Throw a Monkey Wrench (an Emma Cassidy Mystery Book 1) (14 page)

But when Owen materialized, the sigh of
relief she was about to breathe out got caught in her throat. Owen hurried
toward her, his face grim, his eyes fixed on her.

“Jesus, Emma! Are you okay? What happened
here?”

There was a note in his voice, something
more than just concern, and it pushed her to the edge of breaking down. But
somehow she managed to hold herself together.

“I’m okay,” she said, striving to keep her
voice steady. She rubbed her upper arms, feeling chilled despite the warm
evening. “Did you see that?”

“See what?” Owen clicked on a flashlight
and shone it at her. He sounded distracted, as if he was too busy checking her
for injuries.

“The black pickup truck that ran me off the
road.”

“What?” He moved closer, and his breathing
rasped unevenly. “Tell me exactly what happened.”

So she told him as briefly as possible, and
even as she spoke she could hear how feeble her story sounded. Owen heard her
out without interruption. Then he walked over to her car and used his
flashlight to inspect it thoroughly. She thought he’d only check the exterior,
but after he’d done that, he climbed into the driver’s seat and looked about.

“What are you doing?” she demanded as she
walked up to him. “Are you searching my car?” She couldn’t believe it.
Humiliation and a sense of betrayal clogged her throat. “You won’t find any
alcohol or drugs, if that’s what you’re looking for.”

He twisted around to look at her. His mouth
was set into a flat line, and his eyes were narrowed and wary. She sighed.
She’d seen that look too many times. He thought she was being over the top,
melodramatic.

Silently, he hauled himself out of the car
and walked around to the rear, where he shone the beam of his flashlight on the
bumper bar.

“I see a lot of dings here and some bits of
paint from other cars,” he said, sounding patient. “Which ones came from this
black pickup truck?”

“Okay, you don’t have to humor me. Just say
it out loud that you don’t believe me.”

“I didn’t say I don’t believe you.”

“Oh, so you do think this black truck
exists?”

“I’m sure it exists, but I hardly think
it’s been stalking you all day. You said yourself you weren’t sure if it was
the same truck that was behind you on that road. It could’ve been any vehicle,
and you imagined it was the same truck, and you panicked and took that corner
too fast. That’s what I think.”

“What? So I imagined the whole thing? Have
I ever struck you as the fanciful type?”

His mouth compressed even further until
there was no lip showing. He looked like he was barely holding onto his temper.

“You’ve become so involved in investigating
the Barnet murder that you’ve let your imagination run wild. You imagined some
sinister thug was after you, and that made you drive like a lunatic. That’s
what happened.” He thrust his fingers through his short hair. “This is what
happens when you insist on meddling in things that don’t concern you.”

Fury shot through her, and mixed in with
that was a large dose of hurt.

“Well thanks for your support,” she sniped
back at him. “I’m glad as hell I didn’t stick with you.”

With that parting shot, she stomped away,
heading for the road. But when her feet hit the blacktop, she realized that she
had no way of leaving, and so she just stood there, feeling sore and miserable.

In the gathering dusk, she could see Owen
climbing back into her car. She swiped her hands over her face, drew in a deep
breath, and forced herself to march back. As she neared her car, Owen was
cranking over the engine. He revved it a few times, then turned it off and
pulled out the key.

“It’s running, but you’ll need a tow truck
to get it out of the culvert,” he said without a hint of the frustration he’d
showed just seconds ago. “I’ll call one in for you. Any particular operator you
want?”

“Thanks,” she muttered. “Can you call
Sean’s repair shop? He has a twenty-four hour towing service, plus he can check
out the car for me.”

Owen’s eyebrows rose, but he made no
comment as he pulled a cell phone from his pocket. After he’d made the call, he
said to her, “He’ll be here in half-an-hour.”

She nodded. The muscles in her back and
shoulders were beginning to ache, and the thought of waiting here in the dark
made her even more tired.

“Come on,” Owen said. “We can wait in my
car.”

She looked up at him in surprise. “You
don’t need to be somewhere else?”

 “You’ve had a bad fright. I wouldn’t feel
right if I left you here.” His voice sounded gruffer than usual.

Inexplicably, a lump rose in her throat.
“Thanks. I—I’ll just get my bag.”

After retrieving her bag from her car, she
joined Owen in his cruiser. He was speaking to his dispatcher over the radio,
but after a while he sat back, and a tense silence settled over them.

She scrabbled in her bag, drew out a couple
of granola bars, and handed one to Owen.

He nodded his thanks. “Emergency supplies?”

“Yup.” She patted her tote bag as she
chewed on a mouthful. “This bag goes everywhere with me. You never know what
emergency you might have to deal with.”

He paused halfway through his bite. “Don’t
tell me you’re carrying a gun in that bag.”

“Of course not. Mace is the most lethal
thing in here.”

He chewed thoughtfully, eyeing her all the
time as if he didn’t know what to make of her. “And when last did you think of
using that Mace?”

The other day when Bart McCluskey had
frightened her at the auto repair shop. But she shut her mouth just in time.
She didn’t need another lecture about poking her nose in police business.

“I can’t remember,” she said, offhand.

His eyes narrowed until she fancied she
could feel her skin burning. But he didn’t say anything, and they continued
munching their granola bars in silence.

***

If Emma had thought
she could gloss over the incident for the sake of her father, she was sorely
mistaken. Not only did Owen drive her home, but he insisted on accompanying her
inside, which meant, after he’d left, she had no choice but to tell her father
what had happened to her tonight all over again. Andrew blinked at her through
his wire-framed spectacles, concern etching fresh lines in his face.

“You ran off the road? Did you doze off or
something?”

“No, I was just, um, distracted for a few
moments.” Having already endured Owen’s skepticism, Emma had decided not to
tell her father about the black pickup truck stalking her.

On the way home she’d had plenty of time to
brood. She knew what had happened to her, even if Owen didn’t believe her. A
pickup truck had tailed her, rammed her, and forced her off the road. The truck
might even be the same vehicle that had menaced her yesterday at the scene of
Luisa Crespo’s hit-and-run accident. She wasn’t sure about that, but she was
convinced that tonight someone had wanted to send her a message. A blunt and
frightening message. But she would not let herself be scared off. If someone
was worried about her activities, then it must mean that she was on the right
path to clearing Sean’s name.

“Where is your car now?” Andrew asked.

“Being towed back to Sean’s repair shop.
The car seems okay, but Sean will check it out.” And possibly she’d have
another repair bill she couldn’t afford.

The furrows on her dad’s forehead deepened.
“Maybe you should take it to my guy instead.”

She couldn’t believe what he was saying.
“What? You want me to stay away from Sean?”

“Well, I hate to say it, but it seems
you’re getting too involved in his murder charge.”

Emma dropped into the couch, suddenly
exhausted and dispirited. “Dad, I can’t believe you’re saying this to me. Sean
is losing everything, and no one believes he’s innocent except me and Madison.
You’ve always been a champion of the underdog, but now you’re telling me to
avoid Sean just like everyone else is. It’s not like you at all.”

Sighing, her father took the armchair
facing her. “Honey, you’re my daughter. I don’t want any harm coming to you.
And Owen clearly thinks the same.”

The mention of Owen had her back
stiffening. When they’d arrived at her dad’s house, she had of necessity gone
straight to the bathroom, leaving Owen with her dad. When she’d finished, Owen
had already left, but the two men had obviously talked about her. “What’s Owen
got to do with this?”

“He cares about you, as do I. He doesn’t
want you getting hurt either.”

Emma made an irritated sound in the back of
her throat. “I don’t need Owen telling me what I can and can’t do. We aren’t
even friends anymore.”

Her father pushed forefinger and thumb
under his glasses and massaged the bride of his nose. “Now that you’re back
permanently, I was hoping that you and he would get on better, seeing you’re
both older and wiser.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, Dad.”

And wasn’t she just the tiniest bit
disappointed too? Hadn’t she secretly hoped for something from Owen? Oh, sure,
she hadn’t expected them to pick up where they’d left off, but it would be nice
if there was something warmer between them… She quickly cut off her chain of
thought. Owen had had plenty of opportunity to throw some friendly warmth her
way, and she’d got precisely nothing. She wasn’t going to go running after an
ex-boyfriend who showed no signs of wanting her back.

“Be that as it may,” her father said,
straightening up in his chair. “He’s still concerned about your safety, and you
should consider his advice. He is an officer of the law, if nothing else.”

“Yes, Dad.”

Andrew tugged at his collar. “You do
remember I’m going to be away tomorrow night?” She nodded. Her father and some
of his colleagues were attending a two-day seminar in Sacramento, a three-hour
drive away. “Maybe I should ask Owen to check on you while I’m gone.”

“Dad, no!” She flushed with dismay and
humiliation. “I don’t need a baby sitter.”

“I worry about you, honey.”

She squeezed his arm, hating being the
cause of his concern. “Please don’t worry. I can take care of myself, Dad, and
I am still involved in Sean and Madison’s wedding. Plus, there’s Tony Barnet’s
funeral tomorrow.”

With a sigh Andrew put his arm around her
shoulders. “Promise me you’ll be careful.”

“I’ll be careful, Dad.”

“Good morning,
Emma!” Janet Ramos was small and chirpy, with bright brown eyes and a shiny
raven bob. Dangly orange earrings complemented her lemon espadrilles and mango
shirt tucked neatly into a beige linen skirt. She was like a ray of sunshine in
the kitchen.

“Good morning.” Emma returned the smile.
Janet had arrived to pick up Emma’s dad before they set off for the two day
seminar.

Her father drained his coffee mug and
placed it in the dishwasher. He’d been late getting up this morning, and Emma
hoped she hadn’t caused him a sleepless night.

He turned to Janet. “Sorry I’ve kept you
waiting.”

“Not a problem!” The orange earrings
tinkled as Janet nodded vigorously.

The soft smile on her father’s face didn’t
escape Emma’s notice. Nor did the way he adjusted his tie.
He likes her
,
she thought.
A lot
.

Just as they were about to leave, Janet
turned and said to Emma, “My niece is getting married next year.”

“Oh, ah, that’s nice,” Emma replied, not
sure what to say.

“She doesn’t have a wedding planner. Maybe
I could give her one of your business cards?”

“Oh! That’s so…” Emma rummaged through the
kitchen drawer where she kept some stationery supplies and could only find one
dog-eared business card. It would have to do. She handed it to Janet. “That’s
very kind of you. Not that there’s any obligation, of course.”

Janet tucked the business card into the
pocket of her shirt and beamed at Emma. “Of course, but my niece is very busy,
and she might appreciate having someone to take care of all the details. I’ll
mention you the next time I see her.”

“Thank you.”

At the door, her father paused to hug her.
“See you in a couple of days. If you want to throw a wild party, go right
ahead.”

She couldn’t help laughing. “Dad, it’s no
fun when you give permission.”

After watching the two of them drive off,
she picked up her cell phone to make a call to Sean’s repair shop. With Tony’s
funeral today, she had a lot to do, and if her car wasn’t safe to drive, she’d
have to borrow her father’s car again. Fortunately, when Sean answered, he told
her that, except for a few extra dents and scratches on the paintwork, her car
was fine, and he’d drop it off at her place in an hour’s time.

Emma spent the hour checking that all the
arrangements for Tony’s funeral reception were on track. She took a shower and
changed into one of her regulation outfits, a short-sleeved black chiffon
blouse and black crepe de chine pants. She twisted her hair into a neat chignon
and made up her face in matte neutral colors. Examining her appearance in the
mirror, she reflected that she looked exactly like one of the mourners. She
might not have had the most cordial relationship with Tony, but no matter how
difficult he’d been, he didn’t deserve to be murdered. No one did.

When Sean delivered her car, she was
surprised to see him in a dress shirt and pressed gray pants.

“Madison’s taking me to see my lawyer,” he
explained at the front door. “She’s waiting for me.” He hooked a thumb at the
Mini Cooper parked at the curb.

Madison gave Emma a half-hearted wave. The
girl looked drained, as did Sean. “I’ll see you later,” Sean said before trudging
to Madison’s car, his shoulders slumped. He was losing hope, and with Freddie
Earle as his lawyer, it was no wonder. This murder was taking its toll on too
many people.

After checking the contents of her bag,
Emma set off for Jordan’s house. It was a beautiful day, with clear skies and
the sun sparkling off the azure lake. A day for living, not death.

When she walked into Jordan’s house and saw
the bustle of preparations, she experienced a jolt of déjà vu. This was eerily
similar to the day of the housewarming party, with caterers in the kitchen, bar
staff setting up trays of glasses, and the scent of canapés wafting in the air.
Even Tony Barnet was present, toothily smiling at her from the giant portraits she
had ordered which were now erected in the great room.

Emma went through to the kitchen to check
on the food. The funeral cake sat on the bench, a vast sheet cake with Tony’s
face laid over a background of white icing. It was an impressive centerpiece,
yet it seemed vaguely disturbing to think they would soon be cutting into that
face.

When she returned to the great room, Jordan
was standing in front of one of Tony’s portraits. She looked stunning in an
elegant black silk dress and stiletto heels that showed off her long legs. A
black pillbox hat with feathers adorned her blonde up-do. She pressed a snow
white handkerchief to her lips as she stared at the oversized picture of her
late partner.

“I can’t believe he’s gone,” she whispered.

Emma gently squeezed her elbow. She didn’t
have anything to say about Tony that wouldn’t sound insincere, but she was
moved by Jordan’s obvious grief.

A clatter of heels broke the silence. Emma
turned to see a square, big-boned woman striding purposefully toward them.
Dressed in a plain black skirt suit and no nonsense black pumps, she looked to
be in her mid-fifties.

“This is my mom, LouAnn Kozlowski,” Jordan
made the introductions. “Mom, this is Emma Cassidy. She’s the event planner I
told you about.”

LouAnn Kozlowski gave Emma a brisk
handshake, her shrewd eyes giving her a thorough once over.

“Good to meet you, Mrs. Kozlowski,” Emma
said, hiding her surprise. Jordan had never spoken about her mother, hadn’t
even hinted that she’d be attending the funeral. “Are you staying long?”

“Call me LouAnn, and no, just a day or so,
I’m afraid.”

“Mom’s a real estate broker in Toledo,”
Jordan explained. “She flew in last night.”

“Are you ready, honey?” LouAnn gave her
daughter a quick once over. “The funeral home will be picking us up any
minute.”

Jordan blinked rapidly and pressed her lips
together. “I just need to fetch my purse. Won’t be long.” She cast one final
glance at Tony’s portrait before moving off.

“Such a waste.” LouAnn grimaced at the
picture.

“Yes,” Emma murmured, not exactly sure what
she was referring to.

“I mean these posters.” LouAnn gesticulated
at the images of Tony surrounding them.

Well, that clarified what she meant.
Clearly she hadn’t been referring to Tony’s untimely demise.

“I do a lot of printing in my line of
work,” LouAnn continued. “These must have cost a pretty penny. A big waste of
money because I’m willing to bet there won’t be too many people around here
losing any sleep over Tony’s death.” Folding her arms, she fixed Emma with a
challenging stare.

Emma gazed back. “Jordan misses him.” She
hoped LouAnn wasn’t this blunt around her daughter.

LouAnn pursed her lips, looking like she
wished she could disagree. “She was too good for him,” she barked out, and Emma
couldn’t argue with that. “He was a bully, and a selfish one, too. She’s better
off without him.” Then she shrugged, and her voice softened. “But of course I
don’t say any of that to her. Even if she’s made mistakes, she’s my little
girl, and I’ll stand by her.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

LouAnn’s eyes narrowed. “And you? Are you
taking my daughter for a ride?”

Emma’s mouth fell open. “Excuse me?”

“I heard you were responsible for that
housewarming party that turned into a shambles, and now you’re back here
organizing the funeral reception. Are you trying to shake as much money as you
can from my daughter when she’s in a vulnerable state?”

Emma spluttered in shock. Eventually she
managed to say, “I’m not taking advantage of anyone. Your daughter approached
me about this reception. Ask her yourself.”

A silent staring match ensued between them,
and Emma refused to blink first. After a few seconds, LouAnn nodded, seemingly
satisfied by the straight answer.

“Okay, I believe you. But I had to ask you
face-to-face. There’re too many sharks swimming around my daughter.”

“Why don’t you take her back with you to
Toledo for a few days?” Emma asked stiffly, still annoyed.

“I suggested that, but she refused. Jordan
was always in a hurry to leave Ohio. Couldn’t wait to come out west and make
her dreams come true.” She glanced about the great room and to the lake beyond
the windows. “Well, I don’t know if this was what she was dreaming about, but
it seems she can’t leave it. Not yet, anyway.”

“I’m ready, Mom,” Jordan spoke from the
door of the great room. “And the car’s here. We should get going.”

“Of course, honey.” LouAnn strode across
the room and took her daughter’s arm.

“We’ll be back in an hour,” Jordan said to
Emma, her voice shaking a little.

Thank God her mother was with her, Emma
thought as she watched them leave. LouAnn might be blunt, but she was only looking
out for her daughter’s interests, and that was admirable.

***

It seemed Tony’s
unpopularity didn’t prevent a large number of people from turning up at his funeral.
Maybe some of them were genuine mourners, but Emma was willing to bet a lot of
them were there either for the free food and drink, the chance to gawk at
Tony’s mansion, or to show off their social credentials. Even though Tony had
been snubbed by some of the elite, there were other important people he’d
managed to befriend, and they were here in attendance.

Chief Bob Putnam was there, squeezed into
his official dark blue uniform. He spent a fair amount of time with Jordan and
her mother, no doubt assuring them that Tony’s killer would face the full force
of the law. Jordan had come back from the funeral service looking wan and
red-eyed, but her mother had pushed a plate of food into her hands and stood
over her while she ate a few bites. Since then, LouAnn had barely left Jordan’s
side. Emma was beginning to warm to LouAnn.

The food was disappearing at a brisk rate.
It seemed attending a funeral made people hungry. Maybe it was the reminder
that life could be snuffed out at any moment that sharpened the appetite.

Emma was returning from the kitchen when
she spotted two new mourners. One was a woman in a sheath dress and large
dramatic hat whose brim swept low over her face, while her companion was a
young man in his twenties dressed in a sharp pin-striped suit. Their entrance
caused a stir as the hum of conversation lowered and heads swiveled to view the
pair. The new arrivals lifted their chins as if they’d expected this reaction,
and Emma instantly recognized them. Pamela Barnet and her son, Kyle.

“Well!” someone nearby huffed. “Didn’t
think she’d have the nerve to show her face here.”

“She was at the funeral service,” someone
else murmured. “I suppose she thinks she’s entitled to attend the reception.”

”I wonder what Jordan will do? Throw her
out perhaps?”

Pamela looked vastly different from the
worn down, bitter woman Emma had met on Fisher Island. Today she appeared
almost regal as she gazed over the crowd, clearly enjoying the commotion caused
by her entrance. In contrast, her son appeared indifferent to the onlookers as
he lounged next to his mother. Emma moved forward through the mourners, wondering
where Jordan was and unsure how she would react to her pseudo rival showing up
at her house.

She was just a few feet away from Pamela
and Kyle when Jordan materialized at her side. Her brief grimace to Emma
revealed her strain.

“Pamela,” Jordan called out as she glided
up to Tony’s ex-wife. “Glad you could make it.”

Tilting up the brim of her hat, Pamela
swept a cold gaze over Jordan. Heavy foundation caked Pamela’s cheeks, while
her deep crimson lipstick seemed inappropriate for a funeral reception.

“Yes, well, I thought I should come,”
Pamela drawled, her voice ringing out for everyone to hear. “After all, I was Tony’s
one and only wife.”

A pink flush heated Jordan’s cheeks before
she quickly turned to Kyle. “Hello, Kyle. I didn’t get a chance to speak to you
at the funeral service. Thanks for coming.”

The young man gave her a brief shrug. “Hey,
Jordan,” he said, barely glancing at her, his attitude exuding a complete lack
of interest. Then his gaze fell on Emma, and his eyebrows drew together as he
recognized her. A muscle ticked in his cheek. Was that a telltale sign of guilt?

She gave him a hard stare, wanting to
convey the message that she was onto him. She knew he had scratched her car the
other day at the Whites’ mansion. He scowled back at her, hostility growing in
his cold eyes. Was he the one who’d terrorized her last night? Did he
deliberately run her off the road because he hated her coming between him and
Madison? The urge to demand answers from him was intense, but this was no time
to start an interrogation. She satisfied herself by staring him down until he
eventually glanced elsewhere.

Pamela began to move further into the great
room, parting the crowds as if she were a celebrity. Hands shoved into his
pockets, Kyle followed in her wake.