In the Dead of Winter (an Emma Cassidy Mystery Book 5) Page 6

  He quickly perked up. “Yeah? So he likes the idea? He said yes?”

  “Don’t get your hopes up yet. He wants me to see your demonstration and then report back to him on what I think.”

  “No problem.” Wayne rubbed his hands in glee. It hadn’t taken long for his mood to improve. “I’ll put on a demo to knock your socks off!”

  “It might be a good idea to keep it simple and not too flashy,” she said, thinking of the mayor’s wife. No need to tell Wayne about her. Yet. “And if we do say yes, we only want a short five-minute show.”

  “Five minutes? But that’s barely any time at all,” Wayne protested.

  “I’m sorry, Wayne, but it’s the best I can do right now.”

  He blew out his cheeks. “No, I’m not blaming you. In fact, I owe you for recommending me. When do you want to see my demo?”

  “I thought sometime tomorrow morning. Is that okay with you?”

  “Sure. How about nine am? I’ll prepare something that will tastefully blow your socks off.” Wayne grinned, cheerful again. “Do you have my address? It’s 36, Baker Street.”

  He scribbled the details on a napkin, whistling, and handed it to her.

  “Thanks.” Emma pushed the napkin into her bag and spooned up more of the delicious apple cobbler.

  Wayne, turning away from her, straightened his shoulders and brushed the crumbs from the front of his shirt. “Ah, the fair damsel approaches,” he announced in a loud, hokey voice.

  Becky, sashaying behind the counter with her usual grace, paused and raised one eyebrow at him. “Are you still here, Wayne?” She didn’t sound irritated, just mildly amused. It took a lot to ruffle Becky.

  “I couldn’t leave without saying hello to the most beauteous maiden in the land.” A mushy smile spread across his face as he raised a finger to his shaggy hair in an ostentatious salute.

  Becky shot a dry look at Emma before replying, “I can hardly call myself a maiden these days.” She moved to the register as a customer came up to pay his bill.

  This only seemed to encourage Wayne to loftier heights. “Your loveliness is ageless,” he declared with a twirling flourish of his hand.

  He was laying it on too thick, Emma thought, almost to the point of embarrassment. To the left of her, Caitlyn smothered a snort as she dug into her sundae. The elderly man at the register gave Wayne an ornery frown as he slapped down a few bills.

  A hint of pink colored Becky’s cheeks, but she remained composed as she saw to her customer before turning back to Wayne.

  “I appreciate the compliments, Wayne, but maybe you could tone it down a little. For the sake of my customers.”

  Wayne seemed genuinely surprised. He glanced about the diner, registering the disapproving or guarded looks he was attracting. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “Didn’t mean to upset anyone.” Leaning forward on the counter, he gazed adoringly at Becky. “Maybe I can make it up to you, Becky. I’d love to take you out to dinner one night.”

  Becky blinked and cast a startled glance in Emma’s direction, clearly caught off guard. Who would’ve thought he’d ask her out on a date in front of so many onlookers? The guy was either overflowing with chutzpah, or he was plain silly.

  “Wayne—” Becky began hesitantly.

  Before she could continue, an almighty crash came from the kitchen. A second later, Abigail’s head popped up at the pass-through window, her face ashen. “I—I’m so, so sorry. I—I bumped into Oscar and—and broke all these plates…”

  Oscar appeared next to her, looking awkward and flushed. “It’s a lot of plates. At least a dozen.”

  “I—I don’t know how it happened, Becky.” Abigail’s chin began to quiver. “You can take it out of my wages.”

  “Don’t be silly.” Becky was already moving toward the swing doors that led to the kitchen. “Let me help you clean up.”

  From where she sat Emma had a good view of the kitchen, and she watched on as Becky reassured the waitress and cook, calmly restoring order among her employees.

  Beside Emma, Wayne let out a sigh. “She’s great with people, isn’t she?” he said, still looking besotted.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “You think she might go out with me?” he asked rather wistfully, his gaze fixed on Becky.

  Emma thought of telling him that he had a snowball’s chance in hell, but the truth was she didn’t honestly know what Becky’s opinion of him was. Becky was a great friend, always there when Emma needed a shoulder to lean on or someone to talk to, but she rarely confided about her own private life. Of the dozens of men who asked her out on dates each year, she accepted only a handful, and for less than obvious reasons. So who knew? Maybe Wayne did stand a chance?

  “I don’t know,” Emma answered truthfully. “But you might want to cut back on the schmaltzy compliments, especially in public.”

  “Overdoing it, huh?” He nodded. “Got it. I’ll try to be more discreet in the future, though it’s not really my style.”

  A man who specialized in laser shows probably wasn’t the subtle type. As Emma finished her coffee, she reflected on Becky’s two latest admirers—Wayne Goddard and Eric Martinez. They were very different characters, and on the face of it both seemed unlikely suitors, but maybe Becky did harbor a soft spot for one of them?

  ***

  As Emma stepped into her cottage that evening, a hot fug hit her in the face, causing her to pause on the threshold.

  “Shut the door!” Rowena cried, lifting her head from the couch where she was reclined. “You’re letting in the cold.”

  Closing the door, Emma was enveloped by heat. A fire roared in the hearth, and, judging by the depleted log stack, it had been going full blast all day. Dressed in a loose silk top and black leggings, Rowena lolled on the couch, playing with her cell phone. Several coffee cups bearing lipstick smears were scattered about the room, together with dirty plates holding half-eaten sandwiches and cookies. The used pans and crockery from breakfast were still piled in the sink. Cupboard doors hung open. Sandwich makings cluttered the kitchen counter.

  “Oh damn!” Rowena threw down her phone and sat up, pushing her reddish-brown hair away from her temples. “That game is driving me nuts!”

  “Is that what you’ve been doing all day? Playing games on your cell phone?” The milk had been left out on the kitchen counter. Emma picked up the carton and shoved it back in the refrigerator. ”If you want to stay a few days, you’ll have to improve your housekeeping.”

  Rowena leaped to her feet and rushed over to the kitchen area. “Didn’t realize you were coming home now, or I would’ve done something. Sorry about the mess. You know I’m no domestic goddess.” She began to tidy up in a haphazard fashion, clattering plates together, dropping knives and crumbs as she tried to clear the table.

  Emma stood back, half-regretting her initial reaction. As Rowena had pointed out, she had never been a neat person, preferring to operate in an environment of controlled chaos. It had never prevented her from achieving success in the event planning world; in fact, she seemed to thrive in a disorderly office. The only time Rowena cleaned up was when she was in danger of being physically engulfed.

  “Had a bad day?” Rowena asked after she had corralled all the dirty things in the sink and cleared the debris off the counters.

  Emma rubbed her temples. “No, actually, I had an okay day.”

  “Huh. Better than mine, I’ll bet. I’ve been cooped up staring at the same four walls with nothing to do all day.” Rowena eyed the shopping bag Emma had placed on the kitchen table upon her arrival. “Is that dinner?”

  “I got chicken, mushrooms, and rice to make risotto.”

  “And wine, of course. You need white wine to make risotto.” Rowena rifled through the shopping bag and pulled out the medium-priced Californian Chardonnay. “Ah hah. Things are looking up.” She crossed over to the kitchen drawers and rummaged through until she found the bottle opener. “Can I pour you one?” she asked, already sloshing a generous a
mount into a wine glass.

  “I’ll have one later,” Emma said, heading for the stairs. She wanted to change into comfy clothes before starting dinner. “And leave some for the risotto,” she called out over her shoulder.

  “Yeah, sure,” Rowena muttered, her nose buried in her glass.

  It might not be a good idea to leave Rowena alone with a bottle of wine, Emma thought as she climbed the stairs. Easily bored, Rowena would latch onto anything for a diversion.

  Entering the bathroom, Emma saw that her uninvited guest had made herself at home here too. A damp towel lay on the floor, while a faucet had been left to drip. Blowing out a huff of exasperation, Emma turned off the faucet and picked up the towel, aiming to hang it up. But there was a black boucle jacket taking up all the space on the towel rack.

  Annoyed, Emma snatched up the jacket, ready to toss it somewhere else, but then she paused as a brown billfold wallet tumbled out of the jacket and plopped to the tiles. It fell open, revealing a man’s driver’s license in the ID window. Intrigued, Emma hung up the towel, tucked the boucle jacket under her arm, and picked up the wallet to examine it more closely.

  The man in the driver’s license photo was gray-haired and a bit gaunt. His name was Kieran O’Reilly, his date of birth made him seventy-two, and his home address was in Santé Fe, New Mexico. How was this man connected to Rowena? Was he one of the thugs she was hiding from?

  The wallet was old and worn and made of cheap imitation leather. She glanced through the compartments. No money, a few cash receipts, some lottery tickets, and a small, faded photograph of a child. The photo drew her attention. The child looked to be no more than two or three with short, silvery fair hair and pink cheeks, and dressed in cotton shorts and T-shirt. She couldn’t be sure if it was a girl or a boy, and there was no name written on the back of the photo. Judging by the ragged corners, the photo had been handled a lot over the years.

  She tucked the photo back into the wallet, then marched downstairs again. “Where did you get this?” she asked Rowena, waving the wallet at her. “And who is Kieran O’Reilly?”

  Rowena, leaning against the kitchen counter with her wine glass already down by two-thirds, started, her eyes growing round. “Did you go through my things?”

  “No. Your jacket was in the bathroom.” She tossed the boucle jacket over a nearby chair and held up the wallet. “This fell out of it.”

  “Oh.” Rowena took another pull of her wine.

  “Well? Who is this man, and why do you have his wallet?”

  Avoiding eye contact, Rowena began to slink toward the couch. “I—I don’t know who he is. I just, er, found the wallet lying in the street somewhere.”

  Before she could reach the couch, Emma moved and stood in her way. “I don’t believe you. Tell me the truth, Rowena.”

  “Whoa there! No need to look so fierce. I didn’t kill anyone, you know.”

  Uneasiness bubbled in the pit of Emma’s stomach. She glowered at the woman who had caused so much havoc in her life.

  “An unidentified man died recently, and then you turn up with a wallet belonging to someone who matches the dead man’s description. You need to tell me everything—and I mean everything because I know you’re holding something back—or I’ll go straight to the police.”

  “Oh God! Why do you have to think the worst of me?” Rowena pleaded before she plonked herself on the couch with an air of resignation, clutching her wine. “Fine, I’ll tell you about the wallet, but you probably won’t like it.”

  So Rowena told her, and she was right. Emma didn’t like it one bit.

  Chapter Six

  The following morning Emma had almost finished with breakfast—coffee and a toasted English muffin—before the heap of pillows and comforter on the couch stirred, and Rowena’s mussed up hair finally appeared. Rubbing her eyes, she yawned widely before catching sight of Emma.

  “Hey,” she rasped. “What time is it?”

  “Eight-thirty.” Emma washed up her mug and plate and set them on the drying rack. “I’m off to work now.”

  Her words galvanized Rowena into dragging herself to her feet. “Oh, um, so...what are you going to do with the wallet?”

  Emma frowned at her uninvited house guest. She wasn’t feeling too charitable toward Rowena, not after what she’d heard last night. “I’m meeting someone at nine.” She had decided to keep her appointment with Wayne Goddard before handling her personal problems. “After that, I’ll stop by the police station and hand in the wallet.” She felt inside her tote bag for the billfold in question.

  Rowena lifted her eyebrows as she clutched the comforter around her shoulders. “And are you…?”

  “Am I going to tell them that you took it off an innocent old man?” She couldn’t help the censure in her voice. Considering her ex-business partner’s record, she shouldn’t have been all that surprised, but last night she had still been dismayed when she heard Rowena’s story.

  With her boyfriend in jail and hostile investors out for blood, Rowena had left New Jersey in a hurry and, fearing detection, had caught a series of buses across the country to reach California, paying cash for her tickets, eventually running out of money on her final leg, the intercity bus that connected the towns around Shamrock Lake. Which was where she’d taken a seat behind Kieran O’Reilly, her innocent victim.

  “It’s not like I stole it,” Rowena protested, wincing. “It was just lying there on the seat, and when I got off the bus, there was no sign of the man. He’d just vanished. And the bus had already gone, so I couldn’t hand it to the bus driver.”

  There was just enough truth twisted in with the lies to make Rowena’s story sound plausible, but Emma wasn’t buying it. “You said you’d hitchhiked, but that was a lie, so why should I believe your story? I think you kept the wallet and didn’t try to return it because you wanted the money.”

  “Okay, yes, but I was desperate. I was flat out of cash, and I didn’t dare use any of my credit cards for fear of being traced.”

  “And what about this man, this Kieran O’Reilly? You didn’t stop to think how he’d manage without his wallet?”

  “It was a spur of the moment thing. As soon as we reached Greenville, he got off in a real hurry. I—I saw he’d forgotten his wallet on the seat, so I took it. I’m sorry, okay.” A sullen tone marred the sincerity of her apology. “I was starving. I only spent twenty dollars, and I’ve given you the rest. You can just hand in the wallet with the money and say you found it on the street or something. They don’t need to know about me. You’re a local. They’ll take your word for it.”

  “But I have to tell them that you were on the bus with this man.”

  “No, please!” Rowena stumbled forward, and then collapsed onto a chair at the table. “You can’t tell the police about me, please.”

  Apprehension coiled like a serpent in the pit of Emma’s stomach. “I knew all along you were holding something back. Now, what is it?”

  In the face of Emma’s stern expression, all Rowena’s resistance crumbled. “Okay, fine, I’ll tell you,” she said, shoulders slumping. “There are no dangerous investors after me. I’m hiding because I don’t want a subpoena served on me.”

  “A subpoena for what?”

  “To appear as a witness in front of a grand jury.”

  Emma groaned. “So you’re protecting Lonnie again. You have evidence proving his guilt, and you won’t do the right thing.”

  “I don’t know about evidence, but I can’t testify against him,” Rowena pleaded on a half-sob. “Please try to understand.”

  “All I understand is that you’re aiding and abetting a criminal.”

  “How do you know he’s a criminal? Lonnie is innocent until proven guilty.”

  Rowena’s words brought Emma up short. Maybe she was being prejudiced against Lonnie because of their past history. And she had experience with innocent people being wrongfully charged for crimes they hadn’t committed. Maybe she shouldn’t be so hard on Rowena.r />
  “I still think you can’t solve your problems by running away,” Emma said.

  Crestfallen, Rowena leaned back in her chair. “Can’t you see things from my point of view?” she implored. “I know you don’t want me here, and I don’t blame you, but…but you’re my last resort. You’re lucky, Emma. When things got tough for you, you had your dad to run to, but I’m on my own. You don’t know what it’s like being alone, having to cast myself on your mercy.” She bowed her head, stifling a sniff.

  Emma hesitated. “All right. I’ll tell the police what you told me, but I’ll say you don’t want to be identified for personal reasons. That might satisfy them. Now, I have to go.” She put on her coat and gathered her bag.

  Looking apprehensive, Rowena gave her a dejected wave.

  Emma shook her head and left the house. As she drove off, she wondered how much longer Rowena was going to stay. It was turning out to be more stressful than Emma had predicted.

  Well, all that would have to wait until after her meeting with Wayne Goddard. His address brought her to a quiet street in a less than salubrious part of Greenville where the roads were potholed and the houses modest. She was familiar with the area, since her friend Stacy lived nearby.

  Wayne lived in a simple, single-story, ranch-style house built in the sixties, its pink paint a little faded, a bare-branched tree struggling to survive in the front yard. Christmas fairy lights festooned the front porch, and a wreath of fake holly hung on the door, giving some much needed cheer to the house. Wayne had said he was renting, she recalled as she rang the doorbell. The rent on this place would be cheap, but not his heating bills, she thought, noticing the gap beneath the door and the thin cladding on the walls.

  Several seconds had passed with no sign of Wayne, so she pressed the doorbell again. She heard the chiming inside the house, but afterward silence descended without the sound of nearing footsteps. Where was Wayne? Had he overslept, or gone out and forgotten about their meeting? It didn’t seem likely that he would have forgotten; yesterday he’d been so eager to show her what he could produce.