Emmy leaned her head onto the truck’s seat back. “We need to take this to Maggie.”
“Emmy, what’s in that report?”
“Please call your sister and let her know we’re coming to talk with her.”
Rather than go into the sheriff’s office, Cash called and asked Maggie to meet them back at his place. Maybe some food and a beer would mellow her out enough so that she wouldn’t bury his body in his own backyard for keeping secrets from her.
Ended up, Maggie was more than happy to knock back his beer, but that didn’t keep her from glaring at him with a look that could dismember a man when he told her that he and Emmy had been following leads.
“You’re telling me that you’ve been withholding information and evidence? Dammit, Cash. Maybe I’m a little more laidback now that Jay and I are together. But you damn well better not forget that I’m still the sheriff of this county and—”
“We don’t even know exactly what the crimes are or how they hang together. But we do know Amory was behind a lawsuit against Emmy.”
“Your ex?” Maggie demanded, putting Emmy in her crosshairs.
“Yes.”
Regardless of Maggie’s newly revived love life with a pro football player, she could still jump on a good rant, so Cash tried to take the heat. “And we visited the kid who swatted Jesse Giddings.”
“What? You found the person responsible? How did you… Jonah. Or Micki.”
“I’m not confessing which. That way you can’t be mad at either of them. I’ll give you the kid’s name and address so you can follow up.”
Maggie grunted her lack of satisfaction.
“I don’t know how the swatting plays in, exactly,” Emmy said as she stared at her beer instead of sipping it. “But I have some information that does point in a particular direction.”
“What do you mean?” he demanded. “It was the damn lab report, wasn’t it?”
“What lab report?” Maggie asked.
“I asked Max Causewell to run a tox screen and some other tests on Jesse Giddings postmortem. Initially, nothing looked unusual.” Emmy said. “But when we confronted Oliver today… I don’t know. At first, I was convinced he wasn’t capable of this type of violence.”
“What type of violence?” Maggie’s voice was getting louder with each question.
Although Cash wanted to shout at Emmy, too, he tried to soothe his sister. “Let Emmy get through this.”
“Thanks, Cash.” Emmy took a big breath. “I studied the new report Max sent me. In his e-mail, he mentioned that the metabolites looked slightly off.”
“Metabolites?” Maggie asked.
“The easiest way to think of them is how a drug breaks down because of human metabolism. Jesse Giddings had paralytic metabolites in his blood.”
“That wouldn’t be unusual post-surgery,” Cash said.
“But metabolites from two different paralytics would be.”
Was this what she’d been so busy studying on their way here?
“I’m not sure I understand,” Maggie said.
“I texted Max and had him follow up with the anesthesiologist who was in Jesse’s surgery,” Emmy continued. “The surgeon who operated uses succinylcholine.”
“Sux can be a pretty tricky paralytic, right?” Cash asked.
“Yeah. Which is the reason Oliver always preferred to operate using rocuronium,” Emmy explained. “Roc metabolites were also present in Jesse Giddings’s lab work. I think it was administered postsurgically.”
“Jesus,” Cash said. “If that’s the case, that kid could’ve suffocated while he was wide awake.”
“I had a bad feeling about his death from the beginning,” Emmy said, looking away. “I just didn’t have any real proof until now.”
By this time, Maggie’s face had transformed into a tight red Halloween mask. “I should arrest you both for obstructing an investigation.” She held a hand to her head as if they’d slapped her with the biggest, baddest migraine ever recorded. “And I thought Jay was a pain in my ass sometimes.”
“In our defense, we didn’t totally realize several of these incidents were related,” Emmy said, pushing a plate of cheese and crackers closer to Maggie. Probably hoping she’d chew on those instead of their asses.
“Uh-uh,” Maggie shot back. “With every word in your own defense, you’re digging yourselves deeper.”
Emmy’s revelation about the paralytics made Cash wonder just how far Amory might go. Would he kill others to get to Emmy? He asked his sister, “Any final findings about the fire?”
“Funny you should want information when you haven’t been forthcoming.” She gave Emmy a long, considering look. “The fire was definitely arson. Incendiary device was a cigarette attached to a book of matches wrapped in paper and cotton. Light the cigarette. It burns down and ignites the matches. The paper and cotton do the rest of the work.”
“And Amory is still out there on the loose,” Cash bit out. “I don’t like anything about—”
“We don’t know if he’s behind the fire. Hypothetically, it’s possible, but I need to look more closely at this guy before I make contact with Charlotte PD.” Maggie pushed aside her beer and pulled out a handheld recorder. “Cash, go grill a steak or something while I finish questioning Emmy. After we eat, I’ll be the one grilling you.”
28
Days after ’fessing up to Maggie, Emmy was sitting at her mom’s kitchen table. She smoothed out the big sheet of butcher paper in front of her and tried to concentrate on her plan. But it was hard to think straight when a man she’d once cared for had been questioned for everything from arson to murder.
Ultimately, Oliver had hired the top defense attorney in the northeast and been released for lack of evidence. But Emmy still didn’t know what to think about all the events in Steele Ridge. Had he been behind them or not? The system might say no, but she wasn’t so certain.
If Oliver was behind everything, she questioned her own judgment.
And if he wasn’t, did that mean someone else was still out there targeting her in some way?
She hated how unsettled both options made her feel. In addition, she wasn’t yet back in the ER and hadn’t asked to be reinstated on the tac team.
But the free time had given her the opportunity to really concentrate on her future with Cash. He deserved more, better, than she’d ever given him. He deserved amends for the way she’d treated him years ago.
Her mom strolled into the room. “Emmy, honey, you’ve been working on that for hours.”
“It has to be perfect.”
With a shake of her head, she poured two cups of coffee. Then she handed one to Emmy and sat down across from her. “Does Cash love you?”
“That’s what he tells me.”
Her mom tapped the paper with boxes, arrows, and writing all over it. “Then this isn’t necessary.”
“Maybe not, but he deserves it.”
“Okay, but it doesn’t have to be flawless. Emmy, honey, that’s part of what drove you to reject him before. He didn’t fit into Emerson Louise McKay’s vision of what the best future, the perfect life was. Sometimes life is messy, imperfect. And it’s still good anyway.”
“But Dad always told me to do my very best.”
“Oh, honey.” She sighed. “He wanted the best for you. But he had his silly, fun, imperfect moments. How else would I have fallen in love with him?”
“Would you do it all over again, even though he died?”
“Oh, Lord yes. He was so worth it. Don’t get me wrong. When he was killed, I cried. I cussed.” With hands stained from a recent finger-painting session with her preschool class, her mom rotated a coffee cup that said It takes a big heart to shape little minds. “I even cursed God. But I could either look for what was still good in all the chaos, or I could get stuck wishing for a future that would never be.” She reached for Emmy’s hand, squeezed it with her gentle but strong fingers. “I had you girls to look after and love. To do any less than m
ove forward imperfectly would’ve been a disservice to you and Kris.”
It was a hard lesson, but if Emmy wanted a life with Cash, she had to not only learn it but live it by heart. “Life isn’t a puzzle where every piece fits just right if you only try hard enough, is it?”
“Yeah, if you keep looking for the picture to go together the way you imagined it, you’ll live a life of complete disappointment. Things rarely match up the way we envision. Those few times they do, you should jump up and down and shake your booty.”
“Cash is a big proponent of stuff like that.” Emmy scooted her chair over and rested her head on her mom’s shoulder. “I hope one day I’m as smart as you.”
“Oh, honey, you’re so much brighter than I ever was—”
Emmy patted her mom on the chest. “In here, you are a certified genius.”
“Have I told you how glad I am you moved back from Baltimore? I love you, Emmy. So much.”
“I love you, too.”
“And what about Cash Kingston?”
“I love him, too. I don’t think I ever stopped. He’s the man I want to build that booty shakin’ imperfect life with. I have a plan, but I need your help. And the help of lots of other people in Steele Ridge.”
Her mom laughed, and it was one of the most beautiful sounds Emmy had ever heard. “Oh, darling Emmy, you might be willing to allow a little disorder to march around in your life, but you will never stop being the general.”
Sully came into the station kitchen waving an envelope in front of Cash. “Special delivery for Kingston.”
Cash took the last bite of the bacon and eggs he’d cooked for everyone on shift and grabbed for the envelope, but Sully danced away, doing a modified moving wobble. “How much is it worth? One shift exchange? Two?”
“How many years of your life is it worth?” Cash asked, laughing at his friend’s antics. “And who is it from?”
“Oh, that’s a seeeeecret.”
For God’s sake, sometimes it was like working with a bunch of middle schoolers around here.
But he didn’t like the sounds of any secret delivery.
Nothing else had happened around Steele Ridge since Amory’s questioning, but Cash wasn’t ready to relax quite yet. He still couldn’t believe that bastard had been released. He held out his hand to Sully. “Just hand it over.”
On the front, his name had been printed in block letters. Something about it made the back of his neck tingle. Stop being paranoid, Kingston.
He ripped open the envelope and found a half sheet of paper inside. On it was typed:
Fruits, vegetables, and honey
Where the wild things grow
Farmers take the money
Ten o’clock—don’t be slow
Dammit, not too long ago, Jonah had received weird notes like this from someone who wanted to kill him. How many poetry-writing nut jobs could there be in Steele Ridge?
“Who dropped this off?”
“Some kid on a bike.”
He didn’t like the sound of this after all the bullshit with Emmy lately. He needed to check this out.
Before he left the station, he changed into street clothes then headed to the farmer’s market. It wasn’t hard to locate his dad since he had the only pig-pink truck in the area. When Cash strolled up, his dad was busy handing over asparagus, kale, and hakurei turnips, and people were happily handing him back wads of bills.
Once the customers cleared out, Cash said, “It’s good to know you and Mom are set for retirement.”
His dad laughed. “I should make enough today to keep your mom in baking supplies.”
“And I always thought you were kind and good.”
“I have hidden layers.”
Nicksie came around from behind the table to sniff at Cash’s boots. Satisfied, she flung herself down across his feet. Maybe he needed his own dog. Maybe he and Emmy could—
“Looking for something in particular?” his dad asked him.
“Actually,” he pulled the piece of paper from his pocket, “I was wondering if you knew anything about this?”
His dad fished his cheaters from his front shirt pocket and scanned the poem. “Shakespeare, it’s not.”
“It’s like a damn clue or something.”
“You think?” His dad’s tone was casual, but there was a wicked spark in his eyes. Yeah, he knew something about this, which meant there was nothing nefarious about it. “If it’s a clue, then it seems like you’re supposed to find something, right? Maybe look it over for more hints.”
“So you’re not going to help me?”
“Surely you can handle a scavenger hunt on your own.”
Cash grinned. Yeah, his dad knew what this was all about, and now Cash knew more than he had when he walked up. “Thanks, Dad.”
“I didn’t… You can’t… Just get out of here.”
“C’mon, Nicks,” he said to the dog and waved good-bye to his dad. “I’ll bring her back in a bit.”
Nicksie stayed by his side as they wove through the vendors and people. Steele Ridge was experiencing a gorgeous March, and folks were eager to be out in the fresh air. They swarmed around booths filled with hand-made soaps, wildflowers, and… honey.
The poem said something about honey.
Cash tapped Nicksie on the head as he changed directions toward Mrs. Tasky’s table. She had a talent for stacking honey jars in elaborate architectural structures, kinda like Cash and his friends had once done with beer cans. As with his dad’s booth, Cash had to stand in line behind several customers before he made it up to the woman who’d been raising bees since before it had become trendy to do so.
“Cash Kingston. Aren’t you a sight for myopic eyes?”
He leaned over, careful not to disturb her honey Taj Mahal, and kissed her cheek. Her curly blond hair brushed his face, and he asked, “Business good?”
“Allergy season hits folks hard. A teaspoon of local honey’ll cure what ails them. Can I wrap you up a jar?”
“Please,” he said. “What do you recommend?”
“Oh, the Tulip poplar is light and sweet.”
“That sounds good.”
“Then again, the Sourwood is earthy and buttery.”
“Then I’ll take that one.”
“But the Galberry is mild and fruity.”
Yeah, something was afoot here at the honey spot. “Which one am I supposed to buy, Mrs. Tasky?”
Her laughter was as pure and sweet as the honey between them. “You always were a clever boy.” She reached behind her and picked up a small paper bag tied with purple ribbon. “This one’s for you. No charge.”
He reached for his wallet. “I can’t let you—”
She put a hand on his forearm. “Already been paid for. You enjoy now.”
This was getting stranger and stranger. Cash looked down at Nicksie. “How would you feel about a breakfast biscuit?” His own breakfast was long gone.
She barked her enthusiasm for the idea, and they dodged their way out to one of the food carts that always set up at the market. Today’s special was a buffalo chicken biscuit.
Cash said to Nicksie, “If this messes with your stomach, don’t rat me out.”
She sat back on her haunches and lifted her muzzle in a my-lips-are-sealed expression.
Yeah, he needed a dog of his own.
A few minutes later, he and Nicksie settled down with their foil-wrapped snacks. She was a polite eater, taking the top part of the biscuit first and moving her way down layer by layer. Cash just bit in and savored the flavors of butter, wing sauce, and blue cheese.
The last of her biscuit gone, Nicksie licked his cheek and let out a quiet spicy-scented burp.
“Get that all out now.” He patted his thigh and she settled down with her head on his lap.
Although he’d been itching to open the sack from Mrs. Royce, he wiped his fingers before reaching for it. Inside was a jar of Sourwood labeled on the front with a picture of Emmy and him after homecoming thei
r senior year. Him with sweaty hair and a big grin. Because they’d won the game and he was in love with the pretty dark-haired girl he had his arm around. Her with a shy smile as she looked up at him. Because…
Because she had loved him, too.
The back label featured another poem:
Friday night lights
Lose or win
Players make the plays right
Tomorrow at ten
Looked like the game continued on, but now Cash knew exactly who was behind it.
Emmy McKay was taking him on a stroll down Memory Lane.
29
Emmy felt like a certified stalker as she hid beneath the bleachers watching Cash chat with the Steele Ridge High School’s head football coach. Coach Barrows, who had an old football wedged between his arm and rib cage, was a relatively new addition to the coaching staff. The man Cash had played under—Coach Switzer—had moved on years ago to a bigger school in Asheville, but it appeared there wasn’t anyone in town Cash didn’t know and get along with.
Part of her was still a little unsure of what she’d set in motion here. Probably the way Cash felt when he’d put himself on the line for her.
As men tended to do, Cash and the coach stood on the fifty-yard line for what seemed like a century. Pointing toward this goalpost, the field house, and—oh, crap!—the bleachers near where she was skulking.
Didn’t Coach Barrows remember that he was supposed to hand over a clue instead of having a good-ol’-boy BS session?
She’d give anything to hear what they were going on and on about, but the only way that would’ve been possible was to bug Coach Barrows. She’d had a hard enough time convincing him to take time to do this favor for her.
Just hand it over, Coach.
Finally, after they’d either ironed out a plan to eradicate world hunger, cured the common cold, or outlined the team’s offensive strategy for the next decade, the coach casually transferred the old football from under his arm to his palm.
Tasting Fire (Steele Ridge: The Kingstons Book 2) Page 25