Laced with Poison (6 page)

A wedding! Brian was asking her to a
wedding
. Emma felt a rush of warmth flood her face. She tried to maintain some semblance
of cool, but it was an epic fail.

“Yes,” she gushed without even thinking.

“Thanks.” Brian looked relieved. “I’d hoped you’d say yes. As a matter of fact, I
already told them I was bringing someone.” He grinned. “I kept meaning to call, but
it’s always so late when I get home. Besides, I was half afraid you’d say no.” He
wiped a hand across his forehead. “You’re doing me a huge favor.”

*   *   *

EMMA pushed open the door to Sweet Nothings. Arabella was standing behind the counter
turning the pages of a magazine. Sylvia was sitting on one of the toile-covered love
seats, chin on chest and eyes closed. They both jumped to attention when they heard
Emma enter.

Sylvia gave a deep rumbling cough, and Arabella said, “How was your lunch?”

“Okay, I guess.” Emma slipped out of her jacket and went into the back room to hang
it up. When she emerged, both Arabella and Sylvia were looking concerned.

“Didn’t you have a good time?” Arabella fiddled with the ends of the black-and-white
scarf she was wearing.

“Oh, it was fine.”

“Okay, out with it,” Sylvia barked. “Tell Auntie Sylvia what happened.”

Emma slumped against the counter, her chin propped in
her hands. “Brian asked me to do him a favor and go to a friend’s wedding with him.”

“But that’s wonderful!” Arabella crowed.

“Don’t see anything wrong with that,” Sylvia concurred.

“There isn’t anything wrong with it. Not really,” Emma admitted. “It’s the way he
put it. I thought he was asking me on a date…to a wedding…but then he thanked me for
doing him a favor.” She appealed to Arabella and then Sylvia. “I really thought he
was beginning to see me as something more than just his kid sister’s best friend.”

“Well, he will soon,” Arabella said briskly. “This is your chance. A wedding is the
perfect romantic occasion to turn things around. There’ll be champagne, and dancing,
and candlelight…”

Sylvia nodded her head in approval. “It will give you the chance to wear a spectacular
dress. Something that will really make Brian sit up and take notice.”

Emma felt her spirits rise. “You’re right.” She gave a wicked grin. “Brian isn’t going
to know what hit him.”

“Go get ’em, girl,” Sylvia said before lapsing into a coughing fit that sent Arabella
running for a glass of water.

Emma was musing on what she might wear to the wedding when the door slowly opened
and a gentleman stuck his head into the shop. He had dark hair and eyes, and when
he smiled, Emma almost found herself forgetting all about her date with Brian.

“Can I help you?” She stepped out from behind the counter. Men were sometimes their
best customers, opening their wallets wide to please a wife or girlfriend.

“Detective Bradley Walker, ma’am. I was hoping you might be willing to answer a few
questions.”

“About what?” Emma’s hand flew to her throat, and she
turned to look at Arabella and Sylvia. “Where is Chuck Reilly? Doesn’t he usually—”

“Detective Reilly is on vacation, ma’am,” Walker answered smoothly.

“Oh,” Emma said. Not that she wanted to encounter Chuck Reilly ever, ever again! They’d
dated briefly in high school, but Emma had soon come to her senses and realized that
Chuck’s good looks were only skin-deep. He’d been especially obnoxious to her during
the investigation into her ex-boyfriend’s murder, and if she never set eyes on him
again, that would be fine!

“Detective Walker,” Arabella said smoothly, gliding forward with her hand outstretched.
“Please come in. We’d be more than happy to answer any questions you have if you would
be so kind as to tell us what this is all about.”

“I gather you attended a party on Saturday at the home of…” He consulted his notes
briefly. “Mrs. Deirdre Porter?” He looked up at Emma.

“That’s correct.”

“Actually, Detective, we all did.” Arabella made a gesture that encompassed Emma,
herself and Sylvia.

Walker looked up from his notebook and smiled. “Thank you, ma’am, that’s most helpful
to know.”

“But what is this all about, Detective?” Arabella drew herself up and gifted Walker
with her most imperious look.

“Well, ma’am, as I’m sure you are aware, a young woman took ill at the party and subsequently
died. We’re in the process of looking into the events leading up to her death.”

Arabella’s eyes widened. “Good heavens! You don’t mean the death is suspicious?”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but I’m not really at liberty to say. Could you tell me”—he glanced
at Arabella, Emma and
Sylvia in turn—“did you all partake of the food offered at Mrs. Porter’s party?”

“Why, yes,” Arabella said immediately.

Emma and Sylvia both nodded.

“And the cupcakes?”

“Of course. They were delicious.” Arabella looked offended that he even had the nerve
to ask.

“I see.” Walker made some notations in his notebook. “And I presume none of you suffered
any ill effects after the party?”

Emma, Arabella and Sylvia all shook their heads in unison.

“Did you know the victim, Jessica Scott, well?”

Emma answered first. “I didn’t know her at all. We met at the party.”

Arabella shook her head. “Same here.”

Sylvia gave a bark of a cough before answering. “I didn’t know her, but I know she
runs the old folks home my kids have stuck me in.”

Walker nodded and added to the notes he’d already taken.

“Did any of you ladies help prepare or serve the food?”

Once again all three shook their heads.

“I helped clean up,” Emma clarified.

Walker nodded. “Who did serve the food, do you know?”

“Most of it was already out on the table when we went into the dining room.”

Walker’s eyebrows rose a fraction of an inch. “Where were you before that?”

“We were in the living room.” This time Arabella answered. “The party was actually
a trunk show, and we were doing our presentation. Everyone except our hostess had
gathered together at that point.”

“So no one slipped out?”

Arabella shrugged and looked at Emma and Sylvia.

“All I can say is I didn’t see anyone leave,” Sylvia piped up.

“Me, neither,” Emma agreed, and Arabella nodded her head.

“How about the dessert—the cupcakes. Were they out on the table as well?”

Emma shook her head. “No. Marjorie Porter, Deirdre’s mother-in-law, passed those around.”

Walker’s eyebrows rose another fraction of an inch, and he quickly jotted another
note.

“I do wish you would tell us what this is about.” Arabella sniffed.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, I’m sure you’ll be told in good time.” He slapped his notebook
closed. “Thank you for your time.”

Heavy silence hung over Sweet Nothings as the door closed on Detective Walker’s departure.

“I can’t imagine what that was all about!” Arabella stalked toward the stockroom.
“I could use a big glass of sweet tea right about now. Anyone else?”

Emma and Sylvia murmured their assent, and Arabella disappeared into the back room.

Emma was unpacking a box of new lingerie she’d ordered from Monique Berthole in New
York when the door to Sweet Nothings was flung open so hard it nearly ricocheted off
the wall. Arabella had just come out of the stockroom with a pitcher of tea and a
tray of glasses. They all looked up, startled.

Bitsy stood in the doorway, drawn up to her full six feet. Her eyes were red and puffy,
as if she’d been crying, but the look on her face was one of pure anger.

“What’s wrong?” Emma dropped the panties she was folding and rushed over to Bitsy.

“Oooh, I am spittin’ mad right now!” She thumped her fist in the air like that scene
in
Gone with the Wind
where Scarlett O’Hara vowed never to be hungry again.

Arabella was her usual cool, calm self. She poured a big glass of sweet tea and advanced
on Bitsy. “You sit yourself down, missy, and take a sip of this. And then you tell
us exactly what is going on.”

Bitsy took a couple of gulps of the iced tea and slowly her breathing became more
regular. “Oh, that is good.” She put down the glass and sighed.

“Now, what is it that has you so upset?”

“Well,” Bitsy began, and Emma noticed two bright red spots appearing on her cheeks.
“This policeman came around to the shop. Said he was a detective.” She tossed her
blond mane contemptuously. “Started asking me all these questions.”

“I imagine he’s the same one who came around here. He asked us a passel of questions,
too,” Arabella said.

“At first it was about this and that, nothing much.” Bitsy took a long sip of her
tea. “But then he started talking about the food at Deirdre’s party. Who prepared
it, who served it, things like that. And then”—the red spots on her cheeks intensified—“he
told me that Jessica was poisoned!” She drew the word out slowly and furiously. “And
he thought my cupcakes were responsible!”

“But your cupcakes were only one of the many things eaten at the party,” Arabella
said.

Bitsy raised an eyebrow. “That obnoxious detective said Jessica had been poisoned
by foxglove.”

“Foxglove? What’s that?” Emma asked.

“It’s a common plant. All of it is poisonous—the leaves, the stalk and the flowers.
The flowers are very pretty. That
detective seems to think that I somehow mistook a foxglove flower for something harmless
and put it on one of those cupcakes!” Bitsy exhaled furiously.

Emma froze. All the flowers for Bitsy’s cupcakes came from Liz’s garden.

Had Liz made a terrible mistake? One that had cost Jessica Scott her life?

IT took several glasses of sweet tea to calm Bitsy down. Arabella had to make a fresh
pitcher. For once, Emma was grateful that the shop was empty. She glanced at Arabella
and was concerned to see that she looked rather shaken.

“Aunt Arabella, let me pour the tea and why don’t you go sit down?”

“Thank you, dear, I don’t mind if I do.” She eased herself onto the love seat next
to Sylvia, who was the only one who appeared to be taking things in her stride.

Emma took over pouring refills on the tea, glancing from time to time at Arabella
to make sure she was okay. All of this coming on the heels of the murder at Sweet
Nothings in June might be too much for her.

Arabella took a long sip of her tea, and Emma was pleased to note that a soft blush
of color appeared in her previously ashen cheeks. Arabella put her glass down
suddenly. “But you didn’t even know that woman. What was her name again?” she appealed
to Emma.

“Jessica. Jessica Scott.”

“You didn’t even know her before the trunk show, did you? Why would the police think
you had any reason to harm her?”

Bitsy looked down at her lap. She reached for her tea, and Emma noticed that her hand
shook slightly. “Right now they seem to think the whole thing was an accident, but…”

“But what?” Arabella sat up slightly straighter. “It’s best to tell us everything,
then we can decide on a course of action. I can always speak to Francis if need be.”

Bitsy heaved a sigh and stretched her long legs out in front of her. “Jessica and
I actually knew each other in college.”

“UT? University of Tennessee?”

Bitsy nodded. “We were both rushing the same sorority, Phi Mu. There was only one
spot open, and we both wanted it. Jessica’s mother had been a Phi Mu and her grandmother
before her.”

“She told us that,” Emma said.

Arabella nodded. “At least twice, I’m quite certain.”

“I certainly didn’t have any such illustrious heritage.” Bitsy rolled her eyes. “My
parents didn’t even go to college, and they weren’t particularly keen on my joining
a sorority for fear I wouldn’t fit in with all those
snobby girls
, as they always called them.” She sighed again. “I don’t know if you remember it
or not, but around that time there was a case involving a man named Gerald Palmer—same
last name as mine but absolutely no relation—who was wanted for embezzling a huge
amount of money from some charity.” Bitsy paused and had a sip of her tea. She closed
her eyes and let out a huge breath. “Well, Jessica started a rumor that that
man—Gerald Palmer—was my father. He wasn’t, but it didn’t matter. She was voted in,
and I wasn’t.”

“Oh!” Arabella half rose to her feet in indignation.

“What a dirty deed!” Sylvia exclaimed.

“It was, wasn’t it? She apparently thought it was perfectly fair in order for her
to get what she wanted.”

“But that’s terrible,” Sylvia said. “I mean it’s terrible that she did that to you,
but right now, the bad news is”—Sylvia shifted around in her seat—“it makes you prime
suspect number one as they say on those cop shows.”

“I know.” Bitsy hung her head.

“You know what I would like to know?” Arabella turned toward Bitsy. “Where do those
flowers come from anyway? The ones you put on your cupcakes.”

Bitsy shot a panicked glance at Emma and bit her lip before answering. “They come
from Liz Banning’s garden.”