A Fatal Slip by Meg London

hair, leaving her dark blond locks disheveled.
    “I think someone is out there.” Emma peered out the window. “Probably just one of the staff . . .”
    Liz jumped up and joined Emma, and they both looked out the window. A raised terrace extended out from the house and was surrounded by a low stone wall. Various pieces of outdoor furniture, shrouded in dark green canvas covers, were pushed to one side, and empty terra-cotta planters ringed the circular-patterned brickwork. A beech tree with spreading branches deepened the shadows on the right side.
    Movement again caught Emma’s eye. “It’s only Mariel,” she said.
    Mariel was standing in the shadows of the beech, just beyond the circle of light cast from the back windows. She was wearing the same dark barn jacket Emma had seen her in earlier and had a white scarf tied around her throat.
    “Isn’t she cold?” Liz wrapped her arms around herself and shivered.
    There was more movement and what looked like one shadow separated and became two.
    “Who is that?” Liz hissed, pointing.
    “It’s a man,” Emma said.
    “I can see that,” Liz grumped. “Do you know who it is?”
    “No. But they must be very friendly. They were standing terribly close.”
    “Lovers, do you think?”
    Emma shrugged. “I don’t know. Possibly. They obviously don’t want to be seen.”
    “Well, well, well. Maybe everything wasn’t wine and roses between Hugh Granger and his wife after all.” Liz turned to Emma. “We may very well have another suspect on our hands.”

Chapter 9
     
    ARABELLA and Sylvia greeted Emma the next morning when she arrived at Sweet Nothings as if she’d been gone for days. They were both eager for news of her time spent at the Grangers’.
    While Emma put tags on some new items that had come in, she told her aunt and Sylvia about seeing Mariel Granger outside with another man in what could practically be termed a clutch.
    “She is a lot younger than Hugh,” Arabella said thoughtfully as she slipped a new gown over the head of one of the mannequins. “I’m assuming this man was more her age?” She raised an eyebrow at Emma.
    Emma nodded. “Yes. Perhaps even a bit younger although it was hard to tell—it was getting dark, and they were standing in the shadows. He had brown, curly hair and, while he was taller than her, he didn’t strike me as being particularly tall.”
    “Pardon me for playing devil’s advocate,” Sylvia said, “but could he be a relative? Perhaps she has a brother?”
    “I don’t know,” Emma mused. “There was something furtive about their meeting. I can’t describe it, but I got the distinct impression they didn’t want to be seen. Besides”—she turned around to face Sylvia—“if it was completely innocent, why didn’t she invite him inside? Why stand on the terrace in the cold?”
    “But why worry now?” Sylvia asked, fiddling with the fringe on her scarf. “The husband’s six feet under, after all, or about to be.”
    “This isn’t New York,” Arabella said, her lips slightly pursed. “This is a small town. It wouldn’t be seemly for her to be seen with another man so soon. News would get around faster than ice melts on a hot day.”
    “Wish we could get a bead on who the guy is.” Sylvia ignored the rebuke in Arabella’s tone.
    “Hopefully I’ll pick up something eventually,” Emma said. “There’s a woman who works for them—Molly. I think she’s a sort of cook and housekeeper. I’m hoping I can persuade her to talk. Jackson did tell me to help myself to coffee or tea or anything I wanted from the kitchen, so I’ll have an excuse to be in that part of the house.”
    “Just be careful.” Arabella lowered her brows. “Remember what Francis said.”
    “Ditto,” Sylvia said.
    Emma was about to reassure them when the door opened. She spun around and was startled to see who their customer was.
    “Good morning,” Joy Granger said quietly. She was clutching a Sweet Nothings bag in one