He gave a brisk shake and settled down as the reindeer slowly retreated from view.
Gigi headed toward High Street. She passed the site of the upcoming gourmet store and nearly slammed on her brakes in shock. A large
For Rent
sign was propped in the window. So the new shop wasn’t coming to town after all. She thought about the enormous mural Pia had been working on night and day. Would they still be buying it? Gigi worried her lower lip with her teeth. She knew Pia was counting on that sale. It was meant to fund her cross-country trip. Her sister was going to be horribly disappointed.
Gigi drove on with a knot that had suddenly formed in the pit of her stomach. She was sitting at the light at High Street and Elmwood when she remembered the traffic camera that had been installed. She glanced up at the post and saw what she thought must be it. Once again, she wondered why Tiffany had hidden that file under her rug.
The light changed and Gigi continued on to Penelope Lawson’s house. Penelope’s husband answered the door.
Gigi handed over the container.
“Thanks. Penny’s having a soak in the tub. It’s been a rough morning so far.” He gestured toward the foyer where toys were scattered all over.
Gigi said good-bye and continued on with her deliveries. Barbara Simpson was her next stop. She pulled into the circular drive in front of the Simpsons’ impressive house. Barbara’s dark blue Mercedes was parked in the driveway, as it had been on Gigi’s previous visits. This time, however, it was facing away from her.
Gigi was about to get out of the car when the license plate on Barbara’s car caught her eye. It was a vanity plate with the letters
SNKMS
on it. When Gigi first bought the MINI she’d toyed with the idea of a vanity plate herself but had ultimately decided it wasn’t worth the extra money. Besides, she couldn’t settle on just what it would say. She looked at the letters on Barbara’s again and wondered what it meant. Not her initials obviously. Gigi sounded the letters out in her head. Snookums. The pet name Barbara had said Bradley had given her.
The car in the photograph in Tiffany’s hidden file had been a dark blue Mercedes. And Gigi was pretty certain the license plate was the same.
Suddenly, everything fell into place like the tumblers in a combination lock. She dug in her purse, found her cell and pulled it out. Her hands shook slightly as she punched in the numbers.
The phone began to ring.
Come on, please pick up.
Madeline answered on the fourth ring.
“Madeline! Do you remember the photographs we found in the file under Tiffany’s carpet?”
“Of course.”
“The one of the blue Mercedes with the vanity plate?”
“Yes.”
Gigi crossed her fingers. “The date and time were stamped on the photo. Did you happen to notice what they were?”
“No, frankly I didn’t look at them.”
“Is there any way you could find out?”
“Well . . .” Madeline drew the word out hesitantly. “I happen to be at the office at the moment. There are a few things I’d planned to work on over the weekend, and of course, I left the files here. I suppose I could go back down to Tiffany’s office and check.”
“Can you do it now and call me right back?” Gigi glanced toward the closed door of Barbara’s house. How long before someone noticed her parked there?
“Okay. Give me five, all right?”
“Great.” Gigi clicked the call off.
She leaned back in her seat, idly scratching the top of Reg’s head. Reg sighed with satisfaction. Gigi’s cell phone rang, and she jumped, barking her knee against the dashboard.
“Yes,” Gigi said breathlessly.
“I’m in Tiffany’s office now,” Madeline said in a low voice.
Gigi heard the sounds of paper rustling.
“Oh my God,” Madeline exclaimed. “The photo is dated the day of Bradley’s murder.”
“And the time?”
“Midnight.”
“That means Barbara was in downtown Woodstone that Saturday night at midnight. When everyone else thought she was at home, passed out from having had too much to drink. She wasn’t drunk or even sick. She was pretending.”
The tone of Gigi’s voice must have alarmed Reg because he sat up suddenly, his ears twitching left and right as if trying to locate what had upset her.
“And that whole business with her cashmere shawl being lost—it wasn’t lost at all. She used it to protect her clothing then made it look as if the murderer was trying to implicate her.”
A picture came to Gigi’s mind. “One day I saw Janice Novak wandering around town wearing a sequined top. I thought it looked rather odd. But I think it was the one Barbara wore the night of the party. She must have been worried that the police would be able to find blood on it, and she tossed it in a Dumpster. Janice must have dug it out.”
“What are you going to do?” Madeline’s voice dropped to a whisper.
Gigi looked up and was relieved to see that the door to Barbara’s house was still closed, and no one appeared to have noticed her car in the driveway. Reg was becoming impatient, so Gigi rolled the window partway down to give him some air and allow him to get his fill of whatever delicious smells were attractive to his canine nose.
“I’m going to call Mertz. I’ll have to convince him I’m right. Hopefully he’ll believe me.”
“Be careful. That woman is a murderer. Who knows what she might do?”
Gigi said good-bye to Madeline and immediately dialed Mertz’s number. He wasn’t in his office, and she was leaving a message when she heard the crunch of gravel. Reg immediately stood at attention.
Gigi looked up to find herself facing the barrel of a dainty but deadly pearl-handled revolver.
The moment Gigi saw Barbara’s gun, she realized that she had never truly appreciated the concept that surprise could cause your jaw to drop. Hers dropped so far she was convinced it hit her chest and bounced back again, causing her teeth to clang together.
“What . . . what . . .” was all she was able to articulate.
Barbara sneered. “Oh, don’t look so surprised. I’ve been watching you from the upstairs window. You’ve put it all together, haven’t you? And probably called your cop boyfriend as well.” She gestured toward Gigi’s cell phone. “When he gets here it will be too late. You’ll be dead, and I’ll be on a flight to the Cayman Islands, where Bradley was wise enough to open several bank accounts.”
The tone of her voice set the hair on Reg’s back bristling, and he began to growl deep and low in his throat.
“Tell that stupid cur to shut up or I’ll shoot him.” Barbara stuck the pistol through the open window and waved it around wildly.
Gigi’s mouth dried up, and her tongue threatened to stick to the roof of her mouth. She put a hand on Reg to reassure him. “Steady, boy, everything’s fine.”
She could tell by the look he gave her that he didn’t believe her for a minute, but after one last, rumbling growl, he fell silent, his head resting on his paws but his ears alert and twitching.
“Now it’s time for you to get out of the car.” Barbara gestured with the pistol.
Gigi was sorry she had turned the engine off. A hard stomp on the gas and she would have been out of there. She prayed that Mertz would return to his office soon and get her message. Hopefully he wasn’t camped out on her front lawn guarding that useless lawn ornament. She had to stall as long as possible. She slowly reached for her purse, then retrieved her gloves from the dashboard compartment where she’d stuffed them.
Barbara waved the pistol in Gigi’s face. “Quit stalling. No one’s going to save you, so don’t even think about it.” She glanced at the watch on her other wrist. “I have to leave for the airport soon. The car is coming for me in an hour.”
Gigi started to open the car door. “No, you stay here,” she said to Reg as he attempted to follow her. If anything happened to her, she knew Mertz would take care of him. She bit back a sob at the thought.
“The dog, too. I don’t want him to start yapping and alert the neighbors.”
Gigi’s heart plummeted. The thought of anything happening to Reg took all the starch out of her. Perhaps if she humored Barbara . . . She slipped out of the car, and Reg quickly followed, his nose to the ground. He was going in circles, sniffing furiously, but Gigi could tell his heart wasn’t in it. Instinctively, he knew something was wrong.
“Come on, I don’t have all day.”
“Reg, let’s go.” Gigi called out as she navigated the paved walkway leading to Barbara’s front door. Her foot slipped on one of the stones, and she stumbled clumsily, going down on one knee. The slate tore a hole in her jeans, and once again, Gigi stifled the sob that, had she let it, would have turned into a long, drawn-out wail.
Barbara ushered them inside and led the way to the conservatory where she had once served Gigi tea. Barbara sat at the table and motioned, with the pistol, for Gigi to take the seat opposite. Reg seemed to have momentarily forgotten his misgivings as he nosed around the room, sniffing furiously.
“I’ve only got a few minutes,” Barbara said as she leveled the pistol at Gigi and leaned back in her chair. “I thought I had planned it all perfectly, but then you had to start sticking your nose into things.”
Gigi hoped that if she could get Barbara talking, perhaps Mertz would get her message and put two and two together. “So you weren’t really drunk the night of the engagement party?”
Barbara threw her head back and laughed. “People are so willing to believe the worst. I have to give you credit.” She put a hand on Gigi’s knee. “You were the only one who believed I was actually sick. That makes me feel really bad about . . . all of this.” She brandished the pistol in Gigi’s face. “No, I went to rehab, and I’ve been sober ever since. And that’s where I started to develop some self-esteem. But it wasn’t easy to maintain given the way that Bradley treats—treated—me.” Barbara brushed at a tear that sat glistening on her cheek. “It wasn’t always that way. Once we were young and so in love. I started drinking when he changed—when he began chasing younger women and putting me down all the time.”
“But murder? Couldn’t you have just divorced him?”
Barbara gave a bitter laugh. “He had me sign a pre-nup. And I wanted it all. I deserved it. He owed me.”
“But why kill Tiffany Morse?”
Barbara made an impatient gesture. “She thought she was so smart. The night of the party I stole Bradley’s cell phone and texted Tiffany that Bradley wanted to meet her. She had already gone home—Bradley was the last to leave since he had to settle the bill and see all the guests off. Of course she went flying back to Declan’s. If Bradley thought she cared about him, he was a fool. It was the partnership she wanted. And the money. Miss Morse had expensive tastes.”
“But why—”
“I had it all arranged that Tiffany would be the prime suspect in Bradley’s murder. Everyone knew she was furious with him about the partnership. I figured the text coming from Bradley’s phone would clinch it. Tiffany threw the phone in the Dumpster, but thank goodness for our local garbage monger, Janice Novak. Her finding the phone was a stroke of pure luck. And your handing it over to the police was even better.” Barbara pointed the gun at Gigi. “But don’t think I’m going to take pity on you because of that.” She glanced at her watch again. “It’s getting late. In a few hours I’ll be soaking up the sun in the Caymans enjoying the money Bradley never had the chance to spend.” Barbara gave a smug smile.
Suddenly a crash and the sound of breaking pottery came from behind Gigi. She jumped. Was someone in the house? Would they call the police when they saw Barbara with the gun?
She spun around, but no one was there.
Barbara laughed. “It’s that wretched dog of yours. He’s knocked over one of my planters.” Barbara gave a smile that sent chills down Gigi’s spine. “Did you think someone was coming to rescue you? I assure you, there’s no one here. I gave the maid the day off, and when she arrives tomorrow, the house will be empty.”
Gigi put a hand over her mouth to stifle a sob.
“Where were we?”
“Tiffany . . .”
“Ah, yes, the lovely Miss Morse. I should really blame old man Flanagan for giving her that case. His grandson was picked up drunk and speeding through downtown Woodstone the night I killed Bradley. That camera on the corner of High Street and Elmwood got a crystal-clear picture of his Porsche doing ninety-five miles an hour through the red light. Flanagan was determined to get him off and gave the case to Tiffany. She may look like a piece of fluff, but don’t underestimate our Miss Morse. She’s a bulldog in the courtroom.”
Gigi tried to follow what Barbara was saying, but by now her heart was beating so hard it was pounding in her ears and making it hard to hear.
“Tiffany insisted on reviewing the evidence. She had some idea that she might be able to prove the camera wasn’t accurate. The police sent over all the photographs of cars taken that night. Unfortunately one of them was mine. Tiffany recognized the vanity plate. Back when we were first married, Bradley used to call me ‘snookums.’ It was his pet name for me.” Barbara’s chin wobbled slightly and so did the gun.
Gigi wondered if she would have a chance to grab for it. It was her only hope. Otherwise, Barbara was going to shoot her at point-blank range. Gigi was determined to not go down without a fight. This wasn’t the first time she had faced a murderer.
“Tiffany realized I’d killed my own husband and was framing her for it. She threatened to go to the police with what she’d discovered unless I paid up.”
“Blackmail?”
“Yes. But I wasn’t having any of it. I didn’t plan on spending the rest of my life looking over my shoulder, so Tiffany, unfortunately, had to go.” Barbara smiled but there was no warmth in it. “And now, I’m afraid, so must you.”
She raised the pistol and leveled it straight at Gigi. The only noise Gigi could make was a small squeak. She felt paralyzed from the neck down.
Finally she found her voice. “No,” she protested.
Her tone must have caught Reg’s attention because he launched himself at Barbara’s leg. Reg was small but with a strong set of withers and a great sense of determination. He knocked Barbara sideways in her chair, and the gun fell from her hand and skittered across the table. Gigi grabbed for it but so did Barbara, and it went spinning to the floor.
Barbara lunged after it, hitting the floor with a loud
oof
, as if all the air had been knocked out of her. Gigi was younger and more agile and managed to kick out a leg, striking the gun with the side of her foot. For one horrible moment she was afraid the maneuver might cause it to discharge, but nothing happened. The gun disappeared under a large ficus tree in an ornate blue-and-white planter that was suspended several inches above the ground by a set of wheels.
Barbara scrambled after it on her knees, making tiny mewling sounds as she clawed her way across the stone floor. Gigi pushed the planter aside and reached for the gun. Barbara had collapsed onto her belly and had stretched her arm out at the same time. Gigi kicked the gun again, sending it spinning even farther away. She felt as if she and Barbara were locked in some bizarre field game with a gun instead of a ball. Reg thought it was a game, too, and went scampering after the revolver, sliding gleefully across the slick floor.
Gigi panicked. What if Reg caused the gun to go off? Any of them could be hit.
“Reg, no,” she yelled firmly.
Reluctantly, Reg came to a stop and glanced at Gigi over his shoulder. His look clearly said he was not pleased to have been interrupted in his pursuit of this new toy.
Gigi watched in horror as Barbara managed to hook her fingers around the gun and pull it toward her. She was panting heavily, and sweat glistened on her upper lip.
“Don’t move.” Barbara held the gun pointed in Gigi’s direction as she struggled to her feet, pulling down her top and brushing it off. She looked at her watch. “You’ve made me waste too much time. Now I’m going to have to hurry.” She scowled at Gigi as she aimed the gun.
Gigi’s knees wanted to buckle, but she forced herself to stand straight and look Barbara directly in the eye. “What kind of shot are you? What makes you think you’re going to hit me?” Gigi was stalling, and Barbara probably realized it, but Gigi noticed her bristle.
“You’re close enough. I won’t miss.”
Meanwhile, Gigi looked around. There was another large, tropical-looking tree in a wheeled, terra cotta planter within arm’s reach. As Barbara brought the gun up, Gigi gave the planter an almighty shove, sending it careening into Barbara and knocking the weapon from her hands.
This time Gigi was prepared, and she dove after the gun as if she were doing a swan dive into the deep end of a pool and not onto a stone floor. She ignored the pain that shot through her knees and elbows as she hit the unyielding surface. She felt as triumphant as a receiver making a touchdown in the final minutes of the Super Bowl as she got to her feet.
This time she was the one aiming the gun.
Barbara’s face was red with fury as she rearranged her top and brushed at the knees of her trousers.
Gigi held the gun trained on her and crouched down to pick up her purse. Using only one hand, she dumped the contents onto the wrought-iron garden table and dug through the mess for her cell phone. She was about to punch in 9-1-1 when she heard a noise coming from the front of the house.
Both she and Barbara swiveled in that direction. Four of Woodstone’s finest, with Mertz bringing up the rear, barreled into the room, guns drawn. Gigi lowered hers and placed it on the table.
Barbara shot Gigi a venomous look as one of the officers put her in handcuffs and another read her her rights. “I’ll be vindicated,” she yelled as they took her from the room. “Just you wait.”
Gigi watched her go before collapsing against Mertz’s broad chest. As his arms came around her, she began to shiver uncontrollably.
“It’s okay. It’s all over,” he whispered as he stroked her hair gently. “It’s all over.”