In the Dead of Winter (an Emma Cassidy Mystery Book 5)

by Karen Chester

  “I’m not sure. I suppose because she was Wayne Goddard’s neighbor.”

  “Oh, yes. Poor man.” Stacey sighed. “Hazel told us about what happened.”

  “It was awful finding him in his bedroom,” Emma said, unable to suppress a shudder.

  “Hazel said it was an accident. She didn’t seem too upset by it.” Stacey tapped her finger against her lip. “In fact, at times she seemed almost…no, I shouldn’t say it.”

  “Say what?”

  Her friend glanced about to make sure there was no one around before leaning in and whispering, “Excited. She seemed excited that the man had died, and even a little pleased. Oh, that sounds so bad. Please, ignore me.”

  “Okay.” But even as she said it, she knew she wouldn’t be able to ignore what she’d just heard.

  She said goodbye to Stacey, then hurried upstairs to the second level, all the while mulling over what she’d learned. When she arrived at the mayor’s office, Hazel Destefano looked up from her desk and greeted her with a perfunctory nod.

  “You’re here at last,” she said as if Emma were late, which she wasn’t. Rising from her desk, she walked over to a large closet. “I’ve been storing the donations in here. Will they all fit in your car, or do we need my car as well?”

  Emma blinked at all the boxes and bags which were neatly stacked and labeled. Stacey had been right. “I didn’t realize there were so many. People must be feeling generous.”

  Hazel shrugged, her rollneck sweater shifting over her sturdy shoulders. The black sweater combined with a long hound’s-tooth skirt and black boots gave her the somber air of a governess, accentuated by her unsmiling expression.

  “The mayor put me in charge of drumming up donations. I made sure people felt generous,” she said without a trace of humor.

  “Uh, well, seems you’ve done a very good job.”

  The secretary waved off the praise. “When something needs to be done, I see to it. Now, about your car?”

  “It definitely won’t fit all of this.”

  “We may as well load everything in my car, then. It’s big enough.”

  After numerous trips back and forth between the storage closet and the staff parking lot, Hazel’s vehicle, a gigantic SUV, swallowed up the entire load with no problem.

  “This is a huge car,” Emma commented as Hazel drove them to the WAC. “Do you do a lot of off-road driving?”

  “No.”

  “Fishing or hunting, then?”

  “No.”

  “Camping?” Emma was fast running out of reasons why a single woman with no children would want to own a vehicle this large and powerful.

  Hazel’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I just like big cars,” she snapped. Silence. Then, she added, “No one messes with me when I’m in this truck.”

  Emma couldn’t help chuckling. “I can’t imagine anyone messing with you full stop.”

  The other woman was not amused. “You’d be surprised,” she said darkly. “Some men think any single woman is fair game.”

  “You mean Wayne Goddard?” Emma couldn’t help asking.

  “Wayne, yes, but he’s not the only jackass I’ve encountered in my life.” Hazel turned a corner sharply, her hands broad and competent on the steering wheel. She entered the parking lot of the WAC and pulled the truck to a brisk halt directly outside the main doors.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Emma said as she joined Hazel at the rear of the vehicle.

  Hazel threw open the trunk, her expression grim. “Men can be the pits sometimes, and yet so many of them would be totally helpless without women. Take the mayor, for example. He’s in a position of power, yet Henry would be lost without his wife organizing his home and social life, and me taking care of his office.”

  “Speaking of the mayor, at the meeting the other day when his wife asked you about Wayne, why didn’t you mention you lived next door to him?”

  Hazel, in the process of reaching into the trunk, drew back, looking startled by the question. “I didn’t consider it relevant.” Her expression grew frosty. “Anything else you want to ask me?”

  Emma hesitated before plunging on, “Well, I did wonder how you knew about Wayne’s spare key under the pot plant if you weren’t on good terms with him…”

  “I saw him using it,” the secretary barked. “He wasn’t very smart about keeping it secret. Now, can we get on with the task at hand?” Shaking her head, she grabbed a pile of boxes.

  Emma picked up several bulging bags and walked with Hazel into the WAC. There was a small storeroom off the lobby where the donations would be held until the fundraiser on Sunday night. As they ferried items between the truck and the storeroom, Emma mulled over what Hazel had revealed. Clearly she was no fan of men, but what had caused that?

  “Is there some reason why you don’t like men?” she tentatively asked during one of their trips.

  Hazel snorted. “Just a lifetime of experience.”

  “Where did you live before you moved to Greenville?”

  Pausing, Hazel gave her a hard stare. “You ask a lot of questions.”

  “I’m just making conversation, that’s all.” Continuing on her way, Emma said over her shoulder, “Sorry if I’m being nosey.”

  The other woman followed and dumped her armful of boxes. That was the last load. Emma shut and locked the storeroom before they returned to Hazel’s SUV. When they got in, the secretary turned to her.

  “Look, unlike most people, I don’t enjoy blabbing about myself.” Her face was set into a frown, her eyes resentful. “You seem like a decent, hard-working woman. I don’t have anything against you, but please don’t pry into my life. I don’t take kindly to intrusions.”

  There was a definite warning in those words, perhaps even a hint of a threat. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

  The secretary accepted the apology with a curt nod before turning her attention to the car. The return journey was made in stone silence.

  Despite the awkwardness, Emma didn’t regret questioning Hazel. The more she pondered Wayne Goddard’s death, the more uneasy she became. Hazel had appeared on the scene very quickly, especially for someone who had disliked Wayne, and most men in general. And she knew exactly where Wayne’s spare key was hidden. According to Hazel, she’d seen him use it, which made Emma wonder if Hazel had spied on her neighbor. And if she knew about the key, had she ever used it before? The secretary was easily capable of carrying a propane heater into Wayne’s house. The question was: had she? And why would she want to kill Wayne? Merely because he’d made an unwelcome pass at her? That didn’t seem reason enough, but then maybe it was the straw that broke the camel’s back…

  As her glance fell on Hazel’s sturdy hands on the wheel, a shiver worked its way down her spine. She pulled her coat closer around her, disquiet spreading through her body. She would be very relieved when this ride was over and she could get away from Hazel.

  Chapter Ten

  When Emma was finished for the day, she found herself reluctant to go home. With Rowena there, her cottage in the woods wasn’t the cozy retreat it had always been, and this left her irritated. Why had she allowed the woman who had swindled her to stay in her home? Not for the first time she wished she could call Owen and talk to him about her problems, but she couldn’t do that without putting him in an awkward position regarding Rowena.

  She decided to visit her father, and as always he greeted her with a warm smile and hug.

  “Stay for dinner,” Andrew Cassidy urged her. “Janet’s coming over and making paella.”

  “Janet’s paella is to die for, but do you think she’d mind me dropping in like this?”

  “Not at all. She’d love to see you again. In fact, she worries that maybe you don’t come around so often these days.”

  A hesitant look came over her father as he peered at her through his spectacles. Still a handsome man, he wore a navy blue pullover and gray trousers and looked every inch the kind, gentle school coun
selor that he was. After Emma’s mother had died three years ago, he had become quiet and withdrawn, but his long friendship with Janet Ramos, a teacher at the same school, had pulled him out of his decline and developed into a slow-burning courtship.

  “I just get busy sometimes,” Emma said vaguely, though to be honest she did sometimes deliberately stay away to give the couple more privacy.

  When Janet arrived sometime later, she dumped her grocery bags on the kitchen table and greeted Emma with a warm hug. “Oh, I’m so glad to see you!” she exclaimed as if it had been weeks instead of days since they had celebrated Christmas together. “You’re staying for dinner, of course” she announced.

  “Only if you’ll let me help you. Maybe I’ll pick up some tips on how to make your famous paella.”

  “It will be my pleasure. I’m so glad you dropped in.” Janet exchanged fond glances with Andrew, who looked happy as he opened a bottle of wine.

  The evening was filled with conversation, laughter, and good food, and Emma quickly relaxed in the loving, undemanding company. But she was brought up short when her father turned to her during a lull in the conversation and said, “I was thinking I should come out to your cottage and check the roof for missing shingles. Tomorrow might be a good day.”

  Startled, Emma almost bit her tongue as she jerked upright. “Uh, my roof is fine, Dad, and—”

  “But we had some strong winds the other day, and the weather forecast is predicting another storm front, maybe with snow. You don’t want to get caught out with a wonky roof in winter.”

  “I’m going to be busy this weekend, what with the party on Sunday night. Why don’t we wait until after the weekend?” Hopefully Rowena would be gone by then. When Emma’s New York life had suddenly imploded, her father had been an absolute rock. With boundless love and generosity, he had helped her climb out from a very dark place. But that generosity did not extend to Rowena, whom he usually referred to as “that crook.” With so much already on her plate, Emma figured it would be better for all concerned if the two didn’t cross paths.

  Andrew was beginning to look nonplussed. “But you don’t need to be there, pumpkin. I’ll just take my stepladder with me and climb up on your roof.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t feel right not being at the cottage. I mean, you might slip and fall.”

  “I always use a safety harness.”

  Emma took a deep breath, wondering how to squirrel Rowena away for a couple of hours. With her dad determined to inspect her roof, it seemed she had no choice. But just as she was about to acquiesce, Janet spoke up.

  “Andrew,” she murmured, “maybe it can wait until next week.”

  He met her eyes, lifted his eyebrows, still puzzled, but after a moment he nodded to Emma. “Okay. I’ll come around early next week.”

  “Thanks, Dad. And I really appreciate your help.”

  Relief filled her, but later, when she and Janet were washing up and her dad was putting out the trash, Janet said with a wink, “So I’m guessing you wanted your dad to stay away because Owen is visiting you tomorrow?”

  “Owen? Oh, ah…” Emma busied herself drying a plate, wishing she didn’t have to lie. “No, it’s just that…I suppose I don’t want my dad thinking I can’t manage on my own.”

  Janet paused in her washing up and turned to Emma, her face softening. “Oh, Emma, don’t you know that to your father you will always be his little girl? That he will never stop worrying about you or wanting to fix your roof, no matter how old he gets?”

  Emma thought about this and realized how perceptive Janet was. She picked up another plate to dry. “He’s lucky to have you, Janet.”

  The woman blushed bright pink. In her chunky fisherman’s sweater she looked more elfin than ever, a sprite who had brought love and color back into Andrew’s life.

  “I think I’m lucky to have him,” she murmured, before plunging her hands back into the soapy suds.

  Later, as Emma drove home, she reflected that it was only a matter of time before her father proposed to Janet. He was a traditional man, and he would want to make the woman he loved his wife. Emma only hoped he wouldn’t make them—meaning her and Janet—wait too long.

  ***

  Arriving at the cottage, she returned to reality with a sharp bump. Rowena had been cooking again, and once more the house was a disaster zone, with burnt pans cluttering the sink and grubby plates and mugs littering every surface. Rowena was nowhere in sight, though from upstairs came the sound of the shower going full bore.

  Taking a deep breath, Emma told herself it was futile to lose her temper. Rowena was only behaving the way she always had. Emma should have anticipated her house turning into a pigsty when she’d allowed Rowena to stay. Now, the shambolic messiness was really starting to grate on her nerves. She made up her mind to tell Rowena she could stay the weekend, but after that she would have to go.

  The shower stopped, and a few minutes later Rowena tromped down the stairs, rubbing her wet hair with a towel and wearing a bathrobe—her bathrobe, Emma noticed with increased annoyance.

  At least Rowena had the grace to appear embarrassed when she saw Emma.

  “Oh, sorry, I didn’t realize you were coming back so soon or I would’ve tidied up.” She walked over to the sink and flicked on the faucets.

  Emma decided to wait until after Rowena had cleaned up before telling her she had to go by Monday. She picked up some plates and a half-empty mug and ferried them to the sink.

  “So, I’ve been thinking,” Rowena began as she haphazardly scrubbed at a pan. “About this Kieran O’Reilly and that photo in his wallet. It’s obviously a picture of his daughter. So who is she? Have the police tracked her down yet?”

  “I don’t know.” Emma, worried about Becky, answered more shortly than she’d intended.

  Rowena raised her eyebrows. “No need to get snappy. I’m just interested, that’s all, seeing he’d been run over by a train.” She gave an exaggerated shudder. “What a gruesome way to die. If the daughter knows, she must be pretty upset.”

  “Have you remembered anything else about the man?”

  “As a matter of fact, since you told me what happened, I’ve been thinking about it all day.” Rowena paused in her washing up. “And there is something, but I doubt it’s significant.”

  Emma tried to tamp down her anticipation. “What is it?”

  “When he was talking to the other passenger about visiting his daughter, I think he said he was meeting someone who knew where his daughter was. He didn’t seem too happy about this. In fact, he seemed a bit agitated, or even threatened.”

  “He felt threatened by the person he was to meet?”

  “I don’t know for sure.” Rowena shrugged her shoulders. “I wasn’t paying much attention. It was just an impression I got, that’s all. He babbled a bit, and then broke off the conversation as if he’d said too much. I told you it wasn’t anything significant.”

  Emma wasn’t so sure. “So Kieran O’Reilly was about to meet someone who knew about his daughter, knew her whereabouts and was most likely going to lead O’Reilly to her, and he was nervous about this meeting, is that about right?”

  “Yeah, I guess so.”

  The news had set Emma’s mind buzzing. “Did you see O’Reilly drinking at all during the bus trip?”

  “Drinking alcohol, you mean? No.”

  “You’re sure about that? He could’ve done it on the sly, so the bus driver wouldn’t notice.”

  “I know how people drink grog on the sly, and he wasn’t. He was restless and agitated, but he wasn’t drinking. I was sitting right behind him, and I didn’t smell any on him, either.”

  Needing to think, Emma walked away to gather more bits of dirty crockery. This, she felt, was a vital piece of information. Kieran O’Reilly hadn’t headed to Greenville hoping for a reunion with his long-lost daughter. No, he had come here because he had perceived a threat, either to himself or to his daughter. He had arrived here stone cold sober, and yet a f
ew hours later he was lying unconscious and reeking of liquor on a railway track with an almost empty bottle of whiskey next to him. Had he rendezvoused with this person who ‘knew’ about his daughter?

  Perhaps they had met somewhere private, and this stranger, for whatever reason, had gotten O’Reilly drunk, driven him out to the tracks, and left him there to be ground up by the next passing train, confident that his body would be so mangled it would make identification difficult, giving the culprit sufficient time to escape.

  Nausea rose in Emma’s throat. She battled to push it down. Ever since she’d tried and failed to rescue the man, something had nagged at her at the back of her mind. She’d assumed it was merely guilt at not being able to save him, but now she sensed it was more. Kieran O’Reilly’s death had not been an accident; he had been murdered.

  “You have to tell the police,” Emma said.

  At the sink, Rowena turned around in surprise, suds dripping off her arms. “What?” Her brow creased up. “No way. We’ve been through this before. I’m not going near the police, and—and you can’t make me!” She wiped her hands on Emma’s bathrobe and flicked back her damp hair, her expression anxious and mulish.

  “But what you’ve told me changes everything. Kieran O’Reilly was killed on purpose.”

  Rowena pursed her lips. “I think you’re being melodramatic. Why would anyone want to kill that man?”

  “You said he was nervous about meeting someone.”

  “Well, so what? There could be a perfectly innocent reason for that.” Rowena’s expression became skeptical. “Are you trying to trick me into giving myself up to the police?”

  “No,” Emma huffed impatiently. “I’m not trying to trick you. I’m trying to stop someone from getting away with murder.”

  “How can you be so sure it was murder?” Rowena shot back, knotting the belt of the bathrobe. “If the man was nervous, then he could’ve started drinking on his own, and if he was an alcoholic, then once he started maybe he couldn’t stop. He could’ve wandered down to the tracks, finished his bottle there, and then passed out on the tracks. It was a tragic accident, nothing more. You can’t deny that explanation is just as plausible—no, actually more plausible than some sinister person meeting him and killing him for reasons unknown.”