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

by Karen Chester

  “I’ve got everything you asked for from her house.” Emma lifted up the duffel bag she’d carried inside. “And I managed to feed the parrot and clean the cage.”

  “Wonderful.” Lorraine nodded, distracted as she hunted for something else on the kitchen counter. “Hope the bird didn’t give you any trouble.”

  “No, not really.” No need to bother Lorraine with unimportant details when she was clearly flustered.

  “I can’t find my car keys.” Lorraine puffed out a breath that lifted her gray bangs. “Probably my subconscious telling me that I don’t really want to see Faye.” She paused to give Emma a self-deprecating smile. “Sounds terrible, doesn’t it? Not wanting to visit my own sister in hospital, but it’s true. Faye has caused so much damage. Including my marriage. She’s the reason my husband and I divorced.”

  “Oh. Um. I’m sorry.” Well, this was awkward. Emma didn’t know where to look.

  Sighing, Lorraine propped her elbows on the kitchen counter, her eyes taking on a faraway look. “Taylor was such a kind, generous man and an incredibly talented artist. But he had his demons too, like many artists. Before we met, he’d had a serious drinking problem, but he’d overcome that. He’d been sober for years. But Faye was always making snide comments about his weakness. Bit by bit, she chipped away at his confidence. Then we hit a few financial hiccups, and Taylor became frustrated with his work. Faye leaped at every chance to point out I’d made a mistake marrying him. We tried to avoid her, but she was always spreading rumors about him. Eventually, Taylor broke down and had a drink, which turned into several drinks, and a drunk-driving charge. He was devastated. Wouldn’t talk to me at all. And then one day he just left me.” Lorraine stood, stiffening with old resentment. “I know it’s not the whole story, but he wouldn’t have fallen off the wagon if it hadn’t been for Faye. She never passed up an opportunity to kick him, even when he was down.”

  Emma nodded sympathetically. “It must have been hard for you, staying in the same town as Faye. Did you ever think of moving somewhere else?”

  “Why should I?” Lorraine tossed her head. “I like it here. Faye should be the one who moves.”

  A concept that was highly unlikely, and they both knew it.

  “Sorry for blurting all that out,” Lorraine said as she resumed her search for her car keys.

  “That’s okay. You’d be surprised how much I hear as an event planner.”

  “I can imagine. Ah, there they are.” She plucked out a set of car keys from a fruit bowl piled with pine cones. “I guess this means I should go see Faye.” She glanced down at her soiled clothes and pulled a face. “And I should change, too. Gosh, Faye’s fall couldn’t have happened at a worse time. I’m preparing for an exhibition with all my old art college friends in Sacramento next week. I believe Taylor will be there, too. It’ll be good to see him again after all these years.” She moved forward and took the duffel bag from Emma. “Thank you once again, my dear. I really appreciate it.”

  “No problem,” Emma replied.

  On the way home, her thoughts were filled with Lorraine and her marriage breakup. Even after all these years, it was evident that Lorraine still missed her ex-husband. The upcoming reunion with her friends and the possibility of seeing Taylor again must be forefront in her mind, reminding her of her divorce and the part that Faye had played. Was the pain raw enough that Lorraine might have finally given in to her urges and pushed Faye down those stairs? Maybe part of the reason why she seemed so agitated was because of the guilt. After all, a person would have to be a psychopath to attempt to kill an annoying sister and not feel any remorse.

  ***

  As the beeping alarm dragged her from her dreams, Emma groaned and wondered why she’d thought waking up early on a Monday morning to go to gym was a good idea. Surely there were easier ways of getting exercise? Then she remembered that Wesley was taking the body attack class, and that made it a little easier to get out of bed.

  She wrestled herself into a sports bra, tank top, and three-quarter length leggings. The mirror showed an unflattering view of the extra pounds padding her waist. Love handles, they were euphemistically called. She wouldn’t mind them so much if there was some “love handling” going on in her life. Her father was barely awake when she called out goodbye to him, grabbed her water bottle and towel, and headed for the door.

  The parking lot outside the Ultimate Fitness Center was half-filled with early morning customers arriving for classes before work. As she filed in behind a toned blonde woman with rock-hard thighs, Emma sucked in her waist and pulled the towel closer to her, hoping to disguise her lack of fitness. She’d just found a spot at the back of the exercise room when Wesley came in, bouncing on his toes and exuding an indecent amount of energy.

  “Hey, everyone!” His whitened teeth gleamed in his megawatt smile.

  “Hey, Wesley,” several people replied.

  The trainer cupped a hand behind his ear. “What’s that? I can’t hear you.”

  “Hey, Wesley!” the class chorused back more loudly.

  He wasted no time in putting on some thumping music and getting the class started. After ten minutes, Emma was gasping, red in the face, and wondering if she would make it to the end of the session or be carried out on a stretcher. Everyone else around her appeared to be keeping up with the routine, legs and arms pumping, ponytails swinging. Some of the women even wore makeup that seemed impervious to sweat. Emma had just wiped her pouring brow for the hundredth time when Wesley approached her, still bouncing on his feet in time to the beat.

  “Hey, Emma. Howya doing there?”

  Oh, he knew her name. She forced her aching knees to lift a little higher as she jogged on the spot. “Not…bad” she wheezed out.

  Wesley had barely broken a sweat. His tank top was still crisp, his short blonde hair dry. “It’s okay to take things slower when you’re just starting out.”

  “I’m…fine.” Her lungs were on fire, and her legs felt like they were about to drop off, but other than that she was fine.

  He grinned at her. “Yeah, I’m sure you are, but take it easy, will you? I want you to come back, y’know.”

  “You’re right.” She nodded and eased up, realizing how silly it was to overdo it. Getting fit and slimming down was a slow process; you couldn’t do it in a couple of days, unfortunately.

  Up close, the instructor had an interesting, well-worn face, with a faint scar running down one side and a slight dent in his nose that indicated it had once been broken. Had he been in the odd bar room brawl? Maybe Wesley wasn’t a squeaky clean fitness fanatic, and she wondered about his past. He might be ex-army, she mused; there was an air of cool efficiency about him.

  “Great!” With a final flash of his pearlies, Wesley sprang away from her to resume his spot at the front of the class.

  The woman next to Emma grinned at her. “Hey, looks like Wesley’s got a thing for you.” She was a reed-slim twenty-something-year-old with a friendly smile and Bambi-like arms and legs.

  “Pshh.” Emma gave a self-deprecating wave. “He can tell I need lots of motivation.”

  By the end of the class, Emma’s thighs felt like jelly, and her hair had come loose from its ponytail and was stuck disgustingly to her wet neck. She towel-dried herself as best she could, but her pores continued to leak like a sieve. Would she ever stop sweating? Most of the other participants had already left the exercise room. She gathered her empty water bottle and damp towel, and hobbled toward the exit.

  “Hey, Emma. You did real good today,” Wesley said at the door.

  “If by that you mean I managed not to collapse, then yeah, I suppose so.”

  “Everyone has to start somewhere.”

  “And I have a long way to go,” she said.

  His gaze flickered over her, assessing her in a frank, male fashion. “I disagree. You look pretty good already, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

  Once upon a time, if a handsome guy had talked to her like this, s
he would’ve been flattered and maybe made a goose of herself. But she wasn’t naïve anymore; she knew appearances could be misleading, and there was no danger of her losing her head over Wesley’s casual compliment.

  She laughed lightly. “Aren’t you sweet? I bet you say that to all your clients.”

  “No.” He blinked, and a faint flush rose in his cheeks. “Uh, sorry if I offended you.”

  She hadn’t expected the blush, and she hadn’t intended to embarrass him, either. “Oh. No, I’m not.” She hesitated. “So I’ll see you on Wednesday?”

  “Yeah, sure.” He smiled again, seemingly relieved. “Let me walk you out.”

  They strolled toward the reception area. They were passing the weights room when a man and woman came out, laughing and chatting to each other. Sherilee and Owen, both in tight-fitting gym clothes and looking like they belonged in a TV commercial.

  Owen stopped short, his expression freezing as his gaze swung between Emma and Wesley. “Hi,” he said to her.

  It hadn’t escaped her notice how quickly his smile had disappeared when he’d spotted her. “Hello,” she said evenly to the both of them. “Enjoy your workout?”

  “Yes, we did.” Sherilee’s cool face gave nothing away. Of course she had to look fresh as a daisy after her weights session. No sweaty clothes or messy hair for Officer Ackerman, especially when she was with Owen. Since Emma’s return to Greenville, she’d become aware that Sherilee had a soft spot for Owen, and that didn’t sit comfortably with her—her childhood nemesis getting together with her high school sweetheart? Of course she didn’t like the idea. She hadn’t been able to fathom out Owen’s feelings about Sherilee, but seeing as they were doing early morning gym sessions together, she had to conclude that they were become close. And that made her stomach cramp up, even though it was none of her business.

  She pasted a big smile on her lips. “I had a great session with Wesley myself.” She patted the trainer’s muscle-bound arm and continued moving. “See you later.”

  She said goodbye to Wesley and left the gym. As she drove home, she reviewed her actions and let out a groan. Fake smiles and patting Wesley? What was she thinking? She had no intention of using the fitness instructor to make Owen jealous. So why had she done it?

  She had to put the blame on her subconscious because deep down she knew she still had a “thing” for Owen. Whenever she bumped into him, even if he was with Sherilee, her heart did an involuntary little jump of joy. They might have broken up years ago, she might have moved away and lived a full and varied life, but she couldn’t deny he still had a hold over her—even though she wasn’t ready for another relationship.

  But Owen preferred Sherilee now. If they were doing an early morning gym session, then maybe they had spent the night together. The knot in her stomach grew bigger. Now that, she did not want to think about.

  Chapter Eleven

  After a quick stop at home to shower and change, Emma headed for Greenville’s town center, where her office was situated on the second story of a sweet wooden Victorian house. The lower level was occupied by Lulu’s Salon, where Caitlyn, her part-time receptionist, worked as a manicurist. Emma let out a sigh of satisfaction as she entered her office. She loved the small but airy room with its lace balcony and its views of Main Street and Shamrock Lake just beyond the rooftops. For the first time in her life she was the sole owner of her business, mistress of her own destiny. If she worked hard enough, she could make it succeed.

  She opened her mail and read her emails. There were no new bills in the mail, thank goodness, and she had two emails confirming events in the near future, a family reunion and a company party. They were both good, lucrative jobs, and the healthy satisfaction she felt almost eclipsed the dejection that persisted after seeing Owen and Sherilee together.

  Her business was growing. In fact, her next event was the annual Greenville summer country music night this coming Friday. She had won the contract despite some grumblings from the mayor’s wife. She had worked hard getting every detail right, and she hoped that on the night everyone, including Henry and Monica Benson, would see how capable she was.

  After dealing with the mail, she reviewed the retirement party from the past Friday and noted what had gone well and what could be improved. After each event she organized, she liked to debrief herself with the aim of improving her service. She recalled Alvin Tucker’s money problems and his embarrassed request to be paid as soon as possible. She’d have to speak to the engineering department at the town council, since the retirement party had come out of their budget.

  She called Stacey and related Alvin’s request to her. Stacey, always helpful, said it wouldn’t be a problem and she’d get the check cut within a few days. Emma thanked her, and they chatted some more about the party. She’d been thinking about Stacey and the revelation of her abusive husband—thankfully now an ex-husband—but there was no way she’d bring up the subject. However, she could mention the break-in.

  “I hope you didn’t have any more trouble at home,” Emma said.

  “No, it was just the once, thank heaven.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t call you sooner.” Emma went on to tell Stacey what had happened to Faye.

  “Oh, my goodness! That’s terrible. I hope she’ll recover soon.” Stacey sounded genuinely shocked.

  “Yes, I hear the operation on her ankle went well.” Yesterday afternoon Emma had received a text message from Lorraine updating her on Faye’s progress.

  “Poor Faye. What bad luck.”

  “I had to go over to her house and collect a few things and feed her parrot,” Emma said. She inspected her arm where Pepper’s beak had gouged her, but any trace had vanished. “The bird bit me.” A bubbling noise came from the other end, and Emma realized that Stacey was giggling. “It really hurt. And the parrot pooped on the dining table.”

  A gale of laughter burst out from the phone. “Ha-ha-ha. I don’t know why, but the thought of you and the pooping parrot tickles me.”

  Emma couldn’t help chuckling. “Yeah, I guess it’s funny when it happens to someone else.”

  “You’ll have to tell me everything when we have more time.”

  “I’m meeting Becky for dinner tomorrow night. Why don’t you come too?”

  Stacey hesitated. “Are you sure Becky wouldn’t mind? I don’t know her as well as you do.”

  “Becky will be fine with it,” Emma said with conviction.

  “In that case I’d love to come, but…”

  “But what?”

  Stacey’s voice grew tentative. “Would you mind if I brought Jackie with me? I know it’s a cheek to ask, but she’s been acting a bit strangely, and I feel responsible for her. I wouldn’t feel right leaving her alone while I went out and enjoyed myself.”

  Stacey was such a nice person. Not content with giving Jackie shelter from an abusive relationship, she seemed to have decided to be both her protector and therapist. Emma only hoped Stacey wasn’t taking too much upon herself.

  “Sure, bring her with you,” Emma said.

  Becky might not be impressed that their plans had altered, but they could always have their intimate, gossipy dinner some other time. Stacey was a likeable woman, and Emma wanted them to be friends. Jackie, she wasn’t so sure about; there was something slightly furtive about her. But that made Emma feel mean, and she decided to be as pleasant as possible to Jackie the next time they met.

  “We’re meeting at seven at the Shore Thing Bar and Grill.”

  “Sounds great. We’ll see you there.”

  ***

  An hour later, Emma was heading downstairs to grab a coffee from Becky’s Diner when she spotted Caitlyn at the door of the salon saying goodbye to a customer. The client had her back to Emma, but there was something vaguely familiar about her fluffy fawn-brown hair and pale arms. Clothed in a floral chiffon dress, she stalked away with a jerky gait to a shiny white Lexus parked at the curb.

  “I feel like I’ve seen her before,” Emma
said to Caitlyn as the Lexus pulled out, bunny-hopped a couple of times, then sped off down Main Street.

  “It’s Ellen Bischoff.” Caitlyn flicked her fingers through her hair which was streaked with deep purple to match her nails. Emma’s young receptionist was a bower bird when it came to color, and today sported a mauve skirt, cranberry shirt, and a short, sleeveless lavender waistcoat. “She came in for her weekly manicure.”

  “Ellen Bischoff? Councilman Kenneth Bischoff’s wife?” She should have recognized her from Friday night’s party.

  “He’s a councilman? I didn’t know that. All I know is that he’s a jerk to his poor wife.” Caitlyn’s youthful face darkened. “He cheats on her and lies about it all the time.”

  A recollection of that damning photo of Bischoff and his mistress flashed through Emma’s mind. “So Ellen knows about his affairs?”

  “Uh-huh. You should’ve seen her nails when she came in. All ragged and chewed to bits. She doesn’t usually talk about her husband, but today it was like she couldn’t hold back.”

  At the retirement party Ellen had appeared vague and almost spaced out, but it seemed there were some things she couldn’t miss, like her husband’s philandering.

  “Ellen’s usually such a softie,” Caitlyn continued, “She looks like she wouldn’t say boo to a goose. But she’s had enough. She told Kenneth if she caught him cheating again, she was going to divorce him.”

  “Oh? When did this all happen?”

  “I’m not sure.” Caitlyn wrinkled her nose. “Maybe a week ago when she heard some rumors? Anyway, apparently her husband was quite shocked because usually he buys her flowers or jewelry and weasels his way back in with her, but this time it’s different. She’s taking a stand, and if she did dump his sorry ass, he’d be in a lot of trouble. Ellen has all the money, you see, through a family trust fund, whereas he has nothing but a pile of debts. He can’t afford a divorce.”