Murder Unmentionable (6 page)

Emma glanced at the shiny badge pinned to his uniform. Officer Joe Kenny.

“Who is this guy? Do you know him?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen him around these parts before,” the other policeman said. His badge indicated his name was Patrick Flanagan. He swallowed hard and kept his eyes averted from the floor of Sweet Nothings.

“Me neither.” Kenny scratched the other side of his head as he stared at Guy. “Know who he is?” He looked at Emma.

She began to stutter. “His name is Guy Richard. He’s a photographer.”

“What’s he doing here?” Flanagan asked.

“Dunno,” Kenny answered.

Emma gave him a stern look

“He a friend of yours?” Kenny asked.

Emma nodded her head.

“Boyfriend?”

Emma began to nod her head again but then stopped. “Ex. Ex-boyfriend. We dated, but it was over.” She crossed her arms over her chest definitively. She wished her head wasn’t pounding quite so hard. It was putting her at a disadvantage.

“Okay, so let’s start from the beginning.” Kenny nodded toward Arabella. “Who found the body?”

Arabella finally got her voice back. “I did.” She fiddled with the strands of jet beads at her neck. “Would you mind if I sat down?” She moved toward a chair. “I’ve had quite a shock.”

“Aunt Arabella, are you okay?” Emma helped her to the chair. “Would you like a drink of water?”

Arabella shook her head. “I’d rather get this over with as soon as possible. She perched on the edge of the chair, her back rigid, her head high.

“So you found the body.” Kenny turned toward Arabella. “When did this happen?”

“Obviously a few minutes before I called you. I certainly didn’t sit around polishing my nails first,” she added with a sharp edge to her voice.

Pierre lifted his head and gave a low growl.

Take that
, Emma thought, and shot an admiring glance at her aunt.

“So the body was here on the floor when you arrived?”

Arabella gave a quick nod. “I came in through the front door,” she waved a hand in that direction, “and there he was.”

“Was the door locked?” Kenny pulled a small, worn-looking notebook from his pocket and scribbled in it.

“Yes. I used my key to get in. Then I locked the door in back of me.”

“Why?”

“Obviously so no one would come in.”

“Were you expecting someone to come in?”

Arabella gave a hiss of annoyance. “Of course not. But occasionally customers try the door, and if it’s not locked, they assume we’re open for business.”

“And you aren’t?”

“No. We’re in the process of renovating the shop. We plan on being closed for a few weeks.”

“So let me get this straight.” Kenny took his hat off and tucked it under his arm. “You come open up the shop as usual and bam, you fall over this dead body lying in the middle of your floor.”

“I didn’t fall over him,” Arabella protested.

“In a manner of speaking, only,” Kenny reassured her.
“And this guy is your niece’s ex-boyfriend. And it looks like someone clonked him over the head with something.” Kenny squatted down next to the body and examined the wound. “Nasty.” He shook his head and stood up.

Emma noticed a glint of something shiny underneath the edge of one of the cabinets. She bent down to get a better view. It was Arabella’s silver-headed walking stick. She reached out a hand.

“Don’t touch it!” Kenny snapped.

Emma jumped and pulled her hand back. “I was only—”

“That could be our murder weapon.” Kenny yanked a slightly tatty-looking handkerchief from his back pocket, wrapped it around his hand and reached under the cabinet. He pulled out the walking stick.

“Do you really think it’s murder?” Arabella’s face turned even paler.

“Unless our victim tripped on something and hit his head hard enough to cause that kind of damage.” Kenny pointed toward the body.

“I suppose that is possible.” Arabella looked at Emma eagerly.

Kenny gave a harsh bark of laughter and Pierre half rose from his dog bed, his upper lip pulled back in a snarl.

“I think this is our murder weapon right here.” Kenny brandished the walking stick under their noses. “See? There’s blood.”

Emma recoiled, her stomach doing Olympic-worthy flip-flops.

“The detectives will have a field day with this. Hopefully we’ll be able to lift some prints if the perp wasn’t smart enough to wear gloves.”

“It’s going to be covered in prints,” Arabella pointed out dryly. “Mine, specifically. My niece’s, too, since she handled it. And probably half a dozen other people.”

“Is that so?”

They all heard the front door open and turned to look in that direction.

Brian strode in but stopped short when he saw what was going on. “What happened?” He moved swiftly toward Emma and Arabella.

“And who might you be?” Kenny asked, his pencil poised above his battered notebook.

“Brian. Brian O’Connell.”

“As in O’Connell’s Hardware Store?” Kenny gestured toward the front window.

“Yes.” Brian turned to Emma and Arabella. “Are you ladies okay?”

They both nodded.

“What’s going on?” Brian addressed Kenny and Flanagan.

“I might ask you the same question.” Kenny replied. He moved toward Brian and stood toe-to-toe with him. “What are you doing here? According to these ladies”—he swept a hand in Emma and Arabella’s direction—“the shop is closed.”

“I’ve been doing the renovations,” Brian said.

“Were you acquainted with the deceased?” Kenny indicated the body with a nod of his head.

“I met him once. The other day.”

Kenny brandished the walking stick, which he still had in his hand. “I take it this is yours?” He looked at Arabella.

“Yes, that belongs to me.” Arabella responded.

“It does, does it?”

Emma bristled at the tone in Kenny’s voice. “What is that supposed to mean?” she snapped.

“Nothing, nothing,” Kenny said soothingly. “Just trying to confirm ownership, that’s all.”

“When did you last see this walking stick?” He turned back to Arabella.

“Yesterday. I was using it to get around after I’d tripped
and twisted my ankle. But it was feeling much better, and I didn’t think I needed it anymore.”

“So what do we have here?” Kenny looked around at them, sounding like Hercule Poirot in one of Agatha Christie’s Golden Age mysteries. “We have a body.” He indicated Guy with a flourish of the walking stick. “We have the murder weapon.” He brandished the stick again. “We have no sign of a forced entry.” He glanced toward the front door. “Ergo, our murderer must be someone with a key.” He looked around his assembled audience. “Who has a key to this place?”

“Obviously, I do.” Arabella spoke first. “And my niece.”

“Me, too,” said Brian.

“Really?” Kenny said, and Emma did not like the tone of his voice.

“I’m going to be doing the renovations on the shop, so Arabella thought I ought to have a key.”

“Anyone else?” Kenny asked. “A neighbor, friend, boyfriend…” His voice trailed off as they all began shaking their heads. “No?”

“Don’t you think we ought to call this in to headquarters now?” Flanagan reached for his walkie-talkie. “Get one of the detectives out here?”

“All in good time.” Kenny slapped his notebook shut and stuffed it back in his pocket. “This case seems pretty simple to me. Open and shut.” He pointed a finger at Emma. “You got mad at your ex-boyfriend and clonked him over the head with your aunt’s walking stick.”

STUNNED silence greeted Officer Kenny’s pronouncement. Then everyone began talking at once. Emma sputtered, she was so mad. Arabella hissed and Brian bellowed. They sounded like a steam engine roaring to life.

Before any of them could complete a sentence, Kenny was at the front door of Sweet Nothings. “Coroner’s here,” he called over his shoulder as he ushered in a stoop-shouldered man with untidy gray hair.

“District attorney’s on his way,” the coroner said, pulling a pen from his shirt pocket. “Luckily, I was just down the block getting a cup of coffee.” He approached Guy’s body. “What have we got here?”

“You might not want to watch this,” Kenny said to Emma, Arabella and Brian. “Why don’t you go on down to The Coffee Klatch and get something to drink?”

Emma looked down at her yoga pants. At least she wasn’t in her pajamas. She would be more than glad to get away
from Sweet Nothings and Guy’s body. The longer she stayed, the more real things became.

“I’ll just go put Pierre in his crate.” Arabella looked at Pierre and he lowered his head and obediently followed her into the back room.

As soon as Arabella rejoined them, they trooped out the door and into the warm, humid morning air. Emma had started to shake and the warmth felt good.

They were closing the door behind them when they saw someone waving from across the street. Emma didn’t recognize him, and she stared, puzzled, as the man darted across Washington Street, just missing a red minivan that had to swerve to avoid him.

He stopped in front of them, breathless and panting. “Is everything all right? I saw the police and I couldn’t imagine what had happened.” He glanced at Arabella. “I was so afraid you’d taken ill or something.” He smoothed a hand across his head where several long strands of white hair had blown across to the wrong side.

Arabella gave a dry smile. “Well, as you can see, I’m perfectly fine.” She turned toward Emma and Brian. “Les, this is my niece, Emma. She’s down from New York to help with my shop. And this,” she said, turning toward Brian, “is Brian O’Connell. He’s helping with the renovations. His father owns O’Connell’s Hardware.”

Arabella turned toward the small, dapper gentleman at her side. “And this is Les Wallace. He runs The Toggery just down the street.”

Emma looked from Les to Arabella and back again. Was Les a gentleman caller, as they used to say in the old days? There was a twinkle in Arabella’s eye that hadn’t been there before, and Emma swore her cheeks had a faint blush to them. Of course, it could have been the heat, but somehow she didn’t think so.

“We’re on our way to The Coffee Klatch. Would you care to join us?”

“But what’s happened?” Les spluttered, adjusting his tie, which had become slightly askew in his dash across the street. “What are the police doing outside your shop?”

“Come with us.” Arabella linked her arm through his. “And I’ll tell you all about it.” She glanced over her shoulder where a small crowd of people had gathered in front of Sweet Nothings. “It’s probably best if we keep this among ourselves for as long as we can.”

That won’t be long
, Emma thought, remembering how quickly word of Guy’s arrival had spread.

FOR most of its life The Coffee Klatch had been known simply as The Paris Diner, and several of the letters were still faintly visible behind the sign announcing its new name. Although the name had been changed, the staff and customers remained much the same. The young couple that had taken over the diner after the previous owner died had invested in a fancy espresso/cappuccino maker that retained its original polish these many years later. Orders for anything fancier than coffee with cream and sugar were few and far between. And despite now being called “baristas,” the waitresses still wore frilly white aprons and called all their customers, male and female alike, “honey.”

A long line snaked from the takeout counter to the back of The Coffee Klatch, but most of the tables were empty. Emma, Brian, Arabella and Les slid into a booth near the back.

“Hopefully no one will find us here,” Arabella said, as she swiped a paper napkin across the table. “The less we say to people, the better.”

A waitress arrived at their table, pad in hand, piece of gum tucked firmly behind her back molars. Her glance kept straying to the front windows of The Coffee Klatch.

“Something’s going on down the street,” she said even before she asked for their order. “A whole lot of police cars went screaming past.” She cocked her head toward the chef flipping eggs on the griddle. “Hank said they stopped in front of Sweet Nothings. That’s your shop, isn’t it, Miss Arabella?”

Arabella fiddled with her menu. “Yes,” she agreed reluctantly. “And how is Marshall?” she asked firmly. “Marshall is Mabel’s son, and he’s just about to start first grade,” she explained to the rest of the table.

“Oh he’s fine,” Mabel glowed, adroitly deflected. “He’s so excited about taking the bus to school for the first time.” She tucked her pad into the pocket of her apron. “Just coffee then?” she asked, reaching out a hand for the menus.

“Could I get some green tea?” Emma asked.

“Green tea? I’ll see if we have any. I think they bought some a couple of years ago, but no one ever asks for it.”

Mabel tossed her yellow curls and strode off.

“That was close.” Brian smiled at Arabella.

“We won’t be able to hold the questions off forever—”

“Speaking of that,” Les cleared his throat timidly. “What is going on? Do you know?”

Arabella hesitated. “There’s been an unfortunate accident at the shop, and a young man has been killed.”

Les gasped. “But…” he sputtered.

Before he could say another word, Angel Roy rushed up to their table. Her French twist was coming down around her ears, and her face was flushed with excitement. “What is going on?” she demanded before even saying hello. “There are all these police cars outside your shop, Arabella. Are you okay?”