Allergic to Death

by Peg Cochran

  Adora took out a piece of melba toast and downed it in one bite. She closed her eyes. “Mmmmm, you do manage to make things taste delicious.” She ran the tip of her tongue languidly across her lips.

  “I don’t know about you all, but I’m going outside for a breath of air.” Barbie tossed her blond ponytail over her shoulder. “It’s beastly in here.”

  “Don’t bother, cara mia, it’s raining.” A man appeared from the shadowy depths of the theater, his shirt darkened with splotches of rain. He shook out his umbrella before placing it across one of the seats.

  Pierce scowled at him over the footlights. “Emilio. You’re late.”

  “I am so sorry.”

  “Well, I’m going outside anyway. Winston’s here,” Barbie replied sulkily. “We’ll sit in the car, I guess.”

  Emilio shrugged. “Bon appétit.”

  “Where’s Alice?” Gigi looked around, holding the last of her Gourmet De-Lite lunches.

  “Here I am,” a voice sang out from the darkness, and Alice made her way toward them, her gray hair frizzed out around her like a halo. She took her lunch and sighed, weighing it in her hand. “Not enough here to keep a bird alive,” she grumbled.

  “Now, Alice, you know if you want to lose enough weight in time for your daughter’s wedding, you have to make some sacrifices,” Adora purred.

  Alice shot her a look. “Please. You don’t have to remind me. I have to look good for my daughter in front of that…that woman.”

  “The future mother-in-law?” Emilio reached toward Alice’s open container, and she playfully slapped his hand away.

  “This is mine, and I’m not sharing. I can’t. I need every bite Gigi allows me.” She took out one of the melba toast rounds and delicately bit it in half. “Mmmm, delicious, as always.” She licked the tips of her fingers. “Yes, you could say we’re having in-law problems already. Or, at least I am.” Alice sighed. “She’s a perfect size six, and she’s bought the perfect dress for this perfect wedding for the perfect couple,” Alice mimicked in a chirping falsetto. “And I perfectly despise her! Look at me.” She gestured toward herself. “I’m a perfect whale!”

  “You’re going to be beautiful,” Gigi reassured her.

  “It’s just that we were in high school together,” Alice mumbled around another bite of melba toast. “And she always thought she was better than me. She stole the first boyfriend I ever had. Just once I’d like to get the better of her.”

  “You will. You’ve lost weight already, and you’ll lose even more before the wedding.”

  Alice raised her chin slightly. “You’re right. I can’t let her get me down. Besides, it’s going to be my Stacy’s special day, and that’s all that matters.”

  Gigi glanced at her watch. “I’ve got to get the rest of my meals delivered.” She looked around the darkened theater. “I thought I saw Martha Bernhardt’s car in the parking lot.”

  Alice gestured toward the back wall with her chin. “She’s in the office, I think. I heard her on the phone when I went back to get Pierce’s stupid sweater. Sounded really furious with someone.”

  Gigi found her way to the corridor that ran behind the stage. The bare lightbulb hanging from the ceiling didn’t even begin to penetrate the gloom. Suddenly, one of the doors opened, and a woman brushed past her, jostling her elbow.

  “What a waste of time,” the woman muttered under her breath. “People just aren’t reliable anymore.”

  “Pardon me?” Gigi swiveled around and realized it was Martha Bernhardt who had bumped into her.

  Martha turned toward Gigi. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean you.” She peered at Gigi more closely. “Oh, it’s you. Have you brought my lunch?”

  “It’s in my car just outside.”

  “Well,” Martha sniffed loudly. “At least the morning won’t have been a complete waste, then.”

  Martha’s cheeks were flushed, and her pointed nose quivered with indignation. Her black hair was swept off her high forehead and teased and sprayed into a bouffant, chin-length flip. She might have been called attractive, but with her features set into rigid and bitter lines, she was merely forbidding.

  She followed Gigi out to the parking lot, her black cape swirling around her legs.

  It was raining heavily. Gigi could see Barbie and Winston huddled together in the front seat of his Mercedes. Martha noticed, too, and scowled at the car as she stomped toward Gigi’s MINI.

  “Why don’t you hop in, and I’ll drive you over to your car?” Gigi dashed around to the front door and pulled it open. The rain was heavier, and cold drops slid down the back of her shirt.

  Martha got in beside her, her cape tucked under her. It made the interior of the car reek of wet wool, and Gigi wrinkled her nose as she turned the key and put the car in gear.

  “I’m very grateful, Miss Fitzgerald,” Martha said when they pulled up in front of her Element. She accepted her Gourmet De-Lite container and opened the door. Gigi watched as she dashed toward her car, pulled open the door and stuck her head inside.

  Gigi was about to pull away when Martha began backing out of the driver’s seat of her Element, her broad backside aimed in Gigi’s direction. She turned toward Gigi and gestured wildly, her mouth moving furiously. Gigi buzzed down her window.

  “Someone’s stolen my purse. It was right here on the front seat. And now it’s gone.”

  “Did you lock your door?”

  “No, of course not. This is Woodstone, not New York or Detroit or someplace like that.”

  “I have my cell. We can call the police.” Gigi twisted around and pulled her bag from the backseat.

  Martha shook her head. Rain dripped off the end of her sharp nose and her hair was slowly deflating in the humidity. “Never mind. The police station is just down the road. I’ll drive over and make a report. Not that it’s going to make any difference. They’re unlikely to ever find the thief. I don’t know what this town is coming to—”

  “If you’re sure…”

  Martha nodded and slid into the front seat of her Element, rolling down the window. “It’s going to be dreadfully annoying, canceling all the credit cards and all, but fortunately I rarely carry much cash. If memory serves, I had around five dollars and eighty-nine cents in my wallet.” She pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Well, I’ll just have a tiny bite of my lunch first.” She opened her Gourmet De-Lite container and extracted one of the melba toast rounds. “Heavenly! Absolutely heavenly.”

  She crammed the rest of the piece of toast into her mouth, nodded at Gigi, rolled up the window, put the car in gear and drove slowly out of the parking lot.

  Gigi followed behind her. They passed the Knit Knack Shop on the right, and then Folio next to it. Gigi made a mental note to call to see if her new stationery was ready. They were passing the Take the Cake Bakery when Martha began driving erratically, weaving back and forth along the narrow lane and nearly bumping the curb at one point. Several pedestrians drew back from the road and into the shadows along the storefronts.

  What on earth was Martha doing, Gigi wondered? Was something wrong?

  Gigi watched helplessly as Martha swerved across the center yellow line. The Element jumped the cobblestone curb in front of Bon Appétit and headed straight for one of the massive oak trees that lined the sidewalk.

  Chapter 2

  “Mama mia, you look terrible, cara. What happened?” Emilio Franchi rushed forward, wiping his wet hands on the apron tied around his substantial waist.

  “There’s been an accident.” Sienna urged Gigi forward into the sheltering depths of Al Forno.

  The restaurant was empty. The lunch crowd had finished their meal, and the after-work crowd hadn’t yet arrived. A waitress was replacing burned-out candles on the tables, while a busboy whistled tunelessly to himself as he bundled up dirty tablecloths. Carlo Franchi had his back to them, writing specials on the blackboard that hung over the bar. Today they were offering osso buco Milanese and chicken francese. Tantalizing aromas drifte
d from the kitchen, infusing the air with the scent of garlic, lemon and thyme.

  “Carlo,” Emilio called, snapping his fingers.

  Carlo whirled around, chalk in hand.

  Emilio motioned toward Gigi. “Get our friend a drink, quick.”

  Carlo turned back toward the bar, his hand hovering over several bottles.

  “A whiskey,” Emilio called to him after another look at Gigi’s face.

  Carlo selected a bottle, twisted off the cap and poured a generous splash into a tumbler. He slid the glass of amber-colored liquid across the counter toward Gigi. “Drink,” he commanded, his brown eyes dark with concern.

  Gigi’s hand shook as she picked up the glass. She took a sip and sputtered as liquid heat slid down her throat. Slowly the shivery feeling in the pit of her stomach was replaced with spreading warmth. She put the glass down with slightly steadier hands.

  “Tell us what happened?” Carlo looked from Gigi to Sienna and back again.

  Sienna perched on the stool next to Gigi, her long cotton skirt tucked around her legs. Carlo held up the bottle of whiskey, but she shook her head.

  “Just some water, please.”

  Carlo grabbed a large fluted glass, dug ice out of the freezer and filled it to the top with water. He set it on the counter in front of Sienna, then looked at Gigi. “You’re not hurt, are you? You said there’s been an accident?”

  Gigi nodded. The scene had been playing over and over in her mind like a tape, only in long, drawn-out slow motion—Martha’s car gliding across the center line, into the other lane, over the curb and finally straight into an oak tree whose limbs were bursting forth with spring greenery. A sickening thud, leaves and small branches swirling down, people dashing forward, voices raised and yelling. She shuddered.

  The police and an ambulance from Woodstone General had arrived almost immediately, their sirens tearing through the quiet of the weekday afternoon. Gigi had waited, pacing, as emergency crews spent an hour extricating Martha from the crushed Element.

  They were loading her onto a gurney when Sienna came running out of the Book Nook, pausing only long enough to lock the front door. She took Gigi gently by the arm and urged her down the street and into the safety of Al Forno.

  Emilio slid behind the bar, chose a wine glass from the shelf and filled it with merlot. “Tell us what happened, cara.” He took Gigi’s empty whiskey glass and pushed the wine toward her.

  “I don’t know.” Gigi twirled the wine glass between her fingers. “Martha was driving just in front of me. All of a sudden she started weaving all over the road.” Gigi made a wavy motion with her hand. “Her car went up over the curb and hit the tree in front of Bon Appétit.”

  Sienna pushed a hand through her long mane of curly, honey-colored hair. “I wonder what happened. Did one of her tires blow?”

  “I don’t think so.” Gigi glanced at her friend. “I didn’t hear anything, and I would have, wouldn’t I?”

  Emilio thunked his chest with his fist. “It was probably a heart attack.”

  “You might be right.” Gigi had another sip of her wine. She was starting to feel better—less cold and shivery. “Her purse was stolen while she was at the theater. She was furious. Maybe that caused a heart attack?” She looked from Carlo to Emilio.

  “Hooligans,” Emilio shook his dish towel in the air. “Carlo? Remember old Mr. DeSapio?”

  Carlo nodded. “Certainly, Uncle. I was just a little boy. Before we came to this country. Poor Antonio.” He glanced at Gigi and Sienna. “He had a heart attack.”

  “He was driving?”

  “Yes. Followed by an accident. Same thing, he hit a tree.”

  “There was only one difference,” Emilio chuckled.

  “That’s right,” Carlo began to laugh, too. “He was riding a bicycle.”

  They both burst out laughing then, and Gigi and Sienna joined in.

  “If you could have seen him.” Carlo wiped tears from his eyes with the edge of his apron. “Wobbling like crazy, then, bam”—he punched his fist into his palm—“right into the tree.”

  “I’ll never forget it.” Emilio opened the oven and slid a pizza from its wood-fired depths. He cut it deftly into eighths, the pizza wheel biting easily through the thin, blistered crust.

  “I do hope Martha will be okay,” Gigi said as Emilio slid the pizza onto the counter and handed out plates and small paper napkins.

  “Me, too.” Sienna swirled the ice around in her glass. “Wasn’t she going to do a whole write-up about your gourmet diet business?”

  Gigi nodded. Just her luck. She’d finally snagged a client who could help her publicize her business, and now look what had happened. Martha had had a whole series planned for the newspaper—complete with recipes and before and after pictures. Gigi mentally shook herself. Poor Martha was possibly fighting for her life in the hospital at this very minute, and here she was moaning about her lost opportunity.

  The bell over the front door tinkled, and Alice Slocum burst through it and into the restaurant. Her hair was even more disheveled than usual, with drops of rain glittering on the ends of the curling, gray strands.

  “Have you heard?” Her voice was breathless. She bustled over to the bar, where she eyed the pizza longingly.

  “About Martha’s accident?” they chorused.

  “Gigi”—Carlo put a hand lightly on her shoulder—“actually saw it.” Gigi could feel the warmth of his palm through her blouse and felt herself beginning to blush.

  “You know she’s dead?” Alice’s eyes nearly bugged out from beneath their shaggy brows.

  “No!” Gigi half rose from her seat.

  Alice nodded and absentmindedly grabbed a piece of pizza and took a huge bite. “I heard the guys talking about it when they got back to the station.” Alice worked part-time as a secretary for the Woodstone Police Department. “It’s hard to believe. I just saw her at the theater this morning, and now…”

  “Was it a heart attack?” Gigi asked while simultaneously raising an eyebrow at the piece of pizza in Alice’s hand.

  Alice put the slice down abruptly. “I don’t know. No one does. The docs still have to do the autopsy. But what else could it have been?” Alice shook her head.

  The bell over the front door tinkled again, and everyone turned in that direction. Adora Sands strode in, snatching a scarf from her head and shaking off the raindrops. Her unnaturally bright blond hair tumbled in artfully created waves around her shoulders.

  She was wearing a calf-length pencil skirt with an off-the-shoulder blouse and wide patent leather belt.

  Sienna snorted when she saw her and leaned over to whisper in Gigi’s ear. “Looks like Adora is channeling her inner Gina Lollobrigida.”

  Adora sidled up to Emilio and batted long, sooty eyelashes at him. Emilio immediately reached for a glass and began to pour some wine. It sloshed over the side, and he apologized profusely, grabbing a rag from the bar and soaking up the small puddle.

  “I’ve just heard the news, and it’s all too dreadfully sad. Poor, poor Martha.” Adora took her glass and perched on one of the empty bar stools. Emilio continued to fuss behind the bar, and Gigi noticed him glancing longingly at Adora.

  “We weren’t just neighbors, you know.” Adora looked around the group, her eyelashes lowered demurely. “We were friends as well.” She put a strong emphasis on the word friends.

  “That why she came to see you this morning?” Alice asked with what looked to Gigi like a slight smirk.

  “To see me?” Adora fiddled with her cocktail napkin. “She didn’t come to see me. What ever gave you that idea?”

  “What was she doing at the theater, then, I wonder?” Alice plucked an anchovy off the remaining piece of pizza and popped it into her mouth.

  “I…I…don’t know.” Adora’s hands fluttered to her face. “Something to do with repairing the air conditioner, I think.” She gave a loud sniff. “I can’t believe she’s gone.” She reached for a napkin on the bar and p
ressed it to her eyes. She gave a sob, and Emilio rushed over to pat her shoulder.

  “Let’s just hope she got the air conditioner fixed before she died.” Alice rolled her eyes. “Especially if I have to wear that blasted sweater.”

  Adora gave another sob. “How can you say that when poor, dear Martha is dead?” She buried her face in her hands. Emilio patted her shoulder harder, looking distressed.

  Alice rolled her eyes again.

  “I just hate to think of how frightened Martha must have been.” Adora leaned back against Emilio and glanced at him over her shoulder.

  “It must have been a heart attack, no?” Carlo looked around the group, his eyebrows raised. “Maybe she went like that”—he snapped his fingers—“and never knew what happened.”

  Adora smiled at him. “I hope so. I certainly hope so.”

  “Gigi said her purse was stolen and she was very upset.”

  Gigi nodded at Carlo. “Yes, and she was upset already. When I ran into her in the hall, she said something about the morning having been a complete waste of time.”

  “I feel so terrible,” Adora said, looking anything but. “I never even said good-bye.”

  “Cara, please, do not upset yourself.” Emilio hastened to refill Adora’s wine glass. “We never know, do we? Life can be snatched away like that.” He snapped his fingers and looked around the table.

  Sienna insisted on driving Gigi home and helping with preparations for that evening’s Gourmet De-Lite dinner.

  “These smell divine. What did you put in here?” Sienna sniffed the pan of marinating chicken kebobs that Gigi pulled from the refrigerator.

  “Lime juice, tequila, some chopped jalapenos and a bit of olive oil.”

  “Anything I can do to help?”

  “Sure.” Gigi grabbed a bowl of cut-up peppers, cherry tomatoes and onion wedges. “These need to go on skewers, then I’ll go heat the grill.”