Laced with Poison (13 page)

“You’re probably right. It’s just that…” Brian hesitated. “Never mind.” He smiled
at Emma.

Emma stayed quiet. Something was obviously on Brian’s mind, but she couldn’t force
him to talk about it.

“Who’s hungry?” Arabella pulled a baking dish from the oven, and the sweet and tangy
aroma of barbecued ribs filled the air.

“Oh my, that sure does smell good. I think my day has suddenly taken a turn for the
better.” Brian put his beer down. “Here, let me carry that for you.”

“Never you mind. I’m fine.” Arabella slid the pan onto the counter. “But if you would
go in that cupboard over there”—she indicated which one with her bent elbow—“and get
down the big platter on the top shelf, I’d be very grateful.”

Brian immediately hurried to perform his task. Emma got glasses from another cupboard
and began filling them with ice water while Arabella spooned the collard greens into
a serving dish.

Finally all the dishes were on the table, and Emma, Arabella and Brian were seated
around it, their plates full. Arabella’s ribs were superb, as Emma knew they would
be. They
were her favorite dish, and Arabella used to make them for Emma’s birthday every year.

By the time Arabella brought the chess pie to the table, Brian was looking much more
relaxed. He leaned back in his chair and drained the last of his beer. “I swear, Arabella,
I’m going to have to loosen my belt a notch after this feast.”

Arabella smiled at him. “And there’s still pie. It’s hard to imagine how sugar, eggs
and butter can come together and transform into something so delicious.”

“There’s chess pie, and then there’s your chess pie, Arabella. Yours is the best I’ve
ever had.”

Arabella’s face turned pink with pleasure as she handed around the dessert.

They ate in silence for a moment, and then Arabella addressed Brian, her voice soft
with fondness. “I think something is bothering you today, Brian. Do you want to tell
us about it?”

Brian looked down at his nearly empty plate. “It’s nothing, really. Nothing important.
I’ve moved on. It’s just…”

“Just what?” Arabella said softly.

Brian closed his eyes briefly. “It’s just that I heard that Amy—she’s my ex-fiancée—is
getting married next month.”

“I can see how that would be…disturbing,” Arabella said.

Emma was quiet. So that’s what was bothering Brian. She could understand how he must
feel—not only had Amy rejected him, she had now chosen someone else.

They took their coffee into the living room, and by the time Brian had finished his,
he looked considerably more cheerful. More than once his laugh rang out as Arabella
recounted one of her foreign escapades.

And when Emma walked Brian to the door later, the warm hug
he gave her definitely indicated that Amy and her news had been forgotten, at least
for the moment.

*   *   *

EMMA wasn’t at all hungry when she woke up on Wednesday morning, but she needed to
talk to Mabel at the Coffee Klatch to find out whether Deirdre was still taking riding
lessons, and if so, on which days.

Half an hour later, Emma arrived at Sweet Nothings with a cup of green tea and the
knowledge that Deirdre spent Wednesday afternoons at Skip Clark’s farm going riding.
She pulled her cell phone from her purse and called Liz and Bitsy. Sylvia would be
in the shop doing bra fittings that afternoon, and between her and Arabella, they
ought to be able to manage for an hour or two on their own.

Liz and Bitsy agreed to meet Emma at Sweet Nothings at two o’clock. Meanwhile, Emma
got to work cleaning the counters and changing the window display. Paris was still
a fairly conservative town, and she had to be careful what she put on display. She
chose a demure mint green peignoir set with a high collar edged in lace and short,
puffed sleeves.

By the time Arabella arrived an hour later, Emma had finished the window and was doing
some research on shape wear for their trunk show at Marjorie Porter’s. She would have
to order in some new things. Emma bit her lip. She hoped there was enough left in
their credit line at the bank. And she hoped Marjorie’s garden club would buy.

The rest of the day went quickly, and Emma was finishing a hasty ham and pickle sandwich
when Liz and Bitsy arrived. They bid Arabella and Sylvia good-bye and piled into Liz’s
station wagon for the drive to Deirdre Porter’s house.

The wrought-iron black gates that segregated the Kingsvale Estates from the rest of
the world were locked, but Emma remembered the code from the last time they were at
Deirdre’s. She recited the numbers to Liz, and Liz punched them in. Seconds later
the gates magically opened, allowing them entrée into the exclusive community.

The tree-lined streets were immaculate, the lawns and gardens perfectly manicured,
and all the windows gleamed in the afternoon sun. A hush hovered over the neighborhood,
with no sound of distant traffic audible.

Liz drove past Deirdre’s house, first checking the driveway to be sure it was empty.
No cars were sitting outside the enormous three-stall garage, so Liz turned around
at the end of the cul-de-sac and headed back. This time she drove past Deirdre’s house
in the opposite direction. They didn’t want to arouse any suspicion by pulling into
the driveway, so Liz parked at the curb, several houses away.

They tried to be as quiet as possible as they walked down the street, back toward
Deirdre’s impressive, Georgian-style home. Emma felt as if eyes were staring from
behind every pair of curtains, and she swore she saw a few of them twitch, but no
one came out to challenge them. They stopped and stood in front of the Porter house.

“Okay, what now?” Bitsy nibbled on her thumbnail nervously.

Emma looked all around, but no one was in the area. “I think we can get to the backyard
through that gate over there.” She pointed toward an ornamental wrought-iron fence.

“I don’t know why, but I have the strangest feeling someone is watching us,” Bitsy
said as they made their way through the gate and into the back gardens.

“It’s nerves,” Liz reassured her. She pulled a piece of
folded paper from her pocket. “This is what we’re looking for.” She held out a photograph
of the flower for them to see. “Foxglove comes in a number of colors—from various
shades of purple to pink, white or yellow. The flowers are bell shaped and grow on
tall, slender stalks.”

“It looks so pretty,” Bitsy commented.

“Yes, but it can be deadly,” Liz replied. “That’s why I wouldn’t grow any in our garden.
It’s not just because of the children. It’s poisonous to pets and livestock as well.”

Bitsy shivered. “I don’t know why anyone would plant it then.”

“It’s a very pretty biennial, and it grows quite tall so it’s often used in the back
row of a garden.”

Emma glanced around the large, beautifully landscaped yard. French doors from the
back of the house led to a circular terraced brick patio where expensive-looking lawn
furniture was hidden under canvas covers. The patio was ringed with flower boxes,
but the plants were all low to the ground, so Emma doubted they would find any foxglove
there.

They spread out around the garden. Emma tried to carry a mental image of the conical-shaped
flower in her head. She wasn’t much of a gardener and couldn’t easily identify anything
beyond roses, tulips, pansies and petunias. The yard was banked toward the sides,
and Emma noticed some taller plants growing behind some lower ground cover. As she
moved closer, she began to get excited. The flowers, at least from a distance, looked
an awful lot like the ones in Liz’s picture.

Emma stepped as delicately as possible into the flower bed and reached for one of
the taller stalks growing behind. She pulled it closer. The flowers were bell shaped
and a vivid purple.

“Liz!” she called excitedly. “I think I’ve found some.”

Bitsy and Liz both arrived at a trot.

“Where?” Liz was slightly breathless.

Emma grabbed the stalk again and pulled it toward them.

“Yes. That’s definitely foxglove.” Liz’s expression was serious. She turned toward
Emma and Bitsy. “It’s definitely possible someone came out here, picked a flower from
this plant and replaced one of the edible ones on Bitsy’s cupcake.” She put a hand
up to shield her eyes from the sun and looked toward the house. “It’s close enough
to the French doors that lead to the kitchen, too.”

Both Emma and Bitsy turned to follow her gaze.

“And everyone was busy in the dining room and living room and not likely to notice
someone stepping outside.”

“I imagine any footprints would be gone by now,” Bitsy said, looking at the ground
around her.

“We had that rain the other night. I’m sure that wiped out any evidence.” Emma sighed.

Liz edged her way into the garden, closer to the foxglove plant. “See this?” She pointed
at a truncated stalk. “Someone broke a piece off here. I definitely think this is
where that flower came from.”

Emma’s feeling of triumph was short-lived.

“Hello!” someone called across the lawn to them.

They all jumped.

“Hello? What are you doing in Miss Deirdre’s garden?” The woman brandished a cell
phone. “I’m going to call the police right this minute.”

Emma, Liz and Bitsy hurried toward the woman. She was wearing a pair of denim capri
pants and a red T-shirt with
Patriots Wrestling
on the front. She had her phone in one hand and a sponge in the other.

“Please.” Emma held up a hand. “We’re friends of Deirdre’s. We stopped by to see her
garden.”

The woman lowered the phone from her ear, but the suspicious look on her face only
intensified.

“How come Miss Deirdre didn’t tell me anything about you ladies coming around this
afternoon? I’ve been cleaning for Miss Deirdre for two years now, and there ain’t
ever been no surprises.”

Up close, Emma judged the woman to be in her early forties with tired lines around
her sharp blue eyes.

“I’m sorry.” Emma held a hand out. “We should have called first. I apologize. My friend
here,” she gestured toward Liz, “is a gardener and wanted to get some ideas for her
own garden. Deirdre suggested we come over to see what her landscapers have done.”
Emma crossed her fingers behind her back.

The woman looked far from convinced, but at least she no longer had the police on
speed dial.

“We’re really sorry to have bothered you,” Bitsy said in the most honeyed tones. “We’ll
be going now.”

Emma started to move toward the street with them but then had an idea.

“You’ve been cleaning for Mrs. Porter for a while?” She tried to achieve a friendly
look, but it was difficult in the face of the woman’s suspicious glare.

The woman nodded. “I come every week except if she needs me for something special,
then I come more often.”

“Special?”

“Like if she and Mr. Porter entertain, or it’s the holidays.”

“I imagine after that party last week…”

“Oh yes. The place was a mess. I gave the kitchen a good
scrub. Had to do the floors, too, even though I’d just done them. Someone tracked
mud from the garden clear across the floor.”

“Mud?”

The woman nodded. “Straight from the doors to the patio”—she gestured behind her toward
the back of the house—“and right to the kitchen table.”

“DO you think she’ll say anything to Deirdre?” Emma asked as Liz gunned the engine
and the car shot away from the curb.

“Probably. But will she know it was us? We didn’t give our names,” Bitsy said.

“I don’t think it would be that hard for Deirdre to figure it out.” Liz slowed as
the gates to the community fanned open.

“Do you think Deirdre will be mad?” Bitsy leaned forward with her elbows on the back
of Emma’s seat.

“I hope not. Aunt Arabella doesn’t want to lose her as a customer.”

“None of us does.” Bitsy stuck out her lower lip. “She must order several dozen cupcakes
a month from Sprinkles.”

“The goodwill of the Porters alone is worth money in
this town.” Liz turned onto Washington Street. “But at least our trip wasn’t in vain.
We found where that foxglove flower came from.”

“Yes,” Emma added, “and we also have confirmation that someone went out into the garden
during the trunk show.”

“I wish we knew who,” Bitsy mused.

“That makes two of us,” Emma said.

Liz drove around the corner and stopped in front of Sprinkles. They could see Hayley’s
two-toned black and fuchsia hair through the window. Bitsy got out and Emma turned
to Liz.

“Did you know that Brian’s ex is getting married next month?”

Liz glanced at Emma. “He told you?”

“Yes. He seemed a bit…upset.”

“Not upset exactly.” Liz reached over and patted Emma’s hand. “It means that chapter
really is over. I think ultimately it will give him a much-needed sense of closure.”
She smiled at Emma. “And then he’ll be ready to move on. You just need to bide your
time a little longer.”

Bide my time.
What a strange thought, Emma realized, since she’d been in love with Brian since
she was a young girl. If the kiss he’d given her at the wedding was any indication,
she wouldn’t have to wait much longer.