Pushed to the Limit (an Emma Cassidy Mystery Book 2) (5 page)

Two paramedics
arrived, and Emma could have kissed them. Less than ten minutes had passed
since she’d put in the call, but every one of those minutes had crawled by at a
snail’s pace. She had spent those minutes alternating between hovering at
Faye’s side and dashing to the front of the house to check if help had arrived.

Now, the paramedics followed Emma to the
back of the house where Faye’s comatose figure lay. After her initial
accusatory outburst, she had drifted in and out of consciousness, unaware of
Emma’s presence. Despite the heat, Emma had grabbed a picnic blanket off the rear
deck and spread it over Faye, thinking it might help with the shock. The
paramedics began to examine Faye, working calmly and methodically.

“Is she going to be all right?” Emma asked,
unable to bear the suspense any longer.

“We’ll know more when we get her to the
hospital,” the older, salt-and-pepper-haired paramedic replied. “Are you her
daughter?”

“Oh, no. Just a…um, friend.” The
description wasn’t strictly true, but then she didn’t know how to quantify her
relationship with Faye. “She has a sister, Lorraine. I’ll let her know.” She
rubbed her upper arms as she thought about Lorraine and her likely reaction to
the news. This wasn’t a call she looked forward to.

The two men loaded Faye onto a gurney and
transferred her into the ambulance. Minutes later, they drove off. They hadn’t
put on the siren, Emma noted, which must be good sign, right?

A few curious bystanders had gathered
outside the house. A woman in shorts and gardening gloves walked purposefully
up to Emma.

“Hi. I’m from next door.” She waved to the newish,
double-story house on the other side of Faye’s. “What happened to the old
lady?”

“Looks like she fell down the stairs of her
deck,” Emma replied.

“Oh, that’s too bad.” The neighbor pulled a
sympathetic face. “Are you her daughter?”

“No, no.” Once more Emma shook her head. “I
was just dropping something off when I found Faye.”

“Ah, yes. Faye Seymour, that’s her name, I
remember now.” As if sensing Emma’s curiosity, the woman added, “My husband and
I only moved in a few weeks ago. I’m Celine.”

“Nice to meet you, Celine. I’m Emma. So you
don’t know Faye too well?”

Celine shook her head. “Not really. Mrs.
Seymour did drop in last week with some cookies. So neighborly of her, but,
well…” Her polite grimace indicated Faye’s neighborly zeal had been a little on
the strong side. “Mark and I both work long hours, so we aren’t at home very
often,” she added almost apologetically. “Well, I’d better get back to my gardening.
I do hope she’ll be all right.” With a brisk wave, she retreated to her house.

The other neighbors had melted away too,
leaving Emma alone and feeling rather shaky and wound up. After all the drama,
she was more than ready to go home, but something nagged at her. She retraced
her steps to the backyard. The picnic blanket lay tossed aside. The lawn looked
a little trampled. Potted petunias and violets bloomed in the sunshine. Other
than the bloodstains on the stone urn where Faye had hit her head, the yard
seemed eerily peaceful. A shiver ran down Emma’s spine. She rolled her
shoulders, irritated by her nervousness. What was wrong with her? Why was she
so on edge?

Maybe because she could feel someone
watching her.

She scanned the yard. The bushes over
there…two eyes in a pale face stared at her. Anxiety prickled on her nape.

“Hello?” She took a few steps toward the
bushes, determined not to be spooked. “Can I help you?”

The man—a ragged beard covered the lower
half of his face—started, and then vanished, crashing through the bushes as if in
fear of his life. For some reason Emma found herself running after him. She battled
her way through the thicket, trying to see her way through the dense foliage.
Beyond the bushes grew even more shrubbery, as thick and impenetrable as a
tropical rainforest. That must be the property next door, and these bushes must
form the boundary line.

She stopped to haul in a breath. The vegetation
was so profuse and dusty she was beginning to feel suffocated. The man she had
startled had disappeared long ago. No point in trudging after him. As she
turned to retrace her steps, she caught sight of a matchstick lying on the
ground. It was the kind you tore out of a matchbook, and from its clean
appearance, it seemed it had been dropped fairly recently. Maybe by the man
she’d spotted. Shrugging, she resumed forcing her way back to Faye’s yard.

Sweaty and grimy, she stumbled out of the
bushes. A female police officer stood in front of her, legs spread apart, one
hand resting on the revolver in her belt. She wrinkled her nose when she caught
sight of Emma.

“Huh. Emma.”

Emma groaned silently. “Hey,” she replied,
swiping the back of her hand across her damp brow. Trust Sherilee Ackerman to
catch her looking disheveled and dirty.

She and Sherilee had a long history
together, not much of it amicable. They’d both grown up in Greenville and gone
to the same school. They might have been friends except they inevitably rubbed
each other up the wrong way. Sherilee had always been a rule-follower, a
humorless stickler in Emma’s opinion. It was inevitable that Sherilee had
chosen a career in law enforcement. Emma didn’t mind that. In fact, a few
months back Sherilee had rescued her from a crazed killer. Emma fully admitted
that Sherilee was a competent cop. But that didn’t mean she had to like her.
And judging by Sherilee’s expression, the feeling was mutual.

“What are you doing here?” Emma asked. When
it came to Sherilee, she invariably and instinctively became terse.

“Doing my job. Did you call the ambulance
for Faye Seymour?”

“Yes.” Emma walked to the deck stairs and
took a seat on the second step. What did Sherilee mean by doing her job? Had
Faye woken up and told someone that Emma had pushed her down the stairs? Is
that why Sherilee was here? Anxiety jittered through her.

“I found her here.” She indicated the spot
at the bottom of the stairs. “She must have tripped or lost her footing,” she
added a little louder.

“Mm.” Sherilee made a noncommittal hum, her
eyes never leaving Emma. Her uniform was crisp and clean, her hair smoothed
back into a bun at the base of her neck. She even had lipstick and eyeliner,
which made Emma feel more at a disadvantage, given her damp and disheveled
appearance after her plunge through the bushes.

Sherilee transferred her attention to the deck.
Bending over, she inspected the boards, testing each one for looseness. They were
all smoothly finished and securely fastened. Sherilee motioned to Emma to stand
up, and then went through the same procedure with each of the treads. Everything
appeared nailed down. The wood was dry and clean of any water, oil, or other
slippery substances.

Sherilee’s poker face and her continued
silence began to wear on Emma’s nerves. What was the cop thinking? Did she
suspect something sinister?

“Did you notice anyone hanging around when
you got here?” Sherilee eventually asked.

Emma hesitated. “No, but…” The officer
raised an eyebrow. “I think I heard something moving in the bushes.”

“Those bushes?” Sherilee tilted her head at
the thicket that Emma had emerged from.

“Yeah. I don’t know what it was.”

“Why were you in there when I arrived?”

“Because I saw someone. A man—”

“A man?” Sherilee interrupted, eyes
narrowing. “But you said you didn’t know what it was.”

“I heard something first, and then I saw the
man later,
after
the paramedics took Faye.” Emma glared at Sherilee,
nettled and irritated with herself. It might be standard procedure for Sherilee
to treat her with suspicion, but why did she have to react so crankily every
time? Why couldn’t she ignore the need for gamesmanship? “He’s probably the
next door neighbor. I tried to talk to him, but he got spooked and vanished.”

“And you decided to run after him.”
Sherilee lifted her hands and let them fall in an exasperated gesture. “You
really shouldn’t meddle in a police investigation.”

“Investigation? So you think there’s been
foul play?”

Sherilee shifted her feet and ran a finger
under her collar. She seemed rather hot and annoyed; probably because Emma was
getting under her skin. Well, at least the bad vibes weren’t one-sided.

“No, I don’t,” Sherilee huffed. “At this
stage there’s no reason to think this is anything more than an unfortunate
accident. But we’ll keep an open mind and see what Faye says when she wakes
up.”

Perspiration broke out on Emma’s brow. What
would Faye blurt out when she regained consciousness? Was she going to accuse
Emma of pushing her down the stairs? That was attempted murder, wasn’t it? Her
mouth suddenly dried.

“…Emma? Are you okay?”

Belatedly she realized that Sherilee was
squinting at her, and she hastily tried to pin a bland expression on her face.
“Uh, yeah. I’m just a little tired. I’ve had a long day at the yard sale. Soooo,
guess now that you’re here, I can go.” She began to edge past Sherilee.

“Wait.” The frown had returned to
Sherilee’s brow. Emma wiped a bead of sweat that trickled down her neck. “Why
were you here in the first place? You’re not close friends with Faye.”

“Faye forgot her shopping bag at the yard
sale. I was dropping it off on my way home.”

“Where’s the shopping bag?”

Oh God, where was the dratted thing?
Emma glanced about the yard. “I can’t remember. I was in such a
panic when I saw her lying there.”

The slight compression of Sherilee’s lip
indicated skepticism. Damn, what had she done with the bag? Had she dropped it
somewhere? Then, as she scanned the deck again, she spotted something
green-and-yellow under the bench where she’d found the picnic blanket. She
bounded up the stairs and retrieved the shopping bag.

“Here it is,” she said in relief as she
handed it to Sherilee.

The cop took a brief peek at the contents.
“I’ll leave this inside and lock up the house. Then I’ll call her sister.” The
hand mic on her shoulder crackled into life, a scratchy voice calling out
something. Sherilee held up a finger at Emma before walking away to talk to the
dispatcher. Moments later, she returned. “I have another call I need to get to.
I’ll secure the property before I go, and I’ll come back later to talk to the
neighbor, but can you do me a favor and tell Faye’s sister about the accident?
You know Lorraine Atkins. You were always her favorite in art class.”

Emma had never thought herself a favorite
of any teacher. What a strange thing for Sherilee to say.

“Sure, fine,” Emma said, eager to leave.

“You will remember to call Lorraine, won’t
you?”

The Mom-tone in Sherilee’s voice made Emma
feel thirteen again. “Sheesh, give me a break. What do you think I’m going to
do? Forget about Lorraine and get my nails done instead for my hot date
tonight?”

Not waiting for a reply, Emma walked off.
There was no hot date for her tonight, but Sherilee didn’t have to know that.

“Oh my lord! Oh,
no,” Lorraine moaned over and over.

Emma chewed her fingernail, wondering if it
might have been better to drive over to Lorraine’s house instead of giving her
the news over the phone. “I’m sure Faye is going to be all right. You know your
sister. She’s a fighter.”

Lorraine let out a shaky breath. “Yes, she
is. Hardly spent a day in hospital all her life. She doesn’t have a high
opinion of doctors, you know.”

That was hardly a surprise. “The paramedics
said they were taking her to County Hospital over in La Quinta.”

“County Hospital?” Another quavering
exhale. “Oh, dear…”

Clearly Lorraine wasn’t coping well with
the unexpected news.  Emma was at home in the living room. She had the house to
herself. A DVD was cued up on the television. A bowl sat ready to receive hot
popcorn. The couch was calling to her. She cast a wistful glance at the couch
and breathed out a silent sigh.

“If you like, I could give you a lift
there,” she offered, hoping to be refused but knowing what the answer would be.

“Oh, could you?” Relief flooded Lorraine’s
voice. “It’s just that my hands are shaking so much I doubt I could operate a
car. Are you sure it’s not too much trouble?”

“It’s no trouble at all,” Emma said. “I can
be at your place in fifteen minutes. Is that enough time for you to get ready.”

“Yes, and thank you. I knew I could count
on you, Emma.”

Well, nice to know some people appreciated
her. She pushed her feet into her sandals, grabbed her purse and keys, and
headed for the door. The DVD and popcorn would have to wait a while.

On the drive to County Hospital, Lorraine
fretted and fidgeted, shredding a tissue between her shaking fingers. She
definitely was in no shape to drive, and Emma was relieved to transport her. Lorraine’s
jeans and T-shirt bore mud stains, her short, rough fingers had traces of dirt,
and a few leaves were caught in her mop of gray curls. It looked like she’d
been gardening when Emma had delivered the bad news, and been too rattled to
change or wash up. Lorraine must be really upset about the accident.

Which surprised Emma a little because the
two sisters had never seemed very close. They were rarely seen in each other’s
company. They lived on opposite sides of town. They didn’t speak much about
each other. Lorraine had married a fellow artist, and they’d lived in
Greenville for many decades. Emma remembered going to an art exhibition in
which both husband and wife had exhibited paintings. She also remembered Faye
making loud, disparaging remarks about Lorraine’s husband’s work, and some
sharp words being exchanged. Later, Lorraine and her husband had separated, and
ugly rumors had circulated that Faye had been a factor in the breakup. If that
were true, it was little wonder that the relationship between the two sisters
was strained.

But now Lorraine was shaking and gulping
and snuffling into her tissue. Maybe Emma was too cynical after her years in a
big city, but to her the tears seemed over the top. Almost as if Lorraine was
trying to prove how much her sister meant to her—even though last night at the
retirement party she hadn’t had a kind word to say about her.
Let her go
ahead and dig her own grave
. That’s what Lorraine had said about her
sister. And this afternoon, Faye had very nearly met her end.

At the hospital, a harried-looking doctor had
some mixed news for them. The good news was that Faye was alive and not in any
danger. The bad news was that, apart from a mild concussion and cuts and
bruises, she also had a fractured ankle which would require surgery. The
operation was scheduled for tomorrow, after which Faye would remain in hospital
for several more days. Lorraine blinked and nodded as she took in the prognosis.
Then a nurse directed them to Faye’s room.

As they entered, Emma couldn’t help bracing
herself against a possible flood of accusations from Faye. But she breathed a
little easier when she saw that Faye was asleep. A gauze pad was taped to her
forehead, covering the angry red mark Emma had glimpsed earlier, and an IV drip
was attached to her arm, but otherwise she appeared much the same.

“Oh, Faye.”

Clapping a hand over her mouth, Lorraine
drew in a quivery breath, fresh tears welling up in her eyes. She sank into a
chair next to the bed. For several long minutes Lorraine sat staring at her
sister. In contrast, Faye appeared almost serene as she lay there, her hands
plump and relaxed against the white sheets.

Emma stood in silence a few yards away from
the bed. Hospitals made her uneasy, reminding her of her mother’s illness and the
trauma of losing her.

She was relieved to see Faye alive and
breathing. At the same time she couldn’t help wondering what would happen when
Faye woke up. Maybe it was self-centered of her, but she knew firsthand the
kind of damage Faye’s tongue could wreak. She wished she could slip out of the
room, but she sensed that Lorraine needed her there, and so she remained.

Eventually Lorraine’s tears dried up and
her composure returned. Faye slept on, oblivious to her sister’s emotional
upheaval. If she were awake, would Lorraine’s reaction have been the same? Or
did she show her emotions only because her sister was unconscious?

After a final squeeze of her sister’s hand,
Lorraine rose to her feet and signaled to Emma that they should leave.

Outside the hospital, Emma drew in a
breath. Even though the air was sweltering, it was better than the antiseptic
atmosphere inside. The afternoon sun shimmered in a sky hazed with summer heat.
Her T-shirt stuck to the small of her back, reminding her that she desperately
needed a long, cool shower. Back in the car, she immediately flicked on the AC.
Her aging Toyota could produce only a coolish breeze, but it was better than
nothing. Lorraine seemed unaffected by the heat. She stared out the windshield,
not saying a word as they headed back to Greenville. Only when they neared her
house did she speak, startling Emma.

“I always knew this day would eventually
come,” Lorraine stated in a flat voice.

“Excuse me? What day?” Emma asked.

“The day when my sister would finally drive
someone to take extreme measures.”

“I’m sorry…extreme measures?” Emma asked
cautiously. She had an idea what Lorraine was alluding to, but didn’t want to
assume anything.

The other woman shifted in her seat to look
at Emma, suddenly animated after the long, silent drive. “You know what I mean.”
She flapped her hands in agitation, then pushed them through her disheveled
hair. “Faye and her runaway tongue. For years she’s been gossiping about
everyone and everything. No one in Greenville is safe from her; no one in the
whole of Shamrock Lake, for that matter. My sister is like a champion truffle
pig, sniffing out the choicest tidbits of gossip, gobbling them up, and then
bragging about them far and wide. People get annoyed with her, furious even,
but she’s immune to criticism. I should know.” Lorraine snorted. “But now she’s
angered the wrong person. Someone who wants to stop her gossipy tongue for
good. She didn’t fall down those stairs. She was pushed. Someone tried to kill
my sister.”

A chill spread through Emma, and it wasn’t
due to the anemic AC. But she couldn’t say she was all that shocked because the
same suspicion had lurked in the back of her mind ever since she’d discovered
Faye’s crumpled figure. Faye
was
an indiscriminate gossip, and sometimes—often—
she did hurt people, and she didn’t seem to care. Still, it might be unwise to
jump in and enthusiastically agree with Lorraine when the woman was in a deeply
emotional state and might later regret her words.

“People do fall down stairs,” Emma said,
striving for a mild tone.

“Faye is as sturdy as a horse. She’s never
fallen down anything.”

“We-ell, you don’t live with her,” Emma
cautiously pointed out. “She might have had some mobility problems recently
that she didn’t want to tell you about.”

“If Faye had any health problems she’d be
chewing my ear off in an instant. She’d have me running errands for her all day
long. She loves attention. If you think she’d pass up on the opportunity to
guilt trip me into paying her attention, then you don’t know my sister!”

Emma waited until she had pulled the car
into Lorraine’s driveway before answering. “Okay, then. So Faye didn’t have any
health issues, but do you really think someone could get so mad with her that
they’d want to do away with her?”

Lorraine picked at some dirt under her
fingernails. “I’ve wanted to strangle her myself plenty of times,” she blurted
out. At Emma’s wide eyes, she lifted her work-roughened hands. “Come on, you’ve
felt the urge to throttle my sister yourself. Admit it.”

“Uh, well, I admit I’ve been annoyed with
her at times.”

“Merely annoyed?” Lorraine shook her gray
curls. “She blabbed about your previous business troubles to Debbie Scheel, and
as a result you lost her daughter’s wedding. That cost you a lot of money and
kudos. Don’t tell me you were only
annoyed
with Faye.”

“Okay, yeah, I was pretty mad.” Emma
wriggled in the seat, wishing she could escape Lorraine’s attention. “But I
wouldn’t harm her.”

“Oh, of course I know that! Not on purpose,
you wouldn’t. I’m just saying that everyone has their limit. Given the right
provocation, even the most angelic person could snap.” For a few moments Lorraine
stared ahead as if she were trying to figure out the likeliest suspects. Then,
with an abrupt change of mood, she reached for the door handle. “No point in
speculating. Faye will tell us as soon as she wakes up. She’ll tell us who
tried to kill her. Thank you so much for the ride, dear.” She heaved herself
out of the car, waved goodbye, and made her way slowly to her front door, her
curls glinting silver in the sunlight.

Emma drove home slowly, her head aching
from everything that had happened. When she parked her car in the driveway, she
saw that her fingernails were ragged from nervous chewing. The cold ball
anchored in the pit of her stomach didn’t auger well, either.

She had to find out if Faye really had been
pushed down those stairs, and if so, who had done it. And she had to find out
soon, before Faye woke up and told everyone who might listen that she had been
attacked by Emma Cassidy.