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

by Karen Chester

  The whiff of alcohol and stale tobacco was much stronger now he was only inches away and breathing down on her. Up close, she could see that his suit was rumpled, and his eyes bloodshot. So Bischoff had been drinking and smoking, getting more and more wound up about Faye until his common sense had deserted him and he’d come bursting in here. His face, ugly with drunkenness and rage, repelled her, but she refused to be cowed by him.

  Without a word she brushed past him and went to the study. She found the printout of the photo that Faye had taken of Bischoff and his mistress, and held it out to him. He snatched it, scowled, and smashed it into a crumpled ball.

  “I want the God damned phone!”

  His scream made her jump, raising the hairs on the back of her neck. For the first time she was genuinely afraid. Whiskey had stripped away Bischoff’s veneer of civility. He was furious, reckless, and unpredictable. And she was standing in his way.

  “I don’t have the phone,” she said steadily while her heart pounded in her ears. How long before the police got here? God, how long?

  “Liar!” He shoved the balled up photo into his pocket and cracked his knuckles. “Where’s the phone? The other photos? Don’t you mess with me, girl, or you’ll live to regret it.” He pushed a hand inside his jacket, drawing her attention to something concealed in the inner pocket. By the hard outline, it looked like a gun.

  Nausea rolled through her, weakening her knees. She shrank away until her back hit the edge of the desk. “Get out.” She tried to raise her voice but it only trembled more. “You—you heard me calling the police. They’ll be here any minute.”

  Bischoff paused in his tracks and lifted his head. A vehicle could be heard pulling up outside. He swore under his breath and ran from the office. Emma sagged against the desk in relief. Moments later, she heard someone rapping loudly on the front door.

  “Police! Open up!”

  Emma pulled herself upright and dashed to the door.

  ***

  Sherilee sat opposite Emma at the kitchen table, her notebook open in front of her. “Just to be clear,” the officer said. “You opened the back door—” using her pen she pointed at the kitchen door which was now firmly shut “—and allowed Bischoff to come inside.”

  “I didn’t allow him.” Emma massaged her aching temples. “He barged in. I couldn’t stop him.”

  “Why didn’t you keep the door shut when you had just reported a possible intruder to the dispatcher?” The disapproval in Sherilee’s voice was too obvious to miss.

  “Because...” Because I thought it was someone else, she was going to say. But then she’d have to explain about Alvin Tucker sitting on the front porch earlier, and though she was annoyed and mystified by Alvin’s behavior, she didn’t want to get him into trouble if he had a reasonable explanation. He had enough worry on his plate as it was.

  She became aware of Sherilee eyeing her with a jaded expression, and she groaned inwardly. Bad enough having someone like Sherilee see her all shaken up and frightened, but worse to have her thinking she was too stupid to live. Not that she cared about Sherilee’s opinion—she definitely didn’t—but it irked being caught in a moment of weakness by her nemesis. Again.

  “Because I don’t like being a victim,” she said lamely.

  Sherilee heaved a sigh and returned to her notes. “Did Bischoff say why he’d come here?”

  Emma squirmed again. If she told Sherilee about the photo, would she get into trouble for not saying anything earlier? Maybe. Sherilee was no fan of hers; she might take any excuse to make life difficult for her.

  “No. He just said he wanted ‘the phone.’ I didn’t know what he meant.”

  Sherilee tapped her pen against the table, not speaking. Tap-tap-tap. The beat quickly wore on Emma’s nerves.

  “Are you involved with Kenneth Bischoff?” Sherilee suddenly asked.

  “What?” Emma’s mouth fell open. “Are you insane?”

  “Okay.” Sherilee held up a hand as Emma reddened and threatened to burst into flames. “I had to ask, seeing as he was here in the early hours of the morning and you’re dressed like that.” She nodded at Emma’s skimpy shorts and T-shirt.

  “I was sleeping!” Emma raked her fingers through her mussed up hair as frustration beat inside her chest. “For crying out loud, you honestly think I’d let a jerk like Bischoff touch me?”

  “Sorry, I’m just trying to cover all bases here.”

  “You don’t look very sorry,” Emma retorted. She jumped up and walked over to the sink to splash cold water over her face. She took her time patting herself dry with a cloth before returning to the table.

  “Feeling better now?” Sherilee asked.

  Only if the stupid questions are over. Emma tamped down the churlish retort and decided to change the subject.

  “He had a gun.”

  Sherilee’s jaw dropped. “Why didn’t you say so before? He threatened you with a gun?”

  “We-ell, he put his hand in his jacket, and I could see he had a gun there.”

  “You saw the gun?”

  “Uh, no, I didn’t actually see it, but the bulge in his pocket had to be a gun.”

  Sherilee sighed. “Right. So Kenneth Bischoff never pulled a gun on you, you just thought he had one.”

  “I’m sure he had one,” Emma protested.

  “The police have to deal with facts, not speculation.”

  “He was threatening and desperate; that’s a fact. He could be a prime suspect for pushing Faye down the stairs.”

  Instead of being bowled over by Emma’s brilliance, Sherilee merely pressed her lips together. “Hmm, maybe,” she said, looking unconvinced.

  Emma rested her elbows on the table and leaned forward. “Come on, it’s more than a maybe. If he’s crazy enough to break into the house, he’s capable of anything, including pushing innocent old women down the stairs.”

  “We-ell, I’ll look into it.”

  “Why are you so skeptical? Are you trying to protect the councilman? Do you owe him a favor?”

  Sherilee flushed with annoyance. “I don’t owe anyone any favors,” she snapped.

  “Then why don’t you think he’s a suspect?”

  The policewoman sighed and rubbed her eyes. “Because I managed to talk to Tom Kovacs next door about Saturday afternoon. It was hard going, but I managed to get something out of him. He did see someone running away from Faye’s house around about the same time as you called for an ambulance.”

  Emma sat up. “Oh yeah? Who did he see?”

  “He didn’t know who it was. He could only give me a description. Female. Five-seven or eight. Slim build. Wearing jeans.”

  Sherilee was looking at her with close attention, and a wave of indignation hit Emma. “You think I’m a suspect?”

  “Well, you do fit the description.”

  “So would thousands of women around here.”

  “Thousands? I doubt that.”

  Heat climbed in Emma’s cheeks. Why did she let Sherilee get under her skin? “Of course I was here. I found Faye and called the ambulance. But I didn’t run away. That Tom doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

  “Hey, I’m not accusing you of anything.”

  “Really?” Emma glared at her tormentor. “Could have fooled me. You just enjoy toying with me, then?”

  A look of discomfort passed over Sherilee’s face. She shifted in her chair and cleared her throat. “All I’m saying is that Bischoff doesn’t match the description of an eye witness, but of course that doesn’t mean he’s innocent. I’ll look into it; see where he was on Saturday afternoon. And I’ll tell him to keep away from this house.”

  Good luck with that, Emma thought. Maybe Sherilee would do better, being a police officer, but Kenneth Bischoff didn’t seem the type to be cowed by someone just because he or she had a badge and a gun. Not when he had a gun himself—she was convinced of the weapon, even if Sherilee didn’t believe her.

  Sherilee rose to her feet and tucked the
notebook into her shirt pocket. The first pink blush of dawn was filtering through the kitchen windows. After an eventful night of broken sleep, Emma felt like something she’d scraped off her shoe—flat and sticky.

  “I’m going to talk to Faye again,” Sherilee said as she took her leave. “She must know something about these attempted break-ins.”

  When Sherilee had left, Emma dragged herself back to the guest room and flopped face first onto the bed. Break-ins or not, she was going to get a few more hours’ sleep.

  ***

  A couple of hours later, Emma dragged herself out of bed, pulled on clothes and slapped on makeup with eyes half-closed, then fed Pepper while stifling some earth-shattering yawns. Finally she was ready to go to work. As she walked to her car in the driveway, she noticed a white pickup truck with the Greenville town logo parked outside Tom Kovacs’ house. A bearded man dressed in neatly pressed khakis and beige shirt holding a clipboard stood outside, surveying the jungle that was the front yard next door.

  Emma immediately recognized him. “Hi, Greg.” She walked toward him, waving.

  Greg smiled back. “Hey, Emma.” He glanced past her at her car. “So you’re looking after Faye’s house while she’s in hospital?”

  “Yup. I guess you know Faye, then?”

  Greg gave her a wry grin. “I don’t think there’s anyone in the council who doesn’t know Faye Seymour. I’m here to follow up on one of her numerous complaints about her neighbor. You seen much of Tom Kovacs while you’ve been here?”

  “I haven’t formally met this Tom Kovacs, but I assume he’s the slightly wild-looking character I’ve seen around the place. He stares a lot but doesn’t like to talk.”

  “That’s him.”

  “I caught him peeping at me through the window the other day. He ran away before I could talk to him.”

  “Hmm. Not very pleasant for you, but I doubt you were in any danger. Tom’s an eccentric, but he’s harmless.”

  “You know him?”

  “Well, I don’t think anyone around here knows Tom very well. I met him at the VA clinic a couple years back. I volunteer there a few hours a week.”

  “You’re ex-army, then?” She wasn’t surprised when he nodded.

  Greg continued, “Tom moved here to Greenville seven or eight years ago when he inherited this property. He didn’t talk much at the clinic, but then I started seeing him a few times when I was out hiking. Once, I helped him when his dog fell into a crevice and got stuck. He started talking a bit, and we seemed to get along. When people at work heard I was sort of friendly with him, they began to hand the complaints about him to me. Even though it’s not really my department, I try to see what I can do for him. It’s not easy for a guy like Tom living in today’s world.”

  Greg was a good man, Emma thought. Stacey was lucky to have him, even though she kept him at arm’s length. But that reminded her of Stacey’s secret, and she wondered how Greg would react if he knew who Stacey really was. What would a nice, honest engineer do if he found out that the demure woman he was interested in was in reality the ex-wife of a brutal thug, a terrified woman who had assumed a fake identity and gone into hiding? She couldn’t imagine. No wonder Stacey was wary about letting Greg get closer to her.

  “What are you planning on doing now?” Emma asked, scanning the tangled mess of vegetation that formed an almost impenetrable barrier to the ramshackle house beyond. “Did you bring a chainsaw with you?”

  “No chainsaw.” Greg laughed. “But I do need to talk to him about trimming some of this growth and fixing the broken fences. And the yard needs a major clean up. I know Faye complains a lot about him, but she does have a point. His property is in danger of becoming a health hazard, not to mention a fire danger. If I can get him to agree to a few things, then we can avoid all the official bureaucratic processes which, I’m sure, would be stressful on him.”

  “It’s very decent of you,” Emma couldn’t help saying.

  A faint blush colored the tips of Greg’s ears. “Tom’s not like you or me, but he’s essentially an honest person, and he deserves to be left in peace, Faye’s complaints not withstanding.”

  “Well, I’ll leave you to face Tom. I’m off to work.” She took a couple of steps toward her car, then paused. “By the way, I hope you’re coming to the country music festival tonight?”

  “I am, yes.” Greg gave her the thumbs up. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  Especially since Stacey would be there, too. Emma smiled and waved goodbye to him. Stacey deserved another chance at happiness. Maybe there was a way she and Greg could be together. But first Stacey would have to reveal the truth about herself, and somehow Emma couldn’t see that happening any time soon.

  Chapter Twenty One

  Emma stood at the edge of the park and surveyed the scene before her. A decent crowd had gathered around the temporary stage where The Stetsons, a local band, was jamming out a pop-country song. People sat on picnic blankets or beach chairs or sprawled on the grass, tapping their toes in time to the music. Kids chased each other in the nearby playground. Barbecue smoke and delicious scents rose from the row of food stalls lined up along one side of the park. Beyond the brightly lit park lay the lake, its smooth darkness broken by pinpricks of lights from sailing vessels bobbing at anchor. Overhead, a quarter moon hung in the velvet sky.

  A perfect summer’s evening for a country music festival. Emma let out a sigh of satisfaction. It was at times like this, when she could stand back and see the fruits of her labor, that she got the greatest satisfaction. The smiles and laughter, the enjoyment on faces, the friendly camaraderie blossoming in the air. Some might say her job was frivolous and non-essential, but she liked to think that she brought people together, that the convivial atmosphere she strove to create forged bonds and strengthened social connections.

  Her self-congratulation came to a screeching halt when she caught sight of Sherilee strolling through the park with Owen Fletcher. Both of them were dressed in jeans, Sherilee in a plaid shirt knotted at the waist and her blonde hair falling loose down her back, Owen in a tight, black Lady Antebellum T-shirt and cowboy boots. They weren’t holding hands or anything, but there was something about the way they walked side-by-side, their arms almost brushing, that said this was more than a friendly meet up. Owen and Sherilee were on a date, and seeing them together made Emma’s stomach pull into a sharp spike.

  Huh, why did it hurt so damn much?

  She wrapped her arms around her waist. She shouldn’t be surprised at seeing them together on a date. After all, a few months back she herself had asked Owen why he wasn’t dating Sherilee, given they shared a lot in common and seemed to have a mutual admiration society going. At the time, Owen had choked in surprise and quickly steered the conversation away. But she must have sown the seed of the idea in his head. And then, earlier this week on Monday she’d bumped into them at the gym where they had seemed very friendly toward each other. So it wasn’t much of a surprise that they were here together, a couple.

  Emma forced her arms loose and shook them out, determined not to get too upset. This wasn’t high school anymore. She and Owen had broken up years ago. There was no reason for any spark to linger between them. And yet…

  Exasperated, she tucked in her red-and-white checked shirt, squared her shoulders, and walked with a positive gait toward the crowd. This was her gig, and she was going to do her job. Minutes later, she’d lost sight of Owen and Sherilee. Good. She wasn’t going to let them put her off her duties.

  “Hi, Emma!” Stacey rushed out of the crowd and embraced Emma while also trying to balance a plate of food. “Great festival. Jackie and I are enjoying the music.”

  “I’m glad.” Over Stacey’s shoulder, Emma saw Jackie trailing behind. “Hi, Jackie.” Emma tried to inject extra warmth into her greeting, conscious of the awkwardness the last time they’d met when Jackie had offered to house-sit and Emma had declined.

  “Hey.” From several feet back, Jackie gav
e her a casual wave.

  Emma couldn’t tell if the woman was still offended by her or not. Jackie was hard to read. “What’s the food like?” Emma asked.

  “Oh, fantastic,” Stacey said. “We’re sampling the spare ribs right now, and later we’re going back to try the pork belly.”

  “Evening all.” Greg Foster strolled up to them. His smile embraced all three of them, but his gaze lingered on Stacey.

  “Evening, Greg,” Stacey said shyly.

  “Hey, glad you could come,” Emma greeted him enthusiastically, pleased to see that Greg was still pursuing Stacey. But as she glanced at Jackie, she was taken aback by the scowl on her face clearly directed at Greg. Jackie was no fan of Greg’s. Why? Was it simply a knee-jerk reaction to any male given her awful past history? Or did she know something more about Greg, something negative?

  “I’ve bought a bushel of drink tickets.” Unaware of Jackie’s silent antipathy, Greg flourished a fistful of coupons that were to be exchanged for glasses of wine or beer at several of the booths. “Can I get you ladies a drink? Stacey, I know you like a dry white wine.” Stacey smiled and nodded. Emma declined, since she was still on the clock for several more hours. “Jackie?” Greg asked politely.

  “No, thanks,” she brusquely answered, not even looking at him.

  Greg blinked, nonplused. “Uh, okay.” He glanced uncertainly at Stacey and Emma. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

  When he had disappeared into the crowd, Emma gave Stacey a pointed look to ask what was up with Jackie. Stacey gave a helpless shrug.

  “I don’t trust that one,” Jackie blurted out.

  “Greg? He seems like a decent guy,” Emma said when it became apparent that Stacey wasn’t going to say anything.

  “Yeah, but they all do in the beginning.” Jackie turned to Stacey. “Don’t they? They’re all charming and attentive, and then when they’ve sucked you in, they change. They become manipulative and possessive and violent.”