Threading the wisteria bloom through the strap of her tote bag, Emma started after the disappearing figure. It would probably be better to meet Madison away from the house, since her parents wouldn’t be too happy to hear about Sean. Ducking under a low tree branch, Emma peered around the garden. She had lost sight of Madison, and the grounds sprawled in several directions, with paved paths winding through banks of shrubs and ornamental trees.
A muffled noise behind a stone wall caught her attention, and she moved toward an arched opening in the wall. At the threshold, she paused for a moment as she took in the enclosed garden with a rectangular pond in its center flanked by clipped shrubs and bronze statues.
Madison was on the other side of the garden. And she wasn’t alone. A man stood near her, talking in a low, earnest voice. The furtiveness of the couple struck Emma at once, causing her to freeze, feeling vaguely embarrassed as if she’d interrupted an intimate moment. The man was about the same age as Madison and suavely dressed in tan pants and navy blazer. An expensive-looking watch glinted on his wrist, while a jaunty straw trilby hat shaded most of his facial features. Judging by his clothes, he appeared to be from the same moneyed background as Madison. A friend of hers?
The man pressed a hand to Madison’s cheek. Emma expected Madison to pull away, but instead she touched his hand and murmured something back.
Emma slid back out of sight. Confusion overwhelmed her. Was Madison cheating on Sean? She couldn’t believe it. Madison was crazy about Sean, so crazy she was willing to go against her parents’ wishes, so crazy she was still supporting him even after he had been charged with murder. So why would she go to such lengths if she didn’t truly love him? And why had she pleaded with Emma to help Sean if she was seeing someone else on the sly? It didn’t make sense.
Emma retraced her steps. She had just reached her car when the front door of the house opened and Cynthia, Madison’s mother, came out.
“Hi, Mrs. White,” Emma said, wondering if Cynthia was aware of the young man Madison was with. Cynthia would probably approve of him; he seemed more what the Whites would approve of—sophisticated and wealthy—than rough-and-ready Sean.
“Oh, hello,” Cynthia greeted her listlessly as she drew closer.
The woman looked awful, Emma thought with a pang of surprise. She was as elegantly dressed as always in a soft blue dress and matching heels, a blue leather clutch purse tucked under one arm. But there were dark shadows beneath her eyes that no amount of make up could hide, and her cheeks looked dry and sunken.
“Are you all right, Mrs. White?” Emma couldn’t help asking.
The woman waved a hand that looked too frail for the heavy diamond ring weighing on her finger. “I’m fine,” she said, looking anything but. “Are you here to see Madison?”
“Uh, yes. Um, is she at home?”
“I suppose so, since her car is here.” It appeared Cynthia was unaware of Madison’s male visitor. She toyed with her pearl necklace, clicking the pearls through her fingers in her usual distracted fashion. “You do know that the wedding’s been cancelled, don’t you?”
“Well, I haven’t had official confirmation from Madison—”
“Take it from me, it’s cancelled.” Cynthia’s voice firmed, and her expression hardened. “There is no way on God’s green earth that I will let my daughter marry a cold-blooded killer.”
“But Sean hasn’t even faced trial yet.”
Cynthia shook her head vehemently, her pearl earrings flashing in the sunlight. “A cold-blooded killer,” she repeated. Her lips drew back, revealing sharp white teeth, and Emma had an image of a snarling fox.
“I’ll talk to Madison,” Emma said, refusing to concede.
“You do that.” Cynthia walked away, leaving behind a trail of Chanel No. 5 in the air. She disappeared into the nearby garage, and moments later she reappeared behind the wheel of her metallic silver Mercedes Benz, driving off without another glance at Emma.
Cynthia White was not a woman to be underestimated. That brittle iciness could crack and reveal the steel inside. But why did she look so upset? Shouldn’t she be happy now that they had the perfect excuse for cancelling the privately dreaded wedding? From Cynthia and Howard’s point of view, Tony’s death couldn’t have come at a more perfect time. In fact, if Emma were extra cynical, she might even suspect them of orchestrating the murder. But no, that was too fanciful. The Whites wouldn’t stoop to murder just to prevent their daughter from making a calamitous mistake. Would they?
Emma turned back to her car just as Madison emerged from the garden. For a moment Madison looked nonplussed, and then a pink hue colored her cheeks.
“Hi!” Madison’s voice squeaked. As she hurried forward, she cast a furtive glance over her shoulder. Emma could have assured her that her mystery male visitor was nowhere in sight.
“Hi, Madison. I thought I’d stop by and check in with you. I was expecting you at the courthouse yesterday for Sean’s arraignment.” She watched Madison closely, alert to any reaction.
The pink in her cheeks deepened to crimson, but even when she was under pressure Madison looked guileless and innocent.
“I—I wanted to be there so much, but my parents were adamant I shouldn’t go…because of the reporters.”
“Well, it’s probably a good thing you didn’t go because there was a TV crew and some of the McCluskey cousins showed up and were ejected from the courthouse for being too rowdy.”
“Oh, dear.” The concern deepened on Madison’s face.
“Anyway, they all left after a while, and I was there to give Sean a lift home after he posted bail.”
“Thank you for that.” Madison chewed her lip. “How is he?”
“Why don’t you go visit him and see for yourself? Or you could at least call him.” Emma couldn’t help the censure creeping into her voice. What had Madison been doing all this time? Had she been too busy with her secret male friend?
“I’m on my way to see him right now.” She jingled a set of car keys. “I was just…waiting for my mom to leave first.”
But her gaze slid away, and Emma knew she wasn’t telling the truth. Not the whole of it, anyway. She debated whether to ask who the man was she’d seen Madison with, but decided not to. Given the clandestine manner of the two, Madison would most likely lie about him, and that wouldn’t help.
Emma decided to move onto more important matters. “Your mom says the wedding has to be cancelled. Is that true?”
Madison’s eyes grew dark. “Mom and Dad are insisting I call the wedding off, but—but I don’t want to. I’ve dreamed of this wedding for so long. How can I just give it up now?”
Well, at least she still wanted to marry Sean. That was something.
“You should probably discuss this with Sean. The sooner you can come to a decision, the better because there’ll be cancellation fees to consider.”
The idea of breaking the bad news to all the suppliers was not a pleasant one for Emma, but it was part of her job. She wasn’t sure if she would charge her own cancellation fees to Madison, given the circumstances. She’d lose out on some money she sorely needed, but it might buy her some goodwill from the Whites.
“I’ll talk to Sean.” Madison grimaced. “My mom wants to call all the people she’s invited and tell them the wedding’s off today. Can you believe it? I know she doesn’t exactly like Sean, but she’s been acting so weird over this death.”
“How weird?”
“She’s taking it so personally. As if Tony Barnet meant something to her.”
“Maybe they were friends.”
“I seriously doubt it. Tony Barnet was loud and flashy, and, let’s face it, my mom’s a snob.”
Emma cleared her throat but made no comment.
Madison continued, “When Tony was renting a house nearby, he invited my parents over for some of his parties. I think they went to one or two, but after that they stopped. Not their type. That was a couple of years ago. So it’s strange that my mom’s so
upset about his death. She even had an argument with my dad over it. I heard her shouting at him last night.”
“Shouting?” Emma had a hard time picturing the refined Cynthia White raising her voice.
“Yeah, they were in my dad’s study and the door was shut, but I could still hear them. My mom yelled ‘Tony is dead,’ and then my dad said something like ‘Good riddance,’ and then things were quiet after that, but it was a tense quiet, you know?”
“I guess we don’t expect a murder to happen around here. I’m sure your mom isn’t the only one rattled by it.”
“I just want it all to go away. It’s like living in a nightmare.” Madison squeezed her eyes shut for a few seconds, then blinked them open. “Have you made any progress on clearing Sean’s name?”
“I’ve talked to a few people,” Emma guardedly replied. She would have told Madison everything she knew so far, but the question mark over Madison’s mystery admirer made her hold back. Until she was sure of her facts, she wouldn’t blurt everything out to Madison.
“Jordan Kozlowski’s hired me to organize Tony’s funeral reception,” she continued. “That should help in my enquiries.”
“Thanks, Emma. I really appreciate your help, and I’m sure Sean does too.” She hitched her purse strap further up her shoulder. “I should go now. Sean will be waiting for me. I’ll see you later.”
Emma watched Madison drive off before getting back into her own car. She sincerely hoped Madison wasn’t leading Sean down the garden path. At a time like this, the last thing he needed was doubt over his fiancée’s sincerity.
As she headed toward Greenville, her stomach rumbled. It was past one o’clock, and after her minimal breakfast and busy morning she was starving. She’d park her car at the office and head straight to Becky’s Diner for a hearty lunch, she decided. No salad or soup today; she needed a juicy hamburger with fries.
But when she arrived outside Lulu’s Salon, a police cruiser sat at the curb, and Officer Sherilee Ackerman, crisp and officious in her uniform, was waiting for her.
“I’d like to ask you a few questions,” Sherilee said, and the tone of her voice indicated this was not a request.
“About what?” Emma couldn’t help sounding belligerent. She was starving, and Sherilee always brought out the worst in her.
“About the poisoning at Tony Barnet’s party.” Sherilee bared her teeth in a parody of a polite smile. “Shall we go into your office, or should I take you down to the station?”
Chapter Nine
“I had nothing to do with the food poisoning,” Emma protested, feeling cornered and defensive as she perched behind her desk in her office, arms folded across her chest.
Across from her, Sherilee sat comfortably in the visitor’s chair, her notebook open on her knee. Her hair was neatly tied and pinned, her boots were polished, her shirt spotless. Her discreet lip gloss and mascara enhanced her air of competency.
“Emma, I’m just doing my job. I have to interview everyone who might have had an opportunity.”
Her condescending manner only made Emma grit her teeth harder. “Opportunity? You mean to say the poisoning was deliberate?”
“Oh yes. Unless you call ground up slug pellets in the pistachio ice cream an accident?”
Emma’s jaw dropped. “Slug pellets?”
“Mm-hmm. Metaldehyde. It’s a nasty poison. Causes abdominal cramps, nausea, vomiting…well, you know yourself, don’t you?”
Cat. Emma just managed not to let that slip out. “Doesn’t that put me in the clear? If I poisoned the ice cream, why would I eat some myself?”
“To throw suspicion off yourself?”
“Oh, this is ridiculous! Why would I want to poison everyone and sabotage my business? And anyway, why aren’t you chasing down whoever made the ice cream?”
“We’ve questioned those people and checked their manufacturing premises. Everything looks in order. No one else who bought their pistachio ice cream got sick. The carton of ice cream was sealed when the caterers brought it to the party. Then it was scooped into a big glass serving bowl and packed in a tub of ice on the buffet table for at least an hour to an hour and a half. Anyone could have tossed in the pellets, and since they taste sweet, no one would have realized until it was too late. Did you notice anyone behaving suspiciously near the dessert buffet?”
“No.” Emma frowned as she recalled the night in question. She’d been busy with many things during the party, and fussing over the ice cream had been a minor concern. Only now, in hindsight, did it seem important.
“As the party planner, isn’t it your job to keep an eye on things both at the party and behind the scenes?”
Now she’s telling me how to do my job? Emma’s jaw ached from her clenched teeth, but she refused to rise to the bait.
“That’s correct,” she said calmly. “I moved between the great room and the kitchen area constantly throughout the night and I don’t recall any suspicious behavior.”
“That’s a pity.” Sherilee cocked her head to one side as if to suggest that Emma hadn’t done a very good job if she’d allowed the culprit to poison the ice cream right under her nose.
“Have you used the caterer before?” Sherilee consulted her notes. “Alvin Tucker?”
“Yes, twice before the housewarming. He has a good reputation.”
“Yes,” Sherilee agreed. “Tucker Food has been in business for years, and they’ve never had a problem.”
Until A Perfect Party came along. Shoot. She was planning to ask Alvin to do the catering for Tony’s funeral reception, but maybe, after a visit from Officer Ackerman, he wouldn’t want to do business with her.
Flipping shut her notebook, Sherilee rose to her feet. “If you think of anything else, give me a call at the station.”
Emma stood too. “Instead of hounding me, why aren’t you out there catching some real criminals?” She hadn’t meant to say that, but Sherilee always brought out the child in her, and she couldn’t manage to bite her tongue.
“Real criminals?” Sherilee’s blue eyes became hard and pointed. “You mean Tony Barnet’s killer? In case you hadn’t noticed, we have already caught him, and he’ll be facing justice soon. The ADA says we have a strong case.”
Sean wasn’t the only one with a motive to do away with Tony, Emma wanted to blurt out. She bit back the words but couldn’t let Sherilee have the last word.
“What about the criminal who ran over Luisa Crespo and never stopped? Are you looking for him or her?”
Sherilee paused midway toward the door to shoot Emma a frown. “Luisa Crespo? Are you mixed up in that, too?”
Heat built up on the back of Emma’s neck. “I’m a concerned citizen. I don’t want a hit-and-run driver roaming free around Greenville.”
“Neither do we. The Crespo incident is still under investigation. We won’t give up until we catch the culprit,” Sherilee retorted. “In the meantime, don’t interfere with our investigations.”
Once Sherilee had turned away, Emma couldn’t help sticking out her tongue.
***
Emma plopped herself into the end booth at the diner facing away from the other customers and blew out a breath. Her blood pressure was still elevated after Sherilee’s ‘interview’, and she wanted a quiet lunch by herself to recover her equilibrium.
Mags, one of Becky’s part-time waitresses, poured her a cup of coffee and took her order for a hamburger with fries and a side of bacon. Emma figured she deserved the bacon after Sherilee.
She reached for a sachet of sweetener only to find there were none at her table. She twisted around to ask the person in the next booth if they had any, only to find herself gazing into Owen Fletcher’s brown eyes.
“Oh, hi, Owen.” An irrational urge to tidy her hair assailed her. “Didn’t see you there.”
“Hi, Emma.” His eyebrows quirked up as he gave her a faint smile. “You were a bit steamed up when you came in, so I’m not surprised you didn’t notice me. Is anything okay?”
“Yeah, sure. I, um, there’s no sweetener at my table.”
“There’s plenty here.” He nodded at the container of sachets on his table, but instead of handing her one he gestured at the seat opposite his. “Want to join me? I’m waiting for my veggie burritos.”
She hesitated. Moments ago all she’d wanted was a solo lunch, but this was Owen, and he looked so handsome and friendly—friendlier than he had in a long time—that she couldn’t resist.
“Sure.” She picked up her coffee cup and bag and slid into his booth. “Veggie burritos? Are you on a health kick or something?”
“Gotta keep fit.” He patted his lean stomach. Today he was in his sheriff’s office uniform, and a little tingle started in her stomach as she took in how fit and smart he looked.
“So, Deputy Sheriff, what have you been doing this morning? Catch any criminals?”
Good grief! What was coming out of her mouth? Why did she sound so flirty all of a sudden? It wasn’t like she wanted to attract Owen’s attention. She grabbed a sachet of sweetener and stirred it into her coffee.
“Just doing some follow up interviews in the area.”
“How long have you been with the Sheriff’s Office?” There, that was an innocuous, non-flirty question.
“About five years.”
“You must like it, then.”
“I do. There’s more scope in the Sheriff’s Office than a small agency like the Greenville PD.”
A pity Owen wasn’t investigating Tony Burnet’s murder. She had a feeling he would be more thorough and less prejudiced than Chief Putnam.
“So what have you been up to today?” Owen asked.
“Jordan Kozlowski called me. I’m arranging Tony’s funeral reception for her.”
“Yeah?” He looked startled. “She needs a party planner for that?”
“Hey, it’s a tough time for her.”
“I’m sorry. You’re right.”
Emma blinked. “Excuse me? Did I hear right? Did you just admit that I’m right?”
Throw a Monkey Wrench (an Emma Cassidy Mystery Book 1) Page 9
