Pushed to the Limit (an Emma Cassidy Mystery Book 2) by Karen Chester Read Free Book Online Page B

annoying.”
    A dimple appeared in Becky’s cheek.
“There’s definitely something going on between you two. Too bad you’re both too
stubborn to admit it.”
    ***
    By noon the yard
sale was over, and the stall holders were busy packing up. Emma surveyed her
mostly empty table with some satisfaction. By slashing her prices in the final
hour, she’d managed to sell almost all of her goods and had netted almost a
thousand dollars. The local business council would be pleased about the extra
funding. It wouldn’t take long to pack up the remaining goods, and then, as
instructed, she would drop them off at the local thrift store.
    As she bent down to retrieve the boxes
underneath the tables, she caught sight of a large green-and-yellow shopping
bag resting between two cartons. Pulling it out, she heaved a deep sigh. This
was Faye’s shopping bag; she was sure of it. She distinctly remembered seeing
it clutched in Faye’s hands when the older woman had blocked Emma from
inspecting it. And now, after all that, it appeared Faye had forgotten the bag
altogether.
    Before she could resist, Emma opened it and
peeked inside. A hodgepodge of items lay there, including some she recalled putting
out for sale. Shutting the bag, she rose to her feet and scanned the immediate
vicinity, but there was no sign of a short, auburn-haired woman. Only tired
stall holders remained, clearing up and eager to go home. She was tired, too,
and home was calling. Faye Seymour lived about five blocks away from her, so
she could easily drop the bag off on her way home.
    Decision made, she hurried through her
remaining tasks. She packed the unsold goods into a box, broke down the empty cartons,
and loaded everything into her car. A few minutes past one pm, with the
leftover stock deposited at the thrift store, she pulled up outside Faye’s
house.
    Faye lived in a solid brick California
bungalow painted white with blue trim. The front yard was regimentally neat
with clipped lawns and tidy shrubs, the driveway swept clear. The entire
property was spick and span, not a leaf or blade of grass out of place. Emma had
never been inside the house; as a kid she’d avoided knocking on that particular
door at Halloween, preferring to forego the candy rather than be trapped by
Faye’s garrulous tongue. Faye had lived here for as long as Emma could
remember. She vaguely recalled that the house had belonged to Faye’s parents,
and Faye, being single, had remained, while her sister Lorraine had moved out
when she got married.
    The hot afternoon sun beat down on Emma’s
head as she climbed out of her car and walked up the path to the house, the
green-and-yellow shopping bag under her arm. Faye’s beige, late model Honda
stood in the driveway, and behind the screen door, the front door stood open, indicating
she was at home.
    “Hello, Faye,” Emma called out as she rang
the bell next to the screen door. No answer came back. She knocked and called
out again, with the same result. Faye must be out the back.
    She descended the porch steps and made her
way around the house. The lot was larger than she’d realized. On this side of
the property were several well-tended peach trees, each of them heavy with
fruit, which were greenish yellow at the moment, a few weeks off their peak.
She followed the brick path that meandered through the peach trees. The severe
tidiness of Faye’s yard seemed to rebuke the sprawling messiness of the
neighboring property. Purple lantana smothered a side fence, threatening to overwhelm
it and explode onto Faye’s side. Gaps in the sagging paling revealed a yard
choked by rampant weeds, shrubs, and building detritus.
    A muffled cry rose in the air. Emma glanced
up. Had it come from the back of the house? She took off running, the shopping
bag bumping against her hip. She rounded the house. Here, the land sloped away
from the house. A flight of wooden stairs led up to a rear deck. At the foot of
the stairs lay a crumpled figure, the auburn