Murder Most Likely (an Emma Cassidy Mystery Book 3)

by Karen Chester

  Emma looked about for some of her former classmates. Zoe was huddled together with Brendon, who looked slightly worse for wear. She was about to make her way toward her friends when a commotion broke out on the far side of the crowd. It took her a while to make out that Mervyn had arrived and was being greeted by some of the more raucous alumni. People were shaking his hand, slapping him on the back, and generally congratulating him. Mervyn, flushed and smiling, appeared to lap up the attention, as well he should. He stood out from the crowd in his rather outrageous orange leather jacket and designer grunge jeans, as if his red hair didn’t make him conspicuous enough. Mervyn wasn’t shy of proclaiming to everyone that he had come a long way from his geeky, bullied days at South Lake High.

  Someone behind Emma made a snort of disgust. “Tuh! What a tool. I wouldn’t be seen dead in a stupid jacket like that.”

  She turned around to find Conrad Dupree close behind her. His narrowed eyes were pinned on Mervyn, his hands planted on his hips.

  “Don’t you ever get tired of insulting Mervyn?” she said before she could help herself. “What has he ever done to harm you?”

  Conrad blinked in confusion. Clearly the question had never crossed his mind. “He’s screwed up in the head.” Conrad tapped his skull with a thick forefinger. “You know he stalked Katrina for a while. He used to leave notes in her locker, presents, too. He followed her all the time, even when she was on a date with me!” He scowled, filled with indignation. “Is that enough for you?”

  Could Conrad be telling the truth? She’d never noticed Mervyn crushing on Katrina, but then she hadn’t paid much attention to either of them. There was only that one incident she remembered when Mervyn had slipped a note into a locker. It could’ve been Katrina’s locker, but she didn’t know for sure. And she didn’t know if Conrad was making the whole thing up simply to excuse his bullying.

  “Maybe that did happen,” she said, “but that was a long time ago. Surely you can let bygones be bygones now?”

  Conrad lifted his shoulders. “It might’ve been a long time ago, but Butthead Butterick’s still the same. The guy’s a creep.”

  She was about to defend Mervyn when the megaphone squawked to life again and Janet repeated her instructions, imploring everyone to cooperate.

  Conrad tilted his head and smirked at Emma. “You’re not too bad. I always liked you in high school. I’ll buy you a drink sometime.”

  He sauntered off, leaving Emma gaping like a goldfish in his wake. Of all the… Boy, some people had a high opinion of themselves!

  She guessed she couldn’t blame him. Conrad was still an impressive figure, taller and more wide-shouldered than most men here. His hair might be thinning, but he still looked fit enough to run onto the field at the upcoming football game.

  Then, she caught a glimpse of the gray sneakers he was wearing, and her blood ran cold. They looked exactly like the shoes she’d seen on the internet this afternoon. Especially that distinctive logo… If she wasn’t mistaken, Conrad Dupree was wearing Van Janssen shoes, the exact same brand worn by the man who had almost killed her yesterday.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Someone bumped into her from behind as people milled around. Conrad had disappeared.

  “Emma!” a voice called out.

  She glanced up to see Janet waving at her.

  “Emma, dear, can you move over to that side?” Janet pointed to the group of people on her left. “We need to even up the numbers.” She smiled encouragingly, and Emma, still dazed by what she’d seen, meandered across the grass to her designated group.

  As Janet called out further instructions, Emma tried to think logically and calmly. Was she certain about the shoes? She had only caught a glimpse of Conrad’s feet, so she couldn’t be one hundred percent positive. If only Conrad were closer so she could verify what she’d seen, but he was nowhere in sight, and she wasn’t even sure she wanted to be that close to him.

  Conrad held a personal grudge against Mervyn and made no bones about it. He never passed up an opportunity to denigrate him, and he clearly resented the fact that Mervyn was now a success and far wealthier than Conrad could ever be. Conrad might have killed Todd by accident, thinking he was pranking Mervyn, and then, when he got wind that Mervyn was making enquiries, he might have panicked and tried to do away with him using the flowerpot. It was the kind of reckless, ill thought out plan she could see Conrad hatching.

  But why would he be walking around in those incriminating shoes? Surely he wasn’t that dumb. Then again, maybe he didn’t know he’d left footprints behind, or maybe he didn’t think they could be traced back to him. If he was the culprit, he was a very audacious one, because he’d spoken to her without a trace of anxiety and even had the nerve to suggest they have a drink together. Was that his way of saying no hard feelings because he’d intended the flowerpot for Mervyn?

  She had to speak to Mervyn and tell him of her suspicions, but it was impossible at the moment. The photographer and Janet had climbed into the cherry picker which slowly hoisted them up into the air. Janet called out instructions to the two groups forming the numerals. It took some time to get the numerals formed, as many were in a festive mood and not amenable to following orders. Eventually, with the best light of the day fading fast, the photographer got his pictures, and when Janet told them they were free to go, everyone cheered before scattering across the playing field in all directions.

  In the melee that followed, Emma scurried from one knot of people to the next, searching for Mervyn in his glaring orange jacket. Eventually she found him, but Principal Fulton had gotten hold of him and it seemed he wanted him to meet some of the school board.

  At the first opportunity, Emma tugged at Mervyn’s sleeve. “Hey, I need to talk to you.”

  “Yeah, sure,” Mervyn said, distractedly picking at his leather jacket. “Can it wait? I’m doing something important now.”

  Important? Confabbing and glad-handing with the school board? Then she felt a little ashamed of herself. Mervyn deserved all the recognition he received, and if he enjoyed chit-chatting with Principal Fulton and his board members, then it was none of her business.

  “Fine.” She nodded. “I’ll see you later at the game, then?”

  “Uh-huh.” He had already forgotten her as a smartly dressed middle-aged woman came up to him with a big smile and a hand outstretched.

  Emma turned away. The crowd had dispersed surprisingly quickly, and the playing field was almost deserted. She made her way toward the exit, then slowed down when she caught sight of a lonely figure loitering at the edge of the playing field. It was Archer, dressed in baggy gray hoodie and sweatpants, his shoulders hunched, his expression morose. She hesitated, wondering if she should call out to him, when he lifted his head, and their eyes met.

  Oh well, she couldn’t pretend she hadn’t seen him.

  “Hi, Archer,” she said, veering in his direction. “I didn’t realize you were in the anniversary photo shoot.”

  “I wasn’t.” He said tersely. “Why celebrate this old dump turning seventy-five?” He cast a disparaging glance at the school buildings around him.

  Then why was he here? Did it made his gall rise to see Mervyn surrounded by well-wishers when he, Archer, believed he deserved some of their accolades? The brooding scowl on his face answered that question, and she couldn’t help glancing furtively at his shoes. Plain, black canvas sneakers, the kind you could buy for less than ten dollars. Clearly not Van Janssen shoes, although Archer was smart enough that if he were guilty he would’ve gotten rid of the compromising sneakers already.

  Archer’s morose eyes settled on her. “Thanks for bailing on me the other day.”

  Emma couldn’t help flushing. “Sorry about that, but you were, uh, in a bad mood, and I thought it best to leave you alone.”

  “Tuh.” Archer grunted “Guess I don’t blame you.” He jerked his chin toward the small knot of people still surrounding Mervyn. “I suppose he’s going to the football, too.�
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  “Just about everyone’s going to the football, even me.” She hesitated before adding, “Why don’t you come too? It’ll be fun.” She didn’t know why she was inviting Archer. Maybe it was because she hated seeing him so gloomy and beaten down.

  “Fun? Cheering on a bunch of dumb jocks surrounded by equally dumb drunks? No thanks.” He stomped off, hands balled up in the pockets of his hoodie.

  Charming, Emma thought. Archer had a very negative view of high school football. In fact, he had a negative view on everything in life, full stop. He had every reason to hate Mervyn and want him dead. More, in fact, than Conrad Dupree. But Conrad was the one wearing those damning shoes, and he was the one she had to watch out for.

  ***

  At the game’s half time break, Emma’s dad turned to her and said, “Looks like our Panthers are going to win easily tonight. Want me to go get you a drink or a hotdog maybe?”

  “No thanks, Dad.” Emma said, rising to her feet. “But I do need to visit the restroom.”

  “Okay.”

  She felt his concerned gaze follow her as she made her way out of the stands. As promised, she was sitting with him and Janet rather than with Zoe or her other friends. The football game was entertaining, but it wasn’t enough to stop her from brooding over what she had seen earlier. Now that it was half time, she was determined to seek Mervyn out and tell him about Conrad’s shoes.

  She found a quiet spot and pulled out her cell phone. The easiest way to get him alone would be to call him, she figured.

  “Hello? Emma?” Mervyn sounded distracted, and the connection was scratchy.

  “Mervyn, can we talk now in private? I’m behind the last stand near the parking lot. Can you meet me here? I think it’s important.”

  “Um, sure. I’ll see you there in five.”

  Ten minutes ticked by before Mervyn’s orange leather jacket came into sight. “Sorry to keep you waiting! Couldn’t get away. I didn’t realize so many people wanted to talk to me.” He brushed his hair away from his eyes and smiled brilliantly at her. “So what’s this urgent news you have to tell me?”

  Emma got straight down to it. “I think Conrad Dupree is wearing Van Janssen shoes.”

  Mervyn’s eyebrows shot up, and his smile vanished. “You’re sure?”

  “Sorry, I’m not a hundred percent certain. I only caught a glimpse of them, but I saw the shoes on the internet, and the ones he’s wearing look very similar, especially the logo.”

  “Hmm.” Mervyn scratched his chin. “It’s plausible, you know. Conrad’s always had it in for me, and he’s such an arrogant jerk he’d believe he could wear those shoes with impunity.” The light was too dim for her to make out his face, but she sensed a dark shadow on his expression. “Conrad always believed he could get away with anything.”

  The bitter note in Mervyn’s voice disturbed her. “Mervyn,” she began hesitantly. “Conrad told me that you stalked Katrina back in high school. Is that true?”

  He was silent, the shadows veiling his face, and she began to wish she hadn’t mentioned the subject.

  “Katrina was a goddess back then, an untouchable goddess,” he said slowly. “Do you honestly think I was naïve enough to believe I stood a chance with her? Yes, I thought she was gorgeous, just like most boys my age, but I never hoped, and I certainly never stalked her. Conrad was lying.”

  “Yes, I thought as much.” The surge of noise from the crowd alerted her that the game had restarted. “So what should we do about Conrad? I was hoping to get a closer look at his shoes during the game, but my dad’s still anxious about me and I have to sit with him.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll try to weasel my way closer to Conrad and check out his shoes.”

  “And what if I’m right about them? What then? If we tell the police, they’ll want to know how we know, and that will get you into trouble.”

  “We’ll worry about that later.” He squeezed her uninjured shoulder, his voice softening. “Thanks for doing so much for me, Emma. You don’t know how much I appreciate it.”

  “Oh, it’s nothing.” Embarrassed and taken aback, she hunted for something else to say. “By the way, yesterday when you called me to your place, you were going to tell me something. What was it? Was it something to do with Todd’s death?”

  Mervyn’s hand dropped away from her shoulder, and he took in a deep breath. “Ah, that.” He fiddled with the zipper of his leather jacket. “Well, I’m not sure if it’s relevant to Todd’s death, but I feel I have to tell you anyway.”

  He hesitated again, and her apprehension mounted. “What is it? It’s something bad, isn’t it?”

  “I’ll let you be the judge of that.” Sighing, he rubbed his hands together. “Okay, so you know I have a contact in Silicon Valley who told me about Otto Wiseman. Well, he’s been doing some more digging, and he’s come up with something else. It’s about your friend, Zoe Chan. She was fired from her job less than a month ago.”

  Emma felt her eyes straining as she goggled at him. “What! That can’t be true!”

  “I’m afraid it is. She did something…less than ethical. I don’t have the exact details.”

  “But—but—” Her brain was spinning in denial. “But she’s told me all about her six-figure salary, her promotion prospects, her stock options…”

  “I guess she did have all that, but not anymore.”

  “It must be a mistake,” Emma hotly declared. “Your source must be misinformed. Zoe wouldn’t lie to me!”

  “I’m so sorry.” He shuffled his feet in the dirt. “If it’s any consolation, I know how it feels to be lied to.”

  Her chest heaved as she struggled to get her feelings under control. The betrayal pierced her like a sharp needle. Why? Why had Zoe, the friend she’d been so close with, told her such big, fabulous lies? It didn’t make sense.

  She glared at Mervyn. “Why are you telling me this? How on earth could it be connected to Todd’s death?”

  He held up his hands defensively. “I haven’t told you everything. Zoe is now secretly working for Ralph Bautista.”

  Oh God, this was even worse. She balled her fists and thrust them into her coat pockets. “So,” she said, trying to sound matter-of-fact. “What you’re implying is that Zoe, under Bautista’s instructions, broke into your home last Saturday night and tried to steal your software but was thwarted by you and ran out the house.” She sucked in another deep breath. “And then, she killed Todd because possibly he spotted her lurking in the grounds. Is that what you’re saying?” Her voice shook from the effort of masking her distress.

  “I—I’m not accusing her of anything.” Mervyn rubbed his eyes, sounding anxious and tired. “I’m just stating the facts.”

  “But Zoe didn’t even arrive until Sunday!” she protested.

  “Are you sure about that?”

  No, she wasn’t; she only had Zoe’s word for that. It felt like the ground beneath her were shifting, and everything she had taken for granted could no longer be relied on. She looked up at Mervyn. He had moved out of the shadows so she could see him now, and his face was filled with compassion.

  “Emma…” he began.

  “Don’t.” She didn’t want to hear his next words. She had already heard too much.

  She spun around, and as she ran off, the crowd erupted into a frenzy. The Panthers had scored another touchdown.

  ***

  “Ah, there you are,” Emma’s dad said as she finally sat down again. “Have a good chat with your friends?”

  Too shaken to face her father and Janet after Mervyn’s revelations, Emma had sent her dad a text message saying she’d run into some friends and not to worry. She had then spent almost the entire final quarter wondering what to do next.

  “Yes, thanks,” she said. “As a matter of fact, I’m going to have a drink with them after the game. Don’t worry. I won’t have any alcohol, and I’ll be home before twelve.”

  Despite her assurances, Andrew still looked concerned until
Janet, sitting on his other side, leaned in and said, “That’s great, honey. Your father and I are meeting a couple of friends for coffee and pie, so you have fun.”

  Emma nodded her thanks, grateful for Janet’s cheerful support. As soon as the game was over—the home team having comprehensively thumped the visitors, much to the satisfaction of the crowd—she said her goodbyes and hurried from the stand. At the start of the game she had spotted Zoe among the crowd, and she was determined to catch her before she left. Crowds streamed past Emma toward the parking lot, but there was no sign of her friend. She darted back and forth between the various exits, searching in vain.

  “Brendon.” She pounced on her old classmate as he ambled out. “Have you seen Zoe?”

  Screwing up his face as if he’d smelled something bad, Brendon jerked a thumb over his shoulder and muttered, “Yeah, she was back there,” before motoring away at a fast pace.

  What was wrong with him? Emma wondered. Had he argued with Zoe? Just then Zoe strolled out of the football grounds, accompanied by her entire family—mom, dad, and three younger brothers.

  “Hey, Emma.” Zoe waved and smiled as she drew closer. “Great game, huh?”

  Emma nodded. “Uh, hi, Mrs. Chan, Mr. Chan, boys.”

  Polite greetings were exchanged. Emma and Zoe had spent most of their time at Emma’s house or out somewhere; they had only rarely hung out at the Chans. Not because Zoe’s parents were unwelcoming, but mainly because with a small house and a pack of mischievous younger brothers, the privacy that teenagers hungered for had been in short supply there.

  “The whole family turned out for the game. Even Gavin here.” Zoe nudged the oldest brother, who ducked his head and shuffled out of reach.

  “Sammie’s taking us for waffles now,” the youngest brother piped up, his eyes bright with anticipation.