A Fatal Slip (Sweet Nothings)

by London, Meg

  “A gunshot is hardly an accident.” Keep her talking, Emma thought. Maybe Mariel or Molly would return, or Joy would come in from horseback riding. Perhaps Brian was wondering why she’d hung up so abruptly and wasn’t answering her phone and was already on his way. Emma thought about the plaster cast on his leg, and her hopes fizzled. There wasn’t much Brian could do in the condition he was in. But maybe he would call the police? She realized it was a forlorn hope even as the thought crossed her mind.

  “It’s time we went outside.” Sabina motioned toward the door with the pistol.

  “Outside?” Emma reached for her coat.

  “Leave it,” Sabina commanded.

  Emma tried to drag her feet as much as possible but then she felt Sabina press the muzzle of the gun into her back and knew she meant business.

  Chapter 26

  EMMA crossed the foyer with Sabina’s gun still pressed into her lower back. The house was quiet, the only sound the ticking of the clock in the living room. Emma hesitated at the front door.

  “Open it.” Sabina pressed the gun a little farther into Emma’s back.

  Emma pulled open the door and shuddered as the blast of cold air chilled her instantly. She instinctively wrapped her arms around herself. Light snow was falling again, leaving wet blotches on Emma’s sweater and pants. She wished she’d worn her boots and not a pair of thin-soled shoes. She shot a glance at Sabina, who was warm and snug in her fur coat and suede boots.

  “Across the field.” Sabina gestured with the gun toward the stables behind the house.

  Emma began the torturous journey across the rutted field. The grass was frozen and slowly turning white from the falling snow. Emma was shivering violently now as she slipped and slid her way toward the barn. At one point she fell, crying out as her bare hands hit the hard ground.

  “Get up,” Sabina demanded, waving the gun around where Emma could see it.

  Emma stayed on her hands and knees for a moment, trying to catch her breath before heaving herself to her feet again. A strange feeling was coming over her. She was past being scared. Now she was mad. The surge of adrenaline propelled her forward, and she no longer felt the biting cold.

  “Where are we going?” Emma had no idea where Sabina was taking her, but as long as they were out in the open field, there was still a chance that Molly or Mariel would see them. Emma risked a glance back toward the house and the driveway, but no cars had pulled in yet. For a moment she imagined that she saw Brian’s bright red pickup truck parked in the circular drive, but when she blinked again it was gone—merely an illusion or wishful thinking on her part.

  Sabina marched her steadily toward the stables. They were close enough now to hear the occasional whinnying and snorting of a horse.

  Emma suddenly remembered an article she had read in the paper—about how it was actually very difficult for an amateur to shoot a moving target and that when faced with someone with a gun, your best bet might be to run away. Her stomach knotted up at the thought of running while Sabina was firing at her. Emma had no idea how good a shot the woman was.

  They were almost to the stables now. Was Sabina planning on shooting her there, where the noise would be less obvious? Emma decided she didn’t want to wait to find out. She took a deep breath and took off at a run across the slippery field.

  “Stop,” Sabina commanded, but she didn’t fire.

  Emma’s feet, in their thin-soled shoes, slipped and slid on the snow-covered grass. She kept her eyes on the ground, fearful of putting a foot wrong on the uneven terrain. A tuft of grass hid a deep rut in the frozen earth, and Emma caught her foot in it, slamming to the ground with enough force to knock the wind out of her.

  In seconds, Sabina was leaning over her, the gun pointing threateningly at Emma’s head.

  “Get up.”

  Emma tried to stand up, but her hands slipped, and she landed on her knees again. Sabina prodded her with the gun. Finally Emma was on her feet and moving once more.

  “Don’t try that again,” Sabina warned.

  Emma risked another glance over her shoulder, but the driveway was still empty.

  Emma was beyond chilled to the bone by the time they reached the stables. Sabina pulled open the door and shoved Emma inside.

  The sudden comparative warmth felt glorious. The smells of hay and horse filled Emma’s senses, and she heard pawing and snorting from various stalls as if the horses were surprised by their sudden visitors.

  A row of stalls ran down either side of a wide aisle lit by hanging overhead fluorescent lights. The stall doors were wood on the bottom with metal grills on top and over each was a metal plate with the horse’s name on it. Emma noticed that Big Boy’s stall was empty. Joy must still be out riding.

  The horses moved around restlessly, perhaps wondering if Emma and Sabina had come to feed them. One large black mare named Pretty Girl snorted loudly and banged against the door of her stall with her rump, startling Emma and making her jump.

  Emma’s mind was racing trying to think of a way to escape from Sabina. Sabina had approached Pretty Girl’s stall and was fumbling with the latch, her gun still trained on Emma. She finally unlocked the door and grabbed Emma by the arm.

  “What are you doing?” Emma tried to resist, but Sabina waved the gun in her face.

  “You’re going in there,” Sabina said, pointing to the horse’s stall. “And when I shoot off my gun”—she brandished it in Emma’s face—“the horse is going to go crazy. You won’t be able to get out of her way, and it will all look like a terrible and unfortunate accident.”

  “No,” Emma protested. The mare was stomping and snorting in earnest now as if she was angry at the intrusion into her territory. Emma watched as more than one thousand pounds of horseflesh slammed into the sides of the stall. If Emma went in there, she would be crushed for certain.

  She decided to take her chances. She yanked her arm from Sabina’s grasp and began to run, zigzagging across the stable floor. She was out the door before Sabina was able to respond but it was mere seconds before Emma heard footsteps pounding behind her followed by the sound of the gun being fired.

  She flinched but kept running, changing direction repeatedly so that she would be harder to hit. Another shot, then another, but she was still running, her breath rasping in her ears, her heart feeling as if it would burst.

  A thunderous noise came from behind Emma. She turned around and glanced over her shoulder quickly. Joy was galloping across the field, standing out of the saddle, a look of intense concentration on her face. Big Boy was kicking up clods of mud behind him as he flew across the grass.

  Sabina raised her gun in the air, and Emma held her breath. If Big Boy spooked now, Joy could be seriously injured. Sabina pulled the trigger but . . . nothing. No sound, no bullet. She swore loudly, throwing the gun on the ground. She turned around and looked at Emma then back at Joy.

  Joy and Big Boy were headed straight for Sabina. Sabina hesitated like a deer caught in a car’s headlights, then she began to run. Joy and Big Boy easily overtook her, the huge horse knocking her to the ground. Joy pulled on the reins and Big Boy slowed and finally came to a halt, his chest heaving and clouds of vapor streaming from his nose. Joy dismounted and both she and Emma made their way toward Sabina, Joy suddenly clumsy now that she was no longer on Big Boy’s back.

  Sabina lay on the cold grass, her face white and her body still.

  “Is she breathing?” Joy asked, her own breath coming in gasps.

  Emma, who had begun to shiver uncontrollably, knelt and felt Sabina’s neck. She looked up at Joy. “There’s a pulse.”

  “Time to call nine-one-one.” Joy pulled a cell phone from her jacket pocket and punched in the numbers.

  Just then they heard the sound of a car engine, and they both turned toward the house. Brian’s red pickup truck was barreling down the drive. Emma couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face. The truck came to a stop in a spray of gravel and both doors flew open.
r />   A man—Emma thought it was Bobby Fuller—was sitting on the driver’s side as Brian slid out of the passenger seat, swinging his crutches after him. He began to make his slow and laborious way toward Emma.

  Emma began to run, cold, stiff and limping slightly from all the times she had fallen. She reached Brian about two-thirds of the way across the field and threw her arms around him, burying her face in his chest. Brian whipped off his coat and wrapped it around Emma, holding her tight against him. She began to cry, and he stroked her hair gently.

  “How did you . . . why did . . .”

  “Sssh,” Brian said softly. “When you hung up on me earlier and then didn’t answer your phone, I had a strange feeling. I didn’t like it. I convinced Bobby to drive me over here to check on you. We were already out looking at a job.”

  “It was Sabina,” Emma said somewhat incoherently, gesturing toward the field. “She was trying to kill me.”

  Brian tightened his arms around Emma. They both heard the faint wail of a siren in the distance. Emma twisted in Brian’s embrace. She looked back toward the field. “I’d better go help Joy. If Sabina wakes up . . .”

  But before Emma could move, a police cruiser had pulled into the driveway and the two occupants were running toward the figure lying in the field, their guns drawn.

  “Let’s get you inside. You’re freezing,” Brian said.

  Another siren blared in the distance getting louder and louder until it cut off abruptly as the ambulance pulled into the driveway.

  “They’ll take care of everything,” Brian said, gesturing toward the police and the EMT crew who were pulling a gurney from the back of the ambulance. He began to lead Emma back toward the house. “It’s all over.”

  Chapter 27

  EMMA let Brian lead her back inside the house. Mariel still hadn’t returned, but Molly was in the kitchen staring out the window. She gasped when she saw Emma. “What’s happened? You look terrible. I saw the police cars and the ambulance. I couldn’t imagine what was going on.”

  Emma looked down at the mud on her knees. There was a small hole in her right pant leg, and the elbows of her sweater were equally dirty.

  “A cup of tea—that’s what you need.” Molly bustled about the kitchen, retrieving a mug from the cupboard and the tea bags from the pantry. Her forehead was creased in worry, and she made soft tut-tutting sounds under her breath as she filled the mug and placed it in the microwave. When the microwave pinged, she added a tea bag and a heaping spoon of sugar and handed it to Emma. “Drink this. It’ll do you good. I put plenty of sugar in it.”

  Emma wrapped her hands around the warm cup. The shivering had finally stopped, and now she just felt unbearably weary. Brian watched her, his eyes narrowed in concern.

  Molly twisted her apron between her hands. Finally she could no longer contain her curiosity. “What is going on? Why are the police here?”

  Emma took a deep breath and began to explain about Sabina and the painting. Molly stared at her, her mouth open in a round O.

  “Well, I’ll be,” she said when Emma had finally finished. “I did tell you I heard Mrs. Roberts and Mr. Granger arguing that day. It must have been about the painting.”

  “Yes.” Emma took a sip of her tea. “You said she said something like ‘give it back.’ ’’

  “It makes all the sense in the world now.” Molly took another mug from the cupboard and began to fill it. “But what about Miss Joy? She had that big blowup with her father shortly before he—”

  Her words were cut off by the sound of the back door opening. Joy came into the room bringing with her the scent of cold, fresh air mingled with horse and hay. Despite the chill, her hair was damp with perspiration around her temples, and she had her jacket open and her scarf undone.

  “I can tell you what the argument was about.” Joy shot Molly a sharp look.

  Molly looked down at her feet.

  “I told him I wanted to start a therapeutic horseback riding program here on the farm. I’ve been saving up the money for it. Riding has done so much for me; I wanted to help other people, too.” Joy’s eyes filled with tears. “But he wouldn’t hear of it. He said he didn’t want all these cripples crawling all over the farm. I told him that riding also helps people with mental problems, and he said that was even worse.”

  “Are you going to do it now?” Emma asked.

  Joy lifted her chin. “Yes. Mariel is fine with it and so is Jackson. I’ve been in touch with a certified instructor. Gordon said he would do anything to help me get things off the ground.”

  A very becoming blush rose from Joy’s collar to her hairline, and she turned away abruptly. Emma looked at her curiously. It seemed as if Gordon might be a little bit more than simply a riding instructor.

  Suddenly Emma just wanted to go home. She caught a flash of light as the ambulance made its way back down the driveway.

  Emma turned to Joy. “Was Sabina badly hurt?”

  “She was regaining consciousness. They’ll run a million tests, of course, but I think she’s going to be okay.”

  “You saved my life.” Emma put her hand on Joy’s arm.

  Joy looked embarrassed. “It was nothing. Besides, I never could stand that woman. She’s contributed very nicely to my new enterprise, though.” Joy grinned. “I saw her go up the balcony stairs after my father the night he was killed. I didn’t follow them—I assumed it was some planned rendezvous. But then when the police discovered my father had been shot, I put two and two together. Sabina was desperate to keep me quiet. When spooking Big Boy didn’t work, she resorted to giving me money. I knew the police would figure things out in the end with or without any help from me.”

  “But they almost didn’t,” Emma protested. “And Sabina almost killed me.”

  “I am sorry about that. I never meant for that to happen.”

  Emma was shocked. Was it the background of immense privilege she’d been surrounded by her whole life that made Joy think that was morally acceptable?

  Emma wasn’t going to stick around to find out. She put her mug down on the counter and turned to Brian. “I’m ready to go now if you are.”

  “Will you be okay driving or do you want to ride with me and Bobby and come back tomorrow for your car?”

  Emma didn’t want to go back to the house . . . ever. “I’ll drive. I’ll be fine.”

  “Okay.” Brian put his free arm around Emma, and they made their way to the door and out into the cold air.

  • • •

  EMMA loved lazy Sundays. This one was cold, but the skies were clear and a brilliant blue. She bundled up, snapped on Bette’s leash and they set off for a long walk through town. Emma peered into the window of the Toggery, where there was a mannequin sporting a baby blue cashmere sweater. It would look good on Brian, Emma thought. Bette tugged on her leash as if to say let’s get moving.

  Emma continued down the block past Angel Cuts, where the flowery odor of hair spray and the chemical smell of hair dye lingered in front of the shop even though it was closed. Finally Bette began to tire, and they headed back home.

  Arabella had invited Emma, and Bette, too, of course, for brunch. Bette jumped into the car and took up residence in the front passenger seat as soon as Emma opened the door. Emma made a mental note to clean the window—Bette’s nose and paws had left a collage of prints all over the glass.

  The door was unlocked when they got to Arabella’s house. Emma stepped into the foyer, where a welcome rush of warm air greeted them, and took off Bette’s leash. Bette went flying down the hall to find Pierre, Emma following behind.

  Francis was at the stove managing to look completely masculine despite the frilly apron tied around his waist. His sleeves were rolled up, and he was flipping pancakes on a hot griddle.

  Brian was seated at the table, his leg stretched out in front of him. His face broke into a smile when he saw Emma. “Pardon me if I don’t get up.”

  Emma went to him and brushed his lips with hers. She turne
d around to find Arabella smiling at them.

  “I just had a call from your mother,” Arabella said brightly. “She and George are planning a vacation—it sounds more like a second honeymoon to me. Apparently their time apart has given them both a new appreciation for each other and a new perspective on things.”

  Emma felt her heart lift at that news.

  Francis carried a platter piled with golden brown pancakes to the table. “Do you have the bacon, dear?”

  “I’m keeping it warm in the oven.” Arabella grabbed a pot holder, opened the oven door and pulled out a pan of crispy, fried bacon.

  The kitchen table was already set and a sweating pitcher of orange juice was set out along with a beaker of warm maple syrup and a carafe of coffee. Emma slipped into the seat next to Brian. He reached out, grabbed her hand and held it, intertwining his fingers with hers.

  Finally Arabella and Francis sat down, and they were ready to eat.

  “Has there been any news about the Granger case?” Arabella asked.

  “More like cases. Plural.” Francis poured syrup over his towering stack of pancakes and added two pats of butter. “Jackson Granger immediately hired some expensive New York lawyer in an Armani suit, and the lawyer is already making a racket about the charges. Claims that the paperwork from the Rothko painting came from the seller and how was Jackson to know they were false? Of course, Jackson has yet to produce the previous owner of the painting. But all the legal wrangling will keep the case going for years while Jackson’s out on bail making even more money.”

  Francis shook his head. “Looks like the apple fell close to the tree. The father wasn’t above selling stolen paintings—the FBI found several works that had been taken from their rightful owners and which hadn’t been seen in years—and the son took it one step further and sold fake paintings.” Francis lowered his gaze and looked over the tops of his reading glasses. “Which he painted himself apparently. They found several works-in-progress in his house.”