Murder Unmentionable (23 page)

The new arrivals were a young couple in jeans and T-shirts. They had their arms around each other and were giggling.

Emma groaned inwardly. How long were they going to take, and could she stall long enough until they left? And would the saleslady be willing to talk, or had the moment passed? She studied a case of David Yurman jewelry, trying to kill time. The pieces were lovely, but not really her style, and certainly not within her budget.

Emma moved on to a display of watches. She glanced over her shoulder to where the saleslady was talking to the young couple. She’d pulled out a velvet pad and placed it on the counter along with several diamond engagement rings. The girl was trying one on, holding her hand up and admiring the gem. Emma couldn’t help but notice that her nails were bitten to the quick.

They were talking, but Emma couldn’t hear what they were saying. The saleswoman put the rings back in the case and replaced the velvet pad under the counter.

The couple finally left, the girl looking over her shoulder at the case of diamond rings.

The saleslady glided over to where Emma was standing and pretending to admire several gold link bracelets. She gestured toward the door. “I suggested The Gold Nook. I think the prices are a little more in line with their budget.”

Emma nodded, wondering how she could turn the conversation back to Deirdre Porter.

“Is there anything else I can help you with?” The saleswoman raised her thin, penciled brows inquiringly.

Emma stuttered. “No, no…” She had to think of a way to bring the conversation back to the Porters. “We’re planning a fashion show for our grand reopening at Sweet Nothings.”

The saleslady looked unimpressed.

“We’ve invited Deirdre Porter to model in it.”

“I guess they do need the money, then,” the saleslady said in a low voice.

Emma was about to correct her and inform her that it wasn’t a paying gig when her brain finally kicked into gear, and she bit her tongue.

“I guess we all have to do what we have to do,” she said instead.

The saleswoman nodded. “Well, she did get the money from that bracelet, of course. Quite a bit, actually.”

“Really?” Emma leaned closer over the counter.

“It was the one Mr. Porter purchased for her wedding gift. A beautiful sapphire and diamond piece. She came in to see if we would buy it back!” Her eyes widened. “We always stand by our merchandise, of course, so the owner immediately wrote her a check.”

“When was this?” Emma asked, trying to look blasé although her heart was beating double-time.

“Last week. I don’t remember the day, I’m afraid.”

The bell tinkled again, and the front door opened. The saleslady turned toward the new arrivals, and Emma took the opportunity to slip out the door.

EMMA all but skipped down the sidewalk. Finally, they had a lead. A solid, concrete,
something
to pin a case on lead. Deirdre Porter had sold an important bracelet to The French Jewel. The kind of piece she would have been expected to
keep forever and ultimately hand down to her children and her grandchildren. But instead she had sold it. She must have needed money desperately to do that. And what else could she have needed money for but to pay off a blackmailer? In this case, most likely Guy who had caught her and her riding instructor, Skip Clark, in a compromising position in living color. Well, not living color exactly, more like pixels or dpi or whatever digital photos were called. But it was one thing to have townspeople whispering and speculating, and quite another to have a photograph that proved you’d been playing around. It would end her marriage to Peyton Porter, heir to a considerable fortune.

When Emma got to Sweet Nothings, the front door was locked and the lights had been turned off. She used her key and pushed open the door. Arabella had left a note propped on the counter: “Off to Memphis for a huge estate sale. Let’s hope I get lucky. Love, Aunt Arabella.”

Emma felt deflated. Here she had all this great news to share, and there was no one to share it with. She glanced at the front window of Sweet Nothings and noticed someone standing there. Still, the knock on the door startled her.

Emma twisted the lock and eased open the door just far enough to allow her to stick her head out. Brian was standing on the doormat.

She felt the grin that immediately spread across her face and tried desperately to reclaim some semblance of cool. But it was all she could do to keep from throwing her arms around Brian and locking him in a giant bear hug.

“Can I convince you to take a few minutes off to go to The Coffee Klatch for a cold drink?”

THE Coffee Klatch was quiet—in that lull between the end of the lunch crowd and the beginning of the late afternoon
crowd looking for a pick-me-up. Brian ordered an iced tea and Emma, a lemonade.

Sun slanting in the front window turned the highlights in Brian’s dark hair to gold. Emma felt her heart catch in her throat, and she had to remind herself that there was another woman…a woman named Amy.

Emma wanted to blurt out her news as soon as the waitress turned her back on their table, but she tried to control her excitement.

Obviously, Brian could sense her impatience. “Well?” he said with a bemused look on his face.

“Well!” Emma nearly smacked her lips in her excitement. “I went to The French Jewel, and guess what?” She didn’t wait for Brian to answer. “Deirdre Porter—”

“Whoa.” Brian held up a hand. “Why did you go to The French Jewel?”

Emma closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Okay. Remember that earring we found when we were tearing out the carpet at Sweet Nothings?”

Brian nodded and leaned back as the waitress slid a sweating glass of iced tea in front of him.

“I started to wonder if it might have belonged to Deirdre Porter.”

“Deirdre Porter?”

Emma realized she hadn’t told Brian about the picture they’d found on Guy’s camera, and she needed to backtrack.

“Wow,” Brian said when Emma finished. “So it looks like Deirdre and her riding instructor have something going on. Something they don’t want anyone else to find out about.” He twirled his straw around and around his glass. “But how does that earring we found play into this?”

“I’m not sure.” Emma admitted. “I was wondering if whoever killed Guy dropped that earring that night. If there’d been any sort of struggle, the earring might have
come loose.” Emma fiddled with the saltshaker on the table. “Or sometimes when a woman is nervous, she’ll play with her earring and accidentally dislodge it.”

“Like that?” Brian pointed to the saltshaker that Emma was twirling between her hands and grinned.

Emma stopped abruptly. “Exactly.” She leaned across the table. “Unfortunately, the saleswoman at The French Jewel didn’t think it was the sort of piece Deirdre would wear. But she did admit that Deirdre, or, rather
Mrs. Porter…”
Emma imitated the woman’s drawn out, snooty tones and was pleased when Brian laughed. “Sold back a very special diamond and sapphire bracelet her husband had given her as a wedding present.”

Brian whistled. “Not very nice of her, I admit. But maybe she didn’t like it?”

Emma shook her head. “No. Even if she hated it, a woman wouldn’t return a gift like that. Too much sentimental value.” She took a sip of her lemonade. “She’d keep it and wear it once in awhile to please him. No, I think she wanted…needed…the money.”

“But aren’t they rich? That BMW I’ve seen her driving around in must have cost a pretty penny.”

“Yes. But if Deirdre is paying off a blackmailer, she can hardly just write a check or ask her husband for some pocket money. From what I understand, Peyton controls the purse strings. Or rather, his mama does.”

“So our murderer is either Deirdre Porter, Skip Clark…” Brian took a last sip of his iced tea and pushed the glass to the side. “Or the mysterious owner of that lost earring.”

Emma nodded. “I’m not sure what to do next. But I would like to see how Deirdre reacts when she sees that photograph Guy took.”

EMMA clicked a few last keys on her laptop, hit save, then print. She watched as the piece of paper slid slowly out of the printer. She held it up. Not bad. She’d managed to find some vintage clip art that gave the notice some eye-catching appeal.

She would tape the notice to the front window of Sweet Nothings under the grand opening banner. It was a call for volunteers to model in their opening day fashion show. She hoped at least a few of the young girls in town would be interested. They couldn’t afford to pay anything, but she’d picked out a few pieces of new lingerie as a thank-you for the models.

Emma retrieved a roll of tape from behind the counter and climbed into the window to tack up her notice. She centered it carefully and secured it with several pieces of tape. Satisfied, she jumped down and went outside to admire her handiwork.

She was standing on the sidewalk, staring at the front
window of Sweet Nothings, when she sensed someone coming up behind her and turned to see Lucy standing there.

Lucy gave Emma a quick squeeze. “It looks just wonderful. I must take a picture and send it to your mother. Is she coming up for the grand opening?”

“Unfortunately not. Dad is having knee replacement surgery, and she has to be there to take care of him.”

“That’s too bad.” Lucy frowned and looked at her watch. “Good Lord, look at the time. I’ve got to get a batch of cheese straws in the oven for Jessamyn Crocker’s daughter’s christening party this afternoon. If I’d’ve known that catering was going to be a seven day a week job, I’d have chosen some other profession.” She tapped Emma on the arm. “But what are you doing here on a Sunday?”

“I just can’t stay away, I guess.” Emma smiled. “The sooner we’re up and running, the sooner Aunt Arabella can bring in some money.”

“She’s lucky to have you.” Lucy gave Emma another hug. “I’ll see you later, honey.”

Emma waved to Lucy and went back inside. She was about to close the door when she heard a bark heralding Arabella and Pierre’s arrival.

Emma grinned and held the door open. “How was your day in Memphis?”

Arabella snorted and two spots of color formed high on her cheeks. She made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a growl to Emma.

“It was a huge estate sale,” Arabella began as she put her purse behind the counter. “Run by one of those big la-di-da companies that make a fortune out of that sort of thing.”

“Were the things overpriced?”

“The prices were absurd,” Arabella said. Her head shook, and the hair coiled on top of it quivered. “And, even worse, they thought they could take advantage of their buyers.” She slapped the counter with her open palm. “Well, they made
a mistake in trying to put something over on me. What did they think we were, a bunch of rubes from the country?” Before Emma could answer, she went on. “There was a very pretty blue gown, cut on the bias, with some interesting details. They told me it was definitely vintage, circa 1935. I’m surprised they didn’t try to tell me Jean Harlow once wore it in a movie,” Arabella fumed.

Emma made sympathetic noises.

“As if I can’t tell a vintage gown from a…a…piece of nothing that would be sold at Walmart.”

Emma’s eyes widened. She’d never seen Arabella so incensed before. “How did you know it wasn’t—”

Arabella waved a dismissive hand. “It was easy. Only an amateur would have been fooled.” She leaned over the counter toward Emma. “I turned the garment inside out, which I always do. I like to check the seams and see if any of the original labels are intact. That’s when I saw it!”

“Saw what?” Emma’s voice dropped to nearly a whisper.

“The care label!” Arabella finished triumphantly. “Can you imagine? There was a care label on the garment!”

Emma raised her brows. “But what—”

Arabella took a deep breath. “Care labels weren’t put on clothes until after 1971. There’s no way that gown was made in the thirties!” She finished triumphantly. “Honestly, what kind of a fool did they think I was? I gave that saleswoman a piece of my mind.” Arabella clenched her fist, and Pierre growled in sympathy.

“I’m guessing you didn’t buy anything then.” Emma bent down and picked a microscopic piece of fuzz off the carpet.

Arabella shook her head. “No. But I did learn something very interesting. Very interesting, indeed.”

“What?” Emma flicked the imaginary speck of dust into the wastebasket.

The bright spots of color flamed even brighter on
Arabella’s cheeks. “Do you remember that package that was sent to me? With the negligee cut to bits?”

Emma nodded. How could she forget? She thought about it all the time. Dreamt about it even, wondering if the murderer had had a hand in it.

“I got to talking to one of the gals working the sale. She’d been at a similar one in Jackson a week or two ago. And she just happened to remember chatting with a customer there who said she was from Paris, Tennessee. I guess it struck her, the town being called Paris.”

“Talk about a small world!” Emma exclaimed.

Arabella nodded, and the color in her cheeks deepened. “Well, it seems that this mysterious woman from Paris purchased a negligee—a lovely pink Michelene.” Arabella paused looking very pleased with herself. “I managed to persuade her to check her sales records, and the buyer was none other than one Sally Dixon from La Tour Eiffel Antiques of little old Paris, Tennessee.”