Iced to Death (18 page)

Gigi took a slight detour on her way home, taking some of Woodstone’s back streets that led her past several industrial parks. She hoped she would see Pia’s wreck of a VW bus parked somewhere, but no such luck.

It also wasn’t in the driveway of her cottage when Gigi pulled in. Perhaps Pia was at Declan’s, keeping him company and having a bite to eat?

She finished the preparations for the lunches she was bringing to her clients and filled her Gourmet De-Lite containers. Reg hovered around hoping for a treat, but Gigi had noticed that he was putting on a bit of weight, and she was determined not to give in to his pleading looks. It wasn’t easy—he had a way of tilting his head and making his eyes look extra large and bright that pierced her heart every time.

Finally, Gigi had everything ready and was heading out the door again, this time with Reg. He was content to sit in the car while she dropped off the meals, even if she occasionally spent a few minutes chatting with her clients at their front doors.

Reg jumped into the car eagerly and settled himself into the passenger seat. Gigi headed toward town and made the left turn onto High Street. She slowed as she reached Declan’s Grille and quickly scanned the parking lot. As far as she could tell, Pia’s VW bus wasn’t there. Of course it might have been there earlier, and she could now be on her way to the mysterious studio she’d rented.

Gigi pulled into the tiny lot adjacent to Simpson and West.

“I’ll just be a minute,” she said to Reg, who was already curled up on the seat. He opened one eye and glanced at Gigi briefly before giving a deep sigh and heading into dreamland.

Gigi went around toward the front door of the law firm. She had her hand on the doorknob when someone went by on the other side of the street. The movement caught Gigi’s eye, and she turned to look. It was Janice Novak, dressed in her usual strange conglomeration of clothes that were either too big or too small. The hems of her pants were dragging along the sidewalk, and even from where she was standing Gigi could see that the constant friction was wearing them out. Her buttercup-colored corduroy coat was open despite the frigid temperatures, revealing a silver sequined top underneath. It was hardly the sort of thing most people chose to wear during the day, but Janice didn’t seem to care what others thought.

Gigi suddenly remembered Tiffany’s cell phone and the fact that she had promised Janice a reward, but Janice went on past, seemingly not even recognizing Gigi. Gigi breathed a sigh of relief and pulled open the door to Simpson and West.

The usual hush hung over the elegant lobby. Gigi always felt underdressed when she arrived with Madeline’s meals. Madeline wasn’t waiting downstairs as she sometimes was, so Gigi pushed the button for the elevator. It opened with a melodic ping, and closed behind her with a silent whoosh.

Madeline was in her cubicle, bent over a stack of papers, when Gigi arrived on the third floor. She jumped when Gigi, standing in the doorway, cleared her throat.

“Oh, my, lunchtime already?” Madeline smiled at Gigi.

Gigi thought Madeline looked tired. There were bags under her eyes, and her complexion was paler than usual.

“Busy?”

Madeline nodded. “That’s for sure. We’ve got several big cases going at once.” She rubbed her temples with her fingers. “Listen, do you have a minute?” Her voice dropped to a near whisper.

“Sure.” Gigi slid into the chair in front of Madeline’s desk.

Madeline gestured toward the door to her cubicle. “You’d better shut that.”

Gigi reached out and eased the door shut. She couldn’t imagine what Madeline was about to tell her.

“With Tiffany . . . gone . . . her office needed to be cleaned out. Mr. West asked me to do it.” She gestured toward the stacks of papers on her desk. “I haven’t had much time, what with everything else I’ve got to do.”

Madeline’s lip quivered, and for a moment Gigi thought she was going to cry.

“I came in early this morning, and thought I might get a slight start on it.” Madeline stopped and rubbed her temples with her fingers again. “At least assess the situation and see how long it was going to take. Papers and files all have to be put back in the appropriate places so it’s not just a matter of boxing up the pictures on her desk or the handful of personal items in her drawers. Her secretary could do that.”

Gigi nodded, wondering what Madeline was getting at.

“Her door has been shut since . . . since it happened. The police looked through everything right after the murder, but I guess they didn’t find anything significant because they said we could do what we wanted with the office. I saw the place after the police were finished searching. They were very neat, and it was hard to tell they’d even been in the room.”

That sounded like Mertz,
Gigi thought.

“Tiffany’s office is on the second floor. With a window,” Madeline added, looking around her own crowded space. “She had a special antique desk brought in and hung real art on the walls. That’s what made it even more shocking.”

“What was shocking?” Gigi was thoroughly confused.

“I used the key Mr. West gave me to open the door. We’ve kept it locked ever since . . . well, ever since. So no one else has been in there. But the office has been ransacked. Papers everywhere, drawers open.” She looked up at Gigi, her eyes wide. “Someone was in there desperately searching for something.”

“Have you called the police?”

Madeline shook her head. “No. What if it was someone from the firm simply needing to find something and not caring if they made a mess? Mr. West would be furious with me for calling in the authorities.”

“But you said you had the key. How did they get in?”

“Her secretary had a key, too. She kept it in her top desk drawer. Anyone could have taken it.”

So much for security,
Gigi thought.

“So you think someone from the firm might have been looking for something?”

“What else could it be?”

“It might have been the murderer. Maybe Tiffany knew something or had something that put them in danger.” Gigi ran her hands through her hair. “Do you have any idea what cases she was working on?”

Madeline shrugged. “No, not really.”

Gigi was thinking fast. They had to get into Tiffany’s office. Would she be able to convince Madeline of that?

“If we could look around, we might find something. An answer to this whole mess. I’m sure that would be a huge relief for you and Hunter.”

“You mean you want to . . . snoop around Tiffany’s office?” Madeline began to push her chair back as if by doing so she could distance herself from the idea. “We couldn’t do that. If Mr. West found out, he’d be furious. I might be fired.”

“Don’t you want to find out what happened to your future father-in-law?”

“Yes, but—”

Gigi closed her eyes and crossed her fingers behind her back. “I really don’t want to have to tell you this,” she bit her lip as if she couldn’t go on.

“What?” Madeline asked, the alarm sounding in her voice.

“The police are zeroing in on . . . on Hunter as a possible suspect.”

“No!” Madeline’s hand flew to her mouth.

“They think he was after his father’s money. For some invention of his.” Gigi crossed her fingers. She felt terrible lying to Madeline like this, but it was the only way. “He did leave the party early. I’m sure you remember that. And you told me that he’d lied about where he went that night.”

Madeline’s face had become alarmingly pale. For a minute, Gigi was afraid she might faint.

“But that’s not true. Hunter wouldn’t . . .”

Gigi remained silent.

Madeline looked at her pleadingly. “You’ve got to help us. We’ve got to do something.”

“You still have the key to Tiffany’s office?”

Madeline nodded eagerly.

“We need to get into her office. How late do people usually work?”

Madeline shrugged. “It depends. Sometimes all night. But I don’t think that will be a problem. If someone is staying late, they generally have their head down and don’t notice what’s going on.”

“What would be a good time?”

“Ten o’clock maybe? Just about everyone will have left by then unless they’re under a huge deadline.”

“Where should I meet you?” Gigi was relieved to see that Madeline was going along with her scheme.

“It’s probably best if you don’t park in our lot. It would be better to park where you won’t be noticed—Declan’s maybe. I’ll be by the door, and I’ll keep an eye out for you.”

Gigi was about to leave when Madeline grabbed her arm. “Do you think we’ll find something? We have to.” She gulped down a sob. “Hunter didn’t do anything, I know it. He’d never hurt his father.”

Gigi squeezed her hands into fists. She’d lied to Madeline and now Madeline was all upset. It wasn’t fair. But she had to get to the bottom of this. She just had to.

“Don’t worry. I’m sure everything will turn out okay.” She gave Madeline a quick hug. “I’ll see you at ten o’clock by the front door.”

By the time Gigi got back to her car and Reg’s exuberant greeting, she had nearly managed to convince herself that lying to Madeline had been for Madeline’s own good. In reality, she was hoping to prove to Mertz that Declan was not responsible for Bradley’s murder. Because if he was, her sister’s heart was going to be broken again. Never mind that she and Declan had never even had a proper date. In Pia’s mind they were practically engaged and just a walk down the aisle away from eternal romantic bliss.

Gigi drove home through the back streets again, but there was still no sign of Pia’s VW bus anywhere. Ralph’s pizza truck was at her curb when she got home, however, and Pia’s VW was at the head of the driveway. Gigi pulled in behind it and got out. Reg began tugging her toward the street so Gigi thought she would give him a walk now rather than later.

Reg pulled her past the neighbors’ house—an elderly couple who had lived there for more than fifty years. Their front door opened, and Mrs. Prescott wobbled down the steps and tottered toward the mailbox at the end of their driveway. She held her coat closed with one hand and had a kerchief covering her permed gray curls.

“Good afternoon, Hermione,” Gigi called loudly, knowing that her neighbor was hard of hearing.

“Eh? Good afternoon you say?” Hermione pulled a stack of mail from her box and waited as Gigi and Reg caught up with her. She gestured toward the pizza delivery truck outside of Gigi’s house. “Aren’t you running that diet business no more? I seen that truck there a couple of times this week already.” She pointed a bony finger in the direction of Gigi’s house. “I wouldn’t think pizza would be something you’d be eating real regular.”

“It’s not me; it’s my sister.” Reg gave a tug, and Gigi let the leash out slightly.

“That girl with the short hair?” Hermione made a twirling motion above her head.

Gigi nodded.

Hermione stared at Gigi, her watery blue eyes wide open. “Don’t you cook for her? You cook for all those strangers—you can’t even do that much for your own sister?”

Gigi wished she could close her eyes and just disappear. Were other people thinking the same thing?

She smiled at Hermione. “My sister likes pizza unfortunately.”

“Of course she does,” Hermione said illogically. “Everyone likes pizza. Can’t say I blame her, can you?”

“No, no, I can’t.” Gigi gave Reg a discreet tug in the direction of home. “Nice seeing you, Hermione.” Gigi waved good-bye.

By the time she’d dragged Reg to the back door, she was fuming. Pia had to stop ordering pizza. Better yet, Pia had to find somewhere else to live. Gigi couldn’t take it anymore.

When Gigi entered the kitchen, Pia was seated at the island, pizza box flipped open and a piece in her hand. She waved the slice toward the box when she saw Gigi.

“Want some?” she mumbled indistinctly around a mouthful.

Gigi shook her head curtly.

“What’s the matter?” Pia ran a hand through her short hair, making it even spikier than usual.

“Nothing.” Gigi tried to smile, but the movement felt forced and she abandoned the attempt.

“Look, I’m sorry if I’m in your way.” Pia closed the pizza box and began to gather up the crumpled paper napkins that littered the island.

Gigi let her shoulders drop. “No, don’t be silly, it’s fine. I’m just a little tense, that’s all.” Thinking about the night ahead and rummaging through Tiffany’s office was making her more nervous than she wanted to admit. She could only imagine how Madeline must feel.

“I’ll make you some tea,” Pia offered.

“No, that’s okay.” Gigi just really wanted to be alone to think.

Fortunately, Pia threw the remains of her pizza crust in the box and stood up. “There’s more if you want some.” She pulled her jacket from the hook by the back door and struggled into it. Her arm caught on the lining and she swore briefly. “I’m heading to the studio. See you later.”

“Don’t you think you’re working too—” But before Gigi could finish the sentence, the door slammed in back of Pia, nearly dislodging the framed poster of sage, or
Salvia officinalis
, that hung on Gigi’s kitchen wall.