The Hanged Man's Noose Page 7

  Then again, Rebecca wasn’t Arabella’s close friend. Emily wondered if there was more behind Betsy’s decision not to deliver the food on Sunday beyond a late night at the bar. She realized that as much as she had taken a liking to the antiques shop owner, she knew virtually nothing about her personal life, let alone her finances.

  The trouble started when Poppy Spencer entered the shop carrying a large flower bouquet prepared with fresh fruit and chocolate. Watermelon slices were cut to form a number of poppies, and dark chocolate wafers had been used for the centers.

  “Poppy Spencer, real estate agent,” Arabella said to Emily. “Poppy, this is Emily Garland, the new editor of Inside the Landing.”

  “We met at the Sunrise Café,” Emily said.

  “How could I forget? Positively dreadful, what happened to Carter, though I understand from Johnny it’s been ruled as an accident.”

  “That’s my understanding, too, although no one from the police has called me.”

  “Nor me, Emily, although they still might. But today, I prefer not to think about horrid things. Today is all about the Glass Dolphin.” Poppy strutted about the shop, casually picking up the odd bit of china and glass. “The space is perfect, Arabella, as I told you it would be.”

  “You were right,” Arabella said, turning to Emily. “Poppy found this place and she negotiated a three-year lease at a price I could afford.”

  “Don’t forget the option to buy.”

  “As if you’d let me.” Arabella’s voice held a hint of irritation. “We all know how persuasive you can be, Poppy. Heck, if giant billboards are any indication of the truth, you were also the agent of record on the Main Street Elementary School. The one Garrett Stonehaven is apparently going to convert into some megabox monstrosity.”

  Poppy’s eyes narrowed into ice gray slits. “Grow up, Arabella. My job was to sell the schoolhouse property, not to turn away qualified buyers because they may or may not fit in with your—or my—personal vision for Lount’s Landing. Plus, the Main Street Elementary School has been on the Board’s deaccessioned list for years. It hasn’t been used in the past two. Surely you realized it wouldn’t sit vacant forever?”

  “Of course I didn’t think it would sit vacant forever, Poppy. I’m not an imbecile. I just hoped there might be a more compatible use for the property. Like converting the building to a condo.”

  “And that’s my responsibility as an agent, how?”

  “I’m saying that every sale shouldn’t be all about the commission.”

  “You’re still not getting it, Arabella. I’m not the only real estate agent in Cedar County. If I hadn’t sold Garrett Stonehaven the property, someone else would have. He’s been sniffing around Lount’s Landing for the past two years.”

  “And you, no doubt, have been trailing after his scent like a dog after a bone.”

  “You’ll soon learn, Arabella, that business is business. If you don’t, you won’t have one. Enjoy the fruit arrangement.” Poppy Spencer flounced out of the store, the red soles of her Louboutins flashing like stop signs.

  “Sorry you had to witness that,” Arabella said. “When I moved to Lount’s Landing with Levon, Poppy took me under her wing. But that was a few years back. She started changing about three years ago. It was as if she was slowly trading compassion for commerce.”

  “Yet you hired her to find the space for your antiques shop.”

  “I guess I hoped she was still the person I first met. And she is a great negotiator.” Arabella blushed. “I suppose I’m a bit of a hypocrite, expecting Poppy to get the best deal for me, and not for the School Board.”

  “You’re human. I would have done the same thing.” Emily paused. “Look, as much as it pains me to admit it, Poppy is right. Business is business. Her job was to sell the school property. That’s exactly what she did.”

  “I expect you’re right.” Arabella attempted a weak smile. “C’mon, let’s try some of those watermelon and chocolate poppies before the crowds come flocking in. I always feel better after eating chocolate.”

  Crowds might have been an overstatement, but traffic remained steady, and Arabella remained the consummate host, although from the way she played with her bangles and straightened out items that didn’t need straightening, Emily suspected Arabella was more nervous than she let on. It wasn’t until two men arrived that she visibly relaxed.

  “Levon and Shuggie,” she said, her face beaming. “I knew they’d come.”

  For the first time, Emily could understand how difficult it might be to completely let go of someone like Levon. There was something disarming about him, from the slightly shaggy brown hair to eyes so blue they could have been fabricated from the head-to-toe denim he was wearing. Not to mention his smile, a lopsided half-smile that gave the impression the full-on deal was in reserve. For a special occasion. Johnny Porter might be drop-dead movie star gorgeous, but Levon Larroquette was charisma personified and dipped in chocolate.

  “Levon, Shuggie, this is Emily Garland, editor, Inside the Landing,” Arabella said. “She’s here to cover the grand opening.”

  “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Emily Garland, editor,” Levon said, with a slight bow. “Levon Larroquette, picker.” He turned to the young man standing next to him, a tall, skinny twenty-something with a gap-toothed smile and dreadlocks spilling out from under a green and red knitted tam. “Shuggie St. Pierre, apprentice picker.”

  “It’s nice to meet you both,” Emily said. “I see you brought a camera. Am I to have some competition?”

  Levon laughed. “Not bloody likely. No, we’re here because we have a potential client who might be interested in a couple of the railway posters. I’ll take the pictures, and Shuggie will do the measurements.”

  Emily figured the “picker picks poster” angle might add something to the feature. She was about to broach the idea when the front door chimed, announcing another visitor. Emily looked up and barely suppressed a gasp. Because standing there, all six feet of smug superiority, was Garrett Stonehaven.

  If Stonehaven was surprised to see Emily, he didn’t show it. Instead he favored her with a curt nod and immediately approached Levon.

  “It’s been a long time, Larry.” Emily noticed he made no effort to shake hands.

  “I’ve been more than okay with the separation, Garry.”

  Stonehaven chuckled softly. “Touché on both counts, Levon. Good to see the years haven’t dulled your sense of clever repartee, especially since you’re still doing that picking thing to earn a living. Not that there’s anything wrong with it, although some of us have managed to move on to bigger and better things.” He made an elaborate display of looking at his wristwatch. “Where might I find the owner of this charming establishment? I’d like to personally invite her to my presentation on Tuesday evening.”

  Emily didn’t know much about wristwatches, but she could recognize a Rolex when she saw one. It was also clear Levon wasn’t impressed, with the watch or with Stonehaven. He made his way over to Arabella, who was showing a young couple a colorful display of Depression glass. He put a hand on her shoulder and whispered something in her ear. She nodded and made her way over. Emily made a pretense of studying some crystal goblets and prepared to eavesdrop.

  “Arabella Carpenter. I understand from Levon that you wanted to meet me?”

  “Garrett Stonehaven. Betsy has been telling me all about your wonderful shop.”

  “Betsy’s a good friend.”

  “And Johnny Porter has told me all about your commitment to revitalizing Lount’s Landing, specifically historic Main Street.” Stonehaven handed Arabella an invitation. “I wanted to personally deliver this to you.”

  “I have one already, thank you.”

  “So you’ll be at the presentation?”

  “I wouldn’t dream of missing it.” Spoken softly, smiling politely, but with an edge to her voice.

  “Do I detect a hint of animosity, Ms. Carpenter?”

  “Let’s say I
don’t believe your vision for the school will align with mine.”

  “You should hear all the details before you judge me too harshly, Ms. Carpenter.” Stonehaven walked over to the window and pulled out one of the cobalt blue glass dolphin candlesticks. “How much for these?”

  “The candlesticks are in the window of the Glass Dolphin for decoration, Mr. Stonehaven. They are not for sale.”

  Emily suppressed a grin as Arabella took the candlestick from Stonehaven’s hand. Her moment of merriment didn’t last long.

  “Nonsense, Ms. Carpenter. Everything is for sale at the right price. Everything and everybody. Even you.”

  “I think you’ll find, Mr. Stonehaven, that small-town values cannot be bartered away quite so easily. You’d be wise to remember that.”

  “Is that some sort of veiled threat? Because I assure you, I don’t take kindly to threats, veiled or otherwise.”

  “It would appear we have at least that much in common. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a grand opening to attend to and customers who require my attention. Unless there is something else in the shop you’d be interested in buying.”

  “Not today, Ms. Carpenter. But I’ll be back for those candlesticks.” He flashed an ultra-white smile. “I always get what I want.”

  14

  Arabella began to tremble the minute Stonehaven left. From the moment Betsy had mentioned StoreHaven, she’d tried to convince herself his plans might not be as horrific as she feared. Hoped he might be willing to listen to other options. After all, Johnny Porter had sent a handwritten invitation to the presentation and she trusted Johnny.

  But the man she’d just met would stop at nothing to get his way. There was something dark and dangerous about him, something sinister under the layer of handsome civility. The way he smiled, revealing teeth bleached so white they looked false. Arabella had been reminded of an old joke from her high school days. Your teeth are like stars; they come out every night. She suspected Stonehaven’s blistering white smile wasn’t the only thing false about him.

  She took a deep, cleansing breath, the kind Chantal had encouraged at yoga class on the two occasions she’d summoned up the patience to try it, had almost managed to get a grip when Camilla Mortimer-Gilroy strutted in. As usual, everything about Camilla rubbed Arabella the wrong way, and it wasn’t because she could eat like a starving sailor and maintain the figure of a runway model. Nor was it the perfectly highlighted blonde hair with wisps and tendrils framing a deceptively innocent, heart-shaped face, or the marine blue eyes men could drown in. Although Levon drowning in them had been rather the last straw.

  What really bugged her was the way Camilla carried herself, as if she’d been born with a silver spoon in her mouth and a nanny in her nursery. She couldn’t prove it, but Arabella suspected Camilla’s background was far more humble. For all her posh and polish, she never spoke about her life before Lount’s Landing. Another thing her and Levon had in common.

  Camilla had made out like a bandit when she’d latched her French-manicured fingernails into Graham Gilroy. Or at least she thought she had. Arabella had heard rumors that Graham was close to bankruptcy when he died.

  Most of all, it was that holier-than-though attitude of hers, as if everyone else in Lount’s Landing was a Class-A hick. Recently, Arabella had heard Camilla was searching for small antiques and collectibles to decorate the walls and halls of the Gilroy Mansion. It had sounded like good news for the Glass Dolphin, until Arabella found out Camilla had hired some chichi designer in Toronto to carry out the acquisitions.

  “Arabella,” Camilla said, her tone implying she’d been standing there for hours.

  “Camilla, so kind of you to come slumming to the poor side of town.”

  “You are a droll one, Arabella. I’m here on the advice of my interior designer, Shakyra. You know, the Shakyra. I’m sure you’ve seen her fabulous decorating show on HGTV, Shopping with Shakyra? Shakyra says it never hurts to poke around a shop. Shakyra says even places like the Sally Anne and Goodwill occasionally have things of interest.” Camilla preened. “I’ve been working exclusively with Shakyra’s firm in Toronto to accessorize the Mansion.”

  Camilla was comparing the Glass Dolphin to charity thrift stores like the Salvation Army and Goodwill? Arabella eyed a platter of appetizers and contemplated throwing the lot at her.

  “Shakyra, you say? Can’t say I’m familiar with the name, but then I don’t watch reality television, always seems so staged. Not that I’m accusing this Shakyra of anything. I’m sure she’s simply marvelous at accessorizing. And for your purposes at the Gilroy Mansion, I’m sure that’s quite enough. It’s not as if the guests of a small town B and B are expecting the proprietor to be knowledgeable about antiques.”

  Arabella knew it was petty of her, but she was delighted to see the self-satisfied smirk all but wiped off Camilla’s face. Time to insert the dagger and twist it. “But certainly, Camilla, do feel free to poke around, as you so eloquently put it. Everything in the shop is available.”

  She smiled sweetly and pointed to her ex-husband.

  “Even Levon.”

  15

  Emily flipped the sign in the window from “Open” to “Closed” while Arabella opened the top drawer of an oak filing cabinet and pulled out a bottle of Courvoisier cognac along with two Waterford crystal brandy snifters.

  “I must make a note to buy a small wine refrigerator,” Arabella said, sinking into a velvet-covered chaise lounge. “In the meantime, your choice is cognac or cognac. Courvoisier. A shop-warming gift from Betsy. Can I pour you a drink?” She motioned for Emily to pull up a high-backed chair labeled as “wingback chair with walnut cabriole legs, circa 1885, possibly New England, sateen fabric, recently reupholstered.”

  “I’d love a shot of cognac.” Emily was grateful for the invitation to sit. Her feet were as tired as the time she’d run the Toronto Marathon—and that was twenty-six point two miles. “I have to admit I had my doubts you’d get everything done when I first met you, Arabella, but you pulled it off, and in fine style, may I add.”

  “Thanks, though it felt a bit like an open house where all the nosey neighbors come to look and not to buy.” Arabella poured a generous shot and handed it to Emily.

  Emily smiled at the oddly appropriate analogy. She swilled the cognac in the snifter, warming it with her hands. “You did sell a few things, though, didn’t you? I saw you wrap some Depression glass, and there’s a space where you had one of your ocean liner posters. And there was a lot of interest in the pair of stacking oak bookcases you have over there. Plus, I’m sure I see a sold sign on the New Brunswick butternut desk.” She had kind of liked the desk, herself, not that she needed another desk.

  “Don’t get me wrong, I’m delighted with the turnout, and the sales. I’ve got promises of return visits, and I made two appointments for appraisals next week. One is a nineteenth century tintype of a poodle. I’m really looking forward to that one. I love vintage photography. The other is an old clock the owner hopes to consign. All things considered, the weekend was as good as or better than expected.”

  “All things considered?”

  “I could have done without the visit by Garrett Stonehaven, and I didn’t appreciate the way he bullied me over the candlesticks.” Arabella studied Emily with open curiosity. “Something tells me you could have done without his visit as well.”

  “It’s a long story for another day,” Emily said, taking a sip of cognac. She felt the warmth of it ease her tired muscles. “Speaking of unwanted guests, I got the impression Camilla Mortimer-Gilroy was even less welcome than Garrett Stonehaven.” And it went far deeper than accessorizing with Shakyra.

  Arabella’s lips thinned to a straight line. “You’ve got that right.”

  “Anything you want to share?”

  “No, can’t say I do.”

  “Fair enough,” Emily said, not wanting to ruin the moment of celebration. “Now, Levon, he seems like a nice guy. Very supportive of you
.”

  “That he is.”

  “You seem to be good friends.”

  “He’s my best friend.”

  “And yet he’s your ex?” Emily saw Arabella tense. “Look, I don’t mean to pry, it’s the nature of being a journalist. We’re an eternally curious bunch. Tell me to sod off and I’ll stop the inquisition.”

  Arabella gave a weary smile. “It’s okay. You’re bound to find out sooner or later, you might as well hear the true story from me.” She finished her cognac and poured herself another generous shot.

  “Levon spent what we both euphemistically refer to as ‘some time’ at the Gilroy Mansion. He claimed it was perfectly innocent. The two of us had hit a rough patch and he needed some space. But Camilla was quick to tell me ‘it’ didn’t mean a thing to either of them, emphasis on the ‘it.’ She claimed that she didn’t want me to get blindsided with small-town gossip and nasty rumors.”

  “How charitable of her.”

  “Yeah, Camilla practically won the good neighbor of the year award.”

  Emily laughed, then turned serious. “But you’re friends with Levon again. How on earth did that happen?”

  “It took a while,” Arabella admitted. “Levon has always maintained that nothing happened. In the end, I found it almost didn’t matter, almost being the operative word. We’d had issues. Nothing major. Working together, living together, it all got to be a bit too much ‘togetherness.’ We started thinking our marriage was a mistake. I’m not sure who decided it was finally over.”

  Emily wasn’t so sure it was over, but she knew better than to offer an opinion. “And so?”

  “We were friends for a long time before we became lovers. We had a history. And I suppose we both missed the friendship too much to let it go. Plus, we make good business associates. It might not be perfect, but for now, at least, it’s working.” Arabella conjured up a sad smile. “Enough about me. What about you? Any significant other back in Toronto?”