Murder Unmentionable (25 page)

“All the more reason to go and make sure she’s okay.”

“But if we show her the photograph now, she’s only going to get more upset…”

“It’s better to strike while she’s vulnerable, distasteful as that may seem. We’re more likely to get the truth out of her.”

“I suppose.”

“Emma and I can pick up a box of candy at The Taffy Pull.”

Emma was doubtful. She straightened the edges of a pile of papers on the desk. “Maybe it would be better if we take what we’ve found to the police? Let them handle it?”

Arabella peered at Emma over her half glasses. “Two words,” she said. “Chuck Reilly.”

Emma laughed. “You’re right. I guess we’re going to have to handle this ourselves.” She hopped off the desk. “Ready?”

DEIRDRE and Peyton Porter lived in a new development of houses just outside of town. Emma was surprised that with their money they hadn’t bought one of the grand old homes in need of fixing up. But perhaps that wouldn’t have been Deirdre’s idea of grand. Perhaps Deirdre was more interested in granite countertops, double sinks and spa tubs than owning a piece of history.

The development was named Arbor Woods, an inapt description since the developer had razed almost all of the trees that had once shaded the acreage. They drove slowly down the street, craning their necks to see the house numbers. Each home looked bigger than the next, and Emma wasn’t surprised to see that the Porters’ home was the biggest of them all.

“Would you look at that?” Arabella leaned out the car window and glanced up at the part-Georgian, part-Victorian
wonder that loomed over them. “It has everything but a moat.”

“I don’t know about that.” Emma pointed toward the front door. “Looks like that little bridge crosses over some kind of man-made creek.”

Arabella squinted. “You know, I think you’re right. This place really is something.”

The triple garage was made to look like a stable block, and they could see Deirdre’s red sports car pulled in front of the far door.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m feeling slightly nervous,” Emma said as the approached the double oak doors. She lifted the enormous brass knocker, and tapped it tentatively. They heard the clang echoing inside the house.

Emma half expected a maid to answer the door, but Deirdre opened it herself. Her face looked red, as if she’d just scrubbed it, and the hair around her face was damp. She looked startled when she saw them.

Emma handed her the box of chocolates. “I’m sorry, but something seemed to have upset you at Sweet Nothings. We feel really badly about it.”

“It’s not your fault.” Deirdre opened the door wider and motioned for them to enter.

The foyer was two stories tall with a nearly blinding crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling. The foyer itself was large enough to hold a small party and was dominated by a sweeping circular staircase that rose to a second floor balcony. Emma could see the dining room to the left, with a table that could hold twenty people, and a cavernous living room to the right.

They followed Deirdre down the hall and into a smaller room made cozy with red paint and book-lined walls. A comfortable sofa and two chairs were arranged in front of a large, flat screen television. A magazine lay open on the coffee table.

Arabella and Emma perched on the edge of the sofa while Deirdre curled up in one of the chairs, one leg tucked under her and her arms crossed defensively over her chest.

Emma felt heat rushing to her face. She had no idea how to begin. She hated the thought of upsetting Deirdre even more, but how else was she going to solve Guy’s and Nikki’s murders? She looked at Arabella out of the corner of her eye and noticed she looked equally uncomfortable. Her hands were folded in her lap, and she was kneading her fingers like bread dough.

“Women can be so catty.” Deirdre picked up the decorative cushion on the chair and hugged it to her chest. “They don’t care who they hurt with their gossiping tongues.” She hid her face in the cushion momentarily. “Especially if you’re pretty. Then they hate you for it and want to make you pay.”

Emma cleared her throat and managed to find her voice. “So none of it was true? About Peyton leaving?”

Deirdre raised her chin. “He’s on a business trip. He’ll be home in three days.”

Emma saw the shadow that crossed Deirdre’s face. Deirdre wasn’t being completely truthful. Perhaps Peyton really was on a business trip—but had he left in anger after a fight?

“So everything is okay between you and Peyton?”

“Of course. Why shouldn’t it be?” Deirdre plucked at some loose strings on the pillow.

“I thought perhaps he might have seen this.” Emma pulled the photograph Guy had taken from her purse. She glanced at it again.

“What’s that?” Deirdre’s back immediately stiffened.

Emma passed her the picture.

Deirdre held it by the edges as if it were radioactive. She didn’t say anything at first, and Emma couldn’t read the expression on her face. Finally, she turned the photo over, glanced at the back, which was blank, and tossed it back at Emma.

Deirdre gave a bark of laughter. “So Skip put his arm around me and some sneak photographer thought it was a Kodak moment.” She threw the pillow on the floor. “My horse had just thrown me, and I was upset. Skip was trying to comfort me. Any law against that?” She stared at Emma, her face white except for two bright red patches high on her cheekbones.

“I’m guessing your husband wouldn’t be very happy to see that,” Emma ventured, brandishing the photograph. She felt Arabella stiffen beside her.

“Well, he’s not going to see it, is he? Unless you’re planning on showing it to him.” Deirdre’s eyes bored into Emma’s.

She was already in up to her neck, Emma thought. She might as well go all the way. She took a deep breath, like a swimmer about to plunge into deep water, and said, “Something tells me Peyton might have already seen this photograph.”

Deirdre arched one carefully plucked brow. “Really?” She drew the word out in full Southern drawl. “Did you show it to him?”

Emma jumped. That wasn’t the response she had expected.

“Of course not!” Arabella protested. “We would never do that. I hope you realize that. We’re simply trying to get to the bottom of things.”

“Like whether I’m cheating on my husband?” Deirdre sprang from her seat and went to lean on the fireplace mantle.

“I could care less about that,” Emma said. “What I’m trying to find out is who killed Guy Richard and why.”

“And you think that picture has something to do with it?”

“I think Guy was trying to use it for blackmail, and it backfired.”

“You think I killed him?” Deirdre laughed, and this time she sounded genuinely amused.

“Not you, necessarily. But I do think he tried to blackmail you.”

Deirdre plunked down in the chair again and leaned back with her legs crossed. “And what on earth gave you that idea?”

“The fact that you seem to be in need of money.”

“What!” Deirdre swept an arm around the room. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Then why did you try to sell the diamond and sapphire bracelet your husband gave you for a wedding gift?”

Deirdre’s jaw literally dropped. “How…how did you know about that?” She stuttered. She jumped to her feet. “Have you been going around asking questions about me? How dare you!”

She picked up the photograph Emma had placed on the coffee table halfway between them. She looked at it for a long minute then tore it in half and threw down the pieces. She glared at Emma and Arabella. “Now I think it’s time our little visit was over.”

“Do you think she’ll still be willing to model in our fashion show?” Emma said as the door slammed in back of them so hard the pots of pink geraniums by the entrance jumped.

Arabella glanced over her shoulder. “I think that’s our answer.”

ARABELLA, Emma and Liz were curled up on the sofa in Arabella’s living room watching a DVD of Bette Davis in
All About Eve
. The movie made Emma wish she’d known New York City in the fifties. Everything looked so sophisticated. Although she was having trouble keeping her mind on the movie and off of Guy’s and Nikki’s murders. How were they going to find out if Guy had tried to blackmail Deirdre?

“Maybe Guy didn’t approach Deirdre first!” Emma exclaimed suddenly.

The others jumped.

“What do you mean?” Arabella pressed the P
AUSE
button on the remote.

“Maybe Guy showed the photograph to Skip, and he told Deirdre about it. Maybe he even suggested she sell her jewelry to pay the money Guy demanded.”

“Even if Guy didn’t go to Skip, Skip would certainly know about it. Probably the first thing Deirdre did was run to him. That’s what I would do,” Arabella said.

“You might be right.” Liz reached for another tortilla chip and dipped it into the bowl of Arabella’s homemade salsa. “Are you going to go talk to Skip now?”

Emma made a face. “I suppose I’ll have to. I can’t say I’m looking forward to it after that conversation with Deirdre.”

“I’ll go with you.” Liz offered.

Emma grinned. “I’m not going to turn you down. I need all the moral support I can get.”

EMMA realized she’d worn the wrong shoes as soon as she got out of the car at Skip Clark’s farm the next morning. Her feet sank into the mud, and muck oozed up and over her sandals and between her toes. It sucked at her feet and squelched as she walked. She noticed Liz glancing at her.

“You’ll get used to our country ways soon enough.” Liz laughed.

Emma checked out Liz’s shoes and noticed she’d chosen a pair of solid-soled clogs and had no trouble traversing the rutted road that led to the barn. If Emma was going to be visiting any more farms, she’d have to invest in a pair of those herself.

They reached the barn, eased open the door and peered
inside. The darkness was intense after the light of the day, and they both blinked furiously.

“I can’t see anything, can you?” Emma rubbed her eyes.

“Not a thing.” Liz leaned around the edge of the door. She turned toward Emma. “But I don’t think anyone’s in there. What would they be doing in the dark?”

“True.” Emma let the door close. She surveyed the acres of dirt and patchy grass that surrounded them. Her legs were already speckled with mud, and the thought of walking across all that mire made her feel sick. But if they were going to talk to Skip Clark, they’d have to find him.

They started across the field in front of the barn. Every step threatened to suck the shoes off Emma’s feet. She closed her eyes in misery and reminded herself of what she was after. If she didn’t find out who killed Guy, the police would try to hang it on her. And even if they were unsuccessful, she knew enough about small towns to know that a cloud would hang over her forever. She could picture herself walking around with a cartoon-like bubble over her head with the words
suspected of murder
written inside in bold, black letters. And at the rate she was going, it looked like she would be living in Paris forever. Brian’s face crossed her mind, and she felt a small smile tugging at her lips until she remembered Amy, whoever she was.

They hadn’t gone far when the sound of horse’s hooves pounding the earth was carried on the air toward them. A tuneless whistling reached them next and finally a speck of brown appeared on the horizon. The speck grew until they could see it was Skip Clark riding toward them.

He pulled up sharply alongside Emma and dismounted, throwing the reins over the horse’s neck. The horse stood obligingly near, snorting and pawing the ground with its hooves.

“You gals looking to take some riding lessons?” Skip pushed his hat farther back on his head and smiled broadly.
Emma noticed not only how green his eyes were but also how alert and intelligent. Skip Clark was no fool, no matter how much dust clung to his boots.

“Not exactly.” Emma hemmed, not sure where to begin.

He gave them both a long, appraising look. “So what can I do for you ladies then?” He crossed his arms over his chest, and Emma could see the muscles bulging under his T-shirt.

Emma looked at Liz, and Liz looked back at her. It reminded Emma of high school when she and Liz would get in some scrape or other, each praying the other would get them out of it. She decided not to beat around the bush. She pulled the photo Guy had taken from her pocket.

Skip looked at it and shrugged. “So?”

Emma closed her eyes as the heat rushed into her cheeks.
Keep cool
, she reminded herself. It was just like negotiating a better price for a new line of lingerie. She smiled at Skip. “I agree, it doesn’t mean much by itself.”

Liz looked at Emma with her mouth open in surprise.

“I’m sure there are plenty of innocent reasons why you might have put your arm around a married woman’s shoulders.”

Skip snorted. “You got that right. I’m the touchy-feely type despite my crusty exterior. So what of it?”

“I happen to know that Mrs. Porter,” Emma began, and gestured toward the photo, “sold a very valuable and very sentimental piece of jewelry in order to get cash. You know what that says to me?”

“No, what?” Skip smiled and his eyes crinkled as if he were enjoying this.

“To me, it sounds like blackmail,” Emma finished dramatically, like a lawyer summing up before the jury.

“Does it really?” Skip rocked back on his heels, the look of amusement still on his face.

“Why? What does it say to you?” Emma shot back defensively.

“To me…” Skip paused and slapped the horse on the rump affectionately. “It says she wanted to buy something and needed the money to do it.”

“Really?” Emma couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of her voice. She could picture Deirdre’s enormous house with all its beautiful furniture, and the expensive little sports car parked out front. As if she had to worry about money!

“Yes, really.” Skip’s eyes danced, and Emma got the impression he was enjoying this.

He was a damned good-looking man, and he obviously knew it. But right now Emma found him merely infuriating. “What was this mysterious something she wanted to buy?”

“You seem to be pretty keen on playing detective. I think I’ll let you figure that out for yourself,” Skip said, infuriating Emma even more.