She was waiting to turn left out of the parking lot when her cell phone rang. She was definitely not a fan of talking and driving—or worse, texting and driving—but since she was stuck waiting for traffic to clear, she decided to answer the call.
It was Alec Pricely, the marketing manager for Branston Foods. They wanted Gigi to rerecord a tiny bit of the commercial she had done for them the other day. Something about background noise intruding onto the tape.
Gigi groaned. She absolutely hated, hated,
hated
having to make these commercials. Hearing them on the radio was even worse. She thought she sounded as if she were holding her nose the entire time. Did anyone like the sound of their own voice?
She switched her blinker from left to right, and when the traffic cleared, she pulled out onto High Street and headed toward Keith’s Recording Studio.
Pricely’s car was already in the parking lot when Gigi got there. Gigi pulled in next to it and got out. She tried to console herself with the thought that she might learn something new from Cheryl, but she sincerely doubted it.
“Hey,” Cheryl said as Gigi pushed open the front door. She snapped her gum loudly, and spun her chair around so she was facing Gigi. “How’s it going?’
“Oh, fine.” Gigi fiddled with the ends of her scarf, trying to think of a way to introduce Hunter Simpson into the conversation.
Unfortunately, Pricely called her into the recording studio before she was visited by any flashes of inspiration.
This time the recording session went more smoothly. Pricely gave Gigi an oily smile and a thumbs-up as she exited the recording room. He flashed his oversize gold watch.
“Great job. Gotta run. Have a meeting with the big guy in fifteen minutes.” He graced Gigi with another toothy smile, slipped on his coat and bolted for the door.
Cheryl rolled her eyes as she watched Pricely through the window heading toward his car. She shuddered. “Can’t stand that guy. The first time he was here he tried coming on to me. Honestly, if Jimmy ever found out . . .” Cheryl let her comment trail off.
“He is kind of creepy, isn’t he?” Gigi agreed.
“You can say that again.” Cheryl giggled.
Gigi felt as if the two of them had established at least some sort of rapport. She decided to put a toe into the water. “Jimmy’s Hunter’s uncle, right?”
Cheryl nodded.
“How is Hunter taking things? I feel so sorry for him. Losing his father like that . . .”
“Poor Hunter is so conflicted!” Cheryl swiveled her chair to face Gigi. “He does feel just terrible about his father. After all, Bradley was his dad, and that alone puts him in a special category. But he was so
mean
to Hunter sometimes. My girlfriend, she sees one of them psychologists once a week, said that that would make it even harder for Hunter to grieve.”
Gigi nodded her understanding. She began to open her mouth, but Cheryl was already off and running.
“I mean, you heard what Bradley said at Hunter’s engagement party. Bambi, that’s my girlfriend, said that would cause Hunter to be conflicted. On the one hand, he loves and respects his father, but then his father goes and does something flat-out mean like that. What is Hunter supposed to think?” She paused to chew on the side of her thumb. “Then when Hunter brings him this invention of his and asks for money and Bradley laughs in his face . . .”
“What?” Gigi stood up a little straighter.
Cheryl nodded briskly. “Believe me, I have no idea how the thing is supposed to work, or what on earth it’s supposed to do, but according to Hunter, his invention would replace something he called the LVAD. Said it worked way better and cost less. And it would save people’s lives. I mean, who wouldn’t want to save someone’s life?”
“So Bradley refused to invest in Hunter’s invention?”
Cheryl nodded and swiveled her chair back and forth. She had one leg on the ground and the other tucked up underneath her.
“Does Hunter inherit money now that his father is dead? Maybe he can go ahead with his plans.”
“Could be. I don’t know. Bradley might have left the whole pot to Barbara.” Cheryl rolled her eyes. “Although goodness knows, there’s more than enough to go around. We’d been kind of hoping . . . well, never mind about that.”
What had Cheryl been about to say, Gigi wondered? Was she going to admit that Barbara expected repayment of the money that had been loaned to them?
But, more importantly, how desperate was Hunter to see his invention launched? If he really did have something that would replace the LVAD, a device that kept heart patients alive while they waited for a transplant, then his career would be assured and his name would go down in history.
Was that something worth killing for?
Gigi thought about going home, but she needed to talk to someone. She pulled up to the curb in front of the Book Nook, locked the MINI, got out and pushed open the door to Sienna’s store.
Madison was behind the counter. She gave Gigi a brief nod. Gigi noticed that her pink streak had undergone a color change and was now green. Gigi couldn’t decide which she liked better—or perhaps which one she disliked the least would be more accurate.
Sienna was in the back room going through several boxes of books that had just been dropped off. She picked up a volume and blew the dust off. She held it toward Gigi.
“Why would anyone think I’d want a mildewed copy of
Vanity Fair
?” She flipped through the pages of the book. “Look at that! The edges of the cover are all bent, the pages are foxed . . .” She tossed the book into a box on the floor.
“Where’s Camille?” Gigi looked around, but the baby’s bassinet was not in sight.
“I didn’t want her back here while I was going through all these dusty old volumes. Alice is taking her for a walk in that absurd pram Oliver’s mother insisted on buying us. A Silver Cross! It cost more than that old beater car I had in college. The good thing is that it does keep Camille well protected from the cold and wind.”
Sienna wiped her hands on the smock she’d put on over her clothes. “So what have you been up to?”
“Well—” Gigi began.
Sienna linked her arm through Gigi’s. “Come on. Let’s get a cup of coffee or tea. I’ve been on my feet for hours, and you probably have, too.”
They were settling into the coffee corner when the front door opened and Alice arrived with Camille. She parked the unwieldy carriage by the front door and carried the baby over to where Gigi and Sienna were sitting.
“Let me get her bouncy chair.” Sienna disappeared, returning almost immediately with a bright red-yellow-and-blue-covered baby seat. She eased Camille into it. The baby’s cheeks were flushed pink from her walk outdoors, and her eyes were already closing, her long lashes casting dark shadows on her cheeks.
“She is just so precious,” Alice cooed. Her face puckered in concern. “I do so hope Stacy is expecting, but she still hasn’t said a word.”
“Give her time. If she is expecting, I suspect you’ll be the first to know.” Sienna smiled.
“You’re right.” Alice worried the ends of her scarf.
“Gigi was just about to tell me what she’s been up to.”
Gigi recounted everything that had happened recently—from finding Tiffany Morse dead in her own home to her conversation with Cheryl about Hunter and his invention.
Alice clapped a hand to her chest. “What on earth is the world coming to! Such goings-on in Woodstone. It used to be such a quiet town! When Tom and I moved here, may he rest in peace, there were only a handful of shops on High Street. And none of this highfalutin stuff, either—we had practical stores like the hardware store, the five-and-dime, the butcher and the fishmonger.” Alice’s cheeks flushed red. “Now it’s all these fancy places where I can’t even afford to breathe the air.”
“Well, I don’t think we have anything to worry about,” Sienna said dryly.
“No,” Gigi concluded. “Someone hated Bradley enough, or was mad enough at him, to kill him. I suspect Tiffany somehow got in the killer’s way. These murders weren’t random.”
“You mentioned Hunter.” Sienna put her foot on Camille’s bouncy chair and gently rocked it. The baby cooed softly and turned her head to the side. “Maybe Tiffany overheard him arguing with his father about that invention and put two and two together.”
“Are you thinking blackmail?” Alice asked.
“She has expensive tastes,” Gigi said.
“I’ll say,” Alice snorted. “I’ve seen that red Mustang of hers blazing up and down High Street more than once. Woe betide any pedestrian who gets in the way of Miss Tiffany ‘La-di-da’ Morse. I’m surprised she hasn’t racked up enough speeding tickets to wallpaper her living room.”
“Every Friday I see her coming out of Abigail’s with a couple of shopping bags,” Sienna added. “Spending half her paycheck, I should imagine.”
“Keeping up appearances.” Alice nodded sagely.
“Her condo is very nice,” Gigi said, trying to think about the décor without visualizing Tiffany’s body on the sofa in the sunroom. “Pretty expensive, I’d say.” Her thoughts drifted to her own furniture—the pieces she’d split with Ted but had jettisoned because they didn’t suit her sweet, little cottage. The hand-me-downs from family, the pieces picked up at yard sales and secondhand stores. She lifted her chin a little higher. Everything had come together rather well, in her opinion, and she was very comfortable. It might not be fancy, but it suited her perfectly.
“On the other hand”—Sienna stroked Camille’s cheek softly—“maybe this Cheryl is lying about Hunter and the invention to take the heat off of her husband.”
• • •
Gigi delivered her dinners in a haze. She was thinking about what Sienna had said about Cheryl possibly lying to distract attention from her husband. Gigi thought about her conversation with Cheryl. Gigi certainly didn’t fancy herself as being particularly good at judging whether someone was telling the truth or not. Ted used to tease her about believing everything everyone told her—from the well-dressed fellow on the street claiming to have been robbed and asking for money for a train ticket home to Washington to the sales girl insisting that the dress Gigi was trying on was absolutely
made for her
. She supposed she was a bit naïve when it came to things like that—the commandment
thou shalt not lie
had been drilled into her by the nuns in school.
Pia was on her way out when Gigi arrived back home. She tried not to stare at Pia’s bright yellow jacket. Pia had an egg roll in one hand and a fountain drink in the other. She waved the plastic cup at Gigi.
“I’m heading out. I ran into Declan at the Shop and Save, and he said to stop by sometime, so I think I’ll head over there first and see if he’s free to chat. I realize he’s on the rebound, what with his girlfriend having been killed, but I really do fancy him.” She shrugged.
Gigi’s spirits sank. So Pia hadn’t gotten over her crush on Declan. At least he was no longer police suspect number one. Pia might still get her heart broken, but at least she wouldn’t be visiting him in jail.
As soon as the door closed behind Pia, Gigi collapsed at the kitchen table. She was exhausted. She knew she ought to eat something but she was too tired to be hungry. She was contemplating a good soak in a hot, lavender-scented tub when the telephone rang.
It was Mertz.
“I’ve been meaning to call you. Tomorrow is Valentine’s Day, you know.”
Gigi glanced at the calendar by the stove. February 14 was circled in red.
“I’m afraid I have bad news.” Mertz cleared his throat nervously. “The Heritage Inn was completely booked. Apparently people call weeks in advance for these holidays.” Mertz’s sigh came over the line. “I imagine even the Woodstone Diner will be full.” He gave a hollow sounding laugh.
“That’s all right,” Gigi said, trying to keep the disappointment out of her voice.
“But I had an idea.” Mertz’s tone lightened. “How about if you come over here for dinner? I’m not much of a cook, but there are a few things I can manage. I know it’s disappointing, but frankly I’ve found restaurants to be so overcrowded on Valentine’s Day, and half the time the food isn’t up to their regular standard.”
Gigi forced the thought of Mertz taking other women to dinner on Valentine’s Day out of her mind. “That sounds lovely. I could bring something.”
“No need. I’ve got it all planned.” He gave a self-deprecating laugh. “It won’t exactly be fancy, but you won’t starve. I’ll get a nice bottle of wine, and we can relax and enjoy each other’s company.”
“I’d like that very much.”
They settled on seven o’clock, and Mertz insisted that he would pick Gigi up so she wouldn’t have to worry about driving at night.
Gigi felt considerably peppier when she hung up the phone. Her stomach grumbled, and she went to dig in the refrigerator for the leftover chicken in red wine sauce that had been her clients’ dinner for the evening.
• • •
Gigi woke up on Wednesday morning with an excited feeling in the pit of her stomach. She was going to Mertz’s for dinner. It was definitely going to be an experience. She hadn’t been to his place yet and was curious to see it. Would it be the typical bachelor pad with beat-up leather sofas and a giant-screen television holding pride of place?
Gigi had really hoped to talk to Madeline and perhaps learn more about Hunter and his invention, but Madeline had called to say that she would be in Hartford for a conference all day and wouldn’t be needing Gigi’s meals.
The day started out excruciatingly slowly—the way it always does when you’re looking forward to something in the evening—but eventually things picked up, and suddenly Gigi was getting ready to go to Mertz’s.
Once again, she bemoaned the state of her wardrobe. Reg seemed to concur, turning his nose up at everything she pulled out of her closet. She finally unearthed a relic from her New York days—a pair of black pants she’d scored at a Carolina Herrera sample sale and a turquoise silk blouse. The pants were long enough for her to wear her high-heeled suede booties, and the charming whisk pin Mertz had given her would complete the outfit.
As Gigi had suspected, Mertz was smack-dab on time—three minutes early, actually. She was a punctual person herself and really appreciated it when others followed suit.
She already had her coat on and opened the door quickly.
Mertz kissed her on the cheek. It was snowing again, and his lips were cold.
“Sorry, Reg, but you’re going to have to stay here.”
“Why not bring him? He can play with Whiskers.”
Mertz had rescued Whiskers from a tree last fall. Gigi could still remember the pride she felt as she watched Mertz easily pull himself up into the old oak, and the applause that rang out from the crowd on the sidewalk when he jumped back down, the kitten tucked safely into his shirt pocket.
“Do you think they’ll get along?”
“Why not? Reg is a friendly fellow, and Whiskers loves to play.”
It was barely a five-minute drive to Mertz’s condo. Reg was a little huffy about being relegated to the backseat instead of his usual spot in the front, but he soon got over it and eagerly pressed his nose to the window.
“Here we are.” Mertz pulled up to a small group of condos—not quite as fancy as where Tiffany had lived—but well maintained and attractive. He stopped outside an end unit with a cheerful red door and a light shining through the front window.
Mertz parked in front of the attached garage and went around to open Gigi’s door. Reg bounded into the front seat and out the door, right at Gigi’s heels. Mertz opened the door to his condo, and Reg dashed inside. Whiskers was waiting by the entrance, and Reg’s sudden appearance startled her, sending her to the top of the foyer table where mail was neatly stacked alongside the day’s rolled-up newspaper. She switched her long, fluffy tail back and forth, voicing her displeasure at Reg’s overly aggressive greeting.
Reg ignored her and darted around the condo getting acquainted with the smells. Gigi looked around while Mertz hung up their coats. As she had suspected, his place was very tidy, with a few pieces of plain but comfortable-looking furniture. There was a framed photograph of an older couple on one of the end tables—his parents?—and one of those collage-type frames filled with pictures of school-aged children. She knew Mertz came from a big family—they were probably his nieces and nephews.
On the wall across from the sofa was a large photograph of a young man at the beach holding a life preserver and leaning casually against the lifeguard stand. His blue eyes stood out strongly in his tanned face. She moved closer to get a better look.
“I was head lifeguard for the Connecticut State Parks when I was in school. That was taken right after I’d rescued this little kid from a riptide.” A faraway look crossed his face. “It was one of the proudest moments of my life. I’ll never forget his parents’ gratitude. And it made me realize I wanted to help people, which is why I went into police work.” He made a face. “Of course I didn’t realize I’d be spending half my time trying to track down a lawn ornament thief.”
Gigi gave a last look at the picture—she imagined Mertz had caught more than one girl’s eye on the beach—and followed him out to the kitchen, which, like the rest of the condo, was clean and tidy. The counters were bare save for a coffeemaker and a toaster. Gigi thought about her own kitchen and the tangle of utensils and spread of appliances she couldn’t live without.
A platter sat on the counter with two prime-looking New York strips on it.
“I thought I’d throw some steaks on the grill.” Mertz motioned toward a sliding glass door leading to a small deck. “I’ve shoveled the deck off so I can use the gas grill all winter long.”
“Sounds great. It feels like ages since I’ve had anything barbecued.”
Gigi noticed that his kitchen table was set with placemats, flowered china, and fancy folded linen napkins. She stared at it, trying to figure out how to bring up the topic of Bradley and Tiffany’s murders.
Mertz must have noticed her glance. “I turned the dining room into an office for myself. Didn’t think I’d have much use for it otherwise.” He uncorked a bottle of malbec that was sitting on the counter and poured some into two glasses. He handed one to Gigi and raised the other in a toast.