by Meg London
“What?” Emma was so startled she momentarily took her foot off the gas, and the Caddy rumbled to a stop. “What is Angel doing here?”
“Maybe she’s seeing one of the teachers?” Liz stared out the window.
“Could she be a student? People of all ages go back to school—they’re not all teenagers.”
“True.” Liz admitted. She turned toward Emma. “But Angel?”
Emma shrugged her shoulders. Three or four more cars pulled into the lot, swerving around Emma and zooming into parking spaces. Emma eased up on the gas and began to move forward. Angel was getting out of her car with what looked like books under her arm. Emma was more confused than ever.
There was a space five cars beyond where Angel had parked the Trans Am. Emma thought she’d park there and follow Angel on foot. As the Caddy approached the space, Emma gently tapped the brake. Nothing. She tried again.
“Where are you going?” Liz asked in alarm. “Don’t you think you should park?”
The Caddy not only sailed on past the empty parking space but began to pick up speed. Emma applied the brake in earnest. Still nothing.
“Stop, Emma. Stop.”
“I’m trying.” Emma stomped the brake again.
Her heart sped up in time to the Caddy’s speedometer. “I don’t know what’s wrong.” She stomped the brake as hard as she could, sending it to the floor.
Nothing.
Emma began to panic in earnest. The row of cars went by in a blur, and pedestrians jumped out of the way, their mouths open in alarm. She stomped the brake again and again.
“I think the gas pedal is stuck or something.”
Liz quickly unbuckled her seat belt. “Let me see if I can fix it.” She slid half off her seat and leaned forward, sweeping a hand under the gas pedal.
Emma, meanwhile, continued trying to steer around obstacles in her path—a girl in skinny jeans and a cropped T-shirt, a dark blue SUV that hung out of its space by several inches, a row of gnarly looking bushes alongside the sidewalk. The blur through her windshield sped up like a film strip out of control. She had to do something.
But what?
Liz sat back in her seat and refastened her belt. “I can’t fix it. I don’t know what’s wrong.” She looked out the window. “Maybe you should drive onto the lawn? That might slow us down.”
Emma aimed Sylvia’s Caddy toward the grass. She pictured Liz and herself jumping out of their seats like in old cowboy movies where people jettisoned themselves from runaway stagecoaches.
The Caddy bumped over the curb and started across the lawn. Emma’s teeth knocked together as the car negotiated the rutted terrain. She clung to the steering wheel for dear life, not so much steering the car as aiming it around obstacles in its path. Liz held onto the sissy strap, and Emma could see how white her face had become in the glow of the passing lamps. The back of Emma’s dress was soaked, and her hands were slippery on the wheel. She kept the brake pressed to the floor, but it wasn’t slowing her progression across the lawn of the Tennessee Technology Center.
Emma glanced in her rearview mirror to see several dozen people running after her and the Caddy. She thought she saw Angel in the crowd, moving awkwardly in her high-heeled sandals. She’d managed to follow Angel all right, but whether she lived to find out what Angel was doing at the Tennessee Technology Center was another story.
Suddenly, a dark shape loomed in the distance. Another tree. Liz partially stifled a scream, and Emma gritted her teeth and prepared to swerve around it. People were still walking across the lawn, laughing, talking and joking, unaware that a runaway Cadillac was on the loose. Emma fought the urge to close her eyes as she narrowly missed a couple strolling arm-in-arm, locked in a tight embrace.
The tree almost filled her window when she jerked the wheel to avoid it. Too late she saw a fellow in a T-shirt and baseball cap standing in her path.
“Emma, watch out!” Liz screamed.
This time Emma did close her eyes. She winced as something thudded against her windshield and then crashed to the ground, rolling behind her. A sob caught in her throat, and she sent up a prayer for help. Surely there was some way to stop this wretched car.
Emma yanked on the emergency brake, and the car slowed slightly, the tires churning more heavily through the turf. A row of bushes bordered the edge of the lawn, and they were coming closer with each passing second. The road beyond was empty at the moment, but there was no guarantee it would stay that way. It was now or never.
Emma got a good grip on the wheel and angled the car so that the first bushes in the row hit it toward the side. Branches slapped against the windshield, and twigs, leaves and bits of bark slithered down the hood of the car. Emma hit the next bush and the next. The needle on the speedometer dropped to thirty miles per hour, then twenty-five miles per hour. Finally she came to the last bush. The lawn sloped slightly upward just beyond it. The Caddy smacked the bush, bending and breaking dozens of branches, then hit the incline and sputtered to a stop.
AS soon as the car rocked to a stop, Emma scrabbled for the door handle.
“Where are you going?” Liz asked.
“I have to get help,” Emma gasped. She had to go back and get help for whoever it was she had hit. She thought it was the guy in the baseball cap, but she wasn’t sure. She just prayed there was still hope. If they got the paramedics there on time…
Emma’s hands were shaking so badly, she couldn’t grasp the car door handle. Suddenly, the door was yanked open, and someone stuck his head inside the car.
“You ladies okay?” The man smiled at them.
Emma looked around and saw that the crowd that had been chasing the Caddy had caught up with her.
“We’re fine. But we have to check on that man. The one in the baseball cap.” She babbled incoherently. “I didn’t mean to hit him.”
The guy laughed, and Emma suddenly realized that he was wearing a baseball cap. Was he the same young guy who…
He stuck out a hand and helped her from the car. “Come on.” He waited as Liz scrambled from the passenger seat then led them back over the grass, toward where Emma thought she’d run him down.
“See?” He motioned toward a trail of decaying food, discarded paper and fruit and vegetable peels that littered the lawn in a wide swathe.
“What?” Emma swayed, and the young man put out a hand to steady her. “I hit someone. I know I did.” She began to cry softly.
He shook his head. “You hit a trash bag. I was carrying it, and when I saw you coming toward me, I freaked and tossed it in the air. It hit your windshield and exploded.” He indicated the debris.
Now Emma’s legs really began to give way. She hadn’t hit anyone! No one was injured or dead. Everything was going to be okay.
“Emma! What on earth are you doing?” Angel caught up to them. The twist in her hair was slightly askew, and perspiration gleamed on her upper lip. She glared at Liz.
“I…I…” Emma stammered.
Angel glanced at the young man in the cap. “It’s okay. I’ll make sure they get home. Don’t you worry your little head about a thing.”
Angel began moving Emma and Liz away from the crowd, which had started to disperse.
“Just what on earth did you two think you were doing?” Angel hissed as soon as they were out of earshot of the other students.
Emma flashed back to her dear, departed Uncle Maxwell. He always said, “When you know you’re wrong, take the offense.”
“Well, I could ask you the same thing,” Emma said trying to sound firm despite the shakiness in her voice. “What are you doing here?”
“Uh-uh. I asked you first.” Angel took Emma and Liz by the arm and guided them toward her Trans Am.
“We were just driving along when the brakes failed.” Emma tried to inject a note of indignation into her tone, but her voice insisted on quivering like a bowl of jelly.
“And you just happened to be driving across the parking lot of the Tennessee Tech Center.” Angel’s lips sna
pped shut into a firm line. “And you just happened to be following me since we left town. Honestly!” She shook her head, and her twist wobbled perilously, her high-heeled sandals slapping the macadam angrily. “Did you seriously think I couldn’t hear you coming in that…that…ridiculous car? Isn’t that Sylvia’s car, by the way?”
“Yes.”
“Piece of junk, if you ask me. Why she paid to have it shipped down here, I’ll never know.” She turned and looked at Emma and Liz, then stopped suddenly. Her voice softened. “You’ve had a bad fright. Really bad. You’re both as white as a sheet after it’s been bleached and hung in the sun.”
“It was…scary.” Emma admitted. A sob rose in her throat.
Liz merely nodded mutely.
“Come on. Let’s get you back. You need a hefty shot of some good old Tennessee whiskey. That’ll fix you right up. Then you can tell me all about why you’ve been following me tonight. Okay?’
Emma and Liz nodded weakly and allowed Angel to tuck them into her car.
“What about Sylvia’s car?” Emma jerked and tried to look out the back window toward where she’d abandoned the Caddy.
“Tom will come get it later. And he can have a look at those brakes of hers. She probably forgot to top off her brake fluid. Lord knows how long it’s been since someone looked under the hood of that relic.”
“Can I ask you a question?” Emma’s voice came out more timidly than she’d intended.
“Depends.” Angel flipped on her blinker and exited the parking lot onto Wilson Street.
“Fair enough.” Emma nodded. “I was just wondering what you were doing here tonight? At the Tennessee Tech Center, I mean.”
Angel threw back her head and laughed. “I’ve been seeing one of the professors. We don’t want his wife to know, so I’ve been pretending to take his class in business information systems. Even been doing the homework and taking all the exams so that it looks real legit. And I show up for class Wednesdays and Thursdays regular, as clockwork. So far the poor woman doesn’t have a clue.”
Emma inhaled sharply; then she realized that Angel was playing with her. “You’re taking classes.”
“Yes. And what of it? Am I the only one in town not allowed to better herself?” They had turned onto Washington Street and were nearing Angel Cuts salon.
“Isn’t the shop doing well?” It was always full whenever Emma walked past.
“Yes. And that’s just the point.” Angel’s head swiveled and she looked Emma right in the eye. “I’m hoping to expand. And in order to do that, there are a few things I need to understand first.” She gestured toward the stack of textbooks balanced on the console between them. “That’s why I’m taking some business classes. Don’t want to make any mistakes and ruin everything I’ve worked for so far.”
“Oh.” Emma felt terribly small. Here she’d been thinking Angel was having an affair, and she’d actually been doing something extremely worthwhile.
But that didn’t let Tom Mulligan off the hook. And, if he were the killer, she’d better not let him anywhere near Sylvia’s Caddy. Because it suddenly struck Emma that someone could have tampered with Sylvia’s brakes. And who would know more about cars than Tom Mulligan? She shot Liz a look. It would be a piece of cake for him to do whatever was necessary to render the brakes useless.
She shuddered. Who knew what he might do next? They’d been lucky this time, but their luck might not last. Perhaps she’d better leave the investigating to the police.
Chuck Reilly’s sneering face came to mind. Then again, perhaps she’d better keep investigating. She’d just have to be a lot more careful.
“OH, my goodness, Emma, Liz, what happened?” Kate cried as she leapt off Arabella’s porch and ran toward Emma.
“We’re okay. Just kind of shaken up.” Emma waved to Angel, and Angel waved back then pulled away from the curb.
Liz collapsed onto the porch swing, her head propped against the backrest.
“You both look terrible.” Kate swiveled toward the street. “Did Sylvia’s car break down?”
Emma shuddered. “It was horrible. Something happened to her brakes, and I couldn’t stop, and I thought I’d hit someone, and it was just horrible.” Emma concluded with a sob.
“I think you need to sit down, too.” Kate started to lead Emma toward the swing.
“What about your head? Are you okay?” Liz said without lifting her head from the back of the swing.
“I’m fine. Got a bit of a goose egg, that’s all.” Kate touched a hand to the back of her head and winced. “Arabella left a pitcher of sweet tea in the refrigerator. Why don’t I pour us a couple of glasses?”
“Sounds good to me.” Emma sank onto the swing next to Liz. “Add a shot of whiskey,” she called over her shoulder. She’d decided to take Angel’s advice.
Maybe it would stop the shaking in her hands.
EMMA found herself automatically glancing at the front window of Sweet Nothings the next morning, but so far there hadn’t been any more threatening notes. But the stakes had been raised—first the note on their window, then the threatening phone call and now an attempt at what could have resulted in…murder.
Emma waved to Bitsy, who was hurrying down the other side of the street, and pushed open the door. The fresh smell of new paint and recently laid carpet greeted her. She took a deep breath and looked around. Everything was coming together just as she’d envisioned it. The carpet was perfect, the paint was just the right color, the touches of black-and-white toile added a bit of elegance without being too stuffy looking. Now all they needed were those armoires. She would call the company again and find out what was going on.
Someone knocked sharply on the front door. Emma listened but didn’t hear any scratching, so it wasn’t Arabella. Perhaps it was Brian? Her spirits lifted. She yanked open the door and, when she saw who was standing there, had to stop herself from slamming it shut again.
“Can I come in?” Chuck put one of his large paws against the door and pushed.
Did she have any choice? She shrugged and walked toward the display counter. She’d feel better having something between herself and Chuck Reilly. Chuck leaned on the glass and spread out his thick, spatulate fingers. Emma couldn’t help staring at them. She shivered.
“What do you want?”
“Me? Nothing.” Chuck feigned indifference. “I thought maybe you’d like to know what I just found out.” He smiled, but his blue eyes were cold.
This isn’t going to be good, Emma thought. She just knew it. She tried to keep her expression calm and neutral. “What?”
“We got the report on the murder weapon back from the TBI. You know, the walking stick that killed your lover boy.”
Emma felt heat rising to her face but reminded herself to be calm. Chuck was trying to get the better of her, and she wasn’t going to let him.
“Yes?”
“It was covered in prints.” Chuck paused and pointed at Emma. “Yours.”
“I told you.” Emma could hear the exasperation in her voice and tried hard to tone it down. “I had handled the walking stick before. When I brought it to Aunt Arabella to use after she twisted her ankle.”
“Really?” Chuck began a slow and agonizing examination of his fingernails. “If I were you, I’d consider lawyering up. They say Sullivan and Doyle over on the next block are pretty good.”
WHEN Brian arrived five minutes later he found Emma alone, her face red and tear-stained, and a pile of crumpled tissues on the counter.
“What’s wrong?” He crossed the floor of Sweet Nothings in three strides.
Emma could feel her face brighten at the sight of him. She tried to keep the proverbial stiff upper lip, but Brian’s presence melted her like a pat of butter on a hot griddle. She burst into tears again and spilled everything—Chuck’s visit, the ride in Sylvia’s car the night before, how she’d thought she’d actually run someone over and possibly killed him. She tried to stop herself, but when Brian put his arms around
her and pulled her close, she couldn’t help it. The floodgates opened and all of the stress of the last week splashed out unhampered.
She was vaguely aware of Brian murmuring soothing words into her hair, and she tried to pull herself together. But it was hard. Being within the circle of Brian’s arms made her feel so safe and secure. She didn’t ever want to leave.
They heard a key in the lock of the front door, and they drew apart as if scalded. Arabella bustled in, with Pierre at her heels, stopping short at the sight of the two of them.
“Am I interrupting something?” She asked eagerly.
“No,” Brian and Emma chorused emphatically.
“You’ve been crying.” Arabella rushed forward and took Emma’s hands in hers. “What’s wrong?”
Emma told her about Chuck’s visit.
“I think it’s high time we made a complaint about the behavior of Sergeant Chuck Reilly. He has really gotten out of hand. I’m going to speak with Francis about it. I know the TBI tries to keep out of the way of the local boys unless absolutely necessary, but this is ridiculous.” Arabella’s forehead creased with concern.
“No!” Emma protested. “It might make him even worse.” She shuddered. “If that’s possible.”
“Chuck should start doing his job—protecting innocent citizens, not persecuting them. He should be investigating who tampered with Sylvia’s brakes.” Brian slammed his fist into the palm of his other hand.
“We don’t know for sure that they’ve been tampered with—”
“What?” Arabella’s hand flew to her throat, and her face paled. “Someone tampered with Sylvia’s brakes? But you,” she said, looking at Emma, “drove her car yesterday…”
“Emma and Liz could have been killed!”
Emma nodded. “I wasn’t going to tell you about it since everything turned out okay.” She glanced at Brian and was pleased to see he looked as contrite as a boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
“Thank goodness for that.” Arabella sank into one of the toile Louis XIV chairs. “Tell me what happened.” She fixed Emma with her bright blue stare.
