“Poisoned!” someone shrieked. “We’ve all been poisoned!”
The murmurs swelled. Another woman staggered out of the room, hand clapped over her mouth.
“It’s the oysters,” a man declared. “I thought they smelled weird.”
“No, it’s the potato salad. That dressing was just plain wrong.”
Emma assisted the woman to a chair and found a napkin to wipe up the blobs of cream stuck to her hair.
“Emma! What’s going on?” Jordan Kozlowski hurried toward her, wringing her jewel-encrusted fingers. “Why is everyone falling down?”
“I don’t know.” Emma shook her head, helpless and uneasy.
“Oh my God. Why did this have to happen tonight? I wanted everything to be perfect.”
Jordan, a glamorous thirty-something-year-old, was the much younger girlfriend of Tony Barnet, the owner of this newly constructed, opulent lakeside property. A few years older than Emma, she was often seen zipping around in her red Miata convertible, blonde hair lifting in the breeze, as she met friends for lunch or went to yoga classes, and always in eye-catching skintight clothing guaranteed to draw attention to her curvaceous figure.
Tonight she was dressed in a rather more conservative cocktail dress without the plunging necklines and short skirts she usually favored, and her makeup and jewelry were also more subdued. A calculated attempt to fit in with the established wealthy set here at Shamrock Lake, Emma had realized, which was also why she’d hired Emma to organize this housewarming party.
Emma had leaped at the opportunity. She’d only been back in Greenville, California six months, and her fledgling event planning business needed all the help it could get. She’d worked so hard to get every detail of the housewarming party right. A lot was riding on this event, both for her and Jordan.
Tony Barnet was relatively new to Greenville, having moved here only two years ago, and despite his money he wasn’t quite accepted by the upper echelons of local society. His five acre estate on the lake shore might not be in the right neighborhood, being surrounded by apple and pear orchards, but the house, which had taken just nine months to build, was a spectacular palace, designed to impress. This housewarming party was supposed to knock everyone’s socks off, to show that Tony was a force to be reckoned with, and that Jordan could be a successful hostess.
This party was important to Emma, too. A business like hers relied on referrals, and tonight’s guest list included many potential new clients. Like Jordan and Tony, she needed to be accepted by this crowd and only had one chance to create a good first impression.
And what a disastrous first impression this was making. The great room of Tony Barnet’s multi-million dollar lakefront mansion was an impressive, soaring showpiece of affluence. Travertine marble floor tiles, enormous crystal chandeliers, a towering stone fireplace. No expense had been spared. But now it looked like a field hospital, with half a dozen afflicted people scattered about, concerned friends hovering nearby, while others argued over the cause.
The woman Emma had helped suddenly bent forward and threw up on the rug. A very expensive-looking Persian rug.
“Oh, my goodness.” Jordan teetered on her heels, hands fluttering uselessly. “Mrs. Pemberton, I’m so sorry…”
“It’s quite all right.” Emma patted Mrs. Pemberton’s shoulder. The woman was looking quite distressed. “Jordan, I think we should call for the paramedics.”
“Paramedics?” Jordan bit her lip. “Are you sure?”
“These people need help. Look, I’ll do it, and I’ll fetch some water for Mrs. Pemberton, too.”
Jordan nodded, pale with worry. Emma hurried toward the kitchen, pulling out her phone from the pocket of her dress. She made the call, explained the circumstances to the dispatcher, and hung up just as she ran into the caterer.
“Alvin, what’s happening? Any idea what the cause is?”
Alvin ran a successful restaurant and catering business in Greenville. He was a friend of Emma’s dad, and she’d known him all her life. She knew he was a professional, someone she could trust, someone who wouldn’t cut corners in order to save a few bucks.
He shook his head, his brow creased with concern. “People think it’s the oysters, but I’ve been buying them from Joe’s for decades and never had a problem. At this moment I don’t know what’s the cause.”
“Okay. Well, we need to help those people out there. Can you get your servers to start handing out bottles of water and napkins?”
“Sure thing.” Alvin nodded. “I’m sorry, Emma. Want me to talk to Mr. Barnet?”
“No, I’ll talk to him.” Her stomach muscles tightened at the prospect of fronting up to Tony Barnet. But she was the organizer of this party, and that meant she had to deal with the fallout herself.
“Thanks.” Alvin looked relieved. “That guy’s a mean bastard—excuse my language.”
Emma made a noncommittal sound. Even if she agreed with him, she couldn’t bad-mouth clients behind their back.
“We’ll need some cleaning supplies, too,” she said. “People are throwing up. On Tony’s new carpets.”
“Oh, jeez.” He ushered her to the utility room where Emma armed herself with a bucket, a roll of paper towels, and a pair of gloves.
“This isn’t good for business,” Alvin muttered as she picked up a bottle of water for Mrs. Pemberton together with her cleaning paraphernalia. “I can’t believe this is happening.”
Neither can I, Emma thought as she hurried back to the great room. But this was the life of an event planner. Always be prepared, was her motto. Her trusty tote bag was filled with things to deal with every emergency, but she wasn’t sure she was equipped for mass poisoning.
The great room was noisier than ever, and no one appeared eager to depart, even the unaffected guests who weren’t assisting anyone. In fact, these people seemed to be almost ghoulishly enjoying watching the disaster unfold. Did they find this entertaining? Emma sighed under her breath. She was being too uncharitable. Maybe her years in New York had made her too cynical. That, and her failed relationship, and her bombed career.
She hurried over to hand the bottle of water to Mrs. Pemberton, who was looking a little better now that her body had rid itself of the unknown toxins. The remains of that poisonous material lay in a puddle on the Persian carpet, while the woman had moved to another chair, no doubt to get away from the smell.
Emma glanced down at her outfit of black shift dress and black medium-heeled shoes. As the party organizer she had to look smart and professional but also unobtrusive, somewhere between being a guest and a staff member. Her current ensemble had taken her through many grueling parties, but she couldn’t remember one where she’d been required to clean up someone else’s sick. Donning the bright pink gloves, she bent to her task, trying not to breathe too deeply.
Heavy footsteps thumped on the marble floor tiles, growing louder until a pair of shiny dress shoes stopped just short of her.
“You!” a furious voice shrieked above her head. “Hey, you! I’m talking to you.”
Emma’s heart sank at the sound of the familiar voice. She slowly rose to her feet, a wodge of soiled paper towels in one hand, and looked at Tony Barnet.
Tonight her client, a medium-height, squarely built man, was spick and span in a dove gray double-breasted suit teamed with a navy ascot and gray leather shoes. In his mid-fifties, he possessed a thick head of black hair and a craggy, Romanesque face that was currently puce with outrage.
“Mr. Barnet, so glad to see you’re all right,” Emma said, trying to inject confidence into her voice.
He didn’t seem to hear her at all. “What the hell are you doing? You’ve ruined my party, you stupid girl,” he ranted, clenching and unclenching his hands.
Emma swallowed as she tried to cling onto her self-composure. She’d only met Tony Barnet a couple of times before tonight, and both times he’d been dismissive and impatient. So she shouldn’t be too surprised that he was yelling at her now, but cou
ldn’t he at least wait until the people who were ill were taken care of?
“I’m sorry you feel that way,” she replied. “Please be assured that I’ll do everything I can to get to the bottom of this.”
She dropped the dirty paper towels into the bucket. Tony’s gaze followed her action, and when he saw what she was cleaning up, his cheeks began to puff up.
“My Goddamn Persian carpet!” he shrieked. For such a beefy man he had a surprisingly falsetto voice, and when he grew angry it seemed to rise in pitch too. “It’s ruined!” He fumed at her so venomously she found herself faltering back a step, anxiously wondering if the man was about to attack her. He jabbed a pudgy finger at her. “You’re going to pay for this, or I’ll sue the pants off you.”
Nausea rolled in the pit of Emma’s stomach. “We can discuss that later,” she said, uneasily aware that Mrs. Pemberton was within earshot. He wouldn’t start badgering an ill woman, would he?
“You’re in charge of all the food and drink. You planned it all. You’re responsible, girlie, and I’m going to make damn sure you don’t forget that. Not for one single minute.”
Oh God, this was becoming excruciating. The room had fallen silent as everyone watched on, and she could feel her cheeks getting hot as Tony berated her in public.
“Oh, Tony, come on.” Jordan sidled up to them, her big blue eyes pleading at her much older boyfriend. “Please don’t take it out on poor Emma. She’s doing the best she can.” She made to touch his arm, but he flung her off petulantly.
“It’s your fault too, Jordie,” he fumed. “I told you it was a waste of money to hire a party planner, but noooo. You had to have one. As if you don’t have time to organize a little get-together for a few of my friends. All you do every day is work on your tan and spend my money on your goddamn shopping trips.”
Jordan bit her lip and her cheeks paled, making her blusher stand out in pink blotches. “Oh, Tony,” she murmured, hanging her head. “I only wanted to make you happy. I know how much this party means to you.”
“Yeah? And I suppose you call this a stunning success, do you?”
Tony moved forward, waving his arms at his guests who were all staring at him. “Don’t worry, everyone. I’ve got everything under control,” he blustered, puffing out his chest. “I’ll get to the bottom of this, don’t you worry. No one makes a fool out of Tony Barnet and gets away with it, I can assure you. I’m good friends with Chief Putnam. He’ll sort this out, pronto. I’m calling him right now.” Pulling out a cell phone from his suit pocket, he stomped off.
He’s calling the chief of police? Emma’s head spun. Maybe Tony was right. Maybe this was more suspicious than she’d first thought. Oh, heavens. Was this all her fault? Had she been careless and missed something important? Was she going to be arrested and taken down to the station, and would her dad have to bail her out? Poor Dad. She couldn’t do that to him.
She grabbed the bucket and hurried back to the kitchen where she told Alvin what had happened. He didn’t seem all that surprised.
“I’ve made sure all the food is set aside and secured. The authorities will want to take samples for testing. You should probably let Scott know. If it’s not the food, it might be the alcohol.”
Scott owned the liquor store that had supplied all the drinks and glasses for the party. Emma tracked him down to his van parked at the rear entrance of the house and told him what was happening.
“Whoa, you can’t think it’s something one of us did,” Scott protested. “I know Tony Barnet can be difficult, but he’s a good customer. We didn’t sabotage this party. Well, I hope it wasn’t one of our guys.” Scott had brought a bartender and a server to help him tonight.
It seemed everyone involved in running this party disliked Tony, although she was the only one he had publicly humiliated in front of his guests and many potential clients.
As she scurried back through the house, she felt a sudden spasm in her abdomen and paused to press a hand to her belly. Oh no, was she about to fall victim to this bout of poisoning too? Resting her head against a wall, she tried to recall everything she’d ate or drank this evening. She’d snacked on this and that, and taken a sip of a few things, too busy to notice, her mind focused on the smooth running of the party. She couldn’t remember any details, she realized. The only thing she was sure of was that she hadn’t drunk any alcohol, although the toxin could have been in the mixers or the glass or even the ice.
The spasm passed, so she forced herself to carry on. When she reached the great room, she saw that several EMTs had arrived and were busy assessing patients and strapping a few into gurneys. The party atmosphere was completely ruined by now, but at least help was at hand. Relief washed over her but quickly disappeared when she spotted the two police officers with Tony. One was a mature-aged man perhaps in his forties whom she didn’t recognize, while the other, a trim, neat woman under thirty, was someone Emma wished she didn’t recognize either.
Emma didn’t believe she had many enemies. She’d always been popular in high school and college, and generally found it easy to make friends. She wasn’t the one who’d broken up their relationship, that had been Steven’s doing. And it was Rowena, her business partner, who had defrauded their clients and run off with all the money, not her. No, Emma believed she was on the whole a nice person. But even the nicest person could have a nemesis, and for her that nemesis was Sherilee Ackerman. Emma could never pinpoint exactly why she and Sherilee didn’t get along, but ever since middle school when Emma had accidently bumped off Sherilee as class president, they had never seen eye to eye.
Twelve years on the east coast meant Emma had virtually forgotten about Sherrilee until, two weeks after her return to Greenville, Sherilee had booked her for speeding, and the old antagonism had sprung to life again.
Now, as Sherilee approached, there seemed to be a glint of schadenfreude in the officer’s eyes.
“Hello, Emma,” Sherilee said coolly as she took out notepad and pen. “Care to tell me what went wrong this evening?”
Emma’s hands curled into fists, and the ache returned to her stomach. “I’m not sure. People just started collapsing.” She drew in a breath. “Why are you here? I thought it was the food and health authorities’ responsibility to investigate food poisoning.”
Sherilee lifted a shoulder. “Just following orders. Besides, this might be more than just accidental, seeing as how people got ill so quickly. It could have been deliberate poisoning.”
Deliberate poisoning? That was so much worse. Emma’s stomach heaved, and sweat broke out on her brow from the effort of keeping herself composed.
“Are you feeling okay?” Sherilee’s composed gaze swept over Emma, making her acutely aware of her crumpled dress and her hair coming loose from its knot. In contrast, Sherilee looked crisp and competent in her polycotton blend police uniform. “You don’t look too good.”
“I’m fine,” Emma retorted. No way did she want Sherilee feeling sorry for her.
The officer’s gaze shifted past Emma’s shoulder, and some of her frostiness dissolved. “Hey, Fletcher. What are you doing here? We didn’t call in the sheriff’s department.”
Emma’s heart descended into the nauseous whirlpool in her stomach. Could this night get even worse? Apparently, it could. Now, not only did she have her nemesis questioning her, but her old high school boyfriend had arrived to witness this entire debacle.
Owen Fletcher stopped in front of the two women. For such a tall man he was surprisingly light on his feet. A deputy sheriff with the Marion County Sheriff’s Office, he wasn’t in uniform tonight, though his black cargo pants, dark shirt, close-cropped hair and square jaw exuded a law enforcement air.
“Evening, Emma,” he said, grave and polite, before turning to Sherilee, his voice lightening. “I’m not here on official business. Mom called me to pick her up. She came with a friend, but Marcie needs some medical attention.”
“Oh, no,” Emma blurted out. She hadn’t even noticed
Owen’s mom at the party, that was how harried she’d been. Now, she felt even worse. She’d always liked Owen’s mom; she hoped Ingrid didn’t think she’d been snubbing her. “I’m so sorry, Owen.”
He looked at her with a quizzical expression. “I hear you’re the one who organized this whole shebang.”
His eyes were deep mocha brown, and once upon a time they had lit up whenever he saw her. Now, they were wiser and warier, but still they held a hint of sympathy, and his was the first friendly face she’d seen in what felt like hours.
“It’s probably the last shebang I get to organize, if Tony Barnet gets his way,” she muttered, folding her arms around her waist.
On the other side of the room, Tony had been monopolizing the other police officer for several minutes, talking earnestly and a couple of times pointing accusingly in Emma’s direction. Jordan was nowhere to be seen.
“Barnet thinks you’re responsible for this?” Owen briefly glanced at Tony before addressing Sherilee. “That can’t be right.”
Sherilee shrugged. “We’ve just started investigating. We can’t jump to conclusions.”
“But Tony already has,” Emma said. “I suppose he expects you to march me off in handcuffs.”
“I’m a professional, Emma,” Sherilee said with just a hint of a smirk. “I won’t arrest you just because Mr. Barnet insists you’re the culprit,”
Another painful wave twisted her stomach, but Emma compressed her lips, determined not to show any weakness in front of these two people.
“What, does he think I’m trying to harm him?” she scoffed. She really had had enough of Tony Barnet and his bullying. “Honestly, if I wanted to hurt Tony, I can think of plenty of better ways than poisoning his guests.”
A look of alarm flickered across Owen’s face. She was familiar with that expression. He’d always been the steady, reliable one, whereas she’d been the reckless girlfriend leading him astray. It was a wonder they’d ever got together in the first place.
Pushed to the Limit (an Emma Cassidy Mystery Book 2) Page 24