Murder Unmentionable (34 page)

“But I don’t want the job,” Emma said, surprised to realize she meant it. “If you go back to New York, you can go to that interview yourself—”

“My plan exactly. But first,” Kate said as she rummaged in her tote bag, “I’m going to make sure the police continue to think you’re the murderer.” She pulled a small but deadly looking gun from her bag.

Emma gasped. “What are you doing?”

“You’re going to commit suicide,” Kate said, getting the gun into position. “It’s so sad. You were distraught over what you’d done and decided to take your own life.”

Kate leveled the gun at Emma’s temple.

EMMA stared at the pistol in Kate’s hand. She thought her heart would stop. Her mouth had become as dry as the Sahara, and her legs were as wobbly as two Slinkys. Surely Kate didn’t mean to…to…shoot her?

She thought she heard the rattle of cans next door. Perhaps Mr. Tharpe was putting out the garbage? And maybe if she screamed? Emma pictured Mr. Tharpe and her heart sank—he was nearer to eighty than seventy and walked slower than a tortoise. He would be no match for anyone, let alone someone with a gun.

But she had to try. Emma opened her mouth.

Kate shoved the pistol against Emma’s temple. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Emma immediately clamped her mouth shut. She felt tears spring into her eyes and blinked them away angrily. She wouldn’t make a fool of herself in front of Kate.

She had to do something. She couldn’t let poor Aunt Arabella walk in and find her like she’d found Guy. A sob
rose in Emma’s throat, and she swallowed it quickly. She had to keep her wits about her.

The noise next door had stopped. Even if it had been old Mr. Tharpe and his waste cans, she wasn’t going to get any help from that quarter. She thought about O’Connell’s Hardware across the street. She risked a glance out the front window. Unfortunately, the façade of O’Connell’s was as dark as it had been earlier. O’Connells was open a half day on Sundays, but Brian wouldn’t be rolling up the shutters for a few more hours. He was probably still home in bed.

Emma glanced around. Kate had moved the scissors out of reach. She needed something to knock the gun out of Kate’s hand. Arabella’s walking sticks were in a stand by the front door, but there was no way Kate would ever let her reach them.

They heard a horn honk outside, and Kate steadied the gun in her hand.

“I’ve got a plane to catch, so I’m afraid I can’t hang around here much longer.” She held the gun up so it was level with Emma’s head. “I really am sorry about this.” Kate gave a crooked smile. “I always liked you, Emma. But you insisted on snooping.”

Kate held the gun pointed at Emma’s head.

Emma’s mind was whirling faster than a tornado. She had to do something. She couldn’t let Kate get away with this. The look on Kate’s face was frightening, and Emma was momentarily paralyzed.

There was a noise—Emma thought it sounded like the rattle of the front door handle. She held her breath. Had Kate heard it, too? She didn’t seem to have. Emma picked up another noise—the squeak of the front door. She’d been at Sweet Nothings long enough now to recognize all the little sounds the shop made.

Someone was coming in! Maybe the taxi driver had seen something through the window and had come to investigate.
Emma would have crossed her fingers, but Kate had a steel grip on her hand.

“Hello? Emma? Arabella?” The front door squeaked open wider.

Kate let go of Emma’s hand and whirled around to face the intruder. Emma noticed that the gun in her hand wobbled slightly.

Brian pushed the door open the rest of the way and stepped into the shop.

“What the…” he said when he caught sight of Kate and Emma.

“Don’t move,” Kate commanded, leveling the gun at Brian.

Brian put his hands up in the universal gesture of surrender. He stopped where he was, but Emma noticed his eyes moving this way and that, taking in the scene.

Brian’s mere presence made Emma breathe easier. She felt some of the tension easing from her shoulders. Brian would know how to handle Kate. Emma still couldn’t believe that Kate meant to kill anyone. But then she remembered Guy sprawled on the carpet and Nikki dead in her hotel suite, and panic returned in a wave the size of a tsunami.

Perhaps while Kate’s attention was focused on Brian, she could find something to use as a weapon. A headless bust stood on the counter and despite the fact that it was sporting a bullet bra, Emma didn’t have any illusions about its effectiveness as a weapon. But she had to do something, and she might distract Kate long enough for one of them to grab the gun.

Emma hesitated for a second, but then Kate leveled the gun into a position that showed she meant business. The thought of anyone hurting Brian heated Emma’s blood to the boiling point. She grabbed the bust from the counter and swung it in an arc toward Kate’s head.

The decorative metal finial on the top of the bust caught
Kate just above her left ear. It was hardly a deathblow, but it was painful enough to make Kate drop the gun and grab her head. Emma noticed a thin trickle of bright red blood dripping down the side of Kate’s face and felt a spark of satisfaction.

The gun skipped across the floor, like a stone thrown across the surface of a pond, and came to rest with a thud against the underside of one of the cabinets. Kate made a move toward it, her hands still clutching her head, but Brian dove in front of her and went after it like a football player retrieving a fumble.

Emma held the bust at the ready, prepared to take another swing if necessary.

Brian scrambled to his feet, the gun held firmly in his hand. He stood for a minute, catching his breath.

“What on earth is going on?” He looked from Kate to Emma and back again.

Before Emma could open her mouth, Kate blurted out. “Emma killed Guy and Nikki, and now she’s going to kill us.”

Emma was so shocked she could do no more than sputter.

“Nice try.”

“It’s true,” Kate protested. “Guy gave her the brush-off, and she was furious with him. Then she killed Nikki in a fit of jealousy.”

“I still don’t believe it.”

Kate stamped her foot in frustration.

Brian nodded at Emma. “I think it’s time we called the police.”

IT was barely six a.m. when the blare of sirens once again disturbed the warm morning air of Paris, Tennessee. Brian kept the gun trained on Kate, but the fight had gone out of
her and she was slumped in one of the toile chairs, a sulky expression on her face. Emma found herself seized by a fit of violent shivering despite the fact that she had yet to turn on the air conditioner and the thermometer was already flirting with eighty degrees. She pulled a throw off the love seat and wrapped it around her shoulders.

“You okay?” Brian looked up in concern.

“I’m fine. It’s just a reaction to…everything.” A sob caught in Emma’s throat, and she swallowed it quickly. She wouldn’t cry—not here, not now. Later, perhaps, while in the shower where the rush of the water would drown out the sounds, she’d give in to the emotions that were making her shake like a leaf in a storm.

The front door burst open and two patrolmen, already sweating in the early morning heat, burst into the shop. Emma recognized one of them—Flanagan his name was—from the day she found Guy. She shivered and pulled the throw around her more tightly.

They weren’t there for more than five minutes before the door burst open again and Chuck Reilly swaggered into the room.

“Well, well, well.” He looked from Emma to Kate and back again. “What do we have here?”

THREE hours later, Chuck Reilly and several policemen had all gone, having taken Kate into custody, and Emma and Brian were left alone in Sweet Nothings. Emma had finally stopped shivering, and she realized that it was actually quite warm. The hair around Brian’s forehead was damp, and she could feel her blouse sticking to her back and sides. She had never gotten around to turning on the air conditioner.

Brian’s cell phone rang, and he pulled it from his pocket, said a few terse words and snapped it shut again.

“I guess you’d better be going.”

Brian shook his head. “I don’t want to leave you here alone like this.” He put out a hand and smoothed a lock of hair back from her forehead. “You’ve had a terrible shock. Bobby said he’d open the store for me.”

“I can call Aunt Arabella.”

Brian smiled. “Arabella is a dear and quite the woman of the world, but I’d still like to think that I can do a better job of taking care of you.”

Was Brian playing the big brother again or…was this something else? Emma tried to read the answer in his eyes. Emotion swept over her, and she stifled a tiny sob.

Brian put his arms around her, and she let her head drop against his chest. His arms tightened, and she felt him bury his face in her hair. She inhaled the fresh scent of his clean shirt and the slight aroma of soap mingled with deodorant. It was intoxicating. Brian kissed the top of her head, and Emma felt herself smile.

Everything was going to be okay.

MONDAY was their first official day of business, and Emma was relieved to see that their first customers arrived shortly after they opened the doors at ten a.m. Emma was pretty sure they’d been drawn by the rumors of the police having been there the day before, but she didn’t care.

Arabella had been shocked to hear about Kate, but, as usual, she had taken things in her stride. It had hit Sylvia a little harder—she and Kate had become quite close. Sylvia wrung her hands, and said she was sorry she hadn’t paid more attention to the prediction her precious tarot cards had made about someone deceiving her. Fortunately, when she saw the customers spilling into the shop, she rallied. They were run off their feet all morning and afternoon as they racked up sale after sale.

Finally, the clock ticked to a minute past four thirty, and
Sweet Nothings was empty, the sound of the last customer leaving still echoing in the silent shop.

“Well,” Arabella began when the front door opened again.

Their collective indrawn breaths were nearly audible as Deirdre Porter walked into the shop. A strong equine odor clung to her hair and clothes, and she was dressed in jodhpurs and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows.

Arabella plastered her best shopkeeper’s smile on her face, although Emma could see the lines of fatigue that had settled around her mouth. “Can I help you?”

“Not at the moment,” Deirdre said. She didn’t look around but made her way directly to the counter. She had a backpack-style purse slung over her shoulder. She plopped it on the counter, loosened the drawstring neck and pulled out a photograph. She tossed it down.

“I thought it would be best if I satisfied you all’s curiosity once and for all. Mama always said the best way to stop a rumor was to face it head on.”

Sylvia held the photograph in her blunt fingers and settled her reading glasses on her nose. “It’s a horse?”

Deirdre nodded. “A quarter horse to be precise. A sixteen-hand gelding named Lancelot.”

Emma glanced at the photograph and nodded politely. Her feet ached and all she could think about was curling up on her window seat with a long, cool drink. She couldn’t imagine why Deirdre had stopped by to show them a picture of a horse. Unless…

“That,” Deirdre said, and stabbed the photo, sending it spinning across the counter, “is what I did with the money from the sale of my sapphire bracelet. Are you satisfied now?”

“Oh.” Emma said in a very small voice, quickly echoed by both Arabella and Sylvia.

“I know what you all were thinking.” Deirdre tucked the photograph back in her purse. “But there’s nothing between me and Skip Clark except for a mutual love of horses. He was boarding Lancelot for old Mr. Everest, and when he passed, his family wanted to sell him. I’d fallen for the old dear myself, and Peyton was okay with me selling my wedding bracelet to buy him.”

Emma must have looked skeptical because Deirdre continued.

“Peyton said if he’d realized I was so crazy about horses, he would have bought me one instead of a piece of jewelry.” She looked around at Emma, Arabella and Sylvia. “I know you all think we’re rolling in dough, but we’re living on the salary Peyton makes working for the family business, and I didn’t want him to go asking his mama for the cash.” Deirdre rolled her eyes. “We’d never hear the end of it.”

AT five minutes after five, Emma gratefully locked the front door and pulled down the shade.

“Lord, am I tired.” Arabella plopped down on the love seat where Pierre had already taken up residence and was snoring softly, his white ear flipping back and forth in the stream of his breath.

“You can say that again.” Sylvia came out from behind the counter, eased off her right shoe and rubbed the ball of her foot. “So now you going to tell us what happened this morning?”

Emma knew she couldn’t put it off any longer. She’d told them very briefly about the police and Kate but without any of the details. She took a deep breath.

“Imagine the nerve!” Sylvia exclaimed when Emma told them about Kate’s tampering with her brakes, and how she had posted that threatening note on the window of Sweet Nothings.

“I just can’t believe it. She seemed like such a nice young lady.”