Emma chewed on her lower lip. As much as it irked her, she couldn’t refute Rowena’s words. “I still think what you witnessed could be relevant to the investigation, and you should come forward.”
“You tell them, then, if you’re so convinced, but leave my name out of it.”
“What am I supposed to say? That some anonymous person called me with this information? The police would think I’m barking mad.”
“Well I’m not going to talk to them.” Rowena’s cheeks had turned ruddy. “Honestly, I don’t know why I told you in the first place. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to finish these dishes and then go to bed.”
Turning her back on Emma, she resumed her scrubbing with much noisy splashing, her stance radiating stubborn defiance.
Frustration throbbed in Emma, but she knew it was a waste of time trying to convince Rowena. Besides, maybe she was being melodramatic. There was no solid proof that Kieran O’Reilly had met with foul play, only a strong suspicion, and that was not enough to take to the police, even with Rowena’s cooperation.
Tired of the friction, she left Rowena still washing up at the sink and made her way upstairs to her bedroom. She had just shut the door when her cell phone started to vibrate with the song she knew so well. She snatched the phone out of her bag. Owen’s voice immediately soothed the riled beast in her, and she flung herself onto her bed with her phone clutched to her ear, allowing herself to sink into the bliss of talking to him.
“You sound frazzled,” he said after a few minutes. “Is everything okay?”
“Oh, um…I’m worried about Becky.” As Becky had already given her permission to tell Owen, she proceeded to tell him about Becky’s parents, the double murder, and Becky’s efforts to break away from her past.
At the end of it, Owen was silent for several seconds. “I’m so sorry for Becky. What an atrocious thing for any kid to live through. A mother murdered. A father incarcerated. No family to care for her. God! It’s a miracle she’s sane, let alone the great person she is.”
“She seems to hold this strange idea that somehow she’s tainted by her father’s sins, as if she’s flawed because of him.”
“It’s crazy. She was ten years old. She was an innocent victim.”
And yet, Becky was still suffering the fallout.
Owen’s voice changed. “I guess I shouldn’t ask if you’re involved in all this.”
Emma cleared her throat. “What do you mean by ‘involved?’”
“I mean trying to find out anything and everything about this Kieran O’Reilly.”
“Do you want me to answer that?”
“You don’t need to; you just did.” He sighed softly. In the past Owen had taken a dim view of her meddling in police investigations, but since they had grown closer it seemed he had softened his stance. He still didn’t approve, but he understood why she did it.
“I want to help Becky,” Emma said. “This has really shaken her. She’s spent so many years trying to forget her father. On the one hand she can’t forgive him for what he did, but on the other, now he’s dead, she can’t help wondering about him, speculating on what kind of man he was, what his life was like, and so on. It’s so painful for her, this revulsion and fascination. She needs to know about him before she can let it go.”
“So you’re digging around for her?”
“As a matter of fact, I’ve delegated that to someone who’s already in New Mexico. Sherilee.”
“Sherilee?” She could picture Owen’s eyebrows shooting up in surprise.
“Yes. She’s visiting family in Santé Fe, and she agreed to look into the man’s history. For Becky’s sake, of course, not mine.”
“That’s a smart move, honey.”
She found herself smiling. “You sound surprised.”
“I’m not surprised you’re smart,” he answered dryly. “Just surprised that you approached Sherilee.”
“She and I do have our truces now and then.”
“Glad to hear that. I always thought it was silly the way you two bickered.”
“Hey, we haven’t changed that much. We still bicker.”
“Well, let me know what she turns up,” Owen said. “And whatever you do, please try to be careful.”
“Of course. Don’t worry about me.”
His voice took on a different, deeper note. “I always worry about you, sweetheart.”
Her heart twisted like a pretzel. She needed to tell Owen about Rowena, how she was hiding here, how she’d got the wallet, everything. Even if it made Owen over-protective. But not over the phone; she had to see him in the flesh.
“When will I see you again?” she asked before she could stop herself. “I miss you.”
“I miss you too, but it’s not forever. I’ll be back soon.” He murmured a few more words that made her heart sing, and when the call ended she felt herself glowing. But beneath the warmth thorns still pricked at her, and she knew she wouldn’t be at peace until she’d dealt with them.
***
The following morning Emma was still in a quandary about what Rowena had revealed. Her uninvited houseguest was buried under a mountain of bedclothes and showed no signs of stirring. Emma had no wish to wake her. She knew Rowena wouldn’t have suffered a change of heart overnight, and she had no desire to get into another slanging match.
She drove into town, still debating whether she should ignore Rowena’s threats and go to the police. In the end she realized that the first thing to do was to tell Becky.
Emma parked outside Lulu’s Salon and hopped out of her car, ready to cross the road to the diner. Her view was blocked by a large council truck parked at the curb, making it difficult to see traffic. She made a cursory glance left and right before starting across the street. Midway across, the sudden squeal of tires made her look up. A van hurtled around the corner, heading straight for her.
For a moment disbelief froze her muscles. Surely the driver had seen her and wouldn’t run her over? But as the van continued bearing down on her, she realized that disaster was only a split second away.
Chapter Eleven
Pain seared through Emma’s hands and knees as she landed heavily on all fours on the sidewalk. She had no memory of flinging herself to safety; her body must have reacted instinctively. The van was already roaring off down the street. With a squeal of tires, it fishtailed around a corner and disappeared.
Gingerly she dragged herself upright and inspected the damage. Her jeans were ripped at both knees, blood seeping through the denim. Her palms were stinging, her arms felt like they’d been jarred out of their sockets, and her heart was still somewhere in her throat. Her tote bag lay on the ground a few yards away.
A flurry of cold air gusted down the deserted sidewalk; there were no passing cars or pedestrians, not a single witness to what had happened. She picked up her bag, limped into the diner, and collapsed at the nearest table. The diner was empty. Then Abigail appeared from the kitchen, and when she spotted Emma, her eyebrows shot up.
“What happened to you?” She hurried forward. When she caught sight of Emma’s bloodied knees, she let out a stifled scream. “Oh my God! Becky! Come quickly. Emma’s been hurt!”
The swing doors burst open as Becky dashed out from the kitchen, expecting a dire emergency from Abigail’s yells. Emma quickly assured them that she wasn’t in any immediate danger.
“I almost got run over by a van,” she explained as Becky bent to inspect her wounds. “I had to jump to get out of the way, and I landed on my hands and knees on the sidewalk.”
“A van? What kind of van? Did you get the license plate?” Abigail gabbled, tugging on a pigtail as she hopped from one foot to the other.
“It was an ordinary white van, and no, I didn’t get a chance to check the make or model, let alone the license plate.”
“What about the driver? Did you get a good look at him or her?”
“No.” Emma sighed. “I was too busy getting out of the way.”
“Omi
god. Omigod.” The waitress flapped her hands, working herself up into a lather. “A hit-and-run. That was the plan. Someone wants to kill you, Emma!”
In the silence that followed, the door jingled, and a customer walked in. He paused when he saw the three women clustered around the table. Glancing up, Becky beckoned him over.
“Frank. I’m glad to see you. We could do with some help here.”
Frank Lipperman walked over, his gaze lingering on Becky. “What seems to be the problem?”
“Emma just had a nasty fall outside the diner.” Becky gestured to Emma’s knees. “Maybe you could take a look at her injuries?”
Emma looked up in surprise. “But Frank’s a dentist, not a doctor,” she blurted out, not exactly thrilled by the appearance of her rather scary dentist.
Stroking his neat goatee, Frank gave her a condescending look. “I studied nursing before I went into dentistry, so I do have medical training. I’d be happy to take a look at your knees, but I understand if you’d rather not.”
“Uh, sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you. Yes, I’d be very grateful if you could take a quick peek,” Emma said, even though she would’ve preferred tending to her wounds herself.
Becky sent Abigail to fetch the first aid kit and a bowl of warm water, and when she returned Frank got Emma’s legs stretched out on a chair.
“I’ll have to cut your jeans a little.” Using the scissors from the kit, the dentist cut out two neat squares from the denim and exposed her bloodied knees. “Looks nasty, but all the abrasions are superficial. You don’t need any stitches, just a good clean up.” He rolled up his sleeves and began dabbing at Emma’s knees with gauze swabs dampened with an anti-bacterial solution.
“It’s very good of you, Frank,” Becky said.
Her praise sent a flush of color to the dentist’s face. “Not at all. You know I’m always happy to help you.”
“You didn’t see a white van on your way here, did you?” Becky asked.
“Oof!” Emma winced as the gauze swab pressed on a raw spot.
“Sorry,” Frank muttered, seeming distracted. He looked at Becky again. “A white van, you say? No, I didn’t.”
“Pity. That’s the van that almost killed Emma. She had to dive for her life, hence her poor knees.”
Frank tore open a sterile dressing pad and fastened it to Emma’s left knee with several strips of adhesive tape. He then started to clean her right knee.
“Maybe she was daydreaming when she crossed the road and wasn’t aware of the traffic,” he said.
Indignation rose in Emma. First of all, he was talking as if she wasn’t even there, and secondly, he seemed to think she was to blame.
“I wasn’t daydreaming,” she said. “The van came straight for me. It seemed very deliberate.”
Abigail, who had been watching on in rapt silence, let out another squeak. “You see? I’m right! Someone does want to kill you.”
Becky instantly tried to hush her. “Oh, Abby, that’s an irresponsible thing to say. Why would anyone want to kill Emma?”
“I don’t know.” The waitress nibbled on her fingernails, her eyes burning with speculation. “Maybe she saw something. Maybe she witnessed a crime but didn’t realize it, and now the culprit is trying to silence her.”
Frank paused to stare at her. “Whoa. You’ve got a fertile imagination.”
“It’s all those true crime magazines you’re addicted to.” Becky frowned at the young woman.
Frank raised his eyebrows at Abigail. “So you’re fascinated by real life criminals, are you?”
The waitress folded her arms. “Yes, as it happens, I am. Don’t you wonder why some people are driven to commit such terrible crimes?”
“I assume it’s because they don’t know right from wrong.”
“I think most people know what they shouldn’t do, if they’re mentally competent, that is. But some people know they shouldn’t, and still go ahead anyway. They don’t have that brake, that thing inside them that makes other people stop.”
“And that fascinates you?” The dentist was now paying close attention to Abigail even as he continued cleaning Emma’s knee.
“I like to know what makes people tick.”
“And what type of crime are you especially interested in?” Frank was peering at Emma’s knee, but she could sense he was more focused on what Abigail was saying. “Murder, I suppose. That’s the crime that always fascinates people.”
Abigail nodded. “Taking another person’s life is irreversible. It can happen in a split second. Yet something must have gone through the killer’s mind to make him take that fatal decision.”
At the talk of murder, Becky’s face had gone pale, but Emma seemed to be the only one who’d noticed. Emma opened her mouth, ready to change the subject, but Frank was already speaking.
“You don’t secretly admire convicted killers, do you, Abigail?”
The young woman flushed. “Well, not really—”
“Good. Because there’s nothing admirable about them. They shouldn’t be allowed to enjoy any notoriety because of their crimes.”
“Oh, but surely they deserve our pity?”
He paused to give her a hard stare. “Pity, yes. I do have pity for murderers, but they should never be allowed to forget what they’ve done.”
“Even when they’ve finished their prison sentence?”
“Even then.”
“Abigail,” Becky spoke more sharply than usual. “Can you please return to the kitchen and get on with your work?”
Abigail looked startled—no doubt unused to Becky speaking so brusquely to her—but then she shrugged and trailed off, casting a few glances over her shoulder at them.
Becky let out a sigh. “Sorry about that. Abigail can be a little…over-dramatic.”
“I have to admit her views are simplistic, but you’re always patient with her.” Frank kept his dark eyes on Becky, making no attempt to mask his admiration. “She’s lucky to have you as an employer.”
Becky seemed taken aback by his compliment. She cleared her throat and gave a light laugh. “Well, thank you, Frank. And thank you for taking care of Emma.”
He pressed down the last piece of adhesive tape and nodded at Emma. “Keep the wounds clean and of course see your doctor if they don’t heal. What about your hands?”
“Oh, they’re just a bit scratched. I can see to them myself,” Emma said hastily. “Thank you so much.”
He gave her a brisk, almost curt, nod. “I’ll wash up in the bathroom.”
“What can I get you, Frank?” Becky asked. “It’s on the house.”
Two pink dots appeared on his high cheekbones. He ordered an omelet and coffee before walking off to the men’s room, a little jaunt in his step.
“Looks like you’ve got another fan.” Flexing her knees, Emma studied the scrapes and scratches on her palms.
Becky shook her head. “No, Frank’s just being nice.” She placed a hand on Emma’s arm. “That van. It was an accident, wasn’t it? Because if it wasn’t, if it was deliberate, then…then it just makes me sick to think about it.” A worried frown puckered her brows.
“Yes, I’m pretty sure it was just a careless driver,” Emma said. In all honesty she wasn’t sure, but with Becky looking so anxious it seemed the best thing to say. She hauled herself to her feet, wincing as the tendons in her limbs protested. “I think I’ll go and clean my hands.”
“Yes, please do, and when you’re done I’ll get you blueberry pie with extra lashings of cream.”
When Emma emerged from the bathroom ten minutes later, Frank Lipperman was eating his omelet at a table by the window, while Becky was at the counter chatting to a new customer. Becky’s unhappy frown had vanished, and she seemed a lot more cheerful as she waved Emma over.
“Hey, sweetie. Sit down and I’ll get your pie and coffee.” She sashayed away, the bow of her apron fluttering behind her.
The man she’d been chatting to gazed after her with a goofy expr
ession. It was Nick Stavros, the vet, Emma realized. He turned to Emma, smiling sheepishly.
“Hi, Emma. Heard you were in the wars.”
“Yeah, but I’m all patched up thanks to Frank over there.” She glanced over her shoulder at the dentist, but the man had a newspaper next to his plate and appeared to be studiously ignoring everyone.
Nick barely spared a glance at the other man. He was too busy staring after Becky and making a poor attempt at hiding his smile.
“What’s going on?” Emma cautiously asked, unsure whether she ought to ask. “Did you win the lottery or something.”
“It feels like I’ve won the lottery.” Nick ran his fingers through his slightly scruffy hair as a wide grin split his face. “Becky just agreed to go with me to the New Year’s Eve party!”
His excited voice echoed around the diner. The mirror behind the counter reflected Frank Lipperman’s startled reaction in the far corner. The dentist jerked his head up, and his face filled with a dark fury, his hands clenching on his knife and fork. With his slicked back hair and fuming eyes, he resembled an enraged devil, filled with anger. A cold trickle of dread worked its way down Emma’s spine. Frank was furious with jealousy. Then, as quickly as it had appeared, Frank’s livid expression vanished. He picked up his coffee and took a sip, his face chillingly blank.
Nick, wrapped up in his own happiness, hadn’t noticed the dentist’s reaction. “Let’s hope I can still fit into my dinner jacket.” Chuckling, he patted his stomach and flicked a few dog hairs off his sweater. “It’s not always easy keeping up appearances when you work with animals all day, but I want to look my best for Becky. At long last, she might be taking me seriously.”
Abigail, who was refilling condiments nearby, banged a sugar dispenser loudly. She glared at Nick before walking off, her back stiff with disapproval.
“Guess I’m not one of her favorite customers,” Nick said wryly. “Maybe my tips aren’t big enough.”
In the Dead of Winter (an Emma Cassidy Mystery Book 5) Page 12
