by Cochran, Peg
Hopefully Mertz would be able to sort it all out.
• • •
Bradley’s cell phone squatted on Gigi’s kitchen counter all day like an unwelcome toad. She glanced at it as she chopped, minced and sautéed her way through her next Gourmet De-Lite meal. Finally, she could no longer stand it and she picked up the telephone and dialed the Woodstone Police Station.
She wondered if the receptionist recognized her voice, but it didn’t matter. Mertz wasn’t in. In fact, he wouldn’t be in all weekend. He had been assigned to some training course in Hartford.
Gigi sighed. She would have to wait till Monday morning to see him. She planned to be at the station bright and early.
Pia still hadn’t returned by the time Gigi was ready for bed. Gigi had peeled back the curtains and looked out the kitchen window at least a dozen times hoping to see Pia’s wreck of a van pulling into the driveway. Her sister was probably fine. It was completely in character for her to disappear for days without saying a word. Nonetheless, Gigi couldn’t help worrying, and she went to bed with a heavy heart.
Gigi’s legs felt stiff as she crawled under the covers. Her sprint through downtown Woodstone had taken its toll. She thought about doing a few stretches, but it was so warm and cozy under the comforter that she couldn’t be bothered. She just hoped no one she knew had seen her desperate dash after Janice and the cell phone. What on earth would they think of her! The pedestrians on the sidewalk had gone by in a blur. She had an inkling that there had been at least one slightly familiar face among them, but she couldn’t put her finger on who it was. Probably no one.
She punched her pillow and turned onto her other side. Reg grunted and moved down toward Gigi’s feet. It wasn’t long before they were both asleep.
Gigi woke with a pounding heart two hours later. Had she heard a noise? She glanced at Reg, who was still curled up at the foot of the bed, one ear twitching in the stream of his breath. Gigi collapsed against the pillows. If Reg wasn’t responding, the sound must have been in her dreams.
She was drifting off again when Reg suddenly stirred. He lifted his head and tilted it this way and that, as if attempting to pick up a faint radio signal. Gigi sat up, too, and listened hard. Had Pia returned? She hoped so. She reached for the bathrobe at the foot of her bed and slipped into it.
Reg jumped off the bed and stood at attention, his low, deep growls soon turning to real barks.
It couldn’t be Pia, Gigi realized, because Reg would definitely not be barking that way. Gigi’s heart beat cranked up a notch. Was there an animal lurking outside? A coyote, a possum or a stray cat or dog?
Gigi turned on the bedside light and fished her slippers out from under the bed. The rosy glow from the lamp mocked her fears. It was probably nothing, but Reg wouldn’t settle down until they’d had a good look around.
She shuffled out to the living room first. The room was dimly lit by the faint glow of the streetlight outside. Gigi could make out the silhouettes of the sofa and chairs and the small gate-leg table pushed up against the wall. The faint odor of smoke clung to the room. Gigi wished she hadn’t been so hard on Pia about the fireplace damper.
The kitchen was just as she left it. Gigi peered out the back window, but there was no sign of Pia’s van. She sighed in disappointment and headed back to the bedroom. Reg gave a final, disappointed growl and joined her on the bed.
Seconds later, Gigi could hear Reg’s faint snore as he settled into slumber. Her eyes refused to stay shut. She switched from her right side to her left, from her front to her back, but still, sleep eluded her. Her heart had finally stopped trying to pound its way out of her chest, but every little noise made her jump.
She was finally relaxing when the unmistakable sound of breaking glass came from the kitchen. Reg immediately bolted upright and began to bark furiously, his fur standing out around his strong, stout body. He started to leap off the bed, but Gigi grabbed him by his collar.
“No, boy, don’t go out there. We’ve got to call the police.”
Gigi had left her cell on the nightstand, and she quickly punched in 9-1-1. Reg struggled to get free, but she maintained her grip on his collar, urging him to hush. His sharp barks turned to deep growls low in his throat, but he finally stopped fighting and sat down next to Gigi on the bed, his back stiff and his ears alert.
Even above the pounding of her heart, Gigi could hear someone moving about in the darkened kitchen. What on earth were they after? She had little of great value. Her few pieces of jewelry were tucked underneath her lingerie in her bureau.
Keeping her voice to a whisper, she explained the situation to the 9-1-1 operator, who promised that a patrol car was on its way.
Gigi listened hard, but there were no approaching footsteps. So far the thief seemed to be most interested in whatever was in her kitchen. Suddenly she heard the back door slam. Reg began a fresh round of barking, and this time Gigi let go of his collar. He shot off the bed and made a beeline down the hall with Gigi right behind him. She heard a car starting up and the ping of gravel as it shot out of her driveway. It was then that Gigi finally heard the faint sounds of a police siren in the distance.
A Woodstone police car screeched to a halt in Gigi’s driveway. The strong beam of a flashlight flickered through the windows as a policeman made his way toward the back door. Gigi flicked on the lights and gasped. Broken glass was scattered across the kitchen floor, and she could hear the patrolman’s footsteps crunching on the pieces that had fallen outside.
She was reaching for the doorknob when he thumped the back door briskly.
“Come on in.” Gigi held the door wide. Reg stood at her side, eyeing the newcomer warily. Gigi turned to him. “It’s okay, boy. It’s a policeman.”
Reg cocked his head, but stayed close to Gigi’s side.
The patrolman looked around the room. He was tall and thin with bluish bags under his eyes that made him look like a bloodhound.
“You okay, ma’am?”
“I’m fine.”
“Looks like you’ve had a breakin,” he said eyeing the broken glass and the missing pane from the window in Gigi’s back door. “Any idea what they were after?”
Gigi shook her head.
“Anything missing?”
Gigi was about to shake her head again when her glance fell on the counter where Bradley Simpson’s cell phone should have been . . . but wasn’t.
“Yes,” she said, her voice trembling for the first time. “A cell phone.”
She explained the situation to the policeman, who immediately called headquarters and was patched through to Detective Mertz.
The patrolman hung up. It looked as if Mertz would be missing his second day of training in Hartford because he was already on his way over to Gigi’s.
The patrolman waited with Gigi until Mertz arrived. She made them both a cup of tea and then sat at the island with her hands around the warm mug. She’d turned the heat down before going to bed, and the kitchen was chilly. Reg was curled up on the rug by the door, occasionally opening one eye as if he were solely responsible for keeping things under control.
It wasn’t until Mertz opened the back door and strode into the room that Gigi began to shake. She felt as if she’d suddenly been afflicted with St. Vitus’ dance—her hand jerked so badly she spilled hot tea down the front of her bathrobe.
Mertz gave a brief glance to the patrolman and then took Gigi in his arms. She felt the cold on his coat and the roughness of the fabric under her fingers. He enveloped her in a strong hug, his chin tucked on top of her head. They stood like that for several seconds before the patrolman cleared his throat loudly.
“If that will be all . . .”
“Thank you, yes,” Mertz said without taking his arms from around Gigi.
Slowly the shivering stopped, and she looked up at Mertz. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened. I was fine . . .”
“It’s a normal reaction.” Mertz reassured her. He glanced at Gigi’s abandoned c
up on the counter. “Any chance of a cup of tea? It’s freezing out there.”
“Of course.” Gigi suspected that Mertz wanted to keep her busy to get her mind off of what had just happened, and she was grateful. She brewed them each a fresh cup of Earl Grey, and they settled on the stools around the kitchen island with their mugs.
“Why don’t you tell me what happened first, and then I’ll have a look around. Is anything missing that you know of?”
Gigi felt her face flush red, and it wasn’t from the hot tea. She explained to Mertz about Bradley’s cell phone and how she had secured it from Janice Novak.
“I’m really sorry I missed that. It must have been quite a sight.”
Gigi made a face at him. “I called the station, but they said you were away on a training course. I was going to bring the cell phone in first thing Monday morning.”
“But now it’s gone. Someone wanted it back pretty badly.” Mertz glanced at the broken glass that still surrounded Gigi’s back door.
Gigi nodded.
“Any idea as to why?” Mertz tried to hide a smile but wasn’t entirely successful.
Gigi felt the heat in her face intensify. “I did glance at it. Just to see if there were any texts or calls that might explain what happened.”
“Clues?”
Gigi glanced at Mertz, but his expression was bland.
“Yes, I guess you could call them clues.”
“And did you find any?”
“Yes. Bradley texted Tiffany Morse shortly after leaving Declan’s. I think it went through around 11:58 P.M.”
“And what did it say?” Mertz was at attention now.
“It said to meet him in the parking lot at Declan’s. He had good news for her.”
Mertz whistled. “So if she did as he asked, that puts her at the scene of the murder.”
“And she had a motive. Bradley had promised her a partnership, but then he snatched it away.”
“But you said he alluded to good news?”
Gigi twirled her mug around and around between her hands. “I think that was meant to lure her there. He was probably hoping to convince her to continue their affair.”
“But when she found out—”
“Exactly. She killed him.”
Mertz shifted off the stool. “Monday I’ll send someone around to collect the dress she wore the night of Bradley’s murder. We’ll see if that sequin matches—not that that would be conclusive—but we can also check for traces of blood.”
“You probably won’t find any blood. I think she stole Barbara Simpson’s wrap and wore it while she killed Barbara’s husband.”
“You might be right, but the forensic boys can find even the minutest trace of blood.” Mertz stretched and yawned. “Meanwhile, I’d better have a look around.”
He pulled his coat back on, and Gigi went into the living room and curled up on the sofa, the throw pulled up to her chin. She was feeling cold again and was grateful when Reg curled up at her feet. Before she knew it, her eyes were closing.
She awoke to find that Mertz had come back inside and was kissing her forehead.
She struggled to sit up. “Did you find anything?”
He shook his head. “Your gravel driveway doesn’t allow for tire marks. I found a large rock right outside your back door. I’m pretty certain the thief used it to break the window. But since they were either wearing gloves or had wrapped something around their hand to protect it, I’m certain we won’t be finding any prints. Even assuming the perp’s prints are on file. If it was Tiffany Morse, then I doubt she’ll have a record. I can’t see Simpson and West hiring her in that case.”
“That’s true,” Gigi murmured drowsily.
“I took a couple of pieces of cardboard from your recycling bin and taped them over the hole in the window. You can call Campbell’s Glass in the morning to replace the broken panes.”
“Okay,” Gigi said, only vaguely aware of what Mertz was talking about.
Mertz shed his coat and draped it over the chair in front of Gigi’s fireplace.
“You look cold,” he said, as he slipped onto the sofa beside her.
• • •
Gigi woke up late on Sunday morning barely remembering the events of the night before. She’d dreamt that she was running through the streets of Woodstone again in pursuit of Janice and the cell phone. The faces of the pedestrians had gone by in a blur, just as they had in reality, but one face stood out in her dream—Tiffany Morse. She was wearing the red coat Gigi had seen her in before with a silk scarf around her neck. Gigi sat up on bed.
“Oh!”
Reg looked at her strangely, and she put her hand on his head to reassure him.
She’d thought she’d seen a familiar face in the crowd the day she was chasing Janice, and the dream had brought it all back. It had been Tiffany Morse.
Gigi wandered into the kitchen in her bathrobe and slippers and stopped short when she saw the piece of cardboard taped over the broken glass in the window in her back door. It brought back her terror at hearing someone prowling around her kitchen, her relief at Mertz’s arrival, and the warmth and coziness of the time they’d spent snuggling on her sofa.
She filled the coffeepot with water and her favorite brew and pushed the on button, leaning on the counter as she waited for the coffee to trickle into the pot. She ached all over—probably from the tension of the night before. But when she remembered Mertz taking her in his arms to still her shivering, she smiled and suddenly felt considerably better.
Reg wandered out from the bedroom, yawning broadly. He, too, was tired from their middle-of-the night escapades. He flopped down on the rug in front of the back door and promptly went back to sleep.
Gigi filled her mug, popped some bread into the toaster and sat down at the kitchen table. She thought she heard a noise similar to the sound Pia’s old van made, and she braced herself for the back door to suddenly be flung open and for Pia to burst into the room. Seconds ticked by, then minutes, but there was no sign of Pia. Gigi’s shoulders slumped. She was really getting worried about her sister. She’d never stayed away this long before. Surely she couldn’t be sleeping in her studio. She’d said it was so cold she had to wear fingerless gloves while she worked, and the bathroom—a toilet and small sink—was down at the end of the hall. If nothing else, Pia would be craving a hot bath or shower by now.
If only Pia had given Gigi the address of her studio. Gigi thought about mentioning it to Mertz—perhaps he would be able to locate it—but she knew that would make Pia furious. Better to just wait for her sister to come to her senses.
Gigi spent the day relaxing—napping off and on—and finishing the paperback she’d picked up at the Book Nook at Sienna’s suggestion. Mertz had called to check on her, and just the thought made Gigi smile. She’d told him about seeing Tiffany in the crowd the day she’d wrested Bradley’s cell phone from Janice Novak. He told her that the police would soon be paying a visit to Miss Morse.
Victor Branston called before Gigi had even finished preparing her clients’ breakfasts on Monday morning. He wanted her to record another radio commercial, which they would start running immediately.
Gigi was a little less nervous this time, but she still wasn’t exactly looking forward to it.
The good thing about recording for radio, she thought as she stared into the depths of her closet, was that it didn’t matter what you looked like. That was fortunate since she needed to do laundry, and her wardrobe these days mainly consisted of jeans and various tops—short-sleeved in summer, long-sleeved in winter. She’d given away many of the clothes she’d worn in her New York City life to make room in her tiny closet.
Gigi grabbed the pair of jeans she’d taken off last night and left on the bathroom floor and added a dark green wool turtleneck she’d ordered from a catalogue sale. It set off the red tones in her hair and the green of her eyes. And made up for the fact that her jeans probably smelled like last night’s dinner.
“Sor
ry, bud, but you’ll have to stay home this time,” she said to a disconsolate Reg. She’d given him an extra-long walk to make up for her desertion—allowing him plenty of time to sniff the bases of the trees and climb the snowbanks—but he didn’t seem impressed.
Gigi hopped in the MINI, made her deliveries and then headed toward Keith’s Recording Studio. A dark blue late-model sedan was already parked under the dented metal sign that read For Keith’s customers only. All others will be towed. It looked as if Alec Pricely had already arrived.
Cheryl was behind the reception desk when Gigi entered the studio. She was wearing a skirt that was way too short for someone her age, and the slim-fitting shirt she’d tucked into the waistband emphasized her sagging midriff. She had the telephone clamped between her shoulder and her ear and was chewing the cuticle on her thumbnail energetically.
Gigi hovered at the desk for a second, but she needed to use the restroom so she pointed wordlessly in that direction. Cheryl nodded but didn’t suspend her animated conversation.
Gigi exited the bathroom stall and washed her hands. The paper towel dispenser was empty so she rubbed her wet palms up and down her jeans. When she pushed open the swinging door from the ladies’ room, Cheryl was still on the phone. Her words brought Gigi up short.
“I don’t know how we’re going to pay it back,” she said to the person on the other end of the line.
Gigi backed up until she was leaning against the door to the ladies’ room. Hopefully Cheryl couldn’t see her from the reception desk.
“We’re up to our eyeballs in debt as it is,” Cheryl continued her conversation. “We got a shut-off notice from the electric company last week, and it was all I could do to scrape together enough to satisfy them. Jimmy just doesn’t understand. He’s always so optimistic. Something good will happen soon, he always says.”
Cheryl listened for a moment, then shook her head vigorously.
“It didn’t do us any good,” she said into the telephone. She listened some more. “I know what I told you, but I was wrong. Barbara expects us to pay the money back anyway.”
