Murder Most Likely (an Emma Cassidy Mystery Book 3)
Page 24
“He was caught up in a life of his own imagining. He thought he could do anything—anything at all—because that was what Todd’s mentoring had taught him.”
“He’s a nutcase,” Zoe declared caustically. “And so is his mom.”
As far as Emma could tell, Vera hadn’t assisted Mervyn in any of his murders; she was only an accessory after the fact. She had fired that gun at Emma and Zoe, though. What would happen to her? Would she even face jail time? But Emma couldn’t worry about that now; the police were still investigating, and there were so many loose ends to tie up.
Like Ivan, for instance. She’d asked Detective Gambino about the CFO, and surprisingly the detective had filled her in, perhaps because she’d felt bad about Emma almost being killed. According to Gambino, Ivan had been defrauding the company, and when Todd had found out, he’d wanted Ivan to confess to Mervyn. That was what they’d argued over on the night of the party, but that was the extent of Ivan’s culpability. Ivan might be a thief, but he was no murderer.
“Katrina and her parents are going to sue Mervyn.” Emma said. “Their lawyer says they’ll get millions in compensation because Mervyn’s been singing like a bird. Apparently he’s rather proud of his hacking abilities. He said it helped him to write this new security software of his. He’s reveling in his public notoriety.”
“He’s a genius, all right, but I hope he stays behind bars for decades. He’s hurt so many people.”
Emma nodded. “That reminds me. My dad has somehow persuaded Archer to start seeing his therapist again. I’m relieved. Archer needs professional support.”
“Your dad is still amazing, I see.”
“Plus, Archer is also hiring a lawyer to look into the verbal agreement he had with Mervyn. Archer might still get his fair share for his hard work.”
“Looks like everything’s turned out for the best.” Zoe smiled, a little wistful.
Emma reached out and touched Zoe’s hand. “I’m sorry to see you go. I wish we had more time to talk. I feel like I’m just getting to know the real you.”
“The real me was here all along; she just got buried under a lot of unimportant stuff.” Zoe smiled. A few lines of strain remained on her forehead, but her eyes were clear, and she seemed at peace with herself. “I’m glad I came to the anniversary.”
“You are? I’m not so sure myself. It seems like so many people have changed.” And not always for the better.
“But that’s natural. It’s part of life. We’re older, and hopefully a little wiser. I know I am.” Zoe glanced at her wristwatch. “I have to go. My family’s waiting to take me out for dinner.”
They hugged again and promised to talk soon.
At the front door, Zoe turned to Emma. “You know, the other night when we met for the first time in ages, I thought to myself you look like a completely different person, more confident, more settled in your own skin, more content. It’s like you finally figured out what’s important in your life. Anyway, just thought I’d say that.”
She was far from figuring everything out, Emma mused as she watched her friend leave, but she was on the right track.
***
“If only I’d picked up on the jacket,” Owen said as he steered his 1970s Ford Mustang along the winding road.
Emma, sitting in the passenger seat, turned to him. “What about it?”
“Mervyn told us that Todd must have borrowed his jacket that night, presumably because he was cold. When I searched Todd’s apartment in San Francisco, I went through his closet, and everything he owned was refined, discreet. He’d never put on that garish red jacket of Mervyn’s, even if he was freezing. I should’ve twigged onto that. It might’ve saved Georgia. It definitely would’ve saved you a heap of stress.”
Emma shook her head. “You can’t beat yourself up over everything.”
“Mervyn wanted to humiliate Todd. He didn’t realize the red jacket would swing the focus onto himself, but when it did, he turned it to his own advantage.” Owen slanted a quick, assessing look at her. “You were so worried for his safety, he thought you must have cared about him.”
“I was worried.” She blew out a sigh. “I was such a patsy. He made up that whole story about Otto Wiseman, didn’t he?”
“I’m afraid so. Wiseman’s a shady character, but he’s never worked for Bautista. Mervyn just wanted an excuse to draw you closer to him.” Owen’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. “But he went too far with that damn flowerpot stunt. He could’ve killed you, or left you with serious injuries.” He kneaded the wheel for a while longer, his expression dark, before he shrugged apologetically. “That’s why I didn’t sit in with you when Gambino interviewed you. I would’ve lost my cool. I’m sorry, Emma. I know I should’ve been there for you, but I would’ve only hindered the interview.”
She gazed at his tense profile in surprise. “I didn’t realize…I’m sorry for causing you so much worry.”
He heaved out a breath and ran his fingers through his hair, visibly recollecting himself. “Well, it’s over now, and you’re safe. That’s all that matters.”
She thought he might have lectured her again about her foolhardiness, and was glad that he didn’t. She didn’t want this rare occasion to be marred by ill feeling. Owen’s offer to take her to see Frieda Sorensen’s rental property had taken her by complete surprise, but she had quickly accepted without wondering the reason behind his invitation. After everything that had happened, she wasn’t about to question his motives.
For a few minutes she enjoyed the luxury of being with Owen and driving through the countryside on a fine Sunday afternoon with the surrounding trees coming into their fall colors. Minutes later, Owen turned off the road onto a dirt track that wound through the woods until a small, timber house came into view.
“I’ve never seen the place before,” Owen remarked as they got out of the car. “Mrs. Sorensen says it’s been in the family for generations, but they usually let some of the younger relatives use it as a stop gap. It’s not very big.”
“I don’t need much space, and it’s so cute. Like a gingerbread cottage.” She stood back and admired the carved eaves and steep shingled roof. “Come on, let’s go inside.”
Owen unlocked the door, and they stepped into a square room that appeared to take up all of the first story. On one side was a large stone fireplace, while on the other was a compact white kitchen. Mullion windows looked out onto the surrounding trees. A narrow staircase led upstairs, where they found a bedroom, bathroom, and spare room squeezed under the sloping roof.
“Not much headroom,” Owen murmured, reaching up and touching a beam just inches above his hair.
“Enough for me.” Emma’s spirits rose as she inspected the tiny but adequate bathroom. The house was a bit dusty, and the air slightly stale, but that was only because it hadn’t been occupied in a while. It was a solid, honest building, with no smell of damp or mold, and all it needed was a good scrubbing and plenty of airing out.
They tromped back downstairs, where she ran a hand over the stone fireplace, imagining a roaring fire, a comfy armchair, and a cozy book.
“It’s not in town,” Owen said, peering out a window. “And your neighbors aren’t too close. Are you sure you want to live out here by yourself?”
In her imagination, Emma added another armchair next to hers and placed Owen in it. Yes, now that made a perfect picture. She smiled to herself even though it was pure fantasy.
“You suggested this place to me,” she pointed out.
“Yes, but I didn’t realize it was this house.” He scratched his jaw, thinking it over. “Well, at least it’s not that far from my place.”
She blinked in surprise. “Um, you know, I don’t even know where your place is.” Of course she’d very much wanted to find out, but pride or stubbornness had always held her back from enquiring.
“I’m on Ridge Road, about fifteen minutes’ drive from here.” He seemed taken aback. “You didn’t know?”
“No, how could I?”<
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“You could’ve asked.” He lifted his eyebrows, and a weird twisted feeling rose in her that was wholly pleasurable.
“Well, now I know.” She walked over to the kitchen and inspected the modest setup. “Wow,” she said, touching the stove. “I might even have to cook for myself again. My dad has spoiled me rotten these past nine months.”
“You could always eat at the diner.”
“Good point.”
He moved and stood next to her, gazing out the window. Sunlight flickered through the golden trees. “We could both eat at the diner one night.”
“Huh?” She started and glanced at him, but he was still looking at the trees.
“Or somewhere else. That Tex-Mex place, maybe.”
“You want to have dinner with me?” Why did she feel so stupid? And why was her heart suddenly pattering?
Finally he turned to her, and his eyes were warm like molasses. “Yes, I’d like to have dinner with you, Emma. Would you like that?”
Her throat was tight. “Yes, oh yes,” she murmured. “But—but…”
Apprehension tinged his eyes. “But what?”
“I—I—” She blew out a breath. “Let’s face it, we’ve had some disagreements and miscommunications since my return, and I hate that. I’m terrified of screwing up again.”
“Hey, it’s just dinner.”
“A friendly dinner, right?”
He looked a bit doubtful. “Okay, yes, a friendly dinner, if that’s what you want.”
It was, she realized as her anxiety levels dropped. One step at a time. She’d lost Owen once; she didn’t want to risk losing him again.
“Yes, for now.” She grinned shyly at him.
He looked at her, a smile tugging at his lips. “You’re a funny fish, you know that?”
And then they both gazed out the window without speaking, their hands resting side by side on the counter.
~ THE END ~
Dear Reader
Thank you for reading Murder Most Likely. If you enjoyed it, please consider leaving a review on Amazon or your ebook retailer. I’d really appreciate it.
The Emma Cassidy Mystery series:
Book 1: Throw a Monkey Wrench
Book 2: Pushed to the Limit
Book 3: Murder Most Likely
For a full list of my books visit www.amazon.com/author/karenchester.
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Thank you!
Karen Chester