Murder Unmentionable Page 12

  “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.

  “Is someone here?” She looked at Emma, then turned her head slightly and caught sight of the woman. “Sally!” She turned back toward Emma. “Emma, this is Sally Dixon.”

  Emma held out her hand, and Sally took it between both of hers and gave it a squeeze. “So nice to meet you. Arabella has told me so much about you.”

  Emma smiled. She was getting used to hearing that phrase wherever she went.

  “Did you hear that Francis Salerno is in town?” Sally’s cheeks flushed slightly.

  “He’s already been here,” Arabella said, and Emma noted her slightly superior tone.

  “Really?” Sally wagged a finger at Arabella. “Just you remember, I knew him first.”

  Arabella and Sally laughed. Emma looked from one to the other of them.

  “Sally knew Francis when she lived in Jackson,” Arabella explained. “She and his wife were very good friends.”

  Sally nodded. “We were both in the Ladies Auxiliary Sewing Circle and First Baptist Church Choir.”

  “It’s really so sad,” Arabella said.

  “Yes. Cancer is a terrible disease. She was only sixty.” Sally shook her head. “You wouldn’t believe how many women brought Francis casseroles after Grace’s death. Throwing themselves at him shamelessly.” She rolled her eyes. “No wonder he never did remarry.”

  “I’m willing to bet your friend Sally was one of the casserole bringers,” Emma said softly as Arabella closed the door on Sally’s retreating back a few minutes later.

  “I’m sure she was.” Arabella laughed. “Her famous shepherd’s pie, no doubt. Well he is good-looking, don’t you think?”

  “Yes. He looks like that actor, what’s his name?”

  “Tom Selleck. I used to love him in Magnum P.I.” Arabella glanced at Emma. “That was before your time, dear.”

  “There’s such a thing as reruns, you know.” Emma smiled. “But just don’t forget,” she added, wagging her finger at Arabella the way Sally had done, “she knew him first.”

  KATE had offered to help out at Sweet Nothings, and Emma was happy to take her up on it. Kate twisted her long hair into a knot, secured it with a pencil, and got down to business. Emma knew she was very organized—she had to be to deal with Guy who, while wildly creative, was immune to mundane things like schedules and appointments.

  A prolonged fit of coughing heralded the arrival of Sylvia Brodsky later that morning. She had on heavy, dangling earrings that stretched her thin earlobes almost to her shoulders. They swayed as she bumped her oxygen tank over the threshold and parked it in the corner.

  She looked around, nodding her head in what Emma hoped was appreciation.

  “You done a lot with the place, Arabella.”

  Arabella smiled. “Actually, it was pretty much all Emma’s doing.”

  “And Brian’s,” Emma added to be fair. After all, Brian had done all of the really hard work—she’d just had the vision.

  “So when’s the big opening? Everyone is talking about it. When they’re not talking about the two murders, of course. Shame about that model. Who on earth could have had it in for her?”

  “I don’t know,” Emma said, and shuddered.

  Emma quickly turned her attention to the second carton in the shipment of lingerie from Monique and was relieved to note that Sylvia and Arabella had moved behind the counter and were going through one of the drawers. The less said about the two murders, the better, in her opinion. She was bending over the box when she had the feeling someone was watching her. Arabella and Sylvia had retreated to the back room, and Kate was facing the opposite direction, so unless she had eyes in back of her head, she definitely wasn’t looking at Emma. Still, the feeling persisted. Emma glanced over her shoulder. Someone was peering through the front window of Sweet Nothings. It wasn’t the first time. Everyone in Paris was curious about what they were doing.

  Emma was about to turn around when the woman motioned at her.

  Emma sighed. She really wanted to finish unpacking her box and get the items sorted. But it didn’t pay to ignore a potential customer. She twisted the lock on the door and cracked it open.

  “Yes? Can I help you?”

  The woman standing there looked vaguely familiar. She was wearing white cotton pants and a sleeveless, fitted black T-shirt, and both showed her figure to great advantage. Her diamond studs were the size of headlights, and Emma wondered how she could lift her arm considering the weight of the gold bracelet encircling it.

  Suddenly Emma recognized her. It was Deirdre Porter.

  ARABELLA glided forward swiftly. “Deirdre.” She motioned to Emma to open the door
wider. “Please come in.”

  Deirdre lifted her chin in the air and breezed past Emma. Well, fiddle dee dee, Emma thought to herself.

  “Are you open yet?” Deirdre looked around the shop.

  “Not quite. We’re having a grand opening soon.” Arabella smiled. “What do you think?”

  “It’s lovely.” Deirdre looked around at the new cabinets, furniture and paint job. “Perfectly lovely.” She smiled.

  “Well, thank goodness,” Sylvia muttered under her breath, and Emma shot her a conspiratorial smile.

  “Can we help you with anything?” Arabella tilted her head and smiled. “We’re closed, but we do have some stock in—”

  “Oh, no,” Deirdre shook her head, and her long hair whipped back and forth. “I just wanted to see what you were up to.” She walked toward one of the glass-fronted cabinets and glanced inside. “These things are lovely though.”

  Sylvia was watching her keenly, and Emma wondered what she was thinking.

  Sylvia gave a long, drawn-out cough, and moved away from the counter where she had been leaning. She gave one final, deep, phlegmy rattle before speaking. “You’re wearing the wrong size bra,” she declared sizing up Deirdre’s chest. “Do you have a tape measure?” She glanced at Arabella and then at Emma.

  “I don’t know.” Arabella flapped her hands and began opening drawers.

  “Call yourself a lingerie shop, and you don’t have a tape measure?” Sylvia snorted.

  “And just what do you know about fitting bras?” Arabella asked, hands on hips.

  “Only spent thirty years as a fitter at Macy’s,” Sylvia spat out.

  Meanwhile, Emma had unearthed a tape measure that had been coiled, like a snake, in the back of a drawer. “Will this do?” She held it out to Sylvia.

  Deirdre’s face had turned red, and Emma expected her to protest, but she let Sylvia wind the tape around her chest.

  “Just what I thought.” Sylvia glanced at the number on the measuring tape. “You’re wearing a size that is way too small for you.”

  “Really?”

  “Yup.” Sylvia said economically. “You’ve been wearing a B when you’re actually a D. No sense in hiding your light under a bushel. It was Warner’s, you know, who first started using the A, B, C, D bra cup sizing.”

  Deirdre looked pleased. “I don’t suppose…since you’re not open…?” She looked questioningly from Arabella to Emma and then back again.

  Emma spoke first. “We have gotten in new stock as it turns out. A D you said?” She turned to Sylvia, who nodded.

  “A 36,” Sylvia added.

  Emma rummaged through the drawer she’d just organized and passed Deirdre a handful of bits of silk.

  Deirdre disappeared into one of the dressing rooms with Sylvia right on her tail.

  She emerged fifteen minutes later with the entire handful of lingerie.

  “I’ll take these.” She put them on the counter and turned toward Sylvia, who was taking a drag of oxygen from her tank. “Thanks for your help.”

  Sylvia flapped a hand in response. Emma noticed her color had become alarmingly gray.

  Emma took the lingerie from Deirdre and arranged it on a piece of the pink tissue she’d recently ordered. She folded up everything carefully and slipped the package into a glazed white bag with Sweet Nothings written in bold, black script across the front.

  “I don’t suppose,” Emma began, one eye on Deirdre, “that you’d be interested in modeling in our fashion show?”

  Deirdre turned a very becoming shade of pink. “Me? I’d love to. What would I be modeling?”

  Emma took one of the vintage peignoir sets from the cabinet and showed it to Deirdre.

  Deirdre’s eyes widened. “It’s beautiful.” She clapped her hands. “I’d love to model in your show.”

  “I didn’t know you’d been a bra fitter!” Arabella said as soon as the door closed behind Deirdre Porter.

  Sylvia shrugged. “We’ve all got our secrets, I guess.” She began to laugh, but it quickly turned to a cough.

  Arabella fiddled with the long strand of amber beads around her neck. “We could use a bra fitter. It would be by appointment only so you wouldn’t have to work full-time.”

  “Are you offering me a job?” Sylvia took a last puff of oxygen. Her face had turned pinker, and her breathing was easier.

  “I guess I am,” Arabella said with a laugh.

  “Well, then I’m accepting.” Sylvia laughed and this time she managed not to cough.

  “This has been a productive afternoon,” Emma said as she slid the last pile of lingerie into a drawer. “We’ve got our first model for our fashion show, and Sweet Nothings now has its own bra fitter.”

  “And you just had your second sale in your newly renovated shop,” Kate piped up.

  “All we need now are those armoires,” Emma finished.

  AFTER a quick lunch at The Coffee Klatch, Emma got back to work. Liz had sent some preliminary designs for the Sweet Nothings web site, and Emma needed to go through them and begin making some decisions. But every time there was a noise outside Sweet Nothings, she stopped to listen. Not because she thought it might be the delivery of the armoires—she’d all but given up on them for the moment—but because she was hoping Brian would stop by. They’d had such a good time at dinner. At least until he’d confused her with someone named Amy. She felt her face get hot at the memory. She’d thought he was going to kiss her, and she’d tilted her face toward his. The heat in her cheeks reached Fahrenheit 450. She had to find out who this Amy was. And whether or not Emma had any chance at all with Brian.

  Emma was trying to focus on the designs from Liz when she heard a noise at the door. Pierre sat up in his dog bed—his latest nap of the day interrupted—to twitch his ears and assess the possible danger of this latest occurrence. He began growling, quietly, but deep in his throat, then reached a crescendo and began to bark just as a knock sounded on the door. Emma paused. It couldn’t be Brian. Pierre wouldn’t be barking like that. Maybe the armoires had, at long last, arrived?

  Emma opened the door to find two young men standing there, a roll of carpeting balanced across their shoulders like a battering ram. They were all brisk efficiency and, with hardly a word spoken, laid the carpet out and began tacking it into place. Emma, Arabella and Kate watched from the back room as the Sweet Nothings shop was transformed.

  “I love it!” Arabella clapped her hands.

  “Me, too,” Kate piped up. “Great choice, Emma.”

  Kate wandered over to the small rolltop desk that Arabella used when she was paying bills. “What’s this?”

  Kate held up the earring that Emma and Brian had found in the carpet.

  Emma explained about it.

  “It’s lovely.” Kate held it up to the light. “It’s a beautiful aqua terra jasper stone.”

  “Is that what it is?” Emma joined Kate in examining the earring.

  Kate nodded, then blushed. “I’m such a nerd. But I love jewelry.” She put the earring back on Arabella’s desk. “Too bad you didn’t find the mate.”

  “Hey, anybody there?” One of the carpet layers stuck his head around the corner.

  “Coming.” Emma grabbed the checkbook from the desk drawer and hurried toward the door. She gasped when she saw Sweet Nothings. The carpet was perfect. Everything was perfect.

  Without thinking, she reached for her phone to call Brian. He had to see how all his hard work had turned out.

  The phone was ringing for the third time when Emma was struck by the realization that Brian might think she was calling him. She was calling him, obviously, but not in the way he might interpret it—the “I’ve got a crush on you and I want to hear your voice” kind of way.

  She almost hung up the phone, but before she could make a move, Brian’s smooth voice was coming over the line.

  “Hello?”

  “Brian,” Emma said, hoping she didn’t sound as breathless as she felt.

  “Emma,�
�� Brian said, and there was no mistaking the enthusiasm in his voice.

  Emma felt her spirits rise but then remembered the mysterious Amy. She managed to make her voice sound perfectly cool and aloof.

  “Brian, the carpet’s been laid, and it’s perfect. I thought you might want to come see how everything has turned out.” Emma squeezed her eyes shut. Hopefully Brian wouldn’t think—

  “Is that an invitation?” Brian’s deep chuckle made Emma go weak in the knees.

  Emma cleared her throat, but her voice still came out too high. “I just thought if you have a minute…”

  “Give me twenty and I’ll be right over.”

  Emma hung up the phone wondering what Brian was more enthusiastic about—seeing the finished product at Sweet Nothings or seeing her again?

  EMMA was surprised when she heard a knock twenty minutes later. Didn’t Brian still have his key?

  She pulled open the door. “Oh.” Her face fell.

  “You don’t look very glad to see me.” Chuck Reilly said as he walked past Emma.

  Emma couldn’t help it—she looked down at Chuck’s feet. At his enormous black shoes. She just hoped he’d wiped them before coming in.

  “Can I help you with something?” Emma tried to keep the disdain from her voice.

  “Actually, yeah, you can.” Chuck cracked the knuckles on his right hand, then his left.

  Emma hoped it would be something quick and easy so Chuck would leave Sweet Nothings immediately.

  “We’ve got all of Guy’s stuff down at the station. The hotel wasn’t going to let us keep it in the room any longer without charging for it.” He let out a low whistle. “Expensive place, the Beau.” He stuck his hands in his pockets. “We don’t want to keep it anymore, either. Seeing as how you’re the closest thing we got to next of kin…”

  “Oh.” The thought of going through Guy’s things made Emma shudder. Hopefully everything would be in plastic bags, and she wouldn’t have to see it. But what on earth would she do with it afterward?

  Kate had come out from the back room and was watching Emma. “Why don’t I go get it?”