Laced with Poison (31 page)

She brushed at some invisible lint on her dress and straightened her belt. “Arabella
is fast asleep, and you will be, too, soon. I wouldn’t worry too much—you’ll be overcome
by the smoke long before the fire reaches the parlor.” She glanced at the gold and
diamond wristwatch on her arm again. “And now I really must be going.”

“I’ve already called the police,” Emma managed to blurt out.

“Really? Why don’t I believe you?”

Emma tried to get up from her chair to stop Marjorie, but her limbs felt liquid and
useless. She watched, helplessly, as Marjorie slid out the front door and closed it
behind her. Arabella was still sound asleep. Emma tried to call to her, but her voice
came out barely louder than a whisper. Hardly loud enough to wake someone who had
been drugged. She strained to hear any outside noises. Surely the police would be
here any minute. She’d tried to explain it all to the receptionist—Walker had been
in a meeting and not in his office—but she’d been so frantic she was afraid she’d
sounded terribly garbled. She hoped the receptionist hadn’t put her down as some kook
looking for attention.

She could smell the oil on the stove now. It was getting hotter by the second. Pierre
was on his feet, his nose in the air, sniffing furiously. Any minute and the pan would
explode into flames. A deep sob caught in Emma’s throat. She had to do something.
But first she had to shut her eyes—just for a moment. They were so heavy, and she
was so tired.

Emma had no idea how much time had passed, but a cool breeze fanning her face woke
her. Her eyes flew open as awareness of what had happened flooded back like the tide
coming in. She could clearly smell the hot oil along with billows of smoke accompanied
by the crackle of flames. She tried to move, but her limbs felt weighted down. She
looked up and was surprised to see Marjorie whisk past her.

“I got halfway down the block when I remembered I’d forgotten this.” She held up the
prescription bottle she’d retrieved from between Arabella’s sofa cushions. “Mustn’t
leave any evidence behind for the police to find. This way the police will think Arabella
had become a bit dotty, you know”—she tapped the side of her head—“and left a pan
of oil on the burner, and sadly, the two of you were overcome with smoke before you
could do anything.”

The thought that Arabella might be posthumously accused of carelessness roused Emma
to a new level of anger. She managed to throw off her lethargy long enough to get
to her feet and lurch toward Marjorie.

The air was thick with smoke, and Emma could see the orange glow of flames licking
at the walls of the kitchen. In her drugged state, she was no match for Marjorie,
but she had to try.

She swung at the older woman, but Marjorie sidestepped Emma’s punch easily enough.
Pierre barked furiously and nipped at Marjorie’s ankles, but she dodged him, too.

Marjorie sighed. “You really should make it easier on yourself. Sit back down, let
the drugs lull you to sleep and you’ll never know what happened.” She motioned toward
Arabella, who had slid down in her chair and was sleeping soundly. “Like your aunt.”
She tucked the medicine bottle into her purse. “And now, I really must be going.”
Marjorie started toward the door.

Emma knew she had only a few seconds to act. She lunged at Marjorie, but the drugs
had made her clumsy, and she fell heavily on top of the other woman.

Marjorie made a sound like
ouf
as the air was knocked out of her body by Emma’s weight. She went down heavily, striking
her head on the edge of the marble mantel on her way.

Emma rolled to her side and struggled to her hands and knees. There was a sizeable
gash in Marjorie’s head, her eyes were closed and she wasn’t moving. By now the room
was filling with smoke, and Emma had to stay close to the ground to breathe. Adrenaline
had chased away some of the effects of the drugs, and she was able to crawl to the
chair where Arabella still sat, dozing peacefully, unaware of what was going on.

Emma tried waking her, but Marjorie’s potion had had more of an effect on her elderly
aunt. Emma looked over her shoulder toward the kitchen where the bright orange glow
had intensified, and she could see flames shooting into the hallway. It was now or
never.

Emma grabbed Arabella by the ankles and pulled. She hoped that alone would wake her
aunt, but it had no effect. Very gently, she pulled her aunt down until her back and
head were on the seat of the chair, and her legs were sprawled indecently in front
of her. Emma was stumped as to how to get her off the chair completely without banging
her head. She looked around the room. Pillows! She dragged herself to the sofa and
pulled one of the cushions off. Maneuvering it over to Arabella’s chair seemed like
the most difficult task she had ever faced—on par with a triathlon. She managed to
place the pillow at the base of the chair, then she grabbed Arabella’s ankles again
and began to pull.

Just as Arabella’s head was about to slide off the chair,
Emma stopped. She was running out of time. Smoke was thick in the air, and the flames
were no longer contained in the kitchen but were racing down the hall toward the parlor,
licking at Arabella’s floral wallpaper. Pierre was standing by the door barking furiously.
She had to hurry. The drug Marjorie had given her was starting to wear off, but she
was still as limp as an overcooked piece of spaghetti.

She gave Arabella’s feet a final tug, quickly putting one hand under her aunt’s head
as she slid off the chair and onto the cushion Emma had placed there. Emma managed
to struggle to her feet. She gave a glance at Marjorie, who was still out cold, sprawled
in the path of the onrushing flames. If she were able, she’d come back and get her,
but Arabella was her first priority.

Emma once again grabbed Arabella by the ankles and yanked. It was hardly a dignified
position, but her aunt was in no condition to complain. Emma managed to get her to
the front door just as an enormous explosion sounded and the kitchen windows were
blown out by the heat and fire. She got Arabella onto the porch and collapsed beside
her. She gave a momentary thought to Marjorie trapped inside with the flames, but
the little energy she’d been able to muster had deserted her.

Emma breathed in the fresh air, vaguely conscious of the sound of sirens in the distance.
Pierre stood over her, alternately licking her face and yowling at the sounds of the
approaching fire trucks and police cars.

Emma tried to get back on her feet, but it was too difficult. She let her head drop
back against the porch floor and gave in to the slumber that washed over her.

WHEN Emma awoke she had no idea where she was. She looked around, but her surroundings
were completely unfamiliar.

“Where am I?” Her throat was parched from the smoke, and her lips felt thick and chapped.

“We’re taking you to the Henry County Medical Center to have you looked over. You
breathed in quite a bit of smoke.” The paramedic smiled down at Emma.

Emma struggled to sit up. “Aunt Arabella. How is my aunt? I have to go to her.”

The paramedic placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and eased her back against the
gurney. “Your aunt is fine. They took her ahead of you, and she should be at the hospital
by now. Her vitals were good and steady, so I don’t think you have anything to worry
about.”

Emma moved her head restlessly on the pillow. “What about Pierre?”

The paramedic raised his eyebrows.

“My aunt’s dog. She’d die if anything happened to him.”

“The French bulldog? A very nice young man by the name of Brian came by. He said he’d
take care of the dog. I hope that’s okay?”

“Yes, that’s fine.” It was so like Brian to show up when he was needed. The thought
helped to still some of the shaking that had seized hold of her, and she lay back
against the pillows and tried to relax. Everything was going to be okay.

Arabella’s house! Memory was flooding back, and Emma recalled the flames inching their
way out of the kitchen and down the hall.

“My aunt’s house!”

Once again the paramedic urged her to lay back and relax. “The firemen are working
on it now. She will definitely need a new kitchen, but I heard the chief say they
would be able to save the rest of the structure. A few more minutes and the fire would
have been in the timbers. They got there in the nick of time.”

The ambulance pulled into the emergency bay at the Henry County Medical Center, and
Emma was whisked out and into the emergency room. Doctors and nurses hovered over
her, taking vitals, drawing blood and performing various other tests.

“You’re very lucky.” A young doctor with unkempt dark hair looked at Emma over the
top of his clipboard. “You’ve survived without any significant damage.” He leaned
forward and examined a cut on Emma’s arm. “Just a scrape. I’ll have the nurse clean
it and put a bandage on it.”

“What about my aunt?” Emma started to swing her legs over the side of the bed.

“Whoa.” The doctor put out a hand. “Not so fast. I gather your aunt is the woman who
was brought in right ahead of you? I’ll check.”

He stuck his head out of the cubicle and conferred with someone in the cubicle opposite.

“Your aunt said to tell you she’s fine.” He gave Emma a big grin.

She sank back against the pillows in relief. As long as Arabella was okay, nothing
else mattered.

Emma had barely settled back in bed when another thought struck. “What about Marjorie?”
She twisted the sheet between her hands. “She was in the house with us. She fell and
hit her head.”

The doctor frowned. “I don’t know anything about that. You’ll have to check with the
police when you get out.” He tapped Emma on the shoulder. “Now, I’ll get a nurse to
see to that gash on your arm.”

No sooner had the doctor exited than the cubicle curtain was swept aside again and
Detective Walker poked his head inside.

“Okay if I come in?”

Emma pulled the sheet up to her chin. “Sure.”

Walker perched on the edge of the plastic chair and pulled a notebook from his pocket.
He shook his head at Emma. “I thought you told me you were done detecting?”

“I…I…”

“It’s a good thing you called me and left that message. Although at first, everyone
thought it was some kind of joke.”

“I was really shaken up…I…”

Walker held up a hand. “Perfectly understandable. Fortunately we were still able to
get there in time.” He glanced around the emergency room cubicle. “We’re trying to
put
some facts together on the fire at your aunt’s house.” He glanced at his feet and
cleared his throat delicately. “Marjorie Porter was found dead in Arabella’s parlor.
There was a large wound in the side of her head.”

Poor Marjorie, Emma thought for a fleeting moment before remembering that Marjorie
had murdered two people in cold blood.

Emma explained, somewhat incoherently, she was sure, about Marjorie, the murders,
the pot of oil on the stove and subsequent fire. Walker’s face was bland throughout
her recital, but she could sense his incredulity.

He snapped his notebook shut. “All this will have to be looked into, of course.”

“Of course.” Emma went limp. She may have solved the murders to her satisfaction,
but not, obviously, to Detective Walker’s.

A nurse bustled in with discharge papers. “Doctor says you’re fine to go.” She handed
Emma a sheaf of computer-generated pages. “Here are some things you need to look for
after you get home.”

Emma promised to read them over carefully.

“Can I give you a lift?” Walker asked hopefully.

“Thanks, but I’ve already called a friend.”

Walker nodded and slipped out the door.

As soon as Emma was dressed, she headed to Arabella’s cubicle, where they were getting
ready to move her to a room.

“It’s only a precaution,” the doctor said, tucking his clipboard under his arm. “We’d
like to keep her under observation for twenty-four hours, then she’ll be released.”

Arabella insisted she’d be fine, and Emma gratefully headed toward the hospital exit.
The events of the evening were beginning to take their toll, and she ached from head
to toe. Her throat was still raspy, and her chest felt tight, the way it does when
you’re coming down with bronchitis. She thought perhaps a hot bath would help.

Emma had called Sylvia before leaving the emergency room, and she was waiting in her
ancient Cadillac outside the front portico of the hospital. Emma got in, buckled up
securely and mentally made the sign of the cross as Sylvia eased off the brake and
pulled away from the curb.

“I talked to Eloise Montgomery,” Sylvia said as she pulled onto the street. “She used
to work at the Toggery before she retired and moved to Sunny Days. She’s willing to
help out at the store while your aunt is out of commission.”

“That’s wonderful.” Emma leaned back against the seat and closed her eyes as Sylvia
missed sideswiping a parked car.

“She’s coming in tomorrow so you can take a day off and rest up. Quite the adventure
you had.” Sylvia sounded slightly wistful. Emma was glad Sylvia hadn’t been there
as well. She wouldn’t have wanted to have to drag both of them out of Arabella’s burning
house.