Laced with Poison by Meg London Page B

occurred at my poor,
     dear daughter-in-law’s.” She shook her head, and the very tip of her twist oscillated
     slightly. “I really do think that someone had it in for that poor woman.”
    Now Emma’s ears really perked up. “Really?” she said innocently.
    Marjorie gave a smug smile. “I could name a few. But,” she said with an air of moral
     superiority, “mother always said, if you don’t have anything nice to say about someone,
     then the less said the better.”
    “If you know something,” Arabella said, “you really should share the information with
     the police, don’t you think?”
    “I’m sure the police aren’t interested in gossip,” Marjorie said tartly.
    No, but we are
, Emma thought, trying to telegraph the concept to Marjorie somehow.
    Marjorie’s expression softened slightly. “Of course everyone knows that Jessica treated
     that sniveling wretch Crystal Davis horribly. I can’t imagine why she didn’t sack
     her except that they’re somehow related. But I can’t imagine Crystal getting up the
     gumption to do anything about it.” She paused, her lips pursed. “Then there’s Lotte
     Fanning and that whole affair. She was at the trunk show, too.”
    “What about Lotte Fanning?” Arabella said.
    Marjorie waved a hand. “Oh, nothing. I’m telling tales out of school. Very naughty
     of me.” She glanced at the diamond-encrusted watch on her wrist. “I must be going.
     I’m so glad you’re going to be doing a trunk show for us. Ta-ta.”
    “That woman is infuriating!” Arabella declared as soon as the door shut behind Marjorie.
    “I know. Who is that Fanning woman she mentioned?”
    “I don’t know her well. She’s part of Marjorie’s crowd.”
    Emma rubbed two fingers together.
    “Exactly. Money. Although no one can quite keep up with Marjorie Porter in that department.
     Was that an Hermès bag she was carrying?”
    Emma nodded.
    “I suppose we should add Charlotte Fanning to our suspect list. Now for the fun part.”
    “What’s that?”
    “Finding out why she would have wanted to kill Jessica Scott.” Arabella was quiet
     for a moment. “Blast Marjorie anyway for not telling us!”

LATER that evening, Emma headed over to Arabella’s for dinner. She loved visiting
     her aunt’s old Victorian with its enormous wraparound porch. The house held many happy
     memories for Emma. As she pulled into the driveway, she could already hear Pierre
     beginning to bark. Emma looked through the pane of glass alongside Arabella’s front
     door and watched with a smile as Pierre slid helter-skelter down the hallway in response
     to her ring. Arabella came along behind him, wiping her hands on her apron.
    “Come on in.” Arabella gave Emma a quick hug. “I’ve got some barbecued ribs in the
     oven. And ice-cold beer in the fridge if you’ve got a hankering for some.”
    “No, thanks.” Emma hugged her aunt back. “I’d rather have a glass of wine if you have
     any.”
    “Of course. There’s a sauvignon blanc chilling. I got the beer in case Brian wanted
     any.”
    Emma stopped dead where she was, on the oval foyer rug. “Brian’s coming?”
    “Oh! Didn’t I say?” Arabella was all innocence. “I told him I was making some chess
     pie, and he begged to be invited.”
    Emma rolled her eyes. She knew Brian had probably done no such thing. Well, she wasn’t
     sorry, that’s for sure. She hadn’t talked to him since Saturday, and as shy as she
     was feeling about seeing him after their kiss in the garden at the wedding, she knew
     she would have to face him sooner or later.
    Arabella’s old Victorian house was filled with relics from her carefree traveling
     days—statues of Buddha from the Far East, rugs from India, silks from Thailand—but
     her kitchen was pure Southern comfort. Emma perched on one of the stools that surrounded
     the butcher block–topped island in the center of the room. Steam rose from several
     pots hissing on the stove.
    Arabella