Laced with Poison by Meg London Page A

in,” they said almost in unison.
    Sylvia gave a throaty chuckle. “What fun. I’m sorry I’d slow you down too much to
     come along.”
    “Same here,” Arabella said wistfully. “Will you go along, Bitsy?”
    “I’d love to. Hayley can mind the shop for me for a few hours. She’s finally mastered
     making change and replacing the tape in the cash register.” Bitsy rolled her eyes.
    “When should we go?” Liz began to gather her things together.
    “I wonder if Deirdre still takes riding lessons out at Skip Clark’s farm?” Arabella
     brushed some crumbs off the countertop.
    “I can find out.” Emma peeked at the cupcakes remaining in Bitsy’s box but then decided
     she really didn’t need another one. “Mabel, the waitress at the Coffee Klatch, has
     a younger sister who works on Skip’s farm. She might know.”
    *   *   *
    EMMA was putting away the lovely camisoles and panties that had arrived from New York
     earlier, and which gave her such a pang of conscience, when she heard the front door
     of Sweet Nothings open. Even before she raised her head, a cloud of very expensive-smelling
     perfume wafted in her direction. Emma looked up to see Marjorie Porter standing in
     the middle of the shop. She was wearing a silk shirtwaist dress and had one of those
     handbags that cost thousands of dollars slung over her arm. As usual, her ash-blond
     French twist was perfect, without a hair out of place. It didn’t matterhow hard the wind blew; it knew better than to mess up Marjorie’s hairdo.
    Emma smiled. “Marjorie. So nice to see you.” She edged out from behind the counter
     and advanced with her hand out.
    Marjorie smiled briefly and barely touched Emma’s hand. “Is Arabella around? I wanted
     to have a word.”
    “Of course.” Emma moved back behind the counter and stuck her head into the stockroom.
    “Aunt Arabella?”
    Arabella emerged with a quizzical look on her face that quickly changed to a practiced
     smile. “Marjorie. How lovely to see you. What can we do for you today?”
    Emma watched, barely suppressing a bubble of amusement. She knew Arabella couldn’t
     stand Marjorie, but you would be hard-pressed to tell by the act she was putting on.
     Curious, Emma edged closer to the pair and kept her ears open.
    “It’s a shame that your lovely trunk show at my daughter-in-law’s was ruined by that
     woman and her untimely death.”
    Emma listened as Arabella made the appropriately soothing noises.
    “I was hoping,” Marjorie said as she smiled coyly, swinging her imported bag from
     the crook of her elbow, “that you might consider putting on another trunk show. I
     know the members of my garden club would love it.”
    Arabella gasped and put both hands against her chest. “Really? We’d be honored, Marjorie.”
    Emma bit her lip and barely managed to stifle a chuckle. Arabella was really laying
     it on.
    “But I’m thinking,” Marjorie continued. “Most of the women in our group are…” She
     dropped her voice. “…middle-aged. Could you possibly do something on the newshape wear? I must confess, we’re all curious about it,” she said conspiratorially,
     patting her own slightly rounded tummy.
    “Of course,” Arabella said briskly. “That’s a wonderful idea. There are so many options
     these days. Not like in our day,” she said in a near whisper.
    Marjorie stiffened. “I’m not so sure your day and mine are exactly the same.”
    Arabella nodded diplomatically as if to say
touché.
She gestured toward Emma. “Emma, Mrs. Porter has had the most brilliant idea.”
    Marjorie gave a tiny smile and preened like a peacock showing off its feathers.
    “We’re going to do a trunk show for her garden club,” Arabella said in a lowered voice,
     as if the paparazzi were hovering on their doorstep.
    Marjorie rolled her eyes heavenward. “I promise you”—she struck her chest with her
     open palm—“that there won’t be another…incident…like the one that