***
Wesley surprised her again by taking her to a nice restaurant with an open-air courtyard and a view of the lake. He was pleasant and solicitous, eager to put her at ease. Emma, determined to put the turmoil of the past week behind her, told herself to relax. The warm weather and the wisteria-shaded courtyard were perfect for a lazy Sunday lunch. Couples and groups of people sat around them chatting comfortably. No one appeared to look askance at Wesley’s tattoos and scar.
She ordered the Portuguese chicken, and he had the grilled snapper—another surprise when she’d pegged him as a steak man—and they both had a glass of white wine. They talked about the gym and her event planning and a little about their past lives. He told her about his previous job as a personal trainer in Baltimore. She got the impression that something more than merely a desire for a quieter life had led him to Greenville, but she was content not to ask too many prying questions. They were just starting to get to know one another. The difficult questions could come later.
As Wesley paid the bill, she wondered if there would be a later. She’d enjoyed their lunch, but she couldn’t say there was any big spark between them. Wesley was easy on the eye and easy to talk to, but she wasn’t dying to spend more time with him. She’d be happy for them to be friends, and she sensed he felt the same way.
They were in the foyer about to leave when a man entered the restaurant. She recognized Alvin Tucker immediately and started to smile a greeting at him, but paused when she realized he wasn’t even looking at her. Instead, his whole attention was focused on Wesley, and from the tightening of his jaw, he didn’t seem at all pleased. In fact, Alvin looked almost frightened.
“Hi, Alvin,” Emma called out, puzzled by his fraught expression.
“Emma!” He hurried across the foyer and placed a hand on her arm as if to draw her away. “Quick, you should come with me.”
Wesley shot him a frown. “Don’t I know you from somewhere?”
Ignoring him, Alvin tugged at her arm, his face growing gray. “You’ve gotta get away,” he muttered. “This guy’s dangerous.”
“Huh?” Emma glanced from one man to the other. “You must be mistaken. This is my gym instructor, Wesley…” Her voice trailed off as she realized she didn’t know Wesley’s last name. “We’ve just had lunch together.”
Wesley stepped closer, annoyance radiating from him. He glared at Alvin. “Take your hand off her, buster.” The menacing growl coupled with his thunderous look and bunched shoulders made him even more intimidating, especially against Alvin’s stocky, paunchy frame.
Alvin’s throat bobbed up and down as he gulped, but he didn’t let go of Emma. Instead, he thrust her behind him and squared up to Wesley. “I’ve made one stupid mistake already. I’m not going to make another one.”
Lifting his fists, he shuffled his feet like a punch drunk boxer. He was shorter, flabbier, and older than the other man, but his face was suffused with trembling determination.
Wesley blinked. He put his hands on his hips, threw back his head, and snorted with laughter. “You want to fight me? Huh! You’ve got a screw loose, old timer. Why don’t you go home and take your meds?”
Whether it was being laughed at or called an ‘old timer’ Emma wasn’t sure. But without warning Alvin exploded out of the blocks and launched himself at Wesley, his fists swinging wildly. Caught off guard, Wesley staggered back into a potted plant. He fell over, smashing the pot and landing on his butt. He scrambled to his feet, his face reddening, the cords in his neck swelling. Furious at the humiliating tumble, he curled his hands into fists and growled like a riled bear. Alvin backed nervously away as wait staff and managers dashed into the foyer.
“Wesley, Alvin, stop!” Emma called out, but no one was listening.
The easygoing man she’d just enjoyed lunch with hurled himself at Alvin and with one shove sent the older man flying across the foyer. Alvin landed heavily on his back, grunting in pain, but managed to heave himself to his feet nevertheless.
Emma ran to him, her mind blank with the shock of what was enfolding. “Alvin, oh God! Are you hurt?” She tried to lend him a helping hand, but he brushed her off.
“Go,” he muttered. “Go now. That man’s a killer.”
“You’re the freaking wackjob!” Wesley advanced on them, scattering dirt from the broken pot plant. “Emma, listen to me. This guy’s a nutter, swear to God.”
The door of the restaurant swung open as a tall man and an older woman entered. “What’s going on here?” the man said in a low yet authoritative voice.
Owen Fletcher. Relief surged over Emma. She’d never been gladder to see him. Owen stood with legs slightly apart, shoulders back, hands at his hips as he took in the scene. Alert and calm, he exuded control. Behind him stood his mom, Ingrid, looking perplexed. As Owen’s gaze swept over Emma, she caught a hint of surprise in his eyes before he focused his attention on the two men.
Alvin jabbed a finger at Wesley. “That man’s a murderer.”
Wesley’s face looked like it would explode. “Don’t listen to this nut job. He tried to offer me money to kill someone.”
Alvin, who was already ashen, turned a sickly putty color. “That—that—” he spluttered before covering his face with his hands. “Oh, God.”
Owen flashed his badge at Wesley. “I’m Deputy Fletcher with the Marion County Sheriff’s Department. Can I have your name, sir?” Wesley muttered the details. Still calm, Owen pulled out his cell phone and made a brief call. “Okay,” he said when the call was over. “You’re both coming down to the sheriff’s station with me.” He nodded at Emma. “You, too.” He turned to his mother who had been standing quietly behind him. “Sorry, Mom. Looks like we’ll have to take a rain check on that lunch.”
His mom gave a philosophical shrug. “It can’t be helped. Don’t worry about me.” Then she turned to Emma with a smile. “Hello, Emma. I haven’t seen you in ages. I hope you’re well.”
Emma nodded, feeling bemused. Ingrid was behaving as if this were a normal social occasion, as if it were routine for her quiet Sunday lunch with her son to be aborted by a brawl. “Uh, hi, Mrs. Fletcher. Yes, thanks, I’m good.”
Owen had advanced on Wesley, presumably because he posed the larger physical threat. The two men were about the same height. Wesley was much bulkier, his biceps straining at the sleeves of his shirt. But there was an aura of command about Owen that made him seem more powerful, and Wesley was wise enough to respect the badge. At Owen’s command, he turned around with his hands behind his back. Owen pulled out a pair of plastic handcuffs and secured Wesley’s hands. Then he repeated the procedure on Alvin.
Alvin slumped against a wall and slid down, his face crumpling like a pricked balloon. Unable to help herself, Emma scurried over and knelt beside him.
“Alvin, why? Why did you do this?” She couldn’t make head or tail of anything. Alvin wasn’t a violent man. Why had he attacked Wesley unprovoked, and, more worryingly, why had he accused Wesley of murder?
Alvin looked up at her through teary eyes. “I’ve been such a fool,” he blubbered. “I never meant it. I was drunk, off my face. I never meant for any harm to come to Faye.” He hung his head, overcome with emotion, his shoulders heaving.
Wild thoughts ricocheted about Emma’s head like stray bullets. Wesley had complained about being stereotyped as a bad guy and mentioned something about nutters… Was it possible?
“Oh, for God’s sake, Alvin Tucker!” she exclaimed in shock and exasperation. “Don’t tell me it’s true? You tried to hire Wesley to kill Faye?”
There was a collective gasp from the bystanders. Owen stalked over and hauled Emma to her feet.
“I don’t want you talking to these two until I’ve sorted out their stories,” he said in that tight-lipped way of his that indicated he wasn’t too pleased with her. “How are you involved in all this?”
She hesitated before deciding to go with the short version. “I came here with Wesley for lunch, that’s all.”<
br />
Owen’s eyes narrowed to match his lips. “You were on a date?” With that guy? She could almost hear the disapproving question in his head.
“Yes, and I’ll need Wesley’s car keys if I’m to follow you to the station.”
“No. You’ll come with me.”
He didn’t trust her to show up? But his clamped lips told her not to push it, so she kept quiet. Minutes later, several deputies entered the restaurant. Some escorted the handcuffed men out, while another began questioning the witnesses.
Owen touched his mom’s arm. “I’ve called a cab for you, Mom. Sorry about lunch.”
“Make sure you eat something.” Ingrid Fletcher patted his hand. “And be nice to Emma.”
Emma blushed. “Sorry, Mrs. Fletcher,” she murmured. Was it her imagination or did the tips of Owen’s ears turn pink, too? But he was all cool composure when he turned to her.
“Ready to go?”
She sighed and nodded in resignation. Since her return to Greenville, she’d entertained a few crazy fantasies about reconnecting with Owen, but she’d never envisaged him escorting her to the sheriff’s station after a brawl involving her date.
Chapter Twenty Seven
“Well?” Emma asked as soon as she sat down at the table. She’d been stuck waiting at the sheriff’s station for several hours while Owen questioned Alvin and Wesley, but finally it was her turn, and she and Owen were alone in a gray, featureless interview room.
Owen rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Want some coffee?” The waste basket in the corner was filled with foam cups, while Owen’s well-used mug sat at his elbow.
“No, thanks. I’d just like some answers.”
Despite his obvious tiredness, Owen’s lips quirked into a small smile. “You’re forgetting, I ask the questions here and you give me answers.”
She glanced around the windowless room. “Is this a formal interview?”
“No, we’re just having a chat.” He sobered up. “Were you really on a date with Wesley Noakes?”
So, at least she knew the fitness instructor’s surname now. “Yes. Why do you sound so incredulous?” Remembering Owen with Sherilee at the music festival, she couldn’t help tossing her hair back, even though it was infantile of her. “You don’t think it’s possible I could date someone?”
“I don’t doubt that.” He spread his palms flat on the table. “But Noakes is a shady character.”
No surprises there. She’d already sensed that Wesley hadn’t always been into healthy living. “He has a criminal record?”
“No recorded felonies, but in Baltimore he was a known associate of the Drifters, a motorcycle club that’s involved in drugs and protection rackets.”
“Has he been in any trouble since he moved to Greenville?”
Owen shook his head. “No. But you shouldn’t be involved with him anyway.”
“He’s my gym instructor.”
“Doesn’t mean you have to date him.”
She could have told him that this was her first date with Wesley and even before the fracas in the restaurant she’d already decided it would be the last, but she didn’t. Owen didn’t need to know about her dismal dating experiences.
It was time to change the subject. “Is it true Alvin mistook Wesley for some kind of hit man and hired him to do something to Faye?”
“You know I can’t discuss that with you.”
“Oh, come on!” She leaned forward to glower at him across the table. “You’ve kept me twiddling my thumbs for two hours, and you’re not going to tell me anything? You know I’ll get it out of Alvin anyway, so you may as well spill the beans.”
Owen sighed and rubbed his nose again. “Okay, fine. Alvin was panicking about Faye possibly suing his business. Last week, he was in a bar here in La Quinta drowning his sorrows when he somehow got talking to Wesley. Your gym instructor then thought it would be fun to spin a few yarns about himself and Alvin, drunk as a skunk, suggested that Wesley could do something to Faye. Not murder her, but frighten her in some way so that she’d forget about suing him.”
Owen shook his head at the sheer stupidity of both men. Emma remembered Alvin’s wife fretting over him; she’d been right to worry.
“The next day when Alvin sobered up, he remembered only snippets of the conversation. He was under the impression that he’d struck a deal with Wesley to do something to Faye, but he couldn’t remember Wesley’s name, let alone the bar they’d met at. When Faye took her tumble, Alvin went into a spin. He was convinced that Wesley had tried to kill her on his orders.”
Emma snapped her fingers. “Of course! That’s why Alvin was sitting outside Faye’s house in the middle of the night! He thought he was protecting her from a hit man, but he didn’t even realize she wasn’t at home, the silly man.” She briefly told Owen the details. She expected him to lecture her about not reporting the incident to the police, but he didn’t. Maybe he was too tired.
He merely nodded before continuing, “Anyway, Noakes had nothing to do with Faye’s fall. He was giving a gym class at the time; twenty people can give him an alibi. According to Noakes, he’d dismissed Alvin as a drunken fool and never took him seriously.”
Emma leaned back in her chair and couldn’t help a brief smile. “See? I told you Wesley was innocent.”
“Not completely. Alvin would never have approached him if Noakes hadn’t spun those far-fetched lies. At the very least it was a dumb thing to do.”
She couldn’t disagree with that assessment. Wesley had shown a serious lack of judgment. He could never be more than her gym instructor; in fact, she might even change her class schedule so she didn’t have to see him too often. She had an intuition he’d be relieved about that, too.
“What’s going to happen to Alvin?”
Owen’s expression grew somber. “I’ll talk to my captain and the district attorney. Alvin could be charged with conspiracy to commit a felony, although the evidence isn’t strong. I’ll be questioning both of them further tomorrow. Until then, they’ve been let go.”
Emma nodded. “Well, I guess I should go too,” she said, rising to her feet.
“Not so fast.” Owen held up his hand. “I’m not finished with you.”
She blinked at him. “But I knew nothing about Alvin’s wacky scheme.”
“Maybe not, but you seem to be up to your neck in this business with Faye.” He fixed his direct, unswerving gaze on her, and beneath its weight she found herself sinking back into her chair. “Tell me what you know, Emma, and don’t leave a thing out.”
***
Owen drummed his fingers on the table. “And that’s everything?”
Emma’s mouth was parched. She’d been speaking for what must have been fifteen minutes non stop. Owen hadn’t interrupted as she told him about all the people who might have wished harm on Faye and why—Kenneth Bischoff, Alvin and Bettina Tucker, Faye’s sister Lorraine, Helen Wylie and her son Jason. She’d even included herself. But there was one person she’d left out.
At Owen’s question, she squirmed in her seat.
He lowered his brows. “Emma?” he said in that tone of his that indicated he knew she was holding back something. It wasn’t fair that he knew her so well.
Ducking her head so she wouldn’t have to look him in the eye, she said, “There is one other person, but I can’t tell you who it is because it might put him or her in trouble.”
Owen rubbed his eyes. He looked tired and hungry, and she was willing to bet he hadn’t eaten anything as his mom had suggested.
“Is this ‘him’ Wesley Noakes?”
“No, definitely not.”
“I suppose this thing you don’t want to tell me about was something Faye found out?” Owen said. “In which case, it’s not a secret anymore, is it? So why don’t you just tell me.”
He had a point there. Who was to say how long Faye would guard Stacey’s secret? And if Emma told Owen, maybe he could help. She could only hope that Stacey would forgive her for spilling her secre
t.
Owen listened impassively as she told him about Stacey Shulman, her abusive husband the jewel thief, her flight and fake identity, and her constant fear of being exposed and her ex tracking her down. When she was finally finished, he sat back, his expression thoughtful as he digested her account.
“Stacey is terrified that Trevor Roche will track her down,” Emma reiterated. “He’s out on parole, and she knows he’s supposed to remain in Pennsylvania as part of his parole conditions, but she’s still worried. She’s made a new life for herself in Greenville. She doesn’t want to leave again, but the man was a brute to her. She lives in constant fear.”
Owen jotted down something on the pad in front of him. “Stay here,” he said as he pushed to his feet. “I’ll be back in a while.”
Alone in the dreary room, Emma paced back and forth, unable to relax even though she was exhausted. How could she rest when she had blabbed her friend’s secret to the police? She fervently hoped that Stacey would understand, and that she’d still want to be her friend. She was doing this for Stacey’s sake, she told herself. If there was one person she trusted with this information, it was Owen. They might not be as close as they once were—or as she secretly hoped—but he was a decent, honorable man and a good cop, and he would never let an innocent woman like Stacey come to harm.
It felt like an hour, though the clock above the door told her only twenty minutes had passed, before Owen finally returned. He motioned her to sit, and something in his expression alerted her that he had some promising news for her.
“What?” she asked, unable to contain her impatience. “You’ve found something out, haven’t you?”
“It’s good news. I called the Pennsylvania Parole Board, and Trevor Roche is still in the state as per his parole conditions.” Owen rested his elbows on the table. “Furthermore, he’s in no state to threaten Stacey and most likely never will be. Roche suffered a stroke shortly after leaving prison. It was a bad one. He’s confined in a rehab center. The stroke affected his memory. He barely remembers his own name, let alone his ex-wife. According to the medical report, his condition is irreversible. I’d say Stacey won’t ever have to worry about him.”
Pushed to the Limit (an Emma Cassidy Mystery Book 2) Page 21
