Free A Fatal Slip by Meg London Page B

having a better look when she came back.
    They had almost reached the foyer when Emma heard a strange thumping sound coming from behind. She turned around to see Hugh’s daughter, Joy, walking toward them surprisingly quickly despite her crippled leg. She nodded at Emma, but Emma got the impression Joy didn’t remember her from the dinner dance.
    They were all standing in the foyer when the front door swung open, and a woman strode in. Emma recognized her as Hugh Granger’s widow, Mariel. She was wearing leather chaps over a pair of jeans, black riding boots and a quilted barn jacket. She slapped a pair of leather gloves down on the foyer table and plunked her riding hat on top of them.
    “Molly,” she said to the old woman in the apron, “can you please put these things away for me?”
    Joy continued moving forward awkwardly, her hips going up and down like a piston, until she came face-to-face with Mariel. Mariel stared at her coldly for a moment before sweeping past and continuing down the hall.
    Emma was startled. What on earth was that all about? She was now more eager than ever to start her part-time job. She had a feeling there were a lot of secrets to be uncovered. Hopefully one of them would lead to the murderer.

Chapter 7
     
    EMMA checked her cell phone when she got back to her car and discovered a text message from Arabella. Francis had purchased enough lamb chops to feed an army—just like a man—and would Emma like to come to dinner? Brian had already accepted Arabella’s invitation.
    Emma smiled as she put her car in gear and headed down the gravel drive. Brian was now universally accepted as her
plus one
. Emma had a sudden thought that nearly made her slam on the brakes. She hadn’t told her mother that she and Brian were dating—what would she think?
    Emma had another thought as she drove along through the deepening dusk—had Arabella told Priscilla about Francis, and what would Priscilla think about that?
    There was only one way to find out. Emma put on her left blinker and headed toward Arabella’s house.
    • • •
     
    A few minutes later, Emma pulled into Arabella’s driveway. Brian’s red pickup truck was already there, and she parked behind it. She flicked on the interior car lights and dug in her handbag for her compact and lipstick. Her nose powdered, lip color renewed and hair combed, she got out, beeped the doors to the VW closed and headed toward the front door.
    It was open as usual so Emma called out a hello as she stepped into the foyer. She stopped to pet Bette and Pierre, who had both come racing down the hall to see who was at the door. Voices drifted toward Emma from the living room, and as soon as both dogs had finished their energetic greeting of much face-licking and tail-wagging, she headed in that direction.
    Arabella’s front parlor, as it would have been known in the days when the house was built, was a comfortable room with an elegant marble fireplace, a bay window and many souvenirs from her travels, including a stone Buddha on the mantel and several Oriental silkscreens adorning the walls.
    Francis was seated in one of the armchairs, a tumbler of Pritchards, a fine Tennessee whiskey Arabella kept just for him, in his hand. Arabella was perched on the ottoman at his feet, one hand draped over Francis’s knee. Priscilla had a straight-backed chair with wooden arms and needlepoint cushions. She was cradling a small cut crystal glass of sherry. Brian was on the sofa, legs stretched out, the picture of relaxation, a foaming glass of beer on the coffee table in front of him.
    Everyone looked to be getting along, and Emma hoped that was the case. Priscilla could be quite prickly when she didn’t like someone.
    Francis and Brian got to their feet when Emma entered the room. Brian came over and gave Emma a quick kiss. He rested his hands on her shoulders proprietarily. Emma noticed her mother glancing at them, one eyebrow raised.
    “Emma!” Arabella exclaimed.