In the Dead of Winter (an Emma Cassidy Mystery Book 5) Page 14

  “I wonder where she went. She could’ve hitched a ride, but it’s no weather to be standing out on the road, so maybe she called a taxi.”

  “She could be anywhere by now.” Owen downed a big gulp of his coffee. “Best not to think about her.”

  “But she had important information about Becky’s dad.” Emma had already told Owen about Kieran O’Reilly’s meeting with the mysterious stranger who knew about his daughter. “I told Martinez, and I was going to question her some more.”

  “Which is why she probably scarpered off.”

  “Yes, that must be it. We had an argument about her going to the police, and she knew her welcome had worn thin, so she decided to leave.” Emma let out an exasperated huff. “Martinez doesn’t think much of what she said, but I think it’s important. I just wish we knew who O’Reilly was going to meet.”

  Lowering his mug, Owen gave her a long, serious stare. “You’re not going to try to find this person, are you?”

  “I can’t help wondering who it is. Don’t you want to know?”

  “This is the person who you believe is responsible for O’Reilly’s death. In fact, you think he or she is a cold-blooded murderer.” He was beginning to sound exasperated.

  “I’m not purposely going to search for this person.”

  “Well, that’s a relief.” Owen didn’t look at all relieved.

  “But the police are short-staffed at the moment, and I’d hate for Becky to come to any harm.”

  “It sounds like this person knows about Becky already. If he—or she—wanted to harm her, then he would’ve tried something already, but nothing’s happened, right? Nothing alarming or suspicious has happened to Becky recently. Which means whoever this person is, they’re not a danger to her. They’re probably harmless, and O’Reilly’s death was just an unfortunate accident, which is what it looked like from the beginning. He was anxious about seeing his long-lost daughter, he got drunk, wandered along the rail line, and passed out on the tracks.”

  The little tic in his left eyebrow told her that he was concerned. Concerned about her safety, especially when he had to leave soon. Reluctant to let him return to his stressful job with the extra burden of worrying about her, she did the only thing possible.

  “You’re right. That’s most likely what happened. And I’m so relieved Rowena’s gone. I’ll be able to concentrate on the New Year’s Eve party, and then we have our vacation to look forward to.”

  She knew she’d said the right thing when the twitch in his eyebrow subsided and his face relaxed into a smile. “Yeah, our vacation. Can’t wait for that. Just you, me, and Vegas, baby.”

  ***

  The Willa Arthur Center echoed with the sounds of preparations. Several people had turned up to help with the set up for tonight’s fundraiser, and Emma was grateful for the assistance. Not everyone was willing to venture out on a Sunday morning in the middle of winter. Hazel Destefano, sturdy and efficient in denim overalls, had arrived before Emma. It was she who had roped in the volunteers, and she lost no time in assigning them tasks. People bustled about sweeping floors, setting up tables, and hauling chairs.

  A couple of technicians tested the sound and lighting from a small desk near the stage. As Emma watched them, she couldn’t help thinking of Wayne Goddard and the laser show he’d been so eager to put on. Poor Wayne. He’d been full of life, eager to make friends, and now he was lying in a morgue awaiting burial.

  “What’s with the long face?” an acerbic voice at her elbow asked.

  Turning, Emma wasn’t surprised to see Faye Seymour squinting inquisitively at her. “Good morning, Faye,” she said evenly. “Are you here to help with the set up?”

  “No. I was just passing and thought I should stick my head in to see how it was going.”

  “So you’re coming to tonight’s party?”

  “Of course I’m coming.” The elderly lady looked indignant that Emma would even doubt that, and she was right. Faye would never pass up the chance to gather and spread more gossip about her fellow townsfolk. “So?”

  Emma raised her eyebrows. “Excuse me?”

  “So why were you looking so down in the mouth? Is it Owen? Had an argument with him, did you?” Faye moistened her lips as if she were about to snap up a tasty morsel.

  Emma scowled at her, though she knew this was futile. With Faye, any discouragement was like water off a duck’s back.

  “I was thinking about Wayne Goddard and how sad it is that he won’t be giving us his laser show,” Emma said.

  “Don’t tell me you were sweet on him?”

  Emma stopped herself from rolling her eyes. “No, of course not.”

  “Good thing you weren’t.” Faye folded her plump arms together. “That Wayne Goddard was something of a ladies’ man. He made quite a fool of himself over Becky, that’s for sure. But he didn’t stop there. No sirree. He’d make a pass at anything in a skirt, young or old. You’d be surprised who he went for.” She nodded meaningfully toward a group of people carrying chairs across the hall.

  Emma looked in that direction, puzzled by the woman’s remark. “Who do you mean?”

  “Hazel Destefano, of course!” Faye declared.

  “Oh.” Emma gazed across the hall at Hazel who, with military precision, was directing the people with the chairs.

  “She was furious with Wayne when he tried to seduce her.”

  “Seduce her? That’s a rather strong term. Don’t you mean he just made a pass at her?”

  “No.” Faye shook her head decisively. “Wayne grabbed her and tried to kiss her. He wouldn’t let go until she stomped her heel on his foot.”

  Emma’s eyes widened. “When did this happen? How do you know all this?”

  The old lady smirked, pleased that she had captured Emma’s full attention. “I saw them one night outside the Shore Thing about a month ago. They didn’t see me; no one ever sees an old lady. Hazel left the bar and was walking to her car when Wayne came out. He followed her, said something which she ignored, and then he put his arms around her and tried to kiss her. He must have been drinking because he treated it like a big joke, but of course Hazel didn’t see the funny side. She fought him off and then gave him an earful. Oh, the names she called him! It makes me blush just to recall them. Then she got into her car and yelled at him that if he didn’t stay clear of her, she’d make him regret it. He just giggled; he didn’t take her seriously.”

  Emma frowned. Had Wayne been such a crass buffoon? If this was true, it was no wonder Hazel had despised him.

  In full spate now, Faye prattled on. “The next time I saw Hazel, I tried to talk to her about the incident. To give her my support, you know, but she behaved as if it had never happened. ‘He was just kidding around, and I knew he was joking,’ she said. But she doesn’t fool me. That Hazel Destefano is a dark horse, if you ask me. I mean, she’s very efficient, I’ll give her that, but what do we really know about her, hmm? Nothing, really. She keeps to herself; doesn’t have close friends and never talks about family. She popped up in Greenville about four years ago, and she’s been the mayor’s secretary for as long, but no one really knows a thing about her, and she doesn’t like talking about her past. Believe me, I’ve tried asking her but she just cut me off. Yes, the only thing I know for sure is that she definitely didn’t like Wayne Goddard. In fact, I’d go so far as to say she loathed him.”

  She cocked her head to one side, a bright gleam in her eyes. “I wonder…do you think she might have had a hand in his death? Oh, I know I shouldn’t gossip, and I’m the last person to spread rumors, but it does make you think, doesn’t it?”

  Chapter Thirteen

  A lanky, longhaired man with a nose stud grinned and waved at Emma from the stage. “Hey, Emma. We’re early.” Around him, several other scruffy, casually dressed men had arrived carrying speakers, drums, and guitar cases.

  Emma smiled back. “Hi, Rusty. Hi, guys.”

  The other band members waved before continuing with their w
ork. She had first hired the Morrisons to play at a funeral wake, and since then had gotten to know them better, especially Rusty, the lead singer and manager of the band, who had once helped Emma after a stressful abduction.

  Rusty loped over to her and began chatting about the music they planned to play. She was glad of the distraction, having spent the past hour mulling over what Faye had told her. The woman was an incorrigible busybody, and could spin the most fabulous tales, but there was often a grain of truth behind her gossip, and since she had departed, the seeds of doubt that lingered in Emma’s mind had begun to sprout at an alarming rate.

  It didn’t help that Hazel, the subject of that doubt, was right there in the hall, her commanding voice easily heard over the cacophony. The secretary was in her element here, not merely delegating but also clambering up ladders and using power tools.

  “A pity we won’t be getting Wayne’s laser show,” Rusty said, drawing her attention back. He shook his head. “Poor guy. What a way to go.”

  “Did you know him?”

  “A little. He did a show over at the Rainbow Casino where we were playing. It was pretty awesome. He seemed like a nice guy. He invited me to go camping with him, but I’m not much of an outdoors person.”

  “He liked camping?”

  “Yeah. He was really into it. Told me he had all the mod cons, heating and televisions and stuff, but I got all that at home, so why risk it going outdoors with all that poison ivy and bears and ants, huh?”

  “Exactly.” But Emma was wondering why a man who knew about camping would do something so foolish as to bring his propane heater into his bedroom. Didn’t equipment like that come with a warning about using it in confined spaces?

  Rusty’s gaze veered off, and his face split into a huge banana grin. “Hey, Becky!”

  Becky walked toward them, wrapped in her navy blue coat, her hands pushed into her pockets. She greeted them with her usual smile, but the faint line between her eyes alerted Emma that something wasn’t right.

  Rusty, bouncing on his feet and still grinning, didn’t seem to notice. “Becky, we’re gonna play your favorite song tonight. Blue Moon. It’s not our usual style, but I know you like it.” He paused as a thought struck him. “You are coming tonight, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, I’m going with Nick,” Becky answered distractedly.

  “Nick?” The singer’s face fell a little.

  “Nick Stavros, the vet.”

  “Oh.” Rusty’s bouncing stopped. His smile ebbed away. He scratched the back of his neck. “Okay, well, um, I should go and help the guys.” He jerked his thumb toward the stage where the rest of the band was setting up equipment.

  “Sure, Rusty. I’ll talk to you later.” As soon as the singer was out of earshot, Becky tugged at Emma’s arm and said in a low voice, “Can I steal you away for an hour or so?”

  “Sure.” Emma nodded, her alarm rising. “What’s up?”

  “I got a call from Martinez. He has some information about my—my father. Can you come with me to the police station? I just—I just don’t think I want to hear whatever he has to say on my own.”

  “Of course I’ll come.”

  “Are you sure? I know you’re busy with the fundraiser and all.” She glanced around the hall, seeming to take it in for the first time.

  “I can take an hour off. And besides, Hazel is doing most of the work.” Emma gestured across the hall where Hazel was perched on top of a stepladder while she hung a huge Happy New Year banner. “What about your diner? Have you left Abigail and Oscar in charge?”

  “No, I’ve shut the diner and given them the afternoon off, since they’re both going to be working here tonight.”

  Alvin, the caterer, was short-staffed because of the holidays, so Becky’s waitress and cook had been hired to fill in as servers.

  “Okay. I’ll just tell Hazel that I’ll be gone for an hour or so.”

  Emma walked over to the stepladder and spoke briefly to Hazel. The secretary looked across the hall at Becky and frowned, laying down her stapler and descending a few steps.

  “Has something happened to Becky? Can I help in any way?”

  “No, she just, uh, needs me to help her run an errand, that’s all.”

  Hazel dusted the front of her overall. “I can help her run errands.”

  “It’s something…personal,” Emma replied, surprised by the secretary’s response.

  Hazel’s lips pinched. “Fine,” she snapped before picking up her stapler again. “Just don’t be too long. There’s plenty still to be done.”

  What’s wrong with her, Emma wondered as she hurried back to Becky. Maybe she was annoyed and thought Emma was shirking work. She sighed. Well, there was nothing she could do about that. Becky needed her, and she couldn’t let her down. She would just have to hurry back and work twice as hard.

  They drove to the police station without talking much, and when they got there Officer Martinez showed them into a private interview room. He seemed a little ill at ease and insisted on making them coffee, fussing with the sugar and stirrers. Eventually they were all sitting at the square table in the gray, nondescript room. Emma and Becky, seated on one side, looked expectantly at Martinez on the other.

  The officer cleared his throat. “Okay, well, the first thing I need to tell you is that we have positively identified the man who died on the railway as Kieran O’Reilly.” He gazed earnestly at Becky. “I’m sorry for your loss, Becky.”

  A half-sob caught in Becky’s throat before she collected herself. Beside her, Emma clasped her friend’s cold hand, trying to give her silent comfort.

  “Thank you, Eric. I was expecting it, so it’s a relief to have it confirmed,” Becky said in a steady voice. “So how was it done? The identification, I mean?”

  “The ME matched the dental records,” Martinez said carefully. “In the end, we didn’t need to go to DNA matching, which would have taken longer.”

  Still holding onto Emma’s hand, Becky nodded and took a deep breath. “So,” she said on a firmer note. “How did my father end up on the train tracks outside Greenville?”

  “That’s something I’m still working on,” Martinez said. “The second reason why I called you in is because I’ve received more information about Kieran O’Reilly. The prison warden I spoke to had quite a lot to say. O’Reilly spent twenty-eight years behind bars, and according to the warden he was a model prisoner. Didn’t get into any fights, didn’t join any gangs, kept a low profile. He helped other prisoners with studying and legal things. He attended counseling and led discussion groups. He was trusted by the wardens, and it seemed he didn’t put a foot wrong.”

  Becky let out an exhale, and Emma realized her friend had been holding her breath.

  “So the warden liked him?” Emma asked.

  “Yeah, but there were others who liked him even more. O’Reilly had a lot of…prison groupies. Mostly women, who were fans of his. They wrote him letters, sent him parcels, visited him.”

  “Groupies?” Becky let out a half-choke. “Why? He killed two innocent people. What could possibly be admirable about that?”

  Martinez shook his head, looking uncomfortable. “I don’t understand the psychology behind it, but it’s not uncommon. Serial killers seem to be popular with these people. Your dad—uh, O’Reilly wasn’t a serial killer, but it seems the newspapers had a field day with the murder trial. Your mom was attractive, and the doctor she was friends with came from a well-to-do family. Plus, I guess there was something about your father that stirred people’s imagination. Maybe some of his groupies knew what it was like to be cheated on and admired the way he’d dealt with the situation. He was a good-looking man, I have to admit.” He pushed a blue folder across the table. “I have a few photos, if you want to take a look.”

  Becky stared at the folder as if it were a snake. Then she dragged it toward her and gingerly opened it. There were two photos inside. One, a police mug shot, the other a photo taken by a reporter outside the court.
Emma saw a handsome man with thick, light brown hair and broad shoulders. His eyes were clear and expressive, his features clean cut. Even in the mug shot, he looked so wholesome and honest that it was hard to believe he had stabbed to death two people, one of them his wife and the mother of his child.

  Becky sucked in a deep breath. Her hands holding the photo trembled. “His eyes are blue just like mine,” she whispered. She swallowed and laid the photos down.

  Martinez shuffled about, his chair squeaking. “I’m sorry, Becky. We don’t have to do this if you don’t want.”

  “No, no.” She shut the folder and looked steadfastly at him. “Please go on. Tell me more about these groupies. Were there many of them?”

  Martinez consulted his notes. “He’s had quite a few over the years. More than a dozen when he first started his sentence. Of course a lot of them lose interest as time goes by or get fixated on someone else, but then new groupies come along, especially when the media do a story on him. There was some crime reporter who included him in her book a few years ago, and that brought out a few more fans.”

  Becky was starting to look sick. “And he encouraged these…groupies? He enjoyed the attention?”

  “Well, ah, according to the warden he did in the beginning, but by the end, when he was nearing his release, he became more cautious.” He paused and turned his gaze to Becky. “I’m thinking maybe one of his groupies decided to find out what had happened to you, the daughter who was left behind. This groupie could’ve discovered your new identity, found you were living here, and told your father. That’s why he came to Greenville.”

  “Why didn’t he come to the diner, then? Why didn’t he write or call first?”

  “I don’t know.” The officer shook his head, looking baffled.

  “Maybe because he didn’t know your new name or where you lived,” Emma said. “Maybe only the groupie knew, and that was why he was meeting her. Or him.” She looked at Martinez. “Wouldn’t the warden have a list of his visitors or the people who sent him mail? One of them must have been his groupie.”