by Meg London
“I’ve heard those assisted living places are actually rather nice,” Arabella said, biting the end off one of the sugar cookies. “There are all sorts of activities, and you get all your food prepared for you.”
Sylvia snorted. “Yeah, and everyone is wearing a diaper and the place smells like you-know-what. No thanks. The only way they’re getting me in one of those places is feet first.” She grabbed another item from the puddle of garments on the counter and began to fold the white lace teddy.
“I can’t decide what to put on the mannequin.” Emma took out a Lucie Ann gown and held it up to the dummy.
“That’s nice, but what about that baby-doll set I picked up last week at that estate sale outside of Memphis? What could be more appropriately Southern than a nice baby-doll nightgown?” Arabella opened one of the cupboards, pushed several hangers aside and pulled out a short pink chiffon confection with matching panties.
“It’s darling!” Emma said. “But why baby doll I wonder? Isn’t it the same as a shortie nightgown?”
Arabella shook her head. “They’re meant to be a little…” She lowered her voice. “Sexier than the typical shorties.”
“But why is it called a baby doll?” Emma looked from Arabella to Sylvia.
“It comes from that movie.” Sylvia folded a pair of panties and added them to the stack on the counter. “The one with Eli Wallach in it. He was so handsome back then.”
Arabella nodded. “And Karl Malden as the husband. It took place somewhere in Mississippi.”
Emma looked from one to the other, confused.
“It was called Baby Doll,” Arabella explained. “That’s what Karl Malden called his teenaged bride.”
“Carroll Baker,” Sylvia supplied.
“You’re right. And she was always prancing around in a nightgown like this.”
“Driving the men crazy.” Sylvia snorted.
“After the movie, everyone began calling these baby dolls. I think it came out sometime in the mid-fifties.” Arabella looked over her shoulder at Sylvia.
Sylvia nodded. “1956 if I’m not mistaken.”
“It’s perfect then.” Emma gently pulled the nightgown over the mannequin’s head.
Sylvia glanced at her watch. “Looks like I gotta go. Tom said my car would be ready this afternoon.”
“Your car?” Emma spun around. “You took it to Tom to be repaired?” Emma and Arabella exchanged glances.
“Why not? Everyone goes there. He said I had a hole in some line or other that caused the brake fluid to leak out.”
“A hole!” Arabella declared as soon as the door closed behind Sylvia’s oxygen tank.
“A hole that he might have put there himself.” Emma added.
“And now we’ll never know. It’s too late to go to the police about it. The repair has been done, and the evidence is gone.”
“But now that we’ve found that picture on Guy’s camera…maybe Tom really didn’t have anything to do with the murder.”
“True. And Angel didn’t, either.”
“I’d like to know if Deirdre knew about that photograph.” Emma fluffed the chiffon nightgown to its full advantage. “Or if Skip did.”
“Deirdre’s the one with the money. Or access to it. I’m betting Guy went to her if he tried to blackmail anybody.”
“Guess I’ll have to pay a visit to Mrs. Peyton Porter.” Emma gave the fabric a final fluff.
Arabella raised her brows.
“I’ve invited her to model at our grand opening. That ought to serve as a pretext for ringing her bell.”
As Emma moved the dressed mannequin into position, she had a thought.
Had they unknowingly picked a murderer to model in Sweet Nothings’s first fashion show?
“A jeweler?” Bitsy wrinkled her nose.
Emma had stopped by Sprinkles on her way to work Saturday morning. The idea had come to her last night—Nikki had called to say she knew who the earring that was found in the Sweet Nothings carpet had belonged to, and before Emma and Brian could talk to her, she was dead.
Emma was standing in front of the cupcake counter at Sprinkles, trying to decide between German chocolate and banana cream pie. The heavenly scent of vanilla filled the shop, nearly making her swoon. She was leaning toward the chocolate, but the banana cream looked equally delicious.
“We found this earring at Sweet Nothings.” Emma fished the earring she’d wrapped in some pink Sweet Nothings tissue paper out of her purse, unwrapped it and held it across the counter toward Bitsy. “Someone lost it at the shop, and we’re wondering if any of the jewelers in town sold it. It’s possible they might have kept a record of who bought it.” Emma had decided to leave out the part about how the earring just might have belonged to Guy’s killer.
“It’s certainly a pretty little piece.”
Emma pointed at a cupcake in the display case. “I guess I’ll have the German chocolate.”
“There’s Moon over on North Market,” Bitsy said as she placed Emma’s cupcake in a bag. “And The Gold Nook near the shopping center.”
“Are they real upscale sorts of places?”
“If it’s upscale you’re after, then try The French Jewel. It’s just beyond the Paris Antique Market.”
THE windows of The French Jewel sparkled with expensive-looking diamond, ruby and sapphire pieces. Emma paused for a moment to admire the gems gleaming on their black velvet background before pushing open the door.
A bell tinkled somewhere in the back of the shop, and a woman glided through the doorway.
“May I help you?”
She was wearing a plain black dress, the simplicity of which gave it an almost severe air. A pair of half glasses dangled from a chain around her neck, and her dark hair was sleeked into a smooth chignon.
Emma fumbled in her purse and pulled out the tissue-wrapped bundle. She unwrapped the earring and held it toward the saleswoman.
“I’m wondering if you can tell me anything about this earring.”
“What do you want to know?” The woman settled her glasses on her nose and held up the earring.
“Is it valuable?”
“Valuable?” The woman raised her eyebrows and gave a slight sniff. “It’s a very pretty piece, but I’m afraid it’s not worth all that much. The stone,” she said, pausing to indicate the blue green bead with the tip of her finger, “is an aqua terra jasper.”
Emma remembered Kate calling the stone that. It looked as if she was right.
“It’s quite attractive, but also quite common, I’m afraid.”
The way she said it led Emma to suspect she’d said that to many customers before her.
“I found it on the floor of my aunt’s shop,” Emma explained. “Sweet Nothings,” she gestured toward the window, “the lingerie shop down the street.”
The woman handed back the earring, and Emma rewrapped it in the crinkled tissue.
“It looks as if one of our customers must have dropped it. We were thinking it might belong to Deirdre Porter…” Emma let the name hang in the air, holding her breath, hoping the woman would take the bait.
“Mrs. Porter is a customer of ours. If the earring does belong to her, she didn’t get it here. Frankly, this is hardly her style.” She pointed at the bundle of tissue Emma was about to put back in her purse.
“That’s what I thought, but my aunt—”
“I’ve sold Mrs. Porter a number of important pieces.” She looked around as if checking to see if anyone were listening, then leaned over the counter toward Emma. “For their first anniversary, Mr. and Mrs. Porter came in and chose a magnificent set of South Sea pearls.”
Emma thought she had seen Deirdre around town in those. Magnificent was certainly the word for them. She couldn’t begin to imagine how much they cost! No wonder the saleswoman had sneered at the pathetic little earring Emma showed her.
The saleswoman lowered her voice even more and leaned even closer to Emma. Her dangling glasses hit the counter with a clink
, and she put a hand on them to still them. “Of course, I think they may have hit some…hard times.” Her voice dropped so low, Emma could barely hear her.
“Really? Why do you say that?” Emma inched as close to the counter as she could get.
The bell tinkled, heralding the opening of the front door. If Emma had been the type to swear, she probably would have let loose with a stream of blue-tinged words right then. Just when the saleswoman was about to tell her something useful! It was all she could do to keep from slamming her fist onto the counter.
The new arrivals were a young couple in jeans and T-shirts. They had their arms around each other and were giggling.
Emma groaned inwardly. How long were they going to take, and could she stall long enough until they left? And would the saleslady be willing to talk, or had the moment passed? She studied a case of David Yurman jewelry, trying to kill time. The pieces were lovely, but not really her style, and certainly not within her budget.
Emma moved on to a display of watches. She glanced over her shoulder to where the saleslady was talking to the young couple. She’d pulled out a velvet pad and placed it on the counter along with several diamond engagement rings. The girl was trying one on, holding her hand up and admiring the gem. Emma couldn’t help but notice that her nails were bitten to the quick.
They were talking, but Emma couldn’t hear what they were saying. The saleswoman put the rings back in the case and replaced the velvet pad under the counter.
The couple finally left, the girl looking over her shoulder at the case of diamond rings.
The saleslady glided over to where Emma was standing and pretending to admire several gold link bracelets. She gestured toward the door. “I suggested The Gold Nook. I think the prices are a little more in line with their budget.”
Emma nodded, wondering how she could turn the conversation back to Deirdre Porter.
“Is there anything else I can help you with?” The saleswoman raised her thin, penciled brows inquiringly.
Emma stuttered. “No, no…” She had to think of a way to bring the conversation back to the Porters. “We’re planning a fashion show for our grand reopening at Sweet Nothings.”
The saleslady looked unimpressed.
“We’ve invited Deirdre Porter to model in it.”
“I guess they do need the money, then,” the saleslady said in a low voice.
Emma was about to correct her and inform her that it wasn’t a paying gig when her brain finally kicked into gear, and she bit her tongue.
“I guess we all have to do what we have to do,” she said instead.
The saleswoman nodded. “Well, she did get the money from that bracelet, of course. Quite a bit, actually.”
“Really?” Emma leaned closer over the counter.
“It was the one Mr. Porter purchased for her wedding gift. A beautiful sapphire and diamond piece. She came in to see if we would buy it back!” Her eyes widened. “We always stand by our merchandise, of course, so the owner immediately wrote her a check.”
“When was this?” Emma asked, trying to look blasé although her heart was beating double-time.
“Last week. I don’t remember the day, I’m afraid.”
The bell tinkled again, and the front door opened. The saleslady turned toward the new arrivals, and Emma took the opportunity to slip out the door.
EMMA all but skipped down the sidewalk. Finally, they had a lead. A solid, concrete, something to pin a case on lead. Deirdre Porter had sold an important bracelet to The French Jewel. The kind of piece she would have been expected to keep forever and ultimately hand down to her children and her grandchildren. But instead she had sold it. She must have needed money desperately to do that. And what else could she have needed money for but to pay off a blackmailer? In this case, most likely Guy who had caught her and her riding instructor, Skip Clark, in a compromising position in living color. Well, not living color exactly, more like pixels or dpi or whatever digital photos were called. But it was one thing to have townspeople whispering and speculating, and quite another to have a photograph that proved you’d been playing around. It would end her marriage to Peyton Porter, heir to a considerable fortune.
When Emma got to Sweet Nothings, the front door was locked and the lights had been turned off. She used her key and pushed open the door. Arabella had left a note propped on the counter: “Off to Memphis for a huge estate sale. Let’s hope I get lucky. Love, Aunt Arabella.”
Emma felt deflated. Here she had all this great news to share, and there was no one to share it with. She glanced at the front window of Sweet Nothings and noticed someone standing there. Still, the knock on the door startled her.
Emma twisted the lock and eased open the door just far enough to allow her to stick her head out. Brian was standing on the doormat.
She felt the grin that immediately spread across her face and tried desperately to reclaim some semblance of cool. But it was all she could do to keep from throwing her arms around Brian and locking him in a giant bear hug.
“Can I convince you to take a few minutes off to go to The Coffee Klatch for a cold drink?”
THE Coffee Klatch was quiet—in that lull between the end of the lunch crowd and the beginning of the late afternoon crowd looking for a pick-me-up. Brian ordered an iced tea and Emma, a lemonade.
Sun slanting in the front window turned the highlights in Brian’s dark hair to gold. Emma felt her heart catch in her throat, and she had to remind herself that there was another woman…a woman named Amy.
Emma wanted to blurt out her news as soon as the waitress turned her back on their table, but she tried to control her excitement.
Obviously, Brian could sense her impatience. “Well?” he said with a bemused look on his face.
“Well!” Emma nearly smacked her lips in her excitement. “I went to The French Jewel, and guess what?” She didn’t wait for Brian to answer. “Deirdre Porter—”
“Whoa.” Brian held up a hand. “Why did you go to The French Jewel?”
Emma closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Okay. Remember that earring we found when we were tearing out the carpet at Sweet Nothings?”
Brian nodded and leaned back as the waitress slid a sweating glass of iced tea in front of him.
“I started to wonder if it might have belonged to Deirdre Porter.”
“Deirdre Porter?”
Emma realized she hadn’t told Brian about the picture they’d found on Guy’s camera, and she needed to backtrack.
“Wow,” Brian said when Emma finished. “So it looks like Deirdre and her riding instructor have something going on. Something they don’t want anyone else to find out about.” He twirled his straw around and around his glass. “But how does that earring we found play into this?”
“I’m not sure.” Emma admitted. “I was wondering if whoever killed Guy dropped that earring that night. If there’d been any sort of struggle, the earring might have come loose.” Emma fiddled with the saltshaker on the table. “Or sometimes when a woman is nervous, she’ll play with her earring and accidentally dislodge it.”
“Like that?” Brian pointed to the saltshaker that Emma was twirling between her hands and grinned.
Emma stopped abruptly. “Exactly.” She leaned across the table. “Unfortunately, the saleswoman at The French Jewel didn’t think it was the sort of piece Deirdre would wear. But she did admit that Deirdre, or, rather Mrs. Porter…” Emma imitated the woman’s drawn out, snooty tones and was pleased when Brian laughed. “Sold back a very special diamond and sapphire bracelet her husband had given her as a wedding present.”
Brian whistled. “Not very nice of her, I admit. But maybe she didn’t like it?”
Emma shook her head. “No. Even if she hated it, a woman wouldn’t return a gift like that. Too much sentimental value.” She took a sip of her lemonade. “She’d keep it and wear it once in awhile to please him. No, I think she wanted…needed…the money.”
“But aren’t they rich? That
BMW I’ve seen her driving around in must have cost a pretty penny.”
“Yes. But if Deirdre is paying off a blackmailer, she can hardly just write a check or ask her husband for some pocket money. From what I understand, Peyton controls the purse strings. Or rather, his mama does.”
“So our murderer is either Deirdre Porter, Skip Clark…” Brian took a last sip of his iced tea and pushed the glass to the side. “Or the mysterious owner of that lost earring.”
Emma nodded. “I’m not sure what to do next. But I would like to see how Deirdre reacts when she sees that photograph Guy took.”
EMMA clicked a few last keys on her laptop, hit save, then print. She watched as the piece of paper slid slowly out of the printer. She held it up. Not bad. She’d managed to find some vintage clip art that gave the notice some eye-catching appeal.
She would tape the notice to the front window of Sweet Nothings under the grand opening banner. It was a call for volunteers to model in their opening day fashion show. She hoped at least a few of the young girls in town would be interested. They couldn’t afford to pay anything, but she’d picked out a few pieces of new lingerie as a thank-you for the models.
Emma retrieved a roll of tape from behind the counter and climbed into the window to tack up her notice. She centered it carefully and secured it with several pieces of tape. Satisfied, she jumped down and went outside to admire her handiwork.
She was standing on the sidewalk, staring at the front window of Sweet Nothings, when she sensed someone coming up behind her and turned to see Lucy standing there.
Lucy gave Emma a quick squeeze. “It looks just wonderful. I must take a picture and send it to your mother. Is she coming up for the grand opening?”
“Unfortunately not. Dad is having knee replacement surgery, and she has to be there to take care of him.”
“That’s too bad.” Lucy frowned and looked at her watch. “Good Lord, look at the time. I’ve got to get a batch of cheese straws in the oven for Jessamyn Crocker’s daughter’s christening party this afternoon. If I’d’ve known that catering was going to be a seven day a week job, I’d have chosen some other profession.” She tapped Emma on the arm. “But what are you doing here on a Sunday?”
