In the Dead of Winter (an Emma Cassidy Mystery Book 5) Read online

  She rapped on the door and tried the bell again, still with no success, before she decided to look around the back. The driveway led past the house to a garage at the back of the property, with no fence to block her access. Wayne’s ten-year-old Buick was parked close by, its hood stone-cold, indicating it hadn’t been used recently. She edged along the side of the house, peering into the windows, but most of them had curtains obscuring her vision.

  Then she had an idea and pulled out her cell phone, quickly dialing Wayne’s number. As it started to ring, she pressed an ear to the nearest windowpane, straining to pick up anything audible. There it was—the unmistakable sound of a cell phone ringing. Wayne’s cell phone. It seemed to be coming from the rear of the house. Hurrying around the corner of the building, she halted outside the nearest window. The ringtone was much louder here; the cell phone must be inside this room.

  Standing on tiptoe, she pressed her nose against the cold glass. Yellow drapes hung on the other side, blocking her view. But not all of it. The hem stopped just short of the windowsill, giving her a narrow slot to peer through.

  Cupping her hands around her face to block out the reflections of the morning light, she squinted through the gap. She could see a bit of carpet, the edge of a bed, and, poking out from under a comforter, a pair of large feet enclosed in purple socks.

  The cell phone rang and rang and rang, but the feet remained still, not displaying the slightest twitch.

  Emma banged on the window with her fist.

  “Wayne! It’s me, Emma. Wayne! Wake up, Wayne!”

  Dread pooled like icy water around her heart even as she hollered her lungs out.

  “What’s going on?” a voice said behind her. “What’s all the commotion for?”

  She spun around and felt a moment of dizzy dislocation as she recognized the woman in front of her. “Hazel? What—what are you doing here?”

  The last person she might have expected here was Hazel Destefano, the mayor’s strait-laced secretary. She was dressed for work in a gray tweed skirt, rollneck sweater, a black winter coat, and sensible black pumps, a patent leather purse tucked under one arm.

  “I live next door,” Hazel said with a touch of impatience. “Why are you banging on Wayne’s window?”

  Emma took a gulp of air to steady herself as she digested the fact that Hazel was Wayne’s neighbor. Why hadn’t she mentioned that at the meeting with the mayor? “We arranged to meet this morning for his laser show demo. I can see his feet through the window, but I can’t rouse him.”

  Hazel made a ‘tch’ sound. “He probably got drunk last night and now he’s sleeping it off. Knowing Wayne, it doesn’t surprise me.”

  “Maybe, but I’m really worried about him. I think I should call the police, just in case he needs help.”

  Hazel rolled her eyes. “Call the police just because Wayne drank himself into a stupor? That’s a waste of public resources. Follow me.” Crooking her finger, she marched back to the front of the house where she paused in front of a clay pot containing a cluster of hardy desert succulents. “Look under there. That’s where Wayne keeps a spare house key.”

  Briefly wondering how Hazel knew that, since she didn’t appear to be a friendly neighbor, Emma did as she was told and retrieved a key. She hurried to the front door, unlocked it, and stepped into the house. Inside, it felt like a freezer. Not pausing, she raced down the hallway to the rear of the house, vaguely aware of Hazel’s pumps tap-tapping after her.

  As she flung open the door to the bedroom, a wall of stale, fetid air hit her. A portable heater stood in one corner, still radiating heat. Wayne Goddard lay flat on his back on the bed, his eyes shut, his face a bright cherry red.

  Heart flailing, Emma rushed over and felt for a pulse in his neck, even though deep down she knew she was too late.

  Hazel walked up to the other side of the bed and peered down at the man, her expression tight and grim. “Is he still alive?” she asked in a flat, matter-of-fact tone.

  Emma shook her head. “No,” she whispered.

  The mayor’s secretary thinned her lips. She turned her attention to the heater, walked over to it, and shut it off. “A propane heater. Carbon monoxide poisoning. What a silly way to die, poor idiot.”

  ***

  The paramedics and the police arrived in record time, but as Emma feared, there was nothing they could do to save Wayne. She and Hazel sat in Wayne’s living room while the authorities dealt with the body. Hazel had invited her to sit in her home next door, but Emma had declined, feeling she couldn’t impose on the woman. She was surprised that Hazel had stayed as long as she did, since she assumed the secretary was late for work, and was even more taken aback when Hazel, after a short disappearance, returned with two cups of tea with cream and sugar.

  “I made it at home,” Hazel said, handing her one of the flowered china cups. “I don’t drink coffee, so I hope you don’t mind tea.”

  “Tea’s fine,” Emma murmured, wrapping her hands gratefully around the steaming china. “Thank you. I hope the mayor won’t be too annoyed with you turning up late.”

  “I’ve already called and let him know what happened,” Hazel said prosaically.

  Officer Eric Martinez walked into the living room and greeted the two women somberly.

  “Can you tell me what happened?” he asked, pulling out his notebook. “You first, Emma.”

  Emma gave him her account, and then Hazel followed.

  “You say you live next door. Did you notice anything unusual last night?” the cop asked Hazel.

  “No, not really.” Hazel frowned. “When I went outside to throw something in the garbage bin, Wayne’s lights were on, and I could hear a guitar playing, but that’s not unusual. That was around nine p.m.”

  “Anything between midnight and two a.m.?”

  “Is that when he died?”

  “According to the ME. Well, ma’am?”

  “No, I was asleep.” The secretary continued briskly, “It’s the propane heater, isn’t it? As soon as I saw it, I knew that was the cause.”

  “It looks that way, but at this stage it’s too early to say for sure,” Martinez said with his usual caution. “The autopsy will tell us more.”

  But Hazel had already made up her mind. “Carbon monoxide poisoning,” she said decisively to Emma. “It’s lethal. The carbon monoxide builds up so quickly in a victim’s bloodstream that he can die in thirty to forty-five minutes.”

  Emma blinked at her. “You seem very familiar with this.”

  “I had a close call when I was a child.” Hazel folded her arms, frowning. “The lady next door offered me a ride to school with her son. The car was in the garage. We got in, the mother turned the ignition, then told us to wait while she fetched something. When she was gone, the boy jumped out of the car, ran out of the garage, and pulled the door shut, thinking it was a great prank to pull on me. Within minutes I was choking and gasping for air. I couldn’t move properly, and I was dizzy and nauseous and beginning to hallucinate. The mother rescued me just in time.”

  “That sounds awful,” Emma exclaimed.

  “It wasn’t pleasant. Luckily, we moved town soon after that. I sometimes wonder what happened to that boy.” Hazel gazed into the distance as though reliving her childhood days. The crisis seemed to have loosened her tongue, since she was far more talkative than usual. After a moment, she returned her attention to Officer Martinez. “Could it have been suicide? Maybe Wayne left a note somewhere, though we didn’t see anything in the bedroom, did we, Emma?”

  The policeman rocked back and forth on his heels. “We’ll do a thorough investigation. We can’t rule out any possibilities.”

  Emma shook her head vehemently. “No, it can’t have been suicide. Wayne was excited about his laser show.” She gestured to the equipment sitting on a side table. “See, he had everything set up for our meeting today. He was going to give me a demonstration. He was looking forward to the New Year’s Eve party. He wanted to make a contributi
on, to be accepted by everyone.”

  Hazel tilted her head to one side. “It can be hard starting over in a new town, especially a small one like Greenville. Maybe Wayne was more depressed than he let on, despite his rather rambunctious nature.”

  Guilt bit at Emma as she recalled Wayne’s boisterous behavior at the diner where he had made a fool of himself over Becky and Faye Seymour had snarked at him. Had his clownish act masked a deep well of sadness?

  Officer Martinez cleared his throat before addressing Hazel. “Did you notice any change in his behavior over the past week or so? Were you close to the deceased?”

  Hazel drew back. “I was not,” she almost snapped. “Wayne had an over-inflated ego, especially when it came to women, which I for one did not appreciate.”

  Martinez lifted his eyebrows, his pen hovering over his notepad. “He made, uh, unwelcome advances toward you?”

  “I avoided him as much as possible, but I saw the way he sleazed over other women.” Hazel pinched her lips together, a tight knot of disapproval. “It was very unpleasant to witness. No, he and I were not close, and I had very little to do with him. So I’m in no position to say whether his behavior had changed recently. And I doubt any of his other neighbors could help.” She waved a hand to indicate the people in the surrounding houses. “Most of them are retirees who like to stay indoors, or they’re hard-working souls busy earning a crust.” Grabbing her purse, she jumped to her feet. “Like me. I’m very late for work as it is, so can I go now?”

  Suddenly Hazel seemed in a tearing hurry to leave, and Emma couldn’t help wondering if it was because she’d realized she’d said too much.

  After a pause, Martinez nodded his permission. “I might come around later to ask you more questions,” he said as she prepared to leave.

  Barely pausing in her stride, Hazel gave them both a brisk nod before she grabbed the empty tea cups and left, her pumps tapping a disapproving beat on the floorboards.

  Martinez turned back to Emma. “Any idea of Wayne’s next-of-kin?”

  Feeling inadequate, Emma shook her head. “I think he said he came from San Diego, and his parents used to bring him here on vacations when he was a kid. That’s about all I know about him.”

  “That’s okay. We’ll find the details.”

  At that moment the paramedics wheeled a gurney with a black body bag strapped to it past the living room. Emma felt a lump form in her throat as Wayne left his house for the last time. She hadn’t known him very well, but it was still tragic that his life had been snuffed out so suddenly.

  “Winters are mild in San Diego,” Martinez muttered. Then, as Emma wrinkled her brow at him, he added, “He probably wasn’t used to the cold, and this house is poorly insulated. That propane heater in his bedroom is designed for outdoor use, like camping. Most likely he brought it inside because he was freezing. Maybe he only meant to heat up the room before turning it off, but he fell asleep, the oxygen in the room depleted, and he never woke up. An appalling accident.”

  Yes, an accident, that’s certainly what it appeared to be. But even as Emma nodded, a small twist of doubt curled in her mind. “Yes, but like you said to Hazel, you will do a thorough investigation, won’t you?”

  Martinez lowered his brows at her. “Are you implying that something isn’t right here?”

  “No. I just…I just want to be sure.”

  As she spoke the words, an uncomfortable feeling niggled at her, and she realized that she was far from sure that Wayne’s death was just a tragic accident.

  ***

  There was no way Emma could return to her office without first unburdening herself, and after she’d parked outside her office, her feet led her unerringly to the diner across the road. The warm scent of coffee and pancakes smelled all the more comforting after the frigid coldness of Wayne’s house. Vestiges of the ordeal she’d experienced must have shown in her expression because she hadn’t even made it to the counter before Abigail, holding a pile of dirty plates, stopped in her path.

  “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” The young waitress shifted her load, sensing something was amiss. “What’s happened now?”

  The diner was empty after the morning rush. Becky was restocking the muffin display cabinet, while Oscar was clearing tables by the window. Emma saw no reason to sidestep the question. In truth, she was surprised that the news hadn’t yet reached the diner.

  “There’s been an awful accident.” She drew in a breath. “Wayne Goddard died in his bed last night.”

  Abigail shrieked, the stack of plates wobbling in her grip. Oscar hustled over and grabbed the teetering pile from her. As soon as he did so, the waitress clapped her hands over her mouth, her eyes wide with horror.

  Becky hurried to join them, brows drawn together in concern. “Wayne is dead?” Disbelief reverberated in her voice. “It can’t be true! He was here in the diner just yesterday evening. He can’t be dead.”

  “I’m sorry. It’s true. I—we found him this morning.” Emma leaned a hand against the nearest table, trying to combat the sudden dizziness.

  “Here. Sit down.” Becky waved her into a seat before doing the same to Abigail. Oscar deposited the stack of plates on a nearby table and folded his lanky frame onto a chair, crossing his long, skinny legs. Sinking into the seat next to Emma, Becky said, “Tell us what happened.”

  So Emma recited the events of this morning—her arrival at Wayne’s house, knocking with no response, Hazel Destefano the neighbor, the two of them entering the house, and the grim discovery.

  “Poor Wayne!” Becky murmured, absent-mindedly playing with a sachet of sugar. “I can’t believe he’s gone. He was here last night. Sat here for at least an hour until it was closing time, chatting with everyone. He was a very friendly man.”

  Emma recalled her last conversation with Wayne yesterday afternoon, also at the diner. Seemed Wayne had spent a large part of his last day here.

  Abigail, sitting next to her, pulled a face. “Sometimes a bit too friendly, if you ask me,” she muttered.

  “What do you mean?” Becky asked, looking perplexed.

  “Oh, well, nothing, it’s just that on occasion he could be a bit…sleazy.”

  “Sleazy! Shame on you, Abigail. The man’s dead!”

  The young woman’s mouth trembled. “I’m sorry,” she cried. “I don’t mean to insult him, but…but it’s true!” She swiveled around to look imploringly at Oscar. “You agree with me, don’t you, Oscar?”

  The cook wriggled in his chair and pushed slim fingers through his short blond hair. “Uh, well, it’s not good to speak ill of the dead…”

  “It doesn’t matter anymore,” Becky broke in, sounding weary. “The poor man is dead. What a senseless way to go. Suffocated by his own heater.” She lifted her eyes to Emma. “It’s definitely an accident? There’s no other possibility?”

  “The police are still investigating, and there’ll be an autopsy. That’s what Martinez told me.”

  “Eric’s in charge?” Becky nodded. “That’s good. He’ll handle this properly.”

  “But what else could it be except an accident?” Abigail asked, frowning in confusion. “Wayne was hardly the suicidal type, and who on earth would want to kill him?”

  A short silence greeted her rather brutal assessment.

  Surprisingly, Oscar broke the silence. “Suicidal people aren’t always that easy to spot,” he said in his low, gruff voice. “You may be surprised, but some of the most outgoing people can be hiding very serious depression. Wayne was a recent arrival here. We don’t really know him. We don’t know what his true state of mind was last night.”

  Everyone was staring at Oscar. That had to be the longest speech she’d ever heard from the cook, Emma thought. And what he said was both reasonable and sobering.

  “You’re right,” Emma said. “I don’t think any of us knew Wayne very well.”

  Oscar nodded, his air melancholy. “When you think about it, we’re all strangers to each other. We
live and work side by side, but how well do we really know each other?”

  A poignant silence greeted his words.

  “Why, Oscar, that’s a somber philosophy,” Becky remarked.

  A smile ghosted across his lips. “It must be my somber Nordic ancestry.”

  The smile softened his features, making him look younger, friendlier. Aside from his serious countenance, he was surprisingly attractive, Emma thought, taking in his high cheekbones, generous lips, and blue eyes. But his wariness and his tendency to lurk in the background made him difficult for most people to approach.

  Abigail was drumming her fingernails on the table. “I didn’t realize that Hazel Destefano lived next door to Wayne,” she said.

  “Neither did I until this morning,” Emma replied. “I’m glad she was there, though. I wouldn’t have enjoyed finding Wayne’s body by myself.”

  “No, you’re right. But didn’t Hazel hate Wayne?”

  “She disliked him, yes…”

  Abigail sat up in her chair. “She might have killed Wayne.”

  Everyone stared at the young waitress.

  “What? That’s ridiculous,” Emma protested. But she couldn’t help wondering. At the meeting with the mayor, Hazel hadn’t mentioned she was Wayne’s neighbor. Was it because she wanted to distance herself from Wayne as much as possible? If so, why had she appeared at his house so readily this morning? Could it be that she’d wanted to make sure of her handiwork?

  Abigail shrugged. “I’m just saying it could’ve been her. She had motive, means, and opportunity. After all, you did say she knew where Wayne hid his spare key, didn’t you?”

  Emma felt faint. “Yes, but—”

  “So she could’ve snuck into his house in the middle of the night, turned on the heater, and left him to suffocate.”

  “How would she know about the heater?” Oscar said. Now that his tongue had loosened, it seemed that the cook was eager to talk. “Would she have carried it in from outside?”

  Abigail waved his questions aside. “I don’t know about the details. I’m just saying that it could be possible.”

  Oscar rubbed his slender hands against his knees. “Anything could be possible,” he muttered, shaking his head as if in despair of human nature.