Pushed to the Limit (an Emma Cassidy Mystery Book 2) (18 page)

Emma thought about protesting. It wouldn’t
do to let Faye assume she was at her beck and call. But she had already resigned
herself to doing whatever the old lady wanted today, and not because she was a
doormat. She genuinely wanted to get to the bottom of who had pushed a
harmless—well, fairly harmless—woman down the stairs. She knew the police, in
particular Sherilee, were investigating, but they had other calls on their
time, and at the back of Emma’s mind lurked the uncomfortable suspicion that
Faye was not safe in her own home. Someone had almost done away with her, and
who’s to say that person wouldn’t return to finish the job?

Emma hauled herself to her feet. “Okay,
then. Vet first, and then the grocery store.”

***

“Are you sure he’s
okay?” Faye asked once more as the vet ran his hand down Pepper’s back several
times. “I’ve been in hospital for a week. It must have been a terrible shock
for him. He’s a very particular bird, you know. I’m the only one he really
trusts.”

“He seems fine to me,” Nick Stavros, the
young vet who’d recently taken over the practice, said. “His feathers look
healthy, he’s a good weight, and—oof!” He winced as the parrot bit his finger,
but to his credit, the vet carried on, “And he seems as sparky as ever.” He met
Emma’s eyes and grinned at her.

“Hmpf.” Faye sniffed, clearly unimpressed
that the vet wasn’t making a bigger fuss over her pet.

While Faye was settling the bill with the
receptionist, Nick chatted with Emma. He hadn’t been in Greenville for very
long, having moved here from Los Angeles with his two cocker spaniels, and like
her was still finding his feet. Before she could find out more about him, Faye
cut their conversation short and hustled Emma out of the vet’s office.

“I don’t know if he’s all that good,” Faye
said on the way to the store. “Maybe I’ll try the vet in La Quinta next time.
He’s been in business for a long time, whereas this Nick looks a bit wet behind
the ears.”

From what Emma had observed, the vet seemed
caring and professional. He was about her age, she thought, single, and probably
eager to meet people in his new hometown. That reminded her of Wesley and their
date tomorrow. Once again, she toyed with the idea of cancelling but in the end
decided not to. It was just lunch, and on the face of it Wesley was a nice guy.
Plus, she needed to expand her social life. She couldn’t waste all her spare
time angsting over Owen and what might have been.

When they reached the grocery store, Faye
handed Emma a shopping list and some money. “My foot hurts, and I can’t leave
Pepper alone in the car,” she said, her hands firmly placed on the cardboard
box in her lap that contained her parrot. “You’ll have to get my things for me,
and please make sure the apples are pink ladies and check the expiry dates on
the milk and…”

Emma hurried around the grocery store
grabbing stuff off the shelves. As she rounded a corner, her shopping cart
bumped into another, and she looked up to see Lorraine.

Emma lifted her eyebrows in surprise. “Oh,
hi, Lorraine. Didn’t expect to bump into you here. I thought you had some
emergency.”

Lorraine flushed to the roots of her hair.
“I—I do. Something, er, came up, and I have to leave town today.”

She pulled her shopping cart away, causing
Emma to glance at its contents. A bottle of champagne, strawberries, a kitchen
knife, and… Holy moly, was that a tub of body glitter? Emma blinked at her old
teacher, completely flummoxed. Lorraine looked very different today. She’d got
a haircut, she had makeup on—pink lipstick and mauve eye liner—and she was
wearing an embroidered cream silk shift over linen pants. She looked younger,
softer, and dressed up as if she were going on a date.

“Faye’s in my car outside,” Emma murmured,
still surprised and thinking Lorraine would appreciate the heads up. “With
Pepper. I’ve just taken her to the vet, and now I’m doing her shopping for
her.”

“Oh. Right.” Lorraine swallowed. “If you
don’t mind, I’ll slip out the back entrance.” She hesitated, then added in a
rushed whisper, “I don’t need Faye telling me how foolish I am.”

“Um, okay.” Emma nodded.

“I’m leaving a few days early for my
exhibition. Taylor called, asked if we could spend some time alone together,
and I said yes.” She lifted her chin. “I’ve always regretted letting Faye drive
a wedge between us. It won’t happen again. From now on, I’m going to live my
own life, and I won’t let anyone get in my way. Not even my interfering sister.
Thank you for taking care of her. I know she won’t thank you herself, but I do
appreciate it. Must rush now. Goodbye.”

Emma stared after Lorraine as she hurried
away with her shopping cart. Well, that was an odd encounter. Clearly, Lorraine
was fed up with her sister interfering in her life, and Emma didn’t blame her.
The only thing she couldn’t figure out was why Lorraine needed a kitchen knife
for her reunion with her ex-husband. Was it to cut cheese or something?

She decided not to tell Faye about bumping
into Lorraine, since she suspected Faye would get mighty annoyed at her sister running
away and ignoring her. The relationship between the two sisters was complicated
enough. Best to let them sort it out between themselves.

When they returned to Faye’s house, Faye
limped inside, leaving Emma to first carry Pepper in his box into the dining
room before heaving the shopping bags to the kitchen. Next door, Tom’s dog was
barking again. Every now and then it stopped for a couple of seconds, before starting
up again. A few minutes later, Faye joined her in the kitchen with Pepper
balanced on her shoulder.

“What an infernal racket!” Faye grumbled as
she took one of the apples from a shopping bag and placed it on a chopping
board. “That mangy, flee-bitten mongrel. Should’ve been put down years ago.”

“I’ve never seen it,” Emma said as she
stored away cereal and crackers.

The barking grew louder. To Emma’s
untrained ear, it sounded more than a little frantic.

“Oh, I am so sick of that Tom!” Red in the
face, Faye clenched a paring knife in her hand as she glared out the window.
“I’ve had to put up with so much! The weeds and unsightliness, stealing my
peaches, the noise his dog makes. Sometimes the mongrel even poops in my yard!
Can you believe it? And no one from the council does a thing about him.” The
sharp knife trembled in her grip. “Sometimes I could just kill him myself!”

Emma blinked, taken aback by Faye’s
outburst. If Faye felt such deep resentment for her neighbor, maybe the feeling
was reciprocated. Maybe Tom was the one who had pushed her down the stairs. He
did live right next door, and by all accounts he wasn’t the full bottle. Maybe
he had lied to Sherilee about seeing a woman running away to cover up for
himself.

Faye spun around to face Emma. “Why don’t you
go next door and tell Tom to keep his mutt quiet?”

“Me?” Emma shrank back. “Oh, no, I don’t
think—”

“He won’t listen to me because I’ve been
over there so many times before. In fact, these days when I knock on his door he
pretends he’s not in. But he’ll listen to a young thing like you.” Faye waved
the knife, making shooing motions. “Go on, now. That dog is driving me crazy.
And look at poor Pepper. He’s distressed by the noise.” Pepper, perched on the
counter next to the chopping board, seemed more interested in the apple that
Faye was about to cut, and didn’t appear at all put out by the barking.

“But how do I know he won’t turn violent?”
Emma asked, stalling for time.

“That man jumps at his own shadows,” Faye
scoffed. “He wouldn’t say boo to a goose.” Apparently Faye had completely
forgotten than she had pinned the blame on Tom Kovacs for pushing her down the
stairs. Using the knife, she pointed at the dense clump of bushes that hid the
break in the fence. “Now get going. Push your way through there, and you’ll
find yourself in Tom’s yard. Just go up and knock on his back door. And don’t
worry if you come across that dog. It’s practically toothless, so it can barely
bite.”

Wonderful, that filled her with confidence.
Sighing, Emma grabbed her phone, exited the house, and descended the stairs to
the yard. She really,
really
didn’t want to go next door to creepy
Tom’s. But the dog was still barking, and a small worm of foreboding was
wriggling in her stomach. Maybe something was wrong next door.

She plunged into the bushes and fought her
way through, pushing aside thick foliage and branches. She came out on the
other side to find herself standing in an overgrown wasteland. Towering trees
and thick shrubs cast deep shadows over the yard and a tumbledown shack that
she at first took for a large shed until she realized that this was the house
proper. The rusting roof, cracked windows, and peeling paint only added to its
derelict air. It looked like it could collapse at any minute, with only grime
and cobwebs holding the structure together. Small piles of bottles and empty
cans littered the ground. Weeds grew waist-high among clumps of ratty grass. Old
tires offered perfect breeding grounds for mosquitoes.

Out of the wasteland a mangy, dun-colored
dog suddenly appeared and stopped. Baring his teeth, he growled tentatively,
but didn’t move toward her. She stood still and waited. The dog released a
volley of barks, then turned and disappeared into the house. It seemed to be
telling her something urgent. Emma picked her way over the rough ground until
she reached the back door leading into what she assumed was the kitchen.

“Hello? Mr. Kovacs?” she called out,
cupping her hands around her mouth. “Is anyone home?”

Silence greeted her. Not even the dog
barked. A stale, greasy odor assailed her as she peered inside. The gloomy
interior sent trepidation prickling across her back. Bracing herself, she
stepped into the house. For a few seconds she was blind as her eyes adjusted to
the dimness. Gradually she made out her surroundings—damp-stained walls,
cracked linoleum, an ancient cooker in one corner, a lumpy armchair, newspapers
and magazines scattered everywhere, dirty dishes and mugs, flies buzzing around
congealing food, a dusty TV hunkered in the detritus.

A panting whine drew her further in.
Rounding a sagging couch, she spotted the dog. And a body lying face down on
the floor with a knife buried in its back.

She knew it was Tom
Kovacs, even though she couldn’t see his face. Who else could it be with the
poor dog whining next to the body, fear and pathos shining in the animal’s
eyes? Tom’s hair was gray and matted. His clothes matched his tumbledown
surroundings—tattered, navy blue sweatpants and a faded T-shirt that had once
been white but was now yellow with age and stained a deep ruby red from the
blood. So much blood…

A wave of dizziness and pity rushed over Emma.
Who could’ve done this? It looked like the killer had chased Tom into the
house, where Tom had tripped over a pile of books that still lay scattered
under his bare feet. And then, with Tom sprawled on the floor, the killer had
plunged the knife deep into his back.

Nausea washed over her again, causing her
to clutch at the back of the couch for support. As she struggled for breath,
she couldn’t help noticing the knife. Why did it seem familiar to her? And then
it hit her. That knife, with its distinctive carved bone handle, had sat in a
drawer in her parents’ kitchen for years. That knife had once belonged to
Emma’s mom and dad, and now it was a murder weapon.

She stumbled out of the kitchen, fighting
the urge to be sick. The dog was barking again, but this time his woofs were
mournful, as though he knew his master was beyond help. Emma staggered into the
back yard. Sunshine streamed over her, but nothing could penetrate the icy
dread encasing her. Somehow she managed to get her cell phone out of her jeans
pocket and dial the police, her fingers numb and fumbling.

After the dispatcher had taken her call and
reassured her that the police were on their way, she wrapped her arms around
herself, trying to fight the chill that threatened to overwhelm her. More than
anything she wanted to get away from this gloomy house and its taint of death,
but something held her back. It didn’t feel right to abandon the body, and
there was the dog, too, sounding so lost and forlorn. It occurred to her that
maybe it wasn’t safe to linger here when a murder had just been committed, but
with the dog making such a ruckus, she reasoned the killer would be long gone
by now.

Sirens heralded the arrival of the police,
and several uniformed officers burst into the yard at the same time as Faye, no
doubt unable to contain herself, appeared via the bushes, her moonboot and
crutches no impediment to her curiosity. Emma pointed the cops toward the house
before turning to Faye, who was all agog.

“Tom’s been murdered,” Emma said as briefly
as possible. “Knifed in the back.”

Shock gripped Faye’s expression but was quickly
replaced by her usual avid inquisitiveness. Her rapid-fire salvo of questions
passed largely over Emma’s head.

“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 her 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.