A Fatal Slip (21 page)

The red jacket brought some color to her face, and her light brown hair was becomingly tousled by the wind. Once again Emma thought that with very little effort she could be an attractive woman.

“I saw you out riding,” Emma said, trying to be friendly. “You must have been freezing.” Emma wrapped her arms around herself. Just the blast of cold air from the open door had sent the temperature in the foyer plummeting.

Joy looked at Emma, a quizzical expression on her face. “Cold? No, I didn’t really notice it. I never do when I’m out on Big Boy. I let him have his head, and we galloped across the back fields. It’s exhilarating. I don’t notice much except his motion, the sound of his hooves and the scenery speeding past. I guess I concentrate on the ride and don’t notice how I’m feeling, one way or the other.” She gave a tiny half smile.

Emma darted a glance toward the window alongside the door. Mariel was still out in the cold, gesturing furiously at her car. Her companion moved slightly, and Emma caught a glimpse of Jackson. He wasn’t dressed for the outdoors—wearing only a turtleneck sweater and no jacket—and was staring stony-faced at his mother.

Joy jerked her head toward the door. “Mariel is absolutely furious with Jackson. That doesn’t happen often. I’m tempted to pull up a chair and watch the show.” Her lip curled sardonically.

“Why? What’s happened?” Emma looked openly out the window now. Mariel was pointing to a spot on the car. Jackson shrugged his shoulders.

“Mariel seems to think he scratched the front bumper of her Porsche. It’s barely visible—she only just now noticed it. But she’s mad for that car.” Joy shook her head. “I don’t see what difference it makes, but to each his own, I guess.” She joined Emma by the window.

“Doesn’t Jackson have his own car?”

“Yes, of course. A brand-new BMW Z4. His birthday gift.” Again her lip curled in what looked like a sneer. Her resentment of her brother was obvious.

“So why borrow his mother’s car? Was his already in the shop? A brand-new car?”

Joy shook her head. “No, he didn’t take his car. We all went over together. Father organized a limo to drive us.” She paused. “Except Mariel, of course. She went over early in her own car to check on things.”

“When was this?” An idea was forming in Emma’s mind, but it couldn’t possibly be right.

“The night of Father’s birthday party, of course. We’re not in the habit of all getting together on a regular basis. This was quite an exception.”

“So Jackson went with you in the limo . . .” Emma was quickly putting two and two together. “And then Jackson left in his mother’s car.”

Joy looked at her like a teacher whose slowest pupil has finally caught on. “Yes, and apparently he nicked the bumper or something. She’s only just noticed it, and she’s furious. It’s the only time she’s ever let him borrow the Porsche. And obviously the last.”

“Then how did Mariel get home? Did she ride back with you?”

“Yes. When the police finally let us go, Mariel was nowhere in sight. The driver waited a good fifteen minutes . . . it was awful . . . I was exhausted and horrified, as you can imagine. I just wanted to get home to a cup of tea and a hot bath. With Father . . . dead . . . and Jackson already off someplace, it was just me in the car. We were about to pull away from the hotel when Mariel suddenly appeared.”

“She came out of the hotel?” Emma asked, trying to picture the scene.

“No, I don’t think so. I don’t think that’s possible. I remember staring at the front door, willing her to appear. I would certainly have seen her. All of a sudden, she appeared out of the darkness and was banging on the car window demanding I let her in.”

Mariel hadn’t been in the ballroom when the police took down everyone’s contact information. Emma doubted she’d been inside the hotel at all or surely she would have been at her husband’s side. Unless
she
had murdered him, and had then arranged to disappear. Had Dr. Sampson been waiting to drive her away from the scene?

Joy looked at Emma with a peculiar expression on her face—one Emma couldn’t read. “I can see the wheels turning in your head,” Joy said dryly. “You’re wondering if my stepmother murdered my father.” She stared Emma straight in the face. “Frankly, so am I. Father was upset by her increasing drug use. It started with painkillers for her back when Roy threw her—and ended with addiction, as it so often does with those pills. Father wanted her to go to rehab—some swanky place in Arizona with a spa, yoga instructors and gourmet food. Sounds like a vacation to me.” She gave a bitter laugh. “But Mariel refused. Said it was all nonsense and that she could stop anytime she wanted to, and there was no harm in it. Of course she had Dr. Sampson wrapped around her finger, writing her prescriptions presumably against his better judgment.” Again, that bitter laugh.

Emma was hardly listening. All she could think about was the fact that Mariel didn’t have an alibi for Hugh’s death. She hadn’t left the Beau early in her very memorable red Porsche as Emma had thought. Jackson had been the one to collect the sports car from the valet. Jackson hadn’t been at the hotel when Hugh was killed, but Mariel had.

EMMA
was dying to tell Liz what she’d discovered, but Jackson had come back inside—slamming the door behind him and dislodging a small, early Miro sketch from the wall. The drawing hit the floor, shattering the glass. Jackson swore as he picked up the drawing and kicked the shards of glass out of the way.

“Molly!” he bellowed from the hallway.

Emma heard Molly scurrying down the hall, her footsteps sounding like the scratching of a field mouse.

Emma herself scurried back to the relative isolation of the storage room. The screen saver had come up on her computer—a whirling ball that moved from one side of the screen to the other. Emma jiggled the mouse, and her spreadsheet appeared, still frozen with her last entry only half-complete. She would have to turn the machine off and back on again and hope that that solved the problem. The last thing she wanted to do was to go to Jackson for help. He was obviously in a foul mood after the encounter with his mother.

Turning the machine off and then on again seemed to have done the trick. Emma glanced at the data apprehensively, but all her work was there except for the last entry. Thanks heavens for auto save. She decided she was done for the day. She was going to Liz’s for dinner and wanted to go home and freshen up. She felt her spirits rise. She would be seeing Brian soon.

Emma drove home, her mind only half on the road, contemplating the information she’d gleaned from Molly and then Joy. She barely missed going through a red light and forced her concentration back to her driving.

Arabella had offered to keep Bette for the evening. The pup still needed regular bathroom breaks, so Emma didn’t want to leave her alone for too long.

She breathed a sigh of relief as she put her key in the lock of her apartment. It was good to be home. She rolled her shoulders forward and back. Being at the Grangers’ always made her tense. She was constantly aware that she was there under false pretenses. She would be glad when she could quit.

Emma had enough time for a few yoga poses. She did a half-dozen sun salutations and rested in child’s pose for a few minutes. By the time she was done, she’d gotten the kinks out of her body.

She washed her face, redid the minimal makeup she wore and worked some product through her hair. Dinner’s at Liz’s was always a casual affair, but Emma wanted to look nice for Brian. She chose a pair of cropped denim pants, a pale pink angora turtleneck and flats. By six forty-five she was ready to go.

Liz and her family lived fifteen minutes out of town in the house that had belonged to Liz’s parents. She and Matt had completely renovated the place, including turning two rooms into a family-sized kitchen and adding a separate family room.

Emma pulled into the driveway right on the dot of seven o’clock. Fragrant wood smoke curled up from the stone chimney, and Emma stood for a moment enjoying the scent.

Brian answered the door when Emma rang. His face was already lit with a broad smile that put crinkles around his blue eyes and brought out his dimples. He was standing upright with only one crutch for support.

He hugged Emma fiercely, holding her close against his broad chest. Emma felt herself relax even further in the circle of Brian’s warm embrace.

“I wanted to take you out to dinner,” Brian murmured against Emma’s hair, “but I hated to ask Liz or Matt to drive us since I don’t fit in your Bug. Hopefully my leg will heal even faster than the doctor’s predictions, and I can get rid of this cast.”

Emma followed him out to the kitchen. Liz was at the stove, stirring something that smelled heavenly, and Ben and his sister, Alice, were at the table eating bowls of macaroni and cheese. Ben was rhythmically kicking the table leg until Liz turned around and gave him a look that clearly said
stop
.

Alice had her blond hair in a neat ponytail, and Ben’s slightly darker blond hair was cut short though not short enough to eliminate the cowlick that gave him a strong resemblance to Dennis the Menace.

“Aunt Emma.” Alice jumped up from the table and threw her arms around Emma. Emma hugged her back.

Ben scowled at them both as if he found this feminine display of affection distasteful. Emma had to laugh. Ben was turning into a real boy.

“Where’s Matt?”

Liz jerked a thumb toward the French doors that led to a large deck. “He’s firing up the grill, believe it or not. He says it’s never too cold for a barbecue.”

Emma rubbed her hands together. “A barbecue in February. How wonderful. What is he cooking?”

“He got a butterflied leg of lamb from the Meat Mart.” She gestured to the pot on the stove. “I’m doing creamed spinach and garlic-roasted potatoes to go with it.”

“My stomach is growling already.”

“Brian”—Liz pointed at the refrigerator—“can you get Emma something to drink? There’s a bottle of white wine chilling and a pitcher of sweet tea if you’d rather that.”

“I can get it—”

“Please, let me.” Brian hobbled toward the refrigerator on his crutches. “It makes me feel useful. I’ve been doing nothing lately but lying around reading.”

“That’s not true.” Liz turned around. “You’ve been to several renovation sites with Bobby Fuller. You’ve been working on the hardware store books, and you’ve kept the kids occupied while I got some work done.” She turned back to the stove and stirred the pot. “I
wish
you would get some rest.”

Brian pulled open the refrigerator. “And I wish you would stop worrying. The doctor said I’m doing fine, remember?”

Emma almost laughed. They sounded so like brother and sister—like Ben and Alice when they squabbled with each other.

“Which would you like? Wine or tea?” Brian stood poised in front of the open refrigerator.

“I’ll have some wine.”

He brought out the bottle of pinot grigio and pivoted on his good leg just enough to set it on the counter. Leaning on one crutch, he maneuvered himself closer, pulled open a drawer and retrieved the corkscrew. The cork gave a festive pop as he pulled it out. Brian reached for a wineglass from the rack overhead, poured Emma a glass and handed it to her. He reached for another glass and poured one for himself.

“We’re done. Can we be excused?” Alice and Ben chorused from the table.

Liz glanced over and checked their dishes. Both were empty. “Okay, go ahead.”

Before she could say another word, they had bolted from the room.

“Now, I’d suggest you two”—she pointed to Emma and Brian—“go and sit in the living room and get out of my way.”

Emma heard the smile in Liz’s voice and knew exactly what she was doing. Normally she and Liz would hang out in the kitchen and chat while Brian helped Matt with the barbecue. She was giving Emma and Brian a chance to be alone.

“Can you manage?” Emma asked Brian. “I can carry your glass if you’d like.”

“Thanks, that would be great.” He handed the wine to Emma.

Emma matched his slow steps as they made their way down the hall and into the living room. A fire was burning in the stone fireplace—the wood crackling, popping and spitting as the flames licked the logs.

Brian plunked down on the sofa, and Emma curled up next to him. He put his arm around her, and she snuggled closer.

Brian smiled and kissed the top of Emma’s head. “This is heaven, don’t you think?”

“Mmmm,” Emma murmured.

“I’ve been thinking,” Brian said, swiveling slightly so he could see Emma. “I had this idea.”

“Oh?”

“I realize that living in Paris is a bit of a letdown after New York City. And working behind the counter at Sweet Nothings can’t compare to the career you had in New York.”

Emma sat up straighter. Had Priscilla been talking to Brian? Emma went to protest, however feebly, but Brian held up his hand to stop her.

“There’s no need to deny it. I understand. A future in Paris isn’t nearly as bright as your future in New York would have been. That’s why I had this idea.”

Now Emma was more curious than anything. “What idea is that?” She turned, too, so she and Brian were facing each other.

“The way you renovated Arabella’s place has really had people talking.”

No,
Emma thought,
it was the murder at Sweet Nothings last spring that had them talking
, She shuddered as she remembered finding the body of her ex-boyfriend on the floor of the shop. But she didn’t say anything.

“More than one of the shopkeepers I’ve spoken with has said that they would like to spruce their place up, too.”

Emma nodded. “Angel already has. I almost didn’t recognize Angel Cuts when I walked in.”

“Exactly,” Brian said triumphantly. “And there are others as well. Who wants to go to some dusty old store when they can shop at the mall? Shop owners are beginning to recognize that they have to keep up with the times now that they have competition.”

“So what is your idea?” Now Emma was really curious.

“We go into business together. You design the interiors, and I’ll do the work. You know how to make a little money go a long way in terms of decor. You did it for your aunt. And that’s important, because our clients certainly wouldn’t have huge budgets. The jobs won’t be that big, so I can keep on with my renovation business. Eventually we could branch out to other towns. Once word gets around, my guess is we’d be pretty busy.” Brian had been sounding more and more excited, but now he looked down at his hands. “Sorry, I guess I got carried away.” He looked up at Emma. “But what do you think?”

“What about Arabella?” Emma couldn’t desert her aunt now.

“My guess is you’d still have time to help at the shop. I know you do the bookkeeping for Arabella and all the buying, but there’s no need for you to spend your life behind a counter. Arabella has Sylvia, and now I’ve noticed this other woman is helping out.”

“Eloise Montgomery.”

“And there must be other people who would like a part-time job.”

Was Brian doing this just to make sure she stayed in Paris? Emma wondered. No matter, it was a wonderful idea. It would give her something more challenging to do—that ought to please Priscilla. And it would mean she and Brian would be doing something together.

“I think it’s a great idea.”

Brian’s entire body relaxed. “You do? That’s wonderful. I’ve been talking to Willie at the Meat Mart. He’s interested in some small renovations—he wants to add space to carry some gourmet products like fresh cheeses, imported olive oil and things like that.”

Emma was already picturing the inside of the Meat Mart. It was as basic as a butcher shop could get. She could imagine adding some baker’s racks, a few framed posters . . .

Liz’s voice brought her back with a start. “Dinner’s ready.”

The table was already set, and Matt was coming through the French doors with a platter of meat when they got to the kitchen.

“Do you need any help?” Emma felt guilty for sitting while Liz did all the work.

“No, everything’s ready.” She brought two white serving bowls to the table.

Brian slid into his seat and propped his crutches in the corner. Emma took the chair next to him.

Liz looked from Brian to Emma and back again. “You two are up to something. I can tell. What gives?”

Emma helped herself to some creamed spinach. She looked to Brian since it was his idea.

Brian explained the idea he had just laid out to Emma.

“That’s a wonderful idea,” Liz exclaimed when Brian finished. She looked at Emma suddenly. “I’m sorry. I just assumed you thought so, too.”

“I do,” Emma reassured her. “Although I’m a little nervous about what Aunt Arabella’s reaction would be.”

“I don’t think she’d mind a bit.” Liz forked up a bite of spinach. “You’ve already been working part-time, and she’s managed just fine.”

Emma realized that was true, and the thought made her a little sad. Arabella had been completely dependent on her when she first arrived back in Paris. But Brian’s idea was the answer to some of the questions that had been plaguing her recently about whether she would be satisfied spending her life helping Arabella at Sweet Nothings. Now she would have something challenging and interesting to do as well. And she and Brian would be building something together.

Matt put down his knife and fork and picked up his wineglass. “Here’s to your new venture.” He raised his glass to Emma and Brian.

“Now, tell us if you’ve discovered anything new about the Grangers,” Liz said as she touched her napkin to her lips.

Emma swallowed her bite of lamb and recounted what she’d learned that afternoon from Molly and Joy.

“So Mariel is back in the running with no alibi,” Liz said. “And Jackson is out.”

“And Sabina had an argument with Hugh a few days before his birthday. We can’t forget her.”

“So Sabina, Mariel and Joy are still in the running.” Liz ticked them off on her fingers.

“And don’t rule out some angry collector—if the painting Jackson sold to the Jaspers was fake, I’m sure there were others,” Matt said. He leaned back in his chair, and it gave a loud creak. He turned to Liz. “I hope his operation isn’t shut down before you get paid. You’ve already put in a lot of time on this project.”