Throw a Monkey Wrench (an Emma Cassidy Mystery Book 1) (15 page)

“So this was Tony’s house.” Pamela looked
around with a proprietary air, seeming oblivious to the other guests. But Emma
sensed she wasn’t oblivious. Pamela must have known the gossip she’d stir by
attending the reception.

A huge diamond winked on her hand as she stroked
the back of one of the white sofas. “Rather too modern for me, but that’s just
my opinion.” She strolled over to one of the oversized portraits of Tony and
paused. “Well!” she murmured.

“Jeez, whose tacky idea was this?” Kyle
scowled at the poster, accentuating his resemblance to his father.

Pamela made a show of shushing him, but not
without a glint of satisfaction in her eyes.

A thin man with graying hair stepped out
from the mourners and approached Pamela and Kyle. Earlier, Emma had been
introduced to him; he was Gerald O’Neil, Tony’s lawyer.

“Pamela, Kyle, my condolences,” he said.

“Gerald.” Pamela wrinkled her nose at him.
“It’s been a while. I’m surprised to see you here. Thought you’d be put out to
pasture by now.”

The lawyer’s face grew ruddy. “Sorry to
disappoint you, Pamela, but I’m still practicing.”

She gave him an icy glare cold enough to
freeze him. “As much as it pains me to do so, we need to talk. In private.”

“This is hardly the place or time. Maybe
sometime next week.” With a hasty wave, Gerald turned and wove his way through
the crowd. He clearly regretted speaking to Pamela in the first place.

A sly chuckle broke out behind Emma’s back.
She shifted around to see Faye Seymour, Greenville’s unofficial newscaster.

“If looks could kill,” Faye murmured,
shifting the plate of food in her hands. A large slice of cake dominated the
plate. From the icing, it appeared Faye had scored the lower portion of Tony’s
chin. The sixty-something-year-old nodded to Emma. “Pamela blames Gerald, of
course.”

“For what?” Emma couldn’t help asking.

“For Tony shortchanging her when they
divorced. Gerald recommended some sharp divorce attorney, and, according to
Pamela, Tony hid a substantial chuck of his assets. Of course, that’s just
Pamela’s story, but she resents Gerald almost as much as she did Tony.”

“How do you know all this?” Emma asked. “I
thought Tony Barnet only moved to Greenville two years ago, after he and Pamela
were divorced.”

“They lived in La Quinta before that.” Faye
shrugged, as if it was accepted that she’d know every bit of gossip going
around the lake. Upon reflection, Emma had to agree.

“If it’s true about the money, then I don’t
blame her. But that’s no excuse for turning up here and being so rude to
Jordan.”

“I suppose it was her only chance to see
this place.” Faye stabbed her fork into Tony’s chin and scooped a piece of cake
into her mouth. She chewed with relish for a few moments. “Although, it’s quite
possible she came because she thinks she might get the house.”

“What? That’s not possible. She’s divorced
from Tony. He wouldn’t have left her anything in his will.”

“But maybe he left everything to his son.”
Faye nibbled on some more cake, all the while eyeing Emma. There was something
ghoulish about the way she was enjoying both the cake and the drama. “After
all, he wasn’t married to Jordan, and I doubt he had any intention of ever
doing so. She was just a girlfriend to him, but a son, well, that’s different,
isn’t it?”

Much to Emma’s dismay, there was a grain of
truth in Faye’s comments. Tony hadn’t appreciated Jordan. Following his
acrimonious divorce, he might have been wary of women going after his money,
and as a consequence he might not want to leave his girlfriend much in his
will. As his only child, Kyle was the logical choice to inherit his estate. If
that turned out to be the case, Jordan could always challenge the will, but did
she have the money and mental toughness to go through with that? Somehow, Emma
doubted it.

“That one’s mighty pleased with himself.”
Faye motioned her chin in the direction of Kyle. The young man was standing at
the doors that led onto the terrace. With a glass of wine in one hand, the
other hand tucked into his trouser pocket, he gave off an air of
self-satisfaction. Master of all he surveyed. Was that what he was thinking?

The second time Emma had seen him, he’d
been threatened by a goon outside the casino. Kyle owed someone a lot of money.
Kyle had a habit of spending more than he got. He’d even tried to borrow money
off Madison. Had Kyle been so desperate that he would kill his own father for
money? Was he that kind of man?

As she stared at Kyle, the smug
cheerfulness on his face sent a shiver through her.

The atmosphere in
the great room felt fractured and antagonistic, precisely wrong for a wake.
People were whispering. Pamela was peering disdainfully at the buffet. Kyle
rocked back and forth on his heels, looking like he already owned the house.
Jordan stood to one side, twisting her hands together, clearly upset by Pamela
and Kyle’s appearance. This wouldn’t do, Emma thought.

She walked over to where the Morrisons had
set up in front of the huge stone fireplace and spoke to Rusty, the lead
singer. “Are you guys ready? I think we need some music.”

Rusty grinned at her. “Yep, you’re right.”
Picking up a guitar, he nodded at the other band members. They seemed to
communicate telepathically because without a word being exchanged, they readied
their instruments and started playing a soothing rendition of “Everywhere”.

After a minute or two, Emma sensed the mood
in the room relaxing a little. The Morrisons were good musicians, and the
volume was suitably subdued so that people could still converse easily. Perfect
for a tense funeral reception. Jordan was looking a little more cheerful,
especially when her mom reappeared at her side. It was a pity LouAnn hadn’t
been there when Pamela had arrived. Emma had a feeling LouAnn would be more
than a match for Pamela.

She did a circuit of the room, reviewing
the supply of food and drink, and then checked in at the bar and the kitchen.
Everything seemed to be ticking over like clockwork, and so far no one had
keeled over with food poisoning. Aside from Pamela and Kyle’s intrusive
presence, the reception was going quite well.

Her rising optimism was checked when Faye
cornered her in the hallway. “Why was Sean McCluskey driving your car this
morning?” she asked without preamble.

Was there nothing that moved without Faye
noticing?

“He was just delivering my car after an
inspection.”

“Oh?” Faye’s eyebrows disappeared beneath
her bangs. “You trust him with your car, do you?”

“Why wouldn’t I? He’s a good mechanic.”

“Yes, but he’s also a
murderer
.”

“That hasn’t been proven yet.”

Faye shook her head. “You always were a
hothead. Your poor father.” She leaned in closer, her expression becoming sly.
“By the way, how is Janet Ramos?”

Emma’s fingernails dug into her palms as
she clenched her fists. “Excuse me, I have to see to something.” She stalked
away before she lost her temper and said something she’d regret. Faye didn’t
care about boundaries. One of these days someone was going to put her in her
place.

But Faye had reminded her of the
frightening encounter from yesterday. Despite her suspicions, she had no firm
identity of either the driver who had run her off the road last night or the
maniac who had almost mown her down at the scene of Luisa Crespo’s accident.
Maybe they were one and the same person, or maybe they were two different
individuals, but what if one or the other was here today at the funeral
reception? It wasn’t such a far-fetched idea. Tony’s killer might very well be
one of the mourners. But would he or she be stupid enough to arrive in the same
vehicle that had menaced her?

There was only one way to find out, and it
wouldn’t take too much time. The reception was running smoothly, and she
wouldn’t be missed for five or ten minutes.

Mind made up, she slipped out through the
front door and hurried away from the house. Since she wasn’t sure about the
type of vehicle that had threatened her at the hit-and-run scene, she decided
to concentrate on the black pickup truck that had stalked her yesterday. Plenty
of cars lined the driveway, but none of them were black pickup trucks. As she
reached the front gates of the property, she saw that more cars had parked
along both sides of the road. Her heart jumped when she spotted a dark pickup
truck under a tree.

She crept closer, suddenly aware of the
silence around her. The road was deserted, and the neighboring orchards were quiet.
Jordan’s house stood a fair distance away behind high walls; no one would hear
her if she screamed.

Perspiration broke out between her shoulder
blades. The truck’s windshield was tinted, just like the one from yesterday.
She peered in at the driver’s window and exhaled as she saw the truck was
empty. Was this the same truck? Who did it belong to? Nerves prickling, she
walked around the truck a couple of times. The grill guard on the front of the
vehicle sported a few flecks of whitish paint. Had that come off from her car?
She pulled out her cell phone, thanking her lucky stars that she never went
anywhere without it, and took photos of the grill guard, the license plate, and
the whole car.

But what would she do with the photos? Show
them to Owen? Of course not. Not unless she had a hankering to see his lips
press together as he tried not to show his impatience once more. No, she
couldn’t talk to Owen about the truck, even though he’d easily be able to find
out who the owner was.

As she repocketed her phone, a car passed by
her and slowed as it reached the entrance gates to Jordan’s house. The metallic
silver Merc came to a halt, angled into the side of the road, and a slim figure
in a black dress climbed out. The woman’s face was hidden by a heavy black veil
that lifted slightly in the breeze as she hurried down the driveway, teetering
on high heels.

Intrigued, Emma followed the mystery woman.
Who was the late mourner, and why the veil? Did she not want to be recognized?
But instead of approaching the front door, the woman headed straight to the
garage, where one of its three doors was open. She disappeared into the garage.

Emma raced after her, alarm rising. The
woman in black was clearly up to no good. Was she the person responsible for
the food poisoning at the housewarming party? And was she attempting the same
trick here at the funeral reception?

Emma shot into the garage, then was forced
to pause as her eyes adjusted to the dimness. A dark figure stood between two
cars, the veil clouding her head and shoulders like a shroud.

“Hey, you!” Emma called out, fired with apprehension.
“What are you doing here?”

The figure jerked to face her. A trickle of
unease worked its way down Emma’s spine as she realized that she was alone in
the garage with this suspicious woman and that it would take some yelling to
alert the crowd in the house. Still, she was fit and young and more than a
match for the woman, who, she could see, was excessively slim and
unthreatening.
Unless she had a weapon like a wrench or a gun.

The veiled woman backed away a couple of
steps until she was up against Tony’s canary yellow Porsche.

“I had to see for myself,” the woman said,
her voice choked. “Please don’t call anyone, Emma.”

Emma stopped short. The mystery mourner
knew her? A second later, the cogs in her brain clicked together, and she
realized who this thin, brittle woman was.

“Mrs. White? Is that you?”

With a heavy sigh, Cynthia White lifted the
front of the veil and draped it over her hair to reveal a pale, pinched face.

“It’s me.” She sounded resigned.

“Did you come for the reception?”

“Oh, no. I couldn’t go in there.” She
fidgeted with her veil. “I only came because I needed to see…” Blinking
rapidly, she gazed down at the concrete floor of the garage. “Where it
happened.”

Cynthia’s contorted expression got to Emma.
The woman still cared about Tony, all this time after their break up. She
wasn’t such an ice queen after all, and the past week must have been hell for
her, having to conceal her true feelings from everyone, including her husband.
How awful that must be.

“I’m so sorry, Mrs. White,” Emma murmured,
filled with compassion.

Cynthia raised moist eyes to her, and then
realization flickered in them, and she drew herself upright as her face
stiffened. “You know about me and Tony,” she said in a flat voice. “Who told
you?”

“No one. I guessed.” She wasn’t going to
say a thing about Madison or the pearl necklace that Jordan had found in Tony’s
safe.

A familiar haughty coolness returned to
Cynthia’s eyes. “I suppose you think it was just a tacky affair I used against
my husband.” Emma started to shake her head, but Cynthia swept on. “Well, it
might have started off like that. God knows, Howard needs to be jolted out of
his unbearable complacency from time to time. And Tony was so gauche at times.
But, you know what? He might have been uncouth, but he treated me like a
princess, and I hadn’t felt like that in ages.”

Her lips stretched, and it shocked Emma to
witness a sentimental smile from Cynthia. “Of course it had to end, and when
Howard found out, my work was done. But I’ll never forget those few months with
Tony.” Her smile vanished as tension dragged at her mouth. “This morning I
slipped into the back of the church so I could attend his funeral service. I
thought that’s the least I could do, and hopefully with this veil no one
recognized me. But afterward, it wasn’t enough. I had to come here and see for
myself the exact spot where Tony died.” She looked at Emma with sad eyes. “Do
you know where it happened?”

Emma walked over to the spot between the Cadillac
SUV and the Porsche and pointed at the floor. “I was told it happened there,
though there’s nothing to see now. Everything’s been cleaned up.”

Nodding, Cynthia shifted closer to the
location and bowed her head. Silence fell over them. Eventually Cynthia lifted
her chin and resettled the veil over her head.

“Thank you, Emma. I’d appreciate it if you
kept this to yourself. There’s no point in mentioning this to anyone.”

“You mean Mr. White?” Emma couldn’t stop
herself from asking.

There was a short pause, and despite the
heavy veil Emma could sense Cynthia’s eyes boring into her. “Precisely,”
Cynthia snapped. “Howard and I got over my little…adventure long ago. He
doesn’t need to know about this.” She took a step closer to Emma. “You’d be
wise to tread carefully. A business like yours relies on word of mouth, and if
you gain a reputation for being indiscreet, well…” She trailed off, leaving
Emma to imagine the consequences for herself.

Without another word, Cynthia strode out of
the garage, leaving Emma to stare in her wake. Well, Cynthia White was full of
surprises, one moment showing signs of tenderness, and the next hounding Emma
to keep her mouth shut or else. She needn’t have worried about Emma. The affair
with Tony was long over, and Emma had no intention of gossiping about it or the
fact that Cynthia had felt compelled to visit the scene of the murder.

She gazed down at the bland, unremarkable
stretch of concrete where Tony had met his Maker. Did Cynthia hold such fond
memories of her lover that she’d risked detection by visiting here today? Or
was it something more sinister? Like a murderer revisiting the scene of the
crime?

Cynthia killing Tony didn’t make much
sense. She had no motive, for one thing, and she looked too delicate to pick up
a wrench and bash someone over the head. Although, looks could be deceptive,
and beneath Cynthia’s brittleness was a seething cauldron of emotion that, in
the right circumstances, could fuel her with enough adrenaline to do anything.

But really, the person who was more likely
to have killed Tony was Howard White. Tony had made a cuckold out of him, a
humiliation to any husband, and more so to a self-important man like Howard.
Plus, Howard had lost money because of some failed business deal with Tony.
That must have rankled, maybe as much as the affair. Add to that the
impertinence of Tony’s new house standing so boastfully across the bay in full
view of the Whites’ mansion, and Howard had plenty of reasons to loathe Tony
Barnet.

Howard could have come here, witnessed the
argument between Tony and Sean, and then taken advantage of the situation,
knowing that Sean was a convenient scapegoat. With one fell swoop Howard had
gotten rid of two major irritants in his life.

But how did Howard get hold of Sean’s
wrench? Well, Sean had been visiting the Whites’ house often enough. Maybe
Howard had seen an opportunity to take the wrench. A long stretch, but not
totally impossible for a determined man who was used to getting his way.

Suddenly chilled, Emma rubbed the goose
flesh on her upper arms. Not wanting to be alone in this garage a moment
longer, she hurried out into the welcome sunshine.

***

Returning to the house, she heard raised
acrimonious voices coming from inside. Then the front door was flung open with
great force and Kyle Barnet stormed out, his face as dark as thunder.

“This is bulldust!” He paused to yell
profanities at someone still inside the house, ending his tirade with, “My
father wouldn’t do that to me!”

Gerald O’Neil emerged from the house,
closely followed by Jordan.

“I’m sorry,” Gerald protested, looking
harassed, “but those were your father’s final wishes.”

“He told me I was going to get it all one
day!” He turned to his mother who had jostled past the lawyer like a perfumed
steamroller. Pamela’s face was livid, and her eyes were spitting. “Didn’t he
say that to you, too, Mom?”