Steamed to Death

by Peg Cochran

  With Sienna’s help, she finally maneuvered the shelving under the sole basement window and the next step was at hand—climbing the thing. Gigi wasn’t a huge fan of heights, but she could manage if she were careful not to look down or to think about it too much.

  “If you can hold it here”—she indicated a place to Sienna—“then I think it will be steady enough.” Gigi looked up at the pieces of wood nailed haphazardly together, and her stomach plummeted as if she were on the downward slope of a roller coaster. But she had to put on a brave face for Sienna. And, as the famous slogan put it, “just do it.”

  She grasped one of the upper shelves with a firm grip and stepped onto the first shelf. The whole construction wobbled a lot less than she’d anticipated, and emboldened, she took another step. This time, the unit swayed slightly, but she was able to hold fast. The wood was rough under her fingertips, and she winced as she felt a splinter slice through the skin of her thumb, but she didn’t stop. The smell of gas increased with every passing second.

  Gigi looked down to see Sienna staring up at her, her lip caught between her teeth and her face pinched with worry. Gigi gave her a reassuring smile and struck out for the next rung, or rather, shelf. She was now level with the window. Gigi felt a jolt of triumph, but it didn’t last. The most difficult part was still ahead of her. She had to squeeze onto the shelf to actually reach the window. As soon as she tried to lever her whole body onto the wood slab, the unit swayed dangerously, as if a tropical storm had suddenly hit. Gigi held on for dear life as Sienna tried to steady the increasingly wobbly structure.

  “Are you okay?” Sienna gasped, staring up at Gigi in horror.

  “I’m fine,” Gigi lied between gritted teeth. “If you can hold it steady for another minute, I think I can do this.”

  Sienna increased her grip, and Gigi slowly eased onto the shelf nearest the window. The shelf held, and the whole structure actually steadied. She took a moment to catch her breath and offer up a silent prayer of thanks.

  The basement window looked even grimier up close, with dirt caked into all four corners and cobwebs crisscrossing the glass. Gigi prayed it would open easily enough. She didn’t have much leverage in the position she was in. A tiny spider spun toward her face on a gossamer piece of web, and she forced herself not to scream or even move. She clamped her eyes shut, and when she opened them again, the spider was gone. The thought crossed her mind that it might now be entangled in her hair somewhere, and she forced herself to think about something else.

  The window latch looked as if it hadn’t been touched in decades, but it moved freely enough. Gigi let out her breath in a sigh of relief. She was one step closer to getting Sienna safely to the hospital.

  Gigi gave the window a good shove, and it opened almost as easily as the latch had. It was a bit of a struggle getting through the space. She winced when she heard a loud rip as her jacket caught on something. She was glad she was wearing her old fleece and not the new leather one she’d treated herself to.

  The window was barely above ground level, and Gigi found herself lying facedown in the pile of leaves that had collected alongside the house’s foundation. She stumbled to her feet and brushed at the dirt and bits of twigs and leaves that clung to the front of her jacket and the knees of her jeans. She sensed a presence and looked up to find Anja staring at her with those frigid blue eyes of hers.

  “Very clever. How did you manage it?”

  Gigi’s heart was still beating so loudly she barely heard Anja’s words. She gestured toward the open window. “The shelving unit.”

  “As I said, very clever. But I’m afraid, not clever enough.” Anja brought her right arm out from behind her back.

  Gigi took a step backward when she saw the shovel in Anja’s hand.

  “One of the gardeners very conveniently left this lying against the side of the house instead of putting it away.” Anja gave a hiss of annoyance, presumably at the employee’s laziness.

  Even before Anja raised the shovel over her head, Gigi was off and running. She ran as fast as she ever had, fairly certain she had to be setting some kind of record. She kept going even when her breath became so ragged it tore at her chest and she tasted blood in her mouth. Anja was never more than a few feet behind. Her breath sounded like a locomotive in Gigi’s ears, and it spurred her on even after she nearly tripped and fell, and again after she twisted her ankle on the hidden roots of a tree.

  She was at the bend in the driveway now, probably halfway down its length. She tried to think, but fear propelled her forward with no plan beyond outdistancing and outlasting Anja and the menacing iron shovel.

  Gigi felt something catch at her jacket and glance off her shoulder. She bit her lip in pain. Anja was right behind her and swinging wildly. Tears blurred Gigi’s vision, and she narrowly escaped colliding with a tree. She didn’t know how much longer she could run. Anja must have superhuman powers because she kept coming and coming.

  Another blow glancing off her right shoulder gave Gigi a shot of adrenaline, and she made a last-ditch effort to pick up speed. She heard the shovel slice through the air but felt nothing. Anja must have dropped back at last. Gigi was rounding the second bend in the driveway when she ran smack into something.

  It wasn’t a tree—it was quite hard but at the same time, softer and more yielding. She looked up to discover Detective Mertz towering over her. Suddenly several people in uniform rushed out of the shadows and whizzed past Gigi and Mertz. She heard scuffling and the sounds of a struggle. She turned around to see Anja handcuffed and subdued between two burly policemen.

  She gave Gigi a venomous stare, her lips drawn back into an animal-like snarl. “I only wanted revenge for my sister. Is there something so wrong with that?” She tried to shake off the men gripping each of her arms.

  “But murder?” Gigi squeaked.

  “She deserved it.” Anja spit furiously. “She accused my sister of stealing, and Monica was deported. She took her own life.”

  Gigi gasped.

  “All along it was that useless stepson of hers, Derek, who was taking the money. He got his just deserts, that’s for sure. Can you believe he tried to blackmail me?” she shouted after Gigi as the policemen hustled her into the waiting squad car, its lights throwing a whirling display of colors against the side of Felicity’s house.

  “What about Sienna?” Gigi turned to Mertz. “We have to get her out of there.”

  Mertz gestured toward the fire truck in front of the police cruiser. “The firemen have turned off the gas and opened all the windows. They’ll have her out in a second.”

  “I think she’s in labor.”

  Mertz turned around, startled. “Labor? Really?”

  Gigi shook her head.

  He reached through his open car door, grabbed his radio and barked orders at the person on the other end. He turned back to Gigi. “Ambulance will be here in a few.”

  “How did you—”

  “Come to be here?” Mertz finished for her. “Your dog.” He pointed toward Alice’s Taurus where Reg was now curled up, asleep, on the back package shelf. “I guess he started barking, and it irritated the old geezer who lives down the road, and he called in a complaint. I was on my way out here anyway to ask Winchel a few more questions, so I agreed to check on it. When I saw Reg sitting in the car, barking his head off, I knew something had to be up. It’s not like him to make a racket like that for no reason. Then, as I got closer to the house, I smelled the gas and called in the fire brigade. Next thing I know you’re running smack into my arms.”

  “I didn’t run into your arms.” Gigi felt her face blossom with heat.

  “In a manner of speaking, you most certainly did.” The smile on Mertz’s face made Gigi go all weak in the knees.

  “Here she is!” Gigi heard someone shout. She peered through the trees and saw someone in uniform carrying Sienna down the driveway.

  “Sienna!” Gigi, ran, panicked, toward her friend. “Are you okay?”

 
; Sienna was very white, but her eyes fluttered open when she heard Gigi’s voice. “I’ll be fine,” she whispered and closed her eyes again.

  “Bus is here,” someone called, and Gigi caught sight of headlights coming up the drive.

  The ambulance pulled up behind the squad cars, adding another rotating halo of light to the scene. A man and a woman jumped out, yanked out a gurney and within seconds had Sienna safely in place. They loaded her into the back, and Gigi could see them taking her vitals and starting an IV drip.

  She fished her cell phone from her purse and dialed Oliver’s number. Before Gigi even hung up, Oliver was in his car on the way to the hospital.

  Mertz was busy commanding his troops, so Gigi waved and got into her own car. Reg lazily climbed down from the package shelf and came over to lick her face in greeting. She ruffled his fur and kissed the top of his head. “You’re a hero, Reg. You saved me and Sienna.”

  Reg preened himself a bit and then settled into the passenger seat to continue his nap.

  “We’re off to the hospital, boy. Sienna is having her baby.”

  Chapter 29

  Gigi was still shaking when she arrived at Woodstone Hospital. She’d thought about running Reg home—he’d already spent way too long sitting in the car—but he was napping peacefully on the passenger seat still, and she hoped he wouldn’t mind waiting a bit longer. She wouldn’t rest until she found out how Sienna was doing.

  She recognized Oliver’s BMW in the emergency parking lot and pulled into a space three cars down. The woman at the reception desk took forever, asking Gigi a million and one questions before finally issuing her a pass and directing her to room twelve. Gigi was almost dancing with impatience by the time she was ushered through the door.

  She passed room ten, eleven and then came to the curtain blocking cubicle number twelve. “Hello?” she called out.

  Oliver’s reassuring baritone greeted her, and she pushed the curtain to one side. Sienna was sitting up in the hospital bed, an IV running into her arm and a pulse oximeter clipped to one of her fingers. She was pale but looked okay.

  Oliver smiled when Gigi entered, and gave a thumbs-up. “We’re on our way to the maternity ward. Looks like this baby is finally coming.”

  “Really!” Gigi gave Sienna a quick hug.

  “It’s the first, so it could be a while—then again . . . ?” Oliver shrugged.

  “You’ll let me know the minute—”

  “Of course.” Sienna smiled reassuringly.

  “Well, I’ve left Reg alone in the car long enough. I think I’ll go home and . . . wait.”

  “Hopefully not too long.” Sienna grimaced slightly and put her hands on her belly.

  Oliver leaned over her, stroking her forehead and smoothing her hair back.

  Gigi backed out of the cubicle. They didn’t need her there right now. She felt a pang of jealousy and wondered when she’d find someone to be there for her.

  The thought that Mertz had shown up at just the moment she needed him crossed her mind, and she smiled to herself.

  Gigi headed back to her car. Reg lifted his head briefly when she opened the door, but by the time they were out of the lot, he was back to sleep again.

  Gigi was extremely grateful when she rounded the corner and her cottage came into view. She thought about soaking her aching bones in a nice, hot bath but decided that she’d probably crawl straight into bed instead.

  The message light on her phone was blinking. Gigi hesitated with her finger over the flashing button. What could be so important that it couldn’t wait till tomorrow? But maybe Oliver had called? Maybe the baby had arrived, jet propelled, while Gigi was on her way home?

  She pushed play. A deep unfamiliar voice came through the speaker. It was Victor Branston. A chill swept Gigi from her head to her toes. Was this going to be good news or bad?

  • • •

  Branston Foods was located several miles outside of Woodstone in a small industrial park. The building was a long, low rectangle with a large parking lot in the rear. Gigi pulled Alice’s Taurus into one of the spaces marked Visitor and got out.

  Branston hadn’t revealed much in his voice mail message—just that his secretary would be in touch about a meeting. Gigi had e-mailed him the set of recipes she’d created, and his test kitchen was going to assess their suitability for freezing. Gigi crossed her fingers. Please let this be good news.

  The lobby of Branston Foods was spare, with floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out onto a patch of shriveled grass, a few small trees and a deserted-looking park bench. The furniture was utilitarian, and there was a coat rack behind the receptionist’s desk.

  Gigi gave her name and was told to wait. She eased onto a fake leather chair and tried to calm the butterflies in her stomach. Barely two minutes later, a door to the left opened, and a woman came out. She was wearing dark slacks and a turtleneck, and her gray-streaked brown hair was cut short.

  “Gigi?” She smiled and held out her hand.

  Gigi hoped her own hand wasn’t sweating, and she was tempted to wipe it on her coat before extending it.

  She followed the woman through the door and into a carpeted corridor lined with open doors. Various plaques hung from the walls, as did a large gold-framed picture of Victor Branston.

  The woman led Gigi into a small anteroom with a desk, computer and what Gigi thought was transcription equipment. A large, fake ficus tree stood in the corner. Another framed portrait of Victor Branston dominated one wall. The woman tapped lightly on a door at the rear of the office, then cracked it open and stuck her head around the edge.

  “Miss Fitzgerald is here.”

  “Send her in, then.”

  Gigi recognized the voice as Victor Branston’s. She sent up a quick prayer and entered.

  “Gigi!” Branston said warmly, coming out from behind his desk to shake Gigi’s hand. He clapped her on the shoulder. “I appreciate your coming today.” He led her toward two armchairs arranged around a low wooden table. “Please. Have a seat.”

  Gigi settled into one of the chairs. The seat was very deep, and she had to move forward a bit to avoid having her feet dangle off the floor. Branston sprawled in the other one, one leg crossed casually over the other, revealing a peek at his diamond-patterned socks. He had the look of a top executive—silver gray hair cut just so, expensively tailored suit, autocratic nose—but Gigi had always found him to be surprisingly warm despite his position.

  She tried to gauge his thoughts from his expression, but like any good CEO, he kept them well hidden behind a noncommittal exterior.

  “Well.” Branston clapped his hands together and rubbed them briskly. “Our test kitchen has checked out all your delicious recipes, and if you’re in agreement, we’d like to get going right away on a line of Gigi’s Gourmet De-Lite frozen meals.”

  Gigi’s heart, which felt as if it had stopped, started again with a giant thud. She felt the grin that broke out across her face. So much for playing her cards close to her vest.

  “Wonderful,” was all she could manage.

  “Some of the recipes will have to be adapted, of course, for the freezing process.” He held up a hand. “Nothing that would change the taste or quality, don’t worry about that. Sometimes flavors have to be heightened in order to withstand being frozen.”

  Gigi nodded mutely. The rest of the room had retreated to a haze, and Branston’s voice sounded as if it were coming at her through a long, hollow tube. She shook her head in an attempt to clear it.

  “We’re going to start with your excellent beef stew, the chicken tortilla soup, your low-fat Swedish meatballs and for our breakfast entry, the Mexican egg tortilla. How does that sound?”

  Gigi still hadn’t found her voice and settled for nodding yet again.

  The rest of the meeting went quickly, and what seemed like only minutes later, Gigi was waving good-bye to the receptionist and heading toward where she’d parked the MINI.

  She had to restrain herself from
giving a small skip as she walked to the car. It was hard to believe that in several months’ time, grocery stores all around the area would be carrying meals with her name on them. From her recipes.

  She was overcome with a sense of lightness she hadn’t felt in a long time.

  • • •

  The first dusting of snow arrived in Woodstone two weeks before Thanksgiving. It frosted the tree branches, twinkled on the grass and gave a festive, Christmas-card appearance to the whole town. It was the perfect setting for Declan McQuaid’s pre-Thanksgiving dinner to benefit Joe and Stacy Flanagan. Sienna and Oliver were going, bringing along two-week-old Camille Paisley, whom Gigi, Oliver and Sienna all agreed was the most adorable, intelligent and charming baby girl ever born. Alice was going, of course, and Evelyn Fishko from Bon Appétit, virtually all the other shopkeepers and a good number of the townspeople as well. Even Mertz planned to be there, assuming there wasn’t a crisis that required police presence.

  Which was why Gigi was taking so much trouble with her outfit. Reg sat curled up on the braided rug in her bedroom watching as she slid into her new dress—the one she’d bought for her date with Mertz that had turned out so disastrously. The cleaner’s had done an admirable job of getting the stains out from her spilled dinner. So what if Mertz had already seen it? No one else had, and she knew from experience that clothing wasn’t the sort of thing men remembered—sports stats, maybe, but not fashion. Reg nodded his approval, or so Gigi imagined, as she twirled in front of the mirror.

  Gigi refilled Reg’s water dish, tidied a few things in the kitchen and got her coat from the closet—the good one she wore constantly in New York but had hardly looked at since moving to Woodstone.

  “I’ll be back soon,” she reassured Reg as she closed and locked the front door.

  Her MINI was waiting in the driveway, clean and polished and good as new. She was thrilled to have it back. She’d been grateful for the loan of Alice’s car but had really missed her own.