Murder Unmentionable (15 page)

EMMA was perched on the edge of the sofa when the police arrived. Brian offered to bring her some water, but Emma thought that the less they touched in the suite, the better. They heard the soft ping of the elevator and braced themselves.

Chuck Reilly was the first one into the room. Emma groaned when she saw him. He stopped short when he saw her.

“Not you again,” he said. “You attract trouble like honey attracts flies.”

Emma didn’t bother to dignify that with a comment. She clenched her hands in her lap and gritted her teeth to keep them from chattering. She didn’t want Chuck Reilly to know how scared she was.

She caught sight of Brian out of the corner of her eye and saw him stiffen. Chuck ignored him and barged into the bathroom. He came back out seconds later.

“Now that’s a crying shame,” Chuck declared, jerking his head toward the bathroom.

The line from a poem Emma remembered reading in high school ran through her head; “any man’s death diminishes me.” Its meaning was becoming increasingly clear.

“You know what I’d like to know?” Chuck stood over Emma and stared down at her.

She had the urge to jump to her feet, but she fought it. “What?”

“I’d like to know why you keep showing up at the scene of the crime? You’re like some kind of modern day Typhoid Mary.”

Emma saw Brian’s jaw clench, followed quickly by his fists.

“Now, wait a—”

Emma gave a loud, fake laugh in an attempt to diffuse the tension. “Very funny, Chuck.”

Chuck pulled his notebook from his back pocket and put on a serious expression. “You two,” he looked from Emma to Brian and then back again, “want to tell me what you’re doing here?” He gestured toward the door. “How’d you get in, for starters?”

“We came to see Nikki.” Emma’s words tumbled out and over each other in her haste to explain herself. “Brian went to knock, and we discovered the door was already open.”

Chuck glanced at Brian.

“It’s the truth.”

“Yeah? How about this? How about Nikki was alive when you got here, and she let you into the room?”

“No!” This time Emma did jump up from her seat.

Chuck held up a hand to silence her. “And then you,” he pointed at Emma, “got all riled up again and clonked her on the head with that crystal bowl. Just like you clobbered your ex-boyfriend with that walking stick. Same modus
operandi both times.” He grinned. “That’s cop speak for same murder method, in case you didn’t know.”

Emma felt like steam was rising from her head, and she was surprised that clouds of it weren’t coming out her ears. How dare Chuck treat her like this.

“I’ll have you know, Chuck Reilly—” She was interrupted by a knock on the door.

Chuck gave a sly smile. “The rest of the team must be here to help process the scene. Let’s see what they have to say.”

He made it sound like a threat.

EMMA could hear her teeth chattering in the silence of the car as Brian drove them back to town. She couldn’t believe what had just happened. It was bad enough that Guy was dead…but now Nikki, too? Not that she was at all close to Nikki, but murder? It was incomprehensible as far as she was concerned.

“I hate the thought of your being alone in that apartment tonight,” Brian said as he pulled up in back of Sweet Nothings. “I could sleep on the couch.”

Emma felt her heart turn over, and a lump formed in her throat. She looked at Brian in the shadows of the car. She’d known him almost all her life. And, she realized, she’d had a crush on him for almost as long.

“Thanks.” She dared to put her hand over his. “I’ll be fine.”

Brian didn’t look convinced. “You know if anything happened to you—”

“I know,” Emma interrupted. “Liz would never forgive you.”

She laughed and Brian joined in.

“You’re right. Liz would kill me!” Brian’s expression
softened. “As I said.” He squeezed Emma’s hand. “I’d never forgive myself.”

“I’ll be fine,” Emma said with more enthusiasm than she felt. “Besides, can you imagine what the town gossips would say if they saw your car parked outside my apartment all night?”

Brian frowned. “I hadn’t thought of that.” He was quiet for a moment. “But you do have my phone number. Just in case.”

“I have it on speed dial,” Emma admitted.

EMMA glanced at her alarm clock. One o’clock in the morning. She’d been tossing and turning for two hours. She sighed, flipped on the light and slipped out of bed. Perhaps a few relaxing yoga poses would help.

She knelt on the floor, leaned back on her heels and folded forward into child’s pose. She tried to focus on her breathing, but her thoughts continued to intrude. Her mind was playing a kaleidoscope of murder scenes—first Guy’s, then Nikki’s. Perhaps a more active restorative pose would be the answer. She stretched into downward facing dog, feeling the pleasant pull in her calves and hamstrings.

She had to concentrate a little harder to hold the pose, and slowly the intruding thoughts swirled toward the back of her mind. She finished with legs up the wall pose, finally falling into an uneasy sleep, dreaming about someone named Amy. When she woke up two hours later, she was surprised to find herself on the floor. She crawled back into bed, pulled up the covers and quickly dozed off again.

The next morning Emma felt as if she had a hangover, although she’d had only a little champagne the night before. She tossed a handful of strawberries, an almost too-ripe banana and the last bit of a container of Greek yogurt into
the blender. She didn’t really feel like eating, but she thought she could stomach a smoothie.

She wanted to get down to Sweet Nothings early. The renovations were almost finished, and a team was coming to put down the new carpet. As soon as that was done, she could begin arranging the stock. The shipment from New York had already come in and needed to be unpacked.

And they still had to organize the grand opening. She’d tentatively decided on a date and had already arranged for some newspaper ads in the local paper. She needed to find some girls willing to model the fashions. It wouldn’t be a traditional fashion show with a runway—Sweet Nothings was way too small to accommodate something like that. But she envisioned girls dressed in the vintage pieces circulating among the crowd, showing off the best of Arabella’s collection.

They would serve some sparkling wine and juice and fancy little hors d’oeuvres and canapés. Emma had a meeting with the caterer later that day.

EMMA enjoyed being all alone in the Sweet Nothings shop. She looked around at Brian’s new, glass-fronted white cabinets, the yummy pastel pink paint, the black-and-white toile accents, and felt a glow of satisfaction. It was all coming together just as she had envisioned it.

Except for the murders of Guy and Nikki, of course. She couldn’t have envisioned them in a million years.

Emma realized with a start that once the renovation was over, Brian would no longer be around all day. He’d already lined up his next job—a huge project redoing one of the oldest homes in Paris. The owners had been very impressed with his portfolio and the work he had done in Nashville and planned to spare no expense in returning their home to its former glory. Brian was obviously excited about the
project. Emma sighed. Things just wouldn’t be the same without seeing him every day.

She headed toward the back room where Brian had stacked the boxes from the shipment of lingerie from Monique Berthole. Emma dragged one of the cartons out to the front of the shop and ripped off the packing tape. There was an inner box containing tissue-wrapped bits of silk and lace. Emma’s breath caught in her throat when she saw the beautiful array of colors and felt the softness of the fabric. She was organizing the camisoles and panties by size when someone knocked on the front door of Sweet Nothings.

Emma started toward the door and then hesitated. She realized she was all alone in the shop. What if it was the killer? She crept to the door quietly, inched one of the blind slats to the side and peered out. Then she threw open the door.

“Kate!” Emma felt terrible. Somehow she had managed to forget all about Kate! Bless Sylvia for taking care of her.

“Oh my God, Emma.” Kate’s words ran all together coming out, “OhmyGodEmma.” “I just heard about Nikki. It was on the news.” Her eyes looked enormous behind her tortoise-framed glasses. “Oh, Emma, this is terrible.”

Emma embraced her friend. “I know. I never really liked Nikki, but murder?” Emma shuddered.

Kate drew back but kept her hands on Emma’s shoulders. “I know what you mean. The only time I ever came close to liking Nikki was when I found out she’d taken in the feral kittens Guy had found lurking around the garbage cans outside his studio. Still, we have to find out who did these horrible things.”

“I know.” Emma nodded. She felt tears pressing against the back of her eyelids. She’d been trying so hard to be brave, but now, with Kate here, she felt her resolve slipping. “I just wish I knew what to do.” Emma grabbed a tissue from the box on the counter and blew her nose. “I’d like to know what Angel is up to on those nights when she disappears.”

“Do you think it has something to do with the murders?” Kate pushed her glasses up her nose with her index finger.

“I’m not sure. I’m thinking it’s more likely Tom Mulligan took advantage of her absence to…to…murder Guy.” Emma’s voice trailed off and her last words were nearly swallowed up.

“Can we follow her?” Kate’s face brightened.

“I’ve kind of been thinking about that,” Emma admitted.

“But what do we do? Sit around and wait to see if she goes out?”

Emma shook her head. “Brian should be able to find out what night Tom’s poker game is. I’ll give him a call.”

Emma pulled her cell phone from her pocket and pressed the button for Brian. Kate gave her a slightly quizzical look, and Emma was a little embarrassed to be caught with Brian’s number on speed dial. She was about to offer up some plausible explanation when Brian answered.

Emma explained about Tom and Angel and the poker game and was surprised that Brian sounded a little…disappointed? Had he thought she was calling just to call? The possibility gave her a warm glow as she snapped her phone shut.

She started to relay the conversation to Kate when they were interrupted by rabid and intense scratching at the front door.

“That would be Pierre,” Emma said, and smiled ruefully. “He’s taken half the paint off the door already with his pawing at it.”

“It’s the perfect opportunity to repaint.”

Emma paused. She hadn’t thought of that. “Great idea. The door’s been white forever, but we could have a slightly deeper shade of pink than we have in here.” She gestured toward the walls that Brian had recently painted.

The door opened and Pierre rushed in. He gave Emma a
quick greeting then hurried over to Kate, sniffing and snorting and dancing rings around her, his ears twitching furiously.

“Oh, my goodness, I just heard the news!” Arabella declared as she burst through the door. “Darling, Emma, are you all right?”

“Just fine.” Emma reassured her. “It was…horrible…but I’m fine.”

“Who on earth would have done a thing like that?” Arabella shook her head. “Things like this just never used to happen in Paris.” She took off her rain hat and shook it out. “I’ll make us a nice cup of coffee. I’m sure that will make us all feel better.”

Emma wasn’t so sure that the recuperative powers of caffeine were up to such a tall order, but she knew that keeping busy would be more beneficial for Arabella than sitting around twiddling her thumbs idly.

Arabella had just finished pouring the last cup when there was a knock on the door.

What now
?
Emma wondered. She peered through the glass. Les was standing outside the shop, his head ducked against the rain. Emma quickly opened the door.

“Is Arabella all right? I just heard about the murder out at the Beau. What is Paris coming to?”

“I’m fine.” Arabella put down her cup and started to get up. “Would you like some coffee, Les?”

He shook his head. “No, thanks. I’ve got a bit of heartburn. Had to take my antacid this morning.” He placed a hand on his chest.

“Emma and Brian are the ones who found the body of that model at the Beau.”

Les gasped. “Oh my dear,” he said to Emma, “there are some things a lady should not have to see.” He put a hand on Emma’s arm. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Emma nodded. “A little shaky, but I’ll be fine.”

Les patted her hand reassuringly. “If you need someone to talk to, just remember, I’m right across the street. I’ve seen my share of the world’s sins.” He shuddered. “I can’t imagine who would do something like that.”

“The two murders have to be connected,” Arabella said firmly. “This isn’t some random crime spree.”

“I still worry about you gals being alone here in the shop.” Les frowned. “Be sure to keep the door locked.”

“Oh, we do, don’t worry.” Arabella gave Les’s arm a squeeze. “You’re a dear to be so concerned about us.”

“A Southern gentleman would do no less. Besides, you’re two of my favorite ladies.” Les’s eyes twinkled. “And now I’d best be getting back to the shop. I just wanted to check on you two.”

EMMA was standing on a stepladder, dusting the insides of the cabinets—having barely shut the door behind Les—when she noticed the front door of Sweet Nothings ease open. She sighed. She must have forgotten to lock it, and it seemed that people were oblivious to the large
Closed
sign hung out front.

A woman entered quietly—she was older, with permed, white, close-cropped hair. Her navy slacks looked like the type with an elastic waist, and her white blouse had a sailor collar in back.

She cleared her throat and looked up at Emma. “Is Arabella around?”

Emma sighed and made her way back down the stepladder. She was almost finished with the cabinets, another few minutes… But there was nothing she could do about it now.

“I think Arabella is in the back. Let me go get her.” Emma ran a hand through her hair and brushed ineffectually at the front of her top where sawdust clung tenaciously.

But before Emma could turn around, Arabella came out from the stockroom.