Throw a Monkey Wrench (an Emma Cassidy Mystery Book 1) (23 page)

“So, this is it.
Thirty years, and now it’s almost over.” Stacey Shulman uttered a sigh and
shook her head. “A retirement party, a silver watch, and some handshakes, and
then it’s adieu.”

Emma Cassidy, sole proprietor of A Perfect
Party and organizer of tonight’s gathering, lifted her eyebrows. Stacey sounded
like
she
was retiring, and not Richard Wylie, the town planner who,
until tonight, had been in Greenville council’s employ for thirty years. As secretary
of the municipal engineering department, Stacey had assisted Emma with the
retirement party, an assignment she’d approached with great enthusiasm.

Emma smiled sympathetically. “It must be
sad for you to see him go.”

Nodding, Stacey pressed her lips together.
“I’ll miss him,” she murmured, gazing at her almost-former co-worker who was being
greeted by well-wishers entering Tucker’s Bistro, the restaurant where the
party was taking place.

If it had been anyone else, Emma might have
wondered if, despite the age gap, there was something going on between the town
planner and the secretary, but not in this case. Stacey was just about the last
person she’d cast as a femme fatale. In her mid-thirties, Stacey was short,
trim, and self-effacing, her bobbed hair mousy-brown, her soft eyes—her best
features in Emma’s opinion—hidden behind glasses. Usually favoring muted
colors, tonight she wore a demure navy dress, her only concession a pair of
dangly crystal earrings. She was one of the nicest persons Emma had met in a
while, eager for Richard to have a great send off, yet at the same time not the
least bit bossy or demanding. A welcome trait in a client.

Emma’s event planning business was only six
months old, and she’d had a rocky start, what with a poisoning and a
groom-to-be charged with murder, but she’d overcome those obstacles—just like
she’d survived her New York City career imploding and her boyfriend at the time
dumping her when she’d needed him the most. Although she’d never envisioned resettling
in her sleepy hometown, it had seemed the most sensible solution, and she was
determined to make the most of it. On the whole, she was glad to be back in
Greenville, California, on the shores of Shamrock Lake, even if she was still
living at home with her dad.

Richard Wylie, tall and silver-haired,
walked over to them with a broad smile. “Stacey, Emma. I must thank you for all
your hard work putting on this shindig.”

Stacey lifted her shoulders. “Mostly Emma’s
hard work. I only made a few suggestions.”

“She’s way too modest,” Emma replied,
determined that Stacey get her fair share of acknowledgement. “Stacey’s worked
really hard.”

“I know she has,” Richard said. “Stacey is
an unsung heroine.”

Stacey turned pink, her hands twitching as
she appeared to be overcome by bashfulness. A server approached them with a
tray of drinks. Richard tried to offer them flutes of champagne, but Stacey
chose an orange juice, and Emma followed suit. The party was just starting, and
she needed a clear head in order to deal with any potential crises.

She glanced around the crowded restaurant once
again. Some important people were here tonight, including the mayor and several
councilors. All the people from the engineering department of course, and
others from the Rotary Club that Richard belonged to. Richard’s wife, Helen,
was there too. She walked up to him, a slight frown pleating her forehead.

“Darling, you know Stacey, of course,”
Richard said to his wife before gesturing to Emma. “Have you met Emma Cassidy?”

“Yes, Emma and I discussed tonight’s menu.”
Helen gave Emma and Stacey a faint smile. “Thank you both. I knew you’d put on
a good party for Richard.” She lifted her glass of wine. “This pinot noir is
excellent.” Her smile faded as she turned back to her husband. “But I do wish
she
hadn’t been invited.” She jerked her head in the direction of the crowd.

Following her gesture, Emma thought she was
referring to Faye Seymour, Greenville’s reigning queen of gossip. Nothing
happened in Greenville—or indeed Shamrock Lake—without Faye knowing about it.
Emma had been surprised to see her and her sister Lorraine on the guest list,
until Stacey explained that Faye and Lorraine were Richard’s cousins and his
closest relatives in Greenville.

Emma’s checkered history in New York had
made her prime grist for the gossip mill that Faye so enthusiastically
hand-cranked. Tonight the sixty-something-year-old, dressed in a bright
pink-and-blue dress with matching pink earrings, was in her element as she swam
through the crowd, fishing for the tastiest morsels of news.

Richard hunched his shoulders, a cornered
look coming over him. “Well, I wanted Lorraine to be here, and I couldn’t
invite her without including Faye, now could I?”

“I doubt Lorraine would’ve been heartbroken
if you’d left Faye off the list,” Helen said tartly.

Lorraine, an accomplished artist, had
taught Emma art in high school. She and Faye were complete opposites. Where
Faye was garrulous and prying, Lorraine was private and retiring. The only
thing they had in common was their short, rotund stature.

“Come, now,” Richard said placatingly to
his wife, casting an apologetic half-smile at Emma and Stacey. “It’s my
retirement party. Can’t we let bygones be bygones?”

“No, I can’t because it isn’t a bygone yet.”
Helen’s knuckles whitened as she clenched her glass. Her dark stare focused on
Faye across the room. “That woman has ruined our son’s future.”

“Isn’t that a bit dramatic? Jason’s still
young; he’ll bounce back.”

Helen plunked her wineglass on a nearby
table and jammed her hands on her hips. “Are you defending that viper of a
cousin of yours?”

“Of course not, but…” Richard darted a
desperate look at the crowd. “Oh, look, there’s Councilman Bischoff. I’d better
go say hello to him.” He patted his wife’s arm before hurrying away.

Helen heaved out a sigh before giving Emma
and Stacey a wry shrug. “I guess it’s no secret that Faye’s not my favorite
cousin-in-law.”

Emma smiled politely while Stacey twiddled
her fingers, but Helen didn’t seem fazed at losing her cool. Tall and
well-groomed, tonight she wore a blue silk dress that looked like it cost
plenty. She should have been enjoying her husband’s retirement party, but her
brow was furrowed, and her eyes were filled with bitter resentment as she
glowered at Faye across the room.

“Faye is like a lobster,” she muttered
through clenched teeth. “Feeding off dirt, getting fat on filth. Well, she’d
better watch out. One of these days she’ll find herself in a pot of boiling
water, and I, for one, won’t be fishing her out.”

***

Clearly there were
family tensions, but the exact reasons why Helen Wylie loathed her
cousin-in-law remained a mystery to Emma as she was caught up in running the
party. After allowing half an hour for drinks and chatting, she announced that
dinner was ready, and guests surged toward the long buffet tables which groaned
under the weight of a surfeit of food. Once the service was underway, Emma
headed past the swing doors that led to the kitchen. There, in the sweltering
heart of Tucker’s Bistro, Alvin Tucker, owner of the restaurant and a caterer
Emma had used several times before, was busy directing his small team of
workers.

“Hey, Emma.” He nodded to her as he put the
final touches on a platter of shrimp. “How’s it going out there?”

“It looks like your spare ribs are a big
hit. Hope you’ve got a good supply of them.”

“I sure do. The spare ribs always go down
well, especially with the men.”

He passed the shrimp platter to a waiting server
who whisked it away. The crustaceans reminded Emma of Helen’s parting remark
about Faye. It seemed there was always someone annoyed with Faye Seymour. Emma
grimaced as she recalled her most recent run-in with the gossip queen. It had
cost her a potential client, and that still rankled.

Emma was almost thirty. When she’d finished
high school, she’d envisioned that within a decade she’d be established in a
successful career. She’d started off well, graduating from a reputable college
back east and landing an exciting job as an event planner in New York, the city
she’d always dreamed of moving to. She’d worked hard to become a partner in the
small but up-and-coming business; she’d gained an eligible boyfriend who worked
in finance; she’d signed a lease on a gorgeous loft apartment. Everything was going
well. But then her business partner had cleared out their bank accounts and skipped
town, leaving Emma with scores of disgruntled clients threatening to sue and a
heap of unpaid bills. Suddenly she couldn’t afford her loft apartment anymore,
could barely put food in her mouth. When she’d turned to her boyfriend—a man
she’d thought she would marry one day—he turned out to be a fair-weather beau
incapable of genuine support. That was when she’d decided to cut her losses and
move back to Greenville.

Debbie Scheel had been considering hiring
Emma as her daughter’s wedding planner, until Faye had got in her ear,
embroidering Emma’s past failed business until she made Emma sound like a Ponzi
scheme operator. Debbie had abruptly gone somewhere else, leaving Emma fuming
helplessly. She knew she was good at her job, knew that people would come to
trust her. But her turnover was barely covering the bills, and she couldn’t afford
to lose one client to Faye’s scuttlebutt.

Alvin glanced about the bustling kitchen
before leaning toward Emma. “Can we talk in private for a moment?”

Emma blinked at him in surprise. When it
came to cooking, Alvin was a perfectionist and liked to oversee every plate
before it left the kitchen. So why did he want to take time out in the middle
of a busy service to talk to her?

“Sure.” She nodded before following him to
his office. The small, cluttered room had a narrow window looking out onto the
kitchen so Alvin could keep an eye on his staff.

The caterer shut the door and rocked on his
toes. “I was wondering how soon I could get the check for tonight’s party,” he
said without preamble.

Emma felt her mouth sagging open. When
she’d booked Alvin’s services, the city council had put down a ten percent
deposit, with the balance due to be paid within thirty days of the event, as
per the agreement. It was standard practice, but this time around something
clearly wasn’t standard.

“Well, I can talk to the council and ask
them to prioritize your bill,” she said uncertainly. Stacey Shulman would know
who to contact, she thought, still wondering why Alvin needed the money so
urgently.

“Thanks, I’d really appreciate that.” Alvin
ran his fingers through his thinning hair, and for the first time she noticed
the bags under his eyes and the lines etched into his forehead. A sturdy,
thickset man in his mid-forties, he had always been energetic and industrious, but
he suddenly seemed to have aged ten years.

Perplexed, Emma couldn’t help touching his
arm. “Alvin? Is something the matter?” For the past twenty years Alvin had been
a fixture in Greenville. She’d visited his restaurant countless times, and now,
as an event planner, he was quickly becoming her caterer of choice. She trusted
him. She liked him. And she hated seeing him in distress. “Are you…in financial
difficulties?”

He looked at her with heavy eyes for a few
moments before pinching the bridge of his nose. “You could say that. I might
have to fork out fifty thousand dollars.”

“Fifty thousand dollars!” Emma gasped.
“You’re joking.”

“I wish I was.”

“What happened?”

He heaved a sigh. “About four months ago Faye
Seymour tripped outside the restaurant and fell. She says she hurt her shoulder
and it’s never been the same. Last week she told me she was thinking of suing
me.”

Emma frowned. She’d seen Faye regularly
over the past few months, and she’d never noticed anything wrong with her shoulder.
But it could be one of those injuries that came and went.

“Wouldn’t your insurance cover that?” she
asked. Alvin didn’t say anything, and disquiet wiggled in Emma’s stomach. “You
do have insurance, don’t you?”

“Um, I do, but…” Alvin rubbed his jaw. “A
while back the restaurant was going through a bad patch, and, well, I could
only afford the compulsory insurance for my workers, not the business insurance.
So I let the policy lapse. I renewed it as soon as I could, but that was after
Faye’s accident.” His chin wobbled. “You won’t tell my wife, will you? Bettina
was really worried when we had our downturn, and now that we’re on the way up I
don’t want to burden her with more bad news.”

“I’m so sorry, Alvin.” Helpless frustration
beat in Emma’s chest. “I’ll try my best to get your money as soon as possible.”
Though that would hardly make a dent into fifty thousand dollars. “Have you
tried talking to Faye?”

Alvin’s jowls quivered as he clamped his
jaw tight. “I did,” he said stiffly. “And she told me I should count myself lucky
she only wanted fifty thousand dollars.” A maroon hue rose in his cheeks. “You
know what the worst thing is? She injured herself when she was snooping around
the back of my restaurant and taking photos of some renovation work I had going
then. She told me I was violating council regulations, and I should be glad she
wasn’t reporting me to the authorities. Can you believe it? That—that
interfering old biddy!” Alvin’s voice shook. Clearly he was struggling not to
use stronger language. “I’m a peaceful man, Emma, but everyone has their limits,
and by God she’s pushed me beyond mine. She’s walked over me for the last time!”