by Peg Cochran
Gigi tried to smile, but her face refused to cooperate. She felt stiff with anxiety. What was she going to do if she started losing all her customers? Waiting tables at Al Forno or becoming a cashier at the Shop and Save wasn’t going to pay her rent, let alone all her other expenses.
“We’re going to have to come clean about finding Martha’s purse.” Sienna drizzled olive oil on her bread plate and tore a chunk of bread off the loaf on the table. “I’m sure Detective Mertz will agree that the thief must have been after the EpiPen.”
Gigi poked at one of the pieces of crostini and watched as it rolled away from her. “What good is that going to do?”
“For one, it establishes the fact that Martha’s death wasn’t an accident. If someone went to the trouble of stealing her medication, they obviously wanted her to die from the allergic reaction.”
Gigi shivered. “But if we tell him, he, too, might make the connection between Carlo and Martha’s review and the notes in her purse…”
“It’s a chance we’ll have to take. Otherwise people will continue to think that it was your fault.”
The Bernhardts’ neo-Georgian mansion had been fully restored to its former glory, Gigi noted as she pulled into the circular drive. The flower beds were immaculate, the lawn verdant and carefully cut, the bushes pruned into pleasing shapes. The front windows were gleaming, and the entryway well swept. All of the former Bernhardt employees must have been reinstated, because she doubted Winston and Barbie had done it themselves.
Their knock was answered by a young woman whose scuffed athletic shoes were at odds with her pristine pink uniform. She scowled at Gigi and Sienna briefly before indicating with a languid sweep of her arm that they should enter.
They stepped through the door and stood uncertainly in the center of the plush Oriental area rug.
Winston wandered into the foyer just then, a quizzical expression on his face and a bottle of frosty champagne in his hands. He was wearing velvet monogrammed slippers, white linen trousers and a short-sleeve navy shirt. He stopped short when he saw Gigi and Sienna.
“Ah, delivering the goods are you?” He motioned finally with his head toward the Gourmet De-Lite container in Gigi’s hands. “Just about to open a bit of bubbly to celebrate.” He held up the bottle of Veuve Clicquot and grinned.
“Celebrating?” Sienna grabbed Gigi’s arm and pulled her farther into the large, square foyer.
“We are indeed, and you must join us.” He snapped his fingers at the girl in the pink uniform. “Sabrina—”
“Selena,” she corrected, glowering at him, fierce, dark brows lowered over her black eyes.
“Yes, yes, Selena, of course. Please fetch us some glasses, would you?” He held up his left hand and counted. “Four to be exact.”
“What are we celebrating?” Gigi asked as Selena stomped off without a word.
“Come in, and I’ll tell you.” Winston pointed toward an open door just off the foyer.
Sienna and Gigi looked at each other, shrugged and followed Winston into the other room.
The room had bookcases lining each of the walls with yards and yards of leather-bound volumes filling the shelves. Gigi wondered if Winston or Barbie had read any of them or if they had been purchased wholesale to fill up the space. Two voluptuous armchairs were pulled in front of a monstrous, yawning fireplace with a plump sofa opposite. Winston waved them toward the sofa, and Gigi and Sienna perched carefully on its quilted, black leather edge.
Winston put the champagne down on top of a walnut desk and began to wrestle the cork from the bottle. It was ejected with a satisfying pop as sparkling wine fizzed over the sides.
“Bravo!” he exclaimed, clapping.
Selena reappeared with four champagne flutes and plunked them on the desk, banging them so hard that Gigi was afraid the delicate crystal would shatter.
Winton poured them each a glass and was passing them around when Barbie strolled into the room. She was wearing white Bermuda shorts, a pink silk shirt and woven leather sandals. Her toes were painted the exact color of her top.
“Oh,” was all she said when she saw Gigi and Sienna.
“I’ve invited your friends to join us, my dear.” Winston swept a champagne flute in their direction.
Barbie’s nostrils flared slightly, as if she had encountered a bad smell in the room, and Gigi had the distinct feeling Barbie was about to inform him that they were most certainly not her friends, when she clamped her mouth shut and graced them with a chilly smile.
If she hadn’t wanted information so badly, Gigi would have bolted. That and the fact that Sienna was clutching the edge of her skirt, holding her in place.
Winston handed Barbie the fourth champagne glass, and she held it to her mouth, although Gigi could have sworn she did little more than wet her lips with the expensive French wine. Obviously, Barbie was taking her diet more seriously than most of Gigi’s other clients, Alice excepted.
Sienna raised her glass in a mock toast. “So what are we celebrating?” She looked from Winston to Barbie and then back again.
Barbie shrugged. “You started this. You tell them.” She eased down into one of the armchairs, glass held aloft lest it spill. She glanced at Winston and crossed one slender leg over the other, her delicate designer sandal dangling from her bare toes.
“Yes, indeed.” Winston rubbed his hands together briskly. He plucked his glass from the desk and thrust it toward them. “To Stuckey and Sons.” He tossed back a gulp of champagne.
Gigi took a sip, her eyebrows raised questioningly.
“The deal is done. Signed, sealed and delivered.” Winston smacked the desk, and a stack of documents bounced and trembled. “Or it will be as soon as all the legal ends are tied up. It will make me a very rich man. A very rich man, indeed.” He threw back another gulp of wine before grabbing a long sheaf of papers rolled and fastened with a rubber band.
Gigi glanced around the room, wondering how Winston would describe his current situation.
He spread the papers out on the desk and stabbed the center of them with a long forefinger. “Say hello to the new Woodstone Mall.”
Gigi and Sienna went to peer over his shoulder.
Gigi tilted her head, trying to read some of the writing, which was upside down. She pointed toward the blueprints. “Isn’t that where the Woodstone Theater is?” She frowned.
“So it is.” Winston drew his finger around the blueprint in a circle. “These will be the shops, here. High-end places like Gucci and Chanel and Louis Vuitton.”
Gigi glanced at Barbie, and she could have sworn she saw her mouth water. Barbie walked over to the desk and peered at the plans splayed out on top.
“What’s that?” She jabbed a spot with a pink-tipped finger.
“That?” Winston cleared his throat, and an uneasy expression smudged his features.
“Yes, that.” Barbie tapped her foot. “Well? I’m waiting.”
“That will be the new Woodstone Theater. New and improved.” He smiled at Barbie and raised his glass in cheer.
“But you told me—”
Winston cleared his throat. “I wanted to surprise you, my dear.”
“You bastard!” Barbie hissed, and flung the contents of her glass at Winston.
He sputtered, and wine dripped off the end of his nose onto the blueprints on the desk. “But Barbie! I thought you’d be pleased.”
But Barbie had already stomped from the room, giving the door a resounding slam behind her.
“Well!” Winston pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped his face. “I guess my little sweetie is one of those people who don’t like surprises.” He laughed. “The joys of newly married life! There’s always something fresh to discover about each other.” He beamed at Gigi and Sienna, but Gigi could see the uneasiness clouding his eyes. She glanced at Sienna, who shrugged her shoulders as if to say, “What gives?”
Winston jabbed the center of the drawing with his finger again. “I’m sure Bar
bie will be as excited about the theater as I am as soon as she’s had the chance to think it over.” He beamed at them. “We’ll have the Woodstone Players in the summer”—he winked at them slyly—“fortified with some ringers from Broadway.” He reached for his glass, and the papers rolled together again with a snap. “And we’ll have traveling shows, and some single acts, but not”—he shuddered broadly—“any rock and roll.”
“So the Woodstone Players will continue…” Gigi looked from Winston to Sienna.
“Yes.” Winston clapped his hands gruffly. “Isn’t that just splendid? And here”—Winston unrolled the papers again and anchored them with a monogrammed crystal paperweight on one end, and a high-tech looking stapler on the other—“we’re planning an atrium with real, live trees—a bit of a green oasis for weary shoppers.”
Gigi felt Sienna’s elbow in her rib and turned toward her. Sienna raised her eyebrows questioningly, and Gigi silently mouthed, “What?” Sienna rolled her eyes toward Winston in a desperate pantomime.
Of course! Gigi had been so astounded by Winston’s revelation that she’d forgotten all about the questions she’d planned to ask. But how to turn the conversation toward Martha and her murder? Especially now that Winston was in full bore with his plans for the new Woodstone Mall.
Gigi spied a copy of the Woodstone Times discarded on the floor near Winston’s desk. She gestured toward it. “Did you see the article in the paper about Martha’s death? It seems the police have decided that it was an accident after all.”
“Of course it was,” Winston declared, polishing off the last sip of champagne in his glass.
Gigi felt herself bristle, and Sienna shot her a warning look.
“Unfortunately, people seem to think I was the cause of the accident.” Gigi tried to keep the bitterness from her voice.
“You?” Winston went to the corner of the room, where he retrieved a golf club that had been leaning against the wall. He took a practice swing, sighing with satisfaction as he followed through.
“Yes. By process of elimination. My Gourmet De-Lite food was the last thing that Martha touched.”
“Of course, she might have eaten something earlier while she was at the theater…” Sienna interjected helpfully.
“That’s true.” Gigi tried to act like the idea had just occurred to her. “Did you, by any chance, see her eating anything while she was there that afternoon?” Gigi looked hopefully at Winston.
Winston shook his head and moved his hands farther down on the golf club, taking a crack at a practice putt this time, gently tapping a phantom ball. “I’m afraid I can’t help you.”
“You didn’t happen to see anyone lurking around my car that afternoon?
Winston had raised the club over his shoulder again, preparatory to swinging, but this time he let it drop unceremoniously with no follow-through. “See someone around your car?”
Gigi nodded. “Yes. You were sitting in your car, I remember, and Barbie came out to have her lunch with you.”
“Well, if you say so,” Winston said amiably enough, but his features had hardened, and there was a shadow behind his eyes that hadn’t been there before.
“Did you see anyone?” Gigi prompted.
But Winston was shaking his head before she even finished the sentence.
Winston ran off to show the gardeners, who had just arrived amid a roar of engines, where he wanted his truckload of new Japanese maple trees planted, and Barbie reappeared to walk Gigi and Sienna to the door. Her eyes were red, and it was obvious she’d been crying.
“The property where the new mall is going to stand,” Gigi began as they crossed the foyer, “is that the land that Winston owned jointly with Martha?”
Barbie nodded, her eyes wary.
“Adora seemed to think that Winston was planning on doing away with the Woodstone Theater altogether.”
“Yes,” Sienna chimed in. “And now it looks as if he’s actually going to put a ton of money into it.”
Barbie’s pink mouth tightened into a sour line, and her slender shoulders stiffened, but she didn’t say anything.
“I guess Winston changed his mind.” Gigi glanced over her shoulder at Barbie.
Barbie’s mouth tightened even more, as if she had to clench her lips to keep the words from spilling out.
Gigi hesitated on the doorstep, and Sienna dawdled as well, pretending to admire the large terra cotta pot of red and white geraniums on the brick entryway. They both looked at Barbie expectantly.
Her cheeks were puffed out as if they would explode, and a deep flush had spread from the open neck of her blouse to the roots of her blond hair. She had her hand on the door, and as soon as Gigi and Sienna were clear of the doorway, she slammed it hard behind them.
Chapter 13
“What was that all about?” Gigi said as she pulled out of the Bernhardts’ circular drive.
Sienna pulled down the car’s visor, flipped open the mirror and began drawing her hair into a wobbly knot on top of her head. “I don’t think it’s a what, I think it’s more like a who.”
“Who?”
“Yes, who.”
“You’re beginning to sound like that old Abbott and Costello skit.”
Sienna laughed.
“Someone made Winston change his mind about the theater.”
“And obviously it wasn’t Barbie.” Sienna stuck a final pin in the makeshift bun on top of her head.
“No. Who is the one person who cares more about the Woodstone Theater than anyone else?”
“Adora.”
“I can’t think of any other reason why he’d suddenly change his mind about the theater. She must have changed it for him.”
“Now, that’s a picture I don’t want to contemplate.” Sienna shuddered. “But why Adora? Winston already has his little trophy wife in Barbie. Why go after Adora? She’s a good fifteen years older than Barbie and forty pounds heavier!”
“Maybe Winston’s discovered that hanging out with someone half his age isn’t as much fun as he thought it would be. Look at Prince Charles and Camilla.”
Sienna grunted.
“Were you watching Winston when I asked him whether he’d seen anyone around my car the day Martha died?”
Sienna nodded, and the hair piled on top of her head bobbed unsteadily. “Yes, I was.”
“What did you think? Does he know something?” Gigi glanced swiftly at Sienna, then back at the road again.
“Hmmm.” Sienna pursed her lips. “He did seem a bit fishy to me.”
“As if he were lying?”
“Maybe not lying exactly. More like there was something he wasn’t telling us.”
“That’s what I thought. We do know one thing: Someone did go into Martha’s car that day and steal her purse. And they went into my car and added peanut oil to the food. Surely someone saw something!”
Sienna shrugged. “You’d think so, wouldn’t you?”
“I have an idea.” Gigi was so excited, she slammed on the brake as they neared a stop sign at the corner of Monroe and High, and they both shot forward and backward in their seats. “Sorry about that.” She looked both ways before pulling across High Street. “What if I can convince Devon Singleton to run something in the paper asking anyone who might have seen anything that day to come forward?”
“Brilliant!”
“Someone might have been passing in their car or walking their dog…or something.”
Devon Singleton was wearing the same Boston University T-shirt he’d been in the last time Gigi had visited his office, but she could tell the jeans were new—the holes were in different places this time.
Gigi followed him back to his office, nearly stepping on his heels in her excitement. Sienna was close behind, and they both tried to go through the door at the same time. Sienna took a step back and motioned for Gigi to go ahead.
Gigi graciously urged Sienna toward the low-slung chair in front of Devon’s desk. She had to suppress a smile when the unsuspecting Si
enna slid into the seat, her knees nearly hitting her chin in the process. Gigi pulled an armless chair away from the small round table pushed into the corner of the office and wheeled it closer to Devon’s desk.
Devon’s computerized picture frame was scrolling through a new group of pictures, Gigi noticed. Devon gave it half of his attention, and Gigi and Sienna the other half.
“So,” he began, tossing a glance in their direction. “What’s up?”
Gigi fiddled with the strap on her purse. She stole a glance at Sienna, who looked equally dumbstruck. It had seemed like such a good idea on the way over. Now, faced with Devon Singleton’s open and honest gaze, she wasn’t sure where to begin. Was she making a mountain out of a molehill simply to clear her own name?
No. Mertz had said that the food in the Martha’s Gourmet De-Lite container was covered in peanut oil. Which meant it could only have been put there deliberately by someone who knew Martha was allergic and who wanted to do her harm. And that person was not her. And if the police couldn’t figure it out, then she was just going to have to do it herself.
She raised her chin and looked Devon squarely in the eye. “You recently ran a story in the Woodstone Times that the police have closed the investigation into the death of Martha Bernhardt. They’ve decided it was an accident.”
Devon nodded, his eyes sliding back toward the rotating picture frame.
“I just can’t accept that, you see.” Gigi could feel herself “getting her Irish up,” as her mother used to say.
Devon made a gesture that might have been a shrug.
“The police believe I was the one who used peanut oil in preparing Martha’s food. Which would make me criminally negligent because I knew perfectly well that Martha was deathly allergic to peanuts. I have all my clients fill out a form with their likes, dislikes, and most importantly”—Gigi could feel her face flushing and her voice becoming louder—“whether or not they have any allergies.” She sank back in her seat and fixed Devon with a gaze so intent that this time he didn’t dare look away.
She could sense Sienna silently cheering at her side, and she felt a glow of satisfaction. If she could just go shout that from the rooftops, maybe she’d feel better. And maybe then someone would listen!
