaving her just enough room to squeeze past. “What’s with the long face? I thought you wanted to know about my pranks?”
“I’ve heard enough.” Somehow she managed to get into the car, but when she went to shut the door, she found Conrad was holding onto it.
“You always blow hot and cold like this? Jeez, no wonder you scared Owen off women.”
“You—you—” She spluttered, red with indignation.
“What?” He sneered at h
er. “I’m only stating the truth.”
“You’re a bully and a coward!”
As the words burst from her, Conrad’s face slowly darkened with fury. Yanking the car door open, he loomed over her, his enraged eyes just inches away from hers.
“You calling me a coward? Looks like I’m gonna have to teach you a lesson.” He reached toward her, his hot breath nauseating her.
Chaotic fear surged through her, scattering all logic. She was in a public place, with other people in the vicinity. She shouldn’t be intimidated by Conrad’s bluster. But with distressing images filling her mind—of Todd’s lifeless body, of the flowerpot hitting her head, of Katrina’s car crash, of the victims of Conrad’s bullying—she was too shaken to think sensibly and instead acted instinctively.
Lifting a leg, she kicked wildly at him. With more luck than skill, the heel of her boot hit him perfectly in the knee cap, causing him to squawk in pain. She hadn’t kicked him that hard, but perhaps it was an old football injury that made him collapse to the ground, yelping in agony as he clutched his knee.
Emma wasted no time. She slammed the door shut, locked it, revved the engine to life, and took off with all tires squealing.
Chapter Nineteen
Five minutes later, Emma’s heart still pounded with fear, though she was safely clear of Conrad. She slackened off the gas, pressing a hand to her chest as she tried to bring her nerves under control. There was no need to be scared of Conrad. He had frightened her back there in the parking lot, but she’d make sure not to be caught alone with him until she’d spoken with Owen.
But was it wise to tell Owen what had happened? He had never liked Conrad, and even though he was a professional, level-headed officer, he might overreact and do something rash if she revealed that Conrad had threatened her. No, better to approach someone else. Sherilee, perhaps, despite the fact that she had a low opinion of Emma at the moment.
Plagued by worries, Emma had almost reached home when she realized she’d forgotten about the novelty check waiting for collection at Mervyn’s house. She groaned at her forgetfulness, then turned her car around and pointed it in the direction of Mervyn’s.
Twenty minutes later, she was at Mervyn’s house. When he opened the door, he greeted her with a tentative smile. “You made it.” He ushered her in, hastily tugging at his T-shirt. “I thought you’d be here sooner.”
“It took longer than expected to get the hall ready.”
Mervyn looked at her more closely. “You seem on edge. Is everything okay?”
She’d assumed she’d recovered from her brush with Conrad, but it appeared not. “Actually, no,” she confessed, rubbing her forehead where the first twinges of a headache were building. “I just had a nasty run-in with Conrad Dupree.”
“That’s too bad. Here, come downstairs with me and put your feet up. I’ll make you a drink and you can tell me what happened.”
Ignoring her mild protests, he led her down the stairs to the entertainment area in the lower level and gently pushed her onto a sprawling sectional couch. As she sank into the cushions, she realized how fatigued she was, and how welcome it felt to sit back for a while. Mervyn bustled about the large, well-stocked bar before returning to her holding two glasses of white wine. He offered one to her, then took a seat next to her.
“So,” he said, making himself comfortable like he was settling in for a long gossip. “What happened with Conrad?”
Emma tasted the excellent wine before answering, “He cornered me in the parking lot outside the WAC and told me this horrible story about one of his and Katrina’s high school pranks. It was awful, just awful.” Between sips of wine, she related what Conrad and Katrina had done to their poor, innocent victim. “I just realized something,” she added, looking about her. “This room, this basement, this is where it must have taken place.” The realization made her shudder. “Ugh. I used to think this den was kind of cool, but now, thinking of what happened here, it makes my skin crawl.”
Mervyn, who hadn’t interrupted once during her speech, was sitting next to her on the couch, his knee almost touching hers. “I don’t know,” he said thoughtfully, studying his wine glass. “I’d say it was cathartic, turning this place into my own.”
“Cathartic?” She stared at him as the truth dawned on her. “Oh, Mervyn…it was you, wasn’t it?” she whispered. “You were the one they pranked.”
He took a sip of wine. “I only have myself to blame. I was foolish enough to believe that Katrina suddenly found me irresistible, and that she was going to make all my dreams come true.” He smiled ruefully. “I wet myself before I fainted, did he tell you that? Yes, I’m sure he wouldn’t leave that out. When I came around, I was lying in a pool of my own urine with a photo of what I’d looked like stuck to my chest. I was alone, though I could hear Katrina giggling with someone, presumably Conrad. I grabbed my clothes and snuck out.”
“Oh, Mervyn.” Her helplessness frustrated her. “I just…words can’t express how disgusted I am with Katrina and Conrad. Why didn’t you make a complaint against them?”
“And draw attention to what had happened? No, thanks. I’d been humiliated enough. I just wanted to forget the whole thing. I never told anyone.” He gave her an odd look. “But now you know.”
She became aware of his knee pressing against hers, and surreptitiously shifted her leg away.
“Conrad strikes me as unbalanced,” she said. “He seems to be stuck in the mindset of an adolescent. I’m convinced he’s responsible for dropping that flowerpot. He has no credible alibi for the time it happened, not to mention those Van Janssen sneakers of his.”
“Let’s not waste any more time on Conrad.” Mervyn moved closer, slipping his arm along the back of the couch behind her head. “Let’s talk about something more pleasant.”
Uh-oh, what was happening? Why was his hand drifting over her shoulder? “Mervyn.” She tried to sound mock-serious. “I don’t think you should…”
His fingers crept down her arm. “Hey, I’m just being friendly.”
No, he wasn’t being ‘just friendly’, not when his fingers were doing a good impression of a centipede—and she wasn’t that keen about insects on her bare skin. She started to open her mouth, intending a gentle rebuke, but before she could say a word, he lunged at her, wrapping his other arm around her waist and pushing her down onto the couch.
“Merv—”
“Oh, Emma!” he panted, his eyes round and feverish. “I just knew one day we’d be together! It was only a matter of time before you realized the truth.”
His lips came down on hers in a clumsy, messy kiss. She clamped her lips, causing her teeth to jar against his, and the tip of his nose dug into her cheek.
She twisted her head free. “Mervyn! Get a hold of yourself!” She struggled to sit up, but it was impossible with his weight holding her down.
“Sweetheart, it’s destiny.”
Mervyn had lost his mind. He started to kiss her hair even as she fought against him. Eventually, out of sheer desperation, she brought a knee up into his groin. He instantly cringed and rolled off her, moaning in pain. She scrambled to her feet, and then looked down at him with dismay.
“Oh, Mervyn, I didn’t mean to hurt you! Are you okay?”
Gasping and speechless, he blinked up at her, looking totally flummoxed. Clearly he hadn’t expected that kind of response from her when he had attempted to kiss her.
Her cheeks felt like flaming hot tomatoes. How could he kiss her when Georgia was upstairs? Was this his way of dealing with the breakup? Or could Mervyn’s crush on her be stronger than she’d anticipated? Or, maybe it was the shock of baring his soul about Conrad’s prank that had completely uninhibited him. Whatever the reason, the best way to handle this tricky situation was to get out of here and leave him alone to recover.
“Um, why don’t I go look for that check, hmm?” Not waiting for a reply, she spun around and ran out of the basement.
***
In the foy
er, she paused to regather herself. Should she just leave now and forget about the check? She was sorely tempted, but the ceremonial handing over would be the highlight of the anniversary dinner, and everyone would assume she was to blame if there was no prop. Plus, with Mervyn behaving so erratically, he might use that as an excuse to cancel the donation, and that would be a blow to the school. No, she had to at least make a brief search for the darn check.
Given its size, it shouldn’t be too hard to spot. She made a cursory search of the living room and dining room, but found nothing. She headed for the kitchen, thinking he might have stored it in the laundry area, and skidded to a halt when she almost bumped into Vera.
“Oh, sorry!” Emma apologized, taking a step back.
“Watch where you’re going,” Vera snapped.
Vera, who’d just emerged from the walk-in pantry, looked remarkable in a glittering ball gown of black satin with puffed sleeves and billowing, full-length skirts that swished against the tiled floor. Her hair was swept up into a tapering cone, gleaming and sticky with hairspray. A huge diamond pendant adorned her chest, winking at Emma like the all-seeing eye of an Egyptian god.
Emma blinked in amazement. “Mrs. Butterick, you look very, uh, scintillating,” she couldn’t help saying.
“Thank you.” Vera sniffed and gave her glazed hairdo a careful pat. “I want to do my Mervie proud. It’s not every day a mother gets to see her son honored.”
“Yes,” Emma murmured.
Vera gave her a sharp look. “And what are you doing here?”
“I came to pick up the novelty check. Mervyn’s, er…busy at the moment. Do you know where he put it?”
“It’s probably in the garage.” Vera waved dismissively toward a door on the other side of the kitchen. “Go through there; it leads straight into the garage.”
“Thanks.” Nodding, Emma headed toward the door pointed out to her, glad to escape Vera’s scrutiny.
“And mind Mervie’s Lamborghini,” Vera called out after her. “He’s driving me to the dinner in it, and we don’t want any marks on it.”
Murder Most Likely (an Emma Cassidy Mystery Book 3) Page 21