A Fatal Slip (Sweet Nothings)

by London, Meg

  “He was very good,” Emma said thinking of the faux Cézanne. “He could have been an artist in his own right.”

  “Too much trouble,” Brian said. “He struck me as someone who wanted to take the shortest route to the most money.” He took a sip of his coffee. “Jasper is suing Jackson for the return of the money he paid for the fake Rothko. And he’s doing the right thing—he’s destroying the painting so that it doesn’t fall into some other unscrupulous hands and get passed off as real again.”

  “Good for him,” Francis said.

  “But what about Hugh’s murder?” Arabella said softly, and Emma had the impression that while Arabella had certainly stopped caring about Hugh a long time ago, his murder had brought back a lot of memories.

  “Sabina Roberts has an extremely expensive lawyer, too.” Francis reached for the carafe and poured himself a cup of coffee. “But they found her gun in the field after they arrested her, and while Walker is still waiting on some tests from ballistics, he’s quite certain it will prove to be the one used to shoot Hugh Granger.”

  Arabella shuddered. “She’s an evil woman.”

  “Some good has come of all this at least.” Emma dipped a piece of her pancake in the syrup that had pooled on the side of her plate.

  “I can’t imagine what that would be!” Arabella said with some asperity.

  “Joy is starting her therapeutic riding school. It’s going to be a wonderful resource for a lot of people.”

  “She ought to be locked up for withholding information and obstruction of justice,” Francis said, slamming his coffee cup down for emphasis. Some of the brew sloshed over the edge onto his place mat. “We’d never be able to prove it, of course. But if she had come forward with her information in the first place . . .”

  “No harm has come of it, really,” Emma said trying to placate him.

  “No harm?” Brian’s voice rose nearly to a squeak. “You could have been killed.” He turned toward Emma with a look of horror on his face.

  “Thanks to Joy coming along when she did, I wasn’t.”

  “If Joy had spoken up in the first place . . .” Francis sputtered to a stop. “That’s water under the bridge now, I guess.”

  The conversation turned to other topics as they finished their meal. Emma helped Arabella clean up while Brian flipped through the paper.

  Finally, Brian glanced at the clock above Arabella’s sink. “Liz will be here for me any minute now. She’s picking me up on her way back from church.” He reached for his crutches and struggled to his feet. He jerked his head toward the plaster encasing his leg. “I should be getting this off very soon and graduating to a walking boot. I have to tell you, I can’t wait.”

  “I can imagine,” Arabella said, patting Brian on the back.

  A car horn sounded in the driveway. “I told Liz she didn’t have to come to the door. No need to unbuckle Alice and Ben and then have to get them all situated again two minutes later.”

  “I’ll walk you to the door.”

  Emma held Brian’s hand as they made their way down the hall to the foyer. Emma glanced into the living room to see both Bette and Pierre asleep in a weak sunbeam that slanted through the bay window, both snoring softly. The sight made her smile.

  Emma retrieved Brian’s coat from the closet. He had to lean his crutches against the wall and balance on one foot as Emma held it out for him.

  He looked at Emma, suddenly quiet. “I have something to ask you,” he said finally.

  “What?” Emma felt her heart beat faster.

  Brian looked down at his feet, then looked around Arabella’s foyer. He shook his head as if saying no.

  “This isn’t the right place. It should be somewhere more romantic—somewhere memorable—with candles and champagne.” His eyes were sparkling. “How about if I make a reservation at L’Etoile for Saturday night? If I get this thing off”—he gestured toward his cast—“I should be able to drive. I’m sure Liz will lend me her station wagon.”

  Emma wasn’t sure if she could speak so she just nodded.

  “I’ll see you then.” Brian bent his head toward Emma’s and gave her a soft, lingering kiss.

  After Brian left, Emma leaned against the closed door and tried to catch her breath. She thought she knew what Brian was going to ask her, and she already knew what her answer would be.

  How was she going to get through the whole week until Saturday night?