Murder Unmentionable

by Meg London

  Arabella, Emma and Kate hovered while Lucy whipped open the white tablecloth and adjusted it on the table, then arranged the platters of food and other supplies just so. Bitsy helped organize her cupcakes, and they all stood back to admire the impressive spread.

  Emma felt her stomach growl at the sight of the homemade cheese straws and other goodies. She’d been too nervous to eat much more than a bite or two of yogurt for breakfast.

  Lucy bustled out to the van and came back with another, smaller platter. This they set up in the back room for the models.

  “One minute till time,” Sylvia shouted above the chattering voices. “Places, everyone!”

  Emma had organized things so that the models would wait in the back room and make their appearance one by one, circulating through the salesroom in an ongoing loop. They’d each been given a card with information about their particular garment so they would be able to answer any of the customers’ questions. Meanwhile, Sylvia was behind the counter ready to show off their new lines of merchandise, and Arabella and Emma were poised to greet people and generally make the customers feel at home.

  Sylvia whistled and called loudly, “Countdown.”

  Again, they counted down as if it were New Year’s Eve and the ball was about to drop, but this time the models joined in, giggling and jostling each other as they crowded into the back room.

  Arabella pulled open the front door with a flourish and stood back, but no one was there. She stuck her head out of the door and looked up and down the sidewalk. Emma joined her.

  “Not a soul,” Emma called over her shoulder to Sylvia.

  “It’s early yet,” Sylvia said to reassure them.

  “Maybe when the rain lets up,” Arabella added.

  Emma’s stomach clenched into a knot worthy of a sailor. If no one came, what would happen to Sweet Nothings and Arabella?

  Everyone fell silent and listened as the clock ticked one minute past the hour, two minutes, three minutes. At the four-minute mark, Emma thought she would go crazy if she didn’t do something—anything. She grabbed the bottle of glass cleaner and began cleaning the glass-fronted cabinets, even though they were already spotless.

  At ten minutes past the hour, the front door slowly opened.

  Everyone gave a collective sigh of relief. Sylvia straightened behind the counter, and Emma and Arabella began moving toward the door.

  A woman stuck her head around the opening. Raindrops glistened in her white hair. She smiled apologetically. “Can you tell me where the hardware store is?”

  Emma had to stifle a groan. She opened her mouth, but the words refused to come out. Fortunately Arabella had managed to keep her wits and she pointed the woman toward O’Connell’s, catty-corner across the street.

  Ginger stuck her head out of the back room. “You want us to come out now?”

  Emma shook her head. “False alarm.”

  “Oh.” Ginger looked as defeated as Emma felt. Emma glanced at the platters of food waiting temptingly on the table. Even the parsley garnishes were beginning to look tired.

  Moments later the door opened again, and everyone snapped to attention.

  “Hi,” Liz called out, backing into the shop as she pulled her umbrella closed. “It’s a monsoon out there.” She turned around to see Emma, Arabella, Sylvia and Kate all staring at her. “What’s the matter? Has something happened?”

  “Nothing’s happened,” Emma said, her voice rising to a near wail. “No one’s come by yet. No one at all.”

  Liz hurried over and put her arm around Emma. “It’s pouring right now. As soon as the rain stops, I’m sure Sweet Nothings will be jam-packed.”

  “I hope so.”

  “Is there anything I can do?” Liz looked around the shop. “Everything looks just perfect.” She moved toward the counter. “What beautiful flowers!” She stooped and sniffed the peonies.

  “They’re from Brian.” Emma could feel her face getting red.

  Liz raised her eyebrows. “Well! I didn’t realize that brother of mine had such good taste.” She put her arm around Emma. “If you’re sure there’s nothing I can do, I have to pick Ben up from his playdate. Although I’m sure Mimi could keep him longer if you need help…”

  Emma shook her head. “We’ll be fine.”

  Liz plucked her umbrella from the stand by the door and paused with her hand on the doorknob. “Call me later and let me know how it goes, okay?”

  Emma nodded and went to stand behind the counter.

  BY eleven a.m., Emma was biting her nails even though she’d never been in the habit of doing it before. The tea she’d drunk earlier felt like acid lining her stomach. If no one came to their grand opening, she would just die! She tried to think of what she might have done differently, but could think of nothing. They’d advertised, they’d created a dynamic window display, they’d sent out invitations. Her stomach contracted and she felt hot bile rise up her throat. Were people staying away because of the rain? Or because of the murder?

  Arabella’s smile had given way to a forlorn look that made Emma want to cry. She felt a deluge of tears pressing against her eyelids and threatening to spill out. She didn’t want Arabella to see how upset she was so she ducked into the back room briefly.

  A half an hour later, the door opened quietly, and everyone jumped. A woman entered, pulling off her rain hat. She smiled apologetically as drops of water scattered in an arc across the carpet. “Are you open?”

  “Yes, yes, please come in.” Arabella made a welcoming gesture.

  The woman looked around nervously, and Emma turned her back trying not to stare and make her feel uncomfortable. Sylvia busied herself with something behind the counter, and Arabella stood back a respectful distance.

  Ginger came out of the back room and looked around shyly. Emma suspected Kate, who was babysitting the models, had had to give her a bit of a shove to get her through the door.

  The woman admired Ginger’s black lace gown and soon she, Ginger and Arabella were chatting happily about vintage lingerie.

  The bell over the front door gave a melodic tinkle, and the door opened to admit two women, each of whom was clutching a rather damp and dog-eared Sweet Nothings invitation card.

  The first wave was followed by another and by the end of the hour, the shop was filled to capacity.

  Emma overheard Arabella in conversation with a woman who was carrying what Emma was quite sure was a real Louis Vuitton handbag.

  “Are you from around here?” She heard Arabella ask.

  The woman shook her expensively coifed, highlighted and low-lighted head. “I’m from Memphis. But I read all about your little shop and just had to see it for myself.”

  Emma noticed her glance stray to the carpet, and she suspected she knew just what the woman had read about Sweet Nothings. She was relieved that the whole story of Guy’s murder hadn’t turned customers away. Quite the opposite. It seemed to be bringing them in. Emma shook her head. People could certainly be strange!

  She glanced toward the counter where Sylvia gave her a thumbs-up. She noticed a lot of the women were leaving the shop with glossy black-and-white Sweet Nothings bags swinging from their arms. She crossed her fingers. Hopefully that meant lots of sales.

  Emma edged her way into the back room. By now her stomach was complaining loudly about how empty she’d let it get. She grabbed a small plate and helped herself to some of the sandwiches Lucy had prepared. This time she’d done wraps filled with chicken, tuna and egg salads sliced into thin wedges. Emma took a bite of a chicken salad wrap and closed her eyes in appreciation. The chicken, which had been cooked to perfection, was mixed with homemade mayonnaise, sliced almonds and chopped watercress. Emma finished the piece and reached for a second one.

  Pierre sat at Emma’s feet, watching her longingly. Emma broke off a small chunk of chicken and gave it to him. “That’s all you’re getting,” she warned him. “Arabella will never forgive me if you get a stomachache.”

  Pierre continu
ed to worship at Emma’s feet, but when he realized no more treats were forthcoming, he began a thorough sniffing of the floor to check for any crumbs or other dropped tidbits.

  Emma washed her hands quickly and was about to head back to the salesroom when she heard a loud clang.

  “Pierre!”

  The dog had knocked over the wastebasket next to the desk and was sniffing the spilled contents. Emma righted the can and returned the various wadded up pieces of paper and torn envelopes.

  Pierre had crawled under the desk and was worrying something between his paws.

  “Pierre? What do you have?” Emma knelt down and stuck her head under the desk.

  Pierre hung his head as if he knew he was being naughty. He put one paw over the scrunched up piece of paper he had contentedly been chewing.

  Emma eased it out from under Pierre’s paw and straightened up. She glanced at the paper quickly. It looked like an e-ticket. Had someone thrown it in the trash by mistake?

  “Emma?” Emma turned as Arabella stuck her head around the door. “We need some help out here.”

  “Coming.” Emma tossed the paper onto the desk. She’d look at it later.

  BY six o’clock, Sylvia was packing pink, tissue-wrapped bundles into the shopping bags of their last two customers. Arabella had sent the models home several hours ago. All the vintage lingerie they’d been wearing was sold. All that remained was for it to be washed, checked once again for any necessary repairs and packed up for the ladies who would be picking it up next week.

  Arabella was sprawled in one of the armchairs, her legs stretched out in front of her, shoes off. Pierre was on his back, snoring softly at her feet. Kate had claimed the chair on the other side of the room, and she, too, had kicked off her shoes.

  Arabella let out a soft groan. “I can’t remember when I’ve ever been so tired.” She looked around the room at Emma, Kate and Sylvia. “Or so happy.” She sighed.

  Sylvia was busying herself with the cash register.

  “Why don’t you sit down for a minute?” Emma asked.

  Sylvia shook her head, and her gray bob swung around her long, serious face. “I just want to total this up. See how we did.”

  Emma shrugged. If Sylvia didn’t want to sit down, that was up to her. But she couldn’t wait to get off her feet. She sank onto the toile love seat in front of the window.

  “Are you ready for this?” Sylvia called.

  All heads turned in her direction.

  “The grand total is…”

  Sylvia named a figure that was twice what Emma had hoped for and at least four times what she had actually expected.

  Arabella clapped and gave a little squeal of excitement.

  “And that’s just our first day.” Sylvia came out from behind the counter and plopped down next to Emma.

  “I don’t think we can expect every day to be like today.” Arabella cautioned. “Still—”

  “We really did do well,” Emma said. She felt a glow of satisfaction warm her from the inside out. All the hard work had been worth it. Sweet Nothings was off and running.

  “I don’t know about the rest of you gals, but I say we all go home, soak our feet in some lavender salts and leave this mess until tomorrow morning.” Arabella waved a hand toward the decimated food table and the wastebaskets overflowing with crumpled napkins.

  “Sounds good to me.” Sylvia took a long whiff of her oxygen and struggled to her feet. “You don’t realize how tired you are until you sit down. I remember Saturdays at the store when we had our big sales—run off our feet from morning till night. Course I was younger then. And I’d stand on the subway all the way home to Brooklyn, and then walk the six blocks to my apartment. Didn’t phase me a bit.”

  “Ah, but we’re not young anymore.” Arabella sighed.

  “You got that straight. I’m going home,” Sylvia said decisively. “What say we order one of those pizzas with everything on it?” She smiled at Kate.

  Kate bounded to her feet. “Sounds totally yummy to me.”

  “Come on, kid, let’s lock up and go soak our feet.” Arabella pushed herself out of the chair and slipped on her shoes.

  “You go ahead. I’m too wound up to sit still.” Emma smiled. “I’ll just clean up a bit first.”

  “Promise me you’re not going to be here for hours on end.” Arabella leveled a stern glance at Emma.

  Emma shook her head. “Don’t worry. I’m just going to get a few things out of the way, and then I’ve got an ice-cold bottle of pinot grigio waiting along with a lovely shrimp salad I had the foresight to order from Let Us Cater To You.”

  Arabella touched a finger to her head. “Brilliant girl. Brilliant. I shall make do with a boiled egg, some toast and a pot of strong tea.”

  Sylvia, Kate and Arabella trooped out the door, and Emma locked it behind them, breathing a sigh of relief. A comforting stillness settled over Sweet Nothings, and Emma stood there for a moment, savoring it.

  Her glance strayed to the spot where Guy had been killed, and the moment was shattered. She shook herself and began to collect the wastebaskets, stuffing the overflowing mass of crumpled tissue down into the bins with her hands.

  Emma glanced at the food table. The cheese straws were all gone, nothing but crumbs in their place. The platters, too, were empty, having been refilled several times during the course of the day. Emma plucked a decorative grape tomato off one of them and popped it into her mouth. She was starving. She ate another tomato and then a radish that had been carved to look like a flower.

  Enough, she decided. She’d empty the trash and head back upstairs to her apartment and the dinner waiting for her. A shower first, she thought, and a change into something comfortable, then she’d take her glass of wine and plate of salad and sit in front of the television. The movie she’d rented from Netflix had arrived, with perfect timing, just that morning.

  Small pleasures, she thought. It was something Arabella had taught her. Enjoy the moment, savor the little things. Sometimes they were the only thing you could count on, but they certainly made life worth living.

  Emma opened the back door and a blanket of wet heat swatted her in the face. She staggered backward, sweating in the sudden onslaught of humidity. She’d empty the trash into the Dumpster, and then head up to her apartment. She could almost feel the cool, refreshing shower water washing over her already.

  Emma balanced the first can on the edge of the Dumpster and tipped in the contents. Only three more to go. She was emptying the last bin when a flash of bright color caught her eye. It was the edge of an envelope sticking up out of the muddy and utilitarian colors of the rest of the trash.

  Emma hesitated. She really wanted that shower and her glass of cold wine and her delicious shrimp salad. Instead, she stood on tiptoe, leaned over the morass of garbage, and reached for the brightly colored envelope. Her fingertips brushed the sharp corner, but she momentarily lost her balance and landed flat-footed, her hand now inches away from her quarry.

  She tried again, arching up onto her toes and stretching as far as she could. Her fingers closed around the very edge of the envelope, and she slowly teased it out of the garbage packed into the Dumpster. Now she was able to get a better grasp on it and fastened her whole hand around it. Her calves were burning, and she eased back down to give them a rest. The envelope was probably nothing. Just some piece of junk mail or a colorful circular. But somehow Emma suspected that wasn’t the case.

  She was terrified of losing her grip on her precious find, and she leaned farther into the Dumpster, the sharp edge cutting into her midriff. As she eased the yellow envelope toward her, she realized it was the mailer she’d put Guy’s memory card in along with the print she’d made of the photograph of Deirdre and Skip.

  How on earth had it ended up in the Dumpster? she wondered. She grasped the envelope to her chest. She thought of Deirdre Porter and had a moment of panic. What if Deirdre had lied to her, and the photograph revealed nothing at all? Emma shook her head
. She didn’t believe that. She’d talked to Deirdre herself and had heard that note of desperation in her voice.

  She was tempted to open the package right then and there, but sweat dripped off her chin, and she smelled lamentably like rotting garbage.

  Shower first.

  Then she’d see if Deirdre had been pulling her leg.

  Or not.

  EMMA tossed the envelope on the kitchen table and headed straight for the bathroom. She let the water get good and hot and then plunged underneath the stream. It felt heavenly. She luxuriated in the warmth as it soothed her tired and aching muscles. It wasn’t until the water began to turn tepid that Emma switched off the taps and stepped out of the shower.

  She heard her cell phone ringing. She’d tossed it on the sofa with her purse. She wrapped a towel around herself and went to answer it.

  “Emma? It’s Kate. I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

  “Not at all. I just got out of one of the best showers I’ve ever had in my life.”

  Kate’s laugh came over the phone lines. “I know what you mean. Sylvia and I just finished our pizza, then I’m heading for the shower myself.” She was quiet for a moment. “I just wanted to call to say good-bye.”

  “What?”

  “Not forever! But I’ve got an early flight out tomorrow morning. I’ve got a car picking me up at five a.m.”

  “Why so soon? I thought, hoped, you’d be able to stay a little longer.” Emma opened the refrigerator and got out her bottle of wine. She stood on tiptoe and eased a glass off the shelf in the cupboard.

  “I thought so, too. But I just found out that Guy’s family is arriving in New York tomorrow night, and I’ll need to be there. It looks like they’re going to close down the business.”

  “Oh, no.” Emma stared at the uncorked wine bottle helplessly. She didn’t think she could hold her cell with her shoulder and deal with the wine at the same time. She’d have to wait.