Pushed to the Limit (an Emma Cassidy Mystery Book 2)

by Karen Chester

“Chief Putnam is here.” Faye nudged Emma with her crutch.

  The chief of police stomped into the yard, paused to eye Emma and Faye, then followed an officer into the house. Fifteen minutes later, he re-emerged and tramped purposefully toward them.

  “Ms. Cassidy.” He gave Emma a curt, officious nod. “You discovered the body?”

  Emma nodded. “Yes, I came over because the dog was barking a lot and—and Faye asked me to have a word with her neighbor—”

  “I’ve told him many a time to control his dog,” Faye interrupted, puffed with importance. “This is a quiet neighborhood. We don’t want—”

  “So you came over.” Chief Putnam ignored Faye and kept his gaze on Emma.

  “Uh-huh. The dog came out and barked at me, then he went inside, so I followed him.” Emma swallowed. “And that’s when I found him—Tom, that is—lying on the ground.”

  “Did you touch the body at all?”

  “No.” Emma shook her head.

  “How did you know it was Tom?”

  “Well, I…” Emma drew in a breath. “I assumed it was him because of his clothes and his dog was whining next to him. It is Tom, isn’t it?”

  The chief of police narrowed his eyes at her. “And you called 911 straight away?”

  “Yes.” Why was he treating her so suspiciously? The iciness gripping her grew even colder. “You can’t suspect me of stabbing that poor man in the back,” she burst out, trembling from shock and an illogical fear. “Even if that knife is—” She stopped short and bit her lip as she realized her faux pas.

  Chief Putnam’s eyes were mere slits of granite. “What do you know about the knife, Emma Cassidy?”

  Why was he using her full name? Was he about to arrest her? “I thought I recognized it,” she said steadily, though her stomach was churning. “It…it looks like a knife my parents bought a long time ago.”

  Chief Putnam just stared at her, and she grew afraid of what was cooking in that brain of his. “I didn’t touch him!” she protested even as she realized how guilty she sounded. She turned to Faye. “You were with me all day. There’s no way I could’ve snuck here and stabbed Tom. Tell the chief.”

  Pursing her lips, Faye said slowly to the chief, “It’s true that Emma’s been with me since she picked me up from the hospital at twelve noon…but I can’t vouch for her whereabouts before that.”

  A choking splutter escaped Emma’s lips as she stared in disbelief at Faye. “After everything I’ve done for you, how can you even suspect me of such an awful crime?”

  Faye was unfazed by her outburst. “I’m only answering the chief’s questions, dear.”

  “But I barely know Tom. Why would I want to kill him?”

  “I’m not accusing you of anything. I’m just trying to help the police.” She turned back to the chief. “Anything else, Chief?”

  He cleared his throat. “That’ll be all for now, but you’ll both be needed later for further questioning, so don’t plan on going anywhere far for the next few days.” His gaze was aimed squarely at Emma.

  ***

  Emma was back home and rummaging through the kitchen drawers when her father came in.

  “Hey, pumpkin,” Andrew said. “Looking for something there?”

  She paused to run her shaking fingers through her hair. “Do you remember that knife we had for ages? It had a fancy carved bone handle, but it was useless for cutting anything, so it was always shoved in the back of one of these drawers.”

  Andrew set his sack of groceries on the table. “Yes, I remember it. Your mom bought it years ago, but it’s not here anymore. I put it in the box of stuff you took to the community yard sale. Don’t you remember?”

  Emma gaped at him. “Oh.”

  He gave her a curious look as he began to unpack his groceries. “Why are you looking for it?”

  “Um…” She slumped into a seat at the table, suddenly feeling light-headed. “There’s been a murder. Tom Kovacs, Faye’s neighbor.”

  Her father swung around, a can of beans in one hand, shock and horror written over his face. “Oh, no. That’s awful.” He put the beans down on the table and took the chair next to her. “What happened?”

  “I was at Faye’s. The dog wouldn’t stop barking, so Faye sent me next door to talk to Tom. I found him in his kitchen. He’d been stabbed.” The steadiness of her voice surprised her, given the bilious rumbling in her stomach.

  Her father put his arm around her shoulders and drew her closer. “How horrible for you, pumpkin.”

  His sympathy was a warm blanket she wanted to sink into and forget everything, but there were too many unanswered questions. “I think…I think he was stabbed with that knife we used to own.”

  Her father shook his head in disbelief. “You must have sold that knife to someone at the yard sale.”

  “Yes, I must have.”

  But would Chief Putnam believe that? She didn’t like to tell her dad that the chief of police considered her a suspect. It was a ridiculous notion, Faye’s outrageous suggestions notwithstanding. Given time, she was sure the chief would drop his suspicions. In the meantime, it wouldn’t do to alarm her father unnecessarily. And maybe she could help the police by remembering who had bought that knife.

  “Who could’ve done such a terrible thing?” Andrew shook his head. “I knew Tom Kovacs by sight, though he never wanted to talk. Bit of a hermit, I gather.”

  Emma rubbed her tired eyes. “Yeah. His house was quite a shambles.”

  “Could be he attracted the wrong kind of company.”

  “Maybe.” Tom had been a loner, but maybe his killer was someone from his past before he’d begun to shun society.

  Her father squeezed her shoulder. “You’ve had a bad shock stumbling over a dead body, and having to deal with the police. How about I fix you dinner tonight? Chicken hot pot sound all right?”

  “Thanks, Dad.” She managed a smile for him. “That sounds great.”

  While her dad was cooking, Emma retreated to her bedroom and hunted in her desk drawers for the receipt book she’d used at the yard sale. Finally finding it, she plumped herself on her bed to go through it. Not every sale had been recorded. In fact, many people had simply handed her the money and declined a receipt. And then there was Faye, who had filled her shopping bag with a whole heap of items and thrust some bills at her, refusing to let her see what she was paying for.

  Emma frowned once more at the thought of Faye. The old lady had a nerve expecting her to do so many chores for her, never thanking her, and then throwing her under the bus when Chief Putnam had questioned her. But that was typical Faye, and she guessed she couldn’t expect any better from her at this late stage.

  She flipped to the next page of the receipt book and froze. The receipt—written in Becky’s curly script—was for a ‘kitchen knife’, the price was five dollars, and it was made out to Stacey Shulman. Could this be the same knife that the killer had plunged into Tom Kovacs’ back? She riffled through the rest of the receipts, but this was the only one for a kitchen knife.

  The sick feeling in her gut returned with a vengeance. Not Stacey. It couldn’t be Stacey. She was a gentle, peace-loving soul. Emma couldn’t even begin to imagine her threatening Tom, chasing him until he tripped, then thrusting that sharp knife into his defenseless back.

  But Stacey was hiding behind a fake identity, and she knew that Faye had found out her secret. Maybe Stacey had pushed Faye down the stairs, and Tom had seen her do it. Maybe Stacey had found out that Tom was a witness, and she had killed him to keep him quiet.

  A deep shiver of apprehension worked its way through Emma’s body. Ever since she’d discovered Tom’s body, she couldn’t shake the coldness gripping her. Even the sweatshirt she’d flung on made no difference. She paced back and forth in her bedroom, agonizing over what to do next.

  By the time her dad called her to dinner, she had come to no conclusions, so she sat at the kitchen table and toyed with her chicken hot pot, absentmindedly responding to h
er father’s attempts at conversation.

  “Sorry I couldn’t do justice to your hot pot,” she apologized as she helped him clean up afterward.

  “Not to worry. You have a lot on your mind.” He paused to eye her, a shadow of anxiety crossing his face. “You will tell me if you need any help, won’t you?”

  “Of course, Dad.” She gave him a quick hug. But deep down she knew her first instinct would always be to protect her father from anything bad she might be involved in. It had always been this way; she hated disappointing her dad, so sometimes she didn’t tell him everything straight away.

  “I’m going out to visit someone,” she said a short while later when her dad was settled in his armchair with a book and a glass of red wine. “I’ll be back soon.”

  Andrew waved at her. “Have fun.”

  But fun was the last thing on Emma’s mind as she headed toward Stacey’s house.

  ***

  “Hi, Emma. Come in.” Stacey gave her usual soft smile as she ushered Emma into her house. “This is a nice surprise.”

  “Yeah, I thought I’d drop in.” Emma walked into Stacey’s living room. She tried to loosen her shoulders, but they were rigid with tension.

  “Has something happened?” Stacey asked, her smile fading as she seemed to sense Emma’s turbulence.

  “You haven’t heard? Tom Kovacs has been murdered.” The words jerked out of Emma’s mouth.

  “Who…?”

  “Faye’s neighbor. He was stabbed in the back.”

  Stacey pressed a hand to her mouth, her eyes widening in horror. For a few moments she seemed incapable of speech, and Emma began to regret the harsh manner in which she had broken the news.

  “How horrible,” Stacey mumbled, still covering her lips with her hand. “I remember him now. He was the neighbor Faye complained about all the time. He was a little strange. Greg told me how he knew him from the VA clinic, how he tried to be friends with him. Seems it was always Greg who had to go and tell him to clear up his yard. Of course, Tom didn’t listen much to Greg.”

  Greg Foster? Emma remembered seeing him outside Tom’s house just yesterday. Had something happened when Greg had spoken to Tom? Could Greg somehow be involved in the murder? Emma tried to calm her agitated thoughts. There seemed no reason for Greg to want Tom dead. Greg might have been secretly frustrated by the constant callouts and Tom’s intransigence, but that was hardly motive for a brutal stabbing.

  “I found Tom’s body a couple of hours ago,” Emma said.

  “Oh, you poor thing! That must’ve been terrifying.” Stacey grabbed Emma’s hands and squeezed them tightly. “No wonder you look so pale. I’ll make you some hot chocolate.” Releasing Emma’s hands, she bustled into her kitchen and began pulling out milk, saucepan, and cocoa.

  Emma looked on. “You don’t have to go to so much bother.”

  “It’s no bother at all. It won’t take long.” As Stacey poured milk into a saucepan, Emma couldn’t help noticing her friend’s hands were shaking.

  Emma gripped the edge of the breakfast bar. “Stacey, I have to tell you something.”

  The seriousness in her voice got through to Stacey. She set down the saucepan on the lit stove. “Yes?”

  Was it her imagination, or was Stacey bracing herself for bad news?

  “The thing is, the knife that—that was used to kill Tom. It belonged to my parents, but it was sold at the yard sale.” Emma paused for breath. “I think you bought it.”

  Stacey sucked in an audible breath. “Me? You think I…”

  They stared at each other across the breakfast bar. The silence stretched to breaking point, and then Jackie sauntered into the kitchen. She stopped short. “What’s going on?”

  “A man was stabbed to death this afternoon,” Emma said.

  Jackie gasped and turned a ghostly white, while Stacey growled and rushed to the stricken woman’s side.

  “You didn’t have to break the news like that,” Stacey scolded Emma. “After what she’s been through, you could’ve been a little more sensitive.” She turned her attention to Jackie. “Breathe, honey. Remember to breathe. This is nothing to do with you.” She rubbed Jackie’s hands between hers.

  “Sorry,” Emma muttered, mortified by Stacey’s criticism. She hadn’t been thinking. The events of the day had crowded everything out, and she’d forgotten about the violence that Jackie had suffered.

  Steadying herself against a kitchen counter, Jackie glanced between the two women. “But why were you two arguing when I came in?”

  “We weren’t arguing,” Stacey said swiftly. “We were just…just trying to figure out something.”

  “About what?”

  “About—about—” Stacey sighed and shook her head, apparently coming to the conclusion that it was no use trying to pretend. “Emma believes that the murder weapon belongs to me!” She threw up her hands in despair.

  “What?” Jackie turned her brown eyes on Emma. “How can you think that?” The shock was receding from her face, replaced by indignation.

  “The knife that was used on Tom once belonged to my parents, but it was sold during the yard sale. According to my receipts, Stacey bought a ‘kitchen knife.’” Emma switched her attention to Stacey. “Listen, I’m not accusing you of anything. I’m just worried that Chief Putnam might drag—”

  “The police know about the knife?” Jackie broke in, her voice squeaky and breathless. “Oh, my God!”

  A flush heightened Stacey’s color. “All this fuss over a kitchen knife! I hardly remember what it looks like anyway.”

  “It had a heavy handle carved out of bone,” Emma said.

  Stacey frowned. “Really? I thought the one I bought had a wooden handle.” Turning to the drawers, she started to comb through the contents. “Now where did I put that thing?” she muttered to herself. “Oh, this is it, isn’t it?” She pulled out a chef’s knife with a smooth wooden handle.

  “I don’t know,” Emma said. “I guess it is, if you say so.”

  Stacey nodded. “That’s the knife I bought. I got it while you were on your break.” But she wouldn’t meet Emma’s eyes, and she pushed the knife back into the drawer as if she wanted to hide it.

  A queasy sensation started to well up in Emma’s insides. Stacey was acting strangely. Why was she being so evasive? But Emma didn’t have the heart to push the matter further. Not right now. She might suspect that Stacey was lying about the knife, but she didn’t have any proof. And besides, she should let the police conduct the murder investigation. Only…she hated the thought of Chief Putnam arriving here in that officious, jack-booted way of his and bullying Stacey, maybe even dragging her off to the police station.

  “Stacey,” she said tentatively, taking a few steps toward her. “If you know anything about the murder, you will tell me, won’t you? I mean, I want to support you in whatever way I can.”

  Stacey’s lips quivered, and her eyes began to brim with tears. But Jackie stepped between them and linked her arm with Stacey’s. She gave Emma a challenging stare that almost amounted to a glare.

  “Stacey had nothing to do with the murder,” Jackie stated firmly, daring Emma to contradict her. “She was with me all afternoon. She couldn’t possibly have killed anyone.”

  Stacey gave a faint gasp. “Jackie!” she admonished, but the other woman didn’t back down.

  “Your receipt doesn’t mean anything,” Jackie added, a hint of scorn hardening her usually meek voice. “If all it says is ‘kitchen knife’, then that’s no proof at all. You should have kept better records, then you’d know for sure who bought your murder weapon. Until then, maybe you should stop bullying Stacey and go home.”

  Through Emma’s frustration and anger and shame came the memory of Tom’s dog as he lay mournfully next to his dead master.

  “Well, I’m sorry for upsetting you, but a man was killed today. And maybe he was a bit strange and people avoided him, but he didn’t deserve to have a blade plunged into his back.” Emma stalked ou
t of the house, quivering from head to toe and wondering where that outburst had come from.

  As she reached her car, someone touched her on the arm. She stopped to find Stacey beside her.

  “Don’t mind Jackie too much.” Stacey’s mild eyes were squinched up with concern. “She’s wound up. She didn’t mean what she said.”

  Shame washed over Emma. Even though she’d half accused Stacey of being involved in Tom’s murder, Stacey didn’t hold that against her, and was even trying to patch things up between her and Jackie.

  “No, she was right to pull me up.” Emma let out a sigh. “I rushed over here without thinking things through.” As she gazed at Stacey’s anxious face, she wondered how she could have imagined this generous-hearted woman could be capable of killing a man. “Anyone could’ve bought that knife at the yard sale. It’s my fault for not keeping better records.”

  Stacey squeezed her arm. “No, it’s not your fault. I mean, who even gives out receipts at a yard sale?” She glanced over her shoulder at her house. “I’m just sorry that all this had to happen while Jackie is here. She’s so sensitive to any hint of violence. That’s why she blanched when you talked about Tom.”

  “I understand.” Emma nodded. “I won’t mention it again.”

  Stacey patted her arm and peered more closely at her. “But what about you? You must have got a horrible fright when you found the poor man. Are you sure you’re all right?”

  Stacey’s sympathy brought a sudden wobble to Emma’s lower lip. The adrenaline that had fueled her since she’d stumbled over Tom’s dead body was slowly ebbing away, and she realized she was feeling rather shaky.

  “I’ll be fine,” she insisted. “I’ll go home and take a nap.” She paused as a thought hit her. “Unless the police want to question me again.” She looked closely at Stacey. “They might want to talk to you, too, you know. Just to clear up this knife business.”

  A wary look came over Stacey. “Do they know where the knife came from?”

  “Not at the moment, but I have to tell them. I’ll have to show them my receipt book as well.”

  Stacey pressed her lips together and straightened her spine. “Well, if they come, I’ll show them the knife I bought, and that will be that.” Despite her fighting words, she still looked anxious.