Laced with Poison (22 page)

Emma tried to look purposeful as she hovered in the doorway waiting for Lotte to go
past. As soon as the coast was clear, she darted out the door and down the first row
of cars. Most were American made except for a red Audi rather badly parked toward
the end. Emma made her way up the next row and the next. Finally she spotted it. A
dark blue late-model Mercedes Benz sedan.

It was bright and shiny and looked as if it had recently come from the car wash. Emma
heard a car door slam a couple of rows away and looked up, startled, but the woman
who got out of the car walked in the opposite direction and had her back to Emma.

Emma continued to circle Lotte’s Mercedes. The left front bumper was intact, the headlight
spotless without all the dead bugs that accumulated on Emma’s. She momentarily closed
her eyes and crossed her fingers and then made her way around to the right front bumper.

There was an enormous, sickening dent in it and the headlight was broken.

“WE can’t be positive it’s Lotte’s car,” Arabella said when Emma arrived back at Sweet
Nothings. “Or, that she didn’t hit the side of her garage door trying to pull in.”
Arabella put down the peignoir she was mending. “I know that happened to me more than
once when I was learning to drive.”

“That’s true,” Emma admitted. “I wonder if you mentioned it to Francis, if he’d be
able to get the Paris police to at least take the car in for examination.”

“I know Francis always says that the TBI likes to give the local boys plenty of rein,
but I don’t suppose it would hurt to ask. As soon as I finish this piece, I’ll give
him a call. He doesn’t start his watchman duties until seven o’clock.” Arabella chuckled.
“I do feel sorry for him having to do that night after night and still no sign of
those bank robbers. Of course I’m glad for that, even if it does make for dull evenings
for him.”

Arabella continued with her mending, and Emma went to help a customer who had just
walked in. By the time the woman left with two sets of the lingerie Emma had ordered
from Monique Berthole, Arabella was finished with her project.

Arabella folded the peignoir, placed it on one of the armoire shelves and headed toward
the back room. “I’ll go call Francis now.” She paused by Pierre’s dog bed. “Come on,
Pierre, time for your dinner.”

Pierre scrambled to his feet, did a quick down dog and up dog and followed Arabella
into the back room. Emma could hear the sound of dry dog nuggets hitting a metal bowl
then moments later, the low murmur of Arabella’s voice on the telephone.

Emma had her back to the stockroom door when Arabella emerged a few moments later.
She waited for her aunt to say something, but when Arabella didn’t, Emma turned away
from the mannequin she’d been changing.

The look on Arabella’s face had Emma flying to her side. “What’s wrong, Aunt Arabella?
What’s happened? Is it Francis? Is he okay?”

Arabella remained white and speechless. Emma led her to a chair and made her sit down.
Arabella’s mouth moved, but no sounds came out.

“Can I get you some water?”

Arabella’s hands jerked in her lap, and she shook her head no.

“Please tell me what’s happened!”

Emma didn’t know what to do. Should she call Arabella’s doctor?

Finally, Arabella made a sound like a whimper. Emma bent closer to listen.

“It’s Francis,” Arabella finally said. “He’s been taken
hostage by the bank robbers. They’re threatening to kill him if the bank doesn’t meet
their demands.”

*   *   *

EMMA insisted on driving Arabella home after they closed. She was still white and
her hands were shaking. Emma hated leaving her alone, but she’d already made plans
with Brian. Besides, Arabella insisted that Emma go and promised that she would call
a friend if need be. Meanwhile, Arabella wanted to be near her phone and the television
in case there were any developments, and as soon as she walked into the house she
flipped on the local news station and sat down in front of the set.

As Emma walked back to her car her cell phone rang. She recognized Brian’s number
and her heart sank. Was he canceling their plans?

“I hope we’re still on for tonight,” Brian said when Emma answered.

She smiled. “Of course.” She was really looking forward to an evening alone with Brian.

Emma quickly told Brian about how Francis had been taken hostage by the bank robbers.
She could hear Brian’s indrawn breath over the telephone.

“Do you think we ought to stay with Arabella instead? She must be terribly upset.”

“I already asked her, and she insisted we keep our date,” Emma said, suddenly feeling
selfish. Maybe she should have insisted on staying with Arabella despite what Arabella
said.

Emma looked up to find that Arabella had come into the hallway. She waved her hand
at Emma as if shooing her out the door.

“I think she’ll be fine,” she said to Brian as she smiled at her aunt.

Arabella nodded vigorously.

“Arabella is certainly one tough cookie. If you’re sure she’ll be okay…I’m really
looking forward to our dinner. I’ve shaved and everything.”

Emma laughed. Brian always looked good, even when covered in plaster dust.

“I’ll pick you up at seven o’clock if that’s all right.”

“Don’t you dare cancel your plans on account of me,” Arabella said when Emma had hung
up. “What are you wearing?”

Emma mentally went through her closet. “I’ve got the proverbial little black dress.”
It was simple and basic and her go-to ensemble.

“You need something to give it some punch then. Come on.” Arabella indicated that
Emma should follow her down the hallway.

Arabella entered her bedroom and went straight to an enormous cherrywood jewelry armoire
that was almost as tall as she was. Her hand hesitated over the drawers and then finally
she pulled one open. “I think it’s in here…” she mumbled as she sorted through the
contents. “Yes. This is perfect. It will give your simple little dress some pizzazz.”

Arabella pulled out a stunning turquoise necklace that Emma had never seen before.
“This is what’s known as a torsade. Torsade means twisted, and you can see the strands
of turquoise beads are all twisted together.”

“It’s gorgeous,” Emma said, imagining how spectacular it was going to look with her
black dress. “But are you sure…?”

Arabella waved a hand. “Don’t worry. It wasn’t all that expensive. I bought it at
the Marché aux Puces, the flea market, when I was in Paris. I don’t think the stall
owner knew what he had.” She shrugged.

Arabella seemed slightly less worried by the time Emma left. Nevertheless, Emma kept
one ear cocked for her cell phone the whole time she was in the shower. She thought
she heard her cell ringing as she was toweling off, but when she checked, it was completely
silent with no voice mails and no text messages. Must have been her imagination.

Emma worked some product through her hair to style it and slipped into her dress.
She couldn’t wait to put on the necklace. As she suspected, it looked spectacular
and took her simple black dress to a whole new level.

*   *   *

EMMA’S buzzer rang right at six forty-five. She opened her door to find Brian standing
there clutching a bouquet. His eyes lit up when he saw her. He handed her the flowers.

“Thank you.” Emma admired them before putting them in a vase with some water.

“God bless Liz for loaning me her car. I’d hate for you to have to suffer the indignity
of arriving at L’Etoile, the best restaurant in Paris, Tennessee, in a pickup truck,”
Brian said as Emma followed him down the stairs.

Emma laughed. “Are you kidding? Half the vehicles in the parking lot are usually pickup
trucks.”

Still, she was glad she didn’t have to vault into the truck in her short dress—although
Brian always gave her a boost, and she enjoyed the feeling of his arms around her.

Nearly every space in the parking lot was filled when they got to L’Etoile. Saturday
night was in full swing. L’Etoile was one of the only restaurants in town where you
weren’t asked do you want fries with that? The tables were set with fine white linen,
the cutlery was real silver and the waiters wore dinner jackets with satin lapels
and black bow ties.

Brian gave his name to the maître d’, who discreetly consulted his seating chart.
“Your table will be ready shortly. Would you like to wait in the bar?” He gestured
toward the darkened nook where several couples were already seated.

Brian led Emma toward two stools at the end of the bar. There were two empty glasses
on the counter.

The bartender grabbed the glasses and tossed the spent ice into the sink, where it
rattled around like the ball on a roulette wheel before disappearing down the drain.
He put two fresh napkins in front of Brian and Emma and raised his eyebrows.

“What would you like?” Brian turned to Emma.

“A glass of Chardonnay would be lovely.”

Brian placed their order and swiveled his stool so he was facing Emma, their knees
touching. “I’ve never seen this place so busy.” He glanced at his watch. “I hope we
don’t have to wait too long. I’m starving.”

Emma didn’t mind waiting at all. Just being with Brian made her happy.

“Brian, my man,” a deep voice boomed at them suddenly.

“Hey, John. What are you doing here?” Brian slid off his stool and shook hands with
the slightly balding man. His suit was expensive—the expert tailoring subtly hiding
a substantial paunch.

Brian turned to Emma. “This is John Jasper. He’s a client of mine. I just finished
the renovations on his place.”

“Brian’s a genius,” the man boomed, holding out his hand to Emma. “I’m guessing you’re
Emma, right?” He pumped Emma’s hand enthusiastically.

Was Brian telling people about her?
Emma wondered. That was a good sign.

John looked around the crowded restaurant. “There’s
room at our table. Why don’t you join us? Lara and I would love to have you.”

Emma closed her eyes, hoping that Brian would say thank you, but no thank you.

“Sure, we’d love to, wouldn’t we?” He turned to Emma for confirmation.

She gave him a lukewarm smile and waited as John instructed the bartender to bring
their drinks over to his table.

“Sorry about that,” Brian whispered to Emma as they followed John through the crowded
restaurant. “He’s a really good client, and I didn’t want to risk offending him. He’s
a good guy.”

Emma squeezed his hand in reply. She would have to make the best of it.

They approached a table in the corner where a striking-looking woman was seated. She
got up and smiled shyly as they neared the table.

“Lara,” John said, his eyes glowing with pride, “you know Brian”—he gestured toward
Brian—“and this is his Emma.”

“Lovely to meet you.” She held out a hand, and Emma took it. It was very soft and
cool to the touch.

“They’re going to join us for dinner. Restaurant’s terribly crowded and who knows
how long they’d have to wait for a table.”

As Emma and Brian were taking their seats, the waiter appeared with their drinks.
Emma took a sip of her wine and studied her new dinner companions. Lara had long,
straight golden brown hair and green eyes. She was simply dressed in a tangerine-colored
halter top and white, gauzy pants. She reminded Emma of the models she used to work
with when she was a stylist in New York. She was
considerably younger than her husband, appearing to be in her late twenties, and spoke
with a slight accent that Emma couldn’t quite place.

John slapped Brian on the back. “Your boy here rescued our place for us. Lara and
I are big fans of mid-century modern, and when we found this place we were thrilled.
But it was practically rubble. We weren’t sure anyone would be able to restore it,
but Brian did a fabulous job. The kitchen is completely new, but you can’t tell it
wasn’t part of the original design.” He turned toward Brian. “You tell her about it,
Brian.”

Brian looked slightly uncomfortable. “Primarily we used glass, aluminum and galvanized
steel. But we kept with wood for the roof so it would blend better with the existing
one. Redoing the whole thing would have been too costly and time-consuming.”

“Now, Emma,” John said when the waiter had taken their orders. He leaned back in the
banquette, his arm draped across his wife’s shoulders. “Tell us a little bit about
yourself.”

Emma gave everyone a short précis about her life in New York, her move back to Paris
to help Arabella and her plans for Sweet Nothings.

“Your shop sounds lovely,” Lara exclaimed. “I will have to come and visit.” Her speech
was only slightly accented, her English nearly perfect.

John took a glug of his drink and guffawed. “I’m all in favor of beautiful lingerie.
You go and get yourself anything you want.” He smiled indulgently at his wife.

Ka-ching
, Emma thought. The evening wouldn’t be a total waste if she snagged a new customer
for Sweet Nothings.

“I’ve been away from Paris for years now. Hardly
recognized it when I got back.” John paused as the waiter placed dishes in front of
them. He looked at Emma. “I’d been working all over—New York, London, Hong Kong.”
He cut into his steak and forked up a large bite. “It’s been fascinating, but now,
in my position, I can afford to work from home most of the time. The blessings of
the Internet!” He turned to Brian. “I saw in the paper that Wyatt Porter was picked
up on another DUI. He was a couple of years ahead of me in school. He was wild even
back then. Not like that older brother of his. What’s his name?” He wrinkled his brow.