A Fatal Slip(Sweet Nothings)

Chapter 17




“A gunshot!” Mariel echoed as she yanked open the hall closet and pulled out her barn jacket. “Take me to her right away. Is she conscious?”

The boy looked confused.

“Is she talking?”

“No, ma’am, she’s lying there looking all twisted like a bunch of rags with her face all white.”

Mariel frowned. “This doesn’t sound good,” she said to no one in particular.

“Paramedics are on their way,” Sabina said. She still held the cell phone pressed to her ear.

Mariel opened the front door and a gust of cold air swept through the foyer. Emma shivered.

“Do you want me to come with you?”

Mariel looked grateful. “If you wouldn’t mind. We might have to move her, and another set of hands would be useful.”

Emma pulled her collar up around her ears and followed Mariel out the door. The wind momentarily took her breath away, and Emma gasped. Peter led them around to the back of the house, through a gate in the white picket fence, and across a frozen field that was beginning to turn white from the snow that had started to fall.

Emma kept up with Mariel as best she could. She wished she had worn boots instead of shoes. Her foot caught in one of the ruts in the field and she nearly fell. She could feel the snowflakes melting in her hair, and ice cold water dripped down the back of her neck. Mariel seemed oblivious as she marched across the stiff, icy grass, her hair blowing furiously, her coat clutched closed with one hand.


Big Boy stood off in the distance, amid a group of three or four other horses, stamping his feet and snorting clouds of warm air through his nose. Emma saw what looked like a bundle of clothes tossed onto the ground, but, as they got closer, she realized it was Joy. Mariel quickened her pace, and Emma followed suit, nearly trotting to keep up.

Mariel dropped to her knees beside Joy’s still body. “She’s breathing,” she called over her shoulder to Emma. “Joy, can you hear me? Joy?”

Joy moaned and moved her head back and forth. Her face was pale, and the smattering of freckles across her nose stood out strongly. Her eyelids fluttered, and they all held their breath.

“Run and get a blanket.” Mariel pointed to Peter.

“You mean the ones we use on the horses?” Peter stood there, his big hands hanging at his side, his eyes still wide with alarm.

“Yes.” Mariel’s tone was clipped with impatience. “It doesn’t matter. We need to keep her warm.” She snapped her fingers. “Hurry.”

They stood over Joy, waiting. Emma stamped her feet to try to warm them, and stuck her hands deep into her pockets. Mariel seemed impervious to the cold—still clutching her coat instead of buttoning it, her bare hands turning red from the chill.

Mariel glanced at her watch. “What is keeping the ambulance?”

Peter came running back from the stables with a red and green plaid blanket in his arms. Mariel tucked it gently around Joy’s still form. Emma bent and plucked several large pieces of hay from the wool.

Just then they heard the wailing of a siren in the distance, growing louder as it got closer. Emma was past feeling the cold; her hands and feet were numb and prickly.

The ambulance pulled into the driveway. Mariel walked briskly toward the house, waving to them as she went. Two paramedics in black pants and black jackets got out of the front. They opened the back door of the ambulance, pulled out a gurney and lowered it to the ground.

The frozen field made the gurney ungainly, sticking in the ruts and nearly flipping over at one point. One of the men swore, and the word carried on the wind to where Emma was standing. Mariel had come back to join her, and they stood waiting and watching the slow progress of the paramedics.

Joy groaned, and Emma and Mariel leaned over her. Her eyelids fluttered again, but when they called her name, she didn’t answer. Mariel stood up with a hand to her back.

The paramedics had finally managed to maneuver the gurney over to them. They were panting, their breath making huge puffs of vapor in the cold air. One of them grabbed a backboard from the gurney and began setting it up.

The other man squatted down next to Joy. “Has she shown any signs of consciousness?”

Emma and Mariel shook their heads.

“We’re going to use the backboard as a precaution. Just in case she’s injured her neck or back.”

“Okay,” Mariel said.

The paramedics removed the plaid horse blanket and replaced it with the clean white one they had brought with them.

“Peter.” Mariel looked toward the boy, who stood there with his coat open, seemingly oblivious to the cold that was making Emma shiver. “Can you take the blanket back to the stable? And then come back here, please.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He tucked the blanket under his arm and took off at a trot.

By the time he returned, the paramedics had strapped Joy to the backboard and placed her on the gurney. They then began their slow journey across the field to the waiting ambulance.

“Peter.” Mariel turned to the boy who had finally started to shiver. “You said you heard a gunshot?”

“Yes, ma’am. Least, that’s what it sounded like to me.”

“Who would be shooting off a gun?” Mariel looked at Emma with her eyebrows raised. “Our neighbors are hardly the sort to go after rabbits or squirrels, and there’s nothing much else to hunt at this time of year.” She turned to Peter again. “Did the shot sound close?”

“Yes, ma’am. Real close. Otherwise I doubt it would have spooked Big Boy the way it did.”

Mariel turned to Emma. “We might as well go back in. I’ll follow the ambulance in my car.”

She and Emma headed back across the field toward the house. The ambulance had already started down the drive, the siren going and the lights whirling and throwing a kaleidoscope of colors against the white house.

As Emma got into her car, she couldn’t help but wonder who had fired off a gun, and whether or not it had been done on purpose to cause Joy’s accident.

? ? ?



“I don’t like it,” Francis said later that evening, when they were all having dinner at Arabella’s house. He drew his black brows together. “It sounds to me as if someone spooked that horse on purpose.”

“Maybe it was meant as a warning,” Priscilla said, taking a delicate sip of her coffee. “Maybe this Joy was getting too close to discovering the murderer.”

“That’s exactly what I’m afraid of,” Francis said helping himself to another slice of pie. “I’m worried about you, Emma. If the murderer gets wind of the fact that you’ve been snooping around, asking questions, overhearing conversations . . .”

“The murderer might not even be in the house,” Priscilla said, arching a brow.

“True.” Francis smoothed his mustache with his index finger. “But they might still find out about it. People like that have their ways.”

“I really thought Joy had killed her father herself,” Emma said, swiping her fork across her plate to get at the last bit of Arabella’s delicious peach pie.

“It sounds as if she hated her father enough,” Arabella said.

“We know someone involved has a gun,” Francis said, pushing away his empty plate. “Hugh was shot before he was shoved off that balcony. The local boys are still waiting on the ballistic reports.” He sighed. “At the rate the lab is going, we’ll have the case solved long before we get their results.” He turned to Emma and shook a finger at her. “That’s why you need to be extra careful.”

“How is Brian doing?” Arabella cut in smoothly. She poured herself a cup of coffee and stirred in a spoon of sugar.

They had already cleared the dishes from Arabella’s delicious dinner of fried pork chops with gravy, mashed potatoes and collard greens sautéed with bacon. Emma had stacked the plates in the kitchen, and Francis had offered to put them in the dishwasher after dessert and coffee.

“Brian is doing very well. He’s being discharged. I’m picking him up in an hour.” Emma glanced at her watch.

“That’s wonderful,” Arabella said, her face glowing. “Such good news. You’d better be off then. He may need help getting his things together.”

Emma put down her napkin. “As soon as I freshen up a bit.”

It didn’t take Emma more than five minutes to wash her hands, comb her hair—Angel had done a really good job on the cut—and dab on some powder and lipstick.

“Give Brian our best,” Arabella called from the kitchen as Emma headed toward the front door.

She beeped open the Bug and got in. She had an ulterior motive in heading to the hospital early. She’d called Mariel to check up on Joy. Apparently Joy had been banged up but aside from some cuts and bruises and a minor concussion, she was going to be okay. The doctor wanted to keep her overnight for observation. But even more important, she was conscious and talking. Emma hoped to sneak in to see her. Maybe she would be scared enough to reveal what she knew. Because Emma was quite certain she knew something—something that had scared the killer enough to spook Big Boy. She didn’t know whether they had hoped the accident would kill Joy or whether they had merely hoped it would serve as a warning to her. Emma had to talk to Joy before she put the pieces together and realized that her only safety lay in silence.


Emma pulled into the Henry County Medical Center parking lot and found a space. The woman behind the information desk didn’t even look up when Emma asked for Joy Granger. She tapped a few keys on her computer and handed Emma a slip of paper with Joy’s room number on it. “You need directions?” she asked, finally looking at Emma. Her slightly protruding blue eyes were crisscrossed with red veins.

“I think I can find it.” Emma tucked the piece of paper into her coat pocket and headed toward the elevators.

She got off the elevator, consulted the signs on the wall, and turned left. The door to Joy’s room was ajar, and she could hear the television blaring—some ubiquitous game show. “And now, for the grand prize, answer this final question,” the host yelled excitedly. Emma peeked around the corner of the door into the room. Joy was snapped into a blue hospital gown, propped up in bed. There was an angry-looking purple bruise on her forehead, and Emma noticed a bandage on her left hand along with an intravenous line leading to a bag suspended from an IV pole next to the bed.

Emma knocked gently and stuck her head into the room.

“Joy?” she called to the figure in the bed.

Joy looked up, her head swiveling toward the door, obviously startled. “Oh, I thought you were the nurse. You’re Emma, right?”

“Yes. Do you mind if I come in?”

Joy shook her head, her hair making a swishing sound as it rubbed back and forth against the pillow. She pointed toward the bedside chair where a plastic, hospital-issue basin sat. It was filled with a plastic cup, a tube of hand lotion, a miniature box of tissues and a clean, folded washcloth. “Sorry, you’ll have to move that stuff. The nurse left it there.”

Emma put the tub on the window ledge and sat down. “I wanted to see how you were doing. We were all so frightened seeing you lying there in the field like that—not moving or talking.”

“Fortunately, I don’t remember much of anything about it. I didn’t come to until I was in the ambulance.” Joy winced as she moved sideways on the bed. “I’m a jumble of bumps and bruises, but that’s the price you pay when you ride. This isn’t the first time I’ve fallen off a horse.”

“You didn’t fall, though.”

Joy whipped her head around toward Emma. “What do you mean?”

“You were thrown. Someone spooked Big Boy.”

Joy’s face relaxed. “Horses are spooked all the time—by the strangest things. I’ve seen a small kitten throw an Arabian a hundred times its size into a tizzy. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Peter said he heard a gunshot. Someone shot a gun into the air—on purpose—to spook your horse, hoping he would throw you.”

A strange look settled over Joy’s face. Emma could see the rapid rise and fall of her chest, and the panicked way her eyes darted about as if she were looking for escape.

“Do you have any idea who would do something like that? Or why?” Emma persisted.

Joy’s expression turned mulish, her eyes narrowed and her jaw set. “That’s ridiculous.” She gave a harsh laugh. “I don’t know why someone would do that, let alone who. Besides, being thrown by my horse is hardly going to kill me. Like I told you, it’s one of the hazards of the sport. I’ve probably been thrown a couple dozen times since my mother first sat me on Maximilian.”

“Maybe the person didn’t want to kill you? Perhaps his intention was just to warn you.”

Joy stared at Emma for a moment, her face completely white. Before, her look had been unconcerned . . . even cocky. Something had spooked her horse, and she’d been thrown. No big deal. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Now she looked positively scared.

? ? ?



EMMA left Joy’s room and headed down the hall toward the elevator. The information about the gunshot had certainly had an effect on Joy. Emma had the distinct impression that the word warning had struck a target. And that Joy knew exactly who and exactly why someone was trying to warn her.

Emma waited impatiently for the elevator. Suddenly she couldn’t wait to get to Brian’s room—to see him up and about and looking normal. Well, relatively normal. His leg would still be in a cast. Finally the elevator doors fanned open on his floor. Emma exited and headed toward Brian’s room. She was already smiling as she neared his door, and she knew she was positively grinning as she walked into his room.

Brian was in a wheelchair parked next to the bed. A stuffed, blue plastic drawstring bag with Henry County Medical Center written on it in white lettering sat on the empty bed. A pair of crutches leaned in the corner.

Brian began to grin as soon as Emma entered the room. His broken leg was encased in a cast and stuck straight out, supported by the wheelchair’s footrest, and he had a vase holding a bouquet of mixed flowers in his lap.

He held the flowers out to Emma. “These are for you. It seems I missed Valentine’s Day while I was out. I’m sorry.”

Emma took the flowers and buried her nose in them, absurdly pleased that Brian had remembered, however belatedly. “They’re lovely, thanks.” She noticed a little red plastic card stuck in the flowers and pulled it out. It read Get Well Soon. She showed it to Brian.

Brian gave a crooked smile and shrugged. “I asked the nurse to get me some flowers from the gift shop downstairs. The messages were limited to get well wishes or congratulations on your new baby.”

Emma laughed. “They’re still lovely.”

“I’m glad you like them.” Brian gave a devilish grin. “How about a kiss for all of my efforts?”

Emma braced herself on the arms of the wheelchair and leaned in close until her lips met Brian’s. They stayed like that for several long moments until the sound of someone passing in the hall made them pull apart.

“It looks like you’re all packed,” Emma said a little breathlessly, indicating the plastic bag on the bed.

“I’m more than ready to get out of here. Shall we go?”

Emma retrieved Brian’s jacket from the cupboard at the foot of the bed and helped him into it. She hung the plastic bag from the handles of the wheelchair, while Brian held the flowers and the crutches in his lap.

“All set?” Emma released the brakes on the wheelchair.

“Yup. Let’s blow this place.”

She wheeled Brian out of the room and into the hall. A nurse passing by waved, and he waved back. “Good luck,” she called over her shoulder before disappearing into a patient’s room.

The elevator was large enough to fit a gurney, so Emma had no trouble maneuvering the wheelchair into the space. All the exterior doors were equipped with door openers so that was no problem, either.

“The air feels so good,” Brian said as Emma wheeled him onto the sidewalk alongside the parking lot.

She found the cutout and smoothly pushed him down the rows of cars until they came to her Bug. She had just beeped open the doors when the realization struck. How on earth was she going to get Brian into the car?

Brian must have noticed the look on her face. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know how to get you into the car.”

Brian laughed. “We’ll manage it. If you can give me some support, I can stand on my good leg easily enough, but I think I’d better get in the backseat if you don’t mind.”

Emma stood by while Brian got himself to a standing position. He put a hand on her shoulder for balance, and at one point, Emma was terrified he was going to fall over. But somehow he managed to get into the backseat. The problem then became what to do with his leg? He couldn’t bend it, and she couldn’t shut the door the way it was.


Brian started to laugh and so did Emma.

“I should have borrowed Liz’s station wagon,” she said, wiping her eyes.

“How about if you roll down the window, and I just stick my foot out.”

Emma opened the window.

“See,” Brian said, “this will work.”

The sight of Brian’s leg sticking out the window sent Emma into fresh gales of laughter. “We need a red flag to hang on the end of your foot.”

“Just don’t get too close to any parked cars.”

Emma got behind the wheel and slowly drove out of the parking lot. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. It’s just a little . . . breezy back here.”

Emma cranked up the heat. “How are you going to manage at home?”

“I should have told you sooner. Fortunately we’re going in the right direction. I’m staying with Liz and Matt for a couple of weeks.”

A few minutes later, Emma pulled into the driveway in front of Liz’s house. Matt came running out the front door.

“Need some help?” He couldn’t help grinning when he saw Brian’s foot sticking out the window of Emma’s car.

“If you could give me a hand,” Brian said.

Matt opened the back door, and Brian stuck his arm out, grasping Matt’s. Matt pulled him out of the car and onto his good leg. Brian was standing, albeit unsteadily. He got his crutches under his arms, and with Matt’s help began to make his way into the house.

Liz welcomed them all with open arms and led them into the living room, where a fire was burning and spitting in the stone fireplace. She had a bottle of wine open on the coffee table alongside a plate of cheese and crackers.

They got Brian settled in a chair with his leg on an ottoman, and Emma took a seat by the fire, holding her hands out toward the flames. Driving with the back window open had chilled her to the bone.

Suddenly Brian’s cell phone rang. He dug in the pocket of his jeans, pulled it out and glanced at the caller ID. “I’m really sorry, but it’s John Jasper. We’re doing some renovations on his house—very minor, the big projects are already done—but I’d better see what he wants.”

“No problem,” Liz said as she poured Emma a glass of wine.

They heard a bunch of uh-huhs from Brian followed by a startled exclamation as he half bolted from his chair.

Brian clicked off the call and turned to Emma, Liz and Matt with a startled face.

“That was John Jasper,” Brian said. “Well, I guess I already told you that.” His face still bore a look of shock and surprise. He turned to Emma. “Do you remember he told us he’d been buying a few pieces from Hugh Granger?”

Emma nodded her head. “Yes. I got the impression that Hugh was helping him build his collection.”

“Well it seems that one of the pieces he purchased—the big piece by Mark Rothko, he said—has turned out to be a forgery.”