“Hey, Jason,” she called out in greeting as she got out of her car and strolled toward him.
“Yo,” he muttered, working his rag slowly over the W in ‘cow’.
“So I guess you went to the police, then?” she asked when it became clear he wasn’t going to volunteer any information.
“Guess so.” He dropped the rag in the bucket of foamy solution, tipped back his baseball cap, and kneaded the small of his back as if he’d been laboring for hours.
“Well?” Emma was determined not to let his sullenness get the better of her. “What happened?”
Jason’s shoulders drooped. “The sarge agreed not to charge me if I cleaned up the graffiti and did some other community work.”
“That’s good, isn’t it?”
“S’ppose.” Picking up the rag, he continued his listless swabbing.
Emma returned to her car to fetch her things. Besides her duffel bag of clothes and toiletries, she had also brought her laptop and a couple of bags of basic foodstuffs, thinking that she wouldn’t feel comfortable digging into Faye’s supplies. She carted her duffel bag and laptop into the house and was returning to the car for the food when a cyclist slowly pedaling past drew her surprised attention.
“Hi, Jackie.” She waved to get the cyclist’s attention. Jackie’s eyes widened, and her bike wobbled before she brought it to a stumbling halt, narrowly missing Faye’s mailbox.
“Um, hi,” Jackie said, her gaze darting from Emma to the house. “Is this where you live?”
“No.” Emma laughed. “This is Faye Seymour’s place. I’m house-sitting for her while she’s in hospital.”
Jackie nodded slowly. “Oh, yeah. The old lady who had that fall.”
She swung herself awkwardly off the bicycle and wiped the back of her hand across her brow. The bike looked old and rusty and difficult to maneuver. Jackie was dressed in denim jeans rolled up at the ankle, black sneakers, and a black T-shirt. It was hot out; not a pleasant day for cycling, Emma would have thought.
“Is that bike Stacey’s?” Emma couldn’t help asking.
“She said I could borrow it,” Jackie said a little defensively. “Apparently it was already in the house when she moved in.”
“Oh, yeah, I’m sure it’s good exercise,” Emma replied, wondering if she’d offended her. She wanted to like Jackie, yet the woman didn’t appear to warm to her as she had toward Stacey. Maybe I’m too abrasive, Emma thought.
But then Jackie surprised her by nodding at the open trunk of Emma’s car and saying, “Need any help with that?”
After a moment’s hesitation, Emma replied, “Sure, that’d be great.”
Emma handed her one of the bags of food, grabbed the other one, and shut her car. She led the way into the house and through to the kitchen where she dumped her bag on the table. Jackie followed suit, looking around her with frank curiosity.
“Nice place,” Jackie said, running her hand over one of the counters.
“Uh-huh,” Emma politely agreed though privately Faye’s house didn’t do anything for her. “Come and meet Pepper.”
She moved to the dining room with Jackie following behind, and showed her the parrot. Unfortunately, Jackie didn’t appear too impressed by the parrot even when he greeted them with a raucous “Good afternoon!” Jackie seemed more interested in the furnishings. She ambled around the room, drifting her fingers over the table, chairs, and cabinets, her eyes wide and curiously avid. She looked, Emma thought, like an auctioneer mentally valuing each piece of furniture. How weird.
“Oh, I like this Tiffany lamp,” Jackie said, stroking the ornate, red-and –blue lamp sitting on a sideboard. She moved on and stopped in front of a glass-fronted display cabinet filled with Faye’s collection of porcelain and other knick-knacks. “So pretty,” she murmured. Bending, she peered more closely at the pieces. She studied them for a few moments, then shook her head and turned around. When she caught Emma’s eye, she seemed to realize how odd her behavior looked, and gave a self-deprecating shrug. “I, er, I used to collect china myself.” Her small white teeth worried her bottom lip. “Before I…had to leave.”
Her voice faltered, and guilt twinged in Emma. “I’m sorry. It must have been difficult to leave everything behind.”
“Not that difficult.” Jackie shrugged. “But sometimes I miss the pretty things I used to own.”
“Maybe you can start a new collection.” Emma didn’t quite know what to say; didn’t know if she was being horribly insensitive or cloyingly upbeat. “Once your life is settled, of course,” she added, not knowing anything of Jackie’s circumstances and reluctant to pry.
Jackie let out a protracted sigh as if the prospect of a settled life was a long way off. “One day, perhaps.” She glanced back at Emma. “I was wondering…maybe…no, it’s too much to ask.”
“Ask what?”
Jackie shook her head. “Doesn’t matter.”
“Please, I’d like to help if I can.”
“Well…” Jackie shifted from one foot to the other, her expression doubtful. “I was wondering if maybe I could house-sit here for you. You must be real busy at work, and you probably don’t have time for this—” She fluttered a hand around her to indicate the house. “Whereas I’m not that occupied at the moment, and it would give me real pleasure to look after this house.” She glanced about the room again, a hint of possessiveness in her expression as if she were already picturing herself living here.
For a few moments Emma was too startled to speak. Of all the things Jackie could have asked her, this was the least expected. Her initial instinct was to grab Jackie’s hand and say “Oh, yes, please!” But hadn’t Jackie labeled Faye a ‘cow’ and a ‘busybody’ at the yard sale? Why would she offer to housesit? And besides, Faye would most definitely not like a stranger living in her house. The old woman might be annoying and interfering, but she had asked Emma to look after her house, and Emma couldn’t delegate this duty to someone she barely knew.
“That’s very kind of you to offer,” Emma said in an apologetic tone, “and I would love to accept, but I’m afraid I can’t.”
“Oh.” Jackie glanced away, but not before Emma caught a strange flash of resentment in the woman’s eyes. “I’m not a thief, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“I wasn’t thinking anything of the kind,” Emma quickly replied. “It’s just that I don’t think Faye would like it if I handed over the house-sitting to someone else who she doesn’t know.”
Jackie shrugged, still offended. “Hey, I was only trying to help.”
“Of course, and I appreciate the offer. It’s very generous of you.”
Scuffing her feet on the polished floorboards, Jackie muttered something that sounded like “Silly bitch.”
Emma frowned, sure she’d misheard. “Excuse me?”
Jackie jerked her head up and blinked at Emma. “Oh, don’t mind me. I’m always saying inappropriate things. Used to get me into trouble with my ex. Well, I should go. Don’t want to get in your way here.”
Emma followed her out the house, wishing they weren’t leaving on such an awkward note. “I hope I’ll see you at the music festival tomorrow night. Stacey said she’d be going.”
Jackie grabbed her bike from the front lawn and clambered onto it. “I don’t know. I don’t like big crowds.” She put a foot to the pedal and pushed off, wavering about the street for a few yards. “Bye,” she called perfunctorily over her shoulder.
“Goodbye. See you around.”
Emma watched as Jackie zigzagged down the road. If only the visit had been more pleasant, but somehow, she had managed to upset Jackie.
“That’s a weird thing to do,” Jason commented. He had managed to wash off the ‘cow’, but it looked like he still had plenty of work ahead.
Emma turned to him. “What’s weird?”
“Riding a bike when she’s that old.”
To Jason anyone over the age of twenty-five was ancient, Emma surmised. “She’s not that old
. And she said she needs the exercise.”
“Didn’t look like she was exercising.” With a shrug, he returned to his cleaning.
Emma sighed and went back into the house.
Chapter Nineteen
An hour later, the pizza she’d ordered arrived, and she took it and a couple of cans of soda outside to share with Jason, who had just about finished cleaning the graffiti. Emma sat on a bench on the front porch, while Jason lounged against the porch railings.
“Thanks, this is great,” he said as he reached for his third slice.
Emma, barely through her first, nodded. “You’re welcome.” She was glad to see his mood had improved. “You must be hungry after all your hard work.”
He pulled a face. “Guess the graffiti was a stupid thing to do. Only made things worse for me.”
“Look on the bright side. You got off lightly. You’re still young. You can still go back to college and graduate some day. And your parents are behind you.”
Jason peered at her through his lank hair, as if seeing her for the first time. “You grew up here, didn’t you? Did you go to college nearby?”
“No, I went to a university in upstate New York.”
His eyebrows lifted; he seemed impressed. “Wish I could go to a school away from here.”
“Have you looked into it? Admission criteria, costs, etcetera?”
“Not really.”
She wasn’t surprised. According to his mother, since he’d dropped out of college, Jason had frittered away his days not doing much. But Emma wasn’t going to nag him. That was his parents’ job.
“Well, it could be good for you to get a fresh start elsewhere. You might want to find out more.”
“Yeah, maybe. It might make my mom happy, and she hasn’t been happy for ages. Ever since Dad’s retirement party, she’s been really uptight.”
Emma paused midway through her slice. Hmm. Was Helen Wylie uptight because she’d pushed Faye down the stairs in a fit of maternal anger?
“Helen’s a good mom,” she said casually. “She helped you pack up your stall after the yard sale, didn’t she?”
Jason was busy crunching his teeth into the crust of his slice. “Yeah, she and my dad. I had a lot of stuff to move. Didn’t manage to sell very much.”
He was too relaxed to be fibbing, Emma felt. He was a straightforward young man who wasn’t used to subterfuge. Jason was telling the truth, which meant Helen can’t have attacked Faye, as much as she secretly would’ve liked to.
Breathing a little easier, Emma reached for her soda.
***
Darkness surrounded Emma as she sat up, pulled out of her sleep by an out-of-place noise. For a few moments she blinked in confusion before she remembered where she was. Not tucked up in her own bed, but slouched on an uncomfortable settee, the TV muttering in the corner, a lone lamp casting a dull light over Faye’s living room. Yawning, she got to her feet, stretched her arms, and clicked off the TV. Time for bed.
But as she padded barefoot across the carpet, another sound reached her. Faint, yet distinct. It seemed to be coming from the front porch. Emma’s heart rate quickly ratcheted up. Was someone trying to break into Faye’s house again? Where was her cell phone? Probably still in her bag, but where on earth had she left that?
The noise came again, a sort of shuffling sound like feet scraping back and forth. She was standing only yards away from a window that looked straight onto the porch. Tension gripped her, stifling her lungs so she could barely breathe. She ought to tiptoe out of the living room, find a phone, and call the police. But if she did that, whoever was outside might hear her and run away before the cops arrived. The urge to know who was out there flared up, overriding her initial fear. She was safe inside the house, the doors and windows were secure. She could take a quick peek out the window and see who was trespassing outside.
Hardly daring to breathe, she slid toward the window, her bare soles feeling hot against the floorboards. Heavy maroon drapes hung over the window. With fingers that felt shaky and clumsy, she lifted the fabric away from the wall and peeped through the gap. Just a few inches away, separated from her by a mere pane of glass, a man sat on the bench on the front porch. His back was to her, and his shoulders were hunched. He appeared to be dressed all in black, with a beanie covering his head.
Why was this guy sitting on the front porch? What did he want? And who the heck was he?
Indignation welled in her. Tired of being afraid, she yanked the drapes apart and rapped her knuckles on the glass. “Hey, you! What are you doing there?”
The man leaped up as if he’d been bitten by a snake and spun around. The outside light wasn’t on, meaning the porch was deep in shadow, but Emma managed to catch a glimpse of the man’s startled face.
She gaped at him. “Alvin?”
Letting the drapes fall shut, she raced for the front door. She tugged it open just in time to see the dark figure pelting down the road.
“Alvin!” she called out, but it was useless. He had already disappeared.
She peered at the bench where he’d sat but saw nothing. She went back into the house, slamming the door shut before making sure it was firmly locked. She went through the entire house checking every window and door until she was satisfied that the house was secure. Finding her bag in the kitchen, she fished out her cell phone and contemplated it. She should call the police and tell them what had happened. But was she prepared to tell them Alvin Tucker had been sitting in the dark on Faye’s porch dressed like a burglar? Why had he been there? Had he been psyching himself up before breaking in? But why would he want to break into Faye’s house? Sure, he stood to lose a whole heap of money if Faye went ahead and sued him, but how could he prevent that by forcing his way into her house? There was nothing here that might prevent her from suing. Apart from kidnapping Pepper and holding the parrot to ransom. She shook her head. No, that was a ridiculous idea. Alvin wasn’t that desperate, was he?
She brought up Alvin’s number on her phone and called him, but he didn’t pick up. Probably because he could see her caller ID and the last thing he wanted was to talk to her. Fine. But he couldn’t avoid her forever. First thing tomorrow morning, she would track him down and find out what was behind his bizarre behavior.
She brushed her teeth and changed into sleep shorts and T-shirt. After checking the house one more time, she slid between the sheets of the narrow twin bed in the guest room. But adrenaline was still coursing through her veins, and she doubted she’d be able to sleep for a while. Her cell phone was right next to her on the nightstand. She had also selected a heavy iron skillet from the kitchen and placed it under the bed. It might not offer any real protection, but it made her feel better, as did leaving her lamp and the hallway lights on.
Despite her tension, she somehow managed to drift off, only to jerk awake sometime later. Once again muffled sounds came from the front porch. Emma groaned silently. Not Alvin again. Was he drunk or something?
Rolling out of bed, she grabbed her phone and the skillet. She marched down the hallway toward the front door, making no effort to disguise her footsteps. Raising the skillet in one hand, she used the other to bang on the door.
“If you don’t clear off right now, I’m calling the police!” she called out in what she hoped was an authoritative voice.
Not a sound came from the other side of the door, but she fancied she sensed a sudden intake of breath.
“I’m not kidding. Scram, now. You’ve got three seconds.”
Then came the sound of footsteps scuttling away. Only one pair, she was sure. She stood there for a full ten minutes, ears peeled for the slightest noise, but the night was eerily quiet. Eventually she grew tired of holding the skillet. She made her rounds of the house, checked on Pepper, and finally returned to the guest room. This time, every light in the house remained on. To hell with Faye’s electricity bill. She wasn’t going to stay up all night in a dark house.
Chapter Twenty
“Oh, no.
Not again!” Emma groaned as she was woken up for the third time that night. This time, the furtive scrabbling sounds were coming from the back door. Grabbing her phone and skillet, she marched into the kitchen. She was sick and tired of Alvin skulking about the house. Seriously, what was wrong with the guy?
She dialed the number for the Greenville police station, and when the dispatcher answered, she said in a loud, carrying voice, “Yes, I’d like to report an attempted break-in at Faye Seymour’s house.” She gave the address, even though she was positive the police department knew it. “Hurry, please. I think the perp is still outside the back door.”
The dispatcher told her to stay inside until the police arrived, but Emma was weary and ornery and had lost all patience. Why had Alvin chosen this night to freak out? Firming her grip on the skillet, she flung open the back door.
“Alvin, why on earth—”
She stopped short. Instead of Alvin’s familiar figure, Kenneth Bischoff loomed over her, a scowl intensifying his dark and menacing looks.
“Out of my way.” He pushed past her, leaving behind a whiff of whiskey and tobacco.
“Hey!” Caught off guard, Emma stumbled back.
Bischoff ignored her as he paused to scan the kitchen. In his navy suit, white dress shirt, and narrow leather shoes, he didn’t look like your typical burglar. He stalked out of the kitchen and down the hallway.
“You can’t come barging in here!” Emma protested as she caught up with him in the living room.
Bischoff walked over to the bookcase and ran his fingers across the book spines. Then he moved into the adjoining dining room and scanned the sideboard, barely pausing at the bird cage. Indignation began to pound in Emma.
“I’ve called the police, you know.”
Bischoff finally turned and looked at her, his black eyes hard as agate, burning with a deep hatred. The heavy skillet slipped a little in her damp hand.
“Where is it?” he snarled at her.
She tried to swallow but her mouth seemed too dry to function. “Where is what?”
He closed in on her, and it took all her spunk not to shrink back. “Don’t mess with me, girl. You’re staying in this house. You know what I’m talking about.”
Pushed to the Limit (an Emma Cassidy Mystery Book 2) Page 14