by Meg London
Emma nibbled a piece of her bacon and thought furiously. Maybe Lotte Fanning was the person who had murdered Jessica, not Crystal Davis. And perhaps Crystal’s leaving town was purely coincidental. She was going to have to see if she could find out what kind of car Lotte drove.
Emma had finished her pancakes and was throwing her trash in the garbage bin when Missy rushed up to her.
“Thank you so much for volunteering today. Everyone here at Sunny Days appreciates your sharing your valuable time with us.”
Emma had noticed Missy going around to some of the other volunteers as well. She was shaking Emma’s hand when Lotte came up to them.
“Missy, darling, I’m going to run out to the car and get that rug we bought for your new office.” She had a set of car keys dangling from her right hand.
Perfect, Emma thought. She would follow her. She quickly ended her conversation with Missy, and as soon as Lotte had disappeared through the door, she made her way in the same direction.
Emma was about to leave the building when a middle-aged couple stopped her. “Can you tell us where 401B is?” He was frowning at a piece of paper that fluttered in his hand, as she clutched his arm worriedly.
“I’m sorry. I don’t live here,” Emma said abruptly and tried to edge around them.
“It says here”—the man gestured at the scrap of paper in his hand—“to go in the north entrance.” He looked around the hall. “This is the north entrance, isn’t it?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t—” Emma was beginning to sweat. How long would it take Lotte to get to her car and retrieve the rug?
“You’ve got an employee badge on.” The man pointed a nicotine-stained index finger at Emma’s name tag.
“I’m a volunteer,” Emma protested.
“Still. Can you tell me if this is the north entrance or not?”
“Honey, please.” The woman tugged on his arm. “Let’s go ask someone else.”
She managed to distract him long enough for Emma to slip past and out the door to the parking lot. She shaded her eyes with her hand and scanned the rows of cars. Lotte was coming toward her, a rolled-up area rug tucked under her arm.
Emma groaned. She’d missed her golden opportunity. She was about to go back inside when she remembered the keys swinging from Lotte’s hand. There had been a Mercedes emblem on the fob. How many people visiting Sunny Days were likely to be driving a Mercedes?
Emma tried to look purposeful as she hovered in the doorway waiting for Lotte to go past. As soon as the coast was clear, she darted out the door and down the first row of cars. Most were American made except for a red Audi rather badly parked toward the end. Emma made her way up the next row and the next. Finally she spotted it. A dark blue late-model Mercedes Benz sedan.
It was bright and shiny and looked as if it had recently come from the car wash. Emma heard a car door slam a couple of rows away and looked up, startled, but the woman who got out of the car walked in the opposite direction and had her back to Emma.
Emma continued to circle Lotte’s Mercedes. The left front bumper was intact, the headlight spotless without all the dead bugs that accumulated on Emma’s. She momentarily closed her eyes and crossed her fingers and then made her way around to the right front bumper.
There was an enormous, sickening dent in it and the headlight was broken.
“WE can’t be positive it’s Lotte’s car,” Arabella said when Emma arrived back at Sweet Nothings. “Or, that she didn’t hit the side of her garage door trying to pull in.” Arabella put down the peignoir she was mending. “I know that happened to me more than once when I was learning to drive.”
“That’s true,” Emma admitted. “I wonder if you mentioned it to Francis, if he’d be able to get the Paris police to at least take the car in for examination.”
“I know Francis always says that the TBI likes to give the local boys plenty of rein, but I don’t suppose it would hurt to ask. As soon as I finish this piece, I’ll give him a call. He doesn’t start his watchman duties until seven o’clock.” Arabella chuckled. “I do feel sorry for him having to do that night after night and still no sign of those bank robbers. Of course I’m glad for that, even if it does make for dull evenings for him.”
Arabella continued with her mending, and Emma went to help a customer who had just walked in. By the time the woman left with two sets of the lingerie Emma had ordered from Monique Berthole, Arabella was finished with her project.
Arabella folded the peignoir, placed it on one of the armoire shelves and headed toward the back room. “I’ll go call Francis now.” She paused by Pierre’s dog bed. “Come on, Pierre, time for your dinner.”
Pierre scrambled to his feet, did a quick down dog and up dog and followed Arabella into the back room. Emma could hear the sound of dry dog nuggets hitting a metal bowl then moments later, the low murmur of Arabella’s voice on the telephone.
Emma had her back to the stockroom door when Arabella emerged a few moments later. She waited for her aunt to say something, but when Arabella didn’t, Emma turned away from the mannequin she’d been changing.
The look on Arabella’s face had Emma flying to her side. “What’s wrong, Aunt Arabella? What’s happened? Is it Francis? Is he okay?”
Arabella remained white and speechless. Emma led her to a chair and made her sit down. Arabella’s mouth moved, but no sounds came out.
“Can I get you some water?”
Arabella’s hands jerked in her lap, and she shook her head no.
“Please tell me what’s happened!”
Emma didn’t know what to do. Should she call Arabella’s doctor?
Finally, Arabella made a sound like a whimper. Emma bent closer to listen.
“It’s Francis,” Arabella finally said. “He’s been taken hostage by the bank robbers. They’re threatening to kill him if the bank doesn’t meet their demands.”
* * *
EMMA insisted on driving Arabella home after they closed. She was still white and her hands were shaking. Emma hated leaving her alone, but she’d already made plans with Brian. Besides, Arabella insisted that Emma go and promised that she would call a friend if need be. Meanwhile, Arabella wanted to be near her phone and the television in case there were any developments, and as soon as she walked into the house she flipped on the local news station and sat down in front of the set.
As Emma walked back to her car her cell phone rang. She recognized Brian’s number and her heart sank. Was he canceling their plans?
“I hope we’re still on for tonight,” Brian said when Emma answered.
She smiled. “Of course.” She was really looking forward to an evening alone with Brian.
Emma quickly told Brian about how Francis had been taken hostage by the bank robbers. She could hear Brian’s indrawn breath over the telephone.
“Do you think we ought to stay with Arabella instead? She must be terribly upset.”
“I already asked her, and she insisted we keep our date,” Emma said, suddenly feeling selfish. Maybe she should have insisted on staying with Arabella despite what Arabella said.
Emma looked up to find that Arabella had come into the hallway. She waved her hand at Emma as if shooing her out the door.
“I think she’ll be fine,” she said to Brian as she smiled at her aunt.
Arabella nodded vigorously.
“Arabella is certainly one tough cookie. If you’re sure she’ll be okay…I’m really looking forward to our dinner. I’ve shaved and everything.”
Emma laughed. Brian always looked good, even when covered in plaster dust.
“I’ll pick you up at seven o’clock if that’s all right.”
“Don’t you dare cancel your plans on account of me,” Arabella said when Emma had hung up. “What are you wearing?”
Emma mentally went through her closet. “I’ve got the proverbial little black dress.” It was simple and basic and her go-to ensemble.
“You need something to give it some punch then.
Come on.” Arabella indicated that Emma should follow her down the hallway.
Arabella entered her bedroom and went straight to an enormous cherrywood jewelry armoire that was almost as tall as she was. Her hand hesitated over the drawers and then finally she pulled one open. “I think it’s in here…” she mumbled as she sorted through the contents. “Yes. This is perfect. It will give your simple little dress some pizzazz.”
Arabella pulled out a stunning turquoise necklace that Emma had never seen before. “This is what’s known as a torsade. Torsade means twisted, and you can see the strands of turquoise beads are all twisted together.”
“It’s gorgeous,” Emma said, imagining how spectacular it was going to look with her black dress. “But are you sure…?”
Arabella waved a hand. “Don’t worry. It wasn’t all that expensive. I bought it at the Marché aux Puces, the flea market, when I was in Paris. I don’t think the stall owner knew what he had.” She shrugged.
Arabella seemed slightly less worried by the time Emma left. Nevertheless, Emma kept one ear cocked for her cell phone the whole time she was in the shower. She thought she heard her cell ringing as she was toweling off, but when she checked, it was completely silent with no voice mails and no text messages. Must have been her imagination.
Emma worked some product through her hair to style it and slipped into her dress. She couldn’t wait to put on the necklace. As she suspected, it looked spectacular and took her simple black dress to a whole new level.
* * *
EMMA’S buzzer rang right at six forty-five. She opened her door to find Brian standing there clutching a bouquet. His eyes lit up when he saw her. He handed her the flowers.
“Thank you.” Emma admired them before putting them in a vase with some water.
“God bless Liz for loaning me her car. I’d hate for you to have to suffer the indignity of arriving at L’Etoile, the best restaurant in Paris, Tennessee, in a pickup truck,” Brian said as Emma followed him down the stairs.
Emma laughed. “Are you kidding? Half the vehicles in the parking lot are usually pickup trucks.”
Still, she was glad she didn’t have to vault into the truck in her short dress—although Brian always gave her a boost, and she enjoyed the feeling of his arms around her.
Nearly every space in the parking lot was filled when they got to L’Etoile. Saturday night was in full swing. L’Etoile was one of the only restaurants in town where you weren’t asked do you want fries with that? The tables were set with fine white linen, the cutlery was real silver and the waiters wore dinner jackets with satin lapels and black bow ties.
Brian gave his name to the maître d’, who discreetly consulted his seating chart. “Your table will be ready shortly. Would you like to wait in the bar?” He gestured toward the darkened nook where several couples were already seated.
Brian led Emma toward two stools at the end of the bar. There were two empty glasses on the counter.
The bartender grabbed the glasses and tossed the spent ice into the sink, where it rattled around like the ball on a roulette wheel before disappearing down the drain. He put two fresh napkins in front of Brian and Emma and raised his eyebrows.
“What would you like?” Brian turned to Emma.
“A glass of Chardonnay would be lovely.”
Brian placed their order and swiveled his stool so he was facing Emma, their knees touching. “I’ve never seen this place so busy.” He glanced at his watch. “I hope we don’t have to wait too long. I’m starving.”
Emma didn’t mind waiting at all. Just being with Brian made her happy.
“Brian, my man,” a deep voice boomed at them suddenly.
“Hey, John. What are you doing here?” Brian slid off his stool and shook hands with the slightly balding man. His suit was expensive—the expert tailoring subtly hiding a substantial paunch.
Brian turned to Emma. “This is John Jasper. He’s a client of mine. I just finished the renovations on his place.”
“Brian’s a genius,” the man boomed, holding out his hand to Emma. “I’m guessing you’re Emma, right?” He pumped Emma’s hand enthusiastically.
Was Brian telling people about her? Emma wondered. That was a good sign.
John looked around the crowded restaurant. “There’s room at our table. Why don’t you join us? Lara and I would love to have you.”
Emma closed her eyes, hoping that Brian would say thank you, but no thank you.
“Sure, we’d love to, wouldn’t we?” He turned to Emma for confirmation.
She gave him a lukewarm smile and waited as John instructed the bartender to bring their drinks over to his table.
“Sorry about that,” Brian whispered to Emma as they followed John through the crowded restaurant. “He’s a really good client, and I didn’t want to risk offending him. He’s a good guy.”
Emma squeezed his hand in reply. She would have to make the best of it.
They approached a table in the corner where a striking-looking woman was seated. She got up and smiled shyly as they neared the table.
“Lara,” John said, his eyes glowing with pride, “you know Brian”—he gestured toward Brian—“and this is his Emma.”
“Lovely to meet you.” She held out a hand, and Emma took it. It was very soft and cool to the touch.
“They’re going to join us for dinner. Restaurant’s terribly crowded and who knows how long they’d have to wait for a table.”
As Emma and Brian were taking their seats, the waiter appeared with their drinks. Emma took a sip of her wine and studied her new dinner companions. Lara had long, straight golden brown hair and green eyes. She was simply dressed in a tangerine-colored halter top and white, gauzy pants. She reminded Emma of the models she used to work with when she was a stylist in New York. She was considerably younger than her husband, appearing to be in her late twenties, and spoke with a slight accent that Emma couldn’t quite place.
John slapped Brian on the back. “Your boy here rescued our place for us. Lara and I are big fans of mid-century modern, and when we found this place we were thrilled. But it was practically rubble. We weren’t sure anyone would be able to restore it, but Brian did a fabulous job. The kitchen is completely new, but you can’t tell it wasn’t part of the original design.” He turned toward Brian. “You tell her about it, Brian.”
Brian looked slightly uncomfortable. “Primarily we used glass, aluminum and galvanized steel. But we kept with wood for the roof so it would blend better with the existing one. Redoing the whole thing would have been too costly and time-consuming.”
“Now, Emma,” John said when the waiter had taken their orders. He leaned back in the banquette, his arm draped across his wife’s shoulders. “Tell us a little bit about yourself.”
Emma gave everyone a short précis about her life in New York, her move back to Paris to help Arabella and her plans for Sweet Nothings.
“Your shop sounds lovely,” Lara exclaimed. “I will have to come and visit.” Her speech was only slightly accented, her English nearly perfect.
John took a glug of his drink and guffawed. “I’m all in favor of beautiful lingerie. You go and get yourself anything you want.” He smiled indulgently at his wife.
Ka-ching, Emma thought. The evening wouldn’t be a total waste if she snagged a new customer for Sweet Nothings.
“I’ve been away from Paris for years now. Hardly recognized it when I got back.” John paused as the waiter placed dishes in front of them. He looked at Emma. “I’d been working all over—New York, London, Hong Kong.” He cut into his steak and forked up a large bite. “It’s been fascinating, but now, in my position, I can afford to work from home most of the time. The blessings of the Internet!” He turned to Brian. “I saw in the paper that Wyatt Porter was picked up on another DUI. He was a couple of years ahead of me in school. He was wild even back then. Not like that older brother of his. What’s his name?” He wrinkled his brow.
“Alfred? He’s the mayor now
.”
“That’s what someone told me. And why not? The position doesn’t pay, and he sure doesn’t need the money.” John shook his head. “For a long time it looked as if there wasn’t ever going to be a Porter heir. I think Constance was in her forties when Alfred came along. And then surprise, another boy, Wyatt. Of course he gets a pittance compared to what Alfred inherits.” He gave a loud guffaw. “I started with nothing, and I’m proud to say that everything we have”—he squeezed his wife’s shoulders—“I earned myself. Nothing wrong with hard work.”
Emma and Brian murmured agreement. Conversation ebbed and flowed, and finally Emma was finishing the last bite of her chicken.
“Did you know Brian used to date my baby sister at UT?” John leaned back in his chair and surveyed his dinner companions.
Emma had no idea what to say, but she managed to plaster an interested look on her face as she waited for John to continue.
“It didn’t last long. They weren’t cut out for each other.” He smiled smugly. “She’s happily married now with a baby on the way.” He threw a benign look in Brian’s direction. “Then there was that other girl. What was her name?”
“Amy,” Brian mumbled.
John gave a deep sigh, leaned back in his seat and stretched his legs out under the table. “When we first met Brian, we were really worried about him. This girl, Amy”—he looked to Brian for confirmation—“threw him over, and he was in quite a funk.”
John glanced across the table at Lara, and they smiled at each other. “But then you came along!” John turned toward Emma so suddenly that she jumped. “We’re so grateful to you for putting the smile back on Brian’s face.”
Emma glanced at Brian out of the corner of her eye. She thought his face was slightly red, and she looked down at her plate to hide the small smile that tugged at her lips.
“Okay, how about some dessert?” John said, as the waiter removed their plates. He clapped his hands together and rubbed them briskly.
Brian caught Emma’s eye and gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head. Emma returned the gesture.