A Fatal Slip(Sweet Nothings)

Chapter 11




BETTE woke Emma early on Friday morning. Emma sat up, trying to rub the sleep from her eyes. Bette was sitting in front of the door to Emma’s apartment, emitting a low-pitched whine that reminded Emma of the drone of a mosquito. It was certainly just as impossible to ignore and definitely as annoying.

Emma reluctantly left her warm bed, pulled on a pair of gray sweats and her fur-lined boots. The boots would be warm enough even without a pair of socks.

“Okay, girl, I’m coming,” Emma said. Her eyes weren’t quite open yet—they were still sticky with sleep—and she fumbled blindly in her closet for her down jacket, scarf and hat. She had a pair of leather gloves already stuffed in the pockets of her jacket; she would pull those on when she got outside.

Bette’s retractable leash was on the wooden table by the front door, half-lost amid a spill of old junk mail and catalogs. Emma made a mental note, as she did every time she retrieved Bette’s leash, to clean up the mess and polish the table. She grabbed the leash and called to Bette. Bette mistakenly thought Emma wanted to play and took off running through the apartment. Emma darted after her, swearing softly under her breath.

“Come on, Bette. I thought you had to go out?” Emma stood with her hands on her hips, panting slightly. Bette skidded to a stop in front of Emma, but Emma knew that the moment she reached for Bette, the dog would be off running again.

Instead, Emma headed for the door, ignoring Bette. She was beginning to sweat inside her warm jacket and was actually looking forward to the cold air outside. Bette watched Emma for several seconds, her head cocked to one side, her ears twitching, before scampering after Emma and allowing her leash to be hooked on.

“Let’s go, girl.”

Emma and Bette ran down the stairs, and Emma pulled open the door to the outside. She recoiled as the first icy blast of frigid air hit her. Suddenly her warm bed with its fluffy down comforter seemed twice as inviting. Bette, however, didn’t seem to mind the wintery cold as she scampered across the sidewalk toward the curb. A whiff of some delectable scent had obviously caught her attention because she circled one small spot for what seemed an eternity to Emma who stood there waiting, stomping her feet against the bitter cold.

“Come on, Bette. If you’re done, we’re going in.”

“You’re out awfully early.”

The voice, coming from behind, startled Emma. She looked up to see Brian striding toward her, his face nearly obscured by an orange and white striped scarf.

“Bette woke me,” Emma admitted, tilting her head toward the puppy. “But you’re out early, too.”

Brian put his hands on Emma’s shoulders and drew her toward him for a kiss as Bette wound her way in and out between their legs.

“There are some things I have to get done at the hardware store, and this is the only time I have,” he said when he reluctantly pulled his lips away from Emma’s. “I’ll be on site for a renovation project the rest of the day.” He peered at her over the edge of his scarf and sighed. “I’ve been so busy lately, I haven’t had time for anything but work.” He slipped his hand into Emma’s and squeezed it. “I’ve missed you.”


Emma and Brian had started dating before the summer. Saturday night dinners or trips to the movies had gradually turned into nightly phone calls and sharing takeout or one of Emma’s home cooked meals several times a week. But the last week or two Brian had been so busy he’d barely had time for more than a phone call or a cup of coffee.

“I can have some coffee going at the store in under five minutes. Interested?”

“Sure. But can you make that tea?” Emma reined Bette in, and they crossed the deserted street.

“No problem. We’re stocked for all contingencies.”

Brian pulled his keys from his pocket, inserted them in the lock and pulled open the glass-and-wood front door of O’Connell’s Hardware store. He felt along the wall and flipped on a handful of the lights.

Emma followed him inside. The wooden floors creaked under their weight, and the store had the old familiar smell of lumber and metal. Emma unclipped Bette, and freed from her leash, Bette ran in circles, nose to the ground, enjoying all the new smells.

Brian unwound his scarf and slipped out of his jacket. He moved slowly, and Emma thought he looked tired. Between running the hardware store and his renovation business, he was certainly burning the candle at both ends.

“I gather you and Liz are both working over at the Grangers’,” Brian said as he measured coffee into the pot and put a mug of water into the microwave. He turned and put his hands on Emma’s shoulders. “Just be careful, okay? There’s a murderer on the loose. You’re my two favorite girls, and I wouldn’t want anything to happen to either of you.”

“Don’t worry. We won’t take any chances.”

Emma recounted her and Liz’s experience of the day before, eavesdropping on Mariel and Detective Walker. She told Brian how Mariel had refused to reveal where she had gone before the police arrived at the ballroom the night of her husband’s murder. She also told him what she’d learned from Molly—how Joy had been overheard arguing with her father hours before his death.

“Interesting,” Brian said as he poured coffee into a thick white mug with O’Connell’s Hardware written on it in green. He handed a similar mug of hot water to Emma, opened a cabinet and rummaged around inside. He handed Emma a box of tea bags. “Of course, Hugh Granger traveled extensively and ran a multimillion dollar business. He was bound to make some enemies along the way.”

Emma took a sip of her tea. She was enjoying this moment with Brian. The rest of the world was quiet—probably still sleeping. She shot a glance at Bette—now she was grateful to the puppy for waking her so early.

“Aunt Arabella did say that Hugh traveled an awful lot.” Emma was quiet for a moment. “Do you ever get the urge to . . . travel?” she asked. Her hands were still cold, and she wrapped them around the warm mug gratefully. Brian had turned the heat up, but it would take the ancient furnace a while to warm the drafty store.

“Travel? Not really. I’m so busy getting my business off the ground that I don’t see how I’d find the time. Maybe someday . . .”

Emma nodded, strangely disappointed. Of course Brian wasn’t thinking about travel right now. She had just hoped that he would have sounded more . . . enthusiastic.

“Do you think you’ll ever get tired of living in a small town like Paris?” Emma put down her cup.

Brian shrugged. “I don’t see why I would. I was born here, and it’s my home. My father is here, Liz and the kids are here.” He lowered his voice. “And you’re here.” He leaned over and brushed his lips against Emma’s.

It wasn’t exactly the answer Emma wanted, but it would have to do.

? ? ?



ARABELLA was already at Sweet Nothings when Emma arrived later that morning. The smell of fresh coffee wafted toward her as soon as she opened the door.

“You’re early,” Emma said as she unclipped Bette’s leash. Bette made a beeline for Pierre, who was lounging in his dog bed contemplating his first nap of the day. Bette managed to persuade him to engage in a brief tussling match before he turned a cold shoulder on her and snuggled down for a couple of winks.

“I absolutely had to get out of the house,” Arabella said, her habitual smile absent. Emma could see the muscle in her temple clenching and unclenching repeatedly.

“What’s wrong?” Emma grabbed a mug from the cupboard, filled it with hot water from the tap and stuck it in the microwave to heat.

Arabella sighed heavily and walked out into the showroom. Emma followed her.

“What’s wrong?” Emma repeated.

“I hate to say this.” Arabella stopped in her tracks and turned to face Emma. She clenched her lips as if that would hold the words back and fiddled with the silver and black onyx pendant around her neck.

“Please tell me what it is.” Emma put a hand on her aunt’s arm.

“Okay.” Arabella took a deep breath. “It’s your mother.”

“Mother?”

“Yes.” Arabella nodded briskly. “Quite frankly, she’s driving me crazy.” She smiled as if to take some of the sting out of her words. “She . . . she . . . pecks at me,” Arabella said. “It’s Arabella, do you think . . . Arabella, do you really want . . . Arabella, why . . . all day long!”

“I’m so sorry.” Emma hugged her aunt.

“Darling, it’s not your fault.” Arabella squeezed her back. “Priscilla has always been like that. I remember that when she was little, she would question everything I did as if she were the elder sibling and not me.”

Arabella was quiet for a moment, and the only sound was the gurgling of the coffeemaker. “There is one thing, though, where I’m afraid she might have a point.” She turned to Emma and looked her straight in the face. Emma noticed her aunt’s eyes were wet with tears. “She thinks I’m being terribly selfish keeping you here in Paris helping me with the shop when you could be anywhere doing . . . anything. Something more important or something more interesting, at least.”

Emma felt her stomach lurch. She had been thinking much the same thing—not that her aunt was being selfish—but whether or not she was wasting her life staying in Paris.

But she wasn’t about to reveal her doubts to her aunt. Not now—this wasn’t the right moment. She gave Arabella’s arm a squeeze. “Don’t be silly. I’m perfectly content here. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know.” Arabella looked down at her shoes. “I know there were times when I felt . . . stifled . . . by the small-town atmosphere. Everyone knowing everyone else’s business. Nothing changing—or if it did, it took light-years.” She looked up at Emma and examined her face as if she were searching for clues. “And I had already traveled the world. I can only imagine how you must feel.”

“Please don’t listen to Mother,” Emma said, grasping Arabella by both arms. “I know what I want, and it’s here in Paris.”

A twinkle appeared in Arabella’s eyes. “I imagine that it’s right across the street,” she said with a smile.

Emma smiled back. “I think you’re right.”

But was she really?

? ? ?



LIZ was already ensconced at the Grangers’ when Emma got there later that afternoon. Emma stuck her head into the office to say hello. She was sorry that the two of them weren’t working together in the same room, but Jackson was right in that it was a lot easier to set up a computer in the art storage room.


Emma was walking down the back hallway toward the storage room’s locked steel door when she heard someone behind her clear his throat. She turned around to see Tom Roberts standing at the head of the hallway. He was wearing a tweed blazer, tan corduroy slacks and an open-necked shirt.

“I hope everything is going well,” he said hesitantly when Emma turned around. He had a hand in his pocket and was jingling his loose change.

“Very well, thank you.”

“You haven’t seen my wife, have you? She said she’d be stopping by”—he glanced at his watch—“any minute now.”

Emma shook her head. “Sorry, no. But I just got here myself. Perhaps she’s in the library?”

“I’ve just come from there.” Tom hesitated. He ran a hand through his hair, disturbing the carefully arranged strands. He smiled at Emma briefly. “I imagine she’s on her way. Sabina isn’t known for being on time unless it’s for a performance.” And he drifted away, back down the hall.

Emma opened the storage room and flipped on the lights. It was chilly, and she was glad she’d worn a heavy sweater. She turned on the computer and brought up the custom-designed database she was using to collect information.

She’d already finished entering one section of drawings and was about to start on a group of paintings. She chose the first one—a small watercolor attributed to Cézanne. Emma examined the label where all the information was filled in save for the date.

Jackson had encouraged her to do as much research as she was comfortable with. She brought up a popular search engine on the Internet and entered the name of the artist and the painting. A long list of articles came up in the resultant search. Emma clicked on the first one. Cézanne was mentioned in the piece, but not the particular work she was researching, but the article caught her interest, and she kept reading. It dealt with works of art that had been stolen, by the Nazis, from Jewish families during the war. Emma was halfway through the article when she realized she was wasting her employer’s time. She went back to the search engine to try again.

After a half hour of researching, Emma decided to move on to the next piece. All the information was intact, and she entered the data quickly. She soon became engrossed in the work—each painting or drawing was something new and different. When Emma looked up again, another hour had gone by. She stood up and stretched her arms overhead. The chill in the room was making her feel achy, so she decided to take a break and get a cup of tea.

Emma stopped by the office on her way to the kitchen. “Want a cup of tea?” Liz switched off the bright lights she had trained on the painting resting on the easel.

“Good idea. Make mine coffee, though. Ben had a nightmare last night and woke us up. It was four o’clock in the morning before we got back to sleep.” She stretched and yawned.

They were crossing the foyer on the way to the kitchen when the front door opened, and Sabina Roberts walked in. She was wearing an expensive-looking, full-length mink coat and brown suede boots.

Emma stopped briefly. “Good afternoon. Your husband has been looking for you. I think he’s in the library.”

“Thanks.” Sabina smiled as she pulled off her gloves and tucked them into her pockets.

Liz and Emma watched as she headed down the hall toward the library, then they continued on to the kitchen, where they helped themselves to coffee and tea.

“How is your work going?” Liz cradled her cup in her hands and leaned against the counter as Emma stirred sweetener into her mug of green tea.

“It’s going very well. It’s a thrill to see so many beautiful works of art.”

“I know what you mean. I’m drawing on the colors from this spectacular Matisse painting Jackson showed me for the web site design. You have to ask him to show it to you sometime.” Liz sighed. “I guess we’d better get back to work.” She glanced at the clock over the kitchen sink. “Matt has an appointment this afternoon so I have to get Alice from ballet class at three.”

Emma smiled at the thought of Alice, her goddaughter, with her blond hair and sweet disposition. Alice’s brother, Ben, was a few years younger and adored his big sister. Emma felt a pang of jealousy. It would be nice to have her life settled . . . once and for all.

They were heading back to their respective work areas when they heard loud voices coming from the library. Emma and Liz stopped in their tracks and looked at each other. Emma gestured toward the library with her chin. Liz shot Emma a grin before following her down the hall.

They stopped well short of the door to the library. They didn’t have to go much closer—the two feminine voices were loud and agitated.

“Sounds like Joy,” Liz whispered. “But who is the other?”

“Sabina, I think.” Emma listened carefully. “Yes, I’m sure that’s Sabina.”

They could make out a few words here and there but one phrase rang out loud and clear. It was Sabina speaking. “You know nothing!” she yelled.

Emma and Liz pressed themselves back against the wall as Sabina stomped from the room, her cheeks flushed bright red with indignation, her dark eyes snapping in fury.