Throw a Monkey Wrench (an Emma Cassidy Mystery Book 1) (17 page)

But he didn’t seem too pleased by her
answer, a slight V appearing between his eyebrows as he leaned forward in the
armchair.

“No, you were right to leave when you did,”
he said gently. “If you had stayed and gone with me to State, you wouldn’t have
been happy. You would have constantly wondered what you’d given up. I could
never have compensated for that. Hell, I barely survived my first semester in
college.”

A dull knot formed in her stomach. So Owen
never believed they had much of a future together. That hurt more than it
should have.

“You’re right. No point in dwelling in what
ifs.” She flicked her hair back, determined not to let on how much he could
still hurt her. “Well, it was nice of you to visit…”

“Actually, I did come to tell you
something.”

“Oh?” She was guessing whatever it was had
nothing to do with their past.

“This afternoon my mom called me over to
talk to her neighbor. The woman said she wanted to report a possible accident
she might have caused.” He waited for Emma’s look of puzzlement before
continuing. “It seems two days ago on Sunday she was driving along Lakeshore
Drive in her husband’s vehicle when she lost control going around a bend and
veered onto the shoulder of the road. She thought she might have clipped
someone hiding in the bushes there. She was so panicked at the time that she
kept on driving. By the time she reached home, realized what she’d done, and
returned to the spot, there was no sign of anyone. But it’s been worrying her
ever since, and she didn’t know what to do, so she confided in my mom, who
called me.”

All the time he’d been talking, Emma’s eyes
had grown wider and wider until she felt bug-eyed. “It was her? She almost ran
me over! I had to dive to save myself!”

“Yes, but it was a complete accident. She
doesn’t know you. The only way I could link the incident to you was because she
remembered an old white hatchback parked on the side of the road.”

“Are you sure she’s telling the truth?
Maybe she got the day or the location wrong.”

“Sunday, a little after midday, and it
happened just after the turn off to Buena Vista Road. The car she was driving
was a dark green Jeep SUV.”

Emma chewed her lip. “Yeah, that all sounds
correct,” she said reluctantly.

“Well, then?” He spread his hands apart.
“Doesn’t that make you feel better? It was a random accident, not some sinister
killer trying to knock you off or frighten you away. But it was scary, and it
shook you up.”

And because her nerves were shot, she’d later
imagined that someone in a black SUV was after her, and in her panic she’d lost
control of her car. That was what Owen was thinking, even if he didn’t say it.

“Okay, I concede you’re most likely right
about the first incident being an innocent mistake, but it doesn’t mean the
second one was caused by my over-active imagination.” He opened his mouth as if
to object, but she plowed on, determined not let his skepticism silence her.
“And as it happens, I think I have a lead on it.”

“Yeah?”

“That black pickup truck I told you about?
I’m pretty sure I spotted it at the funeral reception.”

He eyed her warily. “Pretty sure?”

“Yes. It looks like exactly the same kind
of truck, and when I checked the bumper bar it had a few flecks of white paint,
the same color as my car. I took photos of it, including the license plate.
It’s all on my cell phone.”

Owen let out a small groan. “Aw, hell,
Emma. You’re not going to ask me to run that license plate through the system,
are you?”

All the relaxation she’d felt moments ago
had disappeared. Crossing her arms, she glared at him. “And of course you’d
never do that, would you? God forbid that you should try to help me one teeny
tiny bit.”

“I am trying to help you.” He glared back.
“That’s why I’m here. I’m worried about you.”

“Worried that I’m losing the plot?”
Incensed, she hauled herself to her feet. Her fury, she realized, was fueled by
hurt. Hurt that Owen thought her unstable. Hurt that he felt no lingering
tenderness for her. “Well, I don’t need your concern. And I’m not asking you to
compromise your scruples either because I already know who owns the pickup
truck.”

Jumping to his feet, he loomed over her.
“Who is it?”

“I’m not telling you.”

“Oh, for Pete’s sakes, Emma. This isn’t a
game. You might get hurt.”

“Really?” She narrowed her eyes at him.
“You just sat here and as good as told me it was all my imagination. But now
you’re taking me seriously? Make up your mind.”

He jammed his fingers through his short
mocha-colored hair as frustration creased his face. “I’m concerned about what
you might do. What are you planning? Are you just going to barge in and accuse
someone of running you off the road? You might be putting yourself at serious
risk.”

Emma hauled in a breath as she struggled to
contain herself. “I see. So not only am I crazy and fanciful, but now I’m also
reckless and stupid. Well, thanks for stopping by, Owen, but I can’t say it was
a pleasure.” Head held high, she waved angrily in the direction of the hallway,
indicating that she wanted him to leave.

“You know I don’t think any of that!”
Tortured eyes stared at her, and for a second she could almost trick herself
into thinking he did still care about her. Then he blew out a breath,
exclaiming, “Jeez, Emma, why do you always have to be so goddamn stubborn?”

“Maybe it’s because you always have to be
such a pain in the ass,” she snapped back at him. A red flush rose in his
cheeks as if she’d slapped him. Before he could say another word, she blurted
out, “I think you’d better leave.”

With a final searing glare, he stomped out
of the house, and a short while later she heard an engine revving and tires
squealing as he took off. The deputy sheriff was seriously ticked off.

Emma poked at her
grilled cheese sandwich with little enthusiasm. She wasn’t hungry. She’d only
come to Becky’s Diner because it was better than sitting at home and brooding.
On a Tuesday evening business at the diner was blessedly slow, and only a few
customers sat scattered through the room, quietly eating their dinner. It was Becky’s
night off too, which meant Emma was left on her own to contemplate her
checkered history with Owen.

Annoyed with her navel-gazing and wanting a
distraction, she glanced about the diner. Her gaze stopped on the beefy,
broad-shouldered man in a tight suit sitting a few tables away. The bright
lights of the diner made his five o’clock shadow even darker. He was
demolishing the last of his club sandwich, the muscles in his jowls working as
he chewed. As if he sensed her staring at him, he looked up and stared right
back at her. Apprehension flitted through her as she confirmed who he was. The
thug who had demanded money from Kyle outside the Rainbow Casino. The
suspicious character who had loitered in the orchards outside Jordan’s house.

She dropped her gaze to her grilled cheese
sandwich, wishing she’d stayed at home. There came the scrape of a chair being
pushed back and heavy footsteps approaching her before a thickset figure
plunked into the chair opposite her. Her heartbeat raced—and not in a good
way—as she confronted the man who sat so brazenly at her table.

“Mind if I take a seat?” His voice was
rough and a little nasal.

“Seems you already have.” There was no need
to get nervous. They were sitting in a diner, surrounded by plenty of potential
witnesses.

“Huh.” He twiddled with the chunky gold
signet ring on his pinkie. The man’s fingers were like sausages, liberally
sprinkled with dark hair.

“Who are you?” she demanded.

“You can call me Serge.” He waved a hand
the size of a dinner plate. “No need for introductions. I already know who you
are, Emma Cassidy.”

She tried to ignore the anxiety seeping
through her brain like fog. “So what do you want from me, Serge? Planning a
wedding, maybe?”

“Funny,” he said, not smiling. “I’m looking
for Kyle Barnet. Know where he is?”

Emma shook her head. “Nope. He’s not one of
my friends. You’re asking the wrong person.”

“Am I? I seen you all over the place.
Figure you’d run across him some time.”

“He was at his father’s funeral today, but
I haven’t seen him since.”

Serge drummed his meaty fingers on the
table, weighing her up. When he reached for the breast pocket of his jacket,
she couldn’t help holding her breath, but then she exhaled as he pulled out a
business card and tossed it at her.

“If you see him, give me a call.”

Goons had business cards now?

“I’ll make it worth your while,” he
continued. “A hundred bucks if you help me catch him.”

She had no intention of getting involved in
Kyle’s troubles, but as the man hefted to his feet, she couldn’t help asking,
“Why are you so keen to find him?”

“He’s a hundred grand in the hole, and my
boss is getting impatient.” He straightened his suit jacket. “And, believe me,
you don’t want to make my boss impatient.”

With that, he sauntered out of the diner
and disappeared into the night. Exhaling, Emma leaned back in her chair,
wondering if she’d just been threatened.

Mags, the waitress, paused by her table and
cocked her head at the uneaten grilled cheese sandwich. “Something wrong with
that?”

“No, nothing. I’m sorry; I just lost my
appetite.” She crumpled up Serge’s business card and tossed it on her plate.
She slipped a generous tip on the table, then rose to her feet and left the
diner.

***

She was hurrying
toward her car, which she’d parked halfway down the block, when a clump of
bushes nearby rustled and a dark figure materialized in front of her. Her
nerves jumped as the thought of Serge immediately sprang to mind. A second
later she realized the man was too short and trim to be that mobster. But her
relief was short-lived.

“Kyle.” She frowned at him. The last time
she’d seen him he was in a black pin-striped suit, but now the jacket and tie
were missing, his shirt was rumpled and stained, and his hair was askew.

“We need to talk,” he growled as he lurched
toward her.

The whiff of alcohol from him made Emma
wrinkled her nose. Seemed Kyle had been drowning his disappointment about the
will. “It’s not a good time.”

“I don’t care if it’s not a good time.”

“Go home, Kyle. You’re drunk.”

Ignoring her directive, he stepped closer,
blocking her path. “Why were you talking to Serge? What did you tell him?”

“I didn’t tell him anything.”

“You two were very pally in there.” He
jerked his chin in the direction of the diner. “You must know him.”

She was heartily tired of Kyle. Especially
as she had every reason to believe that he was the driver who’d run her off the
road yesterday. It would be very interesting to confront him with her
suspicions, but perhaps now was not the optimal time when he was inebriated and
unpredictable.

“I don’t know him from a bar of soap, but
he did give me his phone number and said I should call him if I ran into you.”
She shoved her hand into her bag and, by some minor miracle, pulled out her
cell phone on the first go. “Well? Should I?”

Frustration and fear warred in Kyle’s
expression before he slowly backed away, glowering at Emma. “You’ll regret
this.”

As soon as he had disappeared, Emma dashed
to her car. She was shivering. All the antagonism she’d witnessed today had
left her strung out. She steered her car toward home, keeping a close eye on
her rear view mirror. To her relief, no black pickup truck appeared.

The house was dark when she pulled into the
driveway. A shadowy figure slumped against the porch railing near the front
door. Her heart juddered as she thought it might be Kyle or Serge, but then the
person scrambled upright, and she found herself looking at Daniel, Mateo’s
teenage son.

“Daniel!” she exclaimed, hurrying forward.

“Uh, hi, Ms. Cassidy. I was waiting for Mr.
Cassidy.” The boy’s T-shirt was drenched, and he looked like he’d just run a
marathon.

“He’s away until tomorrow afternoon, but
you should come inside. You look worn out.” The teenager hesitated, his
shoulders drooping. Her concern rose as she took in his complete dejection.
“Did you walk all the way over here?”

He nodded, apparently too weary to speak.

“Then I insist you come in.” Opening the
door, she ushered him inside, leaving him no choice. “Come into the kitchen,
and I’ll get you something to drink.”

In the kitchen, Daniel stood, awkwardly
fidgeting with his hands until she told him to sit at the table. She pulled out
two cans of Coke from the fridge and placed one in front of him before sitting
down with the other. She waited until he’d popped the tab and downed several
deep gulps before speaking.

“Tell me what’s happened, Daniel, and don’t
tell me nothing’s wrong because you wouldn’t have walked all the way here if
everything was fine.”

Daniel took a deep breath before blurting
out, “My father came home from work today and told me we were moving as soon as
possible.”

This was the last thing Emma had expected.
“Moving where?”

“To Prescott, Arizona. My father has a
cousin there. He says he’ll find another job.” Lines of distress scored Daniel’s
youthful face. “I don’t want to leave. I have friends here, and I like my
school.”

“Oh, Daniel, I’m so sorry.”

Emma’s head was spinning. It seemed Mateo
was convinced she would report his thefts to Jordan, and he’d made up his mind
not to hang around, deciding that uprooting his sick wife and teenage son was
better than being arrested. He probably reckoned that once he was miles away in
Arizona, Jordan wouldn’t bother to make a complaint to the police. If Mateo was
prepared to flee over the theft of some cigars, then that made it far less
likely that he was the murderer.

“I thought maybe Mr. Cassidy could talk to
him,” Daniel said miserably.

The boy was desperate, that much was clear.
Emma doubted her father would be able to sway Mateo’s mind, but maybe she could
diffuse the situation. After all, she was the one who’d sent the gardener into
a spin.

“I’ll talk to your dad,” she said to
Daniel, rising to her feet.

“You?” The boy stood too, looking surprised
and doubtful.

“I want to give you a lift home anyway, so
I may as well talk to him.”

“Uh, sure.” He scratched the back of his
neck. “Um, thanks.”

“Come on, then.” Ignoring his dubious
expression, she headed out of the house once more, scooping up her keys and
bag. Today was turning into a marathon, and she’d be glad to finally be able to
put her feet up. But first, she had to speak to the surly and uncooperative
Mateo.

***

“And you didn’t
tell Daniel what I’d done?” Mateo eyed Emma across the narrow space of the deck
outside his trailer home.

Emma cast a brief glance at the sliding
doors of the trailer. When she had arrived and asked Mateo to speak with her,
she’d stepped outside with him and made sure that Daniel was out of earshot.

“Not a word. It’s up to you whether you
tell him or not.”

A strange expression crumpled Mateo’s
formidable features, and it took a while before she recognized it as shame.

“A father should not have to confess to his
son that he’s a thief. He’ll lose all respect for me.”

“I think Daniel is mature enough to realize
that not everything in life is black and white.”

“I couldn’t see any other option.” Mateo
stared off in the night, clearly still struggling to come to terms with what
he’d done. “Luisa, she’s my life. I couldn’t let her suffer. If she didn’t have
her medication, she’d be in such pain. I don’t regret what I did, even though I
know stealing is wrong. I asked Mr. Barnet for a loan, an advance on my wages,
but he refused me, wouldn’t even discuss it. That man was heartless.” He
scrubbed one large hand over his face, sweat gleaming on his forehead. His
heavy gaze fixed on Emma. “But I didn’t kill him, if that’s what you’re
thinking.”

Emma started. “What? Oh, of course not.
What gave you that idea?”

“Because you’ve been snooping around in the
garage and asking questions.” He lifted his shoulders. “But I swear on Luisa’s
life that I never harmed a hair on his head.”

She met his heavy gaze and sensed he was
telling the truth. Not exactly scientific, but in this case she was satisfied.
Mateo had confessed to stealing a dozen cigars over four weeks, netting him a
few hundred dollars from a local contact, but that money had made the
difference between Luisa being in relative comfort or excruciating pain. Given
the same choice, Emma doubted she would have chosen differently. But, as sympathetic
as she was, she couldn’t sweep the deed under the carpet.

“You know you’ll have to tell Ms. Kozlowski
what you did,” she said, tensing herself in preparation for Mateo’s resistance.

But he surprised her by nodding. “I’ll tell
her. I should have realized that was what I should do, but when you caught me
red-handed this afternoon, I panicked. I’ll talk to Ms. Kozlowski tomorrow and
let her decide my fate.”

Emma had a feeling that Jordan would let
Mateo off with little more than a warning. Compared to the rest of Tony’s
estate, the cigars were infinitesimal. Jordan had enough to deal with, plus,
she had seemed quite sympathetic about Luisa’s plight, so perhaps she would
re-hire her when the housekeeper was well enough.

“In my opinion, that’s the right thing to
do,” she said.

Mateo nodded. “At least Luisa is getting
better now, thank God. If I don’t lose my job, I’ll just be able to afford her
medication.” He hesitated before adding, “If your father could help Daniel keep
up with his schoolwork…”

“Of course.” She nodded. “He’d love to help
Daniel. We’re both so sorry about Luisa’s accident.”

Mateo bowed his head. “It’s my fault.”

“How so?”

“Luisa and I usually traveled to and from
work together in my car. But that night I had another job I had to go to, moving
some guy’s furniture. A casual job, cash in hand.” He wiped a palm over his
face, his eyes tortured. “If I’d driven Luisa home that night, she’d be happy
and safe now.”

“You can’t blame yourself. Someone else did
this to her. Have you heard anything from the police about catching the
driver?”

His lantern jaw tightened. “They haven’t
arrested anyone, if that’s what you mean, though that cop drops in from time to
time. Seems like she’s trying her best.”

“A female cop? Is it Officer Sherilee
Ackerman?”

“That’s the one. She was here the other
day, asking Luisa if she’d remembered anything from the night it happened.”