Pushed to the Limit (an Emma Cassidy Mystery Book 2)

by Karen Chester

  “I don’t mean to,” she said, trying to be diplomatic. With the mayor’s wife already disapproving of her, she didn’t need more enemies.

  “Maybe you just have a knack for trouble.” Councilman Bischoff’s eyes never left hers, and she had to suppress a shudder of distaste. How could he leer at her not just in front of his colleagues but his wife, too? Ellen Bischoff sat next to her husband with a faraway look on her face, making no attempt to follow the conversation, and seeming to take no exception with her husband’s behavior. Everything about Mrs. Bischoff seemed a little blurred, from her protruding, unfocused eyes and fluffy brown hair, to her pastel chiffon dress that billowed about her milky white arms.

  Emma pasted a smile on her lips. “I hope you’re enjoying the food,” she said to the table in general.

  Richard and the mayor made a few platitudes, but Helen Wylie was glaring at someone over Emma’s shoulder.

  “Good evening everyone,” Faye Seymour trilled, nodding and smiling. “Richard, lovely party, and Helen, you must be thrilled. Now that Richard’s retired, he’ll be with you all day, every day. What’s that saying about a retired husband being a wife’s full-time job? Hee-hee. I’m only joking, of course. Mayor Benson, I hope your new crown is settling in—yes, I saw you come out of the dentist, and I know a few people have had problems with Doctor Oaks. Mrs. Benson, did you enjoy your stay at the Bedrock Hot Springs Resort? They say the mineral waters there are so good for detoxification.”

  She paused, clearly enjoying the attention she was receiving from the table. Helen was staring daggers at her; the mayor was prodding his cheek worriedly; while Monica Benson had an expression of pure loathing on her face. What did Faye mean by detoxification, Emma wondered? Could she be hinting that the mayor’s wife had a problem with alcohol?

  Emma cleared her throat, eager to cut Faye off before she caused more mayhem. “Faye, did you try the shrimp? It’s one of—”

  The woman ignored her, undeterred by the stiff faces at the table, and turned her attention to Councilman Bischoff’s wife. “It’s Ellen, isn’t it?” Her lips stretched into a brash smile. “Ellen and Kenneth. As I recall, you two have been married for a long time.”

  For the first time Ellen Bischoff appeared to surface from her dreamlike state and blinked several times at Faye. “Oh, yes,” she twittered. “Ken and I were high school sweethearts.” She cast a vague smile in her husband’s direction. “We’ve been together ever since.”

  “So romantic.” Faye simpered before she caught Emma’s eye. “There’s something special about high school sweethearts, don’t you think, dear?”

  It cost Emma a great deal not to scowl at the woman. She knew exactly what Faye was referring to. Emma and her high school sweetheart had fallen hard for each other, but they’d envisaged diametrically opposite futures after high school, and neither had been willing to compromise. They’d broken up just before graduation, and ever since then she’d suffered periodic twinges of regret. Not that she’d admit that to anyone, let alone Faye.

  Determined not to let Faye ruin the party, she gripped Faye’s elbow, saying sweetly, “I really think you should come and try the shrimp. Let me help you.”

  “I don’t want any shrimp.” Faye wiggled her arm, but Emma held firm. Shrugging in defeat, Faye twisted her head in Kenneth Bischoff’s direction. “You’re very lucky to have a lovely wife like Ellen.”

  Kenneth finally seemed to notice his wife and slung a casual arm around her shoulders. “Yes, I’m very lucky.” His drawl was as oily as before, but as he looked away, Emma caught a glimpse of anger in his cold black eyes.

  She had no time to speculate as she steered Faye away from the table. When they were well away, she loosened her hold on Faye’s elbow.

  “Honestly, I don’t know what’s got into you.” Faye huffed as she flexed her arm.

  Emma almost rolled her eyes. The woman was a walking, talking time bomb. What was up with her? She seemed determined to prick everyone’s cheerfulness with her malicious tongue.

  “There seemed to be a bit of tension at the table.” Emma reached for her best diplomacy, though she had no need to keep on Faye’s good side.

  Faye snorted derisively. “A bit of tension? Yes, you could say that. Especially for Councilman Bischoff.” She wagged a finger then tapped her nose conspiratorially. “But I’m not naming any names.”

  No, she was only throwing out hints like hand grenades. Emma gestured at the laden buffet table. “Have you eaten anything yet?” At least food might occupy her mouth and give her less opportunity for gossip.

  Faye ignored her question. She patted her left shoulder. “You know I was injured outside this restaurant a few months back?”

  While she was spying on Alvin with the intention of getting him into trouble. Emma made a non committal murmur.

  “Alvin was doing some remodeling to his restaurant without a proper permit,” Faye continued. “There was timber and rubble all over the place! If he’d done things properly and kept the area clear, I wouldn’t have injured my shoulder. It’s all his fault.”

  “Alvin’s had a tough year,” Emma said, nudging Faye to the stack of clean dinner plates. “I’m sure he was doing the best he could.”

  “But this restaurant is always busy on weekends, plus he does catering, too. He should be doing well.”

  There was some truth in that, Emma had to admit. Tucker’s Bistro was popular with locals and visitors, and Alvin had a good reputation as a caterer. He shouldn’t be in financial difficulties.

  “Alvin has been cutting corners,” Faye declared in her loud, impervious voice. “You should have seen the mess out the back a few months ago. Perfect breeding grounds for vermin, if you ask me.”

  A prim, elderly lady standing nearby looked askance at them, frowned at the food on the buffet, then put down her plate and walked away.

  Emma heaved a sigh. “You shouldn’t spread rumors like that, Faye. You could seriously damage Alvin’s business.”

  “I have proof.” Faye jabbed a finger at her. “I bought one of those new fandangle cell phones and the boy in the store showed me how to take photos. I have pictures of Alvin’s yard. Do you want to see them?” She was already reaching for her purse which was slung over her purportedly injured shoulder.

  “No, that’s quite all right,” Emma said quickly. “But I’m sure Alvin’s construction mess was only temporary. It must be all gone by now.” She certainly hoped so. Alvin didn’t need more trouble.

  “Yes, it is. I checked the yard when I got here tonight.” Faye’s mouth pulled down at the corners. She seemed almost disappointed that there’d been no piles of building rubble to photograph.

  “Well, then.” Emma picked up a plate and thrust it into the other woman’s hands. “You can eat without fear. If you don’t want the shrimp, why don’t you try some ham—”

  But Faye had already set down the empty plate and turned toward a man approaching the buffet. “Ah, Walt. Walt Donegan. Just the man I wanted to see.”

  The beefy man with heavy jowls and a spreading midriff, froze in his tracks, a look of desperation gripping him. “Uh, Faye, I don’t…” He took a step backward, but it was too late.

  Faye closed in on her prey. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you all week. Why haven’t you returned my calls?”

  Walt was far taller and heavier than Faye, but under her scrutiny he wilted like a petal in the desert. “I’ve been kinda busy, you know.”

  He glanced at Emma as if asking for help, but Faye was fixed on him like a guided missile locked onto its target, and she doubted she could be of any assistance.

  “Too busy to do your job?” Faye harangued. “You are the town manager, aren’t you? That means you’re hired to manage problems, and I have a big problem with Tom. You do know who I’m talking about, don’t you?”

  Walt, the town manager, wiped his upper lip. “Yes, Tom Kovacs, your neighbor. Is he giving you trouble again? I’m so sorry.”

  “No,
you’re not,” Faye snapped. “Or you’d do something about it. His house is a disgrace, his yard is a fire hazard, and his dog is a nuisance.”

  “Oh dear, that’s terrible.” Walt had backed up against the buffet, and there was no escape for him. “I’ll, uh, send someone out to have a talk with him.”

  “Talk?” Faye harrumphed. “You can’t talk sense into someone like Tom. The man’s a few sandwiches short of a picnic. He steals peaches from my garden, which is outrageous in itself, but my fruit aren’t even ripe yet! That’s how batty Tom is. The last time you sent someone to talk with him, nothing happened. He didn’t fix his house or clean up his yard, and his dog’s barking is just as bad.” Pursing her lips, she wagged her finger at the cornered man. “I’ve been telling the council to do something about him for years, and nothing’s happened. I’m tired of being ignored. So what are you going to do this time, Walt? Hmm? What?”

  Walt did what any desperate man would do—he stuck his elbow into a bowl of chili and lifted his arm to show the red stain. “Oh, darn it. Will you look at that? I’ll have to clean this off right away.” He edged past the women and took off in the direction of the restroom.

  Emma had a feeling they wouldn’t be seeing Walt again anytime soon.

  As Emma watched Faye walk off, a resigned sigh came from behind her. She turned to see Lorraine Atkins, Faye’s sister. Lorraine was short and comfortably plump with faded blue eyes and a gentle smile. Tonight her mop of gray curls was caught up in a neat updo, and strings of beaded necklaces tinkled against her purple-and-white tie-dyed caftan. She had taught Emma art in high school, but was now retired.

  “I see my sister is on the rampage tonight,” Lorraine said. “Poor Richard. He doesn’t deserve to have his retirement party hijacked by my interfering sister.”

  Emma cleared her throat. “I thought perhaps she needed some food to, uh, calm her down.”

  “She’s in her element here. A large crowd always loosens her tongue. Not that my sister’s tongue needs any further loosening.” An acid note had crept into Lorraine’s voice.

  “Maybe you could talk to her?” Emma asked hopefully.

  Lorraine pressed her lips together as she eyed Emma thoughtfully. “Do you know, all my life I’ve had to live with Faye and tried to make excuses for her. But I’ve finally reached a stage in my life where I don’t have to do things I don’t want to. And frankly I don’t want to run after Faye and try to shush her up. I’m tired of doing that. Let her go ahead and dig her own grave.”

  Emma started. “Dig her own grave?”

  “It’s just an expression.” Lorraine gazed after her sister. “But Faye should take care. One of these days that runaway mouth of hers is going to get her into serious trouble.”

  Chapter Three

  “Those earrings look pretty on you.”

  The man’s words, spoken in a low murmur, reached Emma’s ears from the other side of the door. She was in the restroom and about to exit when she overheard the man who was clearly talking to someone just outside. She backed away, reluctant to eavesdrop on what might be an intimate conversation, but not before the man’s companion replied.

  “Oh, er, thanks, Greg, but you really shouldn’t be saying things like that.” Even through the door, Stacey’s discomfited voice was recognizable.

  “Why not? It’s the truth.”

  Stacey spluttered. “I, uh, really need the restroom. Sorry.”

  Emma barely had time to move away before the door to the restroom swung open and Stacey tumbled in, looking flustered. The secretary came to a halt when she spotted Emma.

  Emma smiled at her. “I couldn’t help overhearing. Sounds like you’ve got quite an admirer there.”

  Stacey’s already flushed cheeks grew even redder. “It’s not what you think.”

  “Hey, I’m not thinking anything. Is he nice, though?”

  Stacey bit her lip. “Yes, he is,” she murmured, pushing up her glasses. The softness in her eyes and the blush in her cheeks made her look ten years younger. “Greg Foster is one of the engineers in the department.”

  “Are you two dating then?”

  “No!” Some of the color ebbed from Stacey’s cheeks. “Of course not.”

  “No? It sounded as if he’d like to.”

  Stacey shook her head. “I can’t date him.”

  “Why not? Is he married or something?”

  The blood drained from Stacey’s face. “N-no,” she stuttered before turning away and diving into the nearest stall.

  Darn it. Emma rubbed her forehead. She liked Stacy and hadn’t meant to upset her. Since Emma had returned to Greenville, she’d been so busy establishing her new business that she’d had little time for socializing. Plus, she’d discovered it wasn’t so easy slotting back into her previous life. Several of her old friends were married with children and had totally different priorities these days. Others had moved away to bigger cities and better jobs, like her best friend from high school, who was now a highly paid software engineer in Silicone Valley. So Emma was glad to have met Stacey and hoped they’d become close friends. But now she’d inadvertently put her foot in it.

  After a couple of minutes, the toilet flushed and Stacey came out of the stall.

  “Stacey, I’m sorry,” Emma said at once. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I was just interested in you and Greg, that’s all.”

  The other woman waved a hand in apology. “No, it’s not your fault. It’s me. I’m over-sensitive when it comes to men.” She moved to the basin and began to wash her hands.

  “Yeah, dating is complicated,” Emma replied. She should know. Her track record with men wasn’t that great. When she’d returned to Greenville, she’d soon bumped into her old high school boyfriend, Owen Fletcher, who was now a deputy with the sheriff’s department, and that had revived some uncomfortably deep feelings she hadn’t been prepared for. But so far their encounters had been fraught to say the least. He’d disapproved of her trying to clear a friend’s name and seemed to think she was a ditz with an over-active imagination. They were not destined for a romantic reunion, but still she couldn’t wipe him from her mind.

  “I’m not looking to date anyone,” Stacey stated as she dried her hands under the blower. “I’m happy with my life the way it is.” She took a deep breath and in a different note added, “Are you still collecting donations for tomorrow’s community yard sale?”

  In an effort to network more, Emma had recently joined the local business council. The Rotary Club was organizing a big community yard sale which would take place tomorrow at the county fairgrounds, and Emma had volunteered to man a stall for the business council. Members had donated items, and all proceeds would go back into the organization, whose aim was to promote local businesses.

  “Yes,” Emma replied, aware that Stacey wished to change the subject.

  “Do you need more donations?” Stacey asked. “Because I have some things that I’ve been meaning to give away but haven’t got around to yet. It’s all good stuff, some pieces of jewelry and other things.”

  “I can always do with quality donations, but are you sure about giving away jewelry?”

  “Yes. I’m trying to streamline my life. Get rid of the deadwood.” Stacey pressed her lips together. “Everything’s boxed up. I meant to drive it to your office today, but my car’s been acting up lately. I caught a cab here tonight.”

  “Oh, that’s too bad. Why don’t I give you a ride home after the party?”

  Stacey blinked in surprise. “Thanks. I’d appreciate that.”

  Emma gestured toward the door. “Come on. I think they’re about to bring out the big chocolate cake. We don’t want to miss a piece of that.”

  “Chocolate cake. Who could say no to that?” Stacey smiled, but a shadow of anxiety lingered in the corners of her eyes.

  ***

  The party was winding down. The speeches had been made, the cake had been cut, and Richard had been presented with an expensive wristwatch engraved with his n
ame and his years of service. Most of the guests had already left, and the staff were busy clearing the tables. Emma walked around the restaurant looking for any forgotten property. It always amazed her how many possessions were left behind at parties. Tonight she scored an umbrella, a cell phone, a large diamante brooch, and a pair of glasses. She hauled out the Lost Property box from behind the front desk.

  Bettina, Alvin Tucker’s wife, was flicking through some bills at the desk. She glanced at the contents of the box and sighed. “Some of these things have been in there for months. Like this.” She picked up a pashmina shawl. “Why don’t you take it for the yard sale tomorrow?”

  “Are you sure?” Emma asked.

  “No one’s come to claim it in six months. I think it’s safe to give away. And you’re manning the business council stall, aren’t you?”

  “That’s right.”

  Bettina pushed the shawl into Emma’s hands. “Take it. You’ll be doing me a favor.” She glanced up as one of the last guests made for the exit. “Goodnight, Faye. Hope you enjoyed the party.”

  “Well, the company wasn’t bad,” Faye replied before sauntering out.

  Shaking her head, Bettina gave a small chuckle. “That Faye. Always having a dig at our food. I can’t take her seriously, though.”

  Emma remained silent, wondering what Bettina would say if she knew that Faye was threatening to sue the restaurant. Alvin had sworn her to secrecy, but how long could he hide this from his wife? Maybe he was hoping to somehow dissuade Faye before Bettina got wind of the situation. But Faye didn’t seem open to persuasion.

  Across the room, Stacey stood by the windows, a solemn expression on her face, and Emma wondered if she was thinking about Greg Foster, the man who had complimented her. Upon leaving the restroom, Emma had made a point of examining this Greg Foster, and her first impressions were favorable. The engineer was under forty, a slim man with trim reddish hair and beard, neatly dressed in slacks and an oxford shirt. He was attentive toward Stacey without being presumptuous, and her reticence didn’t seem to put him off.