Steamed to Death

by Peg Cochran

  Wisps of early morning fog hovered slightly above the ground and clung to the branches of the trees. Gigi pulled up the hood of her sweatshirt and stuck her hands in her pockets. Reg sniffed every parking meter, planter and garbage can he could find while Gigi enjoyed looking in the windows. A beautiful silver cuff bracelet in the window of the Silver Lining caught her eye as well as an exquisite fawn leather jacket displayed on a mannequin in Abigail’s.

  Someday, she thought to herself. Someday, she’d be able to afford things like that.

  By the time she and Reg got back to the cottage they were both starved. Once again, Gigi created a breakfast that both she and Madeline would be able to enjoy—poached eggs—she did them in a mold in the microwave—on an English muffin with a slice of low-fat sharp cheddar cheese. A small fruit salad rounded out the meal. She packed Madeline’s portion in one of her signature Gourmet De-Lite containers and went to take a shower.

  The phone was ringing as Gigi wrapped her wet hair in a towel. She hurried down the hall and grabbed it on the fifth ring. She listened intently, made a few comments and hung up. The call sent her scurrying to her desk where she turned on her computer. While it was booting up, she poured a cup of Sumatran brew from her automatic coffeepot that she filled and set every night.

  Finally, her computer sprang to life, and she perched on the edge of her desk chair and clicked open her spreadsheet of expenses and deposits. She stared at the number on the screen. According to her accounting, she ought to have plenty of cash left in her account. But according to the bank manager with whom Gigi had cultivated a relationship since she borrowed a small sum to start her business, she was woefully overdrawn. Something was wrong.

  Fortunately Deborah had agreed to meet her in her office in an hour. Gigi delivered Madeline’s breakfast and drove the rest of the way down High Street toward the bank. She couldn’t imagine what had happened to her account. She was very careful about entering everything into her checkbook, balancing it promptly and checking her balance daily before going shopping. There must have been some glitch in the system.

  The parking lot was almost empty save for a few cars in the employee slots. Gigi hurried inside, relieved to see that Deborah was alone in her office.

  She looked up and smiled when she saw Gigi. She was wearing the requisite dark suit but with a sapphire blue blouse that set off her carefully coiffed blond hair and her blue eyes. She rose and extended her hand as Gigi walked into the room.

  “So good to see you again.” She gestured toward the armless chair in front of her desk. “Please have a seat.”

  “Thanks.” Gigi was nervous. What if she’d made some sort of hideous mistake on her account? Since the day years ago when she transferred her savings from a piggy bank to a real bank, she’d never overdrawn even once.

  “Let me bring up your account.” Deborah reached for the glasses that dangled from a gold chain around her neck.

  Gigi kneaded her hands in her lap as she waited.

  “I see what the problem is.” Deborah whisked off her glasses and let them drop against her chest. She turned the computer screen so that Gigi could see, too.

  “Right here.” Deborah tapped the screen with a long, red fingernail. “One of the checks you deposited bounced. That’s what’s caused all the trouble.”

  Gigi squinted at the screen and could just make out the letters.

  Deborah tapped the screen again. “The check from the Woodstone Group. That’s your culprit right there.”

  Gigi had to think for a minute. “The Woodstone Group?”

  Deborah nodded her head.

  “Oh,” Gigi said as realization dawned. That was the check Jack Winchel had given her for catering Felicity’s funeral luncheon and for all the other work she’d done.

  “It bounced?” she said in disbelief.

  Deborah shook her head. “There’s been some scuttlebutt in the papers lately about the Woodstone Group. Seems they’re skating on thin ice.”

  How could that be? Gigi thought. There was that big house, the fancy cars . . . maybe Felicity was the one paying for all that?

  “I’m sure if you’ll explain to them what’s happened, they’ll make good on the check.” Deborah smiled sympathetically across the width of the desk. “Meanwhile, I can set you up with some overdraft protection that should cover the shortfall for the near term.”

  Gigi nodded dully. She really had to get this deal with Branston Foods. She hated living so hand to mouth. It made her nervous. Fortunately, she had five new clients starting her regimen next week. That would certainly help.

  “I guess that’s what I’ll do,” she said as she rose from the chair.

  Deborah held out her hand, and Gigi shook it.

  She was halfway through the revolving door when the implications of what she’d learned struck her. If Winchel’s company was skating on thin ice, to use Deborah’s term, didn’t that give him a darn good reason for murdering Felicity? A good portion of her estate was going to Derek, but Winchel was still in for a substantial sum of money.

  Chapter 11

  Gigi’s head swirled as she pulled out of the bank parking lot onto High Street. Traffic had picked up, and several people were already out and about poking into the shops.

  She had to find a way to eliminate some of the suspects. There were entirely too many! First Don Bartholomew, then Derek, and now Winchel.

  Gigi continued down High Street until she was in front of Simpson and West. It took barely five minutes to park and drop off Madeline’s breakfast. She was walking back toward her car when she noticed Mertz coming in the other direction. A few long strides and he had caught up with her.

  “Good morning.”

  “Good morning,” Gigi said, falling into step beside him. She tried to remember whether she had bothered with lipstick or not. At least she remembered pulling a comb through her hair.

  Just ahead of them several people stood around a tree, looking up and pointing.

  “I wonder what’s going on,” Mertz said, quickening his pace.

  They approached the three women and one man who were staring into the branches. All but a handful of leaves had fallen, and those that remained were brown and dusty looking.

  Gigi maneuvered her way into the small group and followed their gaze but didn’t see anything.

  “What is it?” Mertz asked the nearest woman.

  She turned worried blue eyes on him. “A kitten. There’s a kitten stuck in the tree. How it got up there, I can’t begin to imagine. I think it’s afraid to come down.”

  Mertz narrowed his eyes and stared up through the remaining leaves. “That it there?”

  “Yes. Poor thing. It must be frightened half to death.”

  “And cold and very hungry,” said one of the other women. She made a tsking sound under her breath and shook her head.

  Mertz slipped out of his black parka and handed it to Gigi. “Here. Hold this for me, would you?”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Can’t let the poor little thing starve, can I?” He grasped the lowest tree branch and quickly hoisted himself up.

  “Be careful.” Gigi bit her lip.

  Mertz smiled back at her. “Don’t worry. Of all my brothers, I was the best tree climber.” He reached for the next branch and disappeared somewhere over Gigi’s head.

  Everyone heard the loud meow the kitten gave, and necks craned as they tried to see what was going on. Within moments, Mertz was making his way back down the tree, the kitten tucked safely into the breast pocket of his shirt.

  He landed at Gigi’s feet with a soft thud. The small crowd broke into applause, and Mertz’s face reddened. He took the kitten from his pocket and cuddled it in his hands. It was very tiny with soft gray fur and eyes that were almost violet.

  “It’s so pretty.” Gigi reached out a finger and stroked it. “I wonder where its mother is.”

  “Probably scampered by now.” Mertz held the kitten close to his chest to warm it. “Do
you think . . .”

  “What?” Gigi asked when he didn’t continue.

  “Do you think I could keep it? Cats aren’t like dogs so it shouldn’t mind that I’m not home all the time.”

  “Of course. And they use a litter box so no need to worry about walking it.”

  “Maybe that wouldn’t be fair to it. Maybe it should go to a home where someone would be there to keep it company all the time?”

  “I don’t think that’s necessary. I think you should keep it. What will you name it?” Gigi smiled at Mertz.

  “I don’t know. Whiskers?” He gave a self-conscious laugh. “Probably half the cats in the world are named that. I’m not very creative, I’m afraid.”

  “I think Whiskers is just fine. Besides, he does have awfully long ones—look.” Gigi brushed the kitten’s long white whiskers with a gentle finger.

  “Hey, Whiskers, want to come home with me? If I take him back to the station, perhaps Alice will watch him until my shift is over.”

  “I’m sure she wouldn’t mind at all.” Gigi smiled as she watched Mertz rub noses with the tiny kitten. It was a side of him she’d never expected to see.

  “I’d better be going.” Mertz held the kitten toward Gigi. “Want to say good-bye to Whiskers?”

  She gave the kitten a final pat on the head and then watched as Mertz loped off down the street.

  • • •

  Gigi had some time to kill, so she thought she would visit Sienna and check up on her. She drove into the parking lot next to Declan’s to turn around. Declan’s didn’t open till lunch, but the front door was propped wide, and she could see the lights were on. They were obviously already cooking and setting up for the lunchtime work crowd and the ladies-who-lunch bunch. The place had become quite popular with them, Gigi had heard, since Declan had such a way with women.

  Gigi turned around in an empty space and headed back out, in the other direction, on High Street.

  The trees overhanging Sienna and Oliver’s cottage were bursting with color—red maples, yellow birches and purple pear trees. A large pumpkin and a big pot of mums sat on the front step in front of the cherry red front door.

  Gigi knocked and stepped back to wait. Moments later Sienna opened the door. She was in an old, worn bathrobe that barely closed around her expanding middle. She was pale and looked as if she’d been crying.

  “What’s the matter?” Gigi blurted out as she followed Sienna inside. “Have the police been bothering you again?” She felt her fists clench at the notion.

  “No, no.” Sienna shook her head, hastening to reassure Gigi. “It’s not that. Not that at all.”

  “Not . . . Oliver again?” Gigi had held Sienna’s hand through last year’s crisis when she thought Oliver was seeing someone else.

  “No, not that either.”

  That left only . . . the baby, Gigi thought. “Not the baby?”

  “Not exactly, no.” Sienna gestured toward the kitchen. “Let’s get a cup of tea.”

  Gigi followed Sienna into the kitchen. Sunlight glanced off the hanging copper pots and puddled on the warm, wood floors. Gigi slid onto a stool at the kitchen island. Sienna took the teakettle that was whistling on the stove and added two tea bags.

  Sienna must have noticed the worried look on Gigi’s face. “It’s not that bad, really.” She gave a brief, half smile. “It’s quite common actually. Especially in women my age.”

  “Your age? But you’re young!” Gigi felt her hackles rise. She and Sienna were the same age, and she refused to think of herself being . . . not young.

  “When it comes to maternity, I’m a dinosaur.” Sienna poured the brewed tea into mugs with Book Nook written on them and carried them to the island.

  “Well, what is it?” Gigi needed to stop the whirlwind of tragic pictures running through her mind.

  “It’s called gestational diabetes.”

  “Oh.” Gigi wracked her mind for any information she might have stored away on that topic, but nothing came to the forefront.

  “It’s a form of diabetes that pregnant women can get in the last trimester.” Sienna patted her stomach.

  “Can you take something for it? A pill?”

  Sienna nodded. “The doctor is putting me on insulin.”

  Gigi gulped. “You’ll have to take shots?”

  “They’re not so bad.” Sienna smiled reassuringly. “The needles are very short and very slim. I hardly feel them.” She sipped her tea. “It’s a small price to pay for a healthy baby.”

  “Will it go away after the baby is born?”

  “It should. I’ll have to watch my diet, too, but with any luck everything will be back to normal as soon as I give birth.”

  Gigi noticed that a tear was making its way down her friend’s cheek. Sienna brushed at it impatiently.

  “This is bothering you, isn’t it?” Gigi put her hand on Sienna’s arm.

  “It’s just that I wanted everything to be perfect. We’ve waited so long . . .” Sienna gave a small sob. “I know everything’s going to be fine, but it was a shock when the doctor told me.” She pulled a tissue from the pocket of her robe and blew her nose. “I mean, I felt great. I had no idea anything was . . . wrong.” She stuffed the tissue up the sleeve of her robe. “And this whole business of Felicity’s death has unnerved me, I think. Besides the fact that I’m not going to get paid now, and we were counting on that money. Plus it seems I’m still Detective Mertz’s prime suspect.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Gigi exploded. “I can’t believe all this stress is doing you any good. I’m going to have to talk to him.” Gigi’s knees weakened at the prospect. She hadn’t gotten very far that evening at Declan’s. Well, she’d have to try harder.

  Gigi took a cautious sip of her steaming tea. “I still think Derek is the most likely suspect.” She filled Sienna in on having found the prescription bottle in his room. “And then this morning, I learned that Winchel’s check to me had bounced. The bank manager told me that rumor has it his company is in trouble.”

  “That’s the Woodstone Group, isn’t it?” Sienna paused with her mug of tea halfway to her lips. “Maybe Oliver knows something about it.”

  “About what?” Oliver rounded the corner then and stopped to plant a kiss on his wife’s cheek.

  “About the Woodstone Group. Gigi’s heard that they aren’t doing well.”

  “That’s Winchel’s company, right?” Oliver scratched his chin. “I read something the other day in the Connecticut Business Journal. I think Gigi’s source is right.”

  “So, he probably needs money.”

  Sienna and Oliver both nodded agreement.

  “This is getting very interesting.” Gigi absentmindedly twirled a piece of hair around her finger. “We now know that three people benefited from Felicity’s death.” She shrugged her shoulders. “The question is, which one of them actually did it?”

  • • •

  Gigi pulled into the driveway of her cottage with a feeling of relief. She could hear Reg barking. He was probably lunging at the front door. He’d already scratched most of the paint off the bottom section.

  Gigi greeted him and scurried into the kitchen to package up Madeline’s lunch. She had left a hearty but low-fat split pea soup simmering in the slow cooker since early that morning. Gigi would give Madeline some homemade croutons to top it off. She bought up stale loaves of good bread at Bon Appétit and turned them into croutons to garnish soups, salads and stews. The soup would be filling, but there were enough calories left over for dessert. Gigi sliced half an apple paper thin, fanned the slices out on a small plate and drizzled them with the barest touch of caramel sauce. It would help satisfy Madeline’s sweet tooth while not adding too many calories.

  As she worked, Gigi thought of the myriad of suspects she’d uncovered so far. She wondered about that policy Don had taken out. Maybe Madeline would know something about it? Her boss handled Felicity’s other affairs, so perhaps he was involved in that sort of thing as well
.

  The more she thought about it, the more excited Gigi became. She would deliver Madeline’s lunch, but this time she would stick around for a chat.

  • • •

  Madeline wasn’t waiting in the parking lot as usual, so Gigi climbed the stairs to her third-floor office. Madeline was nearly hidden behind a stack of folders. She looked up when she sensed Gigi standing in front of her.

  “Oh my goodness, is it lunchtime already?” She glanced at her watch. “I can’t believe it. Usually I’m starved by now, but your breakfasts really fill me up.”

  Gigi handed her the Gourmet De-Lite container. “The soup was hot when I left, but you might want to give it a minute in the microwave.”

  “I’m sure it’s fine.” Madeline sighed and blew a lock of hair off her face. “We have a big case coming up next week, and I’m literally buried.” She waved at the stacks of files on her desk. “I haven’t even had a chance to get my nails done.” Madeline brandished her fingers, and Gigi noticed that the dark red polish was chipped in spots.

  “I’m just waiting for someone to say something.” Madeline scowled.

  Gigi’s glance happened to fall on one of the folders on Madeline’s desk. She could plainly see the name “Felicity Davenport” printed neatly on the tab. She gestured toward it. “Follow-up work on Felicity’s estate?”

  Madeline nodded. “It’s one of the cases we’re working on at the moment.”

  “I heard that she was going to be in a play at the Woodstone Theater. And that her manager had taken out some sort of insurance policy on her.”

  “Oh, him.” Madeline scowled. “Just between you and me”—she leaned toward Gigi—“Felicity wasn’t very happy with him. I heard her talking to Mr. Simpson about it.” Madeline’s eyes widened. “Her last contract wasn’t nearly as good as the others, and then when she found out about that other actress, Vanessa Huff? She blew her stack. Mr. Bartholomew had signed her as well, and according to Felicity, he got her a much better deal.”