All the time he’d been talking, Emma’s eyes had grown wider and wider until she felt bug-eyed. “It was her? She almost ran me over! I had to dive to save myself!”
“Yes, but it was a complete accident. She doesn’t know you. The only way I could link the incident to you was because she remembered an old white hatchback parked on the side of the road.”
“Are you sure she’s telling the truth? Maybe she got the day or the location wrong.”
“Sunday, a little after midday, and it happened just after the turn off to Buena Vista Road. The car she was driving was a dark green Jeep SUV.”
Emma chewed her lip. “Yeah, that all sounds correct,” she said reluctantly.
“Well, then?” He spread his hands apart. “Doesn’t that make you feel better? It was a random accident, not some sinister killer trying to knock you off or frighten you away. But it was scary, and it shook you up.”
And because her nerves were shot, she’d later imagined that someone in a black SUV was after her, and in her panic she’d lost control of her car. That was what Owen was thinking, even if he didn’t say it.
“Okay, I concede you’re most likely right about the first incident being an innocent mistake, but it doesn’t mean the second one was caused by my over-active imagination.” He opened his mouth as if to object, but she plowed on, determined not let his skepticism silence her. “And as it happens, I think I have a lead on it.”
“Yeah?”
“That black pickup truck I told you about? I’m pretty sure I spotted it at the funeral reception.”
He eyed her warily. “Pretty sure?”
“Yes. It looks like exactly the same kind of truck, and when I checked the bumper bar it had a few flecks of white paint, the same color as my car. I took photos of it, including the license plate. It’s all on my cell phone.”
Owen let out a small groan. “Aw, hell, Emma. You’re not going to ask me to run that license plate through the system, are you?”
All the relaxation she’d felt moments ago had disappeared. Crossing her arms, she glared at him. “And of course you’d never do that, would you? God forbid that you should try to help me one teeny tiny bit.”
“I am trying to help you.” He glared back. “That’s why I’m here. I’m worried about you.”
“Worried that I’m losing the plot?” Incensed, she hauled herself to her feet. Her fury, she realized, was fueled by hurt. Hurt that Owen thought her unstable. Hurt that he felt no lingering tenderness for her. “Well, I don’t need your concern. And I’m not asking you to compromise your scruples either because I already know who owns the pickup truck.”
Jumping to his feet, he loomed over her. “Who is it?”
“I’m not telling you.”
“Oh, for Pete’s sakes, Emma. This isn’t a game. You might get hurt.”
“Really?” She narrowed her eyes at him. “You just sat here and as good as told me it was all my imagination. But now you’re taking me seriously? Make up your mind.”
He jammed his fingers through his short mocha-colored hair as frustration creased his face. “I’m concerned about what you might do. What are you planning? Are you just going to barge in and accuse someone of running you off the road? You might be putting yourself at serious risk.”
Emma hauled in a breath as she struggled to contain herself. “I see. So not only am I crazy and fanciful, but now I’m also reckless and stupid. Well, thanks for stopping by, Owen, but I can’t say it was a pleasure.” Head held high, she waved angrily in the direction of the hallway, indicating that she wanted him to leave.
“You know I don’t think any of that!” Tortured eyes stared at her, and for a second she could almost trick herself into thinking he did still care about her. Then he blew out a breath, exclaiming, “Jeez, Emma, why do you always have to be so goddamn stubborn?”
“Maybe it’s because you always have to be such a pain in the ass,” she snapped back at him. A red flush rose in his cheeks as if she’d slapped him. Before he could say another word, she blurted out, “I think you’d better leave.”
With a final searing glare, he stomped out of the house, and a short while later she heard an engine revving and tires squealing as he took off. The deputy sheriff was seriously ticked off.
Chapter Seventeen
Emma poked at her grilled cheese sandwich with little enthusiasm. She wasn’t hungry. She’d only come to Becky’s Diner because it was better than sitting at home and brooding. On a Tuesday evening business at the diner was blessedly slow, and only a few customers sat scattered through the room, quietly eating their dinner. It was Becky’s night off too, which meant Emma was left on her own to contemplate her checkered history with Owen.
Annoyed with her navel-gazing and wanting a distraction, she glanced about the diner. Her gaze stopped on the beefy, broad-shouldered man in a tight suit sitting a few tables away. The bright lights of the diner made his five o’clock shadow even darker. He was demolishing the last of his club sandwich, the muscles in his jowls working as he chewed. As if he sensed her staring at him, he looked up and stared right back at her. Apprehension flitted through her as she confirmed who he was. The thug who had demanded money from Kyle outside the Rainbow Casino. The suspicious character who had loitered in the orchards outside Jordan’s house.
She dropped her gaze to her grilled cheese sandwich, wishing she’d stayed at home. There came the scrape of a chair being pushed back and heavy footsteps approaching her before a thickset figure plunked into the chair opposite her. Her heartbeat raced—and not in a good way—as she confronted the man who sat so brazenly at her table.
“Mind if I take a seat?” His voice was rough and a little nasal.
“Seems you already have.” There was no need to get nervous. They were sitting in a diner, surrounded by plenty of potential witnesses.
“Huh.” He twiddled with the chunky gold signet ring on his pinkie. The man’s fingers were like sausages, liberally sprinkled with dark hair.
“Who are you?” she demanded.
“You can call me Serge.” He waved a hand the size of a dinner plate. “No need for introductions. I already know who you are, Emma Cassidy.”
She tried to ignore the anxiety seeping through her brain like fog. “So what do you want from me, Serge? Planning a wedding, maybe?”
“Funny,” he said, not smiling. “I’m looking for Kyle Barnet. Know where he is?”
Emma shook her head. “Nope. He’s not one of my friends. You’re asking the wrong person.”
“Am I? I seen you all over the place. Figure you’d run across him some time.”
“He was at his father’s funeral today, but I haven’t seen him since.”
Serge drummed his meaty fingers on the table, weighing her up. When he reached for the breast pocket of his jacket, she couldn’t help holding her breath, but then she exhaled as he pulled out a business card and tossed it at her.
“If you see him, give me a call.”
Goons had business cards now?
“I’ll make it worth your while,” he continued. “A hundred bucks if you help me catch him.”
She had no intention of getting involved in Kyle’s troubles, but as the man hefted to his feet, she couldn’t help asking, “Why are you so keen to find him?”
“He’s a hundred grand in the hole, and my boss is getting impatient.” He straightened his suit jacket. “And, believe me, you don’t want to make my boss impatient.”
With that, he sauntered out of the diner and disappeared into the night. Exhaling, Emma leaned back in her chair, wondering if she’d just been threatened.
Mags, the waitress, paused by her table and cocked her head at the uneaten grilled cheese sandwich. “Something wrong with that?”
“No, nothing. I’m sorry; I just lost my appetite.” She crumpled up Serge’s business card and tossed it on her plate. She slipped a generous tip on the table, then rose to her feet and left the diner.
***
Sh
e was hurrying toward her car, which she’d parked halfway down the block, when a clump of bushes nearby rustled and a dark figure materialized in front of her. Her nerves jumped as the thought of Serge immediately sprang to mind. A second later she realized the man was too short and trim to be that mobster. But her relief was short-lived.
“Kyle.” She frowned at him. The last time she’d seen him he was in a black pin-striped suit, but now the jacket and tie were missing, his shirt was rumpled and stained, and his hair was askew.
“We need to talk,” he growled as he lurched toward her.
The whiff of alcohol from him made Emma wrinkled her nose. Seemed Kyle had been drowning his disappointment about the will. “It’s not a good time.”
“I don’t care if it’s not a good time.”
“Go home, Kyle. You’re drunk.”
Ignoring her directive, he stepped closer, blocking her path. “Why were you talking to Serge? What did you tell him?”
“I didn’t tell him anything.”
“You two were very pally in there.” He jerked his chin in the direction of the diner. “You must know him.”
She was heartily tired of Kyle. Especially as she had every reason to believe that he was the driver who’d run her off the road yesterday. It would be very interesting to confront him with her suspicions, but perhaps now was not the optimal time when he was inebriated and unpredictable.
“I don’t know him from a bar of soap, but he did give me his phone number and said I should call him if I ran into you.” She shoved her hand into her bag and, by some minor miracle, pulled out her cell phone on the first go. “Well? Should I?”
Frustration and fear warred in Kyle’s expression before he slowly backed away, glowering at Emma. “You’ll regret this.”
As soon as he had disappeared, Emma dashed to her car. She was shivering. All the antagonism she’d witnessed today had left her strung out. She steered her car toward home, keeping a close eye on her rear view mirror. To her relief, no black pickup truck appeared.
The house was dark when she pulled into the driveway. A shadowy figure slumped against the porch railing near the front door. Her heart juddered as she thought it might be Kyle or Serge, but then the person scrambled upright, and she found herself looking at Daniel, Mateo’s teenage son.
“Daniel!” she exclaimed, hurrying forward.
“Uh, hi, Ms. Cassidy. I was waiting for Mr. Cassidy.” The boy’s T-shirt was drenched, and he looked like he’d just run a marathon.
“He’s away until tomorrow afternoon, but you should come inside. You look worn out.” The teenager hesitated, his shoulders drooping. Her concern rose as she took in his complete dejection. “Did you walk all the way over here?”
He nodded, apparently too weary to speak.
“Then I insist you come in.” Opening the door, she ushered him inside, leaving him no choice. “Come into the kitchen, and I’ll get you something to drink.”
In the kitchen, Daniel stood, awkwardly fidgeting with his hands until she told him to sit at the table. She pulled out two cans of Coke from the fridge and placed one in front of him before sitting down with the other. She waited until he’d popped the tab and downed several deep gulps before speaking.
“Tell me what’s happened, Daniel, and don’t tell me nothing’s wrong because you wouldn’t have walked all the way here if everything was fine.”
Daniel took a deep breath before blurting out, “My father came home from work today and told me we were moving as soon as possible.”
This was the last thing Emma had expected. “Moving where?”
“To Prescott, Arizona. My father has a cousin there. He says he’ll find another job.” Lines of distress scored Daniel’s youthful face. “I don’t want to leave. I have friends here, and I like my school.”
“Oh, Daniel, I’m so sorry.”
Emma’s head was spinning. It seemed Mateo was convinced she would report his thefts to Jordan, and he’d made up his mind not to hang around, deciding that uprooting his sick wife and teenage son was better than being arrested. He probably reckoned that once he was miles away in Arizona, Jordan wouldn’t bother to make a complaint to the police. If Mateo was prepared to flee over the theft of some cigars, then that made it far less likely that he was the murderer.
“I thought maybe Mr. Cassidy could talk to him,” Daniel said miserably.
The boy was desperate, that much was clear. Emma doubted her father would be able to sway Mateo’s mind, but maybe she could diffuse the situation. After all, she was the one who’d sent the gardener into a spin.
“I’ll talk to your dad,” she said to Daniel, rising to her feet.
“You?” The boy stood too, looking surprised and doubtful.
“I want to give you a lift home anyway, so I may as well talk to him.”
“Uh, sure.” He scratched the back of his neck. “Um, thanks.”
“Come on, then.” Ignoring his dubious expression, she headed out of the house once more, scooping up her keys and bag. Today was turning into a marathon, and she’d be glad to finally be able to put her feet up. But first, she had to speak to the surly and uncooperative Mateo.
***
“And you didn’t tell Daniel what I’d done?” Mateo eyed Emma across the narrow space of the deck outside his trailer home.
Emma cast a brief glance at the sliding doors of the trailer. When she had arrived and asked Mateo to speak with her, she’d stepped outside with him and made sure that Daniel was out of earshot.
“Not a word. It’s up to you whether you tell him or not.”
A strange expression crumpled Mateo’s formidable features, and it took a while before she recognized it as shame.
“A father should not have to confess to his son that he’s a thief. He’ll lose all respect for me.”
“I think Daniel is mature enough to realize that not everything in life is black and white.”
“I couldn’t see any other option.” Mateo stared off in the night, clearly still struggling to come to terms with what he’d done. “Luisa, she’s my life. I couldn’t let her suffer. If she didn’t have her medication, she’d be in such pain. I don’t regret what I did, even though I know stealing is wrong. I asked Mr. Barnet for a loan, an advance on my wages, but he refused me, wouldn’t even discuss it. That man was heartless.” He scrubbed one large hand over his face, sweat gleaming on his forehead. His heavy gaze fixed on Emma. “But I didn’t kill him, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
Emma started. “What? Oh, of course not. What gave you that idea?”
“Because you’ve been snooping around in the garage and asking questions.” He lifted his shoulders. “But I swear on Luisa’s life that I never harmed a hair on his head.”
She met his heavy gaze and sensed he was telling the truth. Not exactly scientific, but in this case she was satisfied. Mateo had confessed to stealing a dozen cigars over four weeks, netting him a few hundred dollars from a local contact, but that money had made the difference between Luisa being in relative comfort or excruciating pain. Given the same choice, Emma doubted she would have chosen differently. But, as sympathetic as she was, she couldn’t sweep the deed under the carpet.
“You know you’ll have to tell Ms. Kozlowski what you did,” she said, tensing herself in preparation for Mateo’s resistance.
But he surprised her by nodding. “I’ll tell her. I should have realized that was what I should do, but when you caught me red-handed this afternoon, I panicked. I’ll talk to Ms. Kozlowski tomorrow and let her decide my fate.”
Emma had a feeling that Jordan would let Mateo off with little more than a warning. Compared to the rest of Tony’s estate, the cigars were infinitesimal. Jordan had enough to deal with, plus, she had seemed quite sympathetic about Luisa’s plight, so perhaps she would re-hire her when the housekeeper was well enough.
“In my opinion, that’s the right thing to do,” she said.
Mateo nodded. “At least Luisa is getting bette
r now, thank God. If I don’t lose my job, I’ll just be able to afford her medication.” He hesitated before adding, “If your father could help Daniel keep up with his schoolwork…”
“Of course.” She nodded. “He’d love to help Daniel. We’re both so sorry about Luisa’s accident.”
Mateo bowed his head. “It’s my fault.”
“How so?”
“Luisa and I usually traveled to and from work together in my car. But that night I had another job I had to go to, moving some guy’s furniture. A casual job, cash in hand.” He wiped a palm over his face, his eyes tortured. “If I’d driven Luisa home that night, she’d be happy and safe now.”
“You can’t blame yourself. Someone else did this to her. Have you heard anything from the police about catching the driver?”
His lantern jaw tightened. “They haven’t arrested anyone, if that’s what you mean, though that cop drops in from time to time. Seems like she’s trying her best.”
“A female cop? Is it Officer Sherilee Ackerman?”
“That’s the one. She was here the other day, asking Luisa if she’d remembered anything from the night it happened.”
“And?”
“And nothing.” His hands curled into fists. “But, God willing, one day the guilty driver will face justice. Why do you ask? Do you know something?”
Emma quickly shook her head. “No, it’s just that I was driving home last night, and someone ran me off the road.”
The big man stiffened, tension radiating off him. “You think it might be the same person?”
“I don’t know.”
An awkward silence fell between them. “You must be careful, then,” Mateo said. “You have enemies.”
Enemies? That sounded so dramatic. But maybe Mateo was right.
She tried to laugh it off. “The only enemy I have at the moment is Kyle Barnet.”
Throw a Monkey Wrench (an Emma Cassidy Mystery Book 1) Page 18
