Throw a Monkey Wrench (an Emma Cassidy Mystery Book 1) by Karen Chester Page A

injustice and the loneliness of
not being believed.
    “Can I ask you a question?” she said. “Why
is Freddie Earle your lawyer and not someone decent?”
    “Freddie’s got me out of some tight spots
in the past.” Sean tugged at his collar. “I know he’s not the best lawyer for a
murder charge, but I kind of owe him and besides, he’s all I can afford at the
moment.”
    “Oh? I thought your business was doing well
these days.”
    “It is doing well but it’s not cheap
setting up an outfit like that. There’re a lot of expenses.” He shifted
uneasily in his seat. “You won’t mention this to Madison, will you? She has
enough to worry about. I don’t want to give her extra trouble.”
    Hmm, what was Sean hiding? Was he deep in
debt? On the brink of bankruptcy? She recalled him and Madison disagreeing over
the expensive lobster appetizers, and it didn’t reassure her.
    “Of course I won’t,” she said. “By the way,
this is my dad’s car I’m driving. I dropped my car off at your repair shop to
have it checked out.”
    “You did? Thanks. I’ll make sure you get
top priority.”
    “Larry’s looking after it for me.”
    “Larry, yeah. At least I can count on him.”
Sean looked distracted as if he was worried about his business.
    Emma shot him a brief glance as they headed
into Greenville. “I know all about your argument with Tony. Larry, Chelsea, and
several other witnesses heard it, including your threats. That part must be
true.”
    “Okay, yeah, it’s true. And I did drive out
to Tony’s place because I wanted my money, and we did argue about it.” He
swallowed hard, kneading his knuckles. “But when I left, he was still alive.”
    “But what about the wrench? It is yours,
isn’t it?”
    His brow clouded. “Yes, it’s mine, I don’t
deny that. But I didn’t take it with me, and I’m not the only one with access
to my toolbox. Anyone could have taken it.”
    “Like one of your employees or your
customers or anyone who walked into that workshop.”
    Sean sighed. “Yeah.”
    And the only fingerprints on the murder
weapon were Sean’s. Which meant the killer must have worn gloves. And he or she
must have planned for the blame to fall on Sean.
    “Do you know what time Tony was killed?”
    “Well, Chief Putnam wanted to know what I
was doing between six and eight pm on Tuesday, so I guess that’s when he died.”
    “And what did you do after you left Tony?”
    “I went straight home and stewed all
night.”
    “Really? Did anyone visit you?”
    “No.” Sean frowned, crossing his arms over
his chest.
    “Did you order any takeout?”
    “No, like I said, no one visited me.” The
scowl on his face deepened.
    Emma sighed. “It’s not much of an alibi.”
    He whipped around in his seat and glared at
her, his fists clenched. “You think I don’t know that? That I’m up shit creek
without a paddle?” he hollered. Then, realizing the unpleasant impression he
was making, he pressed his head back and visibly forced his hands to unclench.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. It’s just been a really long twenty-four
hours.”
    She pulled the car onto the shoulder of the
road and jerked on the brakes before turning to Sean.
    “Now look,” she said sternly. “Madison
thinks you’re innocent. She believes in you.  She’s trying her best to help
you, and somehow or other, I’ve been roped in too. We both want to see you walk
free. But before I go another inch, I want you to look me in the eye and tell
me you didn’t kill Tony Barnet.”
    Sean gawked at her like a stunned goldfish.
“I didn’t kill Tony Barnet,” he finally got out, his voice hoarse but his eyes
steady on hers. “I swear on everything I hold dear that I didn’t kill him.”
    Emma studied him with fierce concentration,
wanting badly to believe him.
    “Come on, Emma,” he added. “I may have
broken the law a couple of times, but have I ever lied to you?”
    No, he hadn’t. In her experience,