Laced with Poison by Meg London

Author:Meg London [London, Meg]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781101624425
Publisher: Berkley Prime Crime
Published: 2013-07-01T16:00:00+00:00

EMMA was behind the counter of Sweet Nothings the next morning when the door flew open and nearly ricocheted off the hinges.

“Emma, you’ve got to come help!” Arabella was red-faced and panting.

“What’s happened?” Emma dropped the nightgown she was folding.

“It’s Pierre. He pulled the leash right out of my hand and bolted.” Arabella’s voice quivered as if she were going to cry.

Emma knew how much Pierre meant to Arabella. She made him special meals and even allowed him to sleep on the bed with her, although he had a second duplicate toile dog bed at home right next to Arabella’s antique four-poster.

“You sit down, and I’ll see what I can do.”

Arabella collapsed onto the love seat and Emma dashed out the door. The street was quiet and empty. None of the shops were open yet. Emma looked right and left, but there was no sign of Pierre.

She heard a loud voice coming from across the street. Someone inside the Gallery was shouting. The shouts were followed quickly by several sharp barks that Emma thought sounded an awful lot like Pierre.

Arabella came out of Sweet Nothings to join Emma on the sidewalk.

“That sounded like Pierre, didn’t it?” she asked hopefully. “He must have gone after that dreadful Bertha again.”

“Yes, it sounded like it was coming from the Gallery.” Emma pointed across the street.

She took Arabella’s arm, and together they crossed the street. The door to the Gallery wasn’t locked, so they pushed it open and Emma peeked in. The bark had been Pierre’s alright.

Emma pushed the door open farther and she and Arabella walked in. Zimmerman had Pierre by the scruff of the neck and was berating him loudly. Pierre was ignoring him in favor of sniffing Bertha, Zimmerman’s dachshund. Bertha was obviously relishing Pierre’s affections, and no one was paying any attention at all to Zimmerman’s blustering.

He looked up when he heard Emma and Arabella enter.

“This dog of yours is a nuisance.” He gave Pierre an extra shake.

Arabella raised her chin and drew herself up. “Well!”

“Well, indeed. This cur here”—Zimmerman gave Pierre another shake—“barged in and began, ahem,” he cleared his throat, “bothering my poor Bertha. And not for the first time, either!”

“That cur, I’ll have you know, is a purebred French bulldog. His father took Best in Show at Westminster.”

Zimmerman looked anything but impressed. “It makes no never mind to me. I won’t have him messing with my Bertha.”

“He was hardly messing with her.” Arabella took Pierre’s leash from Zimmerman and wound it tightly around her hand. “Bertha would be a most unsuitable match for my Pierre Louis Auguste, I assure you.”

And with that she turned on her heel and dragged Pierre out of the Gallery. Emma had no choice but to follow behind.

* * *

EMMA made herself a cup of green tea and poured Arabella her favorite coffee brew—a Sumatran blend that she sent away to New York for. Pierre had slunk off to his dog bed, trying to look as if he’d been there all along and none of this had actually happened.

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