A Fatal Slip (7 page)

But how long would she be content behind the counter of Sweet Nothings selling vintage lingerie? She flung herself onto her left side. Bette grunted and moved down toward the end of the bed. Emma didn’t know the answer to that. Right now her life seemed perfect, but would it pale in another year or two?

And if she married Brian—the thought brought a rush of pleasure—would she eventually long for something more challenging than running Sweet Nothings? And would she be able to find it in her small hometown?

Emma did eventually fall asleep, but she woke up the next morning without any of the answers having magically revealed themselves to her. She was brushing her teeth and thinking about her previous night’s conversation with her mother when she remembered she wanted to call Liz. Perhaps Liz had had word as to whether or not the web site project for Hugh Granger’s business was still on. Emma dried her hands and went out to the kitchen to get her phone.

She took it over to the window seat, where she had a wonderful view of Washington Street. She noticed Mr. Zimmerman walking past on the other side of the street with Bertha, his dachshund, and Fritz, one of Bette’s siblings. Bette jumped onto the window seat and began barking furiously, her breath fogging the glass.

Emma waited until Mr. Zimmerman had passed and Bette had calmed down before punching in Liz’s number. Liz answered on the third ring. Emma could hear the sounds of children squabbling in the background.

“Hello,” Liz said, then, “Ben, leave your sister alone, and both of you go brush your teeth. You’re going to be late. Sorry about that,” she said to Emma.

“No, I’m sorry. I’m obviously calling at a bad time—you’re trying to get the kids off to school. I just wondered if you’d heard from Jackson about the web site.”

“Yes, and he’s going ahead with the project. He said you can hardly do business in this century without a web site. And get this,” Liz said, her voice bubbling with excitement. “He told me they need someone to work for them part-time taking an inventory of the works in their collection. They’ll need it for the IRS and to settle the estate. I could mention your name to him. It would give you the chance to do some snooping.”

Emma felt a burst of excitement, but then she thought of Arabella, and it fizzled like a wet firecracker. What would her aunt do without her?

Emma chewed on the thought as she got dressed. It would be a shame not to take advantage of such a perfect opportunity. Perhaps she could enlist Francis’s support? He had mentioned wanting to get close to Hugh Granger and his operations. This would put someone on the inside.

Emma clipped on Bette’s leash, and they hurried down to Sweet Nothings. Sylvia and Arabella arrived just as Emma was starting a pot of coffee. Emma was too excited to wait, and the words tumbled out before Arabella had even gotten her coat off.

“Liz says there’s a part-time job available with the Grangers—cataloging their collection. If I took it, it would put me on the spot. And it’s only part-time. If you think you could manage . . .”

“You should definitely take the job,” Arabella said. “Detective Walker came by with some more questions this morning. I’m beginning to feel the noose tightening.” She tugged at the black-and-white print scarf tied around her neck.

“We can ask Eloise Montgomery to come back and help,” Sylvia said from her post behind the counter.

Eloise was a fellow resident of Sunny Days, the retirement community where Sylvia lived. She had helped out in the shop when Arabella had been recovering after her house fire.

“Do you think she would do it?” Emma looked up from measuring water into the coffeepot.

Sylvia nodded her head vigorously, and her gold chandelier earrings spun to and fro. “Yeah, she said she loved working here and to call her anytime. I know I’m grateful I’ve got somewhere to go besides bingo and the movies at old Sunny Days.”

Emma grinned. “Sounds like a plan, then. I’ll tell Liz to throw my hat into the ring.”

As Emma went about her day at Sweet Nothings, a thought occurred to her—one that left her feeling decidedly unsettled. Was she anxious to get close to the Grangers and possibly pick up some clues, or was she in reality dissatisfied with her current life, as her mother had suggested?

• • •

LATER
that afternoon, the door to Sweet Nothings opened and Priscilla stood on their doorstep. “I’ve come to see what you’ve done with the shop.”

Emma was surprised to find herself feeling nervous. She very much wanted her mother to like what they’d accomplished with the store.

Arabella bustled over to Priscilla and took her by the arm. “Come on in and look around. What do you think?” She waved a hand around the interior. “Quite a change, isn’t it?”

Priscilla walked over to the wall of cabinets and ran her hand down the glossy white finish. “These are beautiful.” She opened one of the doors. “And so clever. You can hang the longer gowns, and they won’t wrinkle.” She turned to Emma. “Was this your idea?”

Emma nodded.

“Brilliant.”

Emma felt a sense of warmth wash over her.

Priscilla trailed her fingers along the row of colored silk and satin gowns. “Such beautiful things.” She gave a smile that Emma thought was almost impish. “I might have to do some shopping while I’m here.”

She closed the cabinet door and went over to one of the two distressed shabby chic armoires Emma had ordered. “These, too, are terribly clever. They’re perfect for the space.” She looked around. “And the lovely pink paint makes me feel as if I’m on the inside of a fancy chocolate box.” She turned to Arabella. “Was it hard to let go of the old things?”

“No, not once Emma described her plans to me. I was ridiculously sentimental about the décor for way too long as it was. That pea green shag rug . . .” She shuddered. “And Emma encouraged me to include the vintage items I’d been collecting along with some new stock.”

“It gives a unique twist to the shop,” Priscilla said approvingly. “Something the chain stores don’t have.” She glanced around again. “It’s lovely. Just lovely. Hard to believe it’s the same place. You did a wonderful job.” She smiled at Emma.

“Brian helped,” Emma said. “He did all the carpentry and painting.”

“He’s a very talented young man.”

Emma felt a frisson of pride.

“It’s just too bad,” Priscilla added, “that he’s wasting his time in this tiny little town.”

Arabella rolled her eyes behind Priscilla’s back.

“I’ll be off then.” Priscilla waved good-bye as she headed out the door. “Lucy invited me to her shop for a cup of coffee and some pastries.”

It was later that same afternoon when Liz called. Emma could tell by the excitement in her voice that she had good news.

“I talked to Jackson Granger, and Hugh’s partner, Tom Roberts. They’d love to chat with you about the part-time position. They seemed quite keen. Relieved, actually.”

“That’s wonderful.” Emma sank into Arabella’s desk chair in the stockroom and eased off her shoes. They’d been run off their feet all morning—a group of women from the local Newcomer’s Club in Memphis had made a special trip to the store, and the ladies had been enchanted with Sweet Nothings. The cash register had been ringing all morning, and the group had departed with plenty of black-and-white Sweet Nothings bags swinging from their arms.

“They wondered if you could stop by around five o’clock tonight for an interview? I know it’s short notice, but I think it’s just a formality.”

Emma glanced at her watch. It was almost four o’clock. Things in the shop had died down, and she ought to be able to sneak upstairs to freshen up. She was quite sure Arabella would watch Bette while she was gone.

“Tell them I’ll be there,” Emma said. “And thanks, Liz. This is a wonderful opportunity.”

“It will be fun working together.” Liz giggled and suddenly Emma felt as if they were back in middle school, heads bent over some romance novel that was sending them into fits of laughter.

Emma clicked off the call, slipped her shoes back on and went out to the shop to talk to Arabella.

“Good news,” she announced. “I have an interview with Jackson Granger and Hugh’s partner at five o’clock.”

Arabella’s face lit up. “Wonderful!”

“Good work,” Sylvia said gruffly.

Just then the front door to Sweet Nothings opened, and Francis stepped in. “Hope I’m not disturbing you ladies. I was just over at the Meat Mart picking up some lamb chops for our dinner.” He nodded at Arabella. “My night to cook.”

“I told you that I could make dinner,” Arabella protested.

Francis shook his head. “No, no; fair is fair. It’s time I took a turn. You’ve been feeding me very well”—he patted his stomach, which was still as flat as a teen’s—“and now it’s up to me to return the favor. I do a mean grilled lamb chop, and I think I’m capable of tackling some baked potatoes and a green salad.”

Arabella smiled. “You are a dear. As it is, we’ve been terribly busy, and I’ll definitely relish the chance to put my feet up and be catered to.”

Sylvia cleared her throat. “Aren’t you going to tell him your news, kid?” She gestured toward Emma encouragingly.

“Liz told me that Hugh Granger’s son and his partner are looking for someone to help catalogue their collection. I’ve got an interview with them in an hour.”

“Oh,” Francis said quietly.

“I thought you would be pleased,” Arabella said. “Emma will be on the spot and can glean all sorts of information.”

Francis took a deep breath and let it storm out his nose. “I don’t know how I feel about that.” He looked at Emma. “It could be dangerous. If they
are
hiding something, they’re not going to appreciate having someone poking around in their affairs.”

“I’ll be careful,” Emma reassured him. “Honest.”

Francis made a sound like a grunt. “All right. But if you sense anything going wrong, get out of there immediately, okay?”

“Okay,” Emma agreed.

• • •

A
half hour later, Emma pulled onto the hard dirt road leading to the Grangers’ house. Pastures, no longer green but shriveled and brown, sloped down on either side of the road. They were bordered by at least a mile of white picket fence—the kind that was synonymous with horse country. The house, when it came into view, was surprisingly modest—long and low with white clapboard siding and green shutters. Doric columns flanked the front door, and the large porch had two rockers set off to one side. Emma imagined it would be beautiful to sit in those chairs in the summer and enjoy the scents of just-mown grass and fresh hay wafting on the breeze.

A gravel drive wound around in a semicircle in front of the house. Emma pulled up just beyond the house, parked and got out of the car. She stood for a moment looking at the house and the field beyond then started up the broad steps leading to the porch. Warm, yellow light spilled from the narrow windows on either side of the front door.

Emma hesitated, rang the bell and waited, her heart thumping slightly. A very tiny older woman answered the door almost immediately. She had a white apron around her waist, and her steel gray hair was pulled back into a bun. Her weather-beaten face was crisscrossed with deep wrinkles, and she looked like something out of an illustration for Grimm’s Fairy Tales. Emma half expected her to produce a wand and turn them both into pumpkins.

“Well don’t just be standing there,” she said with an Irish lilt to her voice, “come on in out of the cold.” She led Emma into the foyer—a large, open space with polished wood floors dotted with worn Oriental rugs. Emma caught a glimpse of a comfortable-looking living room off to one side. Bookshelves lined one wall and a huge, stone fireplace filled the other. A colorful, modern painting hung over the mantel.

“I imagine you’ve come about the job. Mr. Jackson tried to get Miss Joy to take it, but she wanted no part of it.” She shook a finger at Emma. “Spent her whole life trying to win her father’s approval. I imagine now that he’s gone, she can’t be bothered. Spends most of her time out with those horses.” She paused to take a breath. “Now, if you’ll just wait here.”

She disappeared down the hallway, her slippered feet making a soft shuffling sound. Moments later, Emma heard footsteps striking the polished wood floors, and a young man appeared around the corner. He had dark hair that flopped onto his forehead, and, despite his strong brows and a chiseled nose, overall he had a slightly soft appearance. Emma thought perhaps it was the slackness of his jaw line combined with a rather weak chin. His appearance was at odds with John Jasper’s description of him as an aggressive lacrosse player.

He held out his hand to Emma. “I’m Jackson Granger. So glad you could come. Liz has told us about you, and we hope you’ll be able to find the time to take on our little project.”

His handshake was firm enough. Emma wondered if she ought to offer her condolences on the death of his father, but Jackson had already turned around and obviously expected Emma to follow him. They went down a short hall and into a room that had been turned into an office. Two partner’s desks faced each other across a softly worn Oriental carpet and a wooden filing cabinet, disguised somewhat unsuccessfully as a piece of furniture, was pushed against one wall.

Jackson flung himself into the cracked-leather swivel chair behind one of the desks, and indicated that Emma should take the armless one placed strategically in front of it.