Laced with Poison

by Meg London

  Up close, Emma judged the woman to be in her early forties with tired lines around her sharp blue eyes.

  “I’m sorry.” Emma held a hand out. “We should have called first. I apologize. My friend here,” she gestured toward Liz, “is a gardener and wanted to get some ideas for her own garden. Deirdre suggested we come over to see what her landscapers have done.” Emma crossed her fingers behind her back.

  The woman looked far from convinced, but at least she no longer had the police on speed dial.

  “We’re really sorry to have bothered you,” Bitsy said in the most honeyed tones. “We’ll be going now.”

  Emma started to move toward the street with them but then had an idea.

  “You’ve been cleaning for Mrs. Porter for a while?” She tried to achieve a friendly look, but it was difficult in the face of the woman’s suspicious glare.

  The woman nodded. “I come every week except if she needs me for something special, then I come more often.”

  “Special?”

  “Like if she and Mr. Porter entertain, or it’s the holidays.”

  “I imagine after that party last week…”

  “Oh yes. The place was a mess. I gave the kitchen a good scrub. Had to do the floors, too, even though I’d just done them. Someone tracked mud from the garden clear across the floor.”

  “Mud?”

  The woman nodded. “Straight from the doors to the patio”—she gestured behind her toward the back of the house—“and right to the kitchen table.”

  “DO you think she’ll say anything to Deirdre?” Emma asked as Liz gunned the engine and the car shot away from the curb.

  “Probably. But will she know it was us? We didn’t give our names,” Bitsy said.

  “I don’t think it would be that hard for Deirdre to figure it out.” Liz slowed as the gates to the community fanned open.

  “Do you think Deirdre will be mad?” Bitsy leaned forward with her elbows on the back of Emma’s seat.

  “I hope not. Aunt Arabella doesn’t want to lose her as a customer.”

  “None of us does.” Bitsy stuck out her lower lip. “She must order several dozen cupcakes a month from Sprinkles.”

  “The goodwill of the Porters alone is worth money in this town.” Liz turned onto Washington Street. “But at least our trip wasn’t in vain. We found where that foxglove flower came from.”

  “Yes,” Emma added, “and we also have confirmation that someone went out into the garden during the trunk show.”

  “I wish we knew who,” Bitsy mused.

  “That makes two of us,” Emma said.

  Liz drove around the corner and stopped in front of Sprinkles. They could see Hayley’s two-toned black and fuchsia hair through the window. Bitsy got out and Emma turned to Liz.

  “Did you know that Brian’s ex is getting married next month?”

  Liz glanced at Emma. “He told you?”

  “Yes. He seemed a bit…upset.”

  “Not upset exactly.” Liz reached over and patted Emma’s hand. “It means that chapter really is over. I think ultimately it will give him a much-needed sense of closure.” She smiled at Emma. “And then he’ll be ready to move on. You just need to bide your time a little longer.”

  Bide my time. What a strange thought, Emma realized, since she’d been in love with Brian since she was a young girl. If the kiss he’d given her at the wedding was any indication, she wouldn’t have to wait much longer.

  * * *

  EMMA finished out the afternoon, said good night to Arabella and walked around the corner of the building to the stairs to her apartment. Tonight she would be more than happy to have a quiet evening with a microwavable dinner and some time spent on her laptop exploring shape wear for their upcoming trunk show at Marjorie Porter’s. She trudged up the stairs and opened the door to the space Arabella had given her above Sweet Nothings. Emma always felt a sense of peace as soon as she walked through the door, and tonight was no different.

  She kicked off her shoes, poured herself a glass of sweet tea and plopped down on the sofa with her laptop. Emma clicked on the web site for a company known for its lingerie and scrolled through the pages. She wasn’t completely unfamiliar with the garments women used to remake their figures—she’d used a few of those tricks herself. But the number of possibilities available was mind-boggling—from capris to full slips to camis to bicycle shorts. It was possible to compress any part of the body—or the entire body itself—into a size considerably smaller than normal. Emma was convinced that Marjorie’s garden club would be keen to buy when they saw what these undergarments could do.

  She jotted down a list of the things she wanted to order and the company’s phone number. She took a sip of her tea, nibbled the end of her pencil and looked at her list again. Did she dare order so many things? Would they sell? She scratched a few items off her list and crossed her fingers.

  Emma closed her laptop and went out to the kitchen. She opened the freezer and stared at the contents. She had a couple of frozen meals she kept for nights when she didn’t feel like cooking. She sorted through them and decided on a Thai chicken dish that was usually fairly decent.

  While it was in the microwave, she thought about the events of the afternoon. It appeared obvious now that someone went out to Deirdre’s garden, picked a foxglove flower and slipped it onto one of Bitsy’s cupcakes. She would go to Detective Walker tomorrow and let him know what she’d discovered. Perhaps the police had some way of recovering any footprints that might have been left in the garden. She rather doubted it, but at least Walker would know what to do.

  She thought about Arabella’s and her conversation with Marjorie Porter. Apparently this Lotte Fanning woman had it in for Jessica, too, for some reason. Unfortunately neither Emma nor Arabella was acquainted with her. The microwave pinged, and Emma removed her cardboard dinner and took it to the small table in the dining area of the living room.

  As she passed the small mirror on the wall by the bookcase, she noticed that her hair was getting a little on the raggedy side. She’d cut it short just before returning home to Paris, and during the summer heat, she was very glad to have it off her neck. She’d thought about growing it back, but she liked it the way it was. Although at the moment, it was in desperate need of some shaping. She’d call Angel Cuts in the morning and make an appointment.

  Emma started to sit down when a thought struck her. Almost everyone in Paris went to Angel Cuts. Angel Roy offered the shopkeepers a discount, and her prices were very reasonable. Most people preferred to go to someone local rather than one of the chains out at the mall. All of which meant it was quite possible that Lotte Fanning was a client. And if she was, then perhaps Angel would know why Marjorie Porter thought that Lotte might have wanted Jessica Scott dead.

  Emma grabbed her cell phone, entered a note to remind herself to make an appointment at Angel Cuts in the morning, then went back to eating her microwaved chicken dish with more gusto than before.

  * * *

  EMMA called Angel Cuts first thing and managed to get an appointment for noon that same day. She crossed her fingers that she would come away with more than just a haircut. Then she called Arabella to see if she could open Sweet Nothings. Emma was bound and determined to have a chat with Detective Walker before the sun got any higher in the sky.

  Arabella was already up and dressed and more than happy to head to the shop immediately. Emma dabbed on some lipstick and pulled a comb through her hair. Too bad she couldn’t have gotten her haircut before going to see Walker. The thought brought her to a standstill. She had no interest in Walker, so what difference did it make? She managed to convince herself, as she walked toward the Bug, that it was just that she prided herself on always trying to look her best. Walker had nothing to do with it.

  Emma put the Bug in gear and headed toward Caldwell Street and the police department. For a moment she wondered if she ought to have called first, and she crossed her fingers that Walker would be in.

&n
bsp; She kept them crossed as she approached the reception desk in the lobby of the brick building that housed the Paris Police Department.

  “I’d like to see Detective Walker, please.”

  The harassed-looking older woman who greeted her jerked a thumb toward the front door.

  “Walker’s gone into town to get a bite to eat.”

  Darn! “Do you happen to know where?”

  “The Coffee Klatch, where else?” she said as if that settled that. “Being a bachelor he don’t like to cook for himself. Probably don’t know how anyways, so he starts every day with a big old farmer’s breakfast.”

  Emma thought about what that would do to her waistline, although it obviously hadn’t hurt Walker’s. He was as trim as an athlete.

  “Course he always works straight through lunch, nibbling on one of them granola bars.” She shook her finger at Emma. “I told him more than once he needs to get himself a wife. Then he’d be going home to a hot meal and not one of them microwavable dinners.”

  The woman began to eye Emma appraisingly. Was she considering her as a possible candidate for the unmarried Detective Walker? Emma decided not to find out, but quickly said good-bye and headed back to her car.

  She hated barging in on Detective Walker’s morning meal, but she didn’t want to wait until later in the day when the store would get busy and she might not be able to get away.

  She left the Bug in the parking lot behind Sweet Nothings and walked down to the Coffee Klatch. It wasn’t crowded, and Emma quickly picked out Walker sitting by himself at a table near the kitchen.

  As soon as the hostess saw Emma, she grabbed a menu and headed her way.

  “Thanks.” Emma waved her away. “I’m meeting someone.” She pointed in Walker’s direction.

  The hostess brandished the menu at Emma, but Emma shook her head and strode resolutely toward Walker’s table.

  He looked up, startled, when she came abreast of him. He put down his fork and immediately jumped to his feet.

  “Please, don’t let me interrupt you.” Emma gripped the edge of the vacant chair tightly.

  “I can’t sit while a pretty lady stands. I’m too much of a Southerner for that.”

  Emma smiled. “Well then I guess I’ll have to sit.”

  “I guess you will.” Walker sank into his seat as Emma pulled out the empty chair.

  “Please don’t let me interrupt your breakfast.” Emma indicated Walker’s half-full plate of scrambled eggs, ham and buttered grits.

  Walker gave a slow smile that deepened the dimple in his right cheek. “Now you know that no true-blue Southern gentleman is going to lift his fork while a pretty lady is sitting opposite him still waiting for her food.”

  His smile was contagious, and Emma found herself grinning back. “Well, this Southern lady has already had breakfast, so how do we handle that?” She leaned over the table slightly toward Walker.

  Walker furrowed his brow in mock seriousness. “Now that is something of a puzzle.”

  “How about if I order a cup of tea? Will that do?”

  “Brilliant idea, ma’am.” Walker grinned and gestured toward the waitress.

  Mabel headed toward their table with the purposefulness of an ocean liner heading out to sea. She gave Emma a strange look when she saw her. Of course Mabel was used to seeing Emma coming in with Brian. Suddenly Emma wondered what everyone else might be thinking? She gave a quick look around, but there was no one she knew. She relaxed slightly and ordered a cup of green tea.

  “Green tea?” Walker said as soon as Mabel headed toward the kitchen.

  “It’s not unlike regular tea,” Emma explained. “But green tea undergoes minimal processing and isn’t fermented like black tea. It’s supposed to be full of antioxidants.”

  “I take it that’s a good thing.”

  “A very good thing,” Emma agreed.

  Mabel slid a cup in front of Emma, and the liquid sloshed over the side onto the saucer. Emma lifted it to her lips and was relieved to see Walker pick up his fork.

  “While I wish you’d come here just to see me, I’m going to guess that’s not the case.” Walker looked at Emma inquiringly.

  She put her cup down a bit too abruptly, and it clanked against the saucer.

  “No, I’m afraid not.”

  “I’d even venture to guess that it’s about the case I’m working on. The death of that young lady, Jessica Scott.” Walker swiped his napkin across his lips.

  “Yes.” Emma began shredding the paper napkin in her lap. “I thought you ought to know that my friends and I discovered foxglove growing in Deirdre Porter’s garden. And the cleaning lady said that after the party, she found muddy footprints leading from the garden right to the kitchen table. I mean, we did hear it was foxglove that was the cause of death.” Emma fiddled with the remnants of her napkin.

  “Did she now. That’s very interesting.” Walker forked up the last of his hash browns. “We’ll definitely look into that.”

  Emma was relieved that he hadn’t blown her off. Of course it might be that he was just being polite, and he would forget about it the minute she turned around.

  “Now that we have that out of the way…” Walker grinned at Emma across the table.

  The conversation was taking a turn that suddenly made Emma nervous. “I’ve…I’ve got to be going.” She reached for her purse.

  Walker shot out of his seat as soon as Emma began to stand up.

  “Will you…will you let me know what you find?”

  Walker sketched a salute. “I certainly will. Anything that gives me another chance to talk to you.”

  Emma all but bolted from her seat. She turned around to see Liz staring at her with a strange expression on her face. Before Emma could reach her friend, Liz had blasted through the front door of the Coffee Klatch and was on her way down the street.

  * * *

  THE look Emma had seen on Liz’s face worried her all afternoon. Several times she tried calling her friend, but there was no answer either at the Bannings’ house or on Liz’s cell. Emma couldn’t imagine what had come over Liz. Had she jumped to the wrong conclusion when she saw Emma sitting with Walker?

  Emma tried her one last time, but then it was time to leave Sweet Nothings for her hair appointment. She was getting her purse when a symphony of blaring horns came from outside on the street. Emma ran to the window in time to see Sylvia’s ancient Cadillac turn left onto Washington Street from the right lane. The horns reached a crescendo and then tapered off as Sylvia sailed down the street, seemingly oblivious to the red faces of the wildly gesturing drivers around her.

  “Sylvia’s here,” Emma announced.

  “I suspected that,” Arabella said dryly. “You might as well run along to Angel’s then. I’ll keep my fingers crossed that you have some luck.”

  “Thanks.” Emma paused in front of one of the mirrors and finger combed her hair, succeeding only in making it look even messier. No matter. Angel would soon set it right.

  The breeze had a hint of coolness to it that was barely noticeable, the warmth of the sun easily counteracting it. Emma strolled down Washington Street, stopping to wave to Willie behind the window of the Meat Mart. She glanced toward the Toggery, Paris’s oldest remaining store, and thought she saw Les in the window. She raised a hand in salute.

  Emma was passing Let Us Cater to You, when the door opened and Lucy popped her teased, white head out.

  “Emma!” She gave Emma a big hug. “How are things down at Sweet Nothings?” The sun glinted off the enormous cubic zirconia solitaire she wore on her left hand. She’d bought it for herself to fool everyone into thinking that her latest husband, Harry, was a wealthy man. She hoped it would forestall any questions about the prudence of her making a fifth match.

  “Fine. Just fine.” Emma returned the embrace.

  “I saw the story in the Post this morning about that poor woman, Jessica Scott.” Lucy waved a hand and her ring flashed in the sunlight.

  A
sense of dread settled over Emma like a cloud. Would this article have mentioned Liz? She hoped not.

  “What did it say?”

  The phone rang inside Lucy’s shop, but she ignored it. “It said something about how she died on account of eating some kind of poisonous flower on one of the cupcakes that were served. Said they came from Sprinkles.” She shuddered. “Not sure I want to eat any more of those. Although the devil’s food ones are to die for.”

  “It won’t happen again,” Emma reassured her. What would happen to Bitsy’s business if everyone felt that way? “It’s beginning to look as if someone swapped out the edible flower for the poisonous one.”

  “Oh my heavens.” Lucy put a hand over her mouth. “As in…”

  Emma nodded. “Yes. Murder.”

  “What are things coming to?” Lucy asked, looking skyward.

  Emma gave Lucy another quick hug and hurried down the street toward Angel Cuts. She wondered how the newspaper had gotten hold of the story about Jessica. She was surprised they hadn’t run something earlier but suspected that the Porters had managed to squash any reports. Marjorie probably didn’t want the world knowing that someone had been murdered at her daughter-in-law’s party.

  Emma pushed open the door of Angel Cuts. Warm air redolent with the scent of hair spray and shampoo and overlaid with undertones of chemicals hit her in the face.

  The shop was humming as always. Angel did a brisk business and was even considering expanding. The girl at the reception desk had the telephone receiver sandwiched between her shoulder and her ear, and was talking to two other women who were standing by the desk. Emma waited patiently until the woman had dealt with everyone else, then gave her name and found a seat in the reception area.

  She thumbed halfheartedly through some dog-eared magazines, listening to the chatter around her. The monotonous hum of the dryers made her feel sleepy, and she let her head fall back against the chair cushion. The spot was warm from the sun coming in the window, and she was soon dozing off.