Murder Unmentionable (3 page)

Someone was standing at the front door of The Toggery, the oldest store in Paris. It had been in its original location since 1917 and had been spared by the fires that had destroyed a number of other buildings around the square. The door opened, and the person disappeared inside. Shortly afterward, Emma saw lights go on, and the shade over the front window was rolled up. Downtown Paris was waking up for business.

She felt better than she had in a long time. She’d come
up with a unique angle for her aunt’s failing business, Brian was ready to start the renovations she’d suggested and she’d had a good night’s sleep with the windows open, listening to the chirp of the crickets and feeling the soft breeze scented with honeysuckle and pine. It was a far cry from the city, where the night sounds consisted of a cacophony of taxi horns and people shouting, and where the air was fouled with car exhaust and bus fumes.

Emma was starting the coffee when she heard the front door open and the jingle of Pierre’s leash.

“Hello! Good morning,” Arabella called out. “Pierre,” she turned her attention toward her dog, “Stop pulling on the leash like that.”

“Good morning.” Emma greeted her aunt and gave her a quick hug. She glanced down at Pierre, who was still straining at his collar, attempting to reach the front door. “What’s up with Pierre?”

Arabella sighed. “It’s that dachshund across the street. Bertha. A most unsuitable match for a French bulldog, but try telling Pierre that. It was love at first sight. I can’t imagine what he sees in her.”

Emma closed the front door, and Pierre finally sulked over toward his dog bed.

“I hardly slept a wink last night,” Arabella admitted as she tucked her handbag under the counter. “I’m so excited about all your ideas for Sweet Nothings.”

“I know,” Emma replied. “I’m very excited, too. I was thinking that we really need to organize a grand opening with a bang.”

“I finished some more repairs last night.” Arabella pulled a tissue-wrapped bundle out of a black-and-white Sweet Nothings shopping bag. She placed it on the counter and opened it. “Look at this.” Arabella held up a green silk tap-pant-and-bra set.

“They’re beautiful,” Emma breathed.

“The straps are actual silk ribbon and in perfect condition.”

“Is this…what did you call it…Point de Venise lace?” Emma asked.

Arabella shook her head. “This is Alençon. Its name comes from the town of Alençon in Normandy, France. A local needlewoman, attempting to duplicate Venetian lace, ended up creating her own pattern, which they named after the town.”

A knock sounded on the front door, and they both jumped. Pierre catapulted from his dog bed and approached the door, head down and a low growl emanating from his throat.

“That must be Brian—” Arabella began.

“That must be the armoire I ordered—” Emma said at the same time. “I’ll get it.”

Emma smoothed a hand over her hair, and Arabella gave her that little smile again. Emma dropped her hand to her side and strode toward the door.

She pulled it open half expecting to see a couple of burly men ready to hustle the white distressed armoire she’d ordered into the shop.

But it was Guy Richard.

Standing on the doorstep of Sweet Nothings, his Nikon slung over his shoulder, a bunch of slightly bedraggled flowers clutched in his hand and a very repentant look on his face.

“GUY!” Emma’s jaw dropped and her stomach flip-flopped at the sight of him standing on her doorstep. “What are you doing here?”

“I’ve got something for you.” There was an earnest look in his eyes that Emma had never seen before.

“Flowers?” She gestured toward the wilting bouquet in his hands.

“
Non
.” He handed the flowers to her. “Something else. Can we go somewhere and talk?” He gestured toward the street with his shoulder.

Emma wasn’t sure she could move. She felt rooted to the spot, as if she had been planted there.

“Well, well, well. Who do we have here?” Arabella cooed as she glided toward Guy with her hand outstretched.

Guy turned toward Arabella and took hold of her hand, his lips hovering above it. “
Enchanté, madame
.”

Pierre tried to muscle between Arabella and Guy, his upper lip pulled back in a snarl.

Arabella fluttered her eyelashes in response. “
Voulez-vous couchez avec moi?”

“Aunt Arabella!” Emma hissed. “Do you know what that means? You just asked him if he’d like to sleep with you!”

Arabella put a hand over her mouth. “Oh, dear. Is
that
what that means?”

“We’re going to go get coffee,” Emma said firmly. “The Coffee Klatch should be open by now.”

“Nonsense.” Arabella said. “I can put on some coffee
tout de suite
.”

“Please,” Guy held out his hands. “I don’t want to be a bother.”

“It’s no bother at all.”

Guy shot Emma a helpless look, but she knew better than to try to sidetrack her aunt. Once Arabella got going, she was like a locomotive steaming toward its destination.

Emma helped Arabella retrieve cups and saucers from a cabinet in the back room and carried them to the front of the shop. Shock had made Emma’s movements awkward and clumsy, and she clutched the porcelain tightly for fear she would drop something.

Guy was looking through Arabella’s stock of vintage lingerie and had taken out the peach peignoir set and laid it on the counter. He spun around when he heard Emma coming.

“These are so beautiful,
cherie.
” His camera was out of its case, and he was adjusting the lens. “Have you thought about making an online catalogue? Beautiful things like these would be bought up like that.” He snapped his fingers.

Emma set the tray down on the counter, relieved to note there was the barest rattle of crockery. “I hadn’t thought about that.” With an online presence, the shop wouldn’t be totally dependent on local customers for its revenue.

“That’s a wonderful idea,” Emma said cautiously. “I don’t suppose it would cost that much to get started.”

“
Non
, not at all,” Guy reassured her. “Besides, now that I am here, I can take the photographs for you.”

“Really?” Emma felt her excitement build. “Arabella,” she called toward the back room. “Guy has had the most wonderful idea.”

“What’s that?” Arabella emerged, wiping her hands on a dish towel.

Emma explained Guy’s proposition to her.

“What a brilliant idea,” Arabella exclaimed.

“You can be my model,” Guy said to Emma, turning toward the negligee spread on the counter. “This looks like it should fit perfectly. And this color, with your complexion…” He kissed the tips of his fingers.

“No!” The word burst out of Emma. “We can put it on a mannequin to be photographed.”

Emma glanced at the negligee and peignoir set again. It was certainly a far cry from the old T-shirt she normally wore to bed. And there was no way she was going to allow pictures of herself in it to be displayed on the Internet. Arabella had offered to save it for her trousseau. Would she ever need a trousseau, she wondered. She’d told Guy they were finished, and she meant it. And the way she felt right now, it would be a long time before she was ready to risk the pain of a broken heart again. She’d rather sit alone in front of the television eating ice cream out of the carton.

Guy shrugged, a casual Gallic tossing of his shoulder.

Emma took the nightgown from him and started to replace it on the hanger. She didn’t notice the jingle of the front door opening. Brian strode into the room and stopped short when he saw her.

Emma dropped the negligee as if it had scalded her hands. Brian looked almost as flustered as she felt.

“Sorry if I’m interrupting…” He waved a hand in the air. “Something.”

“Not at all.” Guy smiled at him reassuringly, but Brian continued to study Guy rather like a scientist might study a parasite under a microscope.

“I don’t want to interrupt anything. I was going to start on those alcoves we talked about…”

“
Pas de problème
, no problem.” Guy answered quickly. He turned around and began fiddling with his camera lens.

Brian continued to stare, his mouth in a grim line, for several seconds before turning on his heel and heading toward the other end of the shop. After an uncomfortable silence, the whine of the saw filled Sweet Nothings.

Despite Guy’s sudden appearance, Emma and Arabella still had work to do. Whatever Guy wanted to discuss would have to wait until later. Fortunately, he had become immersed in taking photographs as Emma had suspected he would. They’d been working for a few hours and were about to break for lunch when they heard the door open and a feminine voice call out, “Yoo-hoo!”

Arabella rolled her eyes. “We should have locked the front door.”

“Where’s that gorgeous Frenchman I heard you’ve been hiding, Arabella?”

“In here, Angel.”

“How—” Emma began.

“It’s a small town, and, as they say, news travels fast.”

Angelica “Angel” Roy was preceded into the room by a cloud of Opium. She was wearing polka-dot capri pants and a halter top, and she had her fire-engine-red hair teased and sprayed into a massive bouffant mixture on top of her head. Her nails were painted hot pink, and a tattoo of a cat was inked above her left ankle.

She stopped short when she caught sight of Guy.

“Close your mouth, you’re drooling,” Arabella said.

Angel ignored her and tottered purposefully toward Guy on her high-heeled sandals.

He took her outstretched hand and kissed it. “
Enchanté, mademoiselle
.”

Angel preened and patted her hair. “The same to you, I’m sure.” She looked around the shop, where stock was piled on the counters. “What are you all doing?”

“Renovating. My niece is here from New York to help.” Arabella gestured toward Emma.

Angel gave Emma the once-over. “I don’t know how long you’re staying, but if you need your hair cut or a mani and pedi, come on down to Angel Cuts. It’s just past A Good Yarn and right next to The Taffy Pull. If you get a hankering for something more than just eye candy,” she glanced at Guy from beneath her lashes, “they do some of the best fudge I’ve ever tasted. Made right on the spot.” She licked her lips suggestively.

Angel turned toward Guy. “You helping Miss Arabella with her renovations?”

Guy shook his head. “Not exactly,
non
. I am going to help photograph her catalogue.”

“Right here in the shop?”

“Maybe. But also outdoors, I think.”

“I know just the spot! You can take some snaps right next to the Eiffel Tower. It’d be perfect seeing as how this is Paris, Tennessee. Get it? Paris,
Tennessee
?”

Guy looked confused. “
Mais La Tour Eiffel
?”

“Exactly! Didn’t anyone tell you? We’ve got one of our very own right here in Paris. It’s over at Memorial Park and stands sixty feet tall!”

“
Non!
”

“Yes.” Angel cracked her gum loudly. “Well, come on, big boy. What are you waiting for? You don’t mind, do you?” She glanced at Emma as she headed toward the door.

Emma opened her mouth, but before any words came out, Angel was gone, high-heeled sandals slapping, whisking Guy along in her wake.

“Are you going to let her steal your boyfriend like that?” Arabella looked up from the nightgowns she’d been folding.

“He’s not my boyfriend, and she’s welcome to him.” Emma opened a drawer and began making note of the contents.

Arabella opened her mouth but then, after a glance at her niece, shut it again. Instead, she shook her head and went back to what she was doing.

EMMA was alone in the shop, closing up, when Angel returned Guy. He looked exhausted, and his shirt was damp with perspiration. He sagged against the counter where Emma was finishing an inventory of one of the drawers. Arabella had never bothered to keep track of the stock and had no idea what she had in all the cupboards and cabinets.

His cologne drifted toward Emma, and she closed her eyes against the memories it stirred up. She remembered their first shoot together, and how she’d been enchanted by his consideration toward everyone on the set—ordering in lunch at his expense for everyone from the magazine’s assistant to the assistant to the models themselves. She’d quickly developed a crush on the handsome, dark-haired Frenchman.

“Have dinner with me,
cherie
, please?” Guy’s eyes had a pleading look in them, which surprised Emma.

“Tonight?”

He nodded.

“I’m sorry,” Emma looked down and made a notation on her clipboard. “My friend Liz has invited me to dinner tonight.”

“Are you busy tomorrow then?”

Emma hesitated.

Guy reached out and took her hands in his. “I want to tell you something.”

Emma’s heart rate ratcheted up to warp speed.

“I’ve missed you.” He turned her hand over and traced the lines on her palm with the tips of his fingers. A shiver ran down Emma’s spine. “I want you to come home.”

Emma opened her mouth, but he squeezed her hand to stop her. “I’ve arranged an interview for you next week with La Moda Italiana.” He looked at her face as if judging her reaction.