Murder Unmentionable (19 page)

“Uh-uh. I asked you first.” Angel took Emma and Liz by the arm and guided them toward her Trans Am.

“We were just driving along when the brakes failed.” Emma tried to inject a note of indignation into her tone, but her voice insisted on quivering like a bowl of jelly.

“And you just happened to be driving across the parking lot of the Tennessee Tech Center.” Angel’s lips snapped shut into a firm line. “And you just happened to be following me since we left town. Honestly!” She shook her head, and her twist wobbled perilously, her high-heeled sandals slapping the macadam angrily. “Did you seriously think I couldn’t hear you coming in that…that…ridiculous car? Isn’t that Sylvia’s car, by the way?”

“Yes.”

“Piece of junk, if you ask me. Why she paid to have it shipped down here, I’ll never know.” She turned and looked at Emma and Liz, then stopped suddenly. Her voice softened. “You’ve had a bad fright. Really bad. You’re both as white as a sheet after it’s been bleached and hung in the sun.”

“It was…scary.” Emma admitted. A sob rose in her throat.

Liz merely nodded mutely.

“Come on. Let’s get you back. You need a hefty shot of some good old Tennessee whiskey. That’ll fix you right up. Then you can tell me all about why you’ve been following me tonight. Okay?’

Emma and Liz nodded weakly and allowed Angel to tuck them into her car.

“What about Sylvia’s car?” Emma jerked and tried to look out the back window toward where she’d abandoned the Caddy.

“Tom will come get it later. And he can have a look at those brakes of hers. She probably forgot to top off her brake
fluid. Lord knows how long it’s been since someone looked under the hood of that relic.”

“Can I ask you a question?” Emma’s voice came out more timidly than she’d intended.

“Depends.” Angel flipped on her blinker and exited the parking lot onto Wilson Street.

“Fair enough.” Emma nodded. “I was just wondering what you were doing here tonight? At the Tennessee Tech Center, I mean.”

Angel threw back her head and laughed. “I’ve been seeing one of the professors. We don’t want his wife to know, so I’ve been pretending to take his class in business information systems. Even been doing the homework and taking all the exams so that it looks real legit. And I show up for class Wednesdays and Thursdays regular, as clockwork. So far the poor woman doesn’t have a clue.”

Emma inhaled sharply; then she realized that Angel was playing with her. “You’re taking classes.”

“Yes. And what of it? Am I the only one in town not allowed to better herself?” They had turned onto Washington Street and were nearing Angel Cuts salon.

“Isn’t the shop doing well?” It was always full whenever Emma walked past.

“Yes. And that’s just the point.” Angel’s head swiveled and she looked Emma right in the eye. “I’m hoping to expand. And in order to do that, there are a few things I need to understand first.” She gestured toward the stack of textbooks balanced on the console between them. “That’s why I’m taking some business classes. Don’t want to make any mistakes and ruin everything I’ve worked for so far.”

“Oh.” Emma felt terribly small. Here she’d been thinking Angel was having an affair, and she’d actually been doing something extremely worthwhile.

But that didn’t let Tom Mulligan off the hook. And, if he were the killer, she’d better not let him anywhere near Sylvia’s
Caddy. Because it suddenly struck Emma that someone could have tampered with Sylvia’s brakes. And who would know more about cars than Tom Mulligan? She shot Liz a look. It would be a piece of cake for him to do whatever was necessary to render the brakes useless.

She shuddered. Who knew what he might do next? They’d been lucky this time, but their luck might not last. Perhaps she’d better leave the investigating to the police.

Chuck Reilly’s sneering face came to mind. Then again, perhaps she’d better keep investigating. She’d just have to be a lot more careful.

“OH, my goodness, Emma, Liz, what happened?” Kate cried as she leapt off Arabella’s porch and ran toward Emma.

“We’re okay. Just kind of shaken up.” Emma waved to Angel, and Angel waved back then pulled away from the curb.

Liz collapsed onto the porch swing, her head propped against the backrest.

“You both look terrible.” Kate swiveled toward the street. “Did Sylvia’s car break down?”

Emma shuddered. “It was horrible. Something happened to her brakes, and I couldn’t stop, and I thought I’d hit someone, and it was just horrible.” Emma concluded with a sob.

“I think you need to sit down, too.” Kate started to lead Emma toward the swing.

“What about your head? Are you okay?” Liz said without lifting her head from the back of the swing.

“I’m fine. Got a bit of a goose egg, that’s all.” Kate touched a hand to the back of her head and winced. “Arabella left a pitcher of sweet tea in the refrigerator. Why don’t I pour us a couple of glasses?”

“Sounds good to me.” Emma sank onto the swing next
to Liz. “Add a shot of whiskey,” she called over her shoulder. She’d decided to take Angel’s advice.

Maybe it would stop the shaking in her hands.

EMMA found herself automatically glancing at the front window of Sweet Nothings the next morning, but so far there hadn’t been any more threatening notes. But the stakes had been raised—first the note on their window, then the threatening phone call and now an attempt at what could have resulted in…murder.

Emma waved to Bitsy, who was hurrying down the other side of the street, and pushed open the door. The fresh smell of new paint and recently laid carpet greeted her. She took a deep breath and looked around. Everything was coming together just as she’d envisioned it. The carpet was perfect, the paint was just the right color, the touches of black-and-white toile added a bit of elegance without being too stuffy looking. Now all they needed were those armoires. She would call the company again and find out what was going on.

Someone knocked sharply on the front door. Emma listened but didn’t hear any scratching, so it wasn’t Arabella. Perhaps it was Brian? Her spirits lifted. She yanked open the door and, when she saw who was standing there, had to stop herself from slamming it shut again.

“Can I come in?” Chuck put one of his large paws against the door and pushed.

Did she have any choice? She shrugged and walked toward the display counter. She’d feel better having something between herself and Chuck Reilly. Chuck leaned on the glass and spread out his thick, spatulate fingers. Emma couldn’t help staring at them. She shivered.

“What do you want?”

“Me? Nothing.” Chuck feigned indifference. “I thought
maybe you’d like to know what I just found out.” He smiled, but his blue eyes were cold.

This isn’t going to be good
, Emma thought. She just knew it. She tried to keep her expression calm and neutral. “What?”

“We got the report on the murder weapon back from the TBI. You know, the walking stick that killed your lover boy.”

Emma felt heat rising to her face but reminded herself to be calm. Chuck was trying to get the better of her, and she wasn’t going to let him.

“Yes?”

“It was covered in prints.” Chuck paused and pointed at Emma. “Yours.”

“I told you.” Emma could hear the exasperation in her voice and tried hard to tone it down. “I had handled the walking stick before. When I brought it to Aunt Arabella to use after she twisted her ankle.”

“Really?” Chuck began a slow and agonizing examination of his fingernails. “If I were you, I’d consider lawyering up. They say Sullivan and Doyle over on the next block are pretty good.”

WHEN Brian arrived five minutes later he found Emma alone, her face red and tear-stained, and a pile of crumpled tissues on the counter.

“What’s wrong?” He crossed the floor of Sweet Nothings in three strides.

Emma could feel her face brighten at the sight of him. She tried to keep the proverbial stiff upper lip, but Brian’s presence melted her like a pat of butter on a hot griddle. She burst into tears again and spilled everything—Chuck’s visit, the ride in Sylvia’s car the night before, how she’d thought she’d actually run someone over and possibly killed him. She tried to stop herself, but when Brian put his arms around
her and pulled her close, she couldn’t help it. The floodgates opened and all of the stress of the last week splashed out unhampered.

She was vaguely aware of Brian murmuring soothing words into her hair, and she tried to pull herself together. But it was hard. Being within the circle of Brian’s arms made her feel so safe and secure. She didn’t ever want to leave.

They heard a key in the lock of the front door, and they drew apart as if scalded. Arabella bustled in, with Pierre at her heels, stopping short at the sight of the two of them.

“Am I interrupting something?” She asked eagerly.

“No,” Brian and Emma chorused emphatically.

“You’ve been crying.” Arabella rushed forward and took Emma’s hands in hers. “What’s wrong?”

Emma told her about Chuck’s visit.

“I think it’s high time we made a complaint about the behavior of Sergeant Chuck Reilly. He has really gotten out of hand. I’m going to speak with Francis about it. I know the TBI tries to keep out of the way of the local boys unless absolutely necessary, but this is ridiculous.” Arabella’s forehead creased with concern.

“No!” Emma protested. “It might make him even worse.” She shuddered. “If that’s possible.”

“Chuck should start doing his job—protecting innocent citizens, not persecuting them. He should be investigating who tampered with Sylvia’s brakes.” Brian slammed his fist into the palm of his other hand.

“We don’t know for sure that they’ve been tampered with—”

“What?” Arabella’s hand flew to her throat, and her face paled. “Someone tampered with Sylvia’s brakes? But you,” she said, looking at Emma, “drove her car yesterday…”

“Emma and Liz could have been killed!”

Emma nodded. “I wasn’t going to tell you about it since everything turned out okay.” She glanced at Brian and was
pleased to see he looked as contrite as a boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“Thank goodness for that.” Arabella sank into one of the toile Louis XIV chairs. “Tell me what happened.” She fixed Emma with her bright blue stare.

“How was your date with Francis?”

“Are you trying to change the subject?” Arabella smiled at her niece. “It was a wonderful evening, actually.”

“You’re blushing.”

“No, I’m not.” Arabella insisted as her face continued to pink up. “First tell me about Sylvia’s car and the brakes. Then I’ll tell you everything you want to know about my date with Francis.”

“OKAY,” Emma said later, after Brian had left and she and Arabella were alone, “now I want to hear all about your evening with Francis.”

“My, my, you are like a dog with a bone,” Arabella said, but she smiled to take any sting out of her words.

“Well?” Emma raised her brows.

Arabella sank into the chair next to the counter. “It was a lovely evening. It was almost as if we were old friends. The conversation just…flowed.”

“What about Les?”

Arabella shrugged, but Emma did notice she looked slightly chagrined. “I like Les.”

“But?”

“Are you reading my mind?” Arabella laughed. “Yes, there is a but. I’m afraid Les is slightly more…serious…about our relationship than I am. Believe it or not, we dated briefly in high school, but Les graduated two years ahead of me and was drafted into the army.” Arabella was quiet for a moment, and Emma noticed the shadows that crossed her face. “He was sent to Vietnam. When he came home,”
she shrugged, “like so many other young men, he was never quite the same again. He tried various careers, even moved out to California at one point, but he couldn’t escape the things he’d seen and that haunted him day and night. He came back to Paris eventually and opened his own store, but that didn’t quite work out either. Finally he took the job at The Toggery, and it seems to suit him. He’s been there ever since.” She turned toward Emma suddenly. “It’s not that I don’t care about him. I do. But I’m not ready to take on the responsibility.”

Emma nodded her understanding.

“Meanwhile, we continue to go out and, while I appreciate his company, I’m afraid nothing more will ever come of it.”

“And Francis? He seems to be more your type.”

Arabella gave a grin that Emma could only describe as wicked. “I keep telling myself I don’t want to get involved in a long-distance romance—Francis does spend most of his time in Jackson—but on the other hand…”

Arabella didn’t have to finish the sentence. Emma knew exactly what she meant.

There was a loud thump against the front door of Sweet Nothings. Emma listened. Had someone knocked? She hesitated, then made her way toward the door and slowly opened it. She peered around the edge. No one was there.

She glanced down. A brown-paper parcel lay on the black mat. That was strange. The mailman had already come, and the UPS delivery woman always knocked and came in to shoot the breeze and enjoy a glass of Arabella’s sweet tea.

Emma picked up the box and brought it inside. There was no return address. There was no address at all. Just
Sweet Nothings
scrawled across the front in black marker. Odd. Maybe it was from one of the local shopkeepers and Arabella was expecting it.

“Aunt Arabella?”

“Yes, dear?”

“I found this outside on the mat.” Emma held the box out. “Is this from one of your suitors?” She smiled.

“Let me see.” Arabella settled her glasses on her nose and stared at the strange package. “The writing doesn’t look familiar, I’m afraid.” She shrugged. “Should we open it?” She looked at Emma with her eyebrows raised.

“Why not?” Emma looked around. “I’ll get the scissors.”

“Never mind, it’s just tape.” Arabella slipped her finger under a flap of the paper and loosened it. She did the same on the other side and whipped the brown wrapping off.

Underneath was a glossy white box. There was nothing written on top, and the two longer sides were taped shut. Arabella slit the tape and took off the lid. A cloud of delicate pink tissue paper puffed out. She and Emma exchanged glances.