Laced with Poison (5 page)

All conversation stopped as they watched a man and a woman wheel a stretcher down
the hall toward Deirdre’s powder room. Conversation resumed, but in hushed tones,
as they waited for the ambulance crew to reappear.

Fifteen minutes later, they heard the sounds of wheels on the wood floor, and within
seconds the stretcher was being wheeled past the dining room on the way to the front
door, only this time a passenger was strapped to it, shrouded in blankets.

Deirdre chewed on the skin on the side of her thumbnail. “I hope she’s going to be
okay,” she whispered to Emma as if it had suddenly become improper to speak out loud.

Conversation broke out again as soon as the door closed behind Jessica and the stretcher.

“Do you think it was something she ate?” a woman suggested.

“We all ate the same thing,” Deirdre pointed out.

“It could have been some kind of allergy,” the woman shot back.

“I wish we knew what was going on,” someone else wailed plaintively.

“We could call the hospital,” another suggested. Emma noticed it was the woman with
the washed out–looking red hair.

“I don’t think they’re going to tell us anything, our not being relatives,” the woman
in the expensive-looking pantsuit said.

“It might be best if I handle this.” Marjorie drew herself up to her full height,
head high, bosom thrust forward. She looked annoyed, as if Jessica had ruined Deirdre’s
party on purpose. “I’ll get my things, and then I’ll be off to the hospital to find
out what is going on. I’m on the board. They’ll have to talk to me.”

They all watched as Marjorie marched out the front door a moment later. Groups clustered
here and there in the living room and dining room. Everyone was obviously reluctant
to leave until they heard about Jessica. Deirdre put on another pot of coffee, but
no one was anxious to touch any of the leftover food.

Finally, after what felt to Emma like an eternity of small talk, the front door opened
and Marjorie walked in. All heads turned immediately in her direction. She very deliberately
removed her jacket, put down her handbag and then stood in front of the group.

“I’m afraid I have very bad news.”

A gasp went through the crowd at her words.

“I’m sorry to have to tell you that Jessica did not make it.”

A half dozen women began shouting questions, but Marjorie held up her hand, and they
quieted down.

“The cause of death is currently inconclusive. There will be an autopsy at which point
we will all know more. The doctors have said, however, that it seems to have been
something to do with her heart.”

EMMA spent an uneasy Sunday unable to settle down to anything. She would pick up a
book or turn on the television, but soon her concentration was diverted by thoughts
of what had happened at Deirdre’s party. She felt terrible about Jessica even though
she hadn’t really liked the woman all that much. She hoped they would soon find out
what went wrong. Perhaps Jessica had had some kind of heart condition that no one
knew about?

It was something of a relief when Monday morning arrived and she was able to go down
to Sweet Nothings and start a new day.

“For once I’m glad it’s Monday,” said Arabella, who arrived shortly after Emma. She
unclipped Pierre’s leash, and Pierre made a dash for his dog bed.

“I feel the same way.”

“I can’t get that poor girl out of my mind.”

A long, drawn-out
cough heralded Sylvia’s arrival, and both Arabella and Emma turned toward the door.
Sylvia yanked her portable oxygen tank over the threshold and parked it in the corner.
“What a weekend,” she said as she tucked her purse under the counter. “First all that
excitement on Saturday at Deirdre Porter’s, and then yesterday, bingo with the ladies
in the home. My head is reeling,” she commented dryly.

Arabella took off her jacket and went into the back to hang it up.

“I know what you mean. My head is reeling, too. And on top of it,” Arabella said as
she stuck her head around the corner, “I had a call from Les.”

“What? Is he asking you out again?” Emma went to stand in the doorway. Les was Arabella’s
longtime on-again, off-again beau. He ran the Toggery, the oldest shop in Paris. She
had been spending less and less time with him since meeting Francis.

“Yes.” Arabella sighed. “I managed to put him off by saying I had to check my calendar.”
She fiddled with the button on her blouse. “I do like Les, it’s just that…Oh, I don’t
know! It’s because of Francis of course.”

“Well, if you’re not planning to marry Francis, then why not go out with both of them?”

“Do you really think that’s okay?” Arabella looked unsure. She tipped a bag of dog
food into Pierre’s empty dish. At the sound of the nuggets hitting the metal bowl,
Pierre roused himself from his bed and ambled over to see what was on offer.

Sylvia snorted. “Why not?”

“It’s just that I feel guilty.”

“It’s not as if you were stringing either of them along,” Emma said. “You’ve always
been open about not wanting a serious relationship.”

“That is true,” Arabella said, although she didn’t look completely convinced.

Sylvia shrugged and went back to straightening a drawer full of camisoles. “Everyone
in the retirement home is talking about that girl, Jessica, dropping dead at our trunk
show.”

Emma noticed Arabella cringe slightly at Sylvia’s blunt statement and gave a small
smile. New Yorkers weren’t known for sugarcoating their words, whereas Southern ladies
employed so much sweetener it was enough to give anyone cavities.

“Does anyone at Sunny Days know Jessica well?” Emma asked. “Was there something wrong
with her that might have caused her to take ill suddenly?”

Sylvia blew out a puff of air. “Don’t know, really. I don’t think anyone was all that
close to her. And believe me, no one is crying in their soup to see her go.”

“That’s awfully harsh.” Arabella put down the garment she was examining.

Sylvia shrugged. “I’m only repeating what I heard.”

Emma was thinking about that when the bell over the front door tinkled and two women
entered.

“Can I help you?” Emma said.

The taller of the two shook her head. “We’re just looking, thanks.”

Emma went back to arranging some of the new stock that had just come in. She removed
one of the vintage peignoir and negligee sets from where it was hanging on the door
of one of the open distressed white armoires, and she replaced it with the bed jacket
Arabella had picked up at the estate sale.

The bell tinkled again, and two more customers arrived. By the time Emma had waited
on them, several more had arrived, and they did a brisk business all morning.

Finally, the last woman left, swinging a black-and-white shopping bag printed with
Sweet Nothings
. It was almost noon.

The bell over the front door pinged again, and Emma stifled a groan.
Would she never get a chance to sit down?
She looked up to see Brian O’Connell pushing open the door. She felt a smile broaden
across her face. She hadn’t expected to see Brian today. He had his hands full pitching
in at his father’s hardware store, across the street from Sweet Nothings, while getting
his architectural renovation company off the ground.

“Hello, ladies.” Brian’s blue eyes crinkled with pleasure as he ran a hand through
his brown hair, leaving it adorably mussed. His tall frame seemed to fill their small
shop.

“Brian!” Arabella said, grasping his arms and giving him an air-kiss on both cheeks.
“What brings you to Sweet Nothings?”

“Just checking up on some of my favorite ladies.”

His smile made Emma feel warm all over.

“I also wondered if Emma”—he smiled in her direction—“might be free for some lunch.
I have time for a quick bite at the Coffee Klatch.”

“I’d love to, but I hate to leave Aunt Arabella and Sylvia alone.”

Sylvia gave a sound like a water buffalo snorting, and Arabella said, “Don’t be ridiculous,
dear. We can handle things on our own. You go ahead.”

Emma felt a warm glow as she retrieved her jacket from the stockroom and slipped into
it.
Lunch with Brian.
Things were certainly looking up.

*   *   *

THE Coffee Klatch had started life as the Paris Diner, and despite new, young, hip
owners, a fancy espresso machine
and a different name, it was still essentially the Paris Diner as far as the townspeople
were concerned.

It was a few minutes before noon, but all the booths and tables were already taken
and a handful of people were milling around the hostess stand waiting for something
to open up. When you got up before dawn and had breakfast by six a.m., you were pretty
darned hungry by noon. Emma thought back to her days in New York when no one booked
lunch before one thirty and you made dinner reservations for eight o’clock or later.

The hostess, a tall, blond girl wearing a pair of cowboy boots with a long black skirt
and white blouse, and with a stack of menus tucked under her arm, led the first group
of four toward a booth near the kitchen.

“It shouldn’t be too long,” Brian said as he smiled down at Emma.

Emma didn’t care how long it took—she was enjoying being with Brian.

Finally, the hostess came back, led them to a small table and laid two menus down.
“Waitress’ll be with you in a minute,” she said, and she turned her back quickly,
heading toward the front of the Coffee Klatch.

Before Emma could say anything, Mabel sidled up to their table, pencil and pad at
the ready. “Something to drink?” she said economically. Mabel had started at the Coffee
Klatch’s previous incarnation, the Paris Diner, right after high school, and now,
twenty years later, the place wouldn’t be the same without her.

Brian looked at Emma inquiringly.

“I’ll have a glass of sweet tea, please.”

Mabel scribbled on her pad and then looked at Brian. “Drink?”

“I’ll have the same.” Brian smiled at Mabel, and her face softened.

“Gotcha.” She scribbled on her pad again and started to turn away.

“How is Marshall?” Brian asked, referring to Mabel’s young son.

The way Mabel’s face changed, it was as if the sun were coming out. “Oh, he’s doing
so well in first grade! The teacher put him in the Lions group—that’s the advanced
reading group. My Marshall is that smart!” And she headed toward the kitchen with
a huge grin on her face.

“Now that that’s settled…” Brian said as he looked at Emma, and she smiled back. Brian
shook his head. “I’ve been so busy, I’ve barely had time to breathe. Every time I
passed Sweet Nothings I wanted to stop in and say hello. Bobby Fuller has done an
admirable job of overseeing the hardware store, but there are still some things I
need to take care of myself, and I was either needed there, or I was under the gun
on one of my renovation jobs.” He touched the back of Emma’s hand. “I’ve missed you.
Tell me what’s been happening.”

Emma tried to ignore the sensations the touch of his hand on hers was causing. She
took a deep breath and told him about the trunk show and Jessica’s death.

Brian let out a soft whistle. “Certainly sounds like you’ve had your share of excitement.
How is Miss Arabella? And Sylvia?”

Brian had come to know them both during his recent renovation of Sweet Nothings.

“They’re fine.” Emma explained about Sylvia’s move to Sunny Days.

Brian laughed. “I can imagine she’s keeping them on
their toes there.” He looked Emma in the eye. “And how about you? Everything okay?”

“Sure. Fine.”

Mabel arrived with their drinks, and they were momentarily silent as she slid them
onto the table. “Ready to order?” She pulled her notepad from the pocket of her frilly
apron.

Brian frowned and glanced at the menu quickly. “Do you know what you want?” He lowered
it and looked at Emma.

“I’ll have the turkey club.”

Mabel nodded, jotted something on her pad and looked at Brian with her penciled eyebrows
raised.

“I’ll have the pulled pork with extra barbecue sauce on the side.” Brian handed his
menu to Mabel.

“Fries?”

“Yes, please.”

Mabel replaced the pad in her pocket and headed toward the kitchen.

“I’ve been meaning to call you.” Brian took a long sip of his iced tea. “I was hoping
we could go to dinner or catch a movie or something. It’s been too long.”

Emma was surprised to note that Brian seemed a bit…shy?

“I’ve just been so darned busy. All I can manage when I get home at night is to fall
asleep on the couch watching television.” He picked up the salt shaker and began to
twirl it between his fingers. “I’ve got something to ask you,” he said finally.

“Yes?”

“This college buddy of mine is getting married this weekend. His name’s Chip. We played
soccer together. He’s a good guy. He and Megan have known each other forever.”
Brian took another long sip of his tea. “I sort of hoped you wouldn’t mind going to
the wedding with me. It’s at the Beauchamp Hotel and Spa. Hopefully it shouldn’t be
too boring.”