Murder Unmentionable Page 11

  Brian beeped the car doors open and reached for the passenger-side handle. He looked down at Emma and their eyes locked. Suddenly she didn’t feel like laughing anymore. Her heart hit warp speed as she stared into Brian’s blue eyes. For one endless moment she thought he was going to kiss her, but instead, he let out a deep exhale and opened the car door with a flourish.

  “Madame, your coach awaits.”

  Emma plastered a smile on her face as she slid into the darkened car. She didn’t want to admit, even to herself, that she was deeply disappointed. She wasn’t sure, but had she closed her eyes in anticipation of Brian’s kiss? She closed her eyes now—in embarrassment. What an idiot she was! Brian just didn’t see her as girlfriend material. Besides, who was Amy? Was she the one who was really on Brian’s mind?

  Brian slid into the driver’s seat, and Emma could feel her face burning in the darkness. To cover her discomfort, she dug around in her purse and pulled out her phone. She’d turned it to vibrate during dinner and needed to check her messages.

  There were two—one from her mother in Florida, and one from an unknown number. Emma pressed some buttons and held the phone to her ear.

  She was startled when she heard Nikki’s voice come through her BlackBerry.

  “Hi, Emma? Call me.” The disembodied voice sounded strange in the darkness of the car. “You know that earring you found? I know whose it is. And I think it leads to Guy’s murderer.”

  “What!” Emma exclaimed suddenly.

  “What is it?” Brian glanced at her quickly before returning his gaze to the darkened road in front of them.

  “That was Nikki.” Emma relayed the message.

  “She actually said that?” Brian pulled over to the shoulder of the road. “She thinks she knows who murdered Guy?”

  “Not exactly. But she seems to think this earring is going to lead us to the murderer. She wants me to call her back so we can arrange to meet.”

  “Well, you’re not going alone.” Brian looked up and down the road before making a swift U-turn to take them away from town, back toward the Beauchamp Hotel and Spa. “Call her and tell her we’re on the way.”

  THE quiet, soothing atmosphere of the Beau was at odds with the rapid beating of Emma’s heart. She focused on the trickling water spilling over the rock wall supporting the front counter. She tried some yoga breathing—in, out, in, out. Her heart continued to beat at her breastbone like a prisoner trying to escape a cell.

  Brian looked cool, calm and collected, but Emma could see the pulse beating in his temple, and the minute, jerky movements of his jaw as he clenched and unclenched it.

  A different woman was behind the counter tonight, although she was wearing the same uniform of white tunic and black yoga pants.

  She smiled broadly as Brian approached the desk.

  “Welcome to the Beauchamp Hotel and Spa,” she said by rote, but the warmth directed at Brian seemed real.

  Brian explained that one of their guests had called and was expecting them.

  The desk clerk smiled, picked up the house phone and dialed the number of Nikki’s room. She listened intently then placed the receiver in its cradle.

  “I’m sorry, but there’s no answer. Miss St. Clair does not appear to be in her room.”

  Brian smacked himself on the forehead as if suddenly remembering something. “Sorry! She did say she was about to jump in the shower and that she’d leave the door open for us.”

  The woman’s forehead creased into a frown. “I really shouldn’t…”

  Brian gave her his most winning smile. “Would it be all right if we just went up and checked to see if the door is open? If not, we’ll come right back down and wait until she answers her phone.”

  The woman shrugged and looked around. “I’m really not supposed to, but…” She jerked her head toward the elevators. “It can’t really do any harm.”

  Brian and Emma turned and started to head toward the elevators.

  “If the door isn’t open…” the woman called after them.

  “Don’t worry.” Brian gave her another big smile. “We’ll come right back down and wait.”

  THE corridor was as quiet as it was the last time they visited, the plush carpeting swallowing the sounds of their footsteps.

  “Do you think Nikki is really out?” Emma whispered as they rounded the corner toward her room.

  “Don’t know,” Brian admitted. He glanced at his watch. “It’s kind of late to be out and about in Paris, Tennessee. The sidewalks get pulled in pretty early around here.” He grinned ruefully. “More likely she is in the shower or just didn’t get to the phone on time. Fingers crossed.” He held up his hand.

  The bulb in the sconce opposite Room 251 was burned out, making the hallway especially dark and shadowy. Brian peered at the room numbers closely.

  “This is it.” He raised his hand and rapped on the door. He turned to Emma in surprise. “It’s open.”

  Emma started toward the open door to Nikki’s room, but Brian held up a hand.

  “Let me go first.”

  Emma shivered. “Okay.” She was more than happy to let Brian be the one to enter the room. She didn’t know why, but she had the awful feeling that this wasn’t going to be good.

  The living area of Nikki’s suite was messy but empty. A stack of crumpled newspapers threatened to tip off the coffee table, and a film of cigarette ash smudged the thick glass surface. Emma was shocked to see several cigarette butts half buried in the lush pile carpeting. The crystal bowl Nikki had been using as an ashtray was missing.

  “Nikki?” Brian called.

  Emma tagged behind as Brian went around the corner of the suite and peered into the kitchen. An empty container of expensive bottled water stood in the sink.

  “Shall we look in the bedroom?”

  Emma was reluctant, although she didn’t know why. “Shouldn’t she have heard us by now? Maybe she went out and accidentally left the door open.”

  “Let’s hope you’re right.” Brian’s face was grim. “Something doesn’t seem right to me.”

  Emma silently agreed with him. Brian peered into the bedroom, but it, too, appeared to be empty. Emma breathed a sigh of relief. The bed had been turned down, and an orchid and a sachet of chamomile tea had been left on the pillow.

  Brian gestured toward them. “Classy.”

  “I guess she really isn’t here.” Emma started backing toward the door.

  “There’s still the bathroom.”

  Emma’s heart sank. She did not want to look in there.

  Brian’s broad back blocked the entrance to the bath. Emma couldn’t see around him, but she heard the strangled noise he made as he backed swiftly out of the room.

  Emma got only a glimpse of the scene, but she didn’t need more than that to know that Nikki was dead. The missing crystal bowl was on the floor beside her head, and Emma was pretty sure it would turn out to be the weapon that put that sickening dent in Nikki’s skull.

  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.