Laced with Poison (4 page)

Several women gasped, and they all looked at one another.

“Go on,” Crystal said, and Jessica scowled at her again.

“As I said, it was a stormy night, and all the doctors were busy in the emergency
room. None of them was paying much attention to what was happening in labor and delivery.
Rose had an idea. She decided to switch the babies.”

Here the women gasped again, and even Crystal was silent.

“Rose gave the rich woman the other woman’s baby to raise it as her own.”

“Was it a boy or girl?” an older woman with fading red hair called out.

“According to Rose, it was a boy,” Jessica said with a look of triumph on her face.
“I’d say that little baby sure lucked out.”

Marjorie Porter’s laugh rang out loud and clear. She was wearing a perfectly tailored
suit that was obviously expensive but also very subdued. Marjorie came from the sort
of old Southern wealth that felt showing off was for the lower classes. “Honestly,”
she said in condescending tones, “you don’t believe every single thing someone tells
you, do you? Don’t you think the old nurse must be demented and made the whole thing
up?” She looked around the room for approval. “I mean, who would do such a thing?
It was probably something she saw on television.”

STUNNED silence greeted Marjorie’s pronouncement, then everyone began talking at once.
Deirdre went from group to group urging everyone into the dining room where the food
had been set out.

Emma felt a prickle of envy when she saw Deirdre’s dining room, but then she reminded
herself that she was perfectly content where she was in her little apartment over
Sweet Nothings with its darling window seat and view of Washington Street below. If
she and Brian O’Connell got married, she doubted they would be able to afford anything
so lavish as the house Deirdre lived in, but with Brian’s architectural knowledge
and carpentry skills, they would certainly be able to create a nice home.

A blush crept up Emma’s neck to her face. Here she was fantasizing about marrying
Brian when they’d barely begun dating. She knew he was beginning to see her as girlfriend
material, but he needed time to heal from a failed engagement that had left him scarred
and somewhat wary.

Emma glanced around the dining room admiring the beautiful carved marble fireplace,
the arched windows partially concealed behind plantation shutters and the exquisite
antique dining table and chairs.

The caterer, Lucy Monroe, had created a gorgeous spread for the occasion with her
famous cheese straws taking pride of place. She was one of Emma’s mother’s oldest
friends. Emma had grown up knowing her as Aunt Lucy, and no Taylor occasion had been
complete without some goodies created by Lucy. Emma took one of the small plates Deirdre
had set out and helped herself to an assortment of hors d’oeuvres. She had just taken
a bite of a deliciously light mille-feuille wrapped around some kind of mushroom mixture
when Jessica came up to her.

Jessica’s face was the picture of dissatisfaction—brows lowered threateningly, mouth
turned down and eyes narrowed. “How dare that woman! Who does she think she is.” She
glared at Emma as if Marjorie’s outburst had been her fault. “Just who is she anyway?”

“Marjorie Porter,” Emma mumbled around the bit of pastry in her mouth. She swallowed
quickly. “Our hostess’s mother-in-law. She’s the heir to the Davenport fortune.”

Jessica wrinkled her brow. “Why does that sound familiar?”

“After the Mitchums started the Paris Toilet Company and created the antiperspirant,
which they named Mitchum after themselves, the Davenports started a line of bleaching
creams that made them almost but not quite as much money,” Emma explained.

Jessica snorted. “Still doesn’t give her the right to browbeat other people. I feel
sorry for poor Deirdre having
that
woman as a mother-in-law. Deirdre and I were sorority sisters—did I tell you?”

“Yes.”

“Phi Mu. My mother was a Phi Mu and her mother before her. I always knew I would join
as well.”

“Really?”

“And Rose isn’t in the least bit demented, although I hate to use that term. We prefer
to talk about memory issues rather than dementia. No, Rose is perfectly fine in that
department, but she does suffer from severe osteoporosis and is all bent over, the
poor dear.”

“Oh,” was all Emma could think to say.

“Look, there’s Charlotte Fanning. I must go say hello.”

Jessica walked off toward a tall, exquisitely coiffed, champagne blond woman who was
dripping with expensive jewelry. Emma watched idly as she chewed on one of Lucy’s
cheese straws. The blond woman stiffened when she noticed Jessica approaching her.
Jessica smiled and held out her hand, but instead of returning Jessica’s handshake,
the woman ignored the proffered gesture and instead, turned on her heel and stalked
away. Jessica was left standing with her hand stuck out in midair.

What was that all about? Emma wondered. But before she could think about it any more,
Bitsy came up to her. She had a plate of hors d’oeuvres as well and was nibbling on
the end of a cheese straw.

“If I had known
she
was going to be here, I wouldn’t have come.” Bitsy tipped her head toward Jessica,
who had recovered her aplomb and was filling her plate at the buffet table.

“Jessica?” Emma said, to be sure.

Bitsy nodded. “I can’t stand that woman. When we were in college—”

“Excuse me, dear, but could you lend a hand?” Arabella
put an arm around Emma. “Hello, Bitsy. I’m looking forward to your delicious cupcakes.”

“I’m sorry, Aunt Arabella.” Emma put her plate down and dabbed at her lips with her
napkin. “I’ll be right there.”

“That’s perfectly all right, dear. I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself. Sylvia and I
have made any number of sales.” Arabella’s cheeks pinked up from excitement. She wound
the long blue and white print scarf she was wearing through her hands. “I’m very,
very pleased. But we do need some help getting that nightgown and peignoir off dear
Melanie for the trip home.”

Emma couldn’t help it. She started to laugh.

“What’s so funny, dear? I do wish you’d let me in on the joke,” Arabella said dryly.

Emma related the incident with the police on the way to Deirdre’s house, and soon
Arabella and Bitsy were joining in the laughter.

Arabella dabbed at her eyes. “Perhaps we should leave the garments on poor Melanie
then. We don’t want the dear girl getting a ticket for being a public nuisance. That
would be rather harsh, don’t you think?”

By the time Emma finished helping Arabella and Sylvia pack up, Deirdre was clearing
the food from the table.

Emma picked up a platter that was empty save for a few curls of parsley.

“Oh, don’t bother,” Deirdre said from across the table where she was stacking dirty
plates. “Gladys can take care of it.” Deirdre motioned toward a timid-looking red-haired
girl skulking in the corner. Her face was ghostly white except where peppered with
ginger-colored freckles.

“It’s no problem,” Emma said. “I’m happy to help.”

“Thanks.” Deirdre smiled. “You can leave it on the counter. Gladys can load the dishwasher
after everyone is gone.”

Emma leaned against the swinging door to the kitchen and pushed it open. Deirdre’s
kitchen was as exquisite as the rest of the house with a huge island in the center,
granite countertops, a brick fireplace and a huge, antique dresser against the far
wall displaying an impressive collection of china and pottery. French doors led to
a brick terrace surrounded by well-tended gardens.

Gladys came into the kitchen behind Emma, her hands full of precariously balanced
plates. Emma took a stack from her quickly.

“Don’t want these to fall.”

Gladys smiled her thanks.

“Have you worked for Deirdre long?” Emma tried to draw the girl out.

She nodded mutely. “I help out a few of the other ladies, and I work part-time at
Sunny Days as an aide.”

She clamped her thin lips closed as if she’d already revealed too much.

Emma left the dishes on the counter as instructed. Gladys was already rinsing the
stack of plates she’d brought in from the dining room.

Emma noticed that three white boxes, tied with string, were stacked on the island,
and she recognized them as coming from Sprinkles. They must be Bitsy’s cupcakes. Bitsy
made delicious cupcakes in all sorts of unusual flavors and decorated them with edible
flowers that Liz provided from her garden. Her shop was full all day long with people
looking to satisfy their sweet tooth.

Emma put a hand against the door to the dining room, but it wouldn’t budge. She stepped
aside, perplexed, but a second later the door swung to and Marjorie stepped into the
kitchen.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, sounding anything but. “Were you trying to get through the
door?”

Emma nodded and smiled to show that she hadn’t taken offense in any way and then pushed
her way through the door and back into the dining room.

Everything had been cleared, and Deirdre was putting out cups and saucers for coffee
and tea as well as delicate porcelain plates for dessert. Some women had drifted back
toward the living room, while others were still standing around, nursing glasses of
punch or nibbling on the last of their hors d’oeuvres.

Emma chatted with a few of the women, and several asked for her business card. Many
had never been to Sweet Nothings before, and she was happy to have the opportunity
to spread the word.

A few minutes later, Marjorie came back through the swinging door with a platter of
cupcakes in her hand.

“I do hope you don’t mind, Deirdre. I thought I would make myself useful and put these
out for you.”

Deirdre gave a tight smile. “That’s fine, Marjorie. Thank you for your help.”

“I thought I would pass them around, if that’s all right with you.”

Deirdre nodded, her smile getting even tighter.

Marjorie held the tray toward Jessica.

“Oh, those look delicious,” Jessica said, peering at the display in Marjorie’s hand.
“Are those flowers edible?” She pointed at the multicolored pansies, violets and other
small flowers adorning the tops of the cupcakes.

“They are.” Bitsy piped up from where she was standing near the entrance to the dining
room. “There are a number of edible flowers, but they must be grown organically without
pesticides.”

“I can vouch for these.” Liz stepped farther into the room. “I grew them myself in
my garden.”

“I can’t wait to try one,” Jessica said, her hand hovering over the platter. “Mother
always said it was rude to reach across a serving plate to select an item from the
back.” Jessica reached for the closest cupcake.

“My mama would have slapped my hand if I’d done that,” a woman in a bright magenta
silk blouse said as she, too, selected the nearest cupcake when Marjorie approached
her with the tray.

While Marjorie handed round the rest of the cupcakes, Emma helped Deirdre pass out
cups of tea and coffee. Emma was stirring a spoon of sugar into her tea when someone
grabbed her elbow.

It was Jessica. Her face was the color of oatmeal, and there were drops of perspiration
on her forehead.

“Do you know where the powder room is?”

“Yes, it’s just down the hall there.” Emma pointed toward the corridor. “Are you okay?”

Jessica shook her head. “I must have eaten something that disagreed with me. I’ll
be fine.” She moved at a quick pace in the direction Emma had indicated.

“Is she okay?” Deirdre said, coming up behind Emma.

“She said she thinks she ate something that didn’t agree with her.”

“She looked terrible.” Deirdre furrowed her brow. “I’ll give her a few minutes and
then go check on her.”

Emma milled around, chatting with different people, but always with an eye out for
Jessica. Suddenly she realized it had been ten minutes since the woman had disappeared
in the direction of the powder room. The same thought must have occurred to Deirdre,
because just then she came up to Emma.

“Has Jessica come back yet? I don’t see her.”

Emma shook her head. “No, I don’t think so.”

“I’m going to check on her.” Deirdre put down the cup she was holding and walked purposefully
toward the hallway.

Emma wondered if she ought to follow, but before she could decide, she heard a scream,
and Deirdre burst into the room.

“Someone call nine-one-one! Jessica has taken ill, and we need to get help right away.”

“Is there anything I can do?” Emma whispered to Deirdre.

She shook her head. “I don’t think so. She’s unconscious, and it’s obvious she’s been
very sick.” She wrung her hands together. “I’ve covered her with a blanket and put
something under her head, but there’s nothing more we can do. I have no idea what
happened to her.” She looked around. “Oh, I do wish the ambulance would hurry.”

Just then the wail of a siren pierced the Saturday afternoon quiet.

“I’d better open the door.” Deirdre headed out toward the front hall.