Iced to Death (7 page)

“How are things going with your sister?” Sienna poured Gigi a cup of steaming coffee. They were settled into the coffee corner, as it was known, at the Book Nook.

“Okay. I don’t see much of her given the hours she keeps.”

“How long does she plan to—”

“She said she has an appointment to go look at some apartments. I feel a little guilty, but I can’t wait to have the cottage all to myself again.”

“That’s perfectly understandable.” Sienna stirred her cup of herbal tea. “I was really sorry to miss the big party and all of the excitement. Oliver’s mother called up out of the blue wanting to see Camille”—she smiled at the baby gurgling happily in the bouncy seat next to her—“and she offered to pay our airfare and everything. I must admit it was heavenly to get away to Palm Beach at this time of year.” She wiped a bit of drool from the baby’s mouth. “Although we think poor little Camille is cutting a tooth, don’t we pumpkin?” She cooed at the infant. “The first evening she had us up almost all night.”

Gigi glanced at her goddaughter. She seemed perfectly content now, rocking in her bouncy chair, trying to stuff her fist into her mouth.

“We were invited because Oliver’s friend, George Lawson, is an associate at Simpson and West. I think the whole thing was less of an engagement party and more of a business affair for Bradley Simpson.” A slight frown crossed Sienna’s face. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be speaking ill of the dead, as my mother would say.”

Gigi cupped her mug of coffee. “It seems there were plenty of people willing to speak ill of him while he was alive.”

Sienna cocked her head. “Really? I didn’t know him at all well. Oliver said he was a hard-driving lawyer and an incredible rainmaker for the firm.”

Gigi told Sienna about her recording session earlier that day. “Cheryl told me that she and her husband had borrowed money from Barbara Simpson. They seem to think that with Bradley out of the way there won’t be any need to pay her back.”

“She said that?” Sienna looked up from wiping another blob of drool off of Camille’s chin. She gestured at the cloth in her hand. “They say all this drooling means she’s teething, although we can’t see anything yet.”

“She didn’t come right out and say it. She sort of left it hanging.” Gigi wondered if she could have misunderstood Cheryl. She didn’t think so.

“Sounds like you’ve found the perfect suspect.” Sienna grinned, and Gigi knew she was thinking of some of their past detecting adventures. “What do the police think?”

Gigi slumped in her seat. She still hadn’t heard from Mertz. “I don’t know. Mertz and I had something of a falling out. He didn’t want me helping Declan out the night of the party although I assured him I’m not attracted to the man in the least.” Gigi remembered some of the feelings she’d had while sitting in the kitchen with Declan, after everyone had left, and a flash of heat rushed to her cheeks.

Sienna glanced at her quizzically. She’d taken Camille from her bouncy seat and had the baby cradled against her shoulder. “Why do I think there’s something you’re not telling me?”

“There isn’t.” Gigi protested a little too fiercely. She had to force herself not to squirm.

“So the police haven’t identified any suspects yet?” Sienna shifted the now-sleeping Camille slightly. The baby’s hands were tangled in Sienna’s long mane of golden hair, and her tiny, rosebud mouth was partially open.

Gigi shook her head. “Not that I know of, but I imagine Declan is going to be at the top of their list.” The thought made her shiver again, and she clutched her coffee cup more tightly.

“Mertz wouldn’t do that just because—”

“Oh, no. Not just because he’s jealous. Mertz would never do that.” Gigi looked into the depths of her steaming mug of coffee. “It’s because of what they found at the scene.”

“Something that traces to Declan?”

“Yes. The ice pick that was used to kill Bradley had Declan’s name carved into it.”

Sienna drew in her breath sharply, and Camille gave a muffled cry before settling back down to sleep. “That doesn’t look good. But someone could have taken it from his kitchen.”

“True. But how is he going to prove that?”

“What reason would Declan have for killing Bradley Simpson? Did they even know each other before last night?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

The bell over the front door tinkled, and a blast of cold air drifted toward the coffee corner. Sienna stood up briefly. “Madison’s behind the register. She’ll keep a lookout.”

Gigi was refilling her coffee cup when the newly arrived customer suddenly appeared around the end of one of the shelving units. She had on a strange assortment of ill-fitting clothing—red-and-white-striped socks, clogs that looked to be about an inch too long, wide-legged trousers that ended well above her ankles, and a corduroy car coat with sleeves that hung down past the tips of her fingers. She rounded the corner and headed toward the back of the store.

Gigi looked at Sienna with her eyebrows raised. Sienna glanced over her shoulder quickly.

“That’s Janice Novak. I’ve heard she gets most of her clothes out of the Dumpsters around town,” she whispered.

“That’s so sad.”

Sienna nodded. “She used to work for Simpson and West in their accounting department.” Sienna glanced around and lowered her voice even further. “Apparently she embezzled some small sum of money from the firm.” She mouthed the words
gambling problem
.

“Too bad.”

“The firm decided not to press charges, but the partners refused to give her a reference, and she can’t get much of a job anywhere else. Besides, just about everyone in Woodstone knows about it—Bradley Simpson was apparently quite vocal when it happened. I heard she was working at the Dollar Store in that strip mall on the edge of town, but when her register didn’t add up one night, they let her go.”

“That’s a shame.”

“It’s made her a little . . . off.”

Gigi also realized that it made her more than just a little
off
, to use Sienna’s expression.

It also made her another perfect suspect in Bradley Simpson’s murder.

• • •

Gigi was surprised to see Pia sitting at the kitchen island nursing a cup of cocoa when she got up the following morning. Her sister’s face looked thinner than usual and was ashen with fatigue. Pia poked at the marshmallows in her cup with her index finger.

“Good morning,” Gigi offered tentatively. It was obvious from the stiff set of Pia’s shoulders that something was bothering her.

Pia didn’t respond, just lowered her face into her mug of cocoa.

Gigi sighed and began measuring coffee into the coffeemaker. She added water, pushed the button, and the machine gurgled to life. It was equipped with an automatic timer, but she never seemed to remember to set it up the night before—although the few times she had, it was heavenly to wake up to the smell of freshly brewed coffee instead of the usual racket from her alarm clock.

Pia made a small noise—to Gigi it sounded halfway between a squeak and a suppressed sneeze. Was Pia crying? Gigi glanced at her sister again and saw her shoulders were shaking.

She was.

“What’s wrong?” Gigi asked with a sense of resignation. Pia regularly got into scrapes that ranged from almost nothing to practically illegal.

“I went to Declan’s last night,” Pia said with a hiccough. “We had a wonderful chat. I’ve really missed having a man in my life.”

By Pia’s own account, she had said good-bye to the philandering Clive barely a few weeks before, so her love life had hardly been akin to the Sahara desert.

“He asked me to stay for a nightcap.” She glanced up at Gigi. “It’s wonderful to find someone who
understands
you.”

Anyone who could understand Pia was exceptional indeed, Gigi thought. Gigi had hoped that Pia’s infatuation with Declan would have passed by now. Obviously it hadn’t. She had to figure out a way to let Pia know that Declan wasn’t serious . . . but without hurting her feelings. Somehow Gigi didn’t think that was going to be possible.

“We had such a lovely chat.” Pia drained the rest of her cocoa and put the mug down. It had already left a series of wet rings on Gigi’s countertop. “And then the police came in! Said he was wanted for questioning.” She turned large, imploring eyes on Gigi. “For that murder in the parking lot!”

Gigi was reaching for the carafe of coffee, and her hand jerked, sloshing hot liquid onto her bathrobe. She stared at the spot and sighed. The robe was due for a wash anyway.

“You have to do something.” Pia knitted her fingers together as if she were praying.

“Me?” Gigi pointed to herself. “There’s nothing I can do. I’m sure that the police will soon sort it out and realize they’ve made a—”

“You can call that detective of yours. Tell him he has to let Declan go. He had nothing to do with the murder. It’s not fair!” She ended on a wail.

“We’re somewhat on the outs at the moment,” Gigi admitted.

“Then you have to make up with him. Come on,” Pia pleaded. “You know you want to.”

Gigi had to admit her sister was right. She missed Mertz.

“Just call him and see what you can find out.” Pia slid off her stool and grabbed the phone from the cradle. “Here.” She held it out toward Gigi.

“I can’t just call him and . . . demand an explanation.” Gigi insisted.

Pia’s face fell, then almost immediately brightened. “Have him over for dinner. Wine him and dine him. That ought to do the trick.”

Gigi was surprised to find herself actually considering the idea. She’d always done whatever was necessary to take care of Pia. Was this any different?

Pia waved the phone at Gigi.

“Oh, all right.” Gigi took the receiver from Pia’s hand and quickly dialed the Woodstone Police Station. Her mouth went dry. What if Mertz refused to talk to her? What if he hung up on her?

She glanced over her shoulder at Pia, who was making encouraging gestures.

Gigi slammed the phone down. She couldn’t do it.

“You have to.” Pia grabbed the phone and handed it back to Gigi.

Gigi dialed the number again with trembling fingers. She turned her back on Pia and listened as the phone rang. She closed her eyes, hoping that by some miracle no one would answer. But of course that was impossible.

The receptionist’s voice came on the line.

Gigi managed to find enough breath to ask for Mertz. Once again she closed her eyes and prayed that he was out on a case somewhere.

No such luck.

“Mertz,” he said economically. Gigi could hear the rustling of papers in the background and muted voices.

“I . . . I hope I’m not disturbing you,” Gigi managed to squeak out, ready to hang the phone up immediately if he said he was busy.

“Gigi!”

Gigi had thought Mertz might sound annoyed, exasperated, angry, distant, but instead he sounded . . . pleased.

Gigi gulped hard. “I was wondering if . . . if . . .” She turned around to see Pia urging her on. “I was wondering if you’d like to . . . um . . . come over for dinner.” Again Gigi hesitated, and Pia waved her on. “Tonight.”

“I’d love to.” Mertz sighed. “But I’m going to a meeting out of town, and I’m not sure when I’ll be back. If it’s not too late, maybe I can just stop by, and we can have a cup of coffee?”

“Sure. That would be fine.” Gigi heard voices in the background.

“Listen, I’ve got to go. I’ll call you later and let you know how things are panning out, okay? Maybe I’ll be able to get away earlier.”

“Great. Fine.” Gigi hung up the phone.

“What did he say?” Pia demanded immediately.

“He said he’d stop by if he can.” She explained about the out-of-town meeting.

“You’ll need to be prepared.” Pia paced up and down the kitchen, an anxious look on her face. “What are you going to make?” Before Gigi could answer, she continued. “It would look odd if you had a complete dinner waiting for him . . . just in case. It might be best to have some ingredients on hand so you could whip up something simple like . . . I don’t know. You’re the chef.”

“I think I can handle it,” Gigi said dryly.

“And wine. Don’t forget to get a bottle of wine to relax him.”

“It’s already on my mental list.”

Pia threw her arms around her sister. “You’re the best.”

Gigi sighed and returned the hug.

Later that afternoon, as Gigi was driving through the darkening town after having delivered her dinner meals, a commercial came on the radio. She had tuned to a rock station she liked—if asked, she would deny it, but she had a penchant for cheesy pop songs and had been known to sing along at the top of her lungs while piloting the MINI through Woodstone.

She’d just finished a rousing rendition of one of Britney Spears’s earlier songs when the music ended and the advertisement came on. Gigi had her finger on the button and was about to change the station when a familiar voice caught her attention.
Her
voice. Advertising Gigi’s frozen Gourmet De-Lite dinners. She nearly drove into a light post on High Street, she was so surprised. She supposed Branston was running the commercials now to create excitement over the launch of his new product—Gigi’s frozen diet entrées.