Murder Unmentionable

by Meg London

  FOR the rest of the afternoon, Emma kept her head down, hardly daring to glance at Brian for fear of starting the flames of fire in her face all over again. By four o’clock, all the carpet had been pulled up and cut in sections.

  Brian straightened from where he was yanking up the last bit of pea-green shag and put a hand to his back. “Finished,” he declared triumphantly. He looked down at his jeans, which were covered with bits and pieces of jute backing and carpet fibers. He brushed at them rather ineffectively. “Boy, I’m a mess.”

  The grin he gave Emma made her face flame up again. She wanted to tell him that he looked eminently desirable in spite of the dust and dirt, but she held her tongue and settled for grinning back.

  “Me, too, I guess.”

  Arabella looked around at the shop now stripped of its 1970s green shag. “What a difference. It’s hard to believe.” She smiled at Emma. “I’m glad you talked me into getting something new. And now that you’re done,” she said, retrieving her purse from behind the counter, “I guess I’ll go home and rescue poor Pierre. He must be feeling quite abandoned by now.”

  “Shall we get this nasty old rug out to the Dumpster?” Brian picked up a piece and held it aloft.

  They carried it out, section by section, to the enormous metal container that had been left for that purpose in the alley. At one point, Emma staggered under the weight of the discarded rug, and Brian immediately rushed to her side.

  “Here, let me do this. You can hold the door open.”

  Emma wanted to protest, but she realized that she was tired, and the carpet was indeed very heavy. She gratefully took her post by the door and leaned against it, propping it open.

  Brian dragged the last piece of 1970s shag out of Sweet Nothings and was heaving it into the Dumpster with a showman’s flourish when Emma heard a faint ping. She looked around but didn’t immediately see anything. Suddenly Brian moved, and the sun lit on a small piece of gold metal lying to the side of the garbage bin.

  “What’s this?” Emma bent down and picked it up. It was an earring. The design was very unusual—it didn’t look like something you would find in a store at the mall. It looked more handmade—in a good way. Perhaps it was Aunt Arabella’s? She had a large collection of unusual pieces.

  Brian peered over Emma’s shoulder. “It looks expensive.”

  Emma held the earring up to the light. The stone was very unusual—a deep bluish green like the sea, with gold and tan veins running through it. The stone was round, and Emma thought the colors made it look like a tiny representation of the earth. A band of gold ran around it, looking much like the ring around Saturn. “I’ll check with Aunt Arabella and see if it belongs to her.”

  She was putting the earring in her pocket when Arabella appeared at the back door.

  She had a strange look on her face that Emma couldn’t quite read. She cleared her throat. “Someone is here to see you, Emma.”

  EMMA followed Arabella back into the shop. She made some ineffectual moves toward straightening her hair and brushing off her clothes, but whoever had come to see her was going to have to take her as she was. She couldn’t imagine who had shown up at the end of the workday to say hello. An old friend from school, perhaps, who had gotten wind of her return?

  A woman had her back to them and was browsing through the few garments Emma had already placed in the glass-fronted cupboards Brian had built. She was strikingly tall and thin with hair that nearly brushed her waist. Pierre was watching her carefully, his ears twitching as if tuning into psychic waves, his upper lip pulled back and ready to growl if need be. Emma felt herself stiffen. She had come to trust Pierre’s instincts.

  The woman turned around. She had Arabella’s Fischer nightgown in her hand.

  “I want this. How much is it?”

  It was Nikki St. Clair. Emma stifled her surprise and pasted a smile on her face. “Welcome to Sweet Nothings.”

  Nikki smiled—a smile that didn’t come close to reaching her eyes. “It’s Emma, isn’t it?”

  Emma nodded warily.

  “This place is charming.” Nikki waved a hand around the shop, pointedly ignoring Pierre who was sticking to her like hair on a biscuit. “May I try this on?” She brandished the pink chiffon gown.

  “I don’t know. We’re not really open at the moment…” Emma looked around for Arabella.

  “What is it, dear?” Arabella emerged from the back room with her usual tray and pitcher of sweet tea. She placed them on the counter and poured out four glasses. “Where has Brian gotten to? I’m sure he could use a nice cold drink to wet his whistle.”

  At the sound of Brian’s name, Nikki perked up. She took a glass of tea with one hand and shook the nightgown with the other. “Can I try this on?”

  “I told her we’re not officially open yet—”

  Arabella tut-tutted. “It’s okay, dear. We might as well make a sale while we can.”

  Arabella took the gown from Nikki and led her toward the dressing rooms. She hung the Fischer nightgown on the hook and pulled the curtain closed in back of Nikki. She went over to where Emma was standing behind the counter. “Do I dare charge four hundred dollars for the gown? My sources tell me that’s what it’s worth,” she said in a low voice.

  “Why not? If anyone can afford it, Nikki can.”

  “Is she that model who tried to steal your boyfriend?”

  Emma nodded. Thinking of Nikki and Guy was like picking at a scab.

  “If you’d rather I didn’t sell it to her…”

  “Don’t be silly.” Emma smiled. “But let’s stick it to her. Tell her it’s five hundred dollars.”

  Arabella giggled. “Done.”

  Nikki was certainly taking her time, Emma thought, as they waited for her to emerge from the dressing room. Suddenly she remembered the earring she and Brian had found outside. She took it from her pocket. “Is this yours?” She showed it to Arabella.

  Arabella held it up to the light. “No, it’s not, but it’s lovely. Where did you find it?”

  “It fell out of the carpet as we were tossing it into the Dumpster.”

  “We’ll keep it just in case someone comes back for it, but it might have been in the carpet for decades.”

  They heard a sound and turned to find Nikki had emerged from the dressing room and was admiring herself in the large gold mirror in the corner.

  Emma wondered how long she had been standing there. Had she overheard her and Arabella talking?

  “It’s divine. I must have it.” Nikki turned around.

  “It certainly leaves nothing to the imagination,” Arabella whispered to Emma.

  “I heard there was some of your delicious sweet tea to be had.” Brian came in from outside, stopping abruptly at the sight of Nikki posing in front of the mirror in the sheer gown.

  Emma expected Nikki to make the most of it, but after a brief nod, she retreated hastily to the dressing room.

  “Our first customer?” Brian took off his work gloves and tossed them on the counter. “This looks delicious.” He picked up the glass Arabella had filled for him. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Did you show your aunt that earring we found?”

  “Yes,” Emma whispered with a nod toward the dressing room Nikki had just disappeared into. “It’s not hers.”

  Nikki reemerged from the dressing room in street clothes—a short, strapless sundress that barely hid more than the chiffon nightgown had. She didn’t balk when Arabella quoted the five-hundred-dollar price.

  “We should get together sometime,” she said to Emma as she put her wallet back in her Louis Vuitton purse. “Why don’t you give me your cell number? We could have a drink or grab a bite to eat. The police have insisted I stay in town, and I’m getting bored all by myself.” She pouted prettily.

  The phrase “when hell freezes over” ran through Emma’s mind, but she just smiled and picked up one of the Sweet Nothings business cards that were out on the counter. She scribbled her number on the back.
She would be very surprised if Nikki ever did call her.

  “So the police are still investigating?” Emma said. Chuck Reilly hadn’t been around to bother her in several days, although he still haunted her dreams, where she imagined him carting her off to jail in handcuffs.

  Nikki stiffened. “I was questioned by the most obnoxious detective. It was terrible.” She shivered.

  That would be Chuck, Emma thought. She wondered if he’d now put Nikki at the top of his suspect list. The thought gave her a brief moment of satisfaction as she closed the door behind Nikki.

  Emma glanced at her watch. She’d better get upstairs and start getting cleaned up for her dinner with Brian. She had a feeling it was going to take a good, long scrub to get rid of all the day’s dirt and grime.

  LATER, with a tall glass of well-iced tea in hand, Emma stood in front of her closet and moaned. She had nothing to wear. All the years she’d spent in the fashion industry scoring outfits at bargain basement prices or with drop-dead discounts had been for naught. She still had absolutely nothing to wear!

  She shifted through the dresses in her closet. She’d already worn the black sheath, her favorite go-to dress. The silk was too fancy, even for L’Etoile, and especially on a weeknight. She didn’t think the prints struck the right note, the sundresses were too bare and her old office dresses weren’t bare enough. If only she’d had time to go shopping!

  Emma went through the hangers again, one by one. Her fingers closed over an unfamiliar fabric, and she pulled the hanger from the back of the closet. She’d forgotten all about this dress! She’d only worn it once for fear of dirtying it—New Yorkers tended to wear black for a reason. It was a cream-colored silk sheath shot through with gold threads and cinched at the waist with a gold rope belt. It was perfect. Dressy and elegant but not overboard. Bare enough without being too bare. She’d wear it with her high-heeled, strappy gold sandals.

  Emma laid the dress on the bed and went to turn on the shower. She thought she heard the phone over the running water and stuck her head out of the bathroom. Her cell trilled from the depths of her purse where she’d left it. She managed to grab it on the fifth ring.

  “Hello?” She frowned. “Hello?”

  A voice came over the line, muffled and raspy. “Stop investigating now,” the person said in a near whisper, “and maybe then no one will get hurt.”

  “Who are you?” Emma demanded.

  The line went dead.

  Emma shivered. Someone was trying to scare her.

  Was it the same person who had stuck the note to the front window of Sweet Nothings?

  “I don’t like it,” Brian frowned when Emma told him about the telephone call. “It sounds like someone is getting desperate. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  They were walking toward the parking lot when he stopped abruptly and put his hands on Emma’s shoulders. “I’d never forgive myself if anything happened to you.”

  Emma attempted a brave smile. “I’ll be careful. Don’t worry.”

  Brian was wearing gray slacks, a navy blazer, a blue shirt and a striped tie. Emma couldn’t remember ever having seen him so dressed up before. She was suddenly very conscious of the way he towered over her, the width of his shoulders, his firm grip.

  She took a deep breath. And reminded herself that she was finished with men for the moment. Done, done, done.

  Brian led her toward a station wagon that looked suspiciously like Liz’s. He gave a wry smile. “I’ve borrowed Liz’s car for the evening. I didn’t think you’d appreciate vaulting into the truck when you’re all dressed up.”

  Emma smiled in the darkness as they headed toward L’Etoile. Brian had thought of everything. This was going to be a wonderful evening.

  Brian pulled into the parking lot of L’Etoile, and Emma was surprised to see how few spaces were left. The restaurant was bustling considering it was a Monday night. She looked around as they waited for the maitre d’ to seat them. A table for six was filled with a group celebrating a birthday. She noticed a pile of wrapped gifts next to an older woman’s chair. The private room off the main dining room was also filled, with businessmen in dark suits and ties staring at a pie chart.

  The maitre d’ led them to a table for two partially secluded by a giant fake fern. Emma quickly picked up her menu to hide her nervousness.

  “I think such a grand occasion calls for a glass of champagne, don’t you?” Brian peeked at her over the top of her raised menu.

  Emma was startled. She’d been contemplating the relative merits of the duck versus the lamb. She liked them both but perhaps she should get something easier to eat? She didn’t want to end up with a bird in her lap or sauce all over her dress. “Grand occasion?”

  Brian’s eyes twinkled. “Yes. The ditching of the pea-green shag. The closing of a chapter. The official end to the seventies. At least as they relate to Sweet Nothings.” He spread his napkin in his lap. “Besides, we’re almost done with the renovations, and that’s something to celebrate as well.”

  The waiter appeared at Brian’s elbow, and he sent him away with an order for two glasses of Moët & Chandon.

  “You don’t look very excited.”

  Emma shrugged. “I wish the police would figure out who killed Guy. Frankly, it’s casting a shadow over everything.”

  “I know what you mean. Have you heard anything from that detective recently?”

  Emma shook her head. “No. If he weren’t so determined to blame it on me, perhaps he would get a little further.”

  The waiter glided over with their champagne and silently placed the two bubbling flutes on the table.

  Brian lifted his glass and held it in the air toward Emma. “Cheers! Here’s to you. You’re looking especially lovely tonight.”

  Emma raised her glass and clinked it with Brian’s. “Thank you.” She knew her face was getting red, and she hoped Brian wouldn’t notice in the dim light.

  She quickly turned back to the subject at hand. “It seems to me that between us we should be able to figure this murder out ourselves.”

  Brian took a sip of his champagne. “I’m going to see if I can track down anyone else who might have been at that poker game Angel’s boyfriend claimed to be at.”

  “According to Kate, it’s quite possible Angel wasn’t home that night, either. But it sounded like it was some kind of regular thing. Maybe Tom was counting on her not being there when he decided to murder Guy?” Emma shivered. She would never get used to the idea of murder, never.

  “And maybe,” she said, watching the bubbles in her glass jostle each other to the top, “it’s something else all together, and we’ll never figure it out. I know Chuck Reilly doesn’t have any evidence to link me to the crime, but still…I keep hearing the prison door clanging shut.” Emma laughed humorlessly.

  They looked up to see the waiter hovering near their table, pad and pencil in hand. They placed their orders and watched as he headed toward the kitchen.

  There was a momentary awkward silence, but then Brian mentioned having run into one of their former teachers and soon they were reminiscing about their days at Henry County High. Brian regaled Emma with the tale of the time his entire English class had gotten up and moved to the empty classroom next door, and it had taken Mrs. Mulberry ten minutes to notice it.

  “It wasn’t until she went into the desk drawer, and her glasses weren’t there that she realized we had switched rooms.”

  Their laughter was interrupted by their waiter with their order—chicken francese for Emma. She knew the chicken would be boneless breasts sautéed in butter and lemon—easy to cut and easy to eat. She peered over at Brian’s dish. He’d opted for the osso bucco. She loved osso bucco but was afraid to have to deal with dissecting bony veal shanks swimming in a plate of soupy sauce. She could just imagine her white silk dress after two or three bites of that!

  Brian obviously wasn’t as nervous as she was. Maybe he didn’t really mean this to be a date, and all she really was to him w
as his kid sister’s best friend. She watched as he deftly separated the meat from the smooth, round marrow bones. Of course a couple of dots of sauce wouldn’t show on his dark blazer.

  “Are you planning on staying in Paris after you and your aunt open Sweet Nothings?”

  Emma hesitated. She hadn’t thought it through yet. She’d always assumed she’d stay long enough to get Aunt Arabella’s shop on its feet and then she’d head back to New York to resume her career. She glanced up at Brian. Now she wasn’t at all sure that that was what she wanted.

  Emma fiddled with her spoon. “I’m not sure. What about you?” she asked, hoping to turn the conversation away from her.

  “Oh, I’m staying here. I’m launching my own firm and plan to specialize in renovating older homes. Besides, there’s nothing for me to go back to in Nashville. But I’d rather talk about you, Amy.” Brian glanced up, a stricken look on his face. “Emma. I’m so sorry, I meant to say Emma.”

  Before Emma could say anything, the waiter arrived with the dessert menu. Brian insisted they share a chocolate molten lava cake, L’Etoile’s signature confection, but Emma had lost her appetite.

  Brian had paid the check and they were lingering over coffee when his elbow caught his cup and sent rivulets of coffee splashing across the white tablecloth. Emma jumped up as the brown puddle got closer to her edge of the table.

  “I’m so sorry.” Brian jumped up, too, and began dabbing at the mess with his napkin. “Liz always says, you can dress me up, but you can’t take me anywhere.” Emma noticed that his face had turned a dark, dusky red. So, Brian wasn’t as cool as he made himself out to be.

  Suddenly the whole thing struck Emma as unbearably funny, and she began to giggle. Brian glanced up, surprised. Then he began to smile, and he, too, began to giggle. Soon they were both convulsed with laughter.

  “Let’s blow this place before they realize the mess we’ve made,” Brian said breathlessly, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.

  He grabbed Emma’s hand. “Come on. Let’s get out while the going’s good.”

  They bolted through the front door of L’Etoile, and into the close, damp night air. Brian kept hold of Emma’s hand as they made their way toward his car, still dissolving every now and then into fits of giggles.