Gigi’s scream came out in a puff of vapor, rending the frigid and silent evening air. Her teeth began to chatter almost immediately, and she clapped a hand to her mouth to stop the second scream that rose in her throat.
She couldn’t have just tripped over a . . . body. There was some mistake. It was a heap of old clothing, not a . . . a . . . person. Gigi forced herself to open her eyes and take a second look.
It
was
a body—a man—and he was lying on his stomach, his right arm trapped beneath him. The falling snowflakes mingled with the bright red blood that had pooled alongside him.
Before Gigi could move, the door to Declan’s opened and slammed against the side of the building.
“Gigi!” Declan ran across the parking lot toward her, slipping and sliding on the ice and nearly falling at one point. “What is it? Are you okay?”
Gigi nodded mutely and pointed at the body sprawled at her feet.
“What the bloody . . .” Declan knelt on the icy ground and put his fingers against the man’s thick neck.
He stood up slowly, shaking his head.
“Is he . . .”
“I’m afraid so.” Declan stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jeans. He shivered slightly and pulled the edges of his shirt closer together.
“What should we do?” This wasn’t Gigi’s first encounter with a dead body, but she still felt at sea as to how to handle it. She supposed you never did get used to it unless you were a policeman, and it was part of your job. The thought of the police brought Mertz to mind. She desperately wished he were there at the same time that she dreaded the thought of his arrival. A shiver racked her body. What was Mertz going to think of her being at Declan’s so late at night? She pushed the thought from her mind and tried to concentrate on the situation at hand.
“We have to call the police.” Gigi began to dig in her handbag for her cell.
“Absolutely.” Declan rubbed his hands together and then up and down his arms where the snowflakes were melting slowly on his shirt. He stared at the body at their feet. “That coat looks familiar, doesn’t it?” It was gray wool with a black velvet collar. “It’s quite posh. Must be someone important.”
Gigi risked a quick glance at the corpse. There was something familiar about the man—even in death there was an air of authority about him.
“Think we ought to turn him over?” Declan’s teeth had begun to chatter.
Gigi shook her head. “No, we need to leave him this way until the police get—hello? Hello?” Her 9-1-1 call had gone through. The woman on the other end spoke calmly and briskly. Gigi explained the situation as succinctly as possible.
“Hold on one moment, please.”
Gigi glanced at Declan. “Why don’t you go inside and get your jacket? I’ll be fine.”
Declan headed toward the darkened restaurant at a trot. “Just give me a sec. I’ll be right back.”
Within minutes the lights from a Woodstone patrol car swept the darkened parking lot, catching Gigi in their glare. She quickly stepped out of the circle of bright light, but the brief exposure had left her as blind as a mole. She blinked furiously, trying to decipher the face of the policeman behind the wheel.
The patrolman was shutting his door when another car pulled into the lot, skidding on the icy pavement. Gigi had no trouble recognizing the driver—it was Mertz.
“Thank goodness the police are here,” Declan said as he joined Gigi again. He had on a black peacoat with the collar turned up.
Gigi was of two minds. She was glad that Mertz was there to take over. On the other hand, she really didn’t want to face him right now. How was she going to explain what she was doing at Declan’s at one o’clock in the morning? She thought of Pia again, and hoped she’d gone off to her studio like she normally did and wouldn’t be there when Gigi slunk home in the middle of the night.
The patrolman stood aside, his hands stuffed into his pockets, as Mertz approached the scene. He circled the body twice before looking up at Gigi and Declan.
“You must be freezing. Why don’t you go inside? I’ll talk to you when I’m done.”
He managed to make it sound like a threat, Gigi thought, as she followed Declan back to the restaurant. Her teeth were chattering, and the tips of her fingers felt numb.
They let themselves back into the kitchen, which was cooling quickly since Declan had turned the heat down for the night. Gigi decided to unbutton her coat but keep it on.
Declan glanced at her. “You’re cold. Why don’t I put on some coffee? I doubt any of us is going to get to sleep anytime soon. And I imagine the coppers out there”—he jerked his head toward the door—“would appreciate a cup, too.”
Gigi nodded. She thought of phoning Alice to say she’d pick Reg up in the morning, but knowing Alice, she had already come to that conclusion. She and Reg were most likely tucked into bed keeping each other warm.
Declan swung a battered, metal coffeepot under the tap, filled it with water and put it on the stove to boil. He looked over his shoulder at Gigi. “I imagine it’s some homeless person who succumbed to hypothermia.” Declan shivered. “Poor sod. I feel terrible for him.”
“But his coat. It was obviously expensive.”
“Picked it up at a thrift store perhaps?” Declan opened a cupboard and took out a handful of mugs.
“His hair was neatly trimmed.” Gigi closed her eyes and tried to bring the scene back in her memory. “His shoes. They were good quality and well polished.” She thought for a moment. “And there was blood . . .”
“I suppose the police will figure it out soon enough.” Declan held the coffeepot over the mugs and began to fill them with the rich-smelling brew.
Gigi had a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach. The man had seemed familiar, even though she’d only been able to see his back.
Before she could give it any more thought, the door to the kitchen opened, and Mertz stepped in. His nose was red from the cold, and snowflakes were melting in his hair. His eyes lit up when he saw the mugs of coffee sitting out on the table.
“Help yourself. There’s a cup for the other fellow, too.”
The cold stare Mertz had been giving Declan softened slightly. He helped himself to a mug and held his hands around it. “Thanks. He’s guarding the scene. Crime scene guys should be here soon, too. Mind putting on a few more cups? I’m sure they’d appreciate the java. It’s freezing out there.” He took a sip of his coffee and sighed appreciatively. “Want to tell me what happened?” He sagged against the wall.
Declan pushed a stool toward him with his foot. He and Gigi looked at each other.
“As you know, I was helping Declan in the kitchen tonight.” Gigi carefully avoided looking at Mertz’s face. “I was just leaving when . . . when I all but tripped over the . . . body.”
Mertz made a big show of glancing at his watch. “This would have been, what? A little after one?”
Gigi nodded, knowing her face was doing a slow burn.
“Did you recognize the man?” Mertz looked from Gigi to Declan and back again.
Both Gigi and Declan shook their heads.
“I thought perhaps he was homeless and had wandered into our parking lot.” Declan picked up one of the mugs of coffee and held it to his lips.
“We found his wallet and identification in his jacket pocket. It seems he was the host of tonight’s party—Bradley Simpson.”
Gigi gasped. “What . . . what happened?”
“Was it hypothermia?” Declan stopped with his mug halfway to his mouth.
Mertz gave Declan a strange look as he shook his head. “No, as a matter of fact, it wasn’t.” Mertz had crossed his arms over his chest, and Gigi thought he looked terribly forbidding.
Declan put his mug down and leaned back in his chair. “What was it then?” He didn’t sound particularly interested in the answer.
“We found an ice pick protruding from his head.” Mertz glanced at Gigi quickly, as if to make sure she was okay. “It looks like murder.”
“How awful,” Declan said.
Gigi was unable to find her voice.
Mertz looked at Declan. “Do you happen to know,” he said very casually, crossing one leg over the other, “how an ice pick with the name
Declan’s
carved into the wooden handle ended up in Bradley Simpson’s temple?”
• • •
It was nearly three
A.M
. Sunday morning by the time Gigi turned into the driveway of her cottage. The place was completely dark—Pia hadn’t even left the light on over the front door. Was she in bed asleep or had she gone to her studio? Gigi slipped out of her shoes by the back door and tiptoed past the guest room. The door was cracked, but it was too dark to see inside. Besides, the way Pia always left the bedclothes in such a tangle, it would be impossible to tell if there was a body in the bed or not.
Gigi undressed without even turning on the light and slid beneath the covers. She groaned. She was tired from her head down to her very toes. Her eyes, however, refused to stay shut. The scene in Declan’s parking lot kept running through her mind. She missed Reg’s cozy warmth, and although she hugged her pillow to her chest, it was no substitute for his comforting presence. The thought that if she had a husband, she’d have a warm body to snuggle up to ran across her mind like a blip on a radar screen. No use in thinking about that now. She had the feeling that it was going to take a while for Mertz to come around . . . if ever.
Gigi hardly slept all night and was almost glad when it was finally time to get up the next morning. She padded out to the kitchen and measured coffee and water into the pot, leaning her elbows on the counter, her eyes closing, as she listened to the machine gurgle and spit. The aroma began to revive her, and she retreated to her bedroom to pull on some clothes.
She filled a travel mug with the freshly brewed coffee and headed out the door toward her car. She scraped some fresh snow off the MINI’s windshield and began the short drive to Alice’s house.
Alice was in her bathrobe and holding a cup of coffee when Gigi rang her bell a few minutes later. Reg was right beside her, giving excited yelps.
“I hope I didn’t wake you.” Gigi bent down so Reg could lick her face.
“Nope. I’ve already made my coffee.” Alice gestured to the mug in her hand. Her eyes twinkled. “So, it was a late night, was it?”
Gigi nodded. “Stacy wasn’t feeling well so Declan sent her home. I lent a hand with the waitressing.”
“Stacy wasn’t feeling well?”
Gigi heard the alarm in Alice’s voice. “Nothing serious, or I’m sure she would have called you. Seemed like some kind of stomach bug. She couldn’t keep anything down.”
Gigi looked at Alice and was surprised to see the sparkle in her eyes.
Alice clapped her hands. “That’s wonderful.” Her face was lit and glowing.
Gigi failed to see how Stacy having a stomach virus could be termed wonderful.
“Don’t you see?” Alice asked.
Gigi shook her head. She most certainly did not see.
“Stacy must be pregnant! I’m going to be a grandmother.” Alice brushed at a tear that had formed in the corner of her eye.
Gigi thought Alice was jumping to conclusions, but how to let her down easily?
“Let’s not say anything just yet.” Alice put a finger to her lips. “I’ll let Stacy tell me in her own time.” She winked at Gigi. “In the meantime, tell me about your evening with Declan.”
Reg had given up jumping on Gigi’s leg—his way of saying
let’s go
—and had curled up in a sunbeam that slanted across the braided rug in Alice’s foyer. “I didn’t spend the evening with Declan,” Gigi corrected. “I was working. And it was terrible.” Gigi hesitated for a second, but Mertz hadn’t said anything about not telling anyone about Bradley’s death. Besides, the news would be all over town before the noon whistle blew.
“As I was leaving, I found Bradley Simpson’s body in the parking lot.”
“Body?” Alice squeaked. “As in . . .”
Gigi nodded. “Yes. He was dead.”
“What on earth happened?”
Gigi shrugged. “I have no idea.” She shivered, even though the sun coming through the window was warm against her back. “Someone had stabbed him with an ice pick. Murder.” Gigi didn’t see any need to broadcast the fact that Declan’s name was on the murder weapon.
Alice gasped. “What are things coming to? Although from what I’ve heard, there are plenty of people who won’t be sorry to hear that he’s gone.” She folded her arms across her chest. “How his poor wife can stand him, I don’t know. My neighbor”—she jerked a thumb to the right—“does a bit of housework for them. She said Barbara Simpson has resorted to . . .” She made the motion of holding a glass to her mouth and drinking. “Not that anyone can blame her.”
Gigi thought back to the previous evening and Simpson’s obnoxious speech. No, she didn’t think anyone could blame Barbara Simpson at all.
Gigi spent the rest of Sunday—a bitterly cold day with a ferocious wind that picked up the newly fallen snow and tossed it around—curled up on the sofa with a book, Reg nestled in at her feet. She felt incredibly weary from all the work and strain of the evening before. She really needed to run the vacuum and throw a load of laundry in the washer, but she couldn’t bring herself to move from her cozy nook.