In the Dead of Winter (an Emma Cassidy Mystery Book 5)

by Karen Chester

  “Dental records?” Emma couldn’t help interrupting. “So you do have enough, uh, remains to make a comparison?”

  Martinez shifted his bulk in the narrow armchair. “That’s for the ME to determine. He’s doing the autopsy today.”

  “Oh, so we’ll know more about how much alcohol was in his system?”

  The police officer gave her a stern look. “The toxicology report might take a while to get back from the lab, so we won’t know until next week probably.” He returned his attention to Becky. “I have to warn you, Becky, the next few days and weeks will be stressful for you.”

  “Don’t worry about sparing my feelings, Eric.” Becky gave him a wan smile. “I just want to know, one way or another.”

  He fiddled with the wallet and cleared his throat. “It might take a while at this time of year. A lot of people are away. Things take longer. Plus, I got the Wayne Goddard case, too.”

  “I understand. Poor Wayne. That was so shocking.”

  “Yes, shocking.” The officer wriggled out of the chair, rose to his feet, and zipped up his winter jacket. “I better get back to the station and start the ball rolling.” Halfway to the door, he paused. “And don’t worry about people finding out about your father. I won’t tell anyone unless I really have to.”

  Becky bit her lip. “Thank you.” She sounded choked. “And Eric…”

  “Yeah?”

  “Can I ask you something? Something personal?”

  Martinez scrunched his forehead, suddenly looking uncertain. “Uh, sure.”

  “Now that you know who I am, who my father is or was, does it…does it change the way you think of me?” As she spoke, she winced, as if she dreaded his answer.

  But Martinez replied instantly. “No way!” His eyes widened. “You’re not responsible for what your father did!” The color deepened in his tanned cheeks. “I think you’re pretty damn awesome like always!” he burst out, and then, realizing what he’d said, he ducked his head and hot-footed it out of Emma’s office, his ears flaming.

  Chapter Eight

  After the meeting with Martinez, Emma had an appointment with the caterers for the New Year’s Eve fundraiser, which lasted all afternoon. Later that afternoon, while driving back to her office, she received a call from Becky.

  “How are you doing?” Emma asked as soon as she had pulled over to the side of the road to take the call. With her mind preoccupied with Becky’s revelations, not to mention Wayne Goddard’s tragic death, it had been difficult to focus on her work. Now, she was relieved to hear Becky’s voice.

  “I’m fine,” Becky said, then corrected herself. “Well, actually, I don’t know why I said that because I’m not fine. I haven’t been able to concentrate all day. I’ve been dropping things, forgetting orders, and I even snapped at poor Abigail when she was asked if everything was okay.”

  “Well, you’re not okay. Maybe you should take the rest of the day off.”

  “And do what? Sit at home and brood over my father?” Becky lowered her voice as if she feared being overheard. “That would drive me even crazier.”

  “I’ll pick you up and take you out for a drink, then. I’m about five minutes away.”

  Becky sighed. “That sounds like what the doctor ordered, but I’ve just remembered that I’m supposed to be having drinks with Nick Stavros.”

  “Nick Stavros? You’re dating the vet?”

  Emma was astounded. Nick Stavros had recently moved to Greenville from Los Angeles and set up a veterinary practice. In his mid-thirties, he was a nice, pleasant man who freely admired Becky and always lingered in the diner to chat with her, but Emma had never detected anything to suggest Becky thought more of him.

  “I’m not date dating him,” Becky said. “It’s just drinks.”

  “Well, I think it’s an excellent idea. He’s single, presentable, and good with animals. That’s always an encouraging sign.”

  “He’s also five years younger than me,” Becky retorted.

  “So? That’s nothing. And you’re way out of his league, so you’re doing him a big favor.” Emma couldn’t help grinning.

  Becky huffed into her phone. “You’re not listening to me. Nick and I are not dating. It’s just that I took care of his house plants while he was away over Christmas, and he invited me out for a drink as a thank you. That’s all. Actually, I was supposed to meet him last night, but I cancelled and I don’t want to do that two nights in a row, so I was wondering if you’d come with me.”

  “Come with you? But Nick might not want me there. In fact, I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t.”

  “It’s just a friendly drink, that’s all. I like Nick, and I want to have a drink with him and you. You and he get on well, so I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”

  Becky sounded tired and frazzled, understandable given that she’d had to relive her long-buried trauma twice over today, which made Emma feel guilty. All through her teenage years at every crisis big or small, from arguments with her mom to pimple outbreaks, Becky had been there for her, ready to comfort her with a smile, a hug, or a slice of pie. Now, it was Emma’s turn to give her the support she needed.

  “Okay, I’ll come. What time?”

  Becky let out a deep sigh of relief. “I’m going to close the diner at five today and let Abigail and Oscar off early. They deserve it after putting up with me. Nick said to meet him at the Shore Thing at six-thirty. I’ll clean the diner and be ready by six.”

  “Fine. I’ll pick you up at six, then.”

  After saying goodbye and terminating the call, Emma checked the time. It was almost four. The sky was overcast, a solid mass of gray that seemed to press down on the landscape, giving it an oppressive atmosphere. She rolled her shoulders, trying to loosen the ache that had nagged her all day. The shock of discovering Wayne Goddard’s body still lingered, aggravating her nerves into hyper-vigilance. Just a few minutes ago, while driving, a cat had darted across the road well ahead of her, and even though there had been no chance of collision, still she had slammed on the brakes, almost sending her hatchback into a dangerous spin. She needed a drink, too, she realized. And the chance to talk about everything that had happened today.

  She glanced at her phone again, wondering if this was a good time to call Owen. The truth was, he was on a time-critical mission, and he wasn’t able to have long chats with her whenever she wanted. She would have to wait until he came home which, she hoped, would be soon. The only worry was that when he did, she would have to tell him about Rowena, and he might not appreciate her withholding that information from him.

  The thought reminded her that she should tell Rowena that she wouldn’t be home until later. When she called, Rowena sounded downcast and envious by the news.

  “God, what I wouldn’t give to be able to go out for a civilized drink! I’m going stir crazy here.”

  Emma didn’t feel much sympathy for her plight. “That’s the thing about hiding from the authorities. You can’t go out for a civilized drink. But you could if you just did the right thing and agreed to appear in front of the grand jury.”

  “I can’t betray Lonnie! He’d never forgive me.”

  “Well, you’ve made your choices.” Emma was beginning to regret calling Rowena. “I’ll see you later. Bye.”

  “But what should I do about dinner?” A whiny tone had crept into Rowena’s voice.

  “There’s plenty of pasta and tinned tomatoes. Make something with that,” Emma retorted.

  “You know I’m not much of a cook. Hey, could you pick something up for me on your way home? I could go for a nice Cesar salad, or maybe a hot Indian curry…”

  Rowena was still listing her preferences when Emma pretended she was losing cell phone reception and cut the call short.

  ***

  To his credit, Nick Stavros took the change in plans with surprising grace. Becky had phoned ahead to inform him, and when she and Emma arrived at the Shore Thing, he was already sitting at a table in the corner. He rose to greet them with
a smile.

  “Hey, Emma,” he said. “Nice to see you again.” He turned his gaze to Becky, his smile widening, his manner becoming more attentive. “Hi, Becky. I’m glad you could make it tonight.”

  Becky took the seat he offered, pushing back her blonde curls. “I hope you don’t mind me bringing Emma along.”

  “Not at all,” he said quickly even though Emma knew he wasn’t being honest. “The more the merrier.”

  A server came to take their orders. When it was his turn, Nick asked for a club sandwich to go with his craft beer. “I hope you don’t mind,” he said to the two women, “but I’m starving. Haven’t had a chance to eat all day. Do either of you want something to eat?”

  Emma, realizing she was rather hungry, ordered nachos.

  Becky shook her head. “I haven’t eaten either, but I don’t have much appetite.”

  After the server had left, Nick turned to Becky. “At the risk of sounding rude, you don’t look your normal self,” he said tentatively. “Has something happened? And please feel free to tell me to mind my own business.”

  His concern was sweet and genuine, Emma thought.

  Becky lifted a shoulder. “Well, I’m still in shock about Wayne.”

  Nick frowned. “Ah, yes. Wayne Goddard. I heard about his death from half a dozen people coming into the surgery, starting with Faye Seymour. How that woman finds out these things so quickly is beyond me.”

  “Did you know Wayne?” Emma asked.

  Nick glanced away, shook his head. “Not really. It’s such a tragedy. Carbon monoxide poisoning from a propane heater left on overnight, I heard.”

  “Emma discovered his body.”

  Lifting his eyebrows, Nick glanced at Emma. “You did?” He shifted in his seat. “So, um, that can’t have been pleasant.”

  “At least I wasn’t alone,” Emma replied. “His neighbor came in with me. He was lying in bed, the comforter over him.”

  Nick’s face softened in sympathy. “I’m sorry, Emma. That must’ve been horrible for you. If it’s any consolation, it sounds like Wayne died in his sleep. He wouldn’t have suffered.”

  “I guess not.”

  As the server arrived and dispensed their drinks, Emma found herself studying Nick surreptitiously. His last words had meant to sound reassuring, but instead they made her a little uneasy. Nick was a vet, and as part of his job he had to put down animals. Was that what unsettled her? The image of Nick injecting a helpless dog and watching as the life slowly drained from its body? She shivered and gave herself a mental head slap. She was being ghoulish and absurd. There was no connection between the two men.

  Nick was listening to Becky talk about Wayne. “He was always so cheerful and loud,” she said, smiling sadly. “Sometimes very loud. Some of the other customers thought he was too brash, but it was just his way of trying to make friends.” She sipped her wine and sighed again. “I’ll miss him. He never failed to brighten up my day.”

  Moisture glimmered on her eyelashes. Emma knew that Becky’s tears weren’t only because of Wayne but more likely because of the harsh jolt she’d received today. The wallet had triggered terrible memories of her double-murderer father and left Becky strained and emotional. But Nick, ignorant of this private grief, must have attributed her distress solely to Wayne.

  “You must’ve had a soft spot for this Wayne guy.”

  “I—I don’t know. He was just a nice, friendly guy.”

  “Well I hate seeing you so upset!” He set down his beer and stretched an arm across the table to cover her hand with his. “What can I do to make you feel better? Tell me,” he urged, his dark eyes burning with devotion.

  “Oh...” Becky swiped at her damp eyes. “I guess I’m just a bit over-sensitive right now. Please ignore me for now.”

  “I could never ignore you.” Nick fished out a pristine white handkerchief and pressed it into her hands. Becky blinked in surprise— as did Emma, wondering what person under sixty walked around with handkerchiefs these days?—but then she smiled in gratitude at the vet.

  “Thank you, Nick,” she said softly. “I don’t mean to be such a drag.”

  “You could never be a drag. Not to me.” He smiled, his face suffused with feeling.

  Becky gave a choking laugh as she dabbed her eyes with his handkerchief.

  Emma, sitting quietly with her drink, sensed a spark growing between these two. Nick was an attractive man, with thick brown hair and boyish, clean-shaven looks. In khaki pants, navy sports jacket, and open-necked shirt, he looked handsome and eager to please. And Becky was looking at him with renewed interest, as if she had misread him before and was now looking at him with fresh eyes; and it seemed she liked what she saw.

  Maybe she should give them some time alone, Emma thought. Plus she was beginning to feel like a third wheel. She murmured something about going to the bathroom and rose from the table. The other two barely noticed her leaving.

  As she walked across the bar, she spotted two familiar figures at another table.

  “Hi, Abigail, Oscar,” she said in surprise. “We didn’t see you here.”

  Both the waitress and the cook nodded in greeting, but it was obvious their attention was elsewhere. Turning, Emma realized they were both staring at the table she’d just vacated where Becky and Nick were now deep in conversation, their heads leaning closer together.

  “I didn’t know she was sweet on him!” Abigail scowled. She picked up a fry from the basket in front of her and shoved it into her mouth. “That’s why she gave us an early mark,” she said to Oscar, chewing noisily. “So she could go out and meet him.”

  Oscar made a grunting noise. His long, slim fingers were clenched around a wineglass. “I don’t think that’s true,” he said in his soft, gloomy voice. “Or she wouldn’t have come with Emma.” He lifted his cool blue eyes to her. “Right?”

  “Right. I don’t think Becky is sweet on Nick.” Although, when Emma glanced back at the couple, she had to admit that Becky was looking more receptive to the vet’s charms. Her cheeks had regained some color, and she smiled more readily. Nick, it was clear, was striving hard to make her smile. “Come to think of it, they do look cozy together.”

  “See? I told you!” Abigail huffed.

  Emma was puzzled. “But why are you upset by that? Isn’t it good to see Becky happy?”

  Abigail and Oscar exchanged furtive looks. Oscar clamped his lips, refusing to speak.

  “Not with that man!” the waitress burst out. “He killed Oscar’s cat!”

  The cook wrinkled his forehead. “Abigail…” he warned.

  “No, it’s true. Sit down and I’ll tell you.” She waved Emma into an empty seat at the table before continuing, “Poor little Lucifer was sick, so Oscar took him to the vet, but instead of making him better, that man—” she jabbed a finger in Nick’s direction “—killed an innocent little cat.”

  This sounded too far-fetched to Emma. “Is it possible that Lucifer was too far gone to be saved?”

  The young woman snorted, her eyes dark and fierce. “He did it on purpose.”

  “Why?”

  Abigail glanced at Oscar, then stuck out her chin. “He’s got it in for Oscar. He accused Oscar of spitting in his sandwich.”

  “What!” Emma goggled at the young woman and then at the tight-lipped cook, who was turning deep red. “How—why—what did Becky say to that?”

  “She wasn’t there at the time. It was just me and Oscar in the diner, and the vet was the only customer. He was making it up, of course. Oscar would never do something so disgusting, would you, Oscar?”

  The cook seemed to be struggling for breath. “I wish you wouldn’t bring this up,” he croaked. His smooth complexion was flushed pink, and he writhed in discomfort, jiggling his gangly legs beneath the table. Dressed in skinny jeans and a loose T-shirt, he looked like a college student, his blushing and fidgeting making him appear younger than normal.

  “Poor Oscar had to get tranquilizers to deal with the stres
s,” Abigail earnestly informed Emma.

  Seeing Oscar’s embarrassment, Emma remained silent, wishing Abigail hadn’t brought up such sensitive information.

  “Listen,” Oscar said. “We agreed never to tell Becky, remember? She doesn’t need this on top of everything else.”

  “I won’t tell her.” Emma sighed. “But why did you take your cat to Nick if there was such animosity between you two?”

  Oscar hid his face behind his hands, feverishly rubbing his forehead. “It was an emergency. I didn’t have a choice.” His voice thickened.

  “I’m so sorry about your cat,” Emma murmured. She didn’t know what to believe about Nick, but clearly Oscar was upset about losing his pet.

  Uttering a heartfelt sigh, he dropped his hands, revealing eyes damp with unshed tears. For a few moments he looked completely vulnerable. Then, with a visible effort, he pulled his slumped shoulders square. “No, it’s okay. I’m over that, but I still don’t like seeing Becky with him.” His brooding gaze settled on the couple across the room.

  “It’s not what you think. He’s just comforting her because she’s upset about Wayne Goddard’s death.”

  Abigail rolled her eyes. “Oh, yes, I’m sure he’d jump at any chance to hold her hand. The thing is, Becky’s too nice. People take advantage of her generosity.”

  That seemed ironic coming from Abigail, since she herself benefited from Becky’s kindness, but Emma didn’t point this out.

  “We all agree that Becky is wonderful and none of us want to see her hurt,” she said, wanting to inject some common sense into the conversation. “I don’t know the truth about Nick, but if you want to warn her off, then that’s your choice. And if she still wants to be with him, that that’s her choice, too.”

  The other two didn’t speak. Oscar sat and stared, making a good impression of an Easter Island statue, while Abigail scowled and chewed on the end of one of her pigtails.

  Twisting in her chair, Emma glanced back at Becky. She was eating a pickle off Nick’s plate and laughing at something he’d said, and she looked young and soft and vulnerable. Disquiet rumbled in Emma’s stomach. Was her friend too vulnerable? Oh, stop it, she told herself. That rumbling was just hunger pangs. She saw that her plate of nachos had arrived, so she stood up, said goodbye, and walked back to her table.