“Yes, Maria told me. I just dropped in to pick up my sunglasses. I forgot them here yesterday.”
After discovering the lacerations to her car, she’d been so rattled that she hadn’t realized her sunglasses were missing until late in the day, and by then she hadn’t wanted to disturb the Whites’ evening. So she’d come by this morning. The Whites’ housekeeper hadn’t noticed her sunglasses and was busy with chores, so Emma had gone to the conservatory by herself.
Glancing about the room, she spotted a pair of sunglasses on a baker’s rack containing a profusion of potted African violets. “Oh, there they are.” She darted over and picked up her sunglasses.
“You were here yesterday?” A slight frown touched Howard’s brow. “I thought the wedding was cancelled.”
“Madison asked me to downsize it to about twenty guests.”
The frown deepened. “Why is she so damn stubborn?” he burst out. Emma braced herself for a further eruption, but miraculously Howard appeared to collect himself. Drawing in a deep breath, he gazed out the window for several moments. “Ah, well. At least I can enjoy the view these days.”
Following his line of sight, her gaze was drawn to the house across the bay, all shimmering white walls and glinting glass, the house that Tony Barnet had built as a deliberate rejection of what the Whites stood for. The sight of that house must have galled Howard, given the secret affair between his wife and Tony. But now, with Tony gone, the view from here was much better for Howard.
She studied Howard more closely, noting his fit body beneath the expensive clothes. Howard kept himself in shape. He wouldn’t have any trouble using a wrench to conk someone over the head.
“You didn’t like Tony Barnet much, did you?” The question left her lips before she could stop herself.
“No, I didn’t. He was crass and loud, both ingratiating and conceited.” He lifted a shoulder, careless. Clearly he didn’t care about expressing this view to a mere underling.
“But you liked him enough to go into a business deal with him.”
He turned on her, the smug expression disappearing to reveal a hardness that had her wanting to step back. “Who told you that?” he snapped.
She took a breath. “I hear you’re suing his estate over this deal. But the deal apparently fell through a while ago. Why wait until now? Is it because your wife is so upset about Tony’s death?” A red light started flashing in the back of her brain, warning her of reckless behavior, but she couldn’t stop. “It must have irritated you so much watching that house being built right across the bay from you. Tony might have been frozen out by the people around here, but he just wouldn’t go away quietly.”
Howard White drew himself up, his eyes as piercing as a hawk. “Here’s a suggestion for you, Miss Cassidy. Keep your mouth shut or I’ll shut you down so fast it’ll make your head spin.” He jerked his chin toward the exit. “Now get out of my house.”
***
The confrontation with Howard White left Emma with a knotted stomach, but she drew some comfort that she hadn’t backed down from asking him some difficult questions. He’d threatened to make life miserable for her, which hinted that she’d touched a nerve. But she wasn’t all that convinced that he was the murderer. He would have killed Tony when he’d found out about the affair with Cynthia, not wait two years before doing it. And ruining Tony financially and socially was more Howard’s style, not a bloody scuffle in a garage.
After her tense visit, it was a relief to spend the afternoon away from Greenville. She would go ahead and downsize Madison and Sean’s wedding, notwithstanding Howard’s disapproval and his threats to her. She visited the venue of the reception, a charming vineyard on the northern shores of Shamrock Lake, and scoped out the options for a more intimate wedding. Fortunately, the main reception hall could be divided into smaller spaces, while the wedding ceremony could still take place in the gazebo, surrounded by rose and lavender gardens, with the lake and the mountains making a stunning backdrop.
Relieved that the changes required were minimal, Emma headed back toward Greenville, intent on meeting with the caterers next. She was passing through La Quinta, when she noticed the black pickup truck several cars behind her. It had been behind her ever since she’d left the vineyard, and despite numerous opportunities to overtake her, had remained steadfastly on her tail. Slowing down to a crawl, she peered at her rear view mirror. A couple of cars zoomed past her, but not the black pickup. It hung back, letting a panel van pull in between them. Was it the same vehicle that had almost run her over on the side of the road yesterday? She was certain that vehicle had been a dark-colored SUV or truck, so this black pickup truck fit the description.
Instead of continuing on the main thoroughfare through town, she hooked a left, checking her rear view mirror as she did so. Several seconds later, the black truck came into view, and her throat dried. The truck’s tinted windshield prevented her from getting a good look at the driver. She took another turn, and again the truck copied her, still keeping a car between them so that she couldn’t make out the license plate.
It was stupid to be scared, she told herself. She was driving through a busy town. Surely the driver wouldn’t try anything. But her hands were clammy on the wheel. What was she going to do? Call the police? The sheriff’s station was only a few blocks away. Maybe she could call Owen. And tell him what? That she was meddling in Tony Barnet’s murder, and that a stranger in a black pickup truck was stalking her? She could practically see Owen rolling his eyes at her. The last couple of times they met, he hadn’t exactly seen her in a glowing light. First, she’d puked into a crystal vase in front of him, and then they’d had that strange little argument in Becky’s Diner that had resulted in him stalking off in a huff.
A sudden whoop-whoop from behind startled her, and she glanced up to see a sheriff’s car on her tail. And if she wasn’t mistaken, the driver was none other than the man she’d just been thinking about.
As she pulled over on the side of the road, the black pickup truck zipped past. She squinted into the lowering sun, trying to read the license plate, but a passing van obstructed her view.
Owen ducked his head at her open window. His face was bland and expressionless. “Hey, Emma,” he said briskly. “On your way somewhere?”
“Hi, Owen.” She could be as impersonal as he, she decided. “I’m on my way back to Greenville.”
“Where’ve you just been?”
“Rosemount Vineyard.”
His eyebrows rose slowly. “Had anything to drink there?”
“No, I was there on business.” She felt herself flushing, and hated herself for doing so. “What makes you think I’ve been drinking?”
“You were driving erratically. Slowing down, changing lanes without indicating.”
“Oh. Well, uh, I must have been distracted. Sorry about that.”
He eyed her for a few more moments, and his silence began to make her antsy. “Is it something I can help you with?”
Maybe it was just her imagination, but she seemed to detect a sigh behind his words, a sigh of resignation, as if to say What now? Her spine stiffened at the implication. She wasn’t going to blabber to Owen about a mysterious driver shadowing her in a menacing truck. She wasn’t going to have him sigh and go “there, there”, treating her like an over-emotional puppy.
Giving him her best fake smile, she chirped, “Oh, I don’t think so, unless you have an opinion on peach versus champagne tulle for a bridesmaid’s gown?”
Sighing, he straightened up and slipped his shades back on. For a moment she was struck by how handsome he looked in his sheriff’s uniform, the dark sunglasses adding to his attractiveness. But then she reminded herself of all the reasons why she and Owen were incompatible and wrapped her fingers around the steering wheel.
“Drive safely, Emma.”
“You’re not giving me a ticket?”
“Consider this a friendly warning.”
Friendly? He hadn’t been friendly toward
her for…ages. Her mood inexplicably darkened, and it was an effort to smile at him. “Thank you, I will.”
Not returning her smile, he raised his finger to his head in a casual salute. “Goodbye, Emma.”
He could have said something friendlier, like See you later. But he hadn’t, because maybe he didn’t feel all that warm toward her. Feeling glum, she drove away, but instead of taking the main route back to Greenville, she decided to take the more circuitous road through the Pine Ridge Hills to the east of Shamrock Lake. It was a longer, windier route, but she didn’t want to risk bumping into that pickup truck again.
Half an hour later, she was ruing her decision. Major road works caused several stoppages, and all she could do was sit and wait. At least there was a spectacular sunset for her to enjoy. As she watched the sky turn from molten gold to orange and indigo, she reflected that since returning to Greenville she’d had little time to relax and admire sunsets. In the past few months she’d been as run off her feet as if she’d never left New York. But now she had an opportunity to drink in the serenity of her surroundings.
Eventually the line of vehicles began to move again. Gradually the traffic thinned out, and by the time she neared Shamrock Lake, she was the only car on the road, and a deep indigo twilight was settling over the countryside. The radio station was playing a Willie Nelson song, and she sang along, tapping her finger on the wheel in time.
A dazzling glare filled her car from the rear. Glancing in her rear view mirror, she gasped as she saw the huge headlights moving up behind her. The black pickup truck. It had to be, even though she couldn’t make out anything besides those blinding headlights. Panic sent her foot pressing down on the gas, and her little car spurted ahead. But her ageing hatchback was no match for the behemoth following her, and it zoomed up effortlessly, hanging back just a few inches off her tail.
What was she going to do now? She should have told Owen about the truck. She should have got him to escort her back home. Even if he had rolled his eyes, at least she wouldn’t be alone here in the dusk with a madman on her tail.
This stretch of road was uninhabited, with only orchards and fields and patches of trees surrounding her. There weren’t any houses for at least ten or fifteen miles further on. A corner loomed up, and she took it a bit too fast, clinging to the steering wheel as her car slewed around the bend. Somehow she made it without losing control of the car, but so did the truck, and now it zoomed even closer, so close she began to fear it might ram into her—
Thunk. She jolted forward with the car, and a cry of fear left her mouth. Oh God, he really had rammed her. Not that viscously, but hard enough to let the panic bursting out. The speedometer needle edged up. The engine rattled in protest. Another corner appeared, and the headlights behind threatened her again.
She was going too fast. She had to slow down, but the truck was right behind her… A whimper rose in her throat as she realized she had no hope of making the corner. Jamming on the brakes, she careened off the road and plowed straight through a clump of bushes. The tires squealed, the car rocked, someone screamed, and with a bone-shuddering jolt the car came to a halt.
Dazed and breathless, she peeled her fingers one by one from the death grip she’d had on the steering wheel. That scream she’d heard had come from her. The car’s angled headlights highlighted swirls of dust and crumpled bushes. With a groan, she undid her seat belt and climbed out of the car, feeling like she’d just come off a freaky roller coaster.
Her car had come to rest in a culvert running alongside the road. From the little she could see, there didn’t appear to be any major damage, but heck if she could get it back on the road.
The sound of a car pulling up nearby had her spinning around in panic. Was that the pickup driver coming back to finish off what he’d started? Should she run and hide in the bushes? She was just about to sprint off into the darkness when she spotted the flashing blue lights on top of the vehicle that had just pulled up and realized that help was at hand.
But when Owen materialized, the sigh of relief she was about to breathe out got caught in her throat. Owen hurried toward her, his face grim, his eyes fixed on her.
“Jesus, Emma! Are you okay? What happened here?”
There was a note in his voice, something more than just concern, and it pushed her to the edge of breaking down. But somehow she managed to hold herself together.
“I’m okay,” she said, striving to keep her voice steady. She rubbed her upper arms, feeling chilled despite the warm evening. “Did you see that?”
“See what?” Owen clicked on a flashlight and shone it at her. He sounded distracted, as if he was too busy checking her for injuries.
“The black pickup truck that ran me off the road.”
“What?” He moved closer, and his breathing rasped unevenly. “Tell me exactly what happened.”
So she told him as briefly as possible, and even as she spoke she could hear how feeble her story sounded. Owen heard her out without interruption. Then he walked over to her car and used his flashlight to inspect it thoroughly. She thought he’d only check the exterior, but after he’d done that, he climbed into the driver’s seat and looked about.
“What are you doing?” she demanded as she walked up to him. “Are you searching my car?” She couldn’t believe it. Humiliation and a sense of betrayal clogged her throat. “You won’t find any alcohol or drugs, if that’s what you’re looking for.”
He twisted around to look at her. His mouth was set into a flat line, and his eyes were narrowed and wary. She sighed. She’d seen that look too many times. He thought she was being over the top, melodramatic.
Silently, he hauled himself out of the car and walked around to the rear, where he shone the beam of his flashlight on the bumper bar.
“I see a lot of dings here and some bits of paint from other cars,” he said, sounding patient. “Which ones came from this black pickup truck?”
“Okay, you don’t have to humor me. Just say it out loud that you don’t believe me.”
“I didn’t say I don’t believe you.”
“Oh, so you do think this black truck exists?”
“I’m sure it exists, but I hardly think it’s been stalking you all day. You said yourself you weren’t sure if it was the same truck that was behind you on that road. It could’ve been any vehicle, and you imagined it was the same truck, and you panicked and took that corner too fast. That’s what I think.”
“What? So I imagined the whole thing? Have I ever struck you as the fanciful type?”
His mouth compressed even further until there was no lip showing. He looked like he was barely holding onto his temper.
“You’ve become so involved in investigating the Barnet murder that you’ve let your imagination run wild. You imagined some sinister thug was after you, and that made you drive like a lunatic. That’s what happened.” He thrust his fingers through his short hair. “This is what happens when you insist on meddling in things that don’t concern you.”
Fury shot through her, and mixed in with that was a large dose of hurt.
“Well thanks for your support,” she sniped back at him. “I’m glad as hell I didn’t stick with you.”
With that parting shot, she stomped away, heading for the road. But when her feet hit the blacktop, she realized that she had no way of leaving, and so she just stood there, feeling sore and miserable.
In the gathering dusk, she could see Owen climbing back into her car. She swiped her hands over her face, drew in a deep breath, and forced herself to march back. As she neared her car, Owen was cranking over the engine. He revved it a few times, then turned it off and pulled out the key.
“It’s running, but you’ll need a tow truck to get it out of the culvert,” he said without a hint of the frustration he’d showed just seconds ago. “I’ll call one in for you. Any particular operator you want?”
“Thanks,” she muttered. “Can you call Sean’s repair shop? He has a twenty-four hour towing ser
vice, plus he can check out the car for me.”
Owen’s eyebrows rose, but he made no comment as he pulled a cell phone from his pocket. After he’d made the call, he said to her, “He’ll be here in half-an-hour.”
She nodded. The muscles in her back and shoulders were beginning to ache, and the thought of waiting here in the dark made her even more tired.
“Come on,” Owen said. “We can wait in my car.”
She looked up at him in surprise. “You don’t need to be somewhere else?”
“You’ve had a bad fright. I wouldn’t feel right if I left you here.” His voice sounded gruffer than usual.
Inexplicably, a lump rose in her throat. “Thanks. I—I’ll just get my bag.”
After retrieving her bag from her car, she joined Owen in his cruiser. He was speaking to his dispatcher over the radio, but after a while he sat back, and a tense silence settled over them.
She scrabbled in her bag, drew out a couple of granola bars, and handed one to Owen.
He nodded his thanks. “Emergency supplies?”
“Yup.” She patted her tote bag as she chewed on a mouthful. “This bag goes everywhere with me. You never know what emergency you might have to deal with.”
He paused halfway through his bite. “Don’t tell me you’re carrying a gun in that bag.”
“Of course not. Mace is the most lethal thing in here.”
He chewed thoughtfully, eyeing her all the time as if he didn’t know what to make of her. “And when last did you think of using that Mace?”
The other day when Bart McCluskey had frightened her at the auto repair shop. But she shut her mouth just in time. She didn’t need another lecture about poking her nose in police business.
“I can’t remember,” she said, offhand.
His eyes narrowed until she fancied she could feel her skin burning. But he didn’t say anything, and they continued munching their granola bars in silence.
***
If Emma had thought she could gloss over the incident for the sake of her father, she was sorely mistaken. Not only did Owen drive her home, but he insisted on accompanying her inside, which meant, after he’d left, she had no choice but to tell her father what had happened to her tonight all over again. Andrew blinked at her through his wire-framed spectacles, concern etching fresh lines in his face.
Throw a Monkey Wrench (an Emma Cassidy Mystery Book 1) Page 14
