A Fatal Slip(Sweet Nothings)

Chapter 23




EMMA was dying to tell Liz what she’d discovered, but Jackson had come back inside—slamming the door behind him and dislodging a small, early Miro sketch from the wall. The drawing hit the floor, shattering the glass. Jackson swore as he picked up the drawing and kicked the shards of glass out of the way.

“Molly!” he bellowed from the hallway.

Emma heard Molly scurrying down the hall, her footsteps sounding like the scratching of a field mouse.

Emma herself scurried back to the relative isolation of the storage room. The screen saver had come up on her computer—a whirling ball that moved from one side of the screen to the other. Emma jiggled the mouse, and her spreadsheet appeared, still frozen with her last entry only half-complete. She would have to turn the machine off and back on again and hope that that solved the problem. The last thing she wanted to do was to go to Jackson for help. He was obviously in a foul mood after the encounter with his mother.

Turning the machine off and then on again seemed to have done the trick. Emma glanced at the data apprehensively, but all her work was there except for the last entry. Thanks heavens for auto save. She decided she was done for the day. She was going to Liz’s for dinner and wanted to go home and freshen up. She felt her spirits rise. She would be seeing Brian soon.

Emma drove home, her mind only half on the road, contemplating the information she’d gleaned from Molly and then Joy. She barely missed going through a red light and forced her concentration back to her driving.

Arabella had offered to keep Bette for the evening. The pup still needed regular bathroom breaks, so Emma didn’t want to leave her alone for too long.

She breathed a sigh of relief as she put her key in the lock of her apartment. It was good to be home. She rolled her shoulders forward and back. Being at the Grangers’ always made her tense. She was constantly aware that she was there under false pretenses. She would be glad when she could quit.

Emma had enough time for a few yoga poses. She did a half-dozen sun salutations and rested in child’s pose for a few minutes. By the time she was done, she’d gotten the kinks out of her body.

She washed her face, redid the minimal makeup she wore and worked some product through her hair. Dinner’s at Liz’s was always a casual affair, but Emma wanted to look nice for Brian. She chose a pair of cropped denim pants, a pale pink angora turtleneck and flats. By six forty-five she was ready to go.

Liz and her family lived fifteen minutes out of town in the house that had belonged to Liz’s parents. She and Matt had completely renovated the place, including turning two rooms into a family-sized kitchen and adding a separate family room.

Emma pulled into the driveway right on the dot of seven o’clock. Fragrant wood smoke curled up from the stone chimney, and Emma stood for a moment enjoying the scent.

Brian answered the door when Emma rang. His face was already lit with a broad smile that put crinkles around his blue eyes and brought out his dimples. He was standing upright with only one crutch for support.

He hugged Emma fiercely, holding her close against his broad chest. Emma felt herself relax even further in the circle of Brian’s warm embrace.

“I wanted to take you out to dinner,” Brian murmured against Emma’s hair, “but I hated to ask Liz or Matt to drive us since I don’t fit in your Bug. Hopefully my leg will heal even faster than the doctor’s predictions, and I can get rid of this cast.”

Emma followed him out to the kitchen. Liz was at the stove, stirring something that smelled heavenly, and Ben and his sister, Alice, were at the table eating bowls of macaroni and cheese. Ben was rhythmically kicking the table leg until Liz turned around and gave him a look that clearly said stop.

Alice had her blond hair in a neat ponytail, and Ben’s slightly darker blond hair was cut short though not short enough to eliminate the cowlick that gave him a strong resemblance to Dennis the Menace.


“Aunt Emma.” Alice jumped up from the table and threw her arms around Emma. Emma hugged her back.

Ben scowled at them both as if he found this feminine display of affection distasteful. Emma had to laugh. Ben was turning into a real boy.

“Where’s Matt?”

Liz jerked a thumb toward the French doors that led to a large deck. “He’s firing up the grill, believe it or not. He says it’s never too cold for a barbecue.”

Emma rubbed her hands together. “A barbecue in February. How wonderful. What is he cooking?”

“He got a butterflied leg of lamb from the Meat Mart.” She gestured to the pot on the stove. “I’m doing creamed spinach and garlic-roasted potatoes to go with it.”

“My stomach is growling already.”

“Brian”—Liz pointed at the refrigerator—“can you get Emma something to drink? There’s a bottle of white wine chilling and a pitcher of sweet tea if you’d rather that.”

“I can get it—”

“Please, let me.” Brian hobbled toward the refrigerator on his crutches. “It makes me feel useful. I’ve been doing nothing lately but lying around reading.”

“That’s not true.” Liz turned around. “You’ve been to several renovation sites with Bobby Fuller. You’ve been working on the hardware store books, and you’ve kept the kids occupied while I got some work done.” She turned back to the stove and stirred the pot. “I wish you would get some rest.”

Brian pulled open the refrigerator. “And I wish you would stop worrying. The doctor said I’m doing fine, remember?”

Emma almost laughed. They sounded so like brother and sister—like Ben and Alice when they squabbled with each other.

“Which would you like? Wine or tea?” Brian stood poised in front of the open refrigerator.

“I’ll have some wine.”

He brought out the bottle of pinot grigio and pivoted on his good leg just enough to set it on the counter. Leaning on one crutch, he maneuvered himself closer, pulled open a drawer and retrieved the corkscrew. The cork gave a festive pop as he pulled it out. Brian reached for a wineglass from the rack overhead, poured Emma a glass and handed it to her. He reached for another glass and poured one for himself.

“We’re done. Can we be excused?” Alice and Ben chorused from the table.

Liz glanced over and checked their dishes. Both were empty. “Okay, go ahead.”

Before she could say another word, they had bolted from the room.

“Now, I’d suggest you two”—she pointed to Emma and Brian—“go and sit in the living room and get out of my way.”

Emma heard the smile in Liz’s voice and knew exactly what she was doing. Normally she and Liz would hang out in the kitchen and chat while Brian helped Matt with the barbecue. She was giving Emma and Brian a chance to be alone.

“Can you manage?” Emma asked Brian. “I can carry your glass if you’d like.”

“Thanks, that would be great.” He handed the wine to Emma.

Emma matched his slow steps as they made their way down the hall and into the living room. A fire was burning in the stone fireplace—the wood crackling, popping and spitting as the flames licked the logs.

Brian plunked down on the sofa, and Emma curled up next to him. He put his arm around her, and she snuggled closer.

Brian smiled and kissed the top of Emma’s head. “This is heaven, don’t you think?”

“Mmmm,” Emma murmured.

“I’ve been thinking,” Brian said, swiveling slightly so he could see Emma. “I had this idea.”

“Oh?”

“I realize that living in Paris is a bit of a letdown after New York City. And working behind the counter at Sweet Nothings can’t compare to the career you had in New York.”

Emma sat up straighter. Had Priscilla been talking to Brian? Emma went to protest, however feebly, but Brian held up his hand to stop her.

“There’s no need to deny it. I understand. A future in Paris isn’t nearly as bright as your future in New York would have been. That’s why I had this idea.”

Now Emma was more curious than anything. “What idea is that?” She turned, too, so she and Brian were facing each other.

“The way you renovated Arabella’s place has really had people talking.”

No, Emma thought, it was the murder at Sweet Nothings last spring that had them talking, She shuddered as she remembered finding the body of her ex-boyfriend on the floor of the shop. But she didn’t say anything.

“More than one of the shopkeepers I’ve spoken with has said that they would like to spruce their place up, too.”

Emma nodded. “Angel already has. I almost didn’t recognize Angel Cuts when I walked in.”

“Exactly,” Brian said triumphantly. “And there are others as well. Who wants to go to some dusty old store when they can shop at the mall? Shop owners are beginning to recognize that they have to keep up with the times now that they have competition.”

“So what is your idea?” Now Emma was really curious.

“We go into business together. You design the interiors, and I’ll do the work. You know how to make a little money go a long way in terms of decor. You did it for your aunt. And that’s important, because our clients certainly wouldn’t have huge budgets. The jobs won’t be that big, so I can keep on with my renovation business. Eventually we could branch out to other towns. Once word gets around, my guess is we’d be pretty busy.” Brian had been sounding more and more excited, but now he looked down at his hands. “Sorry, I guess I got carried away.” He looked up at Emma. “But what do you think?”

“What about Arabella?” Emma couldn’t desert her aunt now.

“My guess is you’d still have time to help at the shop. I know you do the bookkeeping for Arabella and all the buying, but there’s no need for you to spend your life behind a counter. Arabella has Sylvia, and now I’ve noticed this other woman is helping out.”

“Eloise Montgomery.”

“And there must be other people who would like a part-time job.”

Was Brian doing this just to make sure she stayed in Paris? Emma wondered. No matter, it was a wonderful idea. It would give her something more challenging to do—that ought to please Priscilla. And it would mean she and Brian would be doing something together.

“I think it’s a great idea.”

Brian’s entire body relaxed. “You do? That’s wonderful. I’ve been talking to Willie at the Meat Mart. He’s interested in some small renovations—he wants to add space to carry some gourmet products like fresh cheeses, imported olive oil and things like that.”

Emma was already picturing the inside of the Meat Mart. It was as basic as a butcher shop could get. She could imagine adding some baker’s racks, a few framed posters . . .

Liz’s voice brought her back with a start. “Dinner’s ready.”

The table was already set, and Matt was coming through the French doors with a platter of meat when they got to the kitchen.

“Do you need any help?” Emma felt guilty for sitting while Liz did all the work.

“No, everything’s ready.” She brought two white serving bowls to the table.

Brian slid into his seat and propped his crutches in the corner. Emma took the chair next to him.

Liz looked from Brian to Emma and back again. “You two are up to something. I can tell. What gives?”


Emma helped herself to some creamed spinach. She looked to Brian since it was his idea.

Brian explained the idea he had just laid out to Emma.

“That’s a wonderful idea,” Liz exclaimed when Brian finished. She looked at Emma suddenly. “I’m sorry. I just assumed you thought so, too.”

“I do,” Emma reassured her. “Although I’m a little nervous about what Aunt Arabella’s reaction would be.”

“I don’t think she’d mind a bit.” Liz forked up a bite of spinach. “You’ve already been working part-time, and she’s managed just fine.”

Emma realized that was true, and the thought made her a little sad. Arabella had been completely dependent on her when she first arrived back in Paris. But Brian’s idea was the answer to some of the questions that had been plaguing her recently about whether she would be satisfied spending her life helping Arabella at Sweet Nothings. Now she would have something challenging and interesting to do as well. And she and Brian would be building something together.

Matt put down his knife and fork and picked up his wineglass. “Here’s to your new venture.” He raised his glass to Emma and Brian.

“Now, tell us if you’ve discovered anything new about the Grangers,” Liz said as she touched her napkin to her lips.

Emma swallowed her bite of lamb and recounted what she’d learned that afternoon from Molly and Joy.

“So Mariel is back in the running with no alibi,” Liz said. “And Jackson is out.”

“And Sabina had an argument with Hugh a few days before his birthday. We can’t forget her.”

“So Sabina, Mariel and Joy are still in the running.” Liz ticked them off on her fingers.

“And don’t rule out some angry collector—if the painting Jackson sold to the Jaspers was fake, I’m sure there were others,” Matt said. He leaned back in his chair, and it gave a loud creak. He turned to Liz. “I hope his operation isn’t shut down before you get paid. You’ve already put in a lot of time on this project.”

“I did get half up front,” Liz reassured him.

Matt grunted.

“According to Molly, the police were around again asking questions. I hope that means they’re no longer considering Arabella as a suspect,” Emma said.

Matt laughed. “The very idea is ludicrous.”

“Tell that to Detective Walker.” Emma pushed her empty plate away.

Emma helped Liz clear the table and put out dessert plates and cups and saucers. Liz cut them each a piece of apple pie, adding a dollop of vanilla ice cream to the top.

They chatted amiably as everyone finished their coffee and desserts. The sounds of canned laughter came from the family room, where Ben and Alice had retreated to watch television.

Matt glanced at his watch. “I think it’s time the rug rats got ready for bed. I’ll go get them in their pajamas.”

Liz cleared the rest of the dishes, and Brian hobbled alongside Emma to the door.

“I’m so glad you like my idea,” he said. “I couldn’t take a chance on your becoming bored with life in Paris and possibly going back to New York.” He grinned at Emma, then bent his head and kissed her gently. The move put him off balance, and Emma had to grab him to keep him from falling.

“You know one thing I’m really looking forward to,” Brian asked with a gleam in his eye.

“No, what?”

“Getting this blasted cast off! It’s really cramping my style,” he said as he lowered his lips to Emma’s again.

Emma drifted home as if on a cloud. She barely remembered steering the car, but suddenly there she was in the Sweet Nothings parking lot. She was getting out of the Bug when she noticed a magazine on the backseat. She didn’t remember tossing it there. She pulled it out. It was the issue of Art International she’d taken from the Grangers’ library to cover up the fact she had actually been in there snooping.

She thought she might as well glance through it before returning it just in case Jackson asked her about it. She tucked the magazine under her arm as she walked up the stairs to her apartment.

It felt strange without Bette to greet her. She hoped the puppy was having fun at Arabella’s. Pierre wasn’t always interested in playing but occasionally Bette could persuade him into the canine version of tag or hide-and-seek.

Emma changed into her usual around-the-apartment attire—a pair of yoga pants that had seen better days, and a sweatshirt that had as well. She grabbed a mug from the cupboard, filled it with water and popped it into the microwave.

When the microwave dinged, she grabbed a tea bag from the box on the shelf and dunked it several times before tossing it in the trash. She took her tea over to the sofa, and with a groan, stretched out with her magazine.

She leafed through it marveling at all the different sorts of things that constituted art these days. Some of the works were beautiful and evocative, others . . . looked as if preschool children had splashed paint willy-nilly onto a canvas.

Emma turned the pages, her eyes starting to feel heavy and nearly closing, until she came upon the cover article about artwork that had been stolen by the Nazis from Jewish families during World War II. The accompanying picture had her sitting bolt upright on the sofa nearly knocking her tea over in the process.

The picture was of a Matisse painting, and Emma could have sworn it was the same one that was in the picture of Sabina’s grandparents sitting on the table in the Robertses’ living room. A glimpse of an old-fashioned parlor was visible, and Emma thought she recognized the table from the old black-and-white photograph.

She began to read the article. The Matisse painting in question had belonged to a Mr. and Mrs. Jacob Meyer of Berlin. The Meyers had fled with their family to England leaving everything behind, including their elegant home on Friedrichstrasse and all its contents. They had owned dozens of works of art as well as antiques, silver, china and jewels, all of which had been looted by the Nazis.

Emma continued reading the article. Some of the artwork stolen from the Meyers had surfaced in the years after the war and had been returned to the family. Others, like the Matisse painting, the jewel of their collection, had gone underground never to be seen again. According to the article, there were plenty of unscrupulous collectors who would be more than willing to purchase the piece even though it meant being very careful how it was displayed and to whom it was shown.

Emma closed the magazine. She was quite certain the Matisse pictured in the article and the one in the photograph in Sabina Roberts’s living room were one and the same. She wondered if Sabina had seen the article. It must be very painful to realize all that had been lost by her family because of the war.

Emma tossed the magazine onto the coffee table. She would take it back to the Grangers’ and leave it in the library. Her stint there had certainly proved fascinating. She had a feeling though, that it was coming to an end.