Chapter 21
Emma learned that not all vehicles have power steering when she discovered it took all her muscles to turn the steering wheel on Uncle Tommy’s truck.
He’d made her drive it around his property and given her a brief tutorial.
She hadn’t driven any vehicle that much.
Her only opportunities had come when her father needed something from the store and told Emma to go get it.
His pickup was old too, but it wasn’t exhausting to drive like this one.
She bounced down her road in Tommy’s old truck, not caring that the ride was rough. She felt free. Something about driving a vehicle by herself and realizing she had the ability to go anywhere she wished was incredibly empowering.
Emma wasn’t about to drive anywhere but her house, but just the thought of the freedom lifted her spirits.
Oh shit.
Those lifted spirits vanished as she neared her home. She recognized the dark SUV parked at the house and the woman on her porch.
Detective Marshall.
What does she want?
Emma slowed the truck to a jerking stop next to the SUV.
She pushed open its creaking door, jumped down, and then slammed it as Tommy had shown her—otherwise it didn’t latch.
She slowly walked to the house, unease building, as the detective came down the steps.
Emma didn’t understand it, but the detective looked as if she’d just stepped out of a high-end store even though she wore just black pants and a black jacket.
Her presence made Emma’s home look ancient and run-down.
“Hi, Emma,” said the woman, taking a sharp look at Tommy’s truck.
“Hi, Detective Marshall. Is something wrong?” Emma added a smile, hoping the detective couldn’t see how nervous she was.
“I dropped by to check on you,” said the detective. “How’s it going?”
“Everything’s great.” Another forced smile.
The woman’s gaze was intense, and Emma felt as if her own skin were transparent, revealing her lie to the detective. “Can I get a glass of water?” asked the detective.
“Of course.” Emma walked up the stairs and noted Cornbread’s bowl was empty. She paused, wanting to fill it right that moment in case the cat was hungrily watching her from some hidden place.
“Whose truck are you driving?” asked the detective as Emma unlocked the door.
“It belongs to my uncle Tommy.”
“Is that your father’s brother?”
“Not exactly.” She explained who Tommy was as she led the woman into the house.
She’s police. I shouldn’t lie to her.
“That’s nice of him to loan you his truck,” said the detective. “Where’s your father?”
“Out of town.” Emma kept her face turned away from the woman and grabbed a glass out of the cupboard. Something crunched under her boot, and she realized she’d missed a piece of glass while cleaning up the mess the two men had made in the house.
“Is that glass?” asked the detective. “Be careful—there’s some more. What happened?” She turned on a light and scanned the floor.
“I dropped a glass the other day,” said Emma, focusing on filling the detective’s glass with water, not wanting to tell her about the break-in.
So much for not lying.
The detective was silent for a long moment and then took two steps to the fridge and pulled it open.
Emma whirled around, clasping the water glass with both hands and holding her breath.
The woman looked from the nearly empty fridge to Emma. “Where’d the food go? I know some was delivered.”
“I took it to Tommy’s house.” She clung to the glass in a death grip as the detective’s blue gaze looked her up and down.
“Why?”
Emma’s mind went blank, and she couldn’t think of a reason except the truth. “I’m staying there, so I took the food over.”
Detective Marshall closed the fridge and looked around the home. “That’s why it’s so cold in here.” She frowned. “Is Tommy married?”
“No.” A split second later she understood why the detective had asked. “He’s old! It’s not like that. He’s practically family!”
“Does he know where your father is?” the woman asked quietly.
She knows that I lied about my dad.
Emma looked down at the glass of water and realized some had splashed over her hands and she hadn’t even noticed. “No,” she said quietly.
A loud meow made them both look toward the door, which the detective had left ajar. Cornbread had shoved his head through the space. He looked at Emma and meowed again.
Is he checking on me or just hungry?
“Just a minute,” she told Detective Marshall.
Emma set down the glass and grabbed a bag of cat food from another cupboard and stepped outside.
She poured the food into his bowl and stepped back to watch him for a few seconds, knowing she was avoiding the detective.
Cornbread started to eat, ignoring Emma.
He’s no longer scared to be near me.
“Nice cat.” The detective stood at the door.
“He’s a stray,” said Emma. “He’s only been here a little while, and I don’t know if he’s ever been around people.”
“Well, someone took care of him at some point,” said the detective.
Emma frowned. “How do you know?”
“His ear. It’s tipped. The vet does that when they neuter or spay a stray.”
Emma squatted down to get a better look at Cornbread’s ear, and he lifted his head from his bowl, meeting her gaze. She’d noticed his ear was blunt but had assumed it was from a catfight. His other ear had a small, old tear, which had left an odd flap.
“So he might be a girl,” said Emma, knowing the cat wouldn’t let her peek under his tail.
“With that wide face and thick cheeks?” asked Detective Marshall. “That says boy to me. He was probably fixed later in life. Are there other stray cats around here?”
“No,” said Emma.
“Then he must have been dumped nearby. He’s lucky he found you. Did you name him?”
“Cornbread.” The cat looked at Emma again.
Does he know his name already?
“That’s adorable,” said the woman. “I love it when pets are named for food.”
“He’s a good cat,” said Emma. “He—” She stopped talking as she realized she was about to say that he’d warned her about intruders.
“He what?”
“He’s a good cat,” she repeated, her brain spinning.
The detective sighed. “I’ll take that water now.” She stepped back inside the cold house and Emma followed. “Sit down, Emma.” Detective Marshall grabbed her water glass off the counter and sat at the table, waiting for Emma to take a chair.
Emma sat.
The detective set her elbows on the table and leaned forward. “I get the impression that you’re a good kid who’s had some bad luck come your way.”
“But—”
Detective Marshall raised a hand for Emma to be quiet. “Where’s your father?” she asked quietly.
Emma stayed silent, staring at the fake wood pattern on the table.
“Why are you staying at your uncle’s house instead of here?” She pointed at the door. “Something’s up when you won’t stay with a cat that you clearly adore.” The detective rapped her knuckles on the table. “Is your uncle threatening you?”
Emma’s gaze flew up as she jerked in her chair. “No! He’s the best! I’m staying there because . . .” She squirmed, and the story of the intruders spilled out of her mouth.
“Jesus,” muttered the detective when she was done. “Why didn’t you call the police?”
“I don’t know.”
Because my dad taught me to never call them.
“Do you know what they meant by ‘What I already told you. We need her’?”
“Probably nothing good.” Emma fought back tears.
“Why would someone come looking for you?”
Emma shrugged. “I have no idea.”
The woman thought for a moment. “And this Uncle Tommy didn’t call the police either?”
“No.” Emma met the detective’s blue gaze. “We don’t call the police,” she said softly.
The woman nodded and sat back in her chair. “Got it.” She crossed her arms on her chest and blew out a breath as she considered Emma. “Back to your dad. Do you know where he is?”
“Why do you keep asking about him? He’s an adult. He can do what he wants.”
“True. But you get very squirrelly every time I bring him up. Makes me wonder what’s up.”
“Nothing.”
“You were almost attacked in your home. That’s not nothing. Emma, could those men be the reason your dad isn’t here? Are other people looking for him?”
“I don’t know.” She’d wondered the same thing several times.
“That body you found in the woods.” The detective softened her voice. “Did you get a good enough look to know that wasn’t your father?”
“Oh my God!” Emma was instantly nauseated as the image popped up in her mind. “That wasn’t him! I know it wasn’t! Not even close. My dad is super skinny and not very tall.”
“Okay. I had to ask. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
Emma’s stomach continued to swirl, and she tried to put the memory out of her head. “Tommy’ll find him. He knows everybody,” she said stoutly.
But I don’t want him to come back.
“Is there anything else you should tell me?” asked the detective. Her gaze said she believed Emma was holding back.
I am.
“No. Everything’s fine.”
“You’re awfully calm for someone who might have been killed the other night.”
“Nothing happened.” She wanted to cry.
“Emma, it’s okay to trust me. The only thing I want to do is help you and make sure you’re safe.”
I want to believe her.
But she knew law enforcement wasn’t to be trusted. Just look at all her questions about Tommy and her dad. She was fishing for something to get them in trouble.
“What’s Tommy’s full name?”
Emma blinked. She had no idea. He’d been simply Uncle Tommy forever, and she couldn’t think of ever hearing her father say his last name. “I’m not sure.”
“Do you have an address for him?”
“Yeah.” She rattled off his address, and the detective wrote it down. “You’re not going to bother him, are you?”
“I don’t plan to. I just want to know where to find you if I have more questions. I’m also going to send a deputy here to see if your intruders left some fingerprints. Can you stick around for a few hours until one comes?”
“Yes.” She was pleasantly surprised that the detective would bother. “When will you know the name of the man who died?”
The detective grimaced. “I’m meeting the medical examiner next. Hopefully we’ll have some answers after that.”
“You’ll let me know?”
“When it’s okay with his relatives.” She put her little notebook in a jacket pocket. “Are you going anywhere else today?”
“No. I just came to check on Cornbread and get some more clothes.”
“That reminds me,” said Detective Marshall. “I’ve been carrying around bags to drop off at the donation center. I keep forgetting to stop. I’ll let you look through the clothes first. I noticed my friend’s niece added some good things that look about your size.”
Emma wanted to disappear. She knew the woman was lying and thought Emma needed charity for clothing. Emma touched a hole in the thigh of her baggy joggers. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had anything new—or at least new to her.
“I can take a look,” she said casually.
“Great! Two less bags in my vehicle.” The detective stood and headed for the door.
Emma followed.
Maybe Detective Marshall isn’t so bad.