by Peg Cochran
“Welcome to Declan’s.” He smiled at Gigi. “I’m glad to see you came back.”
Sienna raised her eyebrows at Gigi, and Gigi mouthed later.
“We can’t have you standing, can we?” Declan nodded at Sienna’s swollen belly.
“See what you can do,” he said to the hostess, who stood patiently waiting.
She disappeared toward the back of the dining room, and Gigi noticed her snapping her fingers at some busboys who hastened to clear a recently vacated table.
“Please.” Declan put his hand lightly on Sienna’s shoulder and led them toward the waiting table.
Several patrons gave them dirty looks, and Gigi ducked her head as they wended their way through the packed dining room.
“So what’s the big news?” Oliver asked after the waitress had brought their drinks and left menus on their table.
Gigi pushed her menu to one side and leaned her elbows on the table. “I have not one but two”—she counted on her fingers—“possible suspects for Mertz to chase instead of Sienna.” She nodded toward her friend, who was sipping a glass of sparkling water. She was wearing a long, brightly colored silk blouse over a pair of leggings. Sienna managed to make even pregnancy look exotic, Gigi thought.
Oliver’s eyebrows shot up over the rims of his round, tortoise-framed glasses, and he brushed a hand through the hank of dark hair that fell over his forehead. “Really?” He glanced at Sienna with an encouraging smile.
Sienna didn’t look up but continued to twirl the ice cubes around and around in her glass with her index finger.
“Who are your suspects?” Oliver asked encouragingly.
Gigi suspected that he was humoring her, but she didn’t care. She was confident that she was on to something. “First off, there’s Felicity’s manager, Don Bartholomew.”
“But she’s his star client. Why would he want to get rid of her,” Oliver said, licking the foam off the top of his beer.
Gigi explained to both of them about the insurance policy and the hefty payout.
“Sounds like a serious suspect to me,” Oliver agreed. “Does he have an alibi?”
Gigi shrugged. “I have no idea. I am going to try to find out, though.” Even as she said it, Gigi realized she had no idea exactly how she was going to do that. If only Mertz would get his mind off Sienna and start looking into some real suspects!
“Okay, I agree this Bartholomew character makes an excellent suspect,” Oliver said as if he were summing up in court, “now tell us who the second one is.”
Gigi spread her hands out on the table. “I was at the attorney’s office—”
Oliver raised his eyebrows.
“Simpson and West,” Gigi supplied.
Oliver made a face, and Gigi shrugged apologetically. “I have a new client there.”
Oliver looked slightly mollified.
“Go on.” Sienna was paying attention now and leaned forward eagerly.
“I was meeting with my new client, Madeline Stone. She’s a paralegal there. We got to talking, and she let slip that Felicity’s stepson, Derek, will inherit half of her estate.”
Oliver let out a long, low whistle, and several diners at nearby tables turned to look at him. He swiveled toward Sienna. “Looks like Gigi’s done some amazing detective work.” He put his hand over his wife’s, and she smiled wanly at him. “When do you plan on bringing this new information to Detective Mertz?”
Gigi looked down at the table. “Soon. Very soon.” As soon as I get up the nerve, she thought to herself. Mertz hadn’t believed her before, why would he now?
“I’d recommend the special tonight.” Declan glided up to their table. His smooth voice and lilting accent cut into Gigi’s thoughts. She willed her face not to get flushed, but it was one of the downsides of having red hair that she had never been able to conquer.
Sienna looked at the menu doubtfully. “I don’t think I should have the steak and Guinness pie.”
“Don’t worry. The alcohol burns off. On the other hand, if that concerns you, I’d suggest the hanger steak with sweet potato fries.”
Gigi tried to focus on the menu, but the words morphed into a fuzzy haze the harder she tried. She was hyperaware of Declan standing beside her and was sure she could feel the heat coming from him. Then again, maybe it was her annoying telltale blush that was making her so warm.
“I’ll have the special,” she said decisively when Declan came around to her. She was so flustered, she’d completely forgotten what the special was. Well, surprises were always good, weren’t they?
“Same for me,” Oliver said, putting down his menu.
“Excellent choice,” Declan assured them as he collected their menus and handed the order to the waitress who had been hovering nearby.
“Looks like we’re getting some pretty special treatment. Or does the owner go around to every table?” Oliver shook out his napkin and spread it on his lap.
Sienna’s face brightened for the first time that evening. “I do think Declan fancies you,” she said to Gigi after Declan had turned the corner. “That is the British term for it, isn’t it?”
Gigi protested, but she was actually rather pleased. She thought of Mertz and his ruggedly good-looking features and then she thought of how mad he’d made her, and she decided right then and there that if by some wild miracle, Declan McQuaid asked her out . . . she would say yes.
• • •
The next morning, Gigi awoke early. She stretched luxuriously and breathed deeply. Fragrant lavender-scented air drifted in through the partially cracked window. The breeze had a delicious chill to it, and she snuggled contentedly under her huge down comforter. It felt so good to sleep in her own bed, under her own roof. Not that Felicity’s guest room had been anything but supremely comfortable—there was just something about your own place that was special.
Once again, Gigi thanked her lucky stars for bringing her to Woodstone and making it possible for her to buy her cottage. It was tiny but full of charm, and the kitchen had been completely updated before she moved in.
Gigi stretched again, and her leg bumped up against something solid. Reggie grunted and rolled onto his back. “Hey you, sleepyhead.” She reached down and scratched his belly.
She slid out of bed and was surprised to find that the floor was chilly beneath her bare feet. Autumn had obviously arrived in earnest. Gigi dug her slippers out from under the bed where she’d accidentally kicked them, and pulled on her robe.
Coffee first. She filled the pot with her favorite Sumatran blend, added water and pushed the start button. Within minutes, the machine was gurgling happily and the scent of freshly brewed coffee filled the kitchen.
Madeline Stone had been anxious to begin her diet immediately, so Gigi had agreed to start her off with this morning’s breakfast. She decided that it made the most sense to double the recipe and enjoy the same meal herself. She cracked two eggs into a bowl and added four separated egg whites along with a splash of skim milk and a good grinding of black pepper. She cut up some green pepper, diced part of a tomato and a smidge of a jalapeno and grated a handful of low-fat cheddar cheese. She added it all to the eggs and then poured the mixture into a hot pan coated with cooking spray. It sizzled briefly before settling down and beginning to form into soft curdles. Gigi planned to spoon the mixture into warmed, low-fat tortillas. She would serve them with some berries topped with a spoonful of Greek yogurt. The meal should keep Madeline full and energized until it was time for her mid-morning snack—a handful of almonds, a banana or a piece of string cheese.
Gigi ate her tortilla while she perused the morning paper. The other tortilla and the fruit salad were packed in Gigi’s signature white box with Gigi’s Gourmet De-Lite written in silver script across the top. Madeline wanted her breakfast delivered to the office, so Gigi had planned something that she could easily reheat in the law firm’s microwave.
Gigi took a quick shower and jumped into a pair of jeans and a cotton sweater. Most of her clot
hes these days could be washed and worn—even with an apron on, she was prone to making a mess of her things. She felt a brief moment of yearning for her days in New York City and her wardrobe of cute outfits, but the feeling passed quickly when she looked around her new home.
She pulled a brush through her hair, attempting to subdue its natural wave and curl, then gathered it into a low ponytail to keep it off her face and out of the way. She would be working in Felicity’s kitchen that morning. It made more sense than carting things back and forth. The funeral was that afternoon at the Woodstone Episcopal Church and a reception would follow at Felicity’s house.
Reggie hovered near the door nervously until Gigi reassured him that he would be going along to play with his newfound friend, Tabitha. He bounded down the path behind her and into his accustomed seat in the MINI, his nose pressed against the window.
Gigi had to pass Declan’s on her way to Simpson and West, and she tried hard not to look, but her eyes seemed to swivel of their own accord toward the bright red awning. She felt a strange sensation in the pit of her stomach—excitement? Maybe it was time she put her heartache over Ted aside and began to live again.
Madeline rushed downstairs as soon as she saw Gigi’s red MINI pull into the parking lot, and Gigi was quickly on her way again toward Felicity’s house. She turned into the long, winding driveway and almost backed out again when she noticed Mertz’s Crown Vic pulled up next to Winchel’s Escalade. She would have turned tail and run, but she had far too many things to get done before Felicity’s service. Hopefully, she could skulk into the kitchen through the back door and avoid Mertz altogether. She needed to get up her nerve to present her discoveries to him.
Mertz was standing at the front door as Gigi got out of her car. She avoided looking in his direction. She rounded the corner of the house with a sigh of relief and slipped in through the back entrance.
The kitchen was in shadow, so Gigi flipped all the switches, instantly flooding the room with light. She felt uneasy for some reason. Perhaps that was to be expected considering Felicity’s death.
She hastened to get to work. Chopping and peeling and sautéing always helped to take her mind off unpleasant things. No wonder she had become particularly passionate about cooking after Ted’s departure. Gigi had minced, diced and chopped her fingers to the bone. Fortunately, she’d been too depressed to eat much or she’d now be a lot more than five pounds over her normal weight. Hardly a good advertisement for someone selling diet gourmet food.
A knock on the back door startled her. Gigi pushed aside the curtain to see Alice’s round face topped with its frizz of curly gray hair.
“Sorry I’m late.” Alice had taken off her jacket and donned an apron before Gigi could even say a word.
Gigi opened her mouth but then shut it again. Something was wrong with Alice. She could tell just by looking at her expression.
“What are we making?” Alice peered into the pot Gigi had bubbling on the stove.
Gigi had the impression she was trying to hide her face. “There’s butternut squash soup to start.” She indicated the pan Alice was sniffing.
“Perfect weather for it. The wind has quite an edge today, and I noticed a lot of leaves fluttering off the trees.”
“Really?” Gigi glanced over her shoulder at Alice. “How is Stacy, by the way?”
Alice gave a small sob—almost like a hiccup. “Joe has had a terrible accident. He was cleaning out the gutters on their new house, and he fell off the ladder.”
“Oh no.” Gigi’s hand flew to her mouth. “Is he okay?”
“His leg’s broken in two places.” Alice kneaded her apron between her hands “He’s going to be laid up for months.”
“I’m sure he must have some sort of disability insurance . . .” Gigi trailed off. She didn’t know much about those things herself.
“He’ll be getting something.” Alice began smoothing out the wrinkles she’d created in her apron. “But I don’t know if it’ll be enough to keep up that big house they bought. Joe did a lot of jobs on the side—bringing in some extra, you know.”
“Maybe Stacy can get work?”
Alice shrugged. “I think she’s going to have to. She quit her job at the diner to get them moved into their new house, and now I was kind of hoping that there’d be a baby soon, but with this happening . . .”
“Stacy is young. She has plenty of time.”
Alice nodded. “True enough.” She clapped her hands briskly. “Enough of that. What can I do?”
“If you wouldn’t mind peeling the potatoes.” Gigi gestured toward a bag of red-skins on the counter.
“Wasn’t that Detective Mertz’s car in the driveway?” Alice inclined her head toward the front of the house. “Thank goodness he didn’t arrest Sienna. I can’t imagine what that would do to her in her state.”
“Just questioning her was bad enough.”
“What’s he doing here? I wonder.”
“He must be talking to Mr. Winchel about something.” Gigi shook her head. “I wish he weren’t so stubborn. I have some leads for him, but there’s no point in even bringing it up.” She thought for a moment. “Maybe if I had something concrete . . .”
Alice nodded. “Policemen have very analytical minds. They like the facts and nothing but the facts.”
“It might help to know what he’s talking to Winchel about.”
Alice’s face brightened for the first time. “I agree. Is it possible to eavesdrop?”
“I think so.” The thought of getting caught with her ear to the proverbial door made Gigi’s stomach suddenly turn over. “They’re in the dining room. Mr. Winchel was finishing up a late breakfast when Mertz showed up. I heard Anja showing him in. If we’re very quiet we can stand in the butler’s pantry and ease the door open slightly.”
Alice all but rubbed her hands together in excitement. She followed close on Gigi’s heels as Gigi pushed open the door between the kitchen and the butler’s pantry. It was a smallish room lined with glass-fronted cabinets filled with serving pieces and glassware. Under the counter on one side were rows of specially lined drawers for silverware, and on the other side was a dishwasher, and next to it, a full-size refrigerator. Felicity had liked to entertain and had made sure her house was well equipped for it.
The swinging door to the dining room was partially glass, but the glass, which was original to the house, was etched in a lacy pattern that obscured a clear view and turned everything beyond into shadows. Gigi hoped it would be enough to prevent Mertz and Winchel from seeing her and Alice. She eased the door open an inch and leaned as close as she could to the crack. Alice was right behind her—she could feel her breath on the back of her neck.
Winchel and Mertz were seated at the dining table, Winchel relaxed in his chair at the head, his breakfast things pushed to one side. Mertz was stiff and formal. Gigi got the impression that he would have been much more comfortable standing. Their voices were low and barely discernible. Gigi closed her eyes in concentration.
“What are they saying?” Alice whispered into her ear.
“Shhh.” Gigi strained even harder. This time she caught a few disjointed words . . . autopsy . . . findings . . . report. “Something about an autopsy,” Gigi whispered as quietly as she could.
She closed her eyes again and tried to focus. Mertz’s voice rose slightly, and his words drifted toward Gigi loud and clear. Alice must have heard, too, because she gasped and accidentally leaned against Gigi.
Gigi lost her balance and fell forward, swinging open the door and catapulting herself into the dining room with Alice close behind.
Chapter 9
Gigi had experienced many awkward moments in her life. Not to mention many embarrassing ones. But on a scale of one to ten, this latest rated at least a seismic twenty. It was the tsunami of embarrassments. She was quite certain she would be having nightmares about it for years to come.
Fortunately, her Irish and Italian ancestors had equipped her with a quick
wit and even quicker tongue. As soon as she ceased her jet propulsion forward toward the dining table and had regained her balance, she asked in a perfectly calm voice, “Is there anything else I can get you?”
“Perhaps some more coffee?” Alice gestured toward the pantry from which they had come.
The startled look on Winchel’s face turned to one of dismissal, and he shook his head. “No, thank you. That will be all for now.”
Gigi and Alice backed hastily into the butler’s pantry and breathed a collective sigh of relief when the door swung to in back of them. Then they burst into giggles and laughed until tears ran down their faces.
When Gigi finally collected herself, she grabbed a tissue from the box on the counter and blew her nose. Alice dabbed at her eyes with the edge of her apron.
“Oh my goodness, I can’t believe we did that.”
“Neither can I,” Gigi said before turning serious. “But did you hear what Mertz told Felicity’s husband?”
“No, I’m afraid I didn’t.”
Gigi motioned for Alice to come closer. “The results of the autopsy came back. And Felicity was drugged before she was put in the sauna. Some kind of tranquilizer. Apparently it was her own prescription, but they found more than ten times the normal amount in her system.”
“Enough to make her too drowsy to rescue herself from the sauna?”
“It would seem so.”
• • •
Gigi thought about this latest nugget of news as she chopped and diced and roasted and stirred. The butternut squash soup was ready to be put on the sideboard so guests could help themselves. She would offer it with a dollop of Greek yogurt on top—far fewer calories than heavy cream or sour cream—and a sprinkle of candied pecans. She had a platter of chicken ready—breasts pounded thin and rolled around a stuffing of diced tomatoes, spinach sautéed with garlic, and feta cheese—along with an orzo salad tossed with lemon zest, olive oil and sliced black olives.
Gigi tried to focus on what she was doing, but her mind kept circulating pictures of poor hapless Felicity asleep in the increasing heat of the sauna, unable to save herself. Then her thoughts turned to Sienna, and her stomach gave an uncomfortable lurch. She knew Sienna hadn’t had anything to do with it. But how to convince Mertz of that?
