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

by Karen Chester

  Stacey’s face was slowly draining of color.

  “Not all men are like that,” Emma said, perturbed by Jackie’s sweeping generalization.

  The other woman stared at her. Before, she’d always kept her head ducked, avoiding eye contact, but now her eyes were filled with startling fury. She opened her mouth as if to argue with Emma, but then seemed to change her mind. She dumped her plate of food into a nearby garbage can and loped away, shoulders hunched.

  “Oh, jeez.” Emma sighed. “I didn’t mean to offend her. I don’t know what it is, but I seem to put my foot in it with her every time.”

  “It’s not your fault,” Stacey said, always quick to smooth troubled waters. “Jackie’s going through a difficult period. We have to give her a little leeway.”

  Emma studied her friend. “You don’t think every man is dangerous, do you?”

  “No, of course not. But I’m still cautious.”

  “Well, I think Greg is sweet and kind.”

  Stacey’s expression softened. “Yes, he is, and I wish I could let my guard down with him, but I don’t know how to bring up the subject of…well, you know.” She prodded a fork at her plate of food, her face growing subdued.

  “I know it’ll be hard for you, but I think Greg is worth the risk.”

  “You think?” Hope illuminated Stacey’s face before anxiety doused it once more, and she shook her head. “I need more time.” Her gaze shifted beyond Emma’s shoulder, and her expression altered as she stood up straighter. “Oh, good evening, Mayor Benson, Mrs. Benson.”

  Emma turned to see the mayor and his wife standing there. And behind them was Chief Bob Putnam. Uh-oh. This trio wasn’t exactly in her fan club. The mayor was all right, always superficially jovial, but Monica Benson looked down on her, and Chief Putnam’s long-standing dislike had intensified a few months ago after she had proven the innocence of someone he had been so eager to lock up.

  However, she greeted them all with professional courtesy, masking her true feelings.

  “Not a bad turn out tonight.” Mayor Benson hitched up his trousers around his wide girth. For the occasion, he was dressed in a stone linen suit and dress shirt with a fancy bolo tie.

  Monica Benson, tricked up like she’d raided Dolly Parton’s wardrobe, didn’t seem as impressed by the festival as her husband. Her steely blue eyes fixed on Emma as she stepped forward, her high heeled alligator cowboy boots almost treading on Emma’s toes.

  “I can’t find a drop of champagne here.” Monica put her hands on her hips.

  “Well, I didn’t think champagne would be all that popular at a country music festival,” Emma said, cursing herself for sounding so hesitant and apologetic.

  “I always drink champagne.” Monica frowned as if Emma should have known what her favorite drink was and catered for her.

  Perspiration prickled along Emma’s spine. Chief Putnam was taking in Monica’s complaint with keen interest, while the mayor rocked back and forth on his heels, clearly not about to rein his wife in. Only Stacey was on her side, anxiously biting her lip, but of course Stacey wouldn’t dare contradict the mayor’s wife, not if she valued her job.

  “I’m terribly sorry.” Even as the words left her mouth, Emma wished she could be stronger. Swallowing, she drew herself to her full height. “I’m sure there’re plenty of bars in town that serve champagne. Perhaps you’d be more comfortable there?”

  Monica’s jaw dropped. The mayor coughed loudly.

  “I knew you weren’t up to the task,” Monica snapped. “You’re completely unsuitable for organizing an event of this nature.” She reached for her husband’s arm. “The council shouldn’t have anything to do with this amateur. Who is she anyway?” She threw a sneer in Emma’s direction. “Wasn’t she involved in that old woman’s fall? You know, the one who likes to yap? She’s mixed up in that, I’m sure of it.”

  “Faye Seymour?” Chief Putnam pushed forward, bushy eyebrows drawing together as he eyed Emma with renewed suspicion. “You know something about her fall?”

  “Hunh.” Monica pursed her fuchsia pink lips. “The way I heard it, she was right there when it happened. Sounds suspicious to me.”

  Emma groaned silently. “I called the ambulance, that’s all,” she said through clenched teeth. She wanted to add that the chief should ask Officer Ackerman about Faye Seymour’s fall, but didn’t want to run the risk of the chief immediately acting on that advice. The last thing she needed was to have Sherilee discussing her with the chief while Owen listened in.

  Chief Putnam studied her, his expression distrustful, and she knew he hadn’t yet forgiven her for letting his prize suspect get away. The chief had a long memory, and he had catalogued every sin she’d committed against him, starting with the time in high school when the police had arrived to break up a rowdy party and she’d eluded him simply by running faster.

  “I’ll get to the bottom of this,” he said, cocking his eyebrow at her as if he expected her to make a run for it.

  Emma dug her fingernails into her palms. “I hope you do.”

  Monica Benson was still looking at her like she was a fly in her soup. “Don’t leave town anytime soon.”

  The mayor tugged at her arm, clearly tired of the conversation. “Come on. Hank’s over there. We need to go over and say hello.” With his wife in tow, he walked off, pasting on a toothy grin as he glad-handed some no doubt important businessman.

  Chief Putnam shot Emma one last I’ve-got-my-eye-on-you look before lumbering away. No sooner had she recovered, than Kenneth Bischoff, accompanied by his wife, walked past her, acting as if she were invisible. Only his clenched jaw as he strolled past betrayed his feelings. His wife Ellen, dressed in a fifties style sundress with a flared skirt, glanced vaguely about her. She seemed as fluffy as ever, tripping along arm-in-arm with her husband, but Emma noticed that her fingers were digging into Bischoff’s forearm, that her mascara was slightly smudged, and that beneath her lipstick her smile was brittle.

  Bischoff paused to slip a hand inside his jacket, and Emma felt her breath catch. Did he still have the gun in his pocket? Was he going to threaten her again? Then, as she watched, he drew out a square ebony box, extracted a dark brown cigarette, and lit up. Through a cloud of smoke, his black eyes zeroed in on her, hard and distant.

  She exhaled slowly, wondering if she had mistaken his cigarette case for a gun when Bischoff had barged into the house this morning. But the way he’d yelled at her, she just couldn’t see him pulling out a cigarette then. Surely it had to have been a gun?

  She narrowed her eyes at Kenneth Bischoff, wanting to convey that she wasn’t intimidated by him, but he was already sauntering off, his wife trotting by his side.

  “Here we are.” Greg bounded up clasping two glasses of wine.

  “Thanks, Greg.” Accepting one of the glasses, Stacey murmured to Emma, “Don’t worry about Mrs. Benson and the chief. I’m sure they weren’t serious.”

  “What’s this?” Greg glanced at Emma with friendly concern. “Monica Benson giving you a hard time? You’re not alone. She thinks it’s one of the perks of being the mayor’s wife.”

  “I’m not worried.” Emma forced an upbeat note to her voice.

  Then, as if her night couldn’t get any worse, it did. Owen and Sherilee strolled out of the crowd and stopped abruptly. There was no avoiding them, no pretending not to notice them. After a brief pause, Owen and Sherilee walked forward.

  “Hi, there.”

  “Hi.”

  “Evening.”

  Mundane greetings ricocheted between them. The tension was palpable in the air. Everyone seemed tense, even Greg and Stacey, though why Emma couldn’t fathom. She was too busy keeping her hands still and her expression bland to worry about anyone else.

  Owen lifted his chin toward Emma. “Great festival, Emma. Good bands and awesome food.”

  For a moment she allowed herself to enjoy the warmth in his eyes. “Thanks. The weather’s nice, so that helps.”

/>   “Maybe it’ll become an annual event,” Owen said.

  “Maybe. We’ll see if we cover costs.”

  Sherilee nudged his arm. “Hey, didn’t you promise me a dance?”

  She leaned against him, eyes turned up at him, and Emma’s stomach clenched tighter. Sherilee had always been a no nonsense, pragmatic person, but it seemed being with Owen brought out the inner kitten in her.

  Owen glanced at Sherilee. “I don’t remember an actual promise.”

  Sherilee pouted and fluttered her eyelashes. “Aw, come on.”

  Putting a hand over her mouth, Emma hastily smothered a cough. Watching Sherilee flirt with Owen was so bizarre—like finding out your staid old Geography teacher was a cross-dresser. Emma gave herself a mental slap. It was only gruesome to watch because of her unresolved feelings for Owen and her antipathy toward Sherilee. On paper, the two made perfect sense, far more sense than she and Owen. No, she was letting the old green-eyed monster get the better of her, and she shouldn’t. She should try to rise above it.

  “We’ll see you later,” Owen said to the others. “Enjoy your evening.” He seemed to give Emma an extra salute before walking off with Sherilee.

  Stacey’s sympathetic smile was almost too much for Emma to bear, so it was almost a relief when Wesley ambled up to her, flashing those brilliant white teeth at her. She introduced him to Stacey and Greg, who, after a few minutes of polite chat, excused themselves and wandered off to the food stalls.

  “Have you tried the spare ribs?” Emma asked, eager to focus her attention on Wesley and not think about Owen and Sherilee. “I hear they’re very good.”

  “I had a small helping.” Wesley grinned as he patted his rock-hard abs. “Don’t like to overeat in the evening.”

  He didn’t have an ounce of fat on him, she observed. And he liked drawing attention to that fact, even if it was subconscious.

  “I’m too busy tonight to really enjoy the food,” she said.

  “Why don’t I take you out to lunch sometime? Then we can both enjoy ourselves.” Wesley’s smile was dazzling.

  This was the second time he’d asked her out. He was fit and attractive, and after she’d had to witness Sherilee flirting with Owen, the admiration in Wesley’s eyes was a balm to her soul.

  “Sure, why not?”

  “Great. How about Sunday?”

  “Perfect. Sunday it is.” She returned his smile, pushing her vague misgivings to one side. It was just a date, and it had been a long while since she’d had one of those. How could it hurt?

  Chapter Twenty Two

  “I suppose Pepper is all drooping feathers by now.” Faye shook her head, hands clamped around the large purse on her lap.

  Emma, at the wheel of her car, thought about Pepper and the cubes of melon he had gobbled down this morning. “Actually, he’s in pretty good shape. He doesn’t appear to have lost his appetite at all.”

  Faye gave her a sharp look, as if skeptical that someone else could look after her parrot as well as she. “Well, we’ll see about that when we get home. You might have to drive us to the vet to get him checked out.”

  Emma had spent the morning supervising the clean up after the music festival and making sure the park was left pristine. After that, and her abbreviated night’s sleep, all she’d wanted was to go home and rest, but instead she’d got a call from Lorraine. Sounding rushed and agitated, Lorraine had asked Emma to pick Faye up from hospital after her discharge and drive her home. Emma, caught by surprise, assented, and Lorraine had quickly ended the call without offering any explanation.

  Now, Emma opened her mouth to protest. She had done her duty by house-sitting for Faye, and driving her home from the hospital, but wasn’t that the end of it? The ladies at the women’s civic club had organized a roster for delivering meals to Faye and transporting her to her physiotherapy sessions which started next week, and a home health aide would be visiting each day to assist Faye in her dressing and bathing. As well, Lorraine would be around until she left for her art exhibition in Sacramento in a few days’ time. So Emma didn’t see why she should still be Faye’s gofer, especially on a Saturday. But then she recalled the various people who’d been snooping around Faye’s house—Alvin, Kenneth, and possibly others—and swallowed her objections. She’d tolerate being the old woman’s lackey for the day. Besides, it might stop her from brooding over Owen and Sherilee and her own rash decision to go out with Wesley on a rebound date.

  When they reached home, Faye carefully maneuvered herself out of the car with the help of her crutches, and scanned the front of the house where faint smudges of orange paint were still visible against the white brick walls.

  “Humpf.” Faye sniffed. “He didn’t do a very good job cleaning up. That Jason Wylie is a born idler.”

  “I’m sure he’ll be back to finish up, maybe with some white paint.” Emma wasn’t certain why she was defending Jason. Maybe she felt sorry for him and the spiraling despair he seemed caught in.

  “If he doesn’t, I’ll call Richard. That wife of his has always been too soft on the boy. That’s why he’s turned out such a disappointment.” Faye surveyed the front yard and pointed a crutch at a few stray leaves and twigs on the lawn. “That dratted Tom. If he kept his yard in better order, I wouldn’t get so much mess in mine.” She scowled at the wilderness next door, and as if on cue a dog started barking. “Oh, that wretched dog! Always going on.”

  In all the time Emma had spent here, she’d barely noticed Tom’s dog. She wondered if the dog only started barking when it heard Faye’s sharp and distinctive voice.

  Faye hobbled her way up the porch stairs to her front door, surprisingly nimble despite her moonboot and crutches, leaving Emma to follow with the suitcase. Once inside the house, Faye made straight for the dining room, calling out to her parrot. “Pepper, Pepper. Mommy’s back. Everything will be all right now.”

  The parrot hopped and shuffled back and forth on his perch, bobbing his head in excitement. “Mommy’s back!” he screeched over and over.

  Faye lifted him out of the cage and pressed him to her cheek, crooning at him. “Aw, come here, you poor little thing. You’ve missed me, haven’t you? Oh, look at you. Wasting away! No one can look after you like I can, hmm? What’s that? Yes, I’m sorry you had to put up with her. But don’t worry. I’m here now, and I’ll soon have you back to your best.”

  Torn between indignation and amusement, Emma watched on as Faye and Pepper were reunited. There was nothing wrong with the parrot, but clearly Faye needed to feel indispensible, and it was obvious she cared for the bird. It was a surprise to see this softer side to Faye, a side she seldom revealed to others.

  “I’ll put your suitcase in your room,” Emma said, leaving Faye with her bird.

  She placed the small piece of luggage in the front bedroom, then went to the spare bedroom that she had been occupying for the past two nights. Before leaving for the hospital, she had stripped the bed linen, wiped the furniture, and vacuumed the floor. Now, she gave it a final once-over, determined not to give Faye the chance to nitpick about anything.

  Someone knocked on the front door. She exited the room just as Faye, with Pepper balancing on her shoulder, opened the door. Bettina Tucker stood on the threshold, clutching a plastic food container.

  “Hi, Faye!” Bettina’s lips stretched into a taut smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I heard you’d come home. I hope you’re feeling better.”

  “I’ve been worse,” Faye said rather ungraciously before waving her in.

  “Poppycock,” Pepper grunted.

  Bettina stepped warily around the parrot before her gaze fell on Emma. She stopped short, clearly disconcerted. “Oh, hello, Emma. I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

  “Hi, Bettina. I drove Faye home from the hospital.”

  Faye motioned them into the kitchen, where Bettina stood with the food container clasped against her stomach, looking even more uncomfortable. After a moment, she held the plastic tub
out to Faye. “I brought you a chicken casserole. You just need to reheat it in the microwave, or you can pop it in the freezer for another day, if you like.”

  “Thank you. Put it down there, if you like.” Faye gestured at the table, eyeing the casserole with a dubious expression. “Did you make it yourself?”

  Bettina set the casserole on the table. “Oh, no. Alvin did. It’s his special recipe.”

  “I see.”

  Bettina fiddled with the strap of her wristwatch. “Um, so how are you Faye? I heard you had a fractured ankle. On the mend now, I hope.” She ventured a glance at Faye’s black, cumbersome moonboot and winced.

  Faye lowered herself into a chair at the table and stuck out her moonboot at an angle. “Of course I’ll need plenty of physiotherapy before I’m healed, but I’m no longer at death’s door, although I’m sure that will disappoint a few people.”

  Bettina started, her mouth falling open. “Oh, I—I don’t know about...”

  “How is Alvin?” Faye bared her teeth in what seemed like a rather voracious smile. “Busy, I assume, with all the summer crowds.”

  “Yes, busy.” Bettina nodded, her brow creased. She darted an anxious look at Emma before drawing in a breath. “So glad to see you’re recovering. I’d better be off. No, don’t trouble yourself, I’ll see myself out.”

  She practically scurried out, the front door shutting behind her a few moments later.

  “Well.” Faye frowned at the food container on the table. “She’s in a twitchy mood.”

  Yes, Emma silently agreed. Why was Bettina such a bundle of nerves? And why had she rushed over here so soon after Faye had been discharged from hospital? Maybe she had hoped to have a quiet chat with Faye and possibly try to persuade her not to sue Alvin, but Emma’s presence had thwarted her.

  Faye was murmuring softly to her parrot, her visitor apparently forgotten.

  “Perhaps I should leave and let you get settled in,” Emma said hopefully.

  Faye’s head instantly snapped back to her. “Oh, no, you can’t leave yet,” she commanded. “Put on some coffee while I take care of my poor, neglected Pepper.”