Murder Unmentionable (27 page)

She thought of Nikki, and her breath caught in her throat. Why kill Nikki? Was it out of fear that Nikki knew something? Had Guy confided in her? The thought made Emma’s stomach churn. At one time she thought she was Guy’s only confidante. Obviously, she’d been wrong. Dead wrong.

Emma shivered and pushed the plate of fries away. She’d call Clary as soon as she got back to the shop. With any luck she could meet with her right away and have the answers before night fell.

EMMA put her key in the lock of the front door of Sweet Nothings, but before she could turn it, the door was flung open.

“I have a surprise for you!” Arabella cooed.

Emma jumped. “You scared me.”

“Sorry, dear. I’ve just been so excited for you to get back so I could show you.”

“Did you find another spectacular vintage piece?”

Arabella shook her head. “No. You’ll have to come inside and see for yourself.”

Emma followed behind her aunt, her curiosity definitely piqued.

“Voila!” Arabella pointed to either side of the shop triumphantly.

Even though Emma had been expecting them for weeks, she was still surprised to see two glazed white armoires tucked into the corners. The doors were propped open, and Arabella had already begun arranging stock on the shelves.

“They’re gorgeous!” Emma stood and stared for a long moment. She didn’t want to admit how many nights she’d tossed and turned worrying that the dimensions were going to be wrong, or that she had taken the measurements incorrectly, but they were perfect. Perfect!

“Do you like them?” Arabella asked anxiously when Emma remained silent.

“I’m speechless. They’re perfect.” Emma fingered the doors lovingly. “I was beginning to think they’d never get here.” She opened one of the cupboards, pulled out a pink satin peignoir set and hung it from the door of one of the armoires. “What do you think?”

“Wonderful.” Arabella clapped her hands. “It looks like milady has put out her gown preparatory to performing her bedtime toilette.”

Emma giggled. “Did they have any trouble getting the armoires through the door?”

Arabella shook her head. “Not at all. As a matter of fact, Brian saw them and popped over to help. With the three of them working together, it was a breeze.”

At the thought of having missed Brian, disappointment washed over Emma.

“Was Mabel any help?” Arabella fiddled with the heavy gold chain around her neck.

Emma retrieved the piece of paper from her pocket. “Yes. Her younger sister actually works for Skip Clark. She gave me her number.” Emma dug in her handbag and pulled out her cell. “I’m going to call her right away.”

Emma punched in the numbers and waited. The phone didn’t ring, but an automated voice came on the line. Emma hung up, disappointed.

“Not home?” Arabella turned from where she was straightening the merchandise on the shelves of one of the armoires.

“Phone’s been turned off.” Emma’s shoulders sagged.

“Oh, dear.” Arabella shook out a white baby-doll nightgown and refolded it. “I think she lives in that trailer park over near the Henry County airport.”

Emma straightened up. “I’ll just have to go see her instead.”

“I don’t have the exact address…”

“There’s bound to be an office of some sort. I’ll see if they can tell me.” Emma already had her purse in hand and was halfway out the door.

IN the end she didn’t need any help finding Clary’s trailer. It was at the end of a row of single-wides with a foot-high white picket fence surrounding a miniature lawn. A ceramic statue of a horse grazed on the tiny patch of grass, a toy saddle was slung over the fence and the front door knocker was a horseshoe. This had to be Clary’s place.

Emma lifted the horseshoe and tapped it gently. She thought she heard music coming from inside the trailer and crossed her fingers. Hopefully that meant Clary was home.

The door was opened by a young girl in jeans and a blue T-shirt with
I
♥
Horses
on it in large white letters. She looked to be around eighteen.

“Clary?”

She nodded her head. “Yes. What can I do for you? If you’re selling Avon or Mary Kay I can’t afford any, and besides, I don’t wear much in the way of makeup.”

Freckles stood out across her nose and cheeks, her lashes were short and sandy, and her lips were pale.

“I’m not selling anything. I just wanted to talk to you. I’m Emma Taylor. I know your sister, Mabel.”

“If that’s the case, you might as well come in.” She opened the door wider and stood back.

Emma stepped inside. The trailer was as neat as a pin. The equine theme continued throughout with a horse-head-patterned
throw on the sofa, a lamp with a base in the shape of a mustang rearing on its hind legs and a cowboy hat slung on the coat tree.

“I’ve got some fresh sweet tea if you’d like.” Clary indicated the refrigerator tucked in the corner of the tiny kitchen.

“Thanks. I’m fine.” Emma perched on the sofa and Clary sat opposite her in an old wooden rocker. Everything was clean and neat and looked as if it came from yard sales or second hand stores.

“I can see you’re very interested in horses.” Emma indicated the horse-themed décor and the statement on Clary’s shirt.

Clary nodded her head, and a big smile spread across her face. “I love ’em. All I’ve ever been interested in is riding. Used to go crazy in school waiting for the bell to ring so I could run over to the neighbor’s and saddle up one of their old swaybacks.” She poked at a small hole in her jeans. “I wasn’t much for learning. Figured I’d get a job working with horses, and I did.”

“I heard you work for Skip Clark at his place?”

Clary rocked the chair back and forth. “Even before that I was working for the neighbor after school and on weekends. I never minded how much manure I had to sling as long as I got to ride at the end of the day.”

“But now you’re working for—”

“Skip. I clean out the stalls, help with the lessons, stuff like that.” She hugged herself as if she couldn’t believe her great luck. “I love it. I can’t imagine what it’s like for those people stuck in an office all day or run off their feet at the mall.”

Far from it being difficult to get Clary to talk, Emma mused, it was going to be touch and go as to whether or not she would be able to get a word in edgewise.

“Sprout’s my favorite. He’s Skip’s newest horse. He’s a great big quarter horse so the name Sprout is kind of funny,
if you know what I mean. Do you ride? If you’d like to take lessons, we do that, too.”

Clary paused briefly, and Emma jumped in. “Do adults take lessons or do you mostly have children?”

Clary thought for a moment. “It’s mostly kids, but we do have some grown-ups, too,” she said in a way that suggested to Emma she felt more akin to the children than the adults.

Emma had been brought up believing that lying was wrong, and even bending the truth a bit to suit one’s own purposes never felt quite right to her. Nevertheless, she gritted her teeth, squeezed her eyes shut and said, “I think a friend of mine is taking lessons with Skip Clark. Her name is Deirdre Porter?” She let her voice go up at the end so that it sounded more like a question than a statement.

“Oh, Mrs. Porter.” Clary’s face lit up. “She’s ever so nice. Gave me a pair of boots that she didn’t want anymore, can you imagine? Genuine leather and ordered straight from some famous shop in Houston.” She stuck out her feet so that Emma could admire them.

Emma made the appropriate noises while trying to decide where to steer the conversation next. She didn’t want to put Clary in the position of having to defend Deirdre. She’d get a lot less information out of her that way.

“I guess Deirdre and Skip Clark are old friends,” Emma hazarded, her fingers crossed again.

“Old friends? Oh, I didn’t know that. That would explain—” She stopped abruptly and bit her lip.

“Explain?” Emma prompted.

“Nothing.” Clary shook her head. “Just a feeling. Like maybe they knew each other in a past life or something.” She giggled. “You must think I’m plain silly.”

“Not at all.” Emma smiled reassuringly. “Is there a Mrs. Clark?”

“Mrs. Clark?” Clary wrinkled her nose. “Oh, you mean like is Skip married?” She nodded her head. “Yes. She
doesn’t come around the stable much. I think she has a job in town. Least I see her leaving every morning around the same time. Just as I’m getting the feed ready for the horses.”

How was she going to connect the dots for Clary, Emma wondered. Maybe she could sort of sidle into it.

She sighed dramatically. “People are so mean, don’t you think?” She leaned closer to Clary.

“What do you mean?” Clary pushed the rocking chair back, away from Emma.

Emma sighed again. “People talk. And they say terrible things.”

“What! You don’t mean about Skip. He takes the best care of those horses anyone could. Pays for top quality feed, always got Doc Barber out there seeing to them even if it’s no more than a strained muscle.”

Emma was already shaking her head. “I don’t mean about the horses. I mean about him and Deirdre Porter.”

Clary stopped mid-rock. “What do you mean about him and Mrs. Porter? Why would they say anything?”

Emma lowered her voice. “They’re saying that something is going on…between the two of them.”

“Oh.” Clary looked thunderstruck. “You mean like an affair? Like in the movies?”

“Yes.” Emma sighed with relief. Finally she and Clary were on the same page. “What do you think?” She prompted.

Clary frowned, obviously giving it serious thought. “I don’t know. Skip is friendly with everyone. He’s just that way. Throwing his arm around you and giving you a hug now and then. It don’t mean nothing. But I can see how someone else might see it different.”

“Apparently someone took a picture of the two of them, and, as you said, they saw it different. They’re trying to say that Skip and Deirdre are having an affair.”

“That’s just awful!” Clary’s rocking increased furiously. “Why would they do that?”

“Some people just like to cause trouble.”

“I suppose you’re right. Is there anything we can do about it?”

Emma shrugged. “I don’t know. I am trying to find out if anyone showed Skip that picture. It would have been a man with dark hair and eyes…” Emma sketched out a rough picture of Guy. “Skip would probably have been upset.”

Clary nodded. “Especially seeing as how it’s not true.”

“Do you remember anyone like that coming around? I’m guessing Skip would have been furious afterward. You probably would have noticed something.”

“Someone did come around one day. Couple of weeks ago, I’d say. I saw them walking together down toward the ring where we give lessons. I could tell, even from a distance, that Skip was upset. He shouted and threw something down on the ground. Even stepped on it with his boot and ground it into the dust.”

“What about the other person? Did they get angry?”

“Nope. Just laughed.”

“And it was a man? With dark hair?”

Clary looked confused. She began to shake her head. “No, no, it was a woman.”

“A woman!” Arabella exclaimed when Emma recounted her chat with Clary the next day.

Emma and Arabella were at the counter of O’Connell’s Hardware Store. It hadn’t changed a bit, Emma noticed, since she left Paris. It was tidier—that was obviously Brian’s doing—but the same smell of sawdust, wood and grease mingled in the air. The wooden floors creaked and the glass-fronted cabinets were older than she was.

Brian thought one of the screws in the door of Emma’s armoire was bent. It didn’t seem to be doing any harm, but he was something of a perfectionist. He was behind the counter searching through a drawer in a row of dozens of similar drawers for the correct size.

“Got it.” He held up a tiny piece of hardware, smiled and stuck it in his pocket. He leaned on the counter. “You say it was a
girl
who approached Skip with the photograph?”

The sleeves of his blue shirt were rolled up to his elbows,
and Emma noticed his skin was tanned a slightly darker shade than it had been just last week.

“It must have been Nikki doing Guy’s dirty work, don’t you think?” Arabella took a handkerchief from her purse and dabbed at her nose.