Laced with Poison (17 page)

Emma raised her brows questioningly.

“This whole situation is getting to her. I know she’s blaming herself for that woman’s
death, which is absurd.”

“It is absurd. Especially since we found the same plant
growing in Deirdre Porter’s garden. It’s obvious someone simply switched the flowers.”

“I know, but Liz refuses to believe that for some reason. I think the stress of her
and Matt’s situation is getting to her. She’s been looking for more freelance work,
but it’s hard when you have two little kids to take care of. Matt has a lead on a
really good contract, but they won’t know for a few more weeks if he’s got it or not.
I know Liz is terrified that they might lose the house. They took out a second mortgage
to finance all the renovations they did.”

“Oh no. Surely it can’t be as bad as all that?”

“Probably not. But when you get into one of those downward spirals, everything seems
bleaker than it is.” Brian looked down at his hands as if he were studying them. “I
had this idea, and I was wondering what you thought.” He hesitated briefly. “I could
really use some help with the bookkeeping for my renovation business. Liz has always
been good with numbers…Do you think she’d be offended if I offered her a part-time
job? I can’t pay all that much, but it might help.”

“I think that’s a great idea.”

“You don’t think she’d view it as a handout? I thought of offering to loan them some
money—I’ve managed to save a bit here and there—but knowing Liz she wouldn’t go for
it.”

“You’re right. I can’t imagine Liz accepting a loan. But a job is different.”

“You really think so?”

“Yes. I think you should do it.”

“There’s another benefit to bringing Liz on board, you know. It’ll free up some of
the time I’ve been spending tracking expenses and balancing the books. I’ll be able
to take you on proper dates.” He swept a hand toward
the empty Chinese food containers. “I mean, this is fun, but I really want us to be
able to spend more time together.” He looked down again. “Assuming you want to, that
is.”

Emma hoped the grin she could feel spreading across her face would be answer enough.

Brian pushed his plate away and reached into the bag from Golden Dragon. “Let’s not
forget our fortune cookies.”

He handed one to Emma.

She cracked it open and pulled out the slip of paper inside. “What does yours say?”
She looked at Brian.

“You first.”

“Mine says,
Everything will now go your way
.”

“Wow, wouldn’t that be nice.”

“What about yours?”

Brian squinted at the tiny piece of paper. “
You must work long and hard to achieve your goals.
” He sighed. “That’s certainly true.”

Emma began to gather the empty containers, and Brian carried their dishes over to
the sink. He rinsed while Emma stacked them in the dishwasher.

They finished the dishes, and Brian brought their wine to the sofa. He sat down, his
long legs stretching halfway to the kitchen in the tiny living room.

He looked at Emma. “I feel a lot better now having talked to you. I’m going to call
Liz first thing in the morning.” He put out a hand and smoothed a curl of hair away
from Emma’s eye with his finger. “I’m really glad you came back to Paris, you know.”

Emma felt heat suffuse not just her face, but her whole body. She didn’t blink; she
didn’t even dare breathe.

Brian leaned closer and suddenly he was kissing her—a
long, passionate, satisfying kiss that made Emma forget everything but the moment.

*   *   *

THE shape wear trunk show at Marjorie Porter’s was scheduled for Tuesday evening.
It was the garden club’s regular night to meet for tea at Marjorie’s house. Marjorie
had called everyone to let them know they were in for a special treat. Emma was praying
for a good number of sales.

Promptly at five o’clock, Emma hung the
closed
sign on Sweet Nothings’ door and began to load the trunk of her car, Arabella’s Mini
and Sylvia’s Cadillac with boxes.

“Think we got it all?” Sylvia asked as she eased behind the wheel of her ancient vehicle.

“I think so.” Emma consulted her clipboard. “I’ve checked everything off.”

“We’re good to go then.” Sylvia started her car and tooted the horn as she pulled
out of the parking lot.

Emma and Arabella followed her to the extremely exclusive area where Marjorie Porter
lived. The Porters had purchased an enormous piece of land, and an architect from
Memphis had created an exclusive design for their ten thousand square foot brick house.
There were two pools—one indoors, one out—a tennis court, a putting green and enough
lawn to accommodate a polo match.

The Sweet Nothings convoy pulled into the circular drive and stopped at the massive
front door.

“Well, don’t let’s just stand here,” Sylvia said when they all exited their cars.
“Someone go ring the bell.”

Emma strode up the slate path and pushed the ornate, wrought-iron doorbell.

A minute later the door was flung open, and Marjorie stood there openmouthed. “What
are you doing here?”

“We’re…We’re here for the trunk show?” Emma stuttered, ending the sentence on an up
note so that it turned out sounding like a question.

“Good heavens!” Marjorie shrieked. “You need to go around to the back door immediately.”
She pointed around toward the side of the house. “This entrance is for guests only.”

“Sheesh,” Sylvia grumbled. “The servants’ entrance, no less! I never would have thought.”

“It’s probably easier for us to unload if we go around back,” Arabella said soothingly.
“I’m sure Marjorie didn’t mean anything by it. Did you see all that white carpeting?
She’s probably afraid of dirt.”

Sylvia continued to mumble, but she got back into her Caddy and followed the drive
around toward the back of the house, Arabella and Emma right behind her. They pulled
into an area the size of a small parking lot and popped open their trunks.

Sylvia and Arabella weren’t much use when it came to carrying boxes, so Emma struggled
with them as best she could. A woman in a maid’s uniform held the door open for her.
It led to what Emma thought was generally termed a mudroom, although there wasn’t
a single speck of dirt or mud to be seen. She dropped the first load of boxes and
went out to the car for the rest.

“Let me help with something, please,” Arabella begged.

Emma shook her head. “Almost done. Why don’t you go inside and see where Marjorie
wants us to set up.”

Emma hustled the last few boxes into the house and stood for a moment to catch her
breath. The mudroom led to a restaurant-sized kitchen complete with restaurant-grade
appliances. No expense had been spared—from granite on the countertops to Brazilian
wood on the floors. The funny
thing was, Emma had the sneaking suspicion that Marjorie never set foot in the room
unless she was after a midnight snack.

Finally they got everything unloaded. Emma had decided against mannequins. Shape wear
didn’t look very pretty—it was the effect it created when you were dressed that counted.

Emma, Arabella and Sylvia edged into the living room where a few women were already
talking, punch glasses in hand. The doorbell rang repeatedly, and more and more guests
arrived until the room was full. Emma recognized Charlotte Fanning and wondered how
she might approach her? Deirdre was there as well, of course, and several of the women
Emma remembered from their trunk show at Deirdre’s house.

Emma had never had any ambition to be on the stage, and she was quite nervous about
getting up in front of the crowd. But she’d done her homework and knew her stuff.
The women were definitely very interested, and the whole presentation went quite smoothly.

Emma was packing up some of the merchandise when a young woman came up to her. She
had blond hair, carefully coiffed, blue eyes expertly ringed with liner and lush lips
painted pink.

“This has been wonderful,” she said to Emma in honeyed tones. “I’m getting a pair
of those capris for myself. I bought a pair of skinny jeans for the fall, and I need
something to smooth everything out.”

Emma looked her up and down and failed to find a single inch that needed smoothing,
but she wasn’t about to turn down a sale.

The girl stuck out her hand. “I’m Missy Fanning, by the way.”

Emma shook Missy’s perfectly manicured hand and
introduced herself. Here she was being presented with the perfect opportunity to learn
more about Lotte Fanning, her daughter and their connection to Jessica Scott and possibly
her murder, and her mind was going blank. She nearly broke a sweat racking her brain
for a way to introduce Jessica into the conversation.

“Your friend,” Missy pointed at Sylvia, “lives at Sunny Days, doesn’t she?”

Emma nodded.

Missy pursed her plump pink lips into a perfect pout. “I should have had that administrator’s
job there.” Her lips turned farther downward. “I had the best credentials, but that
woman, the one who was killed?”

Emma nodded silently, not wanting to stem the flow of information. “She’s the niece
of the chairman of the board. Isn’t that what they call nepotism?”

“Ah…yes…I think so,” Emma stammered.

“My mother was absolutely furious when she found out. She does know someone on the
board, but I guess the chairman trumps all. But…” She examined her blush pink nails
closely. “Now that that woman is dead, I’m a shoo-in for the job. As a matter of fact,
I have an interview next week.”

Emma looked at Missy. Did she not realize that she had handed her mother the perfect
motive for murder?

Before Emma could think any more about it, Marjorie was announcing dessert and coffee
in her loud, overbearing tones, and everyone began the exodus toward the dining room.

The room was enormous, and Marjorie smugly announced that the dining table, the size
of a football field to Emma’s eyes, had been custom-made for the space. The chandelier
hanging above it would not have looked out of place at Lincoln Center and boasted
hundreds of sparkling crystals.

The table was spread with a delectable array of sweets from miniature pies that Emma
recognized as coming from Let Us Cater to You to fancy French pastries Marjorie must
have ordered from Nashville or Memphis. An enormous silver tea set dominated one end
of the table and an equally large silver coffee urn the other.

“Please help yourselves,” Marjorie ordered everyone. “And don’t be afraid. There are
no cupcakes from that place that managed to poison poor Jessica Scott.”

Emma stifled a gasp. Had that announcement really been necessary? Poor Bitsy. Would
Sprinkles ever recover?

Chatter broke out as everyone grabbed plates and helped themselves to refreshments.
Emma noticed a pale young woman with limp, curly red hair hovering around the food.
She was wearing a pale pink uniform and had an apron around her waist. She’d been
at Deirdre’s as well, helping in the kitchen.

She looked up, noticed Emma and began making her way in Emma’s direction.

“That girl was a friend of yours, wasn’t she?” she said in hushed tones. “The one
who brought the cupcakes to Mrs. Porter’s party?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t think it’s fair, her being blamed when it wasn’t her fault.”

Emma wondered what the girl was getting at. “What’s your name?’

“Gladys. Gladys Smit. Named after my grandmother. On my mother’s side; we don’t have
much to do with Pa’s family.” She looked into Emma’s face searchingly. “Can I tell
you something?”

“Of course.”

“I honestly don’t know what to do.” She began to pleat
her apron, running the fabric through her fingers again and again. “I didn’t tell
the police about it because I didn’t want to cause trouble. You know what I mean?”

Emma nodded silently.

“Because honestly, I’m sure she had a perfect reason to be out there, and it didn’t
have anything to do with, you know, what happened.”

“What do you mean, what happened?”

“With that girl dying and all.”

“Oh, of course.” Emma frowned. “Do you mean you saw someone go outside to the garden
that afternoon?”

“Yes. And I thought I’d talk to her and get her advice. You know, kind of figuring
she’d laugh and say to go ahead, tell the police, she had nothing to hide. But she
didn’t.”

“Who was this?” Emma asked.

The girl gave a laugh that ended in a stifled sob. “She said I ought not to tell anyone
ever
what I saw because it would cause needless trouble and that I was selfish and inconsiderate
for only thinking about myself at a time like that.”

“Who was this?” Emma asked again.

Before Gladys could answer, Marjorie came sailing up to them. “Gladys, the teapot
needs filling. Please see to it immediately.”

Gladys took off at a trot toward the kitchen.

Emma spent the rest of the evening trying to catch up with Gladys again but never
did manage it. Finally it was time to leave, and she stuck her head into the kitchen
one more time.

“Are you looking for something?” Marjorie asked, coming up behind Emma and making
her jump.

“Is Gladys still here?”

“Gladys? Whatever do you want with her?” Marjorie sniffed.

“I wanted to ask her something.”

“I’m afraid you’re too late. She’s already gone.”

As Emma gathered together the rest of her things, she wondered who Gladys had been
talking about. Had someone merely gone out to the garden for a completely innocent
purpose, or had it been the killer picking the deadly foxglove flower?