Laced with Poison

by Meg London

  Emma was thinking about that when the bell over the front door tinkled and two women entered.

  “Can I help you?” Emma said.

  The taller of the two shook her head. “We’re just looking, thanks.”

  Emma went back to arranging some of the new stock that had just come in. She removed one of the vintage peignoir and negligee sets from where it was hanging on the door of one of the open distressed white armoires, and she replaced it with the bed jacket Arabella had picked up at the estate sale.

  The bell tinkled again, and two more customers arrived. By the time Emma had waited on them, several more had arrived, and they did a brisk business all morning.

  Finally, the last woman left, swinging a black-and-white shopping bag printed with Sweet Nothings. It was almost noon.

  The bell over the front door pinged again, and Emma stifled a groan. Would she never get a chance to sit down? She looked up to see Brian O’Connell pushing open the door. She felt a smile broaden across her face. She hadn’t expected to see Brian today. He had his hands full pitching in at his father’s hardware store, across the street from Sweet Nothings, while getting his architectural renovation company off the ground.

  “Hello, ladies.” Brian’s blue eyes crinkled with pleasure as he ran a hand through his brown hair, leaving it adorably mussed. His tall frame seemed to fill their small shop.

  “Brian!” Arabella said, grasping his arms and giving him an air-kiss on both cheeks. “What brings you to Sweet Nothings?”

  “Just checking up on some of my favorite ladies.”

  His smile made Emma feel warm all over.

  “I also wondered if Emma”—he smiled in her direction—“might be free for some lunch. I have time for a quick bite at the Coffee Klatch.”

  “I’d love to, but I hate to leave Aunt Arabella and Sylvia alone.”

  Sylvia gave a sound like a water buffalo snorting, and Arabella said, “Don’t be ridiculous, dear. We can handle things on our own. You go ahead.”

  Emma felt a warm glow as she retrieved her jacket from the stockroom and slipped into it. Lunch with Brian. Things were certainly looking up.

  * * *

  THE Coffee Klatch had started life as the Paris Diner, and despite new, young, hip owners, a fancy espresso machine and a different name, it was still essentially the Paris Diner as far as the townspeople were concerned.

  It was a few minutes before noon, but all the booths and tables were already taken and a handful of people were milling around the hostess stand waiting for something to open up. When you got up before dawn and had breakfast by six a.m., you were pretty darned hungry by noon. Emma thought back to her days in New York when no one booked lunch before one thirty and you made dinner reservations for eight o’clock or later.

  The hostess, a tall, blond girl wearing a pair of cowboy boots with a long black skirt and white blouse, and with a stack of menus tucked under her arm, led the first group of four toward a booth near the kitchen.

  “It shouldn’t be too long,” Brian said as he smiled down at Emma.

  Emma didn’t care how long it took—she was enjoying being with Brian.

  Finally, the hostess came back, led them to a small table and laid two menus down. “Waitress’ll be with you in a minute,” she said, and she turned her back quickly, heading toward the front of the Coffee Klatch.

  Before Emma could say anything, Mabel sidled up to their table, pencil and pad at the ready. “Something to drink?” she said economically. Mabel had started at the Coffee Klatch’s previous incarnation, the Paris Diner, right after high school, and now, twenty years later, the place wouldn’t be the same without her.

  Brian looked at Emma inquiringly.

  “I’ll have a glass of sweet tea, please.”

  Mabel scribbled on her pad and then looked at Brian. “Drink?”

  “I’ll have the same.” Brian smiled at Mabel, and her face softened.

  “Gotcha.” She scribbled on her pad again and started to turn away.

  “How is Marshall?” Brian asked, referring to Mabel’s young son.

  The way Mabel’s face changed, it was as if the sun were coming out. “Oh, he’s doing so well in first grade! The teacher put him in the Lions group—that’s the advanced reading group. My Marshall is that smart!” And she headed toward the kitchen with a huge grin on her face.

  “Now that that’s settled…” Brian said as he looked at Emma, and she smiled back. Brian shook his head. “I’ve been so busy, I’ve barely had time to breathe. Every time I passed Sweet Nothings I wanted to stop in and say hello. Bobby Fuller has done an admirable job of overseeing the hardware store, but there are still some things I need to take care of myself, and I was either needed there, or I was under the gun on one of my renovation jobs.” He touched the back of Emma’s hand. “I’ve missed you. Tell me what’s been happening.”

  Emma tried to ignore the sensations the touch of his hand on hers was causing. She took a deep breath and told him about the trunk show and Jessica’s death.

  Brian let out a soft whistle. “Certainly sounds like you’ve had your share of excitement. How is Miss Arabella? And Sylvia?”

  Brian had come to know them both during his recent renovation of Sweet Nothings.

  “They’re fine.” Emma explained about Sylvia’s move to Sunny Days.

  Brian laughed. “I can imagine she’s keeping them on their toes there.” He looked Emma in the eye. “And how about you? Everything okay?”

  “Sure. Fine.”

  Mabel arrived with their drinks, and they were momentarily silent as she slid them onto the table. “Ready to order?” She pulled her notepad from the pocket of her frilly apron.

  Brian frowned and glanced at the menu quickly. “Do you know what you want?” He lowered it and looked at Emma.

  “I’ll have the turkey club.”

  Mabel nodded, jotted something on her pad and looked at Brian with her penciled eyebrows raised.

  “I’ll have the pulled pork with extra barbecue sauce on the side.” Brian handed his menu to Mabel.

  “Fries?”

  “Yes, please.”

  Mabel replaced the pad in her pocket and headed toward the kitchen.

  “I’ve been meaning to call you.” Brian took a long sip of his iced tea. “I was hoping we could go to dinner or catch a movie or something. It’s been too long.”

  Emma was surprised to note that Brian seemed a bit…shy?

  “I’ve just been so darned busy. All I can manage when I get home at night is to fall asleep on the couch watching television.” He picked up the salt shaker and began to twirl it between his fingers. “I’ve got something to ask you,” he said finally.

  “Yes?”

  “This college buddy of mine is getting married this weekend. His name’s Chip. We played soccer together. He’s a good guy. He and Megan have known each other forever.” Brian took another long sip of his tea. “I sort of hoped you wouldn’t mind going to the wedding with me. It’s at the Beauchamp Hotel and Spa. Hopefully it shouldn’t be too boring.”

  A wedding! Brian was asking her to a wedding. Emma felt a rush of warmth flood her face. She tried to maintain some semblance of cool, but it was an epic fail.

  “Yes,” she gushed without even thinking.

  “Thanks.” Brian looked relieved. “I’d hoped you’d say yes. As a matter of fact, I already told them I was bringing someone.” He grinned. “I kept meaning to call, but it’s always so late when I get home. Besides, I was half afraid you’d say no.” He wiped a hand across his forehead. “You’re doing me a huge favor.”

  * * *

  EMMA pushed open the door to Sweet Nothings. Arabella was standing behind the counter turning the pages of a magazine. Sylvia was sitting on one of the toile-covered love seats, chin on chest and eyes closed. They both jumped to attention when they heard Emma enter.

  Sylvia gave a deep rumbling cough, and Arabella said, “How was your lunch?”

  “Okay, I guess.
” Emma slipped out of her jacket and went into the back room to hang it up. When she emerged, both Arabella and Sylvia were looking concerned.

  “Didn’t you have a good time?” Arabella fiddled with the ends of the black-and-white scarf she was wearing.

  “Oh, it was fine.”

  “Okay, out with it,” Sylvia barked. “Tell Auntie Sylvia what happened.”

  Emma slumped against the counter, her chin propped in her hands. “Brian asked me to do him a favor and go to a friend’s wedding with him.”

  “But that’s wonderful!” Arabella crowed.

  “Don’t see anything wrong with that,” Sylvia concurred.

  “There isn’t anything wrong with it. Not really,” Emma admitted. “It’s the way he put it. I thought he was asking me on a date…to a wedding…but then he thanked me for doing him a favor.” She appealed to Arabella and then Sylvia. “I really thought he was beginning to see me as something more than just his kid sister’s best friend.”

  “Well, he will soon,” Arabella said briskly. “This is your chance. A wedding is the perfect romantic occasion to turn things around. There’ll be champagne, and dancing, and candlelight…”

  Sylvia nodded her head in approval. “It will give you the chance to wear a spectacular dress. Something that will really make Brian sit up and take notice.”

  Emma felt her spirits rise. “You’re right.” She gave a wicked grin. “Brian isn’t going to know what hit him.”

  “Go get ’em, girl,” Sylvia said before lapsing into a coughing fit that sent Arabella running for a glass of water.

  Emma was musing on what she might wear to the wedding when the door slowly opened and a gentleman stuck his head into the shop. He had dark hair and eyes, and when he smiled, Emma almost found herself forgetting all about her date with Brian.

  “Can I help you?” She stepped out from behind the counter. Men were sometimes their best customers, opening their wallets wide to please a wife or girlfriend.

  “Detective Bradley Walker, ma’am. I was hoping you might be willing to answer a few questions.”

  “About what?” Emma’s hand flew to her throat, and she turned to look at Arabella and Sylvia. “Where is Chuck Reilly? Doesn’t he usually—”

  “Detective Reilly is on vacation, ma’am,” Walker answered smoothly.

  “Oh,” Emma said. Not that she wanted to encounter Chuck Reilly ever, ever again! They’d dated briefly in high school, but Emma had soon come to her senses and realized that Chuck’s good looks were only skin-deep. He’d been especially obnoxious to her during the investigation into her ex-boyfriend’s murder, and if she never set eyes on him again, that would be fine!

  “Detective Walker,” Arabella said smoothly, gliding forward with her hand outstretched. “Please come in. We’d be more than happy to answer any questions you have if you would be so kind as to tell us what this is all about.”

  “I gather you attended a party on Saturday at the home of…” He consulted his notes briefly. “Mrs. Deirdre Porter?” He looked up at Emma.

  “That’s correct.”

  “Actually, Detective, we all did.” Arabella made a gesture that encompassed Emma, herself and Sylvia.

  Walker looked up from his notebook and smiled. “Thank you, ma’am, that’s most helpful to know.”

  “But what is this all about, Detective?” Arabella drew herself up and gifted Walker with her most imperious look.

  “Well, ma’am, as I’m sure you are aware, a young woman took ill at the party and subsequently died. We’re in the process of looking into the events leading up to her death.”

  Arabella’s eyes widened. “Good heavens! You don’t mean the death is suspicious?”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I’m not really at liberty to say. Could you tell me”—he glanced at Arabella, Emma and Sylvia in turn—“did you all partake of the food offered at Mrs. Porter’s party?”

  “Why, yes,” Arabella said immediately.

  Emma and Sylvia both nodded.

  “And the cupcakes?”

  “Of course. They were delicious.” Arabella looked offended that he even had the nerve to ask.

  “I see.” Walker made some notations in his notebook. “And I presume none of you suffered any ill effects after the party?”

  Emma, Arabella and Sylvia all shook their heads in unison.

  “Did you know the victim, Jessica Scott, well?”

  Emma answered first. “I didn’t know her at all. We met at the party.”

  Arabella shook her head. “Same here.”

  Sylvia gave a bark of a cough before answering. “I didn’t know her, but I know she runs the old folks home my kids have stuck me in.”

  Walker nodded and added to the notes he’d already taken.

  “Did any of you ladies help prepare or serve the food?”

  Once again all three shook their heads.

  “I helped clean up,” Emma clarified.

  Walker nodded. “Who did serve the food, do you know?”

  “Most of it was already out on the table when we went into the dining room.”

  Walker’s eyebrows rose a fraction of an inch. “Where were you before that?”

  “We were in the living room.” This time Arabella answered. “The party was actually a trunk show, and we were doing our presentation. Everyone except our hostess had gathered together at that point.”

  “So no one slipped out?”

  Arabella shrugged and looked at Emma and Sylvia.

  “All I can say is I didn’t see anyone leave,” Sylvia piped up.

  “Me, neither,” Emma agreed, and Arabella nodded her head.

  “How about the dessert—the cupcakes. Were they out on the table as well?”

  Emma shook her head. “No. Marjorie Porter, Deirdre’s mother-in-law, passed those around.”

  Walker’s eyebrows rose another fraction of an inch, and he quickly jotted another note.

  “I do wish you would tell us what this is about.” Arabella sniffed.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, I’m sure you’ll be told in good time.” He slapped his notebook closed. “Thank you for your time.”

  Heavy silence hung over Sweet Nothings as the door closed on Detective Walker’s departure.

  “I can’t imagine what that was all about!” Arabella stalked toward the stockroom. “I could use a big glass of sweet tea right about now. Anyone else?”

  Emma and Sylvia murmured their assent, and Arabella disappeared into the back room.

  Emma was unpacking a box of new lingerie she’d ordered from Monique Berthole in New York when the door to Sweet Nothings was flung open so hard it nearly ricocheted off the wall. Arabella had just come out of the stockroom with a pitcher of tea and a tray of glasses. They all looked up, startled.

  Bitsy stood in the doorway, drawn up to her full six feet. Her eyes were red and puffy, as if she’d been crying, but the look on her face was one of pure anger.

  “What’s wrong?” Emma dropped the panties she was folding and rushed over to Bitsy.

  “Oooh, I am spittin’ mad right now!” She thumped her fist in the air like that scene in Gone with the Wind where Scarlett O’Hara vowed never to be hungry again.

  Arabella was her usual cool, calm self. She poured a big glass of sweet tea and advanced on Bitsy. “You sit yourself down, missy, and take a sip of this. And then you tell us exactly what is going on.”

  Bitsy took a couple of gulps of the iced tea and slowly her breathing became more regular. “Oh, that is good.” She put down the glass and sighed.

  “Now, what is it that has you so upset?”

  “Well,” Bitsy began, and Emma noticed two bright red spots appearing on her cheeks. “This policeman came around to the shop. Said he was a detective.” She tossed her blond mane contemptuously. “Started asking me all these questions.”

  “I imagine he’s the same one who came around here. He asked us a passel of questions, too,” Arabella said.

  “At first it was
about this and that, nothing much.” Bitsy took a long sip of her tea. “But then he started talking about the food at Deirdre’s party. Who prepared it, who served it, things like that. And then”—the red spots on her cheeks intensified—“he told me that Jessica was poisoned!” She drew the word out slowly and furiously. “And he thought my cupcakes were responsible!”

  “But your cupcakes were only one of the many things eaten at the party,” Arabella said.

  Bitsy raised an eyebrow. “That obnoxious detective said Jessica had been poisoned by foxglove.”

  “Foxglove? What’s that?” Emma asked.

  “It’s a common plant. All of it is poisonous—the leaves, the stalk and the flowers. The flowers are very pretty. That detective seems to think that I somehow mistook a foxglove flower for something harmless and put it on one of those cupcakes!” Bitsy exhaled furiously.

  Emma froze. All the flowers for Bitsy’s cupcakes came from Liz’s garden.

  Had Liz made a terrible mistake? One that had cost Jessica Scott her life?

  IT took several glasses of sweet tea to calm Bitsy down. Arabella had to make a fresh pitcher. For once, Emma was grateful that the shop was empty. She glanced at Arabella and was concerned to see that she looked rather shaken.

  “Aunt Arabella, let me pour the tea and why don’t you go sit down?”

  “Thank you, dear, I don’t mind if I do.” She eased herself onto the love seat next to Sylvia, who was the only one who appeared to be taking things in her stride.

  Emma took over pouring refills on the tea, glancing from time to time at Arabella to make sure she was okay. All of this coming on the heels of the murder at Sweet Nothings in June might be too much for her.

  Arabella took a long sip of her tea, and Emma was pleased to note that a soft blush of color appeared in her previously ashen cheeks. Arabella put her glass down suddenly. “But you didn’t even know that woman. What was her name again?” she appealed to Emma.

  “Jessica. Jessica Scott.”

  “You didn’t even know her before the trunk show, did you? Why would the police think you had any reason to harm her?”

  Bitsy looked down at her lap. She reached for her tea, and Emma noticed that her hand shook slightly. “Right now they seem to think the whole thing was an accident, but…”