Laced with Poison (24 page)

She glanced at her watch and then at Arabella. “It’s not time to open yet. Maybe it’s
a delivery?”

“Are you expecting something?”

Emma shook her head. “No.”

They both began walking toward the door. Through the
glass they could see the shadow of a man. He was slightly bent over and wearing an
old-fashioned hat.

Arabella squinted at the door. “It looks like Mr. Zimmerman from across the street.”
She glanced toward Pierre. “What on earth could he want? Pierre is right here and
certainly not bothering his precious Bertha.”

Arabella opened the door slowly and peered around the edge. “Yes? We’re not open yet.”
She pointed to the large sign that was flipped to
closed
.

“I’m not here to go shopping.” Zimmerman nearly spat out the words. “I can’t imagine
what use I would have for any of the things you sell. It’s bad enough having to look
at all that scanty stuff from my window across the street.”

Emma saw Arabella’s back stiffen. They did their best to keep their window displays
classy and not provocative, but they
were
selling lingerie, after all.

“What can I do for you, then?” Arabella cracked the door a little wider. Pierre had
stopped barking, but he was growling under his breath.

“That cur of yours…”

Arabella lifted her chin and gazed at Zimmerman through narrow eyes. “If you mean
my championship French bulldog—”

“Call him what you will. He’s nothing but a beast as far as I’m concerned.”

“Pray tell. What did Pierre do to annoy you this time? He’s been with me all morning.”

“He got my Bertha in the family way!” Zimmerman said so vehemently that Emma could
see his spit spraying the air.

Arabella clapped a hand to her mouth, and Emma had to stifle her own laugh.

“Bertha’s got a bun in the oven, and it’s all his fault.” Zimmerman pointed a bony
finger at Pierre.

Pierre lowered his head and skulked back toward his bed.

“That’s ridiculous!” Arabella sniffed.

“How many times has he gotten loose and come over to my shop?” Zimmerman moved his
face until it was only inches from Arabella’s.

Arabella’s eyes were blazing. “So what of it? They were never together for more than
a few minutes.”

“Don’t take long for dogs,” Zimmerman said smugly.

“I refuse to believe it.”

“Well, we’ll see, won’t we? When Bertha delivers her litter, then we’ll know. And
if a single one of them pups looks at all like…like…him”—he pointed at Pierre—“then
I’ll drown the lot of them!”

“He wouldn’t really do that, would he?” Emma said as they closed the door on Zimmerman’s
retreating back.

“I wouldn’t put it past him. But don’t worry. I’m quite certain Pierre had nothing
to do with his precious Bertha’s being
enceinte
. Obviously Bertha got out at one point and found herself a beau. And I’m certain
it wasn’t Pierre.” She turned toward Pierre, who was lying on his dog bed, one eye
closed and the other half open. “Right, Pierre?”

Arabella went to stand by the window. “Well, would you look at that!” she said suddenly.

“What is it?”

Emma went to stand by her aunt.

“Look.” Arabella pointed to a couple walking down the sidewalk across the street.

“That’s Les,” Emma said.

“Yes.” Arabella nodded briskly. “And that’s Sally Dixon with him.” Bright spots of
red suffused her cheeks. “Of all the nerve.” She was quiet for a moment. “Well, I
suppose that does solve the problem of what to do about Les. Sally never forgave me
for stealing Francis from her, as she put it.”

“And now she’s stolen Les from you by the looks of things.” Emma peered out the window
where Sally was walking arm in arm with Les.

“I’m glad,” Arabella said, and Emma could tell she meant it. “I like Les and want
him to be happy. If Sally Dixon makes him happy, then so be it.”

*   *   *

MONDAY mornings weren’t usually their busy times, but Emma was pleased to sell a 1940s
rayon satin negligee that was in a very small size. Emma had been worried about finding
someone whom it would fit. She also sold three pieces of shape wear to one of the
members of Marjorie Porter’s garden club. She’d missed the trunk show but had made
a note to stop by Sweet Nothings. All in all, it was a very satisfactory morning.

“You know what?” Emma said to Arabella, who was rearranging some stock. “I think I’m
going to put on my big girl panties and go to Detective Walker and tell him about
that dent in Lotte Fanning’s car. Hopefully he’ll bring it in for examination.”

“At the least, I imagine they’d go out and talk to her. If she is the killer it wouldn’t
hurt to make her a little nervous.”

“Good point.” Emma glanced at her watch. “If you can handle things, maybe I’ll take
a ride over there now.”

“No problem, dear. Besides, Sylvia’s due any minute.”

Emma ran a comb through her hair and freshened her lipstick. It was obvious Walker
found her attractive. She would have to use that to her advantage, selling him on
this idea with as much vigor as she sold lingerie to the customers of Sweet Nothings.

The police station was on North Caldwell Street, and it didn’t take
her long to get there. The flat brick building was hardly imposing, but Emma sat in
her car for a minute, marshalling her thoughts. Finally she was ready and marched
up to the front door and pulled it open.

Fortunately, Walker was in and more than willing to see her. A uniformed officer showed
Emma the way down the hall.

Walker’s office was small and cramped with stacks of folders spilling half off the
chair pulled up in front of his desk. He jumped up when Emma entered.

He stared at her for a moment. “If you aren’t a sight for sore eyes.” He began to
move the papers off the chair. “Please. Have a seat.”

His desk was piled high with papers, too, but he’d cleared a spot in the middle where
he had a piece of wax paper open with half of a large deli sandwich resting on it.
He gestured toward it.

“Sorry. You’ve caught me on my lunch break.”

“Please. Don’t let me interrupt.”

“I hope you mean that, because I’m starving. I got called out early this morning and
never did manage breakfast.” He picked up the sandwich and took a large bite.

“Are you still working on the hit-and-run case involving Gladys Smit?”

Walker finished chewing and took a big glug from a can of pop. “Yes. The case is still
open, although we don’t have much of anything in the way of leads at the moment.”

“I think I might have a lead for you.”

Walker raised his dark brows. “Really?” He picked up the last of his sandwich.

Here was where Emma began to get a little nervous. How was she to explain what she
was doing skulking around in the Sunny Days parking lot looking for damaged cars?
She
should have thought this through before coming to the police station.

“I happened to park next to a car with a large dent in the front right bumper,” Emma
said with sudden inspiration. It certainly sounded better than what she’d really been
doing.

“Where was this?” Walker swiped a napkin across his mouth.

“The Sunny Days retirement community.”

“Did you get the license plate number?”

Emma could have kicked herself. If she’d taken down the number she wouldn’t have to
admit to knowing whose car it was.

“No, but I recognized the car.”

A wary look came across Walker’s handsome, dark features.

Emma felt the heat rising toward her face and tried desperately to control it. “There
aren’t many people in town who drive a late-model Mercedes.”

“True. A pickup truck or an old beater, for sure. But a Mercedes?” Walker shrugged.

“It belongs to a Charlotte Fanning.” Emma twisted a lock of hair around her finger.
If she were wrong, and Charlotte was totally innocent…It was too late to back out
now.

Walker pulled a pad of paper toward him and scribbled down the name. “We’ll check
into it.”

“You won’t mention that I—”

He shook his head. “We’ll be discreet. Your name won’t be mentioned at all. No one
would ever come forward with information if we went around blabbing about where it
came from.” He leaned back in his chair, and it creaked loudly. “Probably have a lot
more dead bodies on our hands, too.”

Emma nodded.

“Listen.” Walker leaned forward, folding his hands
together in front of him on his desk. “Would you like to maybe go out sometime…” He
let the rest of the sentence dangle in the air.

Emma gave what she hoped was a rueful smile. “That would be lovely, but at the moment
I’m seeing someone.”

But was that true?
she wondered. Brian still hadn’t decided about meeting Amy one last time. What if
she managed to get him back again?

EMMA headed back to Sweet Nothings to finish out the afternoon. Around four o’clock
she decided that she absolutely had to have a cupcake. Preferably one of Bitsy’s carrot
cake ones with the cream cheese frosting.

“Anyone up for a cupcake?” she asked Sylvia and Arabella.

“Sure, why not.” Sylvia’s deep rumbling voice came from behind the counter. “It’s
not as if I have to watch my figure anymore.”

“I’ll have one, too.” Arabella smiled. “I’m still watching my figure, but that’s about
all I’m doing…watching!”

Emma grabbed her sweater and headed around the corner to Sprinkles. She was pleased
to see that a handful of people were standing in front of the counter.

“Emma! So good to see you,” Bitsy said when Emma got to the front of the line.

“It looks as if business is improving.”

Bitsy made a face. “Slightly, but nothing like before. I had to take out a loan to
make my mortgage payment this month.”

“I have an idea,” Emma said as something suddenly occurred to her. “I’ll buy a couple
of dozen from you and hand them out at Sweet Nothings along with your card. A lot
of our clients come from Jackson or even Memphis or Nashville. They won’t have heard
all about the nasty business with Jessica and perhaps they’ll stop by to take some
cupcakes home.”

Bitsy’s face brightened. “It’s worth a try.”

Emma glanced at her watch. “It’s kind of late now, but if you can bring two dozen
by tomorrow morning, I’ll see that they’re given out.”

“Great.”

“Right now, though, I’ll take a carrot cake”—Emma pointed to the last carrot cupcake
in the case—“along with one coconut and one red velvet.”

Bitsy retrieved the cupcakes and carefully placed them in a white paper bag. “Can
you believe the police are still coming around asking questions?” she said as she
folded the top of the bag over and handed it to Emma.

“Liz said they’d been out to UT talking to her old advisor, of all things.”

Bitsy nodded. “Yes. I heard from an old sorority sister that they’d been contacted,
too. I guess they’ve ferreted out the story about me and Jessica by now. But”—she
put her hands together and held them out toward Emma—“See? No handcuffs. I haven’t
been arrested yet.”

Emma carried her bag of cupcakes back to Sweet Nothings. She hoped her scheme would
help turn Bitsy’s business around. If she could hang on a little longer, the case
would
be solved, and it would be proven that she’d had nothing to do with Jessica’s death.

When Emma got back to the shop, Arabella was changing a mannequin, and Sylvia was
sitting on the love seat, resting.

“Isn’t that the set we showed at Deirdre Porter’s trunk show?” Sylvia pointed a finger
in Arabella’s direction.

“Yes, I believe it is.” Arabella straightened the bow on the peignoir.

“You know what I’m wondering?” Emma looked at Arabella and Sylvia, who both shook
their heads. “I’m wondering what happened at that trunk show to put the murderer over
the edge. Because the whole thing couldn’t have been planned in advance.”

“True.” Sylvia took a deep breath and coughed briefly. “They had no way of knowing
that Deirdre would be serving Bitsy’s cupcakes.”

“Or that she’d have foxglove growing in her garden,” Arabella added.

“You haven’t heard any more about that Crystal Davis, have you?” Sylvia asked.

“No.” Emma shook her head and took a bite of her cupcake. “I asked the guy next door
if he would call me when she came back, but nothing. Of course, he may have forgotten.”

“Or lost your number.” Arabella had finished with the mannequin and was digging in
the bakery bag for her red velvet cupcake.

“I think it’s that Fanning woman.” Sylvia finished her cupcake and tossed the wrapper
in the trash can. “She’s the one who has a dent in her car, after all.”

“I did go and tell the police about that,” Emma said. “Of course, Liz and Bitsy both
said the police were still asking questions about
them
.”

“Oh, did I tell you about my new gig?” Sylvia said.

“No,” Arabella and Emma chorused.

“They talked me into volunteering at Sunny Days. I’m taking the bookmobile around.
I kind of enjoy it. It gives me a chance to talk to some of the nursing residents.
They’re an interesting bunch. That old lady, the one who was in the coma, has been
coming in and out of consciousness. She woke up a bit when I got there yesterday.
Not that she had any interest in the books. Poor thing, I doubt she can see all that
well. But she did tell me she used to be a nurse at the Henry County Hospital. Seemed
to think she was still there. Kept calling me
doctor
.”