“I’ll be careful,” Emma muttered.
She opened the door and stepped into the darkened garage, hoping the check would be in plain sight. She turned on the lights, and the fluorescent lamps flickered to life, revealing a vast area that was part garage, part storage area. On the far end sat Mervyn’s red Lamborghini, looking sleek and exotic. In contrast, the sprawl of boxes and containers on the near side looked untidy and mundane.
Emma sighed as she surveyed the mountain of cartons in front of her. She’d assumed that Mervyn, having bought this house as a second base, wouldn’t have many possessions in it, but clearly he was something of a hoarder. Her gaze caught the corner of a piece of white cardboard jutting out between two stacks of boxes. That looked like it could be the check. She wriggled her way along a narrow path and peered at the cardboard. Ah-ha, it was the check! She could haul it out and hopefully get it to her car without running into Mervyn again. She didn’t want to think about Mervyn and that fumbling kiss. All she wanted was to go home.
Grabbing onto the corner of cardboard, she attempted to pull it out. The check reluctantly slid out a few inches before becoming stuck. She gave it a sharp jerk. Her elbow bumped into a plastic container, causing it to crash to the floor.
“Darn it!” she muttered as she surveyed the contents that had tumbled out.
She let go of the check and proceeded to gather up the fallen items, tossing them back into the plastic container. Bits of computer hardware, black cables, a pair of sneakers, a strange toy that looked like an armored truck… Hang on a minute. She picked up the sneakers she had just thrown into the box. They were gray and practically brand new, and the logo on them was all too familiar. They were Van Janssen shoes, the exact same make she’d seen on the internet, and on Conrad’s feet. And they were a size twelve.
A wave of nausea rolled through her stomach. She turned the sneakers over and saw the crumbs of soil still clinging to the soles. Soles that had left that distinctive pattern on the balcony above Mervyn’s porch.
What on earth was going on here? She picked up the toy truck. It wasn’t a kid’s plaything; it had a small engine, and some extra electronics that appeared to make it remote controllable. It was also solid and sturdy. Sturdy enough to push an earthenware flowerpot over a parapet?
The nausea inside her reached a crescendo. The toy truck and the sneakers fell from her numb fingers, tumbling back into the box. She stared at the plastic container as if it held a nest of vipers. She tried to marshal her thoughts, but it felt like the cogs in her brain had seized up, unable to comprehend the massive betrayal staring right at her.
Phone, she thought. She had to call someone. Owen. She had to call Owen. But where was her tote bag? In the basement with Mervyn? She groaned at her lack of foresight. Okay, well, she still had to gather the evidence. She found an empty shopping bag and gingerly placed the sneakers and toy truck into it. Now she had to get this to her car. Luckily, she had slipped her keys into her jeans pocket. She’d drive away and not bother with her handbag; that could wait until another day. What about Vera and Georgia? Was it safe to leave them here? She had no choice; she had to get out first before she could help them.
Could she exit through the main garage doors? She spotted a row of switches on the wall near the Lamborghini and hurried over to try them. She jabbed each one, but the door refused to budge. Very well; she’d have to return to the kitchen and use the back door.
She grabbed the novelty check and tucked it under one arm, hoping it would give some cover to the plastic bag in her other hand. Bracing herself, she left the garage and stepped into the kitchen, closing the door behind her.
“Found it, then?” Vera barked, just inches away.
Emma’s heart jerked, her hands spasmed, and the plastic bag plopped to the ground.
“What’s this?” The older woman pounced on the bag, glanced at its contents, and glared at Emma. “Are you stealing from Mervyn?”
“No, no!” Eaten alive with anxiety, Emma glanced over the shorter woman, but there was no sign of Mervyn. Hopefully he was upstairs getting ready for the anniversary dinner, and she could sneak out while he was busy. But first she had to get past his dragon of a mother.
“These are his shoes and his truck.” Lines of disapproval carved Vera’s stern face.
Emma clenched her hands as she realized her best hope lay in telling Vera the truth, as horrifying as that was. Vera would be devastated, of course, but she’d want what was best for Mervyn, and it was now obvious that he needed urgent care.
“Mrs. Butterick,” she began, trying to sound reassuring but aware of the tremor in her voice. “I have something to tell you that might shock you, but I want you to know that I have Mervyn’s best interests at heart.”
“Go on,” Vera said, looking neither spooked nor angry.
Emma moistened her dry lips. “Those sneakers and that truck—” she pointed to the bag in Vera’s clutches “—are evidence of a, well, not a crime as such, I don’t think, although I suppose wasting police resources could be a crime—”
“You’re rambling, dear,” Vera broke in tartly. “Get to the point.”
“Okay. The point is I believe the remote controlled truck was used to push the flowerpot which almost killed me over the parapet, and that the sneakers were used to leave footprints on the balcony, using soil from the other pots.” She took a deep breath. “And I also believe that Mervyn was responsible for the whole thing.”
Vera gawked at her for a minute, and then burst out laughing.
Disconcerted, Emma raised her voice. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Butterick, but I think Mervyn is trying to frame Conrad for the incident. I know how much Mervyn means to you. I know you don’t want to believe me. But you have to face the facts, unpleasant though they are.”
“Oh, I’ve faced plenty of unpleasant facts in my life.” The humor faded from Vera’s face, leaving her hard-eyed and hostile. “But Mervyn has never been one of them.”
“Mrs. Butterick, please. Mervyn needs help,” Emma said with increasing desperation. “Don’t you see that?”
“No! All I see are greedy, ugly people being nasty to my wonderful, beautiful Mervie. Like you! You think you’re so special!” The older woman almost spat in disgust. “How dare you? After Mervie’s been so kind to you, how dare you turn him down? You think you’re too good for him, don’t you? Well, you’re nothing but trash, just like all the other women before you.”
Emma staggered back, reeling from the viscous words. Clearly Vera was blind to her son’s faults. It was a waste of time trying to convince her of anything.
She held up her hands in defeat. “Fine, you don’t believe me. I’ll just be on my way, then.”
She made to move past Vera, but the other woman shifted at the same time, blocking the path.
“I don’t think so,” Vera said with chilling calmness.
Tendrils of panic snaked out and coiled around Emma’s gut. “Please get out of my way,” she said, trying to suppress her fears.
“Mervyn!” Vera barked out. “Come here quickly!”
“Mrs. Butterick, please…”
“Mervyn! Now!”
A rush of hysteria surged over Emma. She lunged toward the gap between Vera and the wall. The stocky woman grabbed at her, but she broke free and barreled past, heels clattering on the tiles of the kitchen floor.
“What is it, Ma?” Mervyn appeared at the door, his eyebrows rising in surprise as he caught sight of Emma skittering across the room.
“Get her!” Vera howled like a wolf on the chase.
The bloodcurdling cry sent Emma veering across the kitchen away from Mervyn and Vera. A door came into view. She flung it open and dove through it, plunging into pitch blackness. From the light streaming through the door, she saw she was in some sort of storage room. A room that appeared to have no other means of escape. She was trapped.
Mervyn’s silhouette appeared in the doorway. She shrank back into the shadows, stumbling in the darkness un
til she hit what felt like a metal locker.
“Emma? What are you doing in there?” Mervyn sounded so reasonable and friendly it sent another icy chill down her spine.
She couldn’t speak even if she knew what to say. All her words were throttled inside as her brain tried to make sense of everything.
“Come, Emma. This is childish.” He held out a hand to her. “I don’t know why you ran in here, but it’s time to come out.”
She swallowed, but the acrid burn in her throat persisted. “I found the Van Janssen sneakers and the remote controlled truck,” she said, trying and failing to suppress the quaver in her voice. “I know they’re yours, Mervyn.”
He sighed. “It was just a prank that went too far. I’m sorry it scared you.”
Was it just a prank? He sounded so contrite, so reasonable, but her every instinct rebelled.
“Please, Emma,” Mervyn murmured. “Please come out.”
No, she couldn’t. She couldn’t bear to step into the light and see Mervyn for what he truly was.
“You want to play hide-and-seek, do you?” Amusement tinged his voice. “Okay, then. Here I come, ready or not.”
Her heart thudded, hard and painful like a rock inside her ribs. She flung out an arm, desperately seeking a weapon, any kind of weapon. Her hand connected painfully with the catch to the metal locker. The door creaked open an inch. Then, it burst open as something heavy and cumbersome toppled out and landed at Emma’s feet.
She stared down. Her brain refused to compute what her eyes saw. Heavy plastic wrapped around a figure, a slender figure. She peered more closely. Beneath the thick, transparent plastic, a face emerged, swathed in long, dark hair. A pretty face, milky skin, Cupid’s bow lips. Her wide blue eyes stared up at Emma, big and lifeless. It was Georgia, and she was very, very dead.
Chapter Twenty
Bile stung the back of Emma’s throat as she stared down at Georgia’s empty eyes. How could this be? Her head ached as she tried to recall the last time she’d seen the young woman. Wasn’t it less than twenty-four hours ago that Georgia, strained and tempestuous, had accused the absent Ivan of fraud and murder? How could she be lying here in this cold, dark room, wrapped in suffocating plastic?
“Emma, I’m sorry you got such a fright,” Mervyn said, standing just inches away from her.
She jerked back, her heart pummeling. She tried to say something, but her throat burned from the acid.
“Come on,” he murmured. “You shouldn’t be in here. It’s cold and nasty. Let’s get you somewhere comfortable.”
He spoke so soothingly, and she was desperate to get out of the storage room. But how could he make this nightmare go away?
He cupped her elbow and steered her away from the plastic-bound bundle, and she was too weak to resist. As he ushered her toward the door, she couldn’t help glancing over her shoulder. The body was still there; Georgia was still dead.
She stumbled into the kitchen, blinking in the harsh light. Vera scowled at her, plump and glittering in her fantastical black gown, looking like a malevolent fairy godmother.
“You’re a nosey child,” she scolded.
“Hush, Ma,” Mervyn said, shepherding Emma toward the hallway. “She’s in shock.”
“Well, serves her right.” Vera followed close behind, her black satin swishing with each step. “She shouldn’t poke her nose in other people’s business.”
Still dazed, Emma made no attempt at resistance as Mervyn guided her back to the entertainment room in the basement. The sliding glass doors that led out to the terrace were shut and hidden behind thick drapes. A few downlights cast a dim glow over the cave-like room. When Mervyn released her, she sank into the nearest armchair. Mervyn went over to the bar, his mother still trailing behind him.
“Well, it’s too bad, son.” Even with a lowered voice, Vera was still very audible. “I know how much you like her, but we have no option.”
“No, Ma!” Mervyn sounded agonized. “I can’t do it. Not to her. Not Emma.”
“She’s a snob,” Vera hissed. “She thinks she’s too good for you.”
“Enough.” Mervyn hurried from the bar carrying a glass of alcohol which he pushed into Emma’s hands. “Here, it’s brandy. You should drink it. For the shock.”
Emma gazed at the golden liquid, wondering if he’d slipped something extra into it.
“It’s not drugged,” he said, reading her mind.
“No, thanks, anyway.” She pushed the glass back at him.
He sighed, then downed the contents in one gulp. “See? It’s just brandy.”
How could he sound so concerned and gentle and normal, and yet the dead body of his girlfriend was wrapped in plastic in his storage room? How could those two facts co-exist?
She gathered up the scattered remnants of her courage. “Mervyn, please tell me what happened? How did poor Georgia die? Was it—was it an accident?”
He stood there blinking owlishly at her for a few moments before he hitched his trousers and sat on the coffee table, facing her.
“I suppose it’s too late to lie to you now. I put something in Georgia’s drink to make her sleep, and then I held a pillow over her head. It didn’t take very long; she barely struggled. She hardly suffered at all.” There was an anxious look on his face, as if he was eager for her to believe in his compassion.
She shuddered at his pragmatic description. “But—but why?”
“She had to go.” His mouth pulled down as he made a sad face. “She cheated on me. With Todd.”
Emma’s stomach contorted. “So you killed Todd.” It wasn’t a question anymore.
“Yes,” he murmured, his face filling with sorrow. “She was my girlfriend, the love of my life, and he was my mentor, the architect of my success. They were the two people I trusted implicitly, and they broke that trust.”
“They had an affair behind your back, then?”
“Oh, not a full-blown affair. It was just one night.” He picked at the fabric of his trousers, frowning. “I was tracking her phone, you see. I read their text messages. They were so distraught after that one night of indiscretion. They swore to each other it would never happen again.” He laughed softly. “It was almost funny watching them try to make it up to me. Georgia was so attentive, and Todd went out of his way to do things for me, like offering to go shopping with me. I chose that red jacket knowing he hated it, yet he gushed over it, telling me what a sharp sense of fashion I had developed. Tuh!” Disgust flashed across his face.
“Is—is that why you put him in your jacket after you’d…drowned him?”
“You know how hard it is to dress a dead body while it’s still in the water? No, I got him to put on the jacket beforehand. I followed him down to the lake and pretended I wanted a heart-to-heart with him. This was after Ma and I had gone to bed. I told Todd he looked cold and insisted he wear my jacket. Poor sap. He was so eager to make amends he would’ve agreed to anything. Then I said I knew all about his and Georgia’s sordid little fling, and he was horrified and upset. He was still sputtering apologies when I shoved him into the water and held him down with that boathook. Bad way to die, drowning. He didn’t go the easy way, like Georgia, but then he deserved to suffer, the pompous jerk.”
Emma was beginning to feel bilious again. She tried to suppress the image of Todd struggling for breath. She couldn’t afford weakness now; she had to keep her wits about.
“Georgia suspected you,” she said. “That’s why she tried to buy a gun.”
“She did?” For the first time Mervyn looked taken aback. “Did she tell you that?”
“No, I bumped into her outside a gun dealer.”
“Well! I never saw that coming. The girl had more guts than I gave her credit for. But then she started going off the rails, making these wild accusations about Ivan, and I knew I had to bring the timetable forward. So I killed her last night, after you left.”
“Don’t tell the girl everything!” Vera, forgotten until now, grumbled from
the bar. “Least said, soonest mended.”
Emma ignored Vera. She needed to find out everything from Mervyn. “Why didn’t you just dump Georgia and cut off Todd? Why did you have to kill them?”
“Because I finally realized I didn’t have to put up with rubbish like that anymore. That’s what I learned from Todd’s mentoring. Ironic, isn’t it, that he gave me the tools to think clearly and see what I had to do. Yes, he showed me that life is there to be grabbed and shaped. After all those years of meekly accepting crap from everyone, I decided to strike back, to right the wrongs of the past.”
“Is that why you tried to frame Conrad? As payback for what he did to you in high school?”
A sly smile played on Mervyn’s lips. “Ah, Conrad. He’s not very smart, is he? It was child’s play using that dating app to lure him out, and I knew what kind of shoes he wore.”
“And was it child’s play to drop that flowerpot on me, too?”
The smile faded. “I already explained I didn’t mean that to happen. I was supposed to pull you out of the way, but I mistimed the truck. I’m really sorry.”
His concern seemed genuine, but it only made her shiver with revulsion. Mervyn had staged the accident not only to get Conrad into trouble, but also to make himself look like a hero as he dove to save her at the last second. And she, presumably, was meant to have swooned in gratitude.
“So if you’ve already targeted Conrad, I suppose you’ll be going after Katrina next. What are you going to do to her? Sabotage her wheelchair?”
Mervyn leaned back, his expression growing smug. “What makes you think I haven’t already targeted Katrina?”
“You…” Her breath caught in her throat. “You don’t mean you caused her car accident?” The smirk on his face confirmed her worst fears. “How?”
“Why are you so astounded? Do you really think someone like me would have trouble hacking into her car?”
The new software Mervyn was working on; it must be something to do with automotive security. And Conrad had complained about having to give Katrina one of the latest model sedans as part of their divorce settlement—a car with all those cutting edge electronic gizmos and security loopholes that someone like Mervyn knew how to exploit. How long had he planned it? Had he watched Katrina’s car slam into a tree and then calmly walked away?
Murder Most Likely (an Emma Cassidy Mystery Book 3) Page 22