She Drives Me Crazy

by Leslie Kelly

  She could have, but he wanted the excuse to keep her around a little longer. It was only ten. Surely whatever biddies had their binoculars trained on his driveway would stay up another hour to watch Emma drive away.

  “Let’s look at them together before you go.”

  A few minutes later, he was glad he’d made the suggestion. Because as he and Emma sat at the table, sorting through the tax records, deed and transfer paperwork he’d been able to dig up at the courthouse, she began to mutter under her breath.

  “What?”

  “I said something’s wrong,” she replied, sounding distracted. “This is wrong.”

  “I know you’re unhappy about it, Em, but the paperwork is all here.”

  “No, it’s something else,” she said, scrunching her brow as she studied one of the documents. She ran a frustrated hand through her hair, sending those crazy wavy curls, that he could practically still feel against his fingertips, in all directions. “I swear I wonder if the surgeon took out some of my brain cells because sometimes I have the hardest time grabbing thoughts as they whiz by.”

  His stiffened, the reaction completely instinctive. God, he hated the thought of Emma banged up, lying in a hospital bed. What if she’d died? What if he’d lost her before he’d ever had the chance to have her again? The stab in his gut at the very thought of it was physically painful. “Emma…”

  “Oh, my God,” she snapped, her mouth dropping open. With her index finger, she jabbed at one of the legal documents spread out in front of her. “That’s it, that’s it.”

  “What?”

  Her eyes practically sparked with fire. “Look at this, Johnny, just look.”

  He looked at the paper, a copy of the contract signed by her grandmother. “What am I looking at? This is a pretty standard contract. I mean, it’s a little strange to go to closing so soon after the purchase contract had been signed, but since the buyer, this MLH Enterprises, paid cash, it’s not entirely out of the question.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “Are you trying to say it’s not her signature? I compared it to the one registered with the DMV and the elections office. I’m no handwriting expert, but it looked identical to me.”

  “It’s not,” she said, her voice shaking with anger, indignation or excitement. Maybe all three. “And I am absolutely certain of it.” She lifted the paper and thrust it into his hands. “My grandmother did not sign the contract for the sale of the lot, Johnny. Meaning she also didn’t sign the closing documents, so conveniently dated for the day before she died.” Crossing her arms in front of her, she leaned back in her chair and flatly added, “They’re forgeries.”

  She sounded absolutely convinced. “How can you be sure? You admitted your grandmother told you she was thinking of selling.”

  “Look at the date.”

  He did. “April sixth.”

  “Know when I had my accident? April fifth.”

  He began to understand. “Okay, but Em, it’s possible she signed this before she left to go to New York.”

  She shook her head. “No, it’s not possible. I got hit on my way home from work at 6:00 p.m. Grandma Emmajean found out right after my parents did, that very night, Johnny. Not the next day.”

  As with any interesting legal puzzle, he began to get caught up in the details. “When did she arrive in New York?”

  “Late night on the sixth. Because she couldn’t get a flight out any earlier.”

  Thinking aloud, he said, “Meaning, technically, she could have had time to sign some papers.”

  Emma merely shook her head. “Think about it.”

  He did. Legally, he knew the timetable didn’t prove anything. Old Emmajean could have done just about anything during the day of the sixth before making the two hour drive to the closest major airport in Atlanta. Including accepting an offer on her land.

  Only, she wouldn’t have. Absolutely no way on God’s green earth would Emmajean Frasier have spared two seconds to think about anything except the life-or-death situation facing her beloved only grandchild. Certainly not something as important as deciding to give up her family’s legacy, a place she knew that injured granddaughter loved.

  Emma Jean was right. He couldn’t prove it, at least not yet. But there was no doubt in his mind…someone had stolen her birthright. And judging by the signature that appeared on all these documents, he had a good idea who to start looking at.

  Jimbo Boyd.

  EMMA SHOULD HAVE driven straight home after she left Johnny’s. She was tired and had another full day of “hair-washing-slash-financial-advising-slash-pie-dispensing” on the schedule for tomorrow.

  So why, she wondered, was she sitting in her parked car in front of the residence of Mayor Jimbo Boyd?

  “Stupid, Emma Jean,” she whispered, knowing Johnny would kill her if he found out she’d come here after leaving his place.

  She hadn’t even realized she was taking the long way home until she pulled onto Sycamore Way, where Hannah Boyd’s family had lived for decades. Everyone in town knew where the mayor lived, because the house was the biggest one in town. The society set of Joyful all angled for invitations to the Boyd Christmas party, which had once been covered by Vanity Fair magazine.

  If the house had been dark and quiet late on this weeknight, she probably would have just sat outside, staring at it, doing nothing. She’d have planned all the things she would say to the man the next day when she confronted him with her suspicions. Then she would have driven home and slept off some of her fury.

  But it wasn’t dark. The bottom floor of the graceful, columned, two-story mansion was alight. A few cars were parked in the driveway. Through the quiet night air, she could hear the hum of music. Shadows moved across the front windows.

  The Boyds were entertaining.

  She wondered how they’d feel about one more guest.

  Her feet were on the ground before her mind even completely decided to get out of the car. And once there, they kept on walking, right up the driveway, onto the front porch.

  The door was answered by a uniformed maid, who didn’t look the least bit surprised to have someone show up at eleven o’clock at night. “They’re in the front room,” she said with a nod, turning to lead the way for Emma, who she must have assumed was a guest arriving late for the party.

  Emma’s steps clicked on the polished tile floor, sounding like tiny little starter pistols. She was definitely about to start something. If it took tackling the lion late at night in his own den, she’d do it. Jimbo sure wasn’t making it easy for her to speak to him during business hours.

  Entering the tastefully decorated drawing room, she immediately assessed the situation. The gathering was a small one. Just Hannah Boyd, perched elegantly on the edge of an antique settee, speaking with a red-haired woman Emma recognized as Mona Harding, from the hair salon. In another corner of the room, Jimbo stood face-to-face with Sheriff Dan Brady.

  Oh, great. Lord a’mighty, if she got arrested again tonight, Johnny was just gonna kill her.

  Keep calm.

  “Well, what a surprise,” Mona Harding said as she spied Emma in the doorway. Standing, she offered her a big smile. “I was telling Hannah here what sharp advice you gave me today. Girlfriend, you belong up with the sharks on Wall Street, not down here with the laid-back Joyful folks.”

  Ha. The sharks in this town had made her feel more like chum than anyone she’d ever known in New York.

  “Why, thank you,” she managed to say.

  Jimbo, who’d looked over immediately, walked across the room, wearing a big, phony politician’s smile. “Well, hello there, Ms. Frasier. I’ve been looking forward to seeing you since you got back to town.”

  Emma managed to avoid snorting at that one. Instead, keeping her voice neutral, she said, “How interesting. Especially since I’ve been unable to reach you at all.” Glancing at Hannah Boyd, who watched them with a detached, aloof expression, she added, “I apologize for interrupting your part
y. But since I can’t reach Mr. Boyd during the day, I took a chance and stopped by on my way home.”

  Hannah acknowledged the apology with a slight incline of her head. A cool creature, that one. Quiet and alert and always watching. Emma suspected the brains in Joyful’s royal family belonged to the queen, not the florid court jester standing in front of her.

  “I’m sorry ’bout that,” Jimbo said. “I have been busy this week. You call me in the morning and we’ll have us a sit-down.”

  Sheriff Brady, out of uniform and dressed in a suit and tie, walked over and stood behind Mrs. Harding. His hand on her shoulder said the two of them were a couple. Very interesting. She wondered if Daneen knew her long-widowed daddy was seeing the brassy, wealthy woman.

  “That won’t be necessary,” Emma replied, amazing herself with her own calm tone. “I’ve just come to inform you that, whether I stay in Joyful or not, I am removing you as manager of my property.”

  Jimbo didn’t look disturbed. In fact, she almost noted a flash of relief on his face, as if he’d expected her to say something else. Not surprising. He had to suspect she might catch on sometime and had probably anticipated an attack.

  “I sure do understand, and no hard feelings,” he replied with a nod that made his thick, black hair—which Emma suspected was fake—flop a little over his forehead.

  Emma looked at the others in the room, all of them watching curiously, as if feeling the undercurrents between she and Jimbo. How could they not, when she was fighting an inner battle not to punch the man in his smiling face? She somehow managed to remain cool as she nodded at everyone and murmured goodbye, letting Jimbo have one more second of peace.

  But before she left the room, she met Jimbo’s stare with a piercing one of her own. “Oh, and by the way, I am hiring an attorney to look into the supposed sale of my grandmother’s property.” She paused for a heartbeat, watching his cheeks grow red. Then she continued. “I know she didn’t sell it. Certain things have come to light, and now I’m completely certain I’ve been defrauded.” She mentally crossed her fingers, knowing she was too broke to do any such thing, and added, “I’m sure the lawyer’s private investigator and handwriting analyst can help to shed new light on the situation.”

  Hannah’s face grew pale while Mona Harding’s eyes widened in shock. Dan Brady shook his head, appearing distressed. But Jimbo managed to keep his smarmy smile in place, in spite of his red and shiny cheeks.

  “Well, now, I’m sorry you don’t like what your grandma did with her land, Ms. Frasier, but what’s done is done. I’m afraid you’re wasting your time and your money. You might as well go on back up north and forget all about Joyful.”

  “Oh, no,” she snapped. “I won’t be forgetting about anything. And believe me, Mr. Boyd, I will not allow you to just forget about me, either.” Satisfied, she sailed out of the room, ignoring the quick rumbling of conversation breaking out in the room behind her.

  A big part of her prayed Boyd would follow. He wouldn’t speak in front of Hannah, or the others, that was sure. But she really thought he’d come after her, to try to make excuses or come up with a story…anything. And hopefully he’d trip up, giving her some tidbit to use as evidence against him.

  He didn’t follow, to her deep disappointment. She even stood on the porch for a long expectant moment, but the front door remained firmly closed.

  So be it. He wanted to call her bluff. She’d have to do this the hard way, meaning she’d be in his office bright and early tomorrow morning to start hitting him hard with dates and signatures.

  But not until after she’d made a phone call to her parents. It was time to stop acting like a kid in trouble and bring them up to speed on what was happening. She might not have the means to hire an attorney or private investigator, but they sure did. That land had been part of her father’s childhood, too. He’d be as horrified as she about what had happened.

  Feeling better about things, Emma got into her convertible. Before she even started the car, however, she heard the roar of another engine. In her rearview mirror, she watched as a small sedan pulled out from the curb a few car lengths behind her. Its engine revving, it sped up toward her, burning rubber, and careening dangerously close to her rear bumper. Then it sped past, probably going four times the legal speed limit.

  “Crazy driver,” she muttered, deciding to stay a few lengths back, in case the person in the other car had been drinking.

  For once, karma seemed to be smiling. Because for all the times on the road when she’d seen a reckless driver tailgating, speeding or passing on the shoulder, and had wished for a cop to appear out of nowhere, one finally did. A blue light flashed ahead as a police cruiser turned onto Sycamore from a side street where it’d obviously been waiting.

  “Speed trap. Serves you right. I hope they do a Breathalyzer,” she muttered as she drove by. She felt so good about it, she even gave a little wave of her fingers to Deputy Fred, who’d just stepped out of his car. She barely spared a glance for the sedan’s driver, whose silhouette she could make out through the windows. “Have a fun night,” she whispered to the woman, hoping she’d learn a lesson.

  Arriving home, she locked her front door, wondering how Claire and Eve were doing back home with Tim. Claire had seemed very confident that things would work, and she was happy for them. But the house did feel awfully empty.

  Though she figured she’d be too hyped up to sleep that night, Emma actually crashed hard and long. Maybe washing hair—which was already shaping up to be the most interesting job she’d ever had, given the side duties—was more tiring than she thought. Or maybe confronting loathsome thieving creeps was.

  Or being involved in the most passionate affair of her life.

  Johnny. He was the last thing she thought of before she fell asleep, and the first image that filled her mind Thursday morning. She was falling in love with him all over again. Just like she had when she was seventeen and he’d been dangerous and unattainable and more exciting than any girl could hope for.

  Only, no, it wasn’t like that. This was different, she realized as she showered and got ready for work. This wasn’t merely an infatuation. If it were simply that—if it had ever been anything that simple—would the raw feelings have remained during a decade of separation?

  She didn’t think so. The reason she’d held on to the hurt for so long was because her feelings for Johnny hadn’t been just a girlish infatuation, even when she’d been a high school kid. She may not have understood exactly what love was back in those days, but she’d experienced it nonetheless.

  Which made it easier to believe she was experiencing it again.

  Unfortunately, knowing the truth about their past didn’t help her figure out what, exactly, she could do about their present. For all the passion, all the wild storms they shared, they were still moving in two different directions. Not just geographically, either.

  Emma might have realized she loved him, but did Johnny love her back? She didn’t know if he’d even allow himself to. He’d flat out said he’d never marry. She couldn’t blame him, given his history.

  Which left her holding a bag of unrequited emotion.

  Forcing thoughts of him away, Emma packed up the paperwork she was convinced was fake, and headed out of the house. Because of the time difference and her parents’ work schedule, she hadn’t been able to reach them yet, but planned to call again later today.

  In the meantime, she was going to the Boyd Realty office.

  When she arrived, she saw two cars parked in the lot outside, and assumed Daneen was already at work. Too bad. She’d hoped to beat the woman in, which was why she’d shown up before eight. Steeling herself to see derision, annoyance or dislike in Daneen Walker’s eyes, she entered the office.

  But Daneen’s desk was unattended, the reception area empty. Or, at least, she thought it was, until a small noise drew her attention to a person standing in the interior doorway.

  “You probably should go back outside.”
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br />   Looking up, she saw Cora Dillon, the old cleaning lady who’d given her the key to the house her first day in town. “Good morning, Mrs. Dillon.” Then, seeing the pinched look around the woman’s mouth, and the paleness of her face, she stepped closer. “Are you all right?”

  The woman nodded, raising a hand to her face. That was when Emma noticed how much it was shaking.

  And what it held.

  “Good, God, what is that?” she asked, noticing the clump of black furry stuff clutched in the woman’s death grip.

  Cora glanced at her own hand, appearing almost dazed, then snapped her fingers apart, as if she hadn’t realized she was holding anything until then. The black clumpy thing fell to the floor.

  Emma studied it with distaste. “Was that a dead rat you were holding?”

  Cora merely shook her head. “Nope.”

  Hearing something that sounded like dread in the woman’s voice, Emma raised a questioning brow.

  Cora pursed her lips and blew out a long, slow breath, eyes wide with disbelief. Then, pointing toward the inner office, she explained, “It’s the head of hair offa the dead snake in the other room.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  IF THERE WAS one sight in the world Johnny never wanted to see again, it was Emma Jean Frasier standing inside a jail cell, looking angry and forlorn, frightened and shell-shocked all at the same time.

  Goddamn it, Dan Brady had locked her up for the third time in two weeks. He wanted to grab her and hold her, to carry her out of here and never let anyone put her in this filthy place again. Hell, never let her leave his side again.

  He didn’t pause to analyze that thought. Whatever happened between him and Emma Jean in the future needed to remain there…in the future. At least until he took care of this unsettling present.

  He stood in the open doorway between the office and the holding cells of the Joyful jail. Taking a moment before she was aware of his presence, he hoped the sight of her—safe and sound—would wash over him like a cool breeze, calming him down.