Throw a Monkey Wrench (an Emma Cassidy Mystery Book 1) (10 page)

A muscle ticked in his jaw. He pushed to
his feet, grabbed his wallet from a back pocket, and tossed two twenties on the
table. “Lunch is on me.”

***

“Let me guess. Man
trouble, huh?”

Becky stood at the table, the ever-present
coffee pot in her hand. Sighing, Emma gestured for her to take the seat Owen
had just vacated. Becky topped up Emma’s coffee, sat down, and folded her arms
expectantly.

“He’s not my man,” Emma grouched. “And I’m
glad he’s not because he’s overbearing and rude.”

Why did she let Owen get to her like this?
He was in her past; he shouldn’t be able to make her feel so juvenile. But she
wasn’t going to stop helping Sean. If anything, Owen had spurred her on even
more.

“I’ve always found Owen to be thoughtful,
kind, and generous. You were crazy about him when you were in high school.”

“That was a long time ago.” Emma propped an
elbow on the table and rested her chin on her hand. “Can we change the subject,
please?”

“Sure, honey. How’s your party planning
going?”

“Actually, I got the gig to do Tony’s
funeral reception next Tuesday. I need to find a band to play his favorite
songs.”

“What kind of songs?”

Emma pulled out her cell phone and scrolled
through the playlist of songs that she’d transferred from the memory stick
Jordan had given her. “Looks like a lot of seventies stuff. Fleetwood Mac, the
Eagles, Billy Joel…” She paused at one of the song titles. “
Only the Good
Die Young
. Hmm, maybe I’ll cross that one off the playlist. But you see my
problem. I don’t think your normal party band would strike the right note. I
need a group that’s a bit more mature, less frivolous.”

“Have you ever heard the Morrisons? They’re
a kind of easy listening covers band, and they’re really underrated. As a
matter of fact, I was thinking of going to see them tonight. They’re playing at
the Rainbow Casino. Want to come with me?”

Emma thought for a moment before nodding
her head. She didn’t have much time to get everything organized for the wake,
and if Becky recommended this band, then they were probably good. Plus, a night
out would help her forget about Owen and his aggravating ways.

“Yeah, that sounds like fun. What time?”

“I’ll pick you up at seven, and we can have
a bite to eat while the band plays.” With a smile, Becky rose and left to see
to her other customers.

Emma spent the rest of the day making
arrangements for Tony’s funeral reception. She visited Alvin Tucker to put in
the food order. She could have done this over the phone, but, after learning
about the poisoned pistachio ice cream, she felt it necessary to see him in
person.

Alvin was still upset over the incident and
went to great lengths to assure her that all his staff had been with him for
years and were completely trustworthy.

“Alvin, if I didn’t believe that, I
wouldn’t be here asking you for more catering, would I?” Emma said.

He nodded, wiping a large cloth over his
sweating forehead. “I’d be happy to provide the food. For Ms. Kozlowski’s sake,
of course, not Mr. Barnet’s. He was never a pleasant man to those he didn’t
need to impress.”

This was nothing new to Emma. After she’d
left Alvin, she considered the task of printing the funeral service booklets
and creating the photo portraits of Tony. Greenville was too small for a photo
printing business, but there were a couple in La Quinta, which was a much
larger town. She’d drive over there this afternoon and get the booklets and
portraits organized. But first she stopped off at the Sugar Rush, a busy bakery
in the heart of Greenville where Honey, the owner and chief baker, took her
order for the chocolate mud sheet cake together with the photo image that would
grace it.

“These edible photos are getting very
popular,” Honey said. “Though at a funeral I’m wondering who’ll be game enough
to eat a piece of this guy’s face.”

We’ll see on the day
, Emma mused. It would be interesting to see which of the mourners would
tuck into a slice of Tony Barnet’s face. Would Kyle be one of them? As Tony’s
only child, he’d definitely attend the funeral service at St John’s, but would
he turn up at the reception? And what about his mother, the scary Pamela? Emma
was hazy about funeral etiquette for exes, but if Pamela and Kyle arrived at
the wake, Jordan would probably let them in rather than suffer an undignified
brawl.

***

“Well? What do you
think?” Becky asked Emma as the Morrisons finished their set.

Emma gave them a final clap. “They’re good,
and I think they’ll be perfect for the funeral reception.” The five members of
the band were in their forties, and the lead singer had a wonderful gravelly
voice that would suit most of the songs Jordan had chosen.

“I told Rusty about you.” Becky motioned at
the lead singer who was coming off stage. “You can talk to him now.”

Becky introduced Emma to the singer.

“We’ve never played at a funeral reception
before,” he said. “Should be interesting.”

Emma brought up the list of songs on her cell
phone, and they discussed which ones the band could perform. Rusty was
courteous and easy going, and she felt confident he and the band would be just
what Jordan had in mind. They exchanged business cards and arranged follow up
calls before Rusty returned to the stage for the band’s final set.

“Thank you,” Emma said to Becky. “That’s a
load off my mind.”

“Anything else I can help you with? You
seem kinda antsy tonight.” Becky took a sip of her drink. “Still stewing over a
certain deputy sheriff?”

“No.” Emma compressed her lips. It wasn’t
her love life, non-existent as it was, that occupied her thoughts, but someone
else’s. “Okay, I’ll tell you. If I seem a bit antsy it’s because my dad went
out last night with…a female friend.”

“You mean a date?”

“Not according to him. In fact, he jumped
down my throat when I called it that, and you know my dad’s not the
jumping-down-throat type. He insisted it was just dinner and a movie with a
friend, but…well, it felt like it was more than that.”

“Because he denied it was a date so
strongly.”

Emma blew out a sigh. “I’m glad he’s going
out again, but I was clumsy and tactless about it, and I’m afraid that will
drive him in the opposite direction.”

“I’m sure it won’t. Your dad is a lovely
man, and Janet Ramos is a sweet, kind woman.”

Emma stared at her friend. “How do you know
he went out with Janet?”

Becky just smiled, and Emma wondered why
she’d asked. Of course Becky knew about Janet because there wasn’t much
happening in Greenville that Becky didn’t know. But, unlike other gossips in
town, Becky was the soul of discretion.

“This morning was awkward,” Emma confessed.
“I didn’t know whether to ask Dad about the date, and he didn’t like talking
about it.” She toyed with her wineglass. “Maybe it’s time I looked for my own place.”

She didn’t realize she’d muttered the
thought out loud until Becky patted her hand and said, “Sounds like a good
idea.”

But Emma was instantly assailed by doubt.
How could she afford to move out when her business was teetering on the edge
and she didn’t have a solid run of bookings?

“I’ll have to wait until business picks up,
though.”

“It will. You’re a smart cookie. You’ll
make things happen.”

***

An hour later, they
were walking through the parking lot toward Becky’s car when two men started
arguing a short distance away.

“You need to pay up!” the bigger one
snarled, shoulders hunched. Tall and burly, dressed in black suit and shirt, he
had the muscled demeanor of a thug.

The other man was slimmer and no match for
him in the muscle department, though he was far more nimble on his feet. He
backed away warily until a line of Dumpsters cut off his retreat. “Look, there’s
no need for violence. You’ll get your money if you just let me go in there.” He
gestured at the entrance to the casino. “A few hours at the blackjack table and
you’ll have your money. Guaranteed. I might even have a bonus just for you.”

The burly thug laughed sneeringly. “You
ain’t fooling me. You lose all the time at blackjack. You’re a class A loser.
Now pay up!”

Emma clutched at Becky’s arm. “Oh God! What
should we do?”

“Let’s get security,” Becky grimly replied.

But before they could move, the thug
launched himself at the shorter man, grabbing him by the front of his shirt.
The victim, his face quite pale, managed to pull himself free and wiggled his
way through the line of Dumpsters. The thug was too broad to follow suit. A
couple of security guards came pounding out of the casino. The thug, obviously
deciding to beat a hasty retreat, began to run away.

“This isn’t the end of it!” He yelled at
the row of Dumpsters where his target had taken cover. He jumped into a dark
SUV and roared off just as the security guards were closing in on him.

“Come on. Let’s go.” Becky nudged Emma’s
elbow, and they hurried to her car, both of them left uneasy after witnessing
the altercation.

“What was that all about?” Emma asked when
they were safely in Becky’s car.

“You know what it’s like at casinos. Always
some desperate gambler up to his eyes in debt who thinks he can make up all his
losses in a few hours. It never ends well.”

“Did you recognize either of those two
men?”

“No.” Becky turned curious eyes to Emma as
she started the engine and pulled off. “Did you?”

Even as Emma shook her head, something
nagged her at the back of her mind. She didn’t know either of the two men, but
there had been something familiar about the slimmer, more well-spoken man, the
one who owed the money. Becky began talking about the Morrisons, so Emma
stopped thinking about the man. It was only later when she was drifting off to
sleep that she remembered where she’d seen him before. He was the same man
she’d seen in the Whites’ garden this morning. The same man whom Madison had
met in secret.

The following
morning Emma woke to the smell of frying bacon and fresh coffee. She walked
into the kitchen to find her dad finishing up his breakfast.

“Morning, sweetie. I’ve got an early
morning faculty meeting today.” He nodded at a covered plate on the kitchen
table. “I cooked you some bacon and there’s coffee.”

“Thanks, Dad.” She poured herself a cup of
coffee and lifted the cover off the plate to take a piece of bacon.

Andrew was already rinsing his plate at the
sink. He seemed in a hurry this morning. “Is that all you’re having for
breakfast?”

She glanced up in surprise. “I’m not very
hungry at the moment. I might grab something from Becky’s later on.”

He wiped his hands on a dishcloth, his
movements jerky. He seemed in a hurry to leave yet anxious to say something,
too.

“So did you and Becky have a good time last
night?” he eventually asked.

“Oh, yes. I found a good band for Tony’s
funeral reception.” She decided not to tell her father about the fight she and Becky
had witnessed in the parking lot. No need worrying him over nothing.

“Oh, that’s good.” He turned away to hang
up the dishcloth.

“Dad?” She waited until he was facing her
again. “I just want you to know that…I’m glad you’re going out with your
friends. You should do it more often.”

He coughed and cleared his throat. “Yes,
well, um, you should too. You’re a young, beautiful woman. There’re plenty of
men wanting to go out with you.”

It was her turn to splutter. “I’m not
looking to date anyone, Dad. Not now. Not after Steven.”

She’d thought Steven loved her. She’d
thought they had a future together. But when her business partner had
disappeared, and Emma was in danger of becoming homeless, she’d turned to Steven
for help, thinking she could move in with him for a while until she was back on
her feet. Instead, her helpful boyfriend had suggested they ‘cool things’ between
them. He wanted to make partner at his firm soon, and having a bankrupt
girlfriend clinging to him would be bad for his career.

“Try to learn from your mistakes, but don’t
let them rule you.” Her father patted her shoulder. “I can hear Janet pulling up
in the driveway. Bye, chicken. Have a nice day.”

“Bye, Dad.”

She finished her bacon, then showered,
dressed, and drove to her office. A full day of work lay ahead of her. Her
first task was to visit the florist on Main Street and order five impressive floral
arrangements of roses, lilies, carnations, and hydrangeas. Then, it was time
for her meeting with the Kaupers to discuss menu options for their silver
wedding anniversary.

As she was driving away, a call came from Chelsea,
the receptionist at Sean’s auto repair shop. Her car was ready, Chelsea told
Emma, and she could pick it up any time this afternoon. With that good news,
Emma perked up as she headed for Fisher Island where the Kaupers lived.

Fisher Island was a gated community that
was joined to the eastern shoreline by a narrow causeway. The houses were well
kept but surprisingly modest for this upmarket area. The people who lived here
were the quietly wealthy who didn’t like to show off their riches.

Rachel and Isaac Kauper had to be the
easiest clients Emma had ever had. They loved all her suggestions and were
grateful to her, even though they were paying her a decent rate. Once they’d
decided on the menu, Rachel Kauper took her out to the garden where the party
would be held.

They were discussing the size of tent to
hire when a woman appeared in the neighboring garden. When she heard their
voices, she drifted over to the waist-high row of rose bushes that separated
the two properties.

“So the party’s definitely on, then?” the
woman asked in a rather tired, jaded voice. At first glance she seemed to be in
her late thirties, but on closer inspection the lines on her neck gave her age
away as closer to fifty. Still, she was beautifully preserved, with taut skin
and highlighted blonde hair. A silk kaftan in swirls of soft pink and blue
flattered her figure, while her heavily made up eyes flicked restlessly between
Rachel Kauper and Emma.

“Yes, it is,” Rachel Kauper politely
replied. “This is Emma Cassidy, my event planner. Emma, this is Pamela Barnet,
my neighbor.”

Just in time Emma disguised her start of
surprise.
Pamela Barnet, Tony’s ex-wife!
What a strange coincidence. She
peered at the woman with renewed curiosity. So this was the bitter ex-wife who
had called Jordan a gold-digging tramp. Who believed Tony had cheated her out
of masses of money in their divorce settlement. Was she angry enough to commit
murder?

“Pleased to meet you,” Emma said, offering
her hand.

Pamela barely acknowledged her before returning
her attention to Rachel. “I suppose I should congratulate you and Isaac,” she
said with a weary wave of her hand. “Not many couples make it to their silver
anniversary.”

Rachel fidgeted with her hands, clearly
discomfited but too polite to cut the conversation short. “Thank you, Pamela. I
hope you’ll come to our party.” She said it with such sincerity that Emma
almost believed her.

Pamela pursed her lips. “Twenty-five years.
That’s a lifetime.” An awkward silence ensued.

“Mrs. Barnet, I was sorry to hear about
Tony Barnet’s passing,” Emma said, deciding she may as well use this
opportunity to fish for any information.

A dark frown clouded Pamela’s brow. “I
don’t need any condolences. That man stole the best years of my life. And what
did I get in return? I was shafted.” She muttered an invective beneath her
breath. “Well, it doesn’t matter now. He got what was coming to him.”

She seemed to remember that she wasn’t
alone and glanced sharply at Rachel and Emma. She looked them over with
narrowed eyes before spinning on her heel and stalking back into her house.

Rachel shook her head. “Poor Pamela.  She’s
still in shock, in denial. Despite what she said, I think deep down she’s
grieving for him.”

He got what was coming to him
. Those were the words of an embittered woman. And why, if Pamela
loathed her ex-husband so much, did she still use his last name? Could it be,
as Rachel had hinted, that she’d harbored a soft spot for him? And could she
have resented him starting a new life with the much younger Jordan, so much so
that she might have killed him in a fit of rage?

“You have a good view of your neighbors,”
Emma remarked to Rachel as they strolled around the garden. “I suppose you know
everyone’s routine.”

“Pretty much,” Rachel said with a laugh.
“One of the consequences of living in a gated community, I suppose. Take Frank
Riviera across the road, for example. He leaves for the golf club every Tuesday
and Thursday at nine am. I can set my watch by him.”

“And what about Pamela Barnet?” Emma said,
trying to sound casual. “She seems quite the character. Does she have regular
comings and goings?”

“Pamela? Oh, I don’t know.” Rachel chewed
on her lip, and a look of concern came across her face. They walked back to the
house in silence, making Emma wonder if she’d lost some brownie points with
Rachel Kauper by seeming too nosy. But just as she was taking her leave, Rachel
spoke up.

“Now that you mention it, I do recall
something odd about Pamela. I was walking my dog after dinner earlier this week
when she came home driving rather erratically and almost ran us over. I was
quite alarmed, as you can imagine. Pamela was all flushed and agitated. I
thought she might have been drinking, but I couldn’t smell any alcohol on her.
It’s strange because she usually goes to her book club then, which is just a
walk away at the community club house, but she hadn’t that night.”

“And what night was that?”

Rachel thought for a while before replying,
“Tuesday night. I’m positive.”

Tuesday night. The same night that Tony was
killed.

***

As Emma drove away,
a call came through from the photo print shop in La Quinta letting her know the
funeral booklets were ready to be collected. Since Fisher Island was only a
short distance from La Quinta, the call was serendipitous. She would pick up
the booklets and drive them straight over to Jordan’s place. That would be one
task she could tick off her list.

The day was lovely and warm, and instead of
turning on the A/C, she wound down her window so she could breathe in the
spring air as she drove along. She stopped in La Quinta for the booklets and
continued to Greenville. Nearing Jordan’s house, she noticed the blossoming
peach and pear trees in the orchards that spread over the hills. Greenery was
beginning to replace the pink-and-white blossoms, meaning summer was on the
way.

A man loitered under one of the trees. At
first she thought he was one of the orchard workers, but he was wearing a dark
jacket and pants, not laboring clothes. From his vantage point he had a good
view of the entrance to Jordan’s property. Was he casing out the joint?

As she slowed down, the man seemed to
become aware of her car and darted a quick glance at her over his shoulder
before moving rapidly away, disappearing over a rise. She frowned after the
man, convinced he hadn’t been there just to enjoy the sunshine. Those hulking
big shoulders stuffed into the tight jacket were familiar, and as she steered
into Jordan’s driveway, she realized where she’d seen the man before. He was
the lout she and Becky had seen outside the Rainbow Casino demanding money from
Madison White’s mysterious admirer. So what was he doing here outside Jordan’s
house? Could he have any connection to Tony Barnet’s murder?

Concerned, she picked up the box of
booklets and walked up to the front door and knocked. Jordan answered, looking
pale but composed in an elegant black wrap-around blouse and flowing black
trousers. She glanced at the box of funeral booklets in Emma’s arms.

“Thank you for bringing them,” Jordan said.
“I’m busy with the funeral director at the moment. Would you mind taking that
box to Tony’s study? And can you wait until I’m finished here? I won’t be too
long.”

“Of course.”

Emma carted her load down the hall, feeling
like one of Jordan’s servants. But she now had the perfect opportunity to do a
little snooping around Tony’s study. Maybe she could find out a bit more about
his many enemies.

She entered the study, set down the box,
and shut the door behind her. She figured she had at least ten or fifteen
minutes before Jordan interrupted. She sat down in the oversized leather chair
behind the desk and surveyed what had been Tony’s private domain. If he had any
secrets to keep, he’d stash them here. By her own admission, this was the one
place where Jordan hadn’t ventured.

Emma opened the drawers of the desk and
quickly looked through the contents. Tony had been a rather untidy man. Letters
were scattered through all the drawers, seemingly in no order. There was a
bottle of expensive whiskey, packets of gum, and Sports Illustrated magazines.
She was slightly disappointed not to find at least a gun there.

She picked up a pile of opened
correspondence and leafed through them. One of them was a bill from Sean’s auto
repair shop. Another was a bank statement. She glanced over it. Tony was quite
the profligate spender, and this was just one bank account. A man like Tony was
sure to have several credit cards and bank accounts.

According to this bank statement, Tony had
made some large cash withdrawals in the weeks leading up to his murder. She did
a quick mental sum and came up with six thousand dollars. All in cash. Why did
he need so much cash? To pay for something he didn’t want to leave a paper
trail for? Like gambling? Drugs? Somehow she couldn’t picture Tony with those
vices. But what about a secret mistress? Would Tony have cheated on Jordan?

Emma rested her head in her hands as she
conceded that she wouldn’t find it all that hard to believe. Tony was a
narcissist, and he definitely hadn’t appreciated Jordan. He might very well
have been seeing someone on the sly, maybe even planning to dump poor Jordan.
And if Jordan suspected him of cheating, didn’t that give her a motive for
murder?

But what about that thug she’d spotted in
the orchard just a few minutes ago? Maybe Tony had owed him money as well, and
that’s what the six thousand was for. Maybe Tony hadn’t fully paid off his debt
before his untimely death.

The door clicked open, and Jordan walked
into the study. Emma jumped to her feet, an uncomfortable knot in her stomach.

“Emma?” Jordan, clearly surprised to see
her in Tony’s seat, moved forward just as the bank statement that Emma had been
studying fluttered to the ground. Jordan bent to pick it up, and when she
straightened, her face was a little flushed. “Why are you going through Tony’s
things?”

Emma squared her shoulders. It was time to
come clean. “Because I’m not convinced Sean McCluskey is the guilty party.”

“What? But Chief Putnam told me it was an
open and shut case.”

“I’m not so sure.”

“But…but…” Jordan’s hand holding the bank
statement started to shake. She sank down in the visitor’s chair next to the
desk. “Oh God, I don’t need this.”