by Cochran, Peg
“High-maintenance?” Gigi suggested.
Mertz snapped his fingers. “Yes, that’s it. You’re not high-maintenance.” He stared at his hash brown potatoes. “I dated this girl once. Everything had to be a certain way. We had to go to the most highly rated restaurant, have the best seats at the theater, order the most expensive wine. Nothing was ever enough.”
Gigi made a noise to indicate she was listening.
“And I love that you make dinner for me. It’s so nice spending time at your place. It feels like home.”
Good heavens! Gigi thought. Was Mertz about to propose? She hoped not. She wasn’t ready. It was too soon. She looked around wildly for the waitress, hoping she would stop by and refill their coffees or bring fresh water or something to derail Mertz from the track he was on.
But he just forked up another mouthful of his omelet and continued eating.
Gigi was relieved. But just a teensy, tiny bit disappointed, too.
• • •
Gigi tossed and turned all night thinking about both Bradley’s murder and what Mertz had said at the restaurant. Mertz had promised to look into the origins of the sequin. She had no idea if he was going to approach Tiffany Morse or not, but she had to trust that he knew how to do his job.
She turned on her left side and pulled the covers higher. Reg, who was curled up by her knees, gave a grunt of disapproval at being disturbed. Mertz’s declaration had come as a surprise to Gigi. She knew he cared for her, but it was unlike him to verbalize it. She loved being with him, but did she love him? With Ted it had been infatuation at first sight. He had charmed her from the get-go and had slowly taken control of her life until she had become convinced she was head-over-heels in love with him.
Her mother had been wary, even taking Gigi aside on her wedding day and assuring her she didn’t have to go through with it if she didn’t want to. Gigi had laughed. Of course she was in love with Ted! She couldn’t imagine it any other way. They’d purchased a small, spare but elegant co-op in a fashionable neighborhood on the Upper East Side. Ted was a huge fan of mid-century modern, and Gigi went along with his decorating scheme even though the cottage she was now living in was far more to her taste than the place she’d shared with Ted had ever been. In the time since their divorce had become final, she’d realized she’d sublimated a lot of her own wishes and desires to Ted’s.
Mertz, on the other hand, didn’t appear to want to change Gigi in any way—her clothes, her hair, her style of decorating—it all seemed fine to him. But was she ready to commit to another serious relationship? Gigi heaved herself onto her other side, causing Reg to give another grunt of disapproval as the movement of the bed unsettled him from his peaceful slumber. How she longed to have a conversation with her mother!
Gigi’s mother had devoted her life to raising Gigi and her sister after their father died fighting a terrible fire on Boston’s north side. But with the girls grown and on their own, she had reclaimed her life and fallen in love with an executive who had swapped the corporate grind for life aboard a sailboat. They’d taken off on a yearlong cruise and, as far as Gigi knew, should be rounding the Cape of Good Hope within the next few weeks. Communication was scarce, short and filled with static.
She would have to talk to Sienna instead.
As soon as she got up, Gigi peeked into Pia’s room. The bed was empty, the quilt bundled on the floor in the same position it had been the last time Gigi had looked. Gigi supposed Pia was staying at her studio. Gigi would have to give her time to calm down. Pia’s meltdowns could last for days, but they always came to an end. Still, Gigi was slightly worried, and thoughts of Pia weren’t far from her mind.
She packed up her Gourmet De-Lite breakfasts, made her deliveries, and then turned her MINI toward the carriage house Sienna and her husband Oliver had renovated. It had been part of a larger estate, and the original house was still there, a quarter of a mile down the road—an enormous Southern Colonial–style mansion. Sienna’s front door was painted a cheerful red and had a heart-shaped wreath made of twigs hanging from it.
Gigi knocked softly on the door. She didn’t want to wake Camille if she had gone down for her nap.
Sienna opened the door with the baby on her hip. She looked concerned when she saw Gigi standing on her doorstep.
“Is everything okay?”
“Yes. Of course.” All of a sudden, Gigi wasn’t sure she wanted to talk about Mertz and their conversation yesterday. She’d probably read way too much into it anyway.
Sienna didn’t think so.
“It sounds like he’s serious,” she said as she kneaded bread dough. Camille was sleeping peacefully in a bassinet that Sienna had rolled into the kitchen. “Like he’s ready to propose.” The dough snapped and crackled beneath her hands as she pushed it away from her and then pulled it back again.
Gigi grunted. “You think so?”
Sienna nodded, her breathing slightly labored from her exertions. “What will you say? Are you ready to settle down again?”
“I’m not sure.”
“I imagine after Ted, it’s hard to believe in love again, but if I were you, I’d make sure Mertz didn’t get away. He’s a keeper.”
She wasn’t very good at keeping men, Gigi thought—look at Ted.
“Did I tell you about Stacy?” Sienna formed the dough into a ball, rubbed oil on it and placed it in a bowl.
“No.”
“I saw her at the mall yesterday. And she was peering into the window of A Bun in the Oven.”
“Really?”
“Unless it’s just wishful thinking, it looks like Alice may be right, and she is pregnant.”
“Have you told Alice?”
“No. I don’t want to spoil the surprise if that’s what Stacy is planning.”
Gigi felt better after leaving Sienna’s. She wouldn’t worry about things or rush them or allow herself to feel rushed by them. If a relationship with Mertz was meant to be, it would unfold in its own time and at its own pace.
Gigi was headed down High Street when she noticed a group of people gathered on the sidewalk, which was quite unusual for Woodstone. Occasionally a gaggle of teenaged boys or girls might go strolling through downtown, but the sidewalks were rarely crowded. She slowed as she approached the group. They were gathered outside the police station and several of the people were carrying placards. They began to chant, but Gigi couldn’t distinguish the words. She pulled into the parking lot between Gibson’s and Declan’s, parked the MINI, and walked back toward where the crowd was standing.
As she got closer, the voices became clearer, and one of the group, a tall fellow with a navy blue knit hat pulled down low over his forehead turned toward her, and she was able to make out the words on his sign. It read Keep Woodstone Safe. A youngish woman turned toward Gigi as well. She had one hand on a stroller and the other holding a sign that read Catch the Woodstone Thief.
What on earth? Gigi hurried toward the group. An older woman in a red-and-green-plaid car coat was standing on the fringes. Gigi approached her.
“Do you know what’s going on?’
The woman whirled around. She had vivid blue eyes set in a nest of puckered skin. “It’s about the thefts.” She gestured toward one of the posters.
“Thefts?”
She nodded and fixed Gigi with a stern gaze. “The lawn ornaments. Don’t know why the paper hasn’t been onto it yet. But someone is going around taking people’s lawn ornaments. They got my Bambi, and my neighbor Sybil’s birdbath. The police aren’t doing a thing about it. We want this person caught.”
Gigi groaned inwardly. Poor Mertz! He was doing his best to catch the sneak thief—even giving up lunch on more than one occasion—but so far he had been unsuccessful.
A woman on the edge of the crowd sidled toward Gigi. Gigi recognized her as Janice Novak, the woman she’d seen in the Book Nook who Sienna said used to work for Simpson and West. Gigi was startled when she pulled an iPhone from her pocket. Where on earth ha
d she gotten the money for that? She was dressed in her usual thrift shop–type getup—a pilled and frayed red wool jacket, baggy pants with worn spots at the knees and a pair of loafers with duct tape holding the right one together. And yet she was carrying around a telephone worth hundreds of dollars. Had she dug that out of a Dumpster, too? If so, it had probably been thrown away by accident and someone was searching for it at this very moment.
Just then the chanting grew louder, and a rough-looking man in a pair of Carhartt overalls and jacket jumped up onto the steps leading to the police station. He raised his fist in the air, and slowly the crowd quieted.
“And when are the police going to find the murderer who is roaming our streets?” He pointed in the direction of the parking lot where Gigi had left her car. “A man was killed in cold blood, and what are the police doing about it? Nothing! The streets of Woodstone are no longer safe for women and children.”
“Hear, hear,” a number of the people assembled on the sidewalk shouted.
Soon the chant was taken up by the entire crowd. “Catch the killer, catch the killer,” they cried in unison.
Gigi felt her stomach plummet. She wondered if Mertz could hear them from his office. She knew he was doing his best to solve the case, but that clearly didn’t mean much to this mob.
Janice Novak had moved closer, Gigi noticed, and she was fiddling with that expensive phone again. It seemed apparent that she had no idea how to use it. Gigi hesitated, then decided to approach her.
“Nice phone. Where did you get it?” Gigi tried to keep her tone light and non-accusatory.
Janice clutched the phone to her chest. “I found it. Someone tossed it in the Dumpster behind Gibson’s Hardware. No harm in that is there?” Her hair hung in greasy strands on either side of her thin face.
“No, of course not.” Gigi inched closer to Janice and tried to peer over her shoulder.
Janice pushed some random buttons on the phone, and the screen saver came to life. It was a picture of a house—one that looked very much like Bradley Simpson’s The Laurels.
“That’s a nice picture,” Gigi said, trying to keep her tone bland although her heart was hammering with excitement. If the phone was, indeed, Bradley’s, maybe it would hold some sort of clue to Bradley’s death. A text, a message or a call?
Janice clutched it to her more tightly and backed away. “You can’t take it. It’s mine. I found it fair and square.”
Gigi inched closer, but Janice just took another step backward. Gigi stepped forward, and this time Janice turned her back on Gigi.
“Can I just see it?”
Janice began to walk away, her steps brisk and businesslike. She glanced over her shoulder at Gigi. Gigi hesitated, then began to follow her. She had to get a look at that phone.
Janice increased her pace, and Gigi increased hers. They covered the block between the Woodstone Police Station and the parking lot next to Gibson’s in no time. Janice was amazingly spry, and it wasn’t long before Gigi was panting. She vowed to start jogging, or at least taking longer walks with Reg, immediately. Janice darted glances over her shoulder, the phone still clutched tightly to her chest.
“Please. I don’t want to take your phone. I just want to look at it.” Gigi pleaded. Janice had broken into a slow jog, and Gigi followed suit. Passersby on the sidewalk gave them a strange look, and some even stopped in their tracks to watch as Janice, with Gigi in hot pursuit, rounded the corner.
Despite the frigid temperatures, Gigi broke into a sweat. She undid the buttons on her coat as she continued to pursue Janice. Gigi was closing the gap when she tripped on an uneven patch of sidewalk and went down on one knee. She put her hand down to save herself and winced as the rough concrete scratched her palm. But even worse, by the time she had struggled to her feet, Janice was gone. She’d disappeared.
Gigi paused to catch her breath and look around. The woman couldn’t have gotten far.
They were on the backside of Woodstone’s business district now. The rear doors of Abigail’s and Folio faced Gigi. Had Janice ducked into one of those shops? Gigi opened the door to Abigail’s and peered inside. The narrow corridor that led to the store proper was empty and stacked with empty boxes waiting to be recycled. She peeked into the shop, but there was no sign of Janice.
Gigi closed the door and opened the one that led to Folio. A young girl and her mother were looking through the wedding invitation books while the clerk hovered solicitously, but again, there was no sign of Janice. Gigi backed out of the shop and stood on the pavement scratching her head. Where had the woman gotten to?
A movement and a flash of red near the Dumpster behind the Woodstone Diner caught Gigi’s eye. She headed in that direction, trying to look and act as if she had given up the pursuit. She actually strolled past the rear of the diner before abruptly turning on her heel and doubling back. She had nearly reached the Dumpster when Janice darted out the other side and took off running, the sole of her mended loafer making a slapping sound with each step.
Gigi followed, vowing again as she ran to find the time to work out more. Walks with Reg, who stopped every five seconds to take in the smells, had done little for her cardiovascular conditioning. Her breath tore at her throat and her heart hammered a steady rat-a-tat-tat with barely any time between beats.
“Is something wrong, miss?”
“What?” Gigi stopped short, startled by the sudden voice. She turned around to see a uniformed Woodstone patrolman approaching her. He was breathing heavily.
“Is something wrong?” He panted slightly.
“Oh, no.” Gigi gave him what she hoped was her most reassuring smile.
“I saw you running like all the furies of hell were on your tail, and I wondered if something was wrong.”
Gigi felt her face turn crimson. “No. I’m fine. Perfectly fine.” She stuck her leg behind her and eased into a runner’s stretch. “Just getting a little exercise is all.”
The patrolman looked at her doubtfully, but tipped his hat. “If you’re sure?” He turned around hesitantly.
“Oh, absolutely.” Gigi gave him another big smile and sighed with relief as he walked away.
Janice was now nowhere in sight. Gigi stamped her foot in frustration. She started to walk back the way she had come, toward the parking lot by Declan’s and her car. She unbuttoned her coat to the chill February air. She knew her face was red from her Olympic sprint through Woodstone.
She was just passing Gibson’s when someone grabbed her arm. Gigi whirled around and found herself face-to-face with Janice Novak.
She held the iPhone up to Gigi. “Do you think someone might have thrown it away by accident, and maybe there’s a reward?”
“Yes,” Gigi said emphatically, wishing she had thought of that herself. “Definitely there might be a reward.” Hopefully Janice wouldn’t zero in on the ambiguity of that statement.
“Like money?” Janice licked her lips.
“Yes,” Gigi nodded. Janice ought to see the wisdom in trading a phone she didn’t know how to use for some cash.
“You really think so?” Janice picked at the frayed edge of sweater that stuck out beneath the too-short sleeve of her coat.
“I’m sure.”
“How do I get it?”
“We need to contact the owner of the phone.” Gigi held out her hand.
“How do we know who that is?” Janice ignored Gigi’s outstretched palm.
“The person’s name is probably in the phone’s memory somewhere.”
Janice hesitated and then reluctantly handed over the cell.
Gigi glanced at it quickly. The battery was low, and it was going to run out at any minute. She thumbed through the texts. The last one was sent late the night Bradley Simpson was murdered. It read: Tiffany, good news, they’ve changed their minds. Come back to Declan’s, and meet me in the parking lot.
Chapter 14
Gigi ended up giving Janice fifty dollars she could ill afford in order to get her to part w
ith the iPhone. She was about to explain that it could be important evidence in a murder case when she stopped short. What if Janice was the one responsible for Bradley’s death? She had every reason to hate him according to the stories Gigi had heard. Gigi had had to promise Janice she would contact the owner of the phone about a reward for its safe return. Gigi didn’t tell her the owner was dead. Janice had pulled her frayed sleeves down over her hands, a doubtful look on her face. But she had skulked off, leaving Gigi in possession of the cell.
Gigi tucked the phone into her purse and walked back toward her car. The crowd was still gathered in front of the police station. She hesitated, thinking she ought to take the phone straight to Mertz, but she didn’t want to brave the group that was continuing to chant outside. Besides, she wasn’t sure if Mertz would be working. Policemen didn’t keep to a regular schedule, and his seemed to change weekly depending on the caseload.
Gigi hoped that she would see Pia’s van in the driveway when she got home, but it wasn’t there. Reg greeted her with his usual enthusiasm, and she quickly clipped on his leash and took him for a stroll around the block. She was itching to check out Bradley’s phone further, but she knew Reg had been waiting long enough.
The kitchen was as clean as Gigi had left it, so obviously Pia had not been by in Gigi’s absence. Gigi’s worry notched up a level. Had Pia decided to head to California? Her things were still in Gigi’s guest room, but her possessions were so meager, perhaps she had decided to leave them behind rather than confront Gigi again?
Gigi sighed, fixed herself a cup of Earl Grey tea and sat down at the kitchen island. She pulled Bradley’s iPhone from her purse and put it beside her. Based on evidence from the cell, Bradley had texted Tiffany asking her to meet him at Declan’s. He had alluded to good news, but perhaps that had been a pretext? Had he been hoping to convince her to make up and keep the affair going? Had Tiffany fallen for the lie and then been disappointed? So disappointed that she had stabbed Bradley to death?
