Throw a Monkey Wrench (an Emma Cassidy Mystery Book 1) (18 page)

“And?”

“And nothing.” His hands curled into fists.
“But, God willing, one day the guilty driver will face justice. Why do you ask?
Do you know something?”

Emma quickly shook her head. “No, it’s just
that I was driving home last night, and someone ran me off the road.”

The big man stiffened, tension radiating
off him. “You think it might be the same person?”

“I don’t know.”

An awkward silence fell between them. “You
must be careful, then,” Mateo said. “You have enemies.”

Enemies? That sounded so dramatic. But
maybe Mateo was right.

She tried to laugh it off. “The only enemy
I have at the moment is Kyle Barnet.”

Mateo’s seriousness didn’t lift an inch.
“I’ve seen that young man when he visited his father. He’s rude and vain, and
he has a loud mouth. He thinks only of himself. You should stay away from him.”

“Oh, I intend to, don’t worry.” She shifted
her feet. Her legs were aching, and her body was crying out for a long rest.
“Well, I’ll be on my way.”

Mateo accompanied her to her car parked
near the trailer.

“Thank you,” he said awkwardly, as if he
wasn’t used to dishing out thanks.

“Let me know if you want me present when
you speak to Ms. Kozlowski,” she said as she opened her door and slid into the
driver’s seat.

Nodding, he stepped back. “He was there,
you know.”

What had he said? It didn’t make sense. She
wound down her window. “Excuse me? Who was where?”

“Kyle, Mr. Barnet’s son. He was at the housewarming
party.”

“Well, that’s not surprising. His father
must have invited him.” But, come to think of it, she couldn’t remember Kyle
being among the guests. Most of the invitees had been from the older set, more
Tony’s age. Kyle, being the arrogant young man that he was, would have stood
out. She would surely have remembered him. But she didn’t.

“I don’t think so,” Mateo said, resting his
hands on the edge of the driver’s window. “I saw him hanging about the kitchen
area a couple of times, and he wasn’t dressed for a party. He was wearing black
pants and a white shirt, just like all the servers.”

Emma gaped at him. “How long was he there?
When was he there?”

“I can’t remember. I was busy myself, and I
didn’t pay much attention to him. I assumed he was crashing the party to annoy
his father, or maybe he sneaked in to steal a few bottles of champagne. It
wasn’t the first time he’d done that.” He stepped back from the car. “Anyway,
you know what he’s like, so stay away from him.”

“I will.”

Putting her car into gear, she pulled away.

All the way home her mind churned with a
new suspicion. Kyle was responsible for the food poisoning at the housewarming
party. He’d skulked in the background, disguised as one of the wait staff, and
waited for his opportunity. If someone spotted him, he would have simply
pretended he was gate-crashing the party. But he’d seen a chance and taken it.
He had poisoned the ice cream with ground up slug pellets.

Did he simply wanted to embarrass his
father, or had he planned something more sinister?

Either way, Kyle was bad news. As soon as
she got home, she would call the police. She’d have to speak to Sherilee, since
she was the officer investigating the food poisoning, but there was no helping
that. And even though she and Sherilee were like oil and water, her old
antagonist appeared to be a conscientious police officer.

Emma reached home and swung her car into
the driveway. She’d forgotten to leave a porch light on, and the house and
front yard were plunged in darkness.

As she climbed out of her car, the
strengthening wind blew her hair into her face, obscuring her vision. The
rustling trees all but masked the sound of footsteps running up behind her. She
turned in time to make out a dark figure rushing toward her. A man, she thought.
She tried to duck, but he barreled into her, knocking her clean off her feet.
All the air whooshed out of her lungs as her back impacted against the
driveway. Her head hit the concrete, and then everything faded to black.

It felt like
someone was using her head as a bongo drum. She heard groaning and realized it
was coming from her. Ugh. What had happened? Why was her skull throbbing, and
why was she jouncing around like she was on a hay ride? With a sickening jolt,
it all came back to her.

She peeled open her eyes to find she was
lying in an enclosed space. In a vehicle, moving at high speed. Not trapped in
a locked trunk, but in the open cargo area of a pickup truck with a soft tarp
over her. And she wasn’t tied up, either, so that was something.

But the truck was hurtling along, and the
driver was reckless, skidding around corners at breakneck speed. If she wasn’t
careful, she might be thrown from the truck and do some serious damage to
herself.

What did her abductor intend to do with
her? Drive her out to a remote spot and kill her? There were so many quiet
locations around the lake or up in the mountains or in the state forest. So
many places to hide a dead body that wouldn’t be found for weeks or months.

Fear combined with claustrophobia and crushed
her, making her gasp for air. With a burst of panic, she clawed at the tarp
covering her, ripping it from its fastenings. Half of it lifted in the wind,
flapping wildly for a minute, before the rest of it tore off and the entire
thing took off into the night like a giant, crazy bat.

She looked around, desperately trying to
find a landmark she recognized. But it was a dark, moonless night, and they
were away from town with no sign of any houses or lights, just this narrow,
bumpy dirt road leading to God knows where.

The truck slowed suddenly, as if the driver
had noticed the tarp flying away. Forward momentum shoved Emma toward the
driver’s cab, pushing her into a tool box and a pile of empty beer bottles.
Grabbing onto the rim of the tray, she hauled herself into a sitting position,
panting from the exertion. She was right behind the driver’s cab. Through the
rear window, she could make out the driver, a man hunched over the wheel.

Her assailant. The jerk who had knocked her
unconscious and then tossed her into the back of his pickup truck. The moron
who had stalked her yesterday and run her off the road. Anger flooded her,
pushing aside the fear.

She pounded her fist on the window. “Hey,
you! You coward!”

The man flinched and glanced over his
shoulder.

Drawing in a breath, Emma recommenced
hammering the glass. “Kyle Barnet! You dirtbag. Stop this truck right now!”

She hadn’t expected him to obey her, but
that was exactly what he did. He stomped on the brakes, causing the tires to
squeal in protest and Emma to brace herself as she waited for the truck to spin
out of control. Fortunately it only did a couple of fishtails before it
careened off the road and bounced for several hundred yards before coming to
rest in a cloud of dust.

Coughing and wheezing, Emma forced her body
to get moving. She flung one leg over the side of the tray but misjudged the
distance to the ground and found herself tumbling into the dirt, the rough grit
grazing her palms and cheeks.

She scrambled to her feet, just as Kyle
rounded the truck. His eyes were wild, his shirt was soaked, and he reeked of
sweat and alcohol.

Emma gulped. “Get away from me, you jerk!”
she tried to yell, but only a hoarse croak came out.

“Hey, it’s your fault. You shouldn’t have
interfered. Didn’t you get the message last time, or are you that dumb?”

“So it was you yesterday. I knew it!” She
glared at him even as she inched a few steps back. She had a vague idea of
where the road was, but maybe it would be smarter to hide out in the scrub.
Under the cover of darkness it would be difficult for him to find her. But
first she had to get away from him, and she didn’t feel too good. Her skull was
pounding, and her entire body ached, which must have been the result of Kyle
manhandling her limp form into his truck.

“I’ve already reported you to a deputy
sheriff,” she said, clinging to the memory of Owen. If something happened to
her tonight, he would get to the bottom of it, she felt sure. She might
exasperate the man, but he wouldn’t let her death go unpunished. “He knows all
about you.”

Okay, that wasn’t true. She had stupidly
refused to tell Owen that she suspected Kyle, but he was a smart man. He’d
figure it out. He would investigate all the people who had attended the funeral
reception and check which of them drove a black pickup truck. Of course, by
then, Kyle might have fled to Mexico and she might be knocking on the pearly
gates.

Kyle upped his chin, a suspicious look
hardening his face. “Oh, yeah? I don’t believe you. No one’s come looking for
me.”

“That’s because I only figured it out today
when I saw your pickup truck at your dad’s funeral. Pretty stupid of you to
keep driving in the same truck. I took a few photos of your truck and the
license plate and showed them to the police just a few hours ago. They’ll be
looking for you soon enough.”

He goggled at her. “Don’t know what you’re raving
about, you snooping, interfering bitch!”

“Oh, and I know something else. I know
you’re responsible for the food poisoning at your father’s housewarming party.
Yeah, how about that, huh?” Despite the dire situation, she felt a brief flash
of satisfaction as his perspiring face suddenly blanched.

“That—that was nothing. Just a harmless
joke.”

“Harmless? I hardly think so. Three people
ended up in hospital. The police are still investigating the crime.”

“It’s not a crime! I tell you what is a
crime—that gold-digging tramp getting her claws into my father and stealing my
inheritance. That’s the real crime.”

Emma gazed at him in disbelief. “You know,
I almost pity you. You’ve had every advantage possible, yet you’ve turned out
to be lazy, selfish, and vindictive. And worse, you’re a murderer.” She waited
for his red-rimmed eyes to widen. “Yes, a murderer. You killed your father,
didn’t you, Kyle?”

“What? That’s insane! Why would I kill my
own father?”

“Because he was tired of bailing you out of
financial difficulties, and he told you he wasn’t giving you any more money.
That’s probably why you poisoned the ice cream at the housewarming party,
right? As petty payback. You thought you were going to inherit most of his
estate, and you had Serge on your back, hounding you for that hundred grand you
owe his boss.”

She paused, waiting for him to acknowledge
her words, but he stayed silent, so she continued, “You were desperate, so you
decided to kill your dad and frame Sean McCluskey for the murder. Oh, yes, that
was an extra bonus for you, doing away with Sean, the man who was engaged to
Madison, the girl you wanted because you thought she had money. You’d been to
Sean’s auto repair shop several times, so you knew where his tools were kept.
It must have been fairly simple to steal that wrench. You were also at the
repair shop when you heard Sean arguing with your dad and his threat to get
even with him. So you followed Sean to your dad’s house, waited until Sean had
left, then sneaked into the garage and killed your father, leaving Sean’s
wrench for the police to find.”

Kyle was scowling at her. “Are you mad?
Sean killed my father. That sleazy grease monkey. Crooked just like the rest of
the McCluskeys.”

Ignoring his interjection, Emma swept on, “You
threatened me with your car yesterday and ran me off the road. Tonight you
bashed me over the head and abducted me. I’d say you’re very capable of
murder.”

“Hey, I didn’t run you off anywhere, and I
didn’t bash you over the head. You fell, and your head hit the ground. And—and
I didn’t
abduct
you. For crying out loud, you’re frigging crazy.”

“You’re the one who’s crazy. Crazy enough
to kill.”

Kyle’s face slowly reddened with rage.
Uh-oh
.
How many times had she been told she was too rash? Now she was beginning to rue
her impulsive streak. Her first priority should’ve been to get away from Kyle,
not accuse him of murder and heap insults on top of that. Stupidly, she had
riled a killer, one who had offed his own father, who was drunk and desperate
to shut her up. She had seriously miscalculated.

She spun around and hightailed it into the
dark.

***

Emma stumbled
blindly over the rough terrain. Her heart was pounding so loudly, she feared she’d
miss the sound of Kyle creeping up on her from the rear. She
had
to get
as far away from him as possible. Cold sweat glued her sweater to her back,
while fear drained the strength from her legs, drop by drop.

“Ow,” she moaned as she tripped over a rock
and went sprawling in the dirt. She dragged herself upright, but as soon as she
put weight on her left foot, pain shot through her ankle, and she had to bite
her lip to stop herself from crying out in agony. She dropped to the ground
again and massaged her ankle, all the while trying to gain control of her
panicked thoughts.

The night was warm, and high above her the
Milky Way glowed in the moonless sky. This wasn’t going to be her last night on
earth, she vowed to herself. Kyle was a mean, vicious man, and she refused to
let him get the better of her.

Off in the distance several hundred yards
away she could see the headlights of the truck still blazing in the night, but
there was no sign of Kyle. She didn’t have a clue where he was, and now that
she had stopped in her wild dash for freedom, she was frightened of striking
out in any direction. What if she bumped into Kyle in this darkness? He was so
enraged now that she’d confronted him with the truth. Despite his blustered
denials, she was convinced of his guilt.

Her fingers closed around a lump of rock.
It wasn’t much, but it was heavy and solid and better than nothing. She wasn’t
going to go down without a fight.

Which way should she head? A nearby bush
rustled, and her nerves shrieked. Something scuttled past her. A bandicoot? A
rat? She didn’t want to know, but anything was better than Kyle. Oh God, she
was scared of moving off into the darkness, but she couldn’t sit here all
night, frozen with fear, waiting to be caught. Better to be moving, she
decided.

Squinting at the horizon, she thought she
could make out the faint outline of some mountains. If they were the Pine Ridge
Mountains, then she knew they lay east of the lake, which meant if she headed
west she would hopefully, eventually find the main highway that circled the
eastern shore of the lake. She peered up at the stars, wishing she’d paid
closer attention to her dad when he’d tried to teach her navigation without a
compass.

Finally she couldn’t delay any longer, and
she set out, trying to be as quiet as possible. Her sneakers were sturdy
enough, but they didn’t prevent her from floundering over the rugged ground.
Her eyes ached from the strain of peering into the darkness, and her palms
smarted from the grazes she’d received. She was exhausted and frightened, her
head throbbed, and her stomach was tied in bilious knots, but she plodded on,
focusing on putting one foot in front of the other and trying not to imagine
the man who was after her.

She didn’t know how long she walked for.
Time lost all meaning as she slogged on, pushing through dense scrub, shuffling
across dry river beds, and scrambling up hills. The threat of Kyle faded to the
back of her mind. All she could concentrate on was putting one foot forward
after another.

So it came as a shock when her feet hit the
hard edge of tarmac, and she realized she was on a main road and salvation was
close by. But, as headlights appeared in the distance, fear returned. What if
that was Kyle, driving up and down the highway in search of her? She crouched
down in the culvert, watching as the vehicle lumbered up the hill. It wasn’t
going very fast, and the engine made a puttering noise, quite unlike the roar
of Kyle’s pickup truck. It had to be someone else.

Waving her arms, she left the culvert,
scuttled to the side of the road, and jumped up and down, hoping the driver
would spot her. The car, a station wagon, swooshed past her. Her arms had just
slumped down in defeat when the station wagon screeched to a halt fifty yards
ahead. The reverse lights came on, and it slowly backed up until it came level
with her.

“Can I help you?” the male driver spoke.

The light from the dashboard illuminated
his face, a face that filled her with intense relief. It was Rusty, the lead
singer of the Morrisons.

“Hi, Rusty,” she croaked out, trying and
failing to produce a smile.

“Do I know you?”

“Yes. It’s Emma Cassidy. I hired you to
play at the funeral reception this afternoon.” Had the reception only been this
afternoon? It seemed like eons since then.

“Dang! Emma! What’s happened to you?”

In a trice he was out of the car and
ushering her into the passenger seat. Emma sank into the saggy old seat as they
drove off. She didn’t care that the station wagon was clunky and reeked of
cigarette smoke. It was the most blissful place on the planet, and right then
she was ready to marry Rusty.

“What happened, Emma?” he asked, casting
her anxious glances. “You look like you’ve had a rough night.”