by Meg London
“I’ll say.” Brian looked around. “People have been going out on the terrace. Want to see if it’s any cooler out there?”
“Sure.”
They wove their way among the round, linen-covered tables toward the French doors leading outside. Brian twisted the gold lever on the nearest one and pulled it open. A welcoming rush of cool air enveloped Emma.
“Oh, that feels good.”
They stepped outside. The terrace was lit by tiny white lights wound in the surrounding bushes and a few strategically placed spots, leaving pockets of shadowy darkness. Brian led her toward one of the less well lit patches. He loosened his tie.
“This is much better. I could hardly breathe in there.”
They stood in their darkened corner listening to the haunting hoot of an owl in the distance. The breeze had an edge of coolness to it, and Emma shivered suddenly.
“You’re cold,” Brian said. His voice had a note of concern to it.
Emma wrapped her arms around herself. “A bit. It feels good.”
“Here. Take my jacket.” Brian slipped out of his blazer and placed it around Emma’s shoulders.
She could feel the warmth of his body contained within the fabric and could smell the combination of his tangy aftershave and the sharper smell of soap. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply.
When she opened her eyes, Brian was watching her intently. “I want to thank you for coming with me tonight. I hope you’re having a good time.” His voice dropped to a husky level, and he said softly, “I am.” He tilted his head slowly and moved it toward Emma’s. She closed her eyes again.
And then she felt his lips on hers.
EMMA could still remember the first time she flew on an airplane. Her parents were taking her to Florida for winter break. She remembered looking out at the fluffy, white clouds and wondering what it would be like to float on one of them.
Now she knew.
Brian’s kiss had transported her into another world where everything was light, bright and weightless. The feeling stayed with her all day Sunday.
“You look different. Something’s happened,” Arabella declared as soon as she walked into Sweet Nothings on Monday morning and saw Emma’s expression.
“Nothing’s happened. Why?” Emma could feel the smile spreading across her face.
Arabella laughed as she unclipped Pierre’s leash. “It’s written all over your face. Something happened. Something good.”
Emma momentarily buried her face in her hands. It seemed so ridiculous all of a sudden—to be excited because a boy had kissed you. That was high school stuff.
“I gather you had a good time at the wedding on Saturday,” Arabella said, her tone drier than the Sahara.
“Oh yes. It was lovely.” Emma turned around and busied herself with sorting out one of the drawers.
Arabella sighed. “My weekend wasn’t as good as yours obviously was.”
“Oh no.” Emma spun around.
Arabella shrugged. “I had dinner with Les on Sunday night.”
Emma saw Arabella roll her eyes, an uncharacteristic gesture for her aunt.
“It was rather tedious. We had an early dinner at Ruggero’s Italian Bistro—you know that place out at the Paris Winery?” Arabella fiddled with the strand of amber beads around her neck. “Dinner was lovely, but Les made it clear he’s hoping for some sort of…commitment…from me.” Arabella laughed. “I’ve managed to avoid that sort of responsibility all my life. As soon as a man got too serious,” she snapped her fingers, “I said good-bye and good luck.” She smiled fondly at Emma. “Had I known it might have been possible to have a dear daughter like you to share my life with, perhaps I wouldn’t have run away from marriage quite so fast.” She sighed. “But at this time in my life…” She shrugged. “There’s no point.”
A thud against the front door startled them both.
“Sorry. It’s just me.” Sylvia pushed the door open and wrangled her oxygen tank over the threshold.
Arabella put down a lacy camisole she was folding. “How’s life at Sunny Days?”
Sylvia made a rude noise. “Some things are okay, but I swear I’m going to deck that Decker woman if she keeps telling people I’m the one stealing things.”
“That doesn’t sound too good,” Arabella said.
“Eh.” Sylvia shrugged a shoulder. “Could be worse. My new friend Earl’s got a real head for cards, so we’ve been partnering up. So far we’ve won a free lunch in the dining room, a rubber jar opener and a bright yellow umbrella with Sunny Days written on it.”
“I still don’t like the fact that that woman is going around bad-mouthing you.” Arabella frowned.
“I signed up to volunteer,” Emma said. “I’ll go over after work and see if they have anything for me to do. Maybe I can help Sylvia get to the bottom of things.”
“Believe me,” Sylvia said, “I’d be eternally grateful. The place is growing on me, and I’d hate to be thrown out on account of that loony tune Decker woman.”
* * *
THE parking lot at Sunny Days was almost empty when Emma pulled in after work. She’d grabbed a quick bite to eat at the Coffee Klatch and had then headed away from downtown Paris toward the retirement community.
“This your first time?” The woman behind the desk was much younger than the one who’d been there when Emma and Arabella had visited. She looked to be in her thirties, had mousy brown hair and was wearing a pair of glasses whose lenses were extremely smudged.
“Yes.”
The woman consulted some papers on her desk. “Why don’t you go on ahead to the activity room.” She pointed down the hallway. “Our residents are having their ice cream social. I know Crystal could use some help.”
Emma’s spirits perked up at the thought of some ice cream. She headed in the direction the receptionist had indicated and quickly found the room in question.
A long table was placed in the middle of the space and covered by a plastic cloth. Two women stood behind three tubs of ice cream—Emma recognized one of them as Crystal. Smaller tables held bowls of what Emma assumed were toppings.
She pushed the door open quietly and headed toward Crystal.
Crystal looked up and clamped a hand over her mouth in surprise. “Oh, I didn’t expect to see you back here. Is there something you wanted?” She stood poised with her ice cream scoop over the container of what looked to Emma like butter pecan.
“I’ve volunteered to help.”
Crystal gave a twitch of annoyance. Her blond hair had deflated slightly, and she’d tucked one side behind her ear. A dribble of ice cream snaked down the front of her white blouse.
“Hey, kid. What are you doing here?” Sylvia sidled up to Emma and patted her arm. “Good to see you. You here to volunteer?”
Emma nodded.
“Good.” Sylvia lowered her voice. “Keep your eye on that Decker woman.” She indicated the lady Emma had met on her earlier visit. “I’m beginning to think she’s the one lifting the stuff from the residents’ rooms. You know that line from Shakespeare? ‘The lady doth protest too much, methinks.’”
Emma nodded. This might turn out to be more interesting than she expected.
She spent the next forty-five minutes dishing out ice cream. By the time she was finished, she had rejected her earlier thought about the evening turning out to be interesting. Her hands were sticky with chocolate fudge and vanilla ice cream, and she longed to escape to the ladies’ room to wash up.
Five minutes later, when all the residents were happily in possession of a bowl of ice cream, she slipped into the hall and went in search of the restrooms. She was coming out when she nearly ran into Liz.
“Emma, what are you doing here?”
“I’ve been volunteering.” Emma gestured toward the activity room. “Dishing out ice cream.”
“I understand the ice cream socials are a huge hit. I’ve tried to get Dad to go, but he says he hates the way the women all cluster around him trying to get
his attention.”
“It does seem rather uneven, doesn’t it?”
Liz nodded. “It’s paradise for any man interested in finding a date. Dad just isn’t one of them.” She glanced at her watch. “I’d better hurry. I’m just dropping off some homemade soup.” She brandished the plastic grocery bag she was carrying.
Emma gave her a quick hug and continued down the hall, nearly colliding with the tall, silver-haired woman she and Arabella had met on their first visit to Sunny Days. The name came to her suddenly. Eloise Montgomery.
Eloise put a hand on Emma’s arm and pointed down the hallway toward the direction Liz had taken. “That woman”—she paused and watched as Liz disappeared around the corner—“had an absolute knock-down, drag-out fight with our administrator Jessica Scott one day. We all came out of our rooms to see what was going on. It was like one of those big fights in Vegas, although instead of fancy furs and diamonds, we were all in fleece sweatpants and terry cloth robes.”
“What were they fighting about?”
“Beats me. But let me tell you, it was a real banner night around here.” She hesitated then leaned toward Emma. “I heard there was something suspicious about Jessica’s death. Makes you kind of wonder, doesn’t it? That woman sure looked mad enough to kill.”
Emma made her escape and went back to the activity room to retrieve her purse and say good-bye to Sylvia.
“You come across any good clues?” Sylvia asked.
Emma shook her head.
“Better luck next time. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Emma made her way down the hall and toward the double doors in the lobby. She pushed one open and stepped into the cool night air. She was headed toward the Bug when she noticed Liz’s station wagon with the Ballet Mom sticker in the rear window.
Eloise’s words, That woman sure looked mad enough to kill, echoed in Emma’s ears as she drove out of the parking lot and headed back toward town.
* * *
EMMA got back to her apartment and changed her clothes. She flipped on the television, but nothing held her interest. She couldn’t settle on anything. All she could think about was what Eloise had said about Liz. The words mad enough to kill went around and around in her head like some kind of crazed mantra.
She had to see Liz tonight and talk to her. Liz needed to know what rumors people were spreading about her. Emma knew Liz had had nothing to do with Jessica’s murder, but they had to come up with a plan to stop the people in the retirement home from talking as if she had.
Emma grabbed her keys, slipped into a light jacket and headed down to her car. She wasn’t sure whether she was relieved or disappointed to see that Brian’s truck was absent from Liz’s driveway when she pulled in fifteen minutes later. Liz answered the door almost immediately. Emma noticed a book open on the coffee table in the living room beside a glass of water. Liz had obviously been sitting alone, reading. Sounds of the television drifted down the hall from the family room where she supposed Matt and the children were gathered.
Liz looked drawn and tired, and the usual luster was missing from her hair.
“Emma, come on in.” Liz held the door wide. “Would you like some tea or a glass of wine?”
Emma shook her head. “I’m sorry to show up like this, but I had to talk to you.”
“That sounds so serious.” Liz smiled, but the light failed to reach her eyes.
“It is. Can we go in there and sit down?” Emma indicated the living room.
“Sure. What is all this about?”
Emma perched on a chair opposite Liz. Liz took a sip of water, and Emma noticed that her hand shook slightly.
Emma wet her lips. She wasn’t sure how to begin. There was no real way to sugarcoat it. She might as well come right out with it. “A woman at Sunny Days, Eloise Montgomery, said you had a huge fight with Jessica Scott before she died. She said everyone in the hall heard it.”
A dark, dusky red crept up Liz’s neck toward her face. For a moment Emma thought she was going to deny it.
“Yes, I did.” Liz hung her head so that a curtain of hair fell over her features. She was quiet for a minute. “Are you accusing me of murdering Jessica Scott?” Her voice was bitter.
“No!” Emma exclaimed.
“It certainly sounds like it.” Liz’s gaze bore into Emma’s.
“I’m sorry.” Emma looked at her hands. “I didn’t intend to upset you. I thought you ought to know that people are talking about you.”
“A lot of other people have argued with Jessica as well. I’ve seen and heard it myself.” She looked up defiantly.
“But you said you didn’t know her,” Emma said as gently as possible.
Liz’s back stiffened, and she took another sip from her glass. “I don’t.” She looked Emma square in the face. “I don’t…didn’t…know her. At least, not in the way you meant.”
Her words hung in the air for several seconds. In the silence, Emma heard shouts and gunshots coming from the television down the hall.
“What did you argue about?”
Liz tossed her hair back. “Things were missing from Dad’s room. At first it was little things—the new box of tissues I’d brought or the tin of cookies for his afternoon tea. But then his hearing aid went missing…the new one we’d gotten him.”
“What did Jessica say about it?”
Liz rolled her eyes. “She said that perhaps Dad had misplaced it. Which was ridiculous. Matt and I searched that room high and low. We looked all through his chest of drawers and even through his pockets. Besides, Dad may need some help getting around, but he’s not suffering from memory loss! Although Jessica hinted at that, too.” Liz looked down at her hands then back up at Emma. “I guess I blew my top.”
“It’s too bad that so many people heard you. Now rumors are spreading that you may have had something to do with Jessica’s death.”
Liz stifled a sob. “The hearing aid was so expensive.” She was crying openly now. “And we can hardly afford to replace it. We’ve spent so much on the renovations to the house.” She waved a hand around the room. “And Matt…” She stopped and buried her face in her hands.
“What is it?” Emma slipped out of her chair and went to sit next to Liz. “Is something wrong with Matt?”
Liz shook her head. “No, it’s just that business has been slow lately. He lost the bid on a big contract that we were so sure he was going to get.” She tried to smile. “Things will pick up, but right now, money is very, very tight. I guess I took it out on Jessica that day. Especially when she refused to do anything about it. She actually didn’t believe me.” Liz’s cheeks flamed pink. “And now that odious woman is going around telling everyone about our argument. How long before the police hear about it?”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t get that far.”
“But what if it does?” She turned toward Emma. “What am I going to do?”
“I’m going to look into it. I’m sure we can get to the bottom of this ourselves before it goes any further,” Emma said with way more conviction than she felt.
EMMA slept fitfully, worrying about Liz and thinking about Brian. She was exhausted by the time she got down to Sweet Nothings on Tuesday morning. She was early, and the shop was quiet. Emma turned on the lamp over Arabella’s desk and powered up her laptop. The screen sprang to life, and soon Emma was staring at the numbers on Sweet Nothings’ balance sheet. Sweet Nothings was inching its way toward being in the black. The trunk show had brought in some much-needed revenue, and as long as sales stayed much the same, they would be okay.
Boxes had arrived from New York—some of the latest items in Monique Berthole’s line. Emma had chosen the garments she thought her customers would like—nothing too racy or uber-fashionable. As far as she could tell, pretty was what sold best in Paris.
Arabella arrived as Emma was slitting open the first box. She removed several tissue-wrapped bundles and laid them out on the counter—matching camisoles and panties in gorgeous hues of shell pink
, blush, peach, aquamarine and white.
“Oh, these are beautiful,” Arabella said as she regarded the delicate lace and silk creations. “Where are you going to display them?”
“I think I’ll put them on the shelves in one of the armoires so people can see all the pretty colors.”
“Good idea.”
Emma emptied the box and retrieved the envelope inside with invoice stamped on it in red. She ripped it open and spread it out on the counter. The numbers made her gasp. There must be some mistake. She would never have placed such an expensive order.
Emma felt sweat break out along her upper lip, under her arms and on the back of her neck. She had to get this sorted out right away, before Arabella found out. Had she misread the prices? Had she inadvertently ordered twice as much as she intended?
“Emma, dear, is something the matter?” Arabella was looking at her with her face creased into lines of concern.
“Oh no,” Emma said breezily, trying to ignore the feeling that her stomach was plummeting on the final leg of a roller-coaster ride. “I think the eggs I made myself for breakfast this morning didn’t quite agree with me.”
“Do you want to go back upstairs—” Arabella began when the front door to Sweet Nothings swung open and Sylvia entered, even more breathless than usual.
“You won’t believe it!” Sylvia slammed her purse down on the counter and stood with her hands on her hips.
“What?” Arabella said smoothly, casting a glance at Emma.
“Sunny Days is crawling with police!”
Sylvia’s eyes were bright, and she was standing straighter than she had in days. “It’s right out of one of them cop shows.”
“Police?” Arabella and Emma echoed together.
“They asked all of us to stay in our rooms, but I did manage to get a peek into the hallway. That sourpuss Crystal Davis was keeping watch, but there wasn’t much of anything to see. I gather all the action was up on nursing. Earl said he saw someone taken out on a gurney earlier. He couldn’t tell if they were dead or alive—the blanket was pulled so far up it might have been either. But it was an ambulance waiting and not a hearse from McEvoy’s Funeral Home.” Sylvia pursed her lips. “Of course, they might have passed at the hospital.”