Murder Unmentionable

by Meg London

  “I do have a job interview, though.” Kate’s voice perked up. “I’m dying to tell you where, but I don’t want to jinx it. I’ll let you know right afterward.”

  “You’d better. I’ll be waiting.” Emma was relieved to hear that Kate was looking toward the future.

  “I hate leaving while things are still so up in the air. Did you ever find out what Deirdre meant about the photograph?”

  “Not yet.” Emma ran her finger through the rivulet of water running down the side of the bottle. “But I did find the photo and the memory card. Someone threw them in the Dumpster. It was stupid of me not to have saved a copy on my computer.”

  She heard Kate’s sharp intake of breath.

  “No kidding! Have you checked the photo?”

  “Not yet. But I’m going to.”

  They chatted for a few more minutes, and then Emma hung up the phone. She had a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach. It had been fun having Kate around. She thought for a minute. Fun wasn’t really the right word. Kate had been a tenuous link to Guy and the past—when Emma was still living and working in New York and Guy was still alive.

  Emma went to the refrigerator and retrieved the shrimp salad Lucy had prepared. It looked delicious, and she was starving. She started to reach for a plate in the cupboard but then changed her mind. Just this once, she was going to eat out of the container. She carried her salad and her wineglass to the kitchen table and plopped on a chair, one leg tucked under her. The envelope with the print of Guy’s photograph was within arm’s reach. Emma dug into her salad, savoring the first delicious, crisp bite, then spun the mailer toward her, and eased out the print.

  Emma was still staring at it when she took the last bite of her salad and pushed the container aside. She couldn’t imagine what it was Deirdre had noticed.

  She looked at the picture again, turned it upside down, sideways and any other way she could think of. She was getting up to throw her empty salad container in the trash when something caught her eye. She should have noticed it right away.

  The photograph taken of Deirdre and Skip had the date and time stamp on it. That was strange. Guy didn’t normally bother with that. Emma examined the small white printing that established exactly when the picture was taken. Something about the date struck her as wrong.

  She grabbed her cell phone from her purse and pulled up the calendar function. What she discovered sent her reeling backward a step.

  Guy didn’t take this photograph. He couldn’t have.

  The photo was taken several days after his murder at Sweet Nothings.

  EMMA lay in bed in the dark staring at the ceiling. Waves of emotion washed over her. Guy’s death had almost scabbed over, but now she felt as if someone had unceremoniously ripped off the bandage. She was extremely relieved that Guy hadn’t taken that photograph of Deirdre and Skip. That, in turn, meant Guy hadn’t blackmailed them. That wasn’t how she wanted to remember Guy. She was glad she hadn’t been completely wrong about him. Clary had been right—the blackmailer was a woman after all. Nikki. It had to be.

  Emma fell into an uneasy sleep plagued by strange dreams that bordered on nightmares. She woke with a start to find her legs helplessly tangled in the sheets, as if she’d been wrestling with them during the night.

  She lay in the dark for a moment, her heart pounding, listening to the sounds around her. The birds were beginning to chirp, which meant it was probably around five a.m. She didn’t think she was going to be able to sleep any longer. The bed felt hot, rumpled and uncomfortable. She might as well get up. Emma pulled on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. She would finish cleaning up the shop. Maybe the activity would take her mind off of things.

  The early morning air still had a hint of damp coolness to it. All the storefronts were dark and shuttered, and the streetlights were still on. Emma stood for a moment, her keys in her hand, listening to the wakening birds and enjoying the stillness. The first streaks of daylight lightened the sky and tinged it with color. For a moment she thought of going for a walk, but then changed her mind and stuck her key in the lock of the front door of Sweet Nothings.

  She had done the major cleanup jobs already, but she thought she’d run the vacuum, clean the counters and wipe down the glass cabinet doors. She wanted everything to be perfect for their first official day of business on Monday.

  Emma unwound the vacuum cleaner cord, plugged it in and turned it on. The burst of noise from the machine sounded extra loud in the quiet shop. She ran it back and forth across the new carpeting, trying not to think.

  The carpet done, Emma stowed the vacuum in the closet and went into the back room for some cleaning supplies. She passed Arabella’s desk and noticed the crumpled piece of paper she’d tossed on top the day before. She started to throw it in the wastebasket, but then changed her mind. Instead, she smoothed it out on the desk, flicked on the lamp and sat down.

  There was a hole in the top corner of the paper where one of Pierre’s teeth must have pierced it. Luckily, the rest of the page was intact.

  Just as Emma had thought, it was a printed e-ticket showing a flight from New York’s LaGuardia Airport to Nashville. It must have come from Kate’s handbag. Emma was about to crumple the paper up when the date of the flight caught her eye.

  She grabbed her purse and scrambled through it, finally unearthing her cell phone. She thumbed through the applications until she found the calendar. She checked the date on Kate’s e-ticket again then glanced back at the calendar.

  There was no mistaking it. Kate had arrived in Paris several days before she claimed to have arrived.

  Meaning she had been in Paris before Guy’s murder.

  Emma had barely digested the potential meaning of that when a knock sounded on the front door.

  “OH!” Emma jumped and dropped the piece of paper as if it were a hot coal. She was suddenly acutely aware of the fact that she was all alone at Sweet Nothings. And not only that, no one knew she was there. It was Sunday morning, and she should have been snuggled up in her bed resting after yesterday’s triumphs.

  Emma had left the blind down on the door. She lifted one of the slats and peered out. Kate was standing on the doorstep, tapping her foot impatiently. She had a strange look on her face, and for a moment Emma almost didn’t recognize her. She looked cold and somehow…calculating. Without thinking, Emma flung open the door.

  Kate’s face changed so fast, Emma wasn’t sure she had really seen that other expression.

  “Emma!” Kate gushed, pushing past Emma and into the shop. “I couldn’t believe it when I saw the light on. And here I thought I would have to leave without saying good-bye.”

  Emma stammered a greeting and backed away until she was leaning against one of the cabinets.

  Kate looked at her quizzically and put up a finger to slide her errant glasses back up her nose. It was then that Emma noticed the ring she was wearing. It was a huge aqua terra jasper in an elaborate setting that matched the earring she and Brian had found earlier.

  Kate must have noticed her glance. “Like it?” She waved her hand around in front of Emma’s face.

  “It’s the same design as that earring—”

  “I wondered when you were going to figure that out. Yes, they were a matching set. Beautiful, don’t you think?”

  Emma nodded. Her mind was reeling. She had to keep Kate talking. She stole a glance at her watch. It was too early for anyone to be passing by. The first church service of the day wasn’t for another couple of hours.

  “It’s my design, you know.” Kate held her hand up in front of her and admired her ring. “If you still have the earring, I wouldn’t mind having it back.”

  “Of course. It should still be in Arabella’s desk.”

  “I tried to get that wretch Nikki St. Clair to wear some of my jewelry in one of her photo shoots. It would have given me quite a leg up, but she was having none of it.” Kate sneered. “Makes me glad she’s dead.”

  Emma gasped, and Kate shot her
a look. “Well, I am glad. She could have helped me out, and it wouldn’t have cost her a thing. But no…” Kate dashed a hand across her eyes. “Good old Kate, that’s what they all thought. Content to be Guy’s assistant forever, never wanting anything more out of life than being in his shadow.”

  “I don’t think people really—”

  “Oh, please, spare me.” Kate held up a hand. “I know what everyone thought. I was invisible. Unless they needed something, then it was Kate-go-do-this, Kate-go-do-that.” Kate swiped at her eyes again. “You don’t know what it was like.” She gave a loud sniff.

  “Were you in love with Guy?” Emma asked gently.

  Kate nodded, her curtain of hair falling across her face and partly obscuring it. “I was nothing more than a piece of office furniture to him.”

  This time Emma didn’t try to contradict her. Maybe if she just let Kate talk—get it all out of her system—then they could call the police. Because she was now certain it had to have been Kate who murdered Guy. She’d been in Paris days before she admitted to being there, and must have met up with Guy at Sweet Nothings that night. That’s when she dropped her earring. Emma shuddered as the scene flashed before her eyes again.

  “Why kill Nikki, too?” Emma said without thinking. “Because of the way she treated you?”

  Kate shook her head. “No, although that was reason enough if you ask me.” She frowned. “She realized that earring belonged to me. It’s the set I was hoping she would wear for her Vogue cover shoot.” Kate gave a bark of laughter. “Serves her right.”

  Emma shuddered. Kate had lost her mind.

  Her cell phone was on Arabella’s desk in the back room. If she could get to it, and dial 9-1-1…She still couldn’t believe Kate was dangerous. But she’d obviously murdered Guy and Nikki, and had nothing to lose.

  A horn honked right outside Sweet Nothings, and they both turned toward the windows.

  “That’s my taxi.” Kate gave a smile that sent chills through Emma. “I don’t have much time. I’m sorry it had to end this way, Emma. You’ve always been very nice to me. Unlike the others.” She put a hand on Emma’s shoulder. “If you hadn’t insisted on snooping, you might not have put two and two together and, well…” She shrugged.

  Panic gripped Emma by the throat. She had to keep Kate talking. About something…anything. If she yelled…

  Emma glanced toward the window and suddenly remembered the warning sign that had been taped to the glass. At the time, she had been so certain Angel had done it.

  “Did you tape that sign to our front window?”

  Kate was already shaking her head. “Yes. And I got drenched doing it. I had the taxi drop me a block away, and I waited until no one was looking.”

  “And you brought your suitcase with you.”

  Kate nodded again. “I had to make it look as if I were just coming from the airport. I saw you looking at my dress and how wet I’d gotten, but fortunately you didn’t put it all together. At least not then.”

  Emma glanced around her wildly. A pair of scissors was on the counter, the trademark pink Sweet Nothings ribbon trailing from the handles. If she could just reach them without alerting Kate. She doubted she’d have the nerve to use them, but Kate wouldn’t know that, and it would buy her some time.

  Emma tried to inch her hand along the counter casually, hoping Kate wouldn’t notice. Her fingers had almost closed around the scissors when Kate reached out and grabbed her hand.

  “I’d put those down if I were you.”

  Kate’s grip on Emma’s hand was strong and painful. She meant business. Panic rose in Emma’s throat like bile. Keep talking. The words went around and around in her head like a mantra.

  “Those photographs—” Emma began.

  Kate smirked. “I thought that was a brilliant touch, if I must say so myself. After you discovered what Angel was really up to, I had to do something to distract you. It worked, too.”

  Angel. “The brakes on Sylvia’s car,” Emma said accusingly.

  A slow smile of satisfaction spread across Kate’s face. “My handiwork.”

  “But, how—”

  “I grew up with four car-obsessed brothers. Some of it rubbed off on me.”

  “So you didn’t really fall on the steps that day…”

  Kate laughed and shook her head. “I wasn’t about to get in a car whose brakes were soon going to fail.” Kate glanced at her watch. “I don’t have much more time.”

  “But why?” Emma cried. “Why kill Guy?”

  Kate’s face darkened. “You know that job at La Moda Italiana that Guy offered you?”

  Emma nodded.

  “That was my job!” Kate shouted so loud that Emma jumped. “Guy told me he was going to send me for that interview. He knew how much I wanted to work for them. But then he decided to use the job to lure you”—she stabbed an accusing finger into Emma’s shoulder—“back to New York City. That’s when I decided I would follow him here and confront him. But he wouldn’t listen. All he cared about was getting you back again.”

  “But I don’t want the job,” Emma said, surprised to realize she meant it. “If you go back to New York, you can go to that interview yourself—”

  “My plan exactly. But first,” Kate said as she rummaged in her tote bag, “I’m going to make sure the police continue to think you’re the murderer.” She pulled a small but deadly looking gun from her bag.

  Emma gasped. “What are you doing?”

  “You’re going to commit suicide,” Kate said, getting the gun into position. “It’s so sad. You were distraught over what you’d done and decided to take your own life.”

  Kate leveled the gun at Emma’s temple.

  EMMA stared at the pistol in Kate’s hand. She thought her heart would stop. Her mouth had become as dry as the Sahara, and her legs were as wobbly as two Slinkys. Surely Kate didn’t mean to…to…shoot her?

  She thought she heard the rattle of cans next door. Perhaps Mr. Tharpe was putting out the garbage? And maybe if she screamed? Emma pictured Mr. Tharpe and her heart sank—he was nearer to eighty than seventy and walked slower than a tortoise. He would be no match for anyone, let alone someone with a gun.

  But she had to try. Emma opened her mouth.

  Kate shoved the pistol against Emma’s temple. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

  Emma immediately clamped her mouth shut. She felt tears spring into her eyes and blinked them away angrily. She wouldn’t make a fool of herself in front of Kate.

  She had to do something. She couldn’t let poor Aunt Arabella walk in and find her like she’d found Guy. A sob rose in Emma’s throat, and she swallowed it quickly. She had to keep her wits about her.

  The noise next door had stopped. Even if it had been old Mr. Tharpe and his waste cans, she wasn’t going to get any help from that quarter. She thought about O’Connell’s Hardware across the street. She risked a glance out the front window. Unfortunately, the façade of O’Connell’s was as dark as it had been earlier. O’Connells was open a half day on Sundays, but Brian wouldn’t be rolling up the shutters for a few more hours. He was probably still home in bed.

  Emma glanced around. Kate had moved the scissors out of reach. She needed something to knock the gun out of Kate’s hand. Arabella’s walking sticks were in a stand by the front door, but there was no way Kate would ever let her reach them.

  They heard a horn honk outside, and Kate steadied the gun in her hand.

  “I’ve got a plane to catch, so I’m afraid I can’t hang around here much longer.” She held the gun up so it was level with Emma’s head. “I really am sorry about this.” Kate gave a crooked smile. “I always liked you, Emma. But you insisted on snooping.”

  Kate held the gun pointed at Emma’s head.

  Emma’s mind was whirling faster than a tornado. She had to do something. She couldn’t let Kate get away with this. The look on Kate’s face was frightening, and Emma was momentarily paralyzed.

  There was a noi
se—Emma thought it sounded like the rattle of the front door handle. She held her breath. Had Kate heard it, too? She didn’t seem to have. Emma picked up another noise—the squeak of the front door. She’d been at Sweet Nothings long enough now to recognize all the little sounds the shop made.

  Someone was coming in! Maybe the taxi driver had seen something through the window and had come to investigate. Emma would have crossed her fingers, but Kate had a steel grip on her hand.

  “Hello? Emma? Arabella?” The front door squeaked open wider.

  Kate let go of Emma’s hand and whirled around to face the intruder. Emma noticed that the gun in her hand wobbled slightly.

  Brian pushed the door open the rest of the way and stepped into the shop.

  “What the…” he said when he caught sight of Kate and Emma.

  “Don’t move,” Kate commanded, leveling the gun at Brian.

  Brian put his hands up in the universal gesture of surrender. He stopped where he was, but Emma noticed his eyes moving this way and that, taking in the scene.

  Brian’s mere presence made Emma breathe easier. She felt some of the tension easing from her shoulders. Brian would know how to handle Kate. Emma still couldn’t believe that Kate meant to kill anyone. But then she remembered Guy sprawled on the carpet and Nikki dead in her hotel suite, and panic returned in a wave the size of a tsunami.

  Perhaps while Kate’s attention was focused on Brian, she could find something to use as a weapon. A headless bust stood on the counter and despite the fact that it was sporting a bullet bra, Emma didn’t have any illusions about its effectiveness as a weapon. But she had to do something, and she might distract Kate long enough for one of them to grab the gun.

  Emma hesitated for a second, but then Kate leveled the gun into a position that showed she meant business. The thought of anyone hurting Brian heated Emma’s blood to the boiling point. She grabbed the bust from the counter and swung it in an arc toward Kate’s head.