Behind him, at the pass-through window, Oscar’s head bobbed up for a few seconds. His face was wrinkled up in pain as if someone had trodden on his foot. He huffed, lips flubbering silently, blue eyes fixed on the back of Nick’s head, before disappearing again.
“Um, who knows?” Emma replied.
Recalling why the waitress and the cook were opposed to Nick, she wondered what to make of Nick. In the past she had always liked Nick. He was friendly, open, disarming, and the touch of scruffiness only added to his charm. He was very different from the dark and brooding Frank Lipperman, and that was why she felt comfortable around him. But Oscar was convinced that Nick had deliberately killed his cat, and Nick had accused him of spitting in his sandwich. She found it hard to imagine Nick doing these things, but maybe she didn’t know Nick as well as she thought. Maybe he only presented his good side to her. Just like he did with Becky.
Nick leaned toward her. “Don’t tell Becky this,” he muttered, “but I’m not exactly friends with Lurch over there.”
“Lurch?”
He jerked a thumb in the direction of the pass-through window where Oscar had popped up again. “Our tall blonde cook. Don’t let his quietness mislead you. He can be a jerk sometimes.”
“Oh.” Emma was beginning to feel uncomfortable. The last thing she wanted was to be caught in the middle of a dispute. “I don’t know anything about that.”
“He’s always lurking in the background, eavesdropping on people.”
“I think he’s shy, that’s all.”
“Shy, or creepy?”
Emma thought that was a mean thing to say, but before she could object Becky arrived bearing an enormous slice of freshly baked blueberry pie topped with an equally huge dollop of cream. The sweet fruity scent instantly set Emma’s mouth watering.
She dug in as Becky poured her coffee and topped up Nick’s cup. Becky seemed relaxed and happy as she and Nick chatted, but that did nothing to alleviate Emma’s concerns. As if she didn’t have enough worries weighing on her mind.
First, there was the information she’d gleaned from Rowena that she wanted to pass on to Becky. But there was no chance of that happening soon.
Second was Rowena herself. When would she leave, and would she ever stop protecting her crooked boyfriend?
Third, Wayne Goddard’s death still niggled her. Was it pure accident or something more sinister?
And finally, what about her close encounter with the white van? Was it a careless driver, or was someone trying to warn her off?
Sighing, she scooped up another mouthful. With all these concerns plaguing her, it was a good thing she had blueberry pie to console her.
***
In the end, Emma waited until the morning rush had abated and Becky could leave the diner in Abigail and Oscar’s hands before she pulled Becky aside and said they had to speak in private. Across the road and upstairs in her office, Emma spelled out what Rowena had told her—that Kieran O’Reilly had talked about seeing someone who knew about his daughter, and that he’d seemed agitated about the meeting.
Becky grew pale and somber again, losing all the liveliness injected by Nick’s visit. She toyed nervously with her golden curls as she spoke, “Someone in Greenville knows I’m Kieran O’Reilly’s daughter? Oh God. Who could it be?”
“You don’t have any idea? Has anyone made any ambiguous remarks lately, dropped any hints, behaved strangely?”
“No, no one.” Becky shook her head, distressed. “At least, I don’t think so.” She dropped her head into her hands. “I need to think back. Try to remember anything out of the ordinary.” She shivered, hunching her shoulders. “Ugh, this is so horrible! It could be someone who’s lived here for a while. Someone I’ve spoken to. A regular at the diner, perhaps.”
“It might not be anyone you know.” Emma tried to reassure her.
“But it could be.”
Some of Becky’s fear began to infect Emma, and she felt the hairs on her neck prickle. Had someone been watching Becky for months, maybe even years? Had they spied on her every move, taking note of what she did, who she met, where she went? The idea made her cold with dread. What did they want? Were they involved in Kieran O’Reilly’s death?
Emma pushed to her feet. “I’m going to the police. Martinez has to know.”
“But what about Rowena? Are you going to tell him about her, too?”
“Yes.” Emma sighed. “I should’ve told Martinez about Rowena when I handed in the wallet. It was stupid of me to try to hide her.”
“Oh, sweetie. You’re never stupid.” Becky gave her shoulder a light squeeze. “Just very loyal.”
Emma nibbled on her lower lip. “Misguided loyalty in this case. Let’s go to the police station now. It shouldn’t take too long.”
Becky answered slowly. “If you don’t mind, I’ll leave the police to you. I need to go somewhere quiet and think about everything—” she sighed ruefully “—but there’s not much chance of that when I have a diner to run. I wish Mags was still here. I don’t feel comfortable leaving Abigail and Oscar in charge of the diner for too long. They’re hard working, but not always good with customers. Abigail gabbles on at times, and Oscar can be too gloomy.”
Once again the disagreement between Nick and Abigail and Oscar made Emma uncomfortable. But now was not the time to go into that. She had more important matters to see to first.
“Okay.” Emma reached for her tote bag. “I’ll go and see Martinez myself.”
In the end, she was left feeling rather deflated because Martinez was hardly bowled over by her news. Drowning in a blizzard of paperwork that he had counted on finishing during the so-called ‘quiet’ period between Christmas and New Year, he listened to her with one ear while simultaneously tapping on his keyboard.
“Did you hear what I said?” Emma was forced to ask when Martinez started to rifle through a stack of files on his desk.
He pulled out the pen clenched between his teeth and gave her a weary look. “Yeah, yeah. The John Doe was supposedly meeting someone who knew about his daughter. That about it?”
“He’s not a John Doe, he’s Kieran O’Reilly,” Emma protested.
Martinez held up a finger. “We don’t know that for sure yet. Not until the ME compares those dental records. And we’re not even sure if there’s enough for a good match.”
“When is that going to happen?”
“In due course. You know everything slows down at this time of year. If we can’t use the dental records, then we’ll have to rely on the DNA samples that Sherilee will be collecting in Santé Fe. And just a head’s up—DNA testing takes even longer.”
“Well, you’ve got to tell everyone to hurry up.” She couldn’t understand his lack of urgency. “This is Becky we’re talking about. I thought you were sweet on her. Don’t you want to help her?”
Immediately she knew she’d made a mistake referring to Martinez’s crush on Becky. His square face stiffened, and deep grooves appeared around his mouth.
“I’m doing the best I can,” he barked. He pushed to his feet, turned to a steel cabinet, and began filing his paperwork. Emma sat and waited, aware she shouldn’t speak. Eventually he slammed the filing cabinet shut and plopped himself back behind his desk. He rubbed his tired eyes before squinting at her. “Why didn’t you tell me everything about your houseguest in the first place?” he said in an accusing tone.
Now they had come to the tricky part.
“Her boyfriend’s been arrested, and she’s worried about a subpoena that might be issued for her.”
At the mention of a possible subpoena, Martinez raised an eyebrow but otherwise didn’t look very interested. “What’s her name?”
“Rowena Bertrand. She’s from New Jersey.”
The officer scribbled something on a notepad. “I’ll talk to her when I have the time. Anything else?”
“Yes,” Emma said after a moment’s hesitation. “This morning I was almost run down by a white van outside the diner
. I had to dive for cover, and my hands and knees got a good bruising.” She held up her injured palms. Earlier, she had swapped the mutilated jeans with a spare pair she kept in her office.
Martinez showed more interest in this than her previous statements. He questioned her on the exact time and any details she could remember, and wrote down a few notes.
“When I have time I’ll see if I can track down any security camera footage of this van,” he said. “We don’t tolerate dangerous driving in Greenville.”
He turned back to the computer, and she realized the interview was over. She rose to her feet. “Fine, but I think you should talk to Rowena soon. I have a feeling that’s important.” More important than the white van.
But Martinez’s attention was focused on the screen, and she wasn’t sure he’d even heard her.
***
The rest of the day passed in a whirl of preparations for the New Year’s Eve fundraiser. By the end, Emma was satisfied that everything was on track for the following night, and she was able to drive home tired but fulfilled. But as she drove up to her cottage, her headlights illuminated an unfamiliar vehicle parked near her front porch, and her hands curled apprehensively around the steering wheel. Who could this be?
As she pulled up next to the black SUV, a man stepped out of it, and her heart jolted.
Owen!
Her gaze darted to the darkened windows of the cottage. Oh, bother. Rowena must be hiding inside.
She slid out of her car. Owen loped toward her, a tender smile on his face.
Chapter Twelve
“Hey, honey.” Owen wrapped his arms around Emma. “Surprised?”
“You have no idea,” she muttered weakly.
He lowered his head to kiss her. She’d been dreaming of this moment, but now it had arrived, she couldn’t enjoy it. She wanted to tell Owen about Rowena, but on her own terms, not with Rowena present. Where was the woman anyway? She glanced over his shoulder, scanning the cottage for any signs of life.
As if sensing her distraction, Owen drew back with a slight frown. “Sweetheart? What’s up?”
“Uh, nothing. I’m just pleased to see you.” She looked more closely at him for the first time, noting his sturdy boots and thick sweater coupled with the three-day growth stippling his jaw. Her stomach fluttered. She’d missed him more than she’d realized, but her pleasure was tempered. “You should’ve called to let me know. I would’ve been here sooner.”
“I didn’t know I was getting some time off until a short while ago, and I can only spend a few hours with you. I have to get back by ten.”
“You can’t spend the night?”
He shook his head, and the disappointment bit deeper than she’d expected. “Afraid not. So we’d better make the most of the time, huh?” His brown eyes warmed as if he were picturing how to while away his precious few hours.
He laced his fingers through hers, tugging her toward the front door, and she couldn’t help wincing as his callused palm rubbed against her injured one. Like the observant law enforcement officer he was, he lifted both her hands and inspected the scrapes, concern showing on his face.
“How the hell did this happen?”
“It’s nothing,” Emma said. “I had a close shave with an incompetent driver this morning outside the diner and had to dive for safety. My knees came off the worst.” Having reported it to the police, she had gotten over the scare by now.
“Let’s get you inside,” Owen said. “I want to see your knees.”
“Is that just an excuse to get me out of my pants?” she teased him, wanting to delay him, reluctant to enter the cottage with Rowena there.
Chuckling, he plucked her keys out of her hand and opened the door. As soon as they were inside, he stopped short.
“Jeez, what happened here?”
The downstairs living room and kitchen were in the usual chaotic state she’d come to expect from Rowena. Bedcovers heaped on the couch, dirty mugs and plates everywhere, crumbs on the table. The fire was almost out, the gray ash piled high. There was no sign of Rowena. Emma glanced toward the ceiling, wondering if the woman was hiding upstairs.
“Er, I can explain.” But first she should find Rowena. “But I need to go upstairs for a minute. I’ll be back soon.”
She dashed upstairs. It took all of five seconds to ascertain that Rowena wasn’t there. She hurried back down and peered out the windows. Maybe Rowena had spotted Owen’s car approaching and run out into the woods to hide. How long had Owen been waiting outside?
Owen picked up an empty wine bottle and raised his eyebrows at Emma. “Had some company?” He knew she was an abstemious drinker, especially on her own.
Emma flushed, guilt spreading through her veins. She should’ve told Owen everything sooner. “Um, actually I have something to confess. I did have company…”
The bottle slipped from his grasp, clattering on the wooden floor. He stood very still, his eyes fixed on her, and it seemed he was having trouble breathing. “What—what are you saying?” He stopped to swallow.
Why did Owen look so distressed? And then it hit her what must be going through his mind.
“Oh!” She gasped. “It’s not what you’re thinking! It’s not another man!”
“No?” He cast a doubtful glance around the room, and she could tell what was going through his head—only a man would leave such a mess.
“It’s…” She took a breath. “It’s Rowena, my ex-business partner from my New York days. Rowena Bertrand.”
He didn’t say anything, but she could tell the cogs in his mind were spinning fast. Eventually he said, “Maybe you should tell me everything from the start.”
“Yes.” She motioned to the table, and they both sat. “From the start.”
She told him everything, and he listened without interruption, a neutral expression masking his true feelings.
“I’m sorry,” she said when she had come to the end of her story. “I should’ve told you as soon as Rowena arrived, but I didn’t because…well, I wanted to isolate her from my life here, and then when I found out she was avoiding a possible subpoena, I didn’t want to put you in a difficult position.”
Owen scratched his stubble, brooding at her across the table. “I don’t understand why you let her stay even one night. This is the woman who stole from you, left you in the lurch, and screwed up your career. All because she wanted to chase after her feral, no-good boyfriend. You don’t even owe her the time of day, let alone a place to hide.”
“I know all that, but…it’s the middle of winter and she was already in here, and I didn’t have the heart to kick her out.” She rubbed a finger along a scratch in her palm. “I suppose you think I’m a total sap.”
Reaching across the table, he gently took her hands in his, cradling them in his large palms. “No, I don’t. I guess I shouldn’t be all that surprised. You’re…” He seemed to struggle for words. “You’re you.”
She didn’t say anything, not sure if he was complimenting or criticizing her, but grateful that at least he was holding her hand for now.
“So now that you know about Rowena, what are you going to do about it? Are you going to report her to the authorities? I don’t know how this grand jury stuff works.”
Owen began scratching his jaw again, like he often did when he was thinking. “I’ll do a little digging first. No sense in rushing in unprepared.”
“To be honest, I regret letting her stay this long. She hasn’t truly apologized for what she did, and, as you can see, she’s the houseguest from hell.” Leaning back, she let her gaze wander over the chaotic scene. But then she sat up. Something wasn’t right.
“What’s wrong?” Owen asked. “You’ve noticed something?”
“It’s what I haven’t noticed that concerns me.” She jumped to her feet and hurried over to the couch where the bedcovers lay in a jumble. “Rowena usually has half her clothes scattered around here, but I can’t see any of them. And her duffel bag is missing.” Bending over,
she peered behind the armchair, but there was nothing there. “All her stuff is gone. She must’ve seen your car coming, thrown her things together, and run out of here into the woods.”
Owen crossed over and surveyed the area around the couch. “If she did, she must’ve moved like greased lightning because I didn’t notice a thing. When I pulled up, the lights were off and nothing was stirring. I doubt she could’ve grabbed everything and snuck out so quickly. And that fire is almost out. No one’s put a log on it for hours. I’d say Rowena left long before I showed up.”
Perplexed, Emma ran her fingers through her hair. “I don’t understand. Why would she do that?”
“Maybe she’s left you a note somewhere.”
They searched the living room and kitchen, but found no note. Emma dashed upstairs to check the bathroom and bedroom. There was nothing in any of the obvious places. Rowena had vanished as abruptly as she had appeared.
***
Emma spent the next hour complaining about Rowena and her lack of consideration while she tried to set her house to order. Owen let her vent her feelings while he quietly did most of the tidying. By the time she had calmed down, he had washed the dishes, swept the floor, wiped down tables and counters. He remade the fire, folded the bedcovers away, and then made scrambled eggs and coffee for both of them.
“You’re too good to me,” Emma murmured when he sat her at the pristine table and pushed a plate of hot, fragrant food toward her.
“Yeah, I know.” Taking the seat opposite her, he immediately dug into his meal. “Sorry if I’m rushing you,” he said between mouthfuls, “but I’ve got to get back on the road soon.”
Regret filled her. This should’ve been a sweet reunion for the two of them, but her blindness over Rowena had spoiled that, too.
“No, I’m sorry,” Emma said as she began to eat. “I shouldn’t have let Rowena take advantage of me yet again.”
“Stop worrying about it. She’s gone now, and that’s the main thing.”
The scrambled eggs were creamy and delicious. She tried to concentrate on her meal, but questions continued to tumble about in her mind.
In the Dead of Winter (an Emma Cassidy Mystery Book 5) Page 13