Laced with Poison (28 page)

“Really?”

“Yes. And Jessica didn’t do a thing about it. Too lazy, I expect.”

They moved away then, and Emma missed the rest of their conversation. But she’d already
heard more than enough. If Crystal knew that Gladys Smit had reported her—and having
access to all the administrative records in Jessica’s office, it was perfectly possible—then
she had an excellent reason for running Gladys over.

Maybe that dent in Crystal’s car wasn’t so innocent after all.

ARABELLA looked as if she’d hardly slept when she arrived at Sweet Nothings the next
morning. Emma was about to say something when she bit her tongue. She knew Arabella
hated being fussed over.

“Still no news?” She tried to keep her tone neutral.

Arabella shook her head, and her bun slipped to one side. Emma had never known Arabella
to take anything but the greatest care with her appearance. Now Emma was really getting
worried. Perhaps she’d have a word with Sylvia later and get her opinion.

“Did you enjoy
Roman Holiday
?” Arabella asked as she poured water into the coffeemaker.

“Yes, but you won’t believe what I found out.”

Arabella paused with the carafe of water in her hand.

“Apparently Gladys Smit, our hit-and-run victim, had reported seeing Crystal come
out of a resident’s room with something she’d
stolen. She told Jessica, and Jessica made a note of it in Crystal’s file but didn’t
do anything about it.”

“That’s not surprising, knowing Jessica. But it does give Crystal a motive for murder.”

“And with that suspicious dent in her car…”

“But wasn’t she out of town when you found that threatening note on your car?” Arabella
pressed the start button, and coffee began gurgling out of the machine and into the
pot. “Besides, Crystal doesn’t strike me as the type to own Tiffany stationery.”

“True.” Emma frowned. “But no one really knows where she went. She could have easily
snuck back. And maybe she stole the stationery from one of the residents?”

“I’ll bet you’re right.” The coffee hadn’t quite stopped perking, but Arabella was
already reaching for the half-empty pot and filling her mug.

She really must have had a bad night, Emma thought. She followed Arabella out to the
showroom and began turning on lights. She hadn’t done her usual cleaning the night
before, so she retrieved the glass cleaner from under the counter and began wiping
down the glass. They would do it again halfway through the day. It was amazing how
many fingerprints could be amassed in such a short time.

Arabella was quiet, sitting in the corner, mending a piece of black lace on a peignoir.
The clock ticked over to ten a.m., and Emma went to flip the sign from
closed
to
open
. Just as she turned away, the door began to open.

The scent of masculine aftershave wafted into the store. It must have alerted Arabella,
because she glanced up. Emma had her back to the door, and the look on Arabella’s
face made her whirl around.

A tall man with dark hair tinged with white at the temples and a thick mustache entered
the shop.

Arabella jumped to her feet, heedless of the negligee in her lap, which slipped to
the floor.

“Francis.”

The man smiled and the dimples on either side of his mouth deepened.

For a moment, Arabella stood stunned, then she began to move forward. She buried her
face in Francis’s chest, and he put his arm around her. Finally, Arabella tilted her
head back. “Where…When…How did you?”

Francis laughed. “How about you pour me a glass of that famous sweet tea of yours,
and I’ll tell you all about it.”

Arabella bustled into the stockroom, her face and demeanor completely transformed.

Was this love?
Emma thought with a shock. Would she and Brian someday have something similar?

“Is Arabella okay?” Francis asked as soon as Emma’s aunt had left the room.

Emma paused for a moment. How much should she tell him? “She’s been very worried.”
Somewhat of an understatement, Emma thought ruefully.

Francis nodded. “That was my biggest concern the whole time. I hated to think of Arabella
having a single bad moment.” He clenched his lips, and Emma could have sworn his eyes
were wet with tears.

Arabella came back with the tea and poured each of them a glass. She held up her glass.
“This is a wonderful moment.” She smiled at Emma and then, with a special glint in
her eye, at Francis.

Francis took a big sip of his tea. “Best sweet tea in the South.” He smiled at Arabella,
and it was as if they were
the only ones in the room. Emma wondered if she ought to find some reason to leave
the two of them alone.

“Now you must tell us what happened,” Arabella said firmly.

Francis ducked his head. “It really was nothing. I don’t know where to begin.”

“The beginning is always a good place,” Arabella said crisply.

Francis threw his head back and laughed. “Okay, the beginning it is. The dullest job
on the face of the earth—security guard at a bank. I had to go to the drugstore and
get some special insoles for my shoes because my feet were killing me making the rounds
every night.” Arabella and Francis smiled at each other, and again Emma wondered if
she ought to sneak off. She was feeling decidedly de trop.

“Then…”—Francis paused for a drink of his tea—“the robbers finally showed up.”

Arabella shivered, and Francis draped an arm over her shoulder and squeezed her tight.
Emma suddenly felt very much alone.

“I let them go about their business, watching carefully from outside. I’d alerted
my colleagues, but their instructions were to keep their distance unless I told them
otherwise.” Francis took a deep breath and continued. “One of them must have spotted
me as they were leaving, because next thing I knew, they’d grabbed me and relieved
me of my gun.” He shrugged apologetically. “I guess maybe I’d better retire soon.
My reaction time isn’t what it used to be.”

Arabella gasped. “Was it…terrible?”

Francis shook his head. “They fed me, made sure I had water, and I bunked down on
a couple of blankets on the floor. Not exactly the Hilton, but it wasn’t as bad as
all that.” He smiled at Arabella as if to reassure her.

“But how did you get away?”

“Criminals are basically stupid, no matter how smart they think they are. Eventually
they couldn’t resist the rewards of their spoils—drugs, alcohol. I waited until they
were all either stoned or drunk, and I slipped out a window. They didn’t tie me up.
They were too arrogant to think I might try to escape.” He gave a deprecating smile.
“As far as they were concerned, I was an old copper, put out to pasture, and nothing
they had to worry about.”

Arabella’s spine stiffened. “Little did they know!”

“Well, you should have heard my knees creaking when I sneaked out that window. Then
my damn sciatica started acting up.” Francis put a hand to his back.

Arabella smiled a conspiratorial smile. “Sciatica is the worst.”

Emma decided this was the perfect opportunity for her to slip away. Neither Francis
nor Arabella noticed when she picked up her glass of tea and sidled toward the stockroom.

Half an hour later, Emma was still working on some bookkeeping when a shadow fell
across the desk. She looked up to find Sylvia standing there.

“How’s it going, kid?”

“Okay. Did you hear? Francis escaped the robbers.”

Sylvia grunted. “Arabella couldn’t take off fast enough after lover boy. I told her
I’d take over for her for the afternoon.”

“It seems you have a boyfriend of your own.” Emma closed the lid of her computer and
smiled up at Sylvia.

Sylvia smiled in return. “Yeah, Earl and I get along. We make a great card-playing
team, that’s for sure.” Sylvia fingered the large topaz ring she wore on her right
hand. “Have you made any progress in our latest case?”

Emma shrugged. “I don’t know what to think. Crystal
has a dent in her car that is consistent with the hit-and-run that killed Gladys.
And I found out that Gladys reported Crystal to Jessica for stealing, although nothing
ever came of it.”

“Sounds like a good motive to me.”

“I thought so. Of course Crystal claims that she loaned the car to Jessica at lunch
one day, and when she went out to the parking lot that evening, voilà, there was a
dent in the car.”

“Of course, she
would
say that.” Sylvia took a puff of oxygen from the tank that was never far away.

“She claimed to have had a big argument about it with Jessica. I wonder if anyone
at Sunny Days heard her.”

“I didn’t, but I can easily ask around. Maybe someone else did.”

The bell over the front door jangled as someone pushed it open. “I’ll go see who that
is.”

Emma got up from her chair. She sniffed. She could have sworn she noticed the scent
of vanilla. Someone’s perfume, perhaps?

“Hello?” A voice came from the outer room.

“Hello,” Emma answered as she walked into the showroom. “Liz!” She stopped short.
Liz was nearly hidden behind a tower of white bakery boxes.

Liz peered around the edge of the stack in her arms. “I stopped by Bitsy’s, and she
asked if I could deliver these.” Liz eased the boxes onto the counter. “She said the
promotion is going great, and business has really picked up.”

“I hear you have some good news, too.”

Liz grinned. “Yes. Did Brian tell you? Matt got that contract. And someone else contacted
him yesterday about a proposal for another project.”

“That’s great.” Emma untied the string on the top box
and peeked inside. Gorgeous, miniature carrot cupcakes were nestled inside. “These
look delicious.” She stuck out her lower lip. “But they’re not as pretty without your
flowers.”

A shadow crossed over Liz’s face. “I know, but she wouldn’t dare risk it.” Liz looked
down at her hands. They were gardener’s hands with short, serviceable nails. “The
police have been around again asking more questions. They think I blamed Jessica for
the things that went missing from my father’s room.”

Emma was about to sample one of Bitsy’s cupcakes, but her appetite suddenly deserted
her. “That’s ridiculous! Besides, whoever killed Jessica must have killed Gladys Smit
as well.”

“The police are treating that as a hit-and-run—a random act. Criminal, certainly,
but not related to Jessica Scott’s death.”

Emma felt like stamping her foot in frustration. “I can’t believe they don’t see the
connection.” She was quiet for a moment. “I guess we’ll have to
make
them see it.”

*   *   *

EMMA didn’t want to wait for Sylvia or Earl to pick up news around Sunny Days. The
look on Liz’s face had Emma worried. She had to do something now. She’d phoned the
volunteer coordinator at Sunny Days, and luckily, they needed someone to help with
games that very evening.

As soon as she and Sylvia closed the door to Sweet Nothings, Emma headed toward the
retirement community. She had the strangest feeling that she was going to uncover
something important—something that would put them on the right track. She hoped her
intuition would be proved correct.

Emma glanced at her watch as she pulled into the parking lot at the retirement home.
She had to hurry; she was running a little late.

Residents were already assembled in the activity room when Emma got there. The scent
of popcorn permeated the air, and the crowd of women and a handful of men sat around
munching from small paper bags.

Missy Fanning looked considerably less cool and collected than Emma suspected she
would have liked. The collar of her white blouse was wilted, and sweat stains created
dark arcs under her arms. She rushed over when she saw Emma.

“Thank goodness you’re here. The residents at that table over there”—she pointed toward
a group of three people seated together—“want to play euchre and need a fourth. Do
you know the game?” She batted her heavily mascara-laden eyelashes at Emma, as if
that would be the deciding factor.

“I’ve played a few times.”

“Great!” Missy ran a hand across her chin where sweat beaded in the crease.

Emma moved toward the table Missy had indicated. She recognized Eloise Montgomery,
who was dressed in an embroidered jacket and black pants, and had an elaborate pin
studded with aqua terra jasper stones on her lapel. The other two people were unknown
to Emma—a woman with striking white hair who was dressed as meticulously as Eloise,
and a gentleman with a gentle mien and a droopy, mottled brown and gray mustache.

Emma slid into the empty seat and introduced herself. A deck of cards was on the table,
separated into two piles. Emma remembered that in euchre, you only used the cards
from nine through the face cards.

The gentleman, who had introduced himself as Robert,
asked if he should deal. Everyone was in agreement, and he reached a shaky hand toward
one of the piles.

“So,” Eloise said with obvious relish, “is there any news about Jessica’s death?”
She raked in the cards Robert had dealt in front of her. “Or that poor girl who was
run over on her bicycle? She was an aide here. I didn’t have much contact with her,
but she was nice enough. A terrible end that was not deserved.”