Murder Unmentionable (22 page)

“Very brave of him, don’t you think?” Emma indicated Les, who was dwarfed by Francis.

“Or very foolish.” Arabella’s nose was glued to the glass as she watched the scene unfold.

Francis stood with his arms crossed over his chest while Les made ineffectual jabbing motions with his fists. Finally, Francis put his hand on Les’s shoulder, gently moved him out of the way and continued down the street.

They could see Les’s mouth moving but couldn’t hear what he was saying.

“Probably a good thing,” Arabella commented sagely.

“And I thought small-town living was going to be dull.”

Arabella laughed. “Good heavens, this place is positively seething with passions and secrets and I don’t know what else.”

Murder
, Emma thought to herself.
That’s what else.

She helped Arabella out of the window and was about to jump down herself when she spied Sylvia Brodsky coming down the street, her oxygen tank on wheels bumping and
swerving behind her. She appeared to be headed toward the front door of Sweet Nothings.

“Sylvia’s coming,” she said to Arabella.

Arabella pulled open the front door and stood aside as Sylvia maneuvered over the doorstep. Pierre gave her a perfunctory sniff and went back to his rawhide bone.

Sylvia paused and took several drafts of oxygen. She had a paisley scarf pulled down nearly to her eyebrows, gold hoops in her ears and a ring on each of her gnarled fingers. She looked like a cross between a pirate and one of the Rolling Stones.

“I’ve got something very important to tell you,” she wheezed between breaths of oxygen.

“What?” Both Emma and Arabella stopped and stared at her.

“Danger,” Sylvia eked out before beginning a prolonged and intense coughing fit.

Emma and Arabella looked at each other.

“Maybe a glass of water?” Arabella suggested.

“I’ll get it.” Emma flew into the back room and filled a glass with cold water. She didn’t really believe in Sylvia’s pronouncements, but, on the other hand, she couldn’t quite dismiss them out of hand, either.

Sylvia waved the glass of water away and continued to wheeze and hack. Finally, the coughing spell sputtered to an end. Sylvia stood with her hands on her knees, panting slightly. She took a couple of hits of oxygen and straightened up, her hoop earrings swinging back and forth.

“I laid out the cards this morning. Well, I do it every morning, as you know. Can’t start my day unless I know how it’s going to turn out.”

Arabella didn’t say anything, but Emma noticed her raised eyebrows.

“First card I pull is the Moon. Can you believe it? Never before. Never. This was a first.”

“What is the significance of the Moon card?” Arabella retrieved some glass cleaner from behind the counter and began to wipe down the countertops.

“Significance?” Sylvia sputtered, shaking her head. Her earrings swung so violently, Emma was afraid they might take flight.

“Deception!” Sylvia barked, her eyes darkening. “Hidden enemies!”

“And just what does that mean?” Arabella spritzed the counter with the cleanser and tore a new section of paper towels off the roll.

“It means…” Sylvia paused dramatically. “Someone is not who they say they are!” She pulled a tissue from her sleeve and blew her nose with a loud honk. “Someone is trying to fool us.” She shook a finger at Emma and Arabella. “And that friend of yours,” she pointed at Emma, “had just walked into the room when I pulled the card.” She finished triumphantly.

“Kate!”

Sylvia nodded. “What if she isn’t who she says she is?”

“But I know Kate,” Emma protested. “I’ve known her for a couple of years. She’s a perfectly nice, normal—”

“Okay, so maybe it’s not Kate. But someone is deceiving us. The cards said so!”

“Far be it from me to argue with the cards.” Arabella rolled her eyes.

“The murderer,” Emma said. “The murderer is certainly deceiving us.”

“WHO’S thirsty?” Arabella bustled out of the back room with a pitcher of lemonade and a plate of cookies.

Sylvia was perched on a stool helping fold stock, and Emma was sorting through the negligees and peignoirs in the glass-fronted cupboards.

“None for me, thanks.” Sylvia waved Arabella’s plate away. “I’ve kind of lost my appetite lately.”

Arabella paused. “Why? What’s the matter?”

Sylvia shrugged, and her earrings bobbed back and forth. “The kids want to put me in one of those assisted living places. They’re trying to say I’m not safe living on my own anymore.” She threw her hands up. “Just because of a little fire!”

“What fire?”

“It wasn’t anything. Just some smoke. I left the teakettle on the stove a little too long. I was watching something on the television and forgot all about it. Someone saw the smoke and called the fire department.” Sylvia shook her head.

“That could happen to anyone,” Emma said, remembering the time the wind had blown her curtains into a lit candle. Guy had thrown his glass of wine at the flames. A very nice Château Lafite Rothschild Guy had brought to celebrate…something. Emma could no longer remember what. She tried to swallow the memory past the lump in her throat.

“I’ve heard those assisted living places are actually rather nice,” Arabella said, biting the end off one of the sugar cookies. “There are all sorts of activities, and you get all your food prepared for you.”

Sylvia snorted. “Yeah, and everyone is wearing a diaper and the place smells like you-know-what. No thanks. The only way they’re getting me in one of those places is feet first.” She grabbed another item from the puddle of garments on the counter and began to fold the white lace teddy.

“I can’t decide what to put on the mannequin.” Emma took out a Lucie Ann gown and held it up to the dummy.

“That’s nice, but what about that baby-doll set I picked up last week at that estate sale outside of Memphis? What could be more appropriately Southern than a nice baby-doll nightgown?” Arabella opened one of the cupboards, pushed several hangers aside and pulled out a short pink chiffon confection with matching panties.

“It’s darling!” Emma said. “But why
baby doll
I wonder? Isn’t it the same as a shortie nightgown?”

Arabella shook her head. “They’re meant to be a little…” She lowered her voice. “Sexier than the typical shorties.”

“But why is it called a baby doll?” Emma looked from Arabella to Sylvia.

“It comes from that movie.” Sylvia folded a pair of panties and added them to the stack on the counter. “The one with Eli Wallach in it. He was so handsome back then.”

Arabella nodded. “And Karl Malden as the husband. It took place somewhere in Mississippi.”

Emma looked from one to the other, confused.

“It was called
Baby Doll
,” Arabella explained. “That’s what Karl Malden called his teenaged bride.”

“Carroll Baker,” Sylvia supplied.

“You’re right. And she was always prancing around in a nightgown like this.”

“Driving the men crazy.” Sylvia snorted.

“After the movie, everyone began calling these baby dolls. I think it came out sometime in the mid-fifties.” Arabella looked over her shoulder at Sylvia.

Sylvia nodded. “1956 if I’m not mistaken.”

“It’s perfect then.” Emma gently pulled the nightgown over the mannequin’s head.

Sylvia glanced at her watch. “Looks like I gotta go. Tom said my car would be ready this afternoon.”

“Your car?” Emma spun around. “You took it to Tom to be repaired?” Emma and Arabella exchanged glances.

“Why not? Everyone goes there. He said I had a hole in some line or other that caused the brake fluid to leak out.”

“A hole!” Arabella declared as soon as the door closed behind Sylvia’s oxygen tank.

“A hole that he might have put there himself.” Emma added.

“And now we’ll never know. It’s too late to go to the police about it. The repair has been done, and the evidence is gone.”

“But now that we’ve found that picture on Guy’s camera…maybe Tom really didn’t have anything to do with the murder.”

“True. And Angel didn’t, either.”

“I’d like to know if Deirdre knew about that photograph.” Emma fluffed the chiffon nightgown to its full advantage. “Or if Skip did.”

“Deirdre’s the one with the money. Or access to it. I’m betting Guy went to her if he tried to blackmail anybody.”

“Guess I’ll have to pay a visit to Mrs. Peyton Porter.” Emma gave the fabric a final fluff.

Arabella raised her brows.

“I’ve invited her to model at our grand opening. That ought to serve as a pretext for ringing her bell.”

As Emma moved the dressed mannequin into position, she had a thought.

Had they unknowingly picked a murderer to model in Sweet Nothings’s first fashion show?

“A jeweler?” Bitsy wrinkled her nose.

Emma had stopped by Sprinkles on her way to work Saturday morning. The idea had come to her last night—Nikki had called to say she knew who the earring that was found in the Sweet Nothings carpet had belonged to, and before Emma and Brian could talk to her, she was dead.

Emma was standing in front of the cupcake counter at Sprinkles, trying to decide between German chocolate and banana cream pie. The heavenly scent of vanilla filled the shop, nearly making her swoon. She was leaning toward the chocolate, but the banana cream looked equally delicious.

“We found this earring at Sweet Nothings.” Emma fished the earring she’d wrapped in some pink Sweet Nothings tissue paper out of her purse, unwrapped it and held it across the counter toward Bitsy. “Someone lost it at the shop, and we’re wondering if any of the jewelers in town sold it. It’s possible they might have kept a record of who bought it.” Emma had decided to leave out the part about how the earring just might have belonged to Guy’s killer.

“It’s certainly a pretty little piece.”

Emma pointed at a cupcake in the display case. “I guess I’ll have the German chocolate.”

“There’s Moon over on North Market,” Bitsy said as she placed Emma’s cupcake in a bag. “And The Gold Nook near the shopping center.”

“Are they real upscale sorts of places?”

“If it’s upscale you’re after, then try The French Jewel. It’s just beyond the Paris Antique Market.”

THE windows of The French Jewel sparkled with expensive-looking diamond, ruby and sapphire pieces. Emma paused for a moment to admire the gems gleaming on their black velvet background before pushing open the door.

A bell tinkled somewhere in the back of the shop, and a woman glided through the doorway.

“May I help you?”

She was wearing a plain black dress, the simplicity of which gave it an almost severe air. A pair of half glasses dangled from a chain around her neck, and her dark hair was sleeked into a smooth chignon.

Emma fumbled in her purse and pulled out the tissue-wrapped bundle. She unwrapped the earring and held it toward the saleswoman.

“I’m wondering if you can tell me anything about this earring.”

“What do you want to know?” The woman settled her glasses on her nose and held up the earring.

“Is it valuable?”

“Valuable?” The woman raised her eyebrows and gave a slight sniff. “It’s a very pretty piece, but I’m afraid it’s not worth all that much. The stone,” she said, pausing to indicate the blue green bead with the tip of her finger, “is an aqua terra jasper.”

Emma remembered Kate calling the stone that. It looked as if she was right.

“It’s quite attractive, but also quite common, I’m afraid.”

The way she said it led Emma to suspect she’d said that to many customers before her.

“I found it on the floor of my aunt’s shop,” Emma explained. “Sweet Nothings,” she gestured toward the window, “the lingerie shop down the street.”

The woman handed back the earring, and Emma rewrapped it in the crinkled tissue.

“It looks as if one of our customers must have dropped it. We were thinking it might belong to Deirdre Porter…” Emma let the name hang in the air, holding her breath, hoping the woman would take the bait.

“Mrs. Porter is a customer of ours. If the earring does belong to her, she didn’t get it here. Frankly, this is hardly her style.” She pointed at the bundle of tissue Emma was about to put back in her purse.

“That’s what I thought, but my aunt—”

“I’ve sold Mrs. Porter a number of important pieces.” She looked around as if checking to see if anyone were listening, then leaned over the counter toward Emma. “For their first anniversary, Mr. and Mrs. Porter came in and chose a magnificent set of South Sea pearls.”

Emma thought she had seen Deirdre around town in those. Magnificent was certainly the word for them. She couldn’t begin to imagine how much they cost! No wonder the saleswoman had sneered at the pathetic little earring Emma showed her.

The saleswoman lowered her voice even more and leaned even closer to Emma. Her dangling glasses hit the counter with a clink, and she put a hand on them to still them. “Of course, I think they may have hit some…hard times.” Her voice dropped so low, Emma could barely hear her.

“Really? Why do you say that?” Emma inched as close to the counter as she could get.

The bell tinkled, heralding the opening of the front door. If Emma had been the type to swear, she probably would have let loose with a stream of blue-tinged words right then. Just when the saleswoman was about to tell her something useful! It was all she could do to keep from slamming her fist onto the counter.