Laced with Poison (9 page)

Fortunately, Emma’s closet was well stocked from her days as a fashion stylist in
New York City. She stuck her head into its depths and began sliding garments along
the rack. After five minutes, she had four
possibles
strewn on the bed.

She tried on each of the dresses in turn and settled on a pale pink sheath with a
pearl embellished neckline. She’d
bought it to go to another wedding held at the Hamptons country house of a big fashion
executive at Donna Karan. It hadn’t been the most memorable evening. One of the groomsmen
got drunk and followed her around all night until she finally hailed a taxi to take
her to the train station before the wedding cake had even been served. She hoped this
wedding would prove to be more fun.

Emma was too nervous to eat much for breakfast or lunch. Instead, she had a long soak
in the tub and took her time getting dressed. She slipped the pink sheath over her
head and examined herself in the mirror. The outfit needed…something.

She dove into her closet and poked around on the shelf, finally unearthing the item
she was after—a broad-brimmed straw hat with a pink ribbon. She slipped it on. Perfect!

Emma was ready when Brian knocked on her door. He appeared even taller and broader
shouldered standing in her tiny apartment. She was momentarily tongue-tied again,
like the adolescent she was when she first developed a crush on her best friend’s
older brother. But then he smiled, and she found herself relaxing.

“I have to apologize.” Brian tugged at the blue and white striped tie he was wearing.
“I’d hoped to borrow Liz’s station wagon for the day, but it’s in the shop for a tune-up.
I’m afraid we’re stuck with my pickup truck, but”—he held up a hand—“I’ve cleaned
it inside and out so you don’t have to worry.”

“That’s fine.” Emma answered his smile with one of her own.

*   *   *

GRACE Episcopal Church was built in 1896, making it the oldest church building in
Paris. It was notable for its
stained glass windows by Tiffany and its welcoming bright red door.

Brian parked the truck, helped Emma down from the passenger seat, and, with a hand
on her elbow, led her around to the front of the church. A handful of people had gathered
on the steps waiting to enter. Emma counted three hats among the four female heads,
in shades of pastel such as pale pink and creamsicle orange.

“Hey, Brian!” A young man in khakis and a navy blue blazer stepped away from the crowd.
He waved a hand in their direction.

“That’s Tyson,” Brian said, steering Emma in the young man’s direction. “We were in
the same fraternity at UT.”

Emma suddenly realized how little she really knew about Brian.

Brian and Tyson clasped hands and shook heartily. Both had wide grins.

“I didn’t know you were going to be here,” Tyson said, glancing at Emma with an inquiring
look on his face.

“I’m sorry.” Brian grinned sheepishly. “Emma, this is Tyson. Tyson, this is Emma Taylor.
She’s Liz’s best friend,” he added awkwardly.

Was that all she was to Brian? Liz’s best friend? The look Tyson gave Emma let her
know that he certainly found her attractive. She stood a little straighter. She would
just have to get Brian to see her in the same light.

A few moments later, they filed into the stark white church and found a seat. The
organ wheezed to life and the music swelled to fill the nave. The bride entered, a
vision in white organdy, on the arm of an older gentleman in a dark suit. Emma watched
the ceremony through a veil of tears that blurred the plum-colored bridesmaid dresses
to a misty swirl.
She glanced up at Brian. His gaze was on the couple at the altar, but there was a
preoccupied look on his face.

Finally, the newly married bride and groom sprinted back down the aisle, hand in hand,
to the strains of Beethoven’s “Ode to Joy.” The congregation rose to its feet and
slowly made its way out the doors, down the front stairs and through the reception
line that had formed around the couple.

Emma’s head swirled from all the new names and faces. Brian looked at her and grinned.

“I could sure do with a big glass of Tennessee Tea right about now.”

“That makes two of us.”

The air was pleasantly cool, but the setting sun was aiming its rays at the small
group gathered on the lawn, and Emma let her wrap slip from her shoulders as she and
Brian made their way back through the milling crowd toward Brian’s truck.

In less than fifteen minutes, they were pulling into the parking lot of the Beauchamp
Hotel and Spa, or “the Beau” as it had become known locally. It was a low-lying modern
building with large windows all around. Beside the entrance, varicolored striped ornamental
grasses swayed in the breeze.

The lobby was as soothing as Emma had remembered from her last visit to the Beau—painted
a restful pale green with light wood floors, Oriental rugs and a reception desk that
was part waterfall. She and Brian followed signs down a lushly carpeted corridor to
the Grand Ballroom.

The room had expansive windows that looked out over beautifully manicured lawns and
gardens and an enormous crystal chandelier that was suspended from the cathedral ceiling.
It would have been impressive under any circumstances,
but today it had been turned into a fantasyland of trees outlined in twinkling lights,
flickering candles and luscious bouquets of flowers.

Soon the newly married couple had been introduced, the first course served and plenty
of bubbly champagne poured. The band started to play a song that had been popular
when Emma and Brian were in high school. Brian looked at her and raised one eyebrow.
“Want to dance?”

“Sure.” Emma hadn’t been dancing in ages, and she felt her spirits lift to the beat
of the music.

Brian was a smooth dancer but without being a show-off. Emma was sorry when the song
ended and segued into a slow number that had been playing on the radio recently. She
was surprised when Brian held his hand out.

“Want to give this one a try?”

Emma gladly accepted and slid into his arms. Up close, she could smell a hint of his
aftershave and the scent of his freshly starched shirt. It was intoxicating. Brian
tightened his arm and pulled her closer, and a sigh escaped Emma’s lips. It felt so
right. She let her head drop against his shoulder as they swayed in time to the music.
The song ended, and Brian didn’t let go. The next song was also a slow one, and Emma
relished the extra few minutes wrapped in Brian’s arms.

But eventually the song ended, and they drew apart. As they made their way back to
their table, the band leader announced that the bride would be throwing her bouquet.
Emma froze. Should she go up with all the other single women? What would Brian think?
On the other hand, it might seem churlish of her to stay in her seat.

She was hesitating when a crowd of women surged past her. It was easier to join the
throng heading toward the front of the ballroom. Emma made sure to position herself
in
the back. She didn’t want there to be any chance she would catch the bouquet. The
mere thought made her face go hot.

With an appropriate amount of fanfare, and a burst of festive music from the band,
the bride launched her flowers high into the air. Emma watched, panicked, as the bouquet
scaled the heads of the crowd and headed straight toward her. Her first instinct was
to duck, but she wasn’t fast enough. She put up a hand to ward off the floral missile
but ended up catching it instead.

“Well done,” Brian said when Emma returned to their table. He pointed toward the flowers.
“Doesn’t that mean you’ll be the next one to get married?”

Emma felt her face burn. She quickly put the bouquet under the table by her feet.
“Just a silly old superstition.” She laughed to show Brian just how silly she thought
it was. The heat in her face lingered, and she fanned herself with her hand. “Is it
hot in here?”

“I’ll say.” Brian looked around. “People have been going out on the terrace. Want
to see if it’s any cooler out there?”

“Sure.”

They wove their way among the round, linen-covered tables toward the French doors
leading outside. Brian twisted the gold lever on the nearest one and pulled it open.
A welcoming rush of cool air enveloped Emma.

“Oh, that feels good.”

They stepped outside. The terrace was lit by tiny white lights wound in the surrounding
bushes and a few strategically placed spots, leaving pockets of shadowy darkness.
Brian led her toward one of the less well lit patches. He loosened his tie.

“This is much better. I could hardly breathe in there.”

They stood in their darkened corner listening to the
haunting hoot of an owl in the distance. The breeze had an edge of coolness to it,
and Emma shivered suddenly.

“You’re cold,” Brian said. His voice had a note of concern to it.

Emma wrapped her arms around herself. “A bit. It feels good.”

“Here. Take my jacket.” Brian slipped out of his blazer and placed it around Emma’s
shoulders.

She could feel the warmth of his body contained within the fabric and could smell
the combination of his tangy aftershave and the sharper smell of soap. She closed
her eyes and inhaled deeply.

When she opened her eyes, Brian was watching her intently. “I want to thank you for
coming with me tonight. I hope you’re having a good time.” His voice dropped to a
husky level, and he said softly, “I am.” He tilted his head slowly and moved it toward
Emma’s. She closed her eyes again.

And then she felt his lips on hers.

EMMA could still remember the first time she flew on an airplane. Her parents were
taking her to Florida for winter break. She remembered looking out at the fluffy,
white clouds and wondering what it would be like to float on one of them.

Now she knew.

Brian’s kiss had transported her into another world where everything was light, bright
and weightless. The feeling stayed with her all day Sunday.

“You look different. Something’s happened,” Arabella declared as soon as she walked
into Sweet Nothings on Monday morning and saw Emma’s expression.

“Nothing’s happened. Why?” Emma could feel the smile spreading across her face.

Arabella laughed as she unclipped Pierre’s leash. “It’s written all over your face.
Something happened. Something good.”

Emma momentarily buried her face in her hands. It seemed so ridiculous all of a sudden—to
be excited because a boy had kissed you. That was high school stuff.

“I gather you had a good time at the wedding on Saturday,” Arabella said, her tone
drier than the Sahara.

“Oh yes. It was lovely.” Emma turned around and busied herself with sorting out one
of the drawers.

Arabella sighed. “My weekend wasn’t as good as yours obviously was.”

“Oh no.” Emma spun around.

Arabella shrugged. “I had dinner with Les on Sunday night.”

Emma saw Arabella roll her eyes, an uncharacteristic gesture for her aunt.

“It was rather tedious. We had an early dinner at Ruggero’s Italian Bistro—you know
that place out at the Paris Winery?” Arabella fiddled with the strand of amber beads
around her neck. “Dinner was lovely, but Les made it clear he’s hoping for some sort
of…commitment…from me.” Arabella laughed. “I’ve managed to avoid that sort of responsibility
all my life. As soon as a man got too serious,” she snapped her fingers, “I said good-bye
and good luck.” She smiled fondly at Emma. “Had I known it might have been possible
to have a dear daughter like you to share my life with, perhaps I wouldn’t have run
away from marriage quite so fast.” She sighed. “But at this time in my life…” She
shrugged. “There’s no point.”

A thud against the front door startled them both.

“Sorry. It’s just me.” Sylvia pushed the door open and wrangled her oxygen tank over
the threshold.

Arabella put down a lacy camisole she was folding. “How’s life at Sunny Days?”

Sylvia made a rude noise. “Some things are okay, but I swear I’m going
to deck that Decker woman if she keeps telling people I’m the one stealing things.”

“That doesn’t sound too good,” Arabella said.

“Eh.” Sylvia shrugged a shoulder. “Could be worse. My new friend Earl’s got a real
head for cards, so we’ve been partnering up. So far we’ve won a free lunch in the
dining room, a rubber jar opener and a bright yellow umbrella with
Sunny Days
written on it.”

“I still don’t like the fact that that woman is going around bad-mouthing you.” Arabella
frowned.

“I signed up to volunteer,” Emma said. “I’ll go over after work and see if they have
anything for me to do. Maybe I can help Sylvia get to the bottom of things.”

“Believe me,” Sylvia said, “I’d be eternally grateful. The place is growing on me,
and I’d hate to be thrown out on account of that loony tune Decker woman.”

*   *   *

THE parking lot at Sunny Days was almost empty when Emma pulled in after work. She’d
grabbed a quick bite to eat at the Coffee Klatch and had then headed away from downtown
Paris toward the retirement community.