She Drives Me Crazy (26 page)

Emma looked up from where she stood chopping vegetables for a salad in the kitchen of Johnny's house on

Wednesday evening. He'd invited her to his place for the first time, and she'd enjoyed getting a snapshot of his life as an eligible bachelor.

He lived in a small house in an older neighborhood a few blocks from downtown. His quiet street was the kind that probably housed retired couples or else young families just starting out. Though his fenced yard was neatly cut, it didn't have so much as a single flower bed, so she assumed he didn't get to work outside much.

The inside was just as sparse. It had the comforts, at least in terms of furniture and big-boy toys like the huge TV in the living room. But not much else. She'd bet a lot of women in Joyful would probably have liked to help him hang curtains over the blind-covered windows, or pick out some pictures for the empty walls.

Or test out the springs on that massive king-size bed of his.
Yum
.

The fact that the house was so decidedly male and un-decorated gave her an inordinate amount of pleasure. As if she was the first woman he'd ever invited over.

"Em?"

"Oh. my day. Uh, good," she admitted, surprised to realize it was true. "Though, not for the reasons you might suspect."

He stopped beating the life out of a couple of sirloins and looked up at her. "How so?"

"Well, I spent less time washing hair than I did explaining the differences between an IRA and an SEP to Doris. And helping one woman decide between a Roth and a conventional, and another determine what to do with her husband's rollover."

He grinned as he went to the sink to wash his hands. "And you thought nobody would trust you with their money."

"They're probably better off trusting me with their money than with their hair. Speaking of money, do you know Mrs. Harding?"

"Sixtyish redhead? Kinda flamboyant?"

She nodded. "She must have some big bucks squirreled away. She cornered me leaving the salon and bought me a cup of coffee while we talked about some cap stocks. She knows her stuff."

"I think her late husband had a lot of money," he replied. "She moved to town a couple of years ago and bought one of those old estates out on Tanner Mill Road."

"She's sharp. I liked her. She told me I should open up a pie shop," Emma said. Then, remembering the other reason her first day on the job had been a big hit, she added, "Word got out about the pies, you see. Several people came in and asked me if they could place orders."

"Sounds like you've got a regular little business going."

Yeah, it did sound like that. Six months ago she would probably have laughed at the picture of her dispensing financial advice and pecan pie while bent over the wash sink of a Joyful beauty parlor. Today, though, she'd actually enjoyed herself. It beat sitting at a desk all day.

She didn't tell him who one of her financial "clients" had been today: his mother, who apparently had a small sum of money tucked away—proceeds from a life insurance policy.

"So you brought the papers I left at your house Friday?"

"Yes. I haven't had a chance to look at them. Maybe we could go over them after dinner?"

He stepped close, crowding her against the counter. "I'd rather go over you. Before dinner. After dinner."

"Before dessert? After dessert?"

"
During
dessert," he said with a wolfish chuckle, the husky sound sending shivers up and down her body. As did his closeness. He put his hands on either side of her, flat on the countertop. Johnny pressed against her, his breath hot on her neck, his chest touching her back, his groin tucked against her bottom.

Emma couldn't contain a small moan as she leaned into him. "You hungry man, what is it with you and kitchens?"

"Just don't go lobbing that cucumber at me," he said, looking over her shoulder at the cutting board. "I don't think it'd have the same effect as pie."

"Speaking of which…"

He grinned. "Lemon meringue."

"Mmm. I've become a pie addict. You won't ever tell anyone why I'm becoming as big as a house, will you?"

"Darlin', you've got nothin to worry about," he said, nuzzling her neck. "You work off every bit of pie the minute after you…lick it all up…"

"Suck it all down," she whispered, just as suggestively.

Dropping the cucumber she'd been slicing, she turned around in his arms and leaned up to catch his mouth in a hot and hungry kiss. When their lips finally parted, she had to gasp in a few deep breaths to try to calm her raging pulse.

'Think I'll go outside and cook the steaks," he said, sounding as out of breath as she felt. "Unless you want to start with dessert."

"Then we'll never get to dinner." She patted his chest. "You need the protein."

"Planning on working me hard, huh?"

She nodded and almost purred, "Very, very hard." Then she pushed him away, patting his awesome butt as he walked away. "Now, go cook us dinner."

Johnny hated for Emma to leave late that night, but knew she should. She'd just gotten herself out of the limelight of Joyful's gossipmongerers. Her red convertible parked in his driveway early tomorrow morning would thrust them both right back into it. That was the way it went in small towns.

Pulling on a pair of gym shorts, he watched her dress. "I'm sorry you can't stay. Next time I'll pick you up."

"Better yet, stay at my place," she whispered as she leaned up to kiss his lips. "I have a garage."

Chuckling, he slid his arm around her waist and walked her to the front door.

"Wait. We didn't go over the papers." She glanced toward the manila envelope she'd deposited on his dining room table as soon as she'd arrived. "Maybe I should take them with me?"

She could have, but he wanted the excuse to keep her around a little longer. It was only ten. Surely whatever biddies had their binoculars trained on his driveway would stay up another hour to watch Emma drive away.

"Let's look at them together before you go."

A few minutes later, he was glad he'd made the suggestion. Because as he and Emma sat at the table, sorting through the tax records, deed and transfer paperwork he'd been able to dig up at the courthouse, she began to mutter under her breath.

"What?"

"I said something's wrong," she replied, sounding distracted. 'This is
wrong
."

"I know you're unhappy about it, Em, but the paperwork is all here."

"No, it's something else," she said, scrunching her brow as she studied one of the documents. She ran a frustrated hand through her hair, sending those crazy wavy curls, that he could practically still feel against his fingertips, in all directions. "I swear I wonder if the surgeon took out some of my brain cells because sometimes I have the hardest time grabbing thoughts as they whiz by."

His stiffened, the reaction completely instinctive. God, he hated the thought of Emma banged up, lying in a hospital bed. What if she'd died? What if he'd lost her before he'd ever had the chance to have her again? The stab in his gut at the very thought of it was physically painful. "Emma…"

"Oh, my God," she snapped, her mouth dropping open. With her index finger, she jabbed at one of the legal documents spread out in front of her. "That's it, that's
it
."

"What?"

Her eyes practically sparked with fire. "Look at this, Johnny, just look."

He looked at the paper, a copy of the contract signed by her grandmother. "What am I looking at? This is a pretty standard contract. I mean, it's a little strange to go to closing so soon after the purchase contract had been signed, but since the buyer, this MLH Enterprises, paid cash, it's not entirely out of the question."

"That's not what I meant."

"Are you trying to say it's not her signature? I compared it to the one registered with the DMV and the elections office. I'm no handwriting expert, but it looked identical to me."

"It's not," she said, her voice shaking with anger, indignation or excitement. Maybe all three. "And I am absolutely certain of it." She lifted the paper and thrust it into his hands. "My grandmother did not sign the contract for the sale of the lot, Johnny. Meaning she also didn't sign the closing documents, so conveniently dated for the day before she died." Crossing her arms in front of her, she leaned back in her chair and flatly added, "They're forgeries."

She sounded absolutely convinced. "How can you be sure? You admitted your grandmother told you she was thinking of selling."

"Look at the date."

He did. '"April sixth."

"Know when I had my accident? April fifth."

He began to understand. "Okay, but Em, it's
possible
she signed this before she left to go to New York."

She shook her head. "No, it's
not
possible. I got hit on my way home from work at 6:00 p.m. Grandma Emma-jean found out right after my parents did, that very night, Johnny. Not the next day."

As with any interesting legal puzzle, he began to get caught up in the details. "When did she arrive in New York?"

"Late night on the sixth. Because she couldn't get a flight out any earlier."

Thinking aloud, he said, "Meaning, technically, she
could
have had time to sign some papers."

Emma merely shook her head. "Think about it."

He did. Legally, he knew the timetable didn't prove anything. Old Emmajean could have done just about anything during the day of the sixth before making the two hour drive to the closest major airport in Atlanta. Including accepting an offer on her land.

Only, she wouldn't have. Absolutely no way on God's green earth would Emmajean Frasier have spared two seconds to think about anything except the life-or-death situation facing her beloved only grandchild. Certainly not something as important as deciding to give up her family's legacy, a place she knew that injured granddaughter loved.

Emma Jean was right. He couldn't prove it, at least not yet. But there was no doubt in his mind…someone
had
stolen her birthright. And judging by the signature that appeared on all these documents, he had a good idea who to start looking at.

Jimbo Boyd.

So why, she wondered, was she sitting in her parked car in front of the residence of Mayor Jimbo Boyd?

"Stupid, Emma Jean," she whispered, knowing Johnny would kill her if he found out she'd come here after leaving his place.

She hadn't even realized she was taking the long way home until she pulled onto Sycamore Way, where Hannah Boyd's family had lived for decades. Everyone in town knew where the mayor lived, because the house was the biggest one in town. The society set of Joyful all angled for invitations to the Boyd Christmas party, which had once been covered by
Vanity Fair
magazine.

If the house had been dark and quiet late on this week-night, she probably would have just sat outside, staring at it, doing nothing. She'd have planned all the things she would say to the man the next day when she confronted him with her suspicions. Then she would have driven home and slept off some of her fury.

But it wasn't dark. The bottom floor of the graceful, columned, two-story mansion was alight. A few cars were parked in the driveway. Through the quiet night air, she could hear the hum of music. Shadows moved across the front windows.

The Boyds were entertaining.

She wondered how they'd feel about one more guest.

Her feet were on the ground before her mind even completely decided to get out of the car. And once there, they kept on walking, right up the driveway, onto the front porch.

The door was answered by a uniformed maid, who didn't look the least bit surprised to have someone show up at eleven o'clock at night. "They're in the front room," she said with a nod, turning to lead the way for Emma, who she must have assumed was a guest arriving late for the party.

Emma's steps clicked on the polished tüe floor, sounding like tiny little starter pistols. She was definitely about to start something. If it took tackling the lion late at night in his own den, she'd do it. Jimbo sure wasn't making it easy for her to speak to him during business hours.

Entering the tastefully decorated drawing room, she immediately assessed the situation. The gathering was a small one. Just Hannah Boyd, perched elegantly on the edge of an antique settee, speaking with a red-haired woman Emma recognized as Mona Harding, from the hair salon. In another corner of the room, Jimbo stood face-to-face with Sheriff Dan Brady.

Oh, great. Lord a'mighty, if she got arrested again tonight, Johnny was just gonna kill her.

Keep calm.

"Well, what a surprise," Mona Harding said as she spied Emma in the doorway. Standing, she offered her a big smile. "I was telling Hannah here what sharp advice you gave me today. Girlfriend, you belong up with the sharks on Wall Street, not down here with the laid-back Joyful folks."

Ha. The sharks in this town had made her feel more like chum than anyone she'd ever known in New York.

"Why, thank you," she managed to say.

Jimbo, who'd looked over immediately, walked across the room, wearing a big, phony politician's smile. "Well, hello there, Ms. Frasier. I've been looking forward to seeing you since you got back to town."

Emma managed to avoid snorting at that one. Instead, keeping her voice neutral, she said, "How interesting. Especially since I've been unable to reach you at all." Glancing at Hannah Boyd, who watched them with a detached, aloof expression, she added, "I apologize for interrupting your party. But since I can't reach Mr. Boyd during the day, I took a chance and stopped by on my way home."

Hannah acknowledged the apology with a slight incline of her head. A cool creature, that one. Quiet and alert and always watching. Emma suspected the brains in Joy-ful's royal family belonged to the queen, not the florid court jester standing in front of her.

"I'm sorry 'bout that," Jimbo said. "I have been busy this week. You call me in the morning and we'll have us a sit-down."

Sheriff Brady, out of uniform and dressed in a suit and tie, walked over and stood behind Mrs. Harding. His hand on her shoulder said the two of them were a couple. Very interesting. She wondered if Daneen knew her long-widowed daddy was seeing the brassy, wealthy woman.

"That won't be necessary," Emma replied, amazing herself with her own calm tone. "I've just come to inform you that, whether I stay in Joyful or not, I am removing you as manager of my property."

Jimbo didn't look disturbed. In fact, she almost noted a flash of relief on his face, as if he'd expected her to say something else. Not surprising. He
had
to suspect she might catch on sometime and had probably anticipated an attack.

"I sure do understand, and no hard feelings," he replied with a nod that made his thick, black hair—which Emma suspected was fake—flop a little over his forehead.

Emma looked at the others in the room, all of them watching curiously, as if feeling the undercurrents between she and Jimbo. How could they not, when she was fighting an inner battle not to punch the man in his smiling face? She somehow managed to remain cool as she nodded at everyone and murmured goodbye, letting Jimbo have one more second of peace.

But before she left the room, she met Jimbo's stare with a piercing one of her own. "Oh, and by the way, I am hiring an attorney to look into the supposed sale of my grandmother's property." She paused for a heartbeat, watching his cheeks grow red. Then she continued. "I know she didn't sell it. Certain things have come to light, and now I'm completely certain I've been defrauded." She mentally crossed her fingers, knowing she was too broke to do any such thing, and added, "I'm sure the lawyer's private investigator and handwriting analyst can help to shed new light on the situation."

Hannah's face grew pale while Mona Harding's eyes widened in shock. Dan Brady shook his head, appearing distressed. But Jimbo managed to keep his smarmy smile in place, in spite of his red and shiny cheeks.

"Well, now, I'm sorry you don't like what your grandma did with her land, Ms. Frasier, but what's done is done. I'm afraid you're wasting your time and your money. You might as well go on back up north and forget all about Joyful."

"Oh, no," she snapped. "I won't be forgetting about anything. And believe me, Mr. Boyd, I will not allow you to just forget about me, either." Satisfied, she sailed out of the room, ignoring the quick rumbling of conversation breaking out in the room behind her.

A big part of her prayed Boyd would follow. He wouldn't speak in front of Hannah, or the others, that was sure. But she really thought he'd come after her, to try to make excuses or come up with a story…
anything
. And hopefully he'd trip up, giving her some tidbit to use as evidence against him.

He didn't follow, to her deep disappointment. She even stood on the porch for a long expectant moment, but the front door remained firmly closed.

So be it. He wanted to call her bluff. She'd have to do this the hard way, meaning she'd be in his office bright and early tomorrow morning to start hitting him hard with dates and signatures.

But not until after she'd made a phone call to her parents. It was time to stop acting like a kid in trouble and bring them up to speed on what was happening. She might not have the means to hire an attorney or private investigator, but they sure did. That land had been part of her father's childhood, too. He'd be as horrified as she about what had happened.

Feeling better about things, Emma got into her convertible. Before she even started the car, however, she heard the roar of another engine. In her rearview mirror, she watched as a small sedan pulled out from the curb a few car lengths behind her. Its engine revving, it sped up toward her, burning rubber, and careening dangerously close to her rear bumper. Then it sped past, probably going four times the legal speed limit.

"Crazy driver," she muttered, deciding to stay a few lengths back, in case the person in the other car had been drinking.

For once, karma seemed to be smiling. Because for all the times on the road when she'd seen a reckless driver tail-gating, speeding or passing on the shoulder, and had wished for a cop to appear out of nowhere, one finally did. A blue light flashed ahead as a police cruiser turned onto Sycamore from a side street where it'd obviously been waiting.

"Speed trap. Serves you right. I hope they do a Breathalyzer," she muttered as she drove by. She felt so good about it, she even gave a little wave of her fingers to Deputy Fred, who'd just stepped out of his car. She barely spared a glance for the sedan's driver, whose silhouette she could make out through the windows. "Have a fun night," she whispered to the woman, hoping she'd learn a lesson.

Arriving home, she locked her front door, wondering how Claire and Eve were doing back home with Tim. Claire had seemed very confident that things would work, and she was happy for them. But the house did feel awfully empty.

Though she figured she'd be too hyped up to sleep that night, Emma actually crashed hard and long. Maybe washing hair—which was already shaping up to be the most interesting job she'd ever had, given the side duties—was more tiring than she thought. Or maybe confronting loathsome thieving creeps was.

Or being involved in the most passionate affair of her life.

Johnny. He was the last thing she thought of before she fell asleep, and the first image that filled her mind Thursday morning. She was falling in love with him all over again. Just like she had when she was seventeen and he'd been dangerous and unattainable and more exciting than any girl could hope for.

Only, no, it wasn't like that. This was different, she realized as she showered and got ready for work. This wasn't merely an infatuation. If it were simply that—if it had
ever
been anything that simple—would the raw feelings have remained during a decade of separation?

She didn't think so. The reason she'd held on to the hurt for so long was because her feelings for Johnny hadn't been just a girlish infatuation, even when she'd been a high school kid. She may not have understood exactly what love was back in those days, but she'd experienced it nonetheless.

Which made it easier to believe she was experiencing it again.

Unfortunately, knowing the truth about their past didn't help her figure out what, exactly, she could do about their present. For all the passion, all the wild
storms
they shared, they were still moving in two different directions. Not just geographically, either.

Emma might have realized she loved him, but did Johnny love her back? She didn't know if he'd even allow himself to. He'd flat out said he'd never marry. She couldn't blame him, given his history.

Which left her holding a bag of unrequited emotion.

Forcing thoughts of him away, Emma packed up the paperwork she was convinced was fake, and headed out of the house. Because of the time difference and her parents' work schedule, she hadn't been able to reach them yet, but planned to call again later today.

In the meantime, she was going to the Boyd Realty office.

When she arrived, she saw two cars parked in the lot outside, and assumed Daneen was already at work. Too bad. She'd hoped to beat the woman in, which was why she'd shown up before eight. Steeling herself to see derision, annoyance or dislike in Daneen Walker's eyes, she entered the office.

But Daneen's desk was unattended, the reception area empty. Or, at least, she thought it was, until a small noise drew her attention to a person standing in the interior doorway.

"You probably should go back outside."

Looking up, she saw Cora Dillon, the old cleaning lady who'd given her the key to the house her first day in town. "Good morning, Mrs. Dillon." Then, seeing the pinched look around the woman's mouth, and the paleness of her face, she stepped closer. "Are you all right?"

The woman nodded, raising a hand to her face. That was when Emma noticed how much it was shaking.

And what it held.

"Good, God, what is that?" she asked, noticing the clump of black furry stuff clutched in the woman's death grip.

Cora glanced at her own hand, appearing almost dazed, then snapped her fingers apart, as if she hadn't realized she was holding anything until then. The black clumpy thing fell to the floor.

Emma studied it with distaste. "Was that a dead rat you were holding?"

Cora merely shook her head. "Nope."

Hearing something that sounded like dread in the woman's voice, Emma raised a questioning brow.

Cora pursed her lips and blew out a long, slow breath, eyes wide with disbelief. Then, pointing toward the inner office, she explained, "It's the head of hair offa the dead snake in the other room."