by Peg Cochran
That review had been quite recent. She checked the date on Martha’s notes—a week before she’d died. Gigi turned the next page with clumsy fingers. Her heartbeat went into overdrive, and she felt light-headed and slightly breathless. She should be getting to the notes Martha had taken about her visit to Al Forno. She crossed her fingers. Maybe things hadn’t gone as badly as all that.
The page wasn’t there.
“What?” Gigi looked up at Sienna, her mouth open in surprise. Gigi showed her the notebook. “That’s it. The last notes are on the Surf and Turf, and then that’s it.” She fluttered the pages at Sienna.
Sienna grabbed the notebook. “Maybe she flipped it over and started again from back to front, like you do with steno pads.” She flipped through the pages but soon realized that hadn’t been the case. She handed the notebook back to Gigi.
“What do we do now?”
“I don’t know.” Gigi sat with her chin in her hands, finally oblivious to the smell that surrounded her like a noxious cloud. “She must have started a new notebook and thrown this one away.”
Sienna groaned. “We’ll never find it, then.”
Gigi thought for a moment. “Maybe she tore those pages out—the ones with her notes about Al Forno.”
“Why would she do that?”
“Maybe she changed her mind about the review?”
“Why does that sound like wishful thinking?”
“Okay, maybe she was already working on the review of Al Forno and needed her notes close at hand.” Gigi turned the hot spigot on the sink to full blast, added a bit of cold water and plunged her hands under the stream. “She might have torn the relevant pages out and left them by her computer.”
Sienna nodded. “Makes sense.”
Gigi lathered up to her elbows with soap. “Which means we need to get into her house and look around for those pages.”
“But how are we going to do that? I’m sorry, but I draw the line at breaking and entering.” Sienna handed Gigi a wad of paper towels.
“Maybe there’s one of those hide-a-key thingies. You know, the ones that look like a rock, and people keep them by their front door in case they’ve misplaced their regular set.”
“That does sound like Martha. I can imagine her having something like that.”
“What are we waiting for then?” Gigi tossed the towels in the trash with a flourish.
“Are you sure you don’t want to go home and shower first?” Sienna fanned the air in front of her nose.
“Do I still smell?”
“Well…yes, but I’m starting to get used to it.”
“Let’s go, then.”
“Great idea to bring Reg. It will look like we’re just out walking the dog.”
Gigi glanced at the sky, where dark clouds swirled across the moon. “Yes, except I’m not about to walk the three miles to Martha’s house. We can drive over, park and then saunter up her drive with Reg.” She opened her car door, and Reg hopped into the backseat of the MINI obligingly.
A slight drizzle, barely heavier than mist, was falling when Gigi and Sienna turned onto Martha’s street. Gigi cut her lights and coasted to the curb in front of Martha’s house. She looked at the houses on either side—the one to the right was dark except for a lit globe over the front porch, and the one on the other side had a light burning in what was probably the kitchen.
“Which house is Adora’s?” Sienna hissed under her breath.
“That one over there with the light over the front door, I think.” Gigi shut her door and winced at the quiet thunk it made. She opened the back door, and Reg bounded out, stretched and immediately began to sniff the ground, his tail wagging furiously.
“Do you think he smells Martha?” Sienna came around the car and joined Gigi.
Gigi shrugged. “Probably. Their sense of smell is so much keener than ours.”
“Too bad we can’t tell him to sniff out the key to the front door,” Sienna grumbled as they made their way up the drive. “I don’t want to be standing out here where we can be seen any longer than necessary.”
“That makes two of us,” Gigi whispered.
A car came around the corner, its headlights sweeping the street in a flash of brilliance. Gigi and Sienna pressed into the bushes as far as they could and held their breath. Gigi realized she would have a hard time explaining what she was up to if someone called the police. She could just imagine Detective Mertz’s poker face at the news. He already thought she was guilty as sin—this would clinch it.
The car disappeared down the street, the red taillights fading slowly to nothing. Gigi let out her breath in a loud whoosh. Reg strained at the end of his leash, his nose twitching furiously.
“Where should we start?”
Gigi reined Reg in as best she could. “Let’s look by the front door. That’s where most people hide their spare key.”
They edged their way up the walk toward the front door. “I should have worn black,” Sienna hissed as another car appeared around the corner.
“If anyone asks, we’re just here to pick up some of Reg’s things,” Gigi said with more conviction than she felt.
Gigi knelt and felt around the bushes that flanked Martha’s front steps. “Nothing here.” She got to her feet and brushed at the dirt clinging to her knees. Now she not only smelled dirty, she looked dirty as well.
Sienna explored the two pots of petunias on either side of the front door but also came up empty-handed. She lifted the edge of the doormat, and a spider scurried out. Sienna squealed and dropped the mat back into place.
“Shhh,” Gigi reminded her.
“I can’t help it. I hate spiders.”
“Here, hold Reg’s leash.” Gigi handed Sienna the strap and bent down and picked up the doormat. She felt around with her foot, but there was no clink of a metal key against the flagstone landing.
“Maybe there’s one by the back door?”
“Let’s hope.”
Sienna followed Gigi across the small lawn and through some budding flower beds around to the back porch.
Gigi reached for the handle of the porch door. Please let it be unlocked, she prayed silently. The knob turned, and Gigi pushed open the door.
They stumbled inside, feeling their way around the porch furniture, still shrouded in sheets.
“Looks like poor Martha never even got a chance to get ready for the summer.” Gigi felt the seat of the sofa and behind the cushions, but came up empty-handed. “Did you find anything?” She turned toward Sienna, who was just a vague shape in the dark, her halo of curly golden hair faintly visible.
“Quiet, Reg,” Gigi whispered to the dog, who was scratching and whining at the back door. Gigi tried the handle, but, as she suspected, it was locked.
She dropped Reg’s leash and used both hands to feel under the throw rug by the door. “Nothing here, either.” She got back to her feet, her hands pressed against the small of her back.
“Where’s Reg?” They both turned toward the open door, nearly crashing into each other as they made their way through.
“Reg?” Gigi called softly into the enveloping darkness. She grabbed Sienna’s arm. “I think I see him.” She pointed. “Over there.”
They felt their way across the lawn toward some bushes, where Reg was a white smudge against the greenery.
“What’s he doing?” Sienna peered at the spot where Reg’s tail peeked out from beneath some evergreens.
“It looks like he’s digging or something.” Gigi tried to see under the bushes, but it was too dark.
Suddenly, Reg began to back out of the shrubbery, dragging something along by his teeth.
Sienna shuddered. “I hope it’s not a dead animal.” She took a step backward.
“I don’t think so. I don’t know what it is.” Gigi bent over to get a better look.
She straightened suddenly. “You won’t believe it.”
“What?”
“I think Reg has found Martha’s purse!”
&nb
sp; Gigi struggled to wrest the handbag from Reg’s mouth. He seemed to think she was after a brisk game of tug-of-war. Finally, she was able to remove his jaws from around the straps. She held the bag up and turned toward the nearest streetlight.
“It looks like Martha’s. At least, I’m pretty sure it is.”
“Let’s go put it in the car. We can empty it out at your house. Maybe the missing pages will be in there.”
“Should we still try to get inside to look around?”
Gigi shook her head. Suddenly she couldn’t wait to get out of there. The hair on the back of her neck was standing on end, and she felt all goose-bumpy—as if they were being watched.
“Come on, let’s go. We can come back another time if we don’t find the pages.” Gigi grabbed Reg’s leash and wrapped it around her hand.
They tiptoed back across the lawn, sticking to the shadows under the swooping trees. A branch smacked Gigi in the face, and she stifled a scream. She couldn’t wait to get in the car and drive away from there as fast as she could. She had one hand on the car door when they heard someone calling. She stiffened.
“What’s that?” Sienna whispered.
“Sounds like it’s coming from next door. Maybe someone calling their cat. Come on, let’s get out of here.”
“Stop,” the voice yelled, more clearly this time.
“Is she talking to us?”
“Who cares?” Gigi began to open the car door. “Let’s just go.”
“I’ve called the police,” the woman shouted over the bushes that divided the two houses. “They’ll be here any minute now.”
“Isn’t that Adora?”
Gigi craned her neck over the roof of the car. “It does sound like it’s coming from her house.” She listened, but the only sound was the rumble of thunder in the distance. “Let’s go before she sees us.”
Gigi had one foot in the car when they heard it. Sirens. Headed their way. They stood frozen as two patrol cars screeched onto the street, their headlights sweeping the darkened houses, and their siren lights turning the landscape into a kaleidoscope of red and blue.
Chapter 11
Gigi watched as the two patrol cars slowed to a stop in front of Martha’s house. She ordered herself to run, but her feet refused to move. Of course, the clouds parted just then, and moonlight flooded the street. Now she wasn’t just visible, she was practically casting a shadow.
“Adora,” Gigi yelled through cupped hands over the din of the rotating sirens.
Sienna was equally rooted to the spot, looking like an exotic plant with her gauzy skirt blowing in the faint breeze. Gigi grabbed her by the arm. She swore as they pushed their way through the bushes that ran between the two driveways.
“Ouch.”
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing. Just a scratch.”
They could see the outline of someone standing on the front porch of Adora’s house. Gigi waved. “Adora. It’s us.”
Adora peered into the darkness. “Gigi? What on earth are you doing—?”
“What on earth are you doing?” Gigi countered. “Why did you call the police? We’re just out walking the dog.” She gestured toward Reg, who sat at her feet, casting a baleful eye at Adora.
They mounted the three steps to the front landing of Adora’s house. Sienna had several leaves and a small branch caught in her hair. Gigi’s knee was bleeding where she’d scratched it on the bushes, and she was breathing heavily.
“What’s that funny smell?” Adora sniffed and looked around.
“I don’t smell anything.” Gigi was glad it was dark, and Adora couldn’t see how red her face was.
“I don’t smell anything, either.”
“I thought someone was breaking into Martha’s house.” Adora put a hand to her chest in a dramatic gesture. She was wearing a lacy, white slip dress that accentuated her ample curves, and she had a glass of white wine in one hand.
“She’s channeling her inner Maggie the Cat,” Sienna whispered to Gigi.
“What on earth are you doing walking the dog all the way over here? You live, what, two, three miles from here. It’s hardly the sort of night for a long walk.” Adora looked up at the sky.
Sienna started to open her mouth, but Gigi gave her a look, and she shut it again. She raised her eyebrows inquiringly.
“It’s like this,” Gigi began. Her mind was whirling furiously. What possible explanation could there be for her and Sienna to be skulking around Martha’s house like a pair of cat burglars?
“Well?” Adora waited, her head titled to one side.
“Yes?” Sienna echoed with her head titled in a similar fashion. Gigi wanted to pinch her.
“As you know, Reg was Martha’s dog, and I recently adopted him, and we just came over to get some of his things so he would feel more at home in his new home…that is to say, my place.”
Sienna nodded dutifully and hastened to wipe the surprised expression off her face.
Gigi risked a look over her shoulder. Four policemen were standing in the street, hands on their holsters, looking toward Martha’s house.
Adora opened her screen door. “Come on. You’d better get inside. I’ll deal with the police.”
But before Gigi and Sienna could disappear from view, Detective Mertz called out.
They all stopped where they were. Mertz’s tone of voice made Gigi feel like she ought to put up her hands. She had the feeling it wasn’t going to be that easy to talk her way out of this one.
She became conscious of Martha’s large, black handbag looped over her arm. Suddenly it felt enormous. She hoped she could pass it off as her own. Surely Mertz wouldn’t know the difference? Adora, though, had looked at it strangely. Gigi crossed her fingers that Adora wouldn’t say anything until the police had gone. By then, hopefully, she would have come up with a plausible story.
Mertz paused at the foot of the steps and looked up at them. He sniffed deeply. “What’s that awful smell?”
“I don’t smell anything,” Gigi, Sienna and Adora chorused in unison.
Adora batted her eyelashes. “I’m so sorry, Detective. It seems I’ve made an enormous boo-boo.” She laughed, a hand resting on her ample hip. The white satin of her dress reflected the moonlight. “Why don’t we all go inside and have a glass of wine. Or”—her voice went all husky—“perhaps a man like you would prefer something a bit stronger?”
Gigi felt her blood boil. Adora was actually flirting with Detective Mertz! Not that she cared. She didn’t care a bit. Not a bit. It was just absurd, that was all.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to explain what this is all about.” Mertz shifted from one foot to the other. “Did you or did you not place a call to nine-one-one?”
Adora rolled her eyes and fanned her face. “It’s just so hot out here, Officer. And I’ve got the air conditioner running inside and a frosty cold bottle of white wine.” She brandished her glass. “It’s an excellent pinot grigio. I’m sure you’d like it.”
Gigi couldn’t help notice how Mertz’s gaze swept Adora’s body from head to toe. He didn’t linger, but he certainly looked. His expression, however, didn’t change. It remained stern and downright frightening.
“My friends here”—Adora rested a hand on Mertz’s arm, and he looked at it as if an insect had landed on his sleeve—“were walking their dog, when it got away from them. It chased a rabbit across Martha’s property, and they followed trying to catch him. I”—she put a splayed hand flat against the billowing mounds of her chest—“made the mistake of thinking someone was attempting to break into Martha’s house and called the cavalry.” She pointed a pink tipped finger at Mertz. “That would be you.”
Mertz scowled. “That true?” He looked from Gigi to Sienna and back again.
They both nodded.
Mertz waved an arm toward the other three officers who were quickly approaching Adora’s front door. “False alarm. Come on. Let’s get out of here.”
They watched as the police slammed their doors shut and pulled away from the curb.
“Now, you”—Adora turned toward Gigi and pointed at her this time—“must tell me what on earth you’re doing with that hideous old purse of Martha’s.”
“Do you think she believed you?” Sienna took a sip of the chilled chardonnay Gigi had pulled from her fridge along with some cheese and other goodies. She dropped a crumb of Cheshire to Reg, who waited expectantly at her feet.
“I don’t know and, frankly, I don’t care.” Gigi spread some St. André on a cracker. Their adventure had left her starving. She held a nibble out to Reg, and he took it eagerly. Gigi laughed as she thought of the look on Adora’s face when Gigi told her that the purse was hers. She’d admired Martha’s so much, she’d bought one exactly like it for herself. Fortunately, she had left her own cute straw bag in the car.
“Shall we look inside now?” Sienna gestured toward the clunky, black bag squatting on the porch floor between them like a large toad. She pushed it toward Gigi with her foot. Reg gave it a perfunctory sniff, but then immediately went back to keeping vigil over the cheese.
Gigi wasn’t anxious to see what they’d find. Would Martha’s new notebook be in it? Would there be evidence that incriminated Carlo? There must be something—or why would her bag have been stolen? It seemed too coincidental. She was fairly certain that the person who’d stolen Martha’s bag was the same one who’d put the peanut oil on the food.
Gigi sighed and pulled the purse onto her lap. It was heavy, and the leather was rough beneath her fingers. A zipper with a round, burnished brass toggle ran the length of the bag. Gigi slid it open and peered inside. Martha’s wallet was still there, along with a compact and a tube of lipstick, some hand sanitizer, Band-Aids and a packet of tissues. She stuck her hand into the purse, feeling along the sides and bottom. She came up with a wad of crumpled papers.
“What’s that?”
“I don’t know.” Gigi smoothed the pages out on the coffee table. “They look like they come from Martha’s notebook.”
