by Peg Cochran
“Well, we…I mean I…think that Adora is also secretly seeing Winston. I don’t want to see Emilio get hurt.” She broke off and took a sip of her port in an attempt to wet her parched throat. “Also, I’m terribly, terribly afraid that Winston might…might…get upset.” Now, there was an understatement, she thought. “And possibly even do something to harm Emilio.” It sounded lame, and she knew it.
She looked up to see that Carlo was shaking his head.
“What?” She asked.
“You don’t have anything to worry about!” Carlo declared.
“No?”
He shook his head. “No. Emilio isn’t seeing Adora.”
“He’s not?”
Carlo shook his head even more vigorously. “No.”
Carlo plucked a swizzle stick from a container on the bar and began to fiddle with it, twirling it around and around between his fingers, rolling it back and forth across the bar and finally tapping it against Gigi’s glass.
Gigi waited patiently. She couldn’t imagine who on earth Emilio was involved with. She’d never seen him with anyone—not that she’d seen him with Adora, either, except that one night on her doorstep. She couldn’t imagine why Carlo didn’t just tell her, for goodness’ sake!
“If I tell you this, do you promise not to tell anyone?”
Carlo’s eyes were dark and serious pools that Gigi was afraid she might drown in. She nodded her head even as she reasoned with her conscience that telling Sienna wouldn’t count.
“Okay.” Carlo let out a big sigh. “I have been wanting to talk to someone for so long. I’ve been so worried.”
“Worried about what?”
He leaned closer. “I followed Emilio once. I don’t know why, but he wouldn’t tell me where he was going, and I was curious.” He gave an apologetic smile, as if inviting her to forgive him. “He’d put on his special aftershave—the one he saves for important occasions. So when he told me he was just going to get some air, I didn’t believe him.”
“So you followed him.”
Carlo nodded.
“What did you find out?” Gigi prompted. Why was it taking Carlo so long to get to the point?
“You need a refill, no?” Carlo pointed at Gigi’s half-empty glass.
“No. No, thank you. That’s more than enough for me.”
Carlo nodded abstractedly. He put his index finger on an empty cardboard coaster with Al Forno written on it and twirled it around and around. It wasn’t till it slipped over the edge of the bar and onto the floor that he looked up at Gigi.
“Emilio went to Martha’s house that night,” he blurted out.
“Martha?” Gigi’s voice rose to a high C, then squeaked off.
“I know. Can you believe it?”
Gigi shook her head. “My grandmother always said, every pot has its lid.”
Carlo laughed, and although his dark eyes crinkled at the corners, the laugh sounded mirthless to Gigi. He began to shake his head even before the sound trailed off. “That’s not it.”
“What’s not it?”
“You know—amore. Love. Emilio wasn’t in love with Martha.”
Gigi thought of Ted suddenly. Had he ever really loved her? This was no time to dwell on it. She’d think about it later. “Well, maybe it wasn’t love exactly.” She tried to picture Emilio and Martha together and failed. Martha had been so practical and almost severe, while Emilio had a love affair going with life itself. “Maybe it was more like companionship. Two lonely people getting together…” She trailed off when she saw Carlo’s expression.
“It was more like—what do you call it?—a bribe.”
“Emilio was bribing Martha?” Gigi’s voice hit a high note again.
“Martha liked Emilio. I noticed it right away, and he did, too. Her face got softer when he was around, and she would giggle like a little schoolgirl.” Carlo took a glass off the shelf, picked up the rag that Emilio had dropped on the bar and began to polish it.
“I’m off,” Lara called from the door. “I’ll be back in time to get the tables ready for dinner.”
“Yes. Thank you.” Carlo flapped the rag in her direction. They both listened as the front door yawned open. A bright beam of sunlight pierced the interior of Al Forno and was quickly extinguished as the door squeaked shut.
“Where was I?” Carlo paused with the rag in one hand and the glass in the other.
“Martha liked Emilio, you were saying.”
Carlo nodded. “Yes. And she decided she wanted to review Al Forno for the Woodstone Times. Emilio and I were very excited. Whenever Martha gave someone a good review, the place would be packed with people for weeks afterwards. And not just the people who lived around here”—he made a small, circular gesture with his hand—“but the weekend people from the city.” He rubbed his fingers together. “They’re the ones who bring the real money.
“But…” His attention strayed to a bottle of Famous Grouse that was out of alignment with the rest of the liquor on the tiered shelf behind the bar. He nudged it back into place carefully.
“But?”
He shrugged. “Someone must have put the evil eye on us that day. The chef was in a mood and burned the chicken. Lara spilled water on Martha.”
So that was Martha who Lara had been talking about after all, Gigi realized.
“But don’t you think that, since Martha had a kind of thing for Emilio, she would—”
Carlo shook his head so vigorously his hair flopped to and fro. “Not Martha. Emilio begged her to come back another day, to give us another chance, but no.” He clenched his fists. “She could have ruined us with a bad review.”
Gigi felt a sinking sensation in her stomach. Was Carlo trying to tell her that Emilio had actually done something to…kill…Martha’s review?
If not Martha herself?
“Emilio had the idea that perhaps he could get Martha to change her mind by…” Carlo stopped, and Gigi thought he was blushing. “By making love to her. And pretending to be a little in love with her.”
“Did it work?”
“When he asked about the review and perhaps not printing it, she just laughed at him.”
“What did Emilio do?”
“I don’t know. That is why I’m so worried.” Carlo’s dark eyes clouded over. “I’m afraid Emilio might have done something…drastic…to stop the review. Do you really think it is—how do you say it in English?—a coincidence that a couple of days later Martha was dead?”
Chapter 15
Gigi woke with butterflies in her stomach, and for a moment she couldn’t remember why. Reg stretched lazily next to her, and she reached out to scratch his belly as she tried to remember why she had this strange feeling of excitement.
Of course. Today was the day she was meeting with Donna Small, the UPS delivery person who had answered her classified ad. Today, hopefully, she would be getting some answers. Donna had seen someone outside the theater the day Martha was killed, and she had even seen them hovering around Gigi’s MINI. She had been passing by on her way to deliver a package to Simpson and West on High Street. And she’d promised to tell Gigi all about it over a glass of iced tea and a slice of pound cake at the Woodstone Diner.
Gigi rushed through her breakfast prep—she was doing scrambled eggs on English muffins with a sprinkle of low-fat cheese—and delivered her containers in what felt like a blur. She’d barely gotten home when it was time to think about what she needed to do for lunch. She always took care with each meal but even more so now. She was grateful to the clients who hadn’t been put off by Martha’s death and the insinuation that it had been negligence on the part of Gigi’s Gourmet De-Lite.
Despite all the work she had to do, Gigi was convinced that the hands on the clock were crawling along at half their customary speed. Surely it had never taken this long to get to three P.M.
She arrived early at the Woodstone Diner and parked around back. There was only one other car in the lot, and it wasn’t a UPS delivery van, but Gig
i didn’t expect Donna Small until three o’clock at the earliest.
The Woodstone Diner had actually been transported from some place in New Jersey and plunked down on Woodstone’s High Street. It was as authentic as they came, right down to the obligatory open-faced turkey sandwiches, meat loaf specials and wisecracking but soft-hearted waitresses. The moneyed weekend crowd enjoyed it in a perverse, “anti-chic” kind of way.
Gigi nodded at the gray-haired, barrel-chested man sitting at the counter and slid into the last booth on the right. The waitress hurried over and slapped a menu down on the table.
“I’m waiting for someone. She should be here any minute.” Gigi folded her hands on top of the menu.
“Gotcha.” The waitress spun on her heel, returning several seconds later with a tumbler of ice water and two place settings.
Gigi took several sips of the water. Being nervous had made her throat dry. She watched out the window, scanning the street for the arrival of a UPS truck. The waitress had finished wiping down all the booths and the counter before the door opened and Donna Small walked in.
Gigi half rose in her seat, motioning with her arm, before she realized it must be obvious that she was the only person in the establishment named Gigi.
“Hi,” Donna Small said with a smile as she slid into the booth opposite Gigi. She wiped a hand across her forehead, which glistened with perspiration. “Hot out there.”
Gigi motioned for the waitress, who was already on her way with a tall glass of iced tea and a straw. She put them both on the table in front of Donna.
Donna laughed. “I always stop here on my break.” She peeled the wrapper off the straw and plunged it into her glass. “They know what I like. Iced tea and a slice of their delicious pound cake.” She smiled ruefully and tugged on the waistband of her shorts. “I don’t need either of them, of course.”
That was good, Gigi thought. At least her reward of free meals might mean something then. She’d omitted that little detail from her ad in the paper, and most people would probably assume a reward meant cash.
The waitress reappeared with a slice of pound cake and slid it in front of Donna. She turned to Gigi and raised her overly plucked eyebrows.
“I’ll have a…a…diet soda.” Gigi opened the menu and tried to speed read. “And a dish of vanilla ice cream.”
The waitress took her menu and retreated to the counter.
“That was a miracle I saw your ad.” Donna brushed crumbs off the front of her brown uniform blouse. “I don’t usually read the Woodstone Times, but someone had left it in one of the booths so I picked it up to read on my break. There wasn’t much in it, and by the time I’d finished my cake, I was up to the classifieds.”
Gigi held her breath.
“I was surprised to see your ad,” Donna continued as she tore the tops off two packets of sugar and dumped them into her glass of iced tea. “Not to mention curious. I mean, the classifieds are usually all about used cars, lost pets and personals.” She grinned at Gigi.
“I didn’t know what else to do,” Gigi admitted. “I needed to know if anyone had been seen by my car that afternoon.” She was quiet for a moment as the waitress slid her dish of ice cream in front of her. “I think someone might have tampered with the food I was bringing to my clients.” She spread her hands out on the table. “I make diet meals for a small group of clients. Gigi’s Gourmet De-Lite, it’s called. I’m afraid this will ruin me.”
Donna’s head bobbed up and down as she nodded. “I noticed your car in the parking lot of that old barn where the theater is.” She lowered her head shyly. “I’m saving for a MINI myself.” She jerked a thumb in the direction of the diner parking lot. “I get sick of driving that enormous dusty heap around all day. A MINI seems like it would be fun.”
“It is.” Gigi fiddled with the wrapper from her straw. “But how can you be sure it was the same day?” she asked finally, holding her breath, hoping for the right answer.
“Well, I passed the theater first and slowed down to get a good look at your car. I’m thinking about a blue one myself, but the red sure is perky looking.” Donna took a long draft of her iced tea and swiped a paper napkin across her mouth. “Then I delivered a package to Simpson and West, the law firm over there on High Street.”
“Yes. I know them.”
“It took forever. I had to get it signed for, and the girl at the desk was a temp and didn’t want to risk giving me her John Hancock in case it wasn’t allowed, so I had to wait for the big guy’s secretary to come out to reception and do it. She took her ever-lovin’ sweet time, I can tell you.” She ran a hand under the open-necked collar of her shirt and across the back of her neck. “Some people just like to show you how much better than you they are. It’s annoying, but honestly, I feel kinda sorry for them.”
Gigi tried to look interested, wondering if any of this had anything to do with anything.
“By the time I beat it out of there, there was all this commotion going on outside. Sirens wailing, police cars flying past. Turned out someone hit a tree in the middle of that roundabout where High Street veers to the left and goes up the hill,” she pointed in vaguely that direction.
Gigi squirmed forward in her seat. “Yes, that was the day. The day I’m talking about.”
Donna ran her fingers up and down her glass, leaving trails in the condensation. “Yeah, well, that’s the day I noticed your car.”
“Yes. And you did notice someone sort of hanging around my car?”
Donna wet her finger and pressed it against the crumbs left on her plate. She nibbled them off her index finger. “I did. And it worried me.” She ducked her head. “In my mind, I was kind of pretending like your car was mine. Like I already had my own MINI, and there it was.”
Gigi nodded eagerly. She had to stop herself from shrieking. It was taking Donna so long to get to the point, her ice cream had already melted.
“It was a young kid. A teenager, I think.”
“A teenager?” Gigi asked. Disappointment settled in her gut like a stomach virus.
Donna nodded. “He…at least I think it was a he…had short hair…and was wearing a T-shirt and a pair of shorts. Kind of khaki colored I think.”
Gigi tried to swallow her disappointment, but it created a bitter lump in her throat that didn’t want to move and nearly choked her.
“You’re sure it was a young guy?”
“Yeah. Pretty sure.” Donna tilted her glass back, extracted an ice cube and began to chew on it. “He looked to be in his late teens. And he had blond hair,” she added triumphantly as if that was what Gigi was waiting to hear.
Gigi tried to smile, but her face felt paralyzed, and she was sure it looked like a Halloween mask frozen in mid-grimace.
Donna didn’t seem to notice. “All I really saw was the kid hovering around your car. I can’t say for sure if he actually touched it or opened the door or anything.”
“No, of course not.”
Donna looked at her with her eyebrows raised.
“That’s really helpful,” Gigi managed to get out, although her mouth had become so dry, it felt as if her tongue were permanently cemented to the roof of her mouth.
Donna swirled her straw around and around her empty glass. “You’d kind of mentioned a reward in the ad…”
“Yes!” Gigi declared brightly. “I’m offering a week of my gourmet diet meals for free!”
Gigi was gratified to see that Donna now looked as stunned as she felt.
The atmosphere inside the Woodstone Theater had shifted, Gigi noticed when she got there with her lunch delivery. The time till opening night was growing shorter, tempers were even shorter still and the air vibrated with unreleased tension.
Gigi eased open the inner door to the theater and stood for a moment to let her eyes adjust. Adora was center stage in mid-dialogue with Emilio’s character. She turned suddenly and pointed toward the back of the theater. “Who opened the door?” she demanded.
“It’s all r
ight, cara, we can start over.” Emilio tried to put a hand on Adora’s arm, but she brushed it off. Alice and Barbie hovered stage left, shifting uncomfortably. Winston, who lounged in the second row with his feet propped on the seat in front of him, looked over his shoulder at the open door and then back at Adora again.
“We’ll never get through this if we keep getting interrupted.” Adora slammed the prop she’d been holding—a book—down on an antique-looking wooden side table that made up part of the living room set that surrounded them.
“I’m sorry,” Gigi called out. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. I’ve brought the food.”
Adora put a hand to her eyes and looked out past the spotlight that illuminated the stage. “Then leave it in the lobby. We have to get through this scene, or we’re not going to be ready for opening night. We’ll just have to wait to eat.”
“Sorry,” Gigi said again as she backed out the door and let it close quietly behind her. She took a deep breath. She hadn’t meant to interrupt. Usually when she arrived, everyone was standing around waiting for the food and practically pounced on her the second they saw her.
She sat down on a long, dusty, velvet-covered bench that had been placed under a row of framed posters announcing past Woodstone Theater performances. Her shoulders drooped. She still couldn’t believe what Donna had told her. A teenage boy? Maybe it had been nothing more than a prank? A prank that had gone terribly, terribly wrong. It didn’t seem possible now that she would ever be able to clear her name. The police had closed the case, and she had run out of ideas. She might as well give up.
The front door to the theater opened, and Sienna came in, her long cotton skirt swishing around her tanned legs. “I hoped I’d catch you here.” She collapsed on the bench next to Gigi and used the hem of her gauzy tunic to blot her upper lip. “What happened with the UPS woman yesterday?” She turned to look at Gigi, her brows drawn together over her green eyes. “I’m assuming it’s not good news, or you would have called me.”
Gigi nodded, glumly. “She did see someone around my car the day Martha died. Unfortunately she was quite positive that it was a teenage boy wearing a T-shirt and shorts.”
