Murder Unmentionable Read online

  “I can see that. Love that color on you.” Arabella glanced approvingly at Emma’s manicure.

  “But I picked up a lot more than just a new nail polish shade.”

  Arabella settled onto the stool behind the counter, and even Brian paused in his hammering.

  “Do tell.” Arabella prompted.

  “Well…” Emma paused for dramatic effect. “Angel admitted that she and Tom had a big fight the night Guy was murdered.” The word “murdered” stuck in her throat slightly. “And she also admitted that the fight was about Guy. Tom was jealous that Angel had been showing him around Paris.”

  “Lovers quarrel all the time, how do we—” Arabella began.

  Emma held up a hand. “This was a fight. A big one. Two-dozen-long-stemmed-roses big.”

  Brian whistled. “Bet those set Tom back a few bucks.”

  “That’s what I mean.” Emma said. “I don’t think he’d have gone to that expense if they’d just had a slight tiff. Besides, Sylvia said she heard them arguing straight through the wall.”

  “Which reminds me,” Arabella said. “Sylvia offered your friend Kate a room at her place if she’s interested. Said she wouldn’t dream of charging her. She’d be glad of the company.”

  “Thanks. I’ll let Kate know and see what she wants to do.” Emma had a sudden idea. “Maybe she could listen in for any more fights between Angel and Tom.”

  “What makes you think Tom had anything to do with Guy’s murder? Other than that he was jealous.” Brian wiped his hands on a rag and took a sip of his coffee.

  “According to Angel, he went out that night and refused to tell her where. Later he claimed he’d been at a poker game with some friends even though he’d promised her he was going to quit. If we could just find out whether or not he actually went…”

  Brian furrowed his brow. “I know a couple of guys who usually play in that game.” He ran a hand across the back of his neck. “Bobby Fuller for one. He works in our stockroom. I can run over later and ask him.”

  “That’s wonderful, but you’d better be somewhat discreet about it.” Arabella began smoothing out the pink chiffon negligee. She folded it carefully and placed it back in the tissue paper. “If Tom does turn out to be the murderer, we can’t have you putting yourself in danger.”

  Emma felt her heart give a peculiar jolt at the thought of Brian in danger.

  “Hey, give me some credit.” Brian grinned. “Don’t worry. I’ll figure out a way to work it into the conversation naturally.”

  “It looks like you got your money’s worth at Angel Cuts.” Arabella finished wrapping the negligee and placed it in a drawer.

  Emma looked at Brian’s nearly completed cabinets. “I wish the armoires would come. I’m going to line them with black-and-white toile wallpaper. Then we can prop the doors open and add a hook for displaying our best merchandise.” She pointed toward the drawer next to Arabella. “Like the Fischer negligee.”

  Arabella clapped her hands. “It’ll match Pierre’s dog bed! How perfect. But what about the carpet?” Arabella pointed at the pea-green shag carpeting that had been part of her 1970s renovation.

  “I really do think it needs replacing.”

  “I was very fond of this carpet.” Arabella ran her foot through the plush shag. “It was all the rage when I had it installed. But you’re right. Its time is past.” Her face darkened. “Besides, I doubt we’d ever get that stain out.” Arabella’s glance strayed toward the spot where Guy had lain. “What do you suggest?”

  Emma frowned. “Something very simple and elegant…but practical. I’m going to go down to the rug store and look at some samples.”

  “As soon as I’ve finished the painting, we can rip out the old stuff,” Brian said.

  “Sounds like unskilled labor.” Emma smiled. “That’s just the kind I can help with.”

  “It’s a date, then.” There was an awkward silence. “I mean…” Brian blushed.

  “I just remembered something,” Emma blurted out to fill the void. She carefully avoided looking at Brian. “When I was at Angel Cuts, two women were talking about this girl in riding clothes who walked past the window.” She turned toward Arabella. “You mentioned her the other day. Deirdre Porter?”

  “Looks like she really is becoming the talk of the town.” Arabella sniffed. “Shame. The Porters are a nice family even if Peyton isn’t the sharpest blade in the drawer. It’s a lot of sour grapes, I suspect. Deirdre set people’s teeth on edge the minute she arrived in town. It’s not completely her fault. Everyone assumed Peyton and Marcie would be married as soon as they finished college. And then he turns up with someone new, and she’s not even a local gal. People around here hoped the Porter money would stay with someone in Paris.”

  “I thought she was attractive, though.” Emma frowned. “Perhaps she’d be willing to model in our opening fashion show? She sounds like she’s not afraid of a little scandal so parading around in a negligee should be right up her alley.”

  “Brilliant!” Arabella declared. “Hopefully she’ll bring some of her moneyed friends.”

  Brian cleared his throat and glanced at his watch. “I could do with a break. Perfect time for me to do some detecting.” He put down his drill and grinned. “I should be able to catch Bobby Fuller on his coffee break. Hopefully he’ll know whether or not Tom Mulligan was at that card game the night Guy was killed.”

  Emma wanted to add her warning to Arabella’s earlier one, but she settled for giving Brian a worried look. Hopefully he would be able to read her message loud and clear.

  “LOOK at this,” Emma called to Arabella and pointed at her computer screen.

  Arabella put down the gown she was mending and went over to where Emma perched on a stool, her laptop open on the counter.

  “Aren’t they gorgeous? They’ll go perfectly with the vintage pieces we already have.”

  Arabella peered over Emma’s shoulder at the screen. “They’re absolutely delicious.”

  “It’s Monique Berthole’s new line.” Emma scrolled down the page. “The collection isn’t nearly as expensive as it looks, but I’ve heard the quality is excellent.” She clicked the NEXT button, and a whole new page of exquisite lace and satin creations filled the screen. “I’m going to order—”

  The rat-a-tat-tat of someone knocking on the front door of Sweet Nothings made them both pause and turn in that direction. Pierre began yelping furiously, only abating when Arabella looked at him sternly.

  “Finally!” Emma exclaimed. “It has to be the armoires.” She jumped off the stool and headed toward the door.

  “Third time’s the charm,” Arabella quipped. “I really am excited to see them. Too bad Brian’s not here to help with the moving.”

  “I’m sure they’ll put them where we want them.” Emma reached for the knob, turned it and swung open the door.

  “Oh.”

  A very tall man stood on the step, his broad shoulders nearly spanning the doorway. He looked to be about Arabella’s age and had thick, wavy, salt-and-pepper hair.

  Emma was so startled she couldn’t find her tongue. She’d been so sure she was going to open the door to find two burly men ready to manhandle her armoires into the shop.

  Arabella glided forward quickly. “Can I help you? I’m afraid we’re closed at the moment.”

  The man fumbled in the pocket of his rumpled sport coat, pulled out a billfold and flipped it open. “Special Agent Francis Salerno. Tennessee Bureau of Investigation.”

  “Oh,” Emma and Arabella chorused together.

  “The police have already been here—” Arabella began.

  Francis stuffed his wallet back in his pocket. “I’m just following up on a few details, ma’am. We’ve been called in to help the local police with their investigation.”

  Thank goodness, thought Emma. Maybe they would no longer have to deal with the odious Chuck Reilly.

  Arabella immediately went into hostess mode. “Can I get you anything? A glass of swe
et tea, perhaps, or some lemonade?”

  If Emma didn’t know better, she could have sworn Arabella was actually flirting with Special Agent Salerno. Her cheeks had turned bright pink, and there was a glow in her eyes.

  Francis gave a slow smile. “It sure is hot out there.” He ran a hand around the back of his neck. “A glass of sweet tea would be pure heaven.”

  “You just wait right there. I’ll be right back.”

  Arabella disappeared into the stockroom, and Emma was left alone with Francis.

  He gave a reassuring smile. “Would you mind showing me where the crime took place?” He said as politely as if they were at a tea party and he was asking her to please pass the cream.

  Emma pointed to the spot where the carpet was stained a dark brownish red. Brian had tried scrubbing the spot for them, but it had been impossible to remove it. Emma bit her lip and looked away.

  “I’m sorry, this must be very difficult for you.”

  Emma felt tears explode against her lids. His manner was so different from Chuck Reilly’s. He wasn’t treating her like a suspect.

  “We try to keep out of the local boys’ hair as much as possible. Unless they request our help, of course. But I do like to visit the location of the crime and meet the people involved. That way, when I’m going through the thousands of documents, reports and interviews every case accumulates, I can picture the scene and the people involved myself.”

  Arabella bustled in with a pitcher and several glasses on a tray.

  “I hope I’m not disturbing you.” Francis took a sip of tea. He swallowed and licked his lips. “I think this must be the best glass of sweet tea I’ve ever tasted.”

  Arabella turned even pinker, and her hands fluttered like butterflies around her face. “Thank you.”

  Francis drained his glass and put it down on the counter. “I take it you’re the one who found the body?”

  Arabella nodded.

  “I’m downright sorry that you had to go through that.”

  Arabella gave a small smile.

  “This was your young man, I understand?” He turned toward Emma.

  “We had been dating, but it was over.” Emma explained.

  Francis nodded. “Do you know of anyone who might have had a grudge against him? Someone who maybe followed him down here?”

  Emma was already shaking her head. “No, not really.”

  Francis was thoughtful for a moment. “Well, I just came by to get the lay of the land so to speak, and to assure you ladies that we will do our best to track down all the facts and put the person who did this behind bars.”

  “We appreciate that.” Arabella held the pitcher over Francis’s glass questioningly.

  He shook his head. “I’ve got an appointment at the Paris police station in…” He glanced at his watch. “Ten minutes. Much as I’d love to stay and enjoy your hospitality some more, I’d better be going.”

  “Well,” Arabella said, as she closed the door behind Francis, “what an attractive man!”

  “Aunt Arabella!”

  “What?” Arabella looked at her niece with eyebrows raised.

  “What about Les?”

  “What about Les?” Arabella shot back.

  EMMA frowned at her computer. She was seated on a stool at the counter with a spreadsheet open on her laptop. Bookkeeping was not her favorite chore, but it was a necessity when running a business. Numbers didn’t come as naturally to her as did colors and fabrics and all things visual. She was glad she’d taken some courses in the fundamentals of bookkeeping and accounting. Arabella’s accounting methods were just this side of an abacus. Emma was transferring everything to the computer and had set the store up for online banking and online accounts with their suppliers.

  The door to Sweet Nothings eased open, and Brian stepped in.

  All of Emma’s senses went into overdrive as they always did when she was around Brian. She put her head down so he couldn’t see the color she knew had flooded her face.

  “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?” His dark brows lowered over his eyes.

  Emma shook her head and closed the lid of her computer. “Just some bookkeeping,” she wrinkled her nose. “Not my favorite task.”

  “I know what you mean.”

  Arabella came out of the stockroom at the sound of their voices. “Any news? Weren’t you going to check with that fellow who works for you about that card game?’

  “I did.” Brian frowned in disappointment. “Unfortunately, Bobby was sick that night and skipped the game. He’s going to ask around though, and see if anyone else knows whether Mulligan showed up or not.”

  Emma suppressed a quiver of frustration. It seemed as if every step they took forward led to a dead end. Why did Bobby have to get sick this one time? They had to get this wrapped up before Sweet Nothings’s grand opening. They just had to!

  Pierre, who had been napping in his canopied toile bed, suddenly sat bolt upright. He twitched his white ear, then his black one, then twirled them both as if they were antennae attempting to pick up sound. He gave a low growl deep in his throat that slowly escalated to a full-fledged bark.

  “What is it, boy?” Emma went to pat the top of Pierre’s head, but he jerked away as if to say “This is serious.” Emma glanced at Arabella. “Maybe Bertha is going past out-side?”

  Arabella shook her head. “If that were the case, his bark would be very different. Someone must be outside.”

  Suddenly Pierre bolted from his bed and made straight for the door of Sweet Nothings, barking so excitedly that he levitated slightly off his paws with each bark.

  “Maybe the delivery men are here with the armoires!” Emma exclaimed. She waited, but there was no knock on the door.

  Pierre had stopped barking, but he continued to pace back and forth, his tail going like a metronome.

  Emma strode toward the door and pulled it open to find a young woman standing there. She was at least six feet tall and very pretty, with long, blond hair. She was holding what looked like a bakery box fastened with old-fashioned string.

  “Ohmygoodness,” she said so quickly that the words all ran together. “You must be Emma.”

  Emma stood at the door, openmouthed.

  The woman switched the box to her left hand and stuck out her right. “I’m Bitsy. Bitsy Palmer. Actually, it’s Catherine Palmer, but everyone has always called me Bitsy.”

  Emma couldn’t help it—she looked Bitsy up and down. Although she was very thin and trim, at six feet tall, she was definitely not bitsy!

  Bitsy laughed. “I know what you’re thinking. How did a long, tall drink of water like myself get a nickname like Bitsy? Well, it’s like this. I was born real premature and barely any more than three pounds. My uncle Mike said, ‘What a bitsy little thing,’ and it stuck. I’ve been Bitsy ever since.”

  “Who—”

  “I’m sorry. I should have said. I’m a friend of Liz’s, and she told me I’d better come right down here and welcome you home to Paris. Here.” She thrust the box at Emma. “I’ve brought you some cupcakes from my shop, Sprinkles. It’s down the street and just around the corner.” She motioned toward the window with one hand.

  “Thank you.” Emma took the box, still feeling slightly dumbstruck by the whirlwind that was Bitsy Palmer.

  “Liz is just the best, isn’t she?”

  Emma nodded.

  “You know that big old garden of hers, out back?”

  Emma nodded again.

  “She grows edible flowers for me. To decorate my cupcakes with.” Bitsy took the box back from Emma, slid off the string and opened the top. “See?” She pointed to the beautifully colored flowers that topped the cupcakes.

  Emma admired Bitsy’s handiwork. If they tasted even half as good as they looked, they would be spectacular. Emma had an idea. “You know we’re having a grand opening as soon as our renovations are done.” She gestured toward the interior of the shop. “We’d love to order some of your cupcakes. They’d be perfec
t.”

  Bitsy’s face broke into a huge grin. “It would be a pleasure and an honor.”

  Emma grinned back. She had the feeling she was really going to like Bitsy.

  “And if you ever need anything, anything at all, as I said, I’m just around the corner.”

  “Maybe we could get together sometime—”

  “That would be marvelous! And perhaps we can drag Liz away from those children and husband of hers!”

  Emma laughed. “It’s a deal.”

  “I almost forgot.” Bitsy retrieved a piece of paper from under her arm where she’d stowed it. “I found this stuck to your window.”

  “Thanks.”

  “See you then. I’ve got to run.”

  “Not another circular,” Arabella said with a sigh once Emma had shut the door. “They usually shove them under the door, and I’ve nearly broken my neck slipping on them when I come in in the morning.”

  “I don’t think it’s a circular.” Emma held up the note so that Arabella could see the printing on the front.

  “Open it,” Arabella encouraged, peering closely over Emma’s shoulder.

  Emma unfolded the damp paper. The writing inside was the same as the shaky capital letters on the front.

  “What does it say?” Arabella fished for the glasses that hung from a beaded chain around her neck.

  Emma shivered. “It says, ‘Stop sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong, or someone is going to get hurt.’”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” Brian looked from Emma to Arabella and back again.

  “I think it means someone doesn’t like our snooping around. But who?” Arabella removed her glasses and let them fall against her chest.

  Emma turned the paper over. “It looks like someone used gum to stick it to the window.”

  “Not a very sophisticated operator.” Arabella quipped.

  Emma held the paper closer to her nose. “It smells familiar.”

  “The gum? Something minty?” Arabella asked.

  Emma shook her head. “Fruity. And I know I smelled this same gum somewhere.” She took another sniff. “I know. Angel. She was chewing gum when I went to her shop for my manicure the other day. And it smelled just like this.” Emma brandished the note under Arabella’s nose.