She drank hungrily, then coughed hard. When the coughing subsided, she whispered, “I started the argument.”
“Why?”
She shrugged. “So difficult … Anniversary.”
“It’s your anniversary?”
She shook her head sharply. “A baby. We lost a baby.”
Now I was getting the picture. “You miscarried a year ago.”
“I get so angry. And I”—she covered her mouth with the back of her hand—“I—”
“Urso!” Delilah squealed. “Quick!”
A whoosh split the calm. The throng around the La Bella Ristorante cart screamed.
The Italian flag on the concession cart had caught on fire. Huge licks of flame rose from the skillet. Heat tumbled through the air. A spit of fire flew sideways and fell to the ground.
Urso bolted to the cart. “Back up! Everyone! Delilah, fetch a fire extinguisher.”
Extinguishers were located every fifty to one hundred feet throughout the faire. Ten years ago a fire on Founder’s Day had destroyed a quarter of the tents. No people were hurt, only merchandise, but Grandmere vowed it would never happen again. She had summoned extra city funds to pay for safety precautions.
I turned back to Emma, who looked dazed with fear. The reflection of fire danced in her hazel eyes. “C’mon, Emma, on your feet.”
She resisted and whispered, “Barton lied.”
“On your feet,” I repeated. “It’s not safe here.”
“He lied.”
“I heard you. And I know he lied. You weren’t home that night watching TV. Please get up.”
“Coming through, Charlotte.” Delilah raced past me with a pair of fire extinguishers and gave them to Urso and Luigi.
“That night …” Emma allowed me to hoist her to a stand. She was heavier than she looked. Sturdy bones, my grandmother would say. “ … the night Kaitlyn Clydesdale died, Barton and I were driving.”
Even though the crisis was contained, I struggled to move her away from the commotion to a quieter spot in between a cluster of tents. I said, “You were going to the hospital.”
She shook her head.
“Where were you going?”
“To a rehab clinic.”
I gaped at her. “Do you have an addiction?”
“It’s complicated.”
Earlier, when Barton and his sons had found her, he had removed a soda bottle from her hands. Had it been filled with liquor or laced with pills? Had she separated from them a second time and found another source to nurse her habit, thus reigniting Barton’s wrath?
I said, “You and Barton lied to Chief Urso because you didn’t want people to know you had an addiction.”
“Don’t talk to her, Emma!” Barton hustled toward us, the front of his overcoat flapping open. He reminded me of a hawk ready to descend upon its quarry. He snatched Emma from my grasp and looked down his nose at me. “You have no right to snoop around our lives.”
I faced him. “Why did you lie to Chief Urso?”
“What did you tell her?” he demanded of his wife.
I said, “You went back and forth to a rehab facility with regularity.”
“No,” Emma whispered.
She could deny it, but I knew what she had said.
“That’s a lie,” Barton yelled.
“You thought people in town would suspect Emma had an addiction.” I kept my gaze fixed on him. “You were worried about your reputation.”
“No, Charlotte,” Emma said, this time more firmly. “I don’t have an addiction.”
I shot her a look. “But you said you were at the rehab facility that night.”
“Only that night. Every other week we were going to the hospital for checkups.”
“Useless checkups,” Barton grumbled. His shoulders sagged.
“That night, it was the anniversary of”—Emma sucked back a sob—“of our last baby miscarrying. I couldn’t handle it. I took pills. A lot of pills. I needed my stomach pumped. We went to the rehab facility because we knew they’d keep it private.” She sighed. “Yes, Barton was worried that people would think the worst.” She eyed him. “You did.”
Barton pulled Emma closer and kissed the side of her forehead. “I’m sorry.”
She mouthed:
“With your mother.” Barton glowered at me. “If you say a word, Charlotte . . .”
“I’m not the nightly news, Barton, but unless you tell Chief Urso the truth, you could be a suspect in Kaitlyn Clydesdale’s death. Watching television with your wife is not a good alibi, no matter what you think. And you need a good alibi. Word is that you didn’t want to sell your property. You wanted out of the contract, but Kaitlyn wouldn’t let you renege.”
“How do you know that?”
“There are also rumors that you were having an affair with her.”
“What? No frigging way!” He released his wife and smacked his gloved hands together. “I’ll bet she started that rumor herself, dang it. Kaitlyn was a horrible woman. She preyed on us. At times I thought of killing her. I imagined ways I would do it.”
“An actor’s mind is a creative sinkhole,” Emma said. “Luckily, he’s a farmer by day.”
“Kaitlyn knew every facet of our lives,” Barton went on.
“Did she blackmail you to coerce you to proceed with the deal?”
“No, she didn’t have to. She knew what we owed. With three boys and medical insurance and the cost of keeping the farm, she knew we were strapped. But I wouldn’t have put it past her to blackmail some of the more stubborn folk who didn’t want to sell. Our property was the lynchpin.”
“For what?”
“I’m not sure. I heard her telling Chip Cooper that she was after Urso’s parents’ property, too.”
I gaped. Could that have been the
Emma said, “And now her CFO is after the properties.”
“Georgia Plachette?”
“She’s evil.”
“Shhh, honey.” Barton wrapped his arm around his wife’s shoulders again. “We don’t want to malign an innocent.”
“She’s not innocent,” Emma hissed. “She’s a shark. She looks so vulnerable with that curly hair and that pixie smile, but she’s wicked.” She shot an earnest look at me. “She’s been stalking us, Charlotte. Trying to get dirt on us. She said things to my children. To my children! And to my doctor. And my hairdresser. She said we weren’t honorable because we wanted out of our contract. You should question her, Charlotte. I wouldn’t put it past her to have hired someone to off her mother.”
The words hit me like a flat-ironed pan. Had Tyanne been right about that angle?
“If you’re going to question her, do it quickly,” Emma added. “I think she’s getting ready to leave town. I saw
