Steamed to Death (19 page)

“It’s a busy night,” the doctor said, giving a nod toward one of the waiting patients. “Fortunately none of the injuries are life-threatening. Still”—he sighed—“it will probably be morning before we treat everyone.”

Gigi hoped she wouldn’t have to be there until morning. She was already aching with fatigue.

The doctor pushed aside the brightly colored curtain and ushered her into a tiny room, crowded with medical equipment. Alice lay on the bed, an IV pumping fluid into her arm and a blood pressure cuff alternately inflating and deflating as it took her vitals.

“The doctor is waiting for the X-rays to come back.” Alice struggled to sit up.

“Don’t,” Gigi said. “I can boost the bed up for you if you’d like.”

Alice nodded.

Gigi fiddled around in back of the bed until she found the appropriate button. She was half-afraid of sending Alice flying through the doorway, but she managed to raise the bed to a modest level without causing any catastrophes.

“Do you want anything? Some water?”

Alice shook her head. “I’m fine. They’re giving me something for the pain.” She gestured toward the IV stand. “Why don’t you sit down? You look all done in yourself.”

Gigi slid into the orange plastic chair next to the bed. “They’re busy out there tonight.”

The curtain to Alice’s cubicle bulged inward, and a nurse poked her head around the edge. “Sorry about that. Full house tonight. We’ll try not to disturb you.”

Alice and Gigi could hear her talking to someone outside the curtain. The voice sounded familiar to Gigi, but she couldn’t place it. The nurse was obviously taking someone’s medical history. The man complained of chest pains and shortness of breath. His voice was still tantalizingly familiar. Gigi glanced at Alice.

“Who is that?” Alice whispered. “I know the voice, but I can’t place it.”

“Any recent medical procedures?” they heard the nurse ask.

The man gave an embarrassed laugh. “Not really. Unless Botox counts,” he said, his voice dipping lower.

“When?”

“Let me think. It was last Friday. Around four o’clock with Dr. Hollywood.”

“Hollywood?” the nurse asked, her skepticism clear in her voice.

“Yes. He’s over on Fairmount, near the corner of Cambridge.”

Alice’s eyes suddenly popped wide open. She hissed at Gigi.

“What?”

“I know who that is!” Alice leaned forward, her arm momentarily forgotten. “It’s that fellow who is . . . was . . . Felicity’s manager.”

“I think you’re right!” Gigi jumped up in excitement. “It certainly sounds like Don.”

“Take a peek through the curtain.”

Gigi carefully moved the curtain aside an inch and peered out. She pulled her head back in quickly. “You’re right!”

Alice started to giggle. “Botox! Imagine.”

Yes, indeed
, Gigi thought. She did some quick calculations in her head. If Don was visiting Dr. Hollywood for cosmetic procedures on Friday circa four o’clock, then he definitely wasn’t the person who’d locked Felicity in the sauna that same afternoon.

Gigi felt her stomach plummet as their list of suspects once again diminished by one.

Chapter 17

By the time Alice’s arm was set and immobilized in plaster, it was almost one o’clock in the morning. Gigi had long since drifted asleep in the uncomfortable plastic chair, and the doctor ended up waking both of them when he arrived with Alice’s discharge instructions.

Gigi tucked Alice into the front seat and tried to make her as comfortable as possible under the circumstances. Reg awoke long enough from his slumber to assess the situation before heading off into the land of nod again, his head resting on his two front paws.

High Street was slick with rain and patterned with dark shadows when they finally left the hospital parking lot.

“I’m so glad I took the short-term disability they offered at work,” Alice said, somewhat groggily, her words slurring together and over each other. “With this arm, I don’t know how I’m going to be able to work. It’s the extra that’s not covered.”

“Extra?” Gigi glanced at Alice out of the corner of her eye.

“You know, the little jobs I do here and there—like helping you out. With Joe out of work, he and Stacy are going to need some help making ends meet.”

Gigi remembered her conversation with Declan and was about to open her mouth when she again thought better of it. Perhaps he hadn’t mentioned his plan to Joe or Stacy yet, and perhaps Alice didn’t know about it at all.

They drove past Abigail’s, and Gigi felt a pang for the dress hanging, unworn, in her closet. Would she and Mertz ever get another chance to go out? Perhaps she ought to return it. It had been an impulse purchase she could ill afford.

The dark street was punctuated by the glow from the streetlights, and Gigi noticed a stronger light up ahead. Several lights were still burning at Declan’s, which was odd. She knew they stopped serving dinner at nine o’clock on weeknights, and even the most diehard drinkers ought to be home in bed by now.

She slowed as they passed the front of the tavern, and Gigi completely took her foot off the gas when she noticed the front door opening. Declan stood in the pool of light created by the lit sign over the front of the building. He was holding the door, and someone was exiting. They stood close together and appeared to speak a few words before the woman turned and walked toward the parking lot.

Gigi couldn’t linger much longer, but she managed to slow enough to see who the woman was.

She glanced at Alice, and judging by the look on her face, Alice had seen, too.

Alice gasped. “It’s my Stacy!” She turned to look at Gigi. “What on earth is she doing at Declan’s at this time of night?”

Gigi didn’t want to say anything. It was perfectly obvious to her. No wonder Declan was so anxious to help Stacy out! She supposed Stacy was willing to play by Declan’s rules—a good time but with no strings attached.

They drove the rest of the way to Alice’s house in silence. Alice was clearly distraught, and Gigi was loathe to leave her alone, but Alice insisted she would be fine.

Gigi drove back to her cottage, waited while Reg ran off to lift his leg on one of the bushes, then went inside and locked the door. She shed her clothes as she headed toward the bedroom and didn’t even bother with pajamas but crawled immediately under the down comforter.

Tonight had been the perfect end to her no good, horrible, terrible, really bad day, and she was ready to put it behind her.

• • •

“We still have plenty of suspects,” Sienna said after Gigi explained about overhearing Don in the emergency room.

They were at the Book Nook, in what had become known as the coffee corner. The sofa and chairs were worn and enveloping, and a coffee machine gurgled steadily on the sideboard. Gigi noticed that now that Sienna’s stomach was so big, she moved awkwardly in the small space.

“True.” Gigi rested her head against the back cushions. In addition to the late night, she hadn’t slept well. “And they all had access to Derek’s room. The police have asked them to stay nearby for the interim.”

“Winchel has been very hospitable letting them stay at the house so long.” Sienna handed Gigi a mug of coffee.

“My guess is he’s doing it to hide the fact that he and Vanessa have become an item. The gossip papers would be all over that one!”

“True.” Sienna cradled her mug of tea in her hands. “They’d have a field day with it. ‘Soap Star Felicity Davenport Barely Cold in Her Grave When Husband Takes Up with Younger Costar . . .’”

Gigi laughed, although she didn’t doubt that’s exactly what would happen. “Meanwhile, everyone is being fooled into thinking Vanessa and Don are the couple.”

“Even Don?” Sienna sipped her tea.

Gigi shrugged. “I don’t know. Vanessa seems to be doing a good job so far.” She looked down at the cup of freshly brewed coffee Sienna had handed her, and inhaled deeply. She needed a caffeine fix, stat! “Since Don has an alibi, perhaps Vanessa is the one who did the deed. Felicity’s death put money in Don’s pocket, and it sure looks like it put one heck of a diamond bracelet on Vanessa’s wrist.”

Sienna gave a small smile. “I gather your dinner with Mertz didn’t happen.”

Gigi shook her head. “No, not after Derek’s body was discovered. He was busy all night.”

“Another time?”

Gigi shrugged. “I don’t know. He hasn’t said anything about a rain check.”

“He will. Give him time.”

Gigi glanced at her watch. “I’d better get up to Winchel’s and begin working on dinner. I’m trying another recipe I plan to use for Branston Foods. And I’m going to take Alice some so she doesn’t have to cook.”

“Poor Alice.”

Gigi shuddered. “I can’t imagine being incapacitated like that.” She had a momentary thought—perhaps she ought to look into disability insurance. Her entire livelihood depended on her being able to use her arms and hands. What would happen if she fell down the stairs like Alice?

• • •

The driveway at Winchel’s house was full when Gigi pulled in. She noticed Winchel’s Escalade, Don’s bright red Porsche Boxster, and Vanessa’s black Mitsubishi Spyder. Even Anja’s bicycle was leaning against the corner of the garage. It looked like she’d have a full house for dinner.

Gigi tied on an apron and got to work. Dinner was going to be a casual affair since none of Winchel’s guests had been able to commit to a specific time for the meal. Gigi chopped onions and garlic and browned them in a smidge of hot olive oil. She added diced tomatoes, a can of green chilies, chicken broth and cut-up chicken. When the mixture had cooked and the flavors had melded, she would add black beans, corn and a flour-and-water slurry to thicken the mixture. Strips of corn tortilla baked to a crisp in the oven would go on top of the soup. And, for those who weren’t calorie conscious, she would put out toppings of sour cream and grated cheddar cheese.

“That smells very good.” Anja gave the ghost of a smile as she bustled into the kitchen.

“I’m going to leave the pot on the stove, and everyone can help themselves. Mr. Winchel wanted things to be casual tonight.”

“I don’t know what kind of appetite the poor man will have, having lost his son like that.” Anja tut-tutted as she put out bowls, napkins and silverware. “Another tragedy.” She turned toward Gigi, her face serious. “You know what they say?”

Gigi looked up from the tortillas she was cutting into strips with a pair of kitchen shears. “What.”

“Well, in my country they believe things happen in threes. Good things, bad things, it doesn’t matter.”

“A lot of people here believe that, too.”

Anja stared at Gigi. “Really? I thought it was just in my country. Do you?”

“Do I what?” Gigi looked away from Anja’s gaze.

“Believe that things happen in threes?”

Gigi shivered but said firmly, “No. That’s an old wives’ tale.” She hoped
.
She made the sign her Italian grandmother believed warded off the evil eye or
malocchio
—index finger and pinkie outstretched—and hoped for the best.

“Will there be dessert?” Anja paused in front of the glass-fronted cabinet filled with Felicity’s collection of china.

“Yes.” Gigi dusted flour off her hands. “Baked apples with caramel brandy sauce.” It wasn’t exactly low-calorie fare, but since most of the guests weren’t dieting, Gigi felt a little extra comfort food was in order.

Anja got out the requisite number of dessert plates and placed them on the sideboard in the kitchen.

Gigi retrieved a bag of apples from the refrigerator and began to prepare them. Then she got whipping cream and butter from the fridge and brown sugar from the pantry.

“Is there any brandy?” Gigi turned toward Anja. She wasn’t anxious to go into the library to look in the liquor cabinet herself. She didn’t want to intrude on Winchel or any of his guests. Or, worse yet, Winchel and Vanessa in a clutch on the sofa.

“There is a supply of liquor stored in the cellar. It’s cooler down there.” Anja turned toward the door. “I will get a bottle for you.”

“That’s okay, I can get it myself.”

“The shelves are on the right-hand side when you get to the bottom of the stairs.”

Gigi opened the door to the cellar and felt for the light switch. She flipped it but nothing happened.

“What is it?” Anja had come up behind her and looked over Gigi’s shoulder.

“The light seems to be burned out.” Gigi peered down the dark, narrow stairs.

“Let me go. I know the way better than you.” Anja started to step in front of Gigi. “There is another light at the bottom of the stairs, but it’s a pull cord, and it helps if you know where it is.”

“That’s okay. I can manage. You finish setting out the dishes.” Gigi started down the stairs before Anja could protest any further.

The air got colder and the light grew dimmer the closer she got to the bottom of the stairs. By the time she reached the landing, Gigi was feeling with her toes for the floor and regretting that she hadn’t sent Anja on this errand instead. She waved a hand in front of her face, feeling for the pull cord Anja had mentioned, but she grasped nothing but air.

After a moment, her eyes began to adjust and she could make out the skeletal shape of the storage shelving unit. Gigi was heading toward it when her foot caught in something and she went flying. Her outstretched hands hit the cement floor first, and she felt the roughness scrape the heels of her hands. Gigi closed her eyes against the onslaught of tears that rushed to her eyes from the sharp, stinging pain.

Her knees connected with the floor next, and she was glad she was wearing jeans to protect them. Her foot twisted, and a sharp pain tore through her ankle. She jerked her leg, but her foot appeared to be stuck. She maneuvered to a sitting position and felt around with her fingertips. Her foot was lodged in an indentation in the floor—probably a drainage hole of some sort. Gigi yanked and her foot came free. She rotated her ankle, and the resulting pain made her cringe. It was sprained, or, at the very least, strained.

She sat on the floor for a moment. The cold from the cement seeped through her jeans, and she began to shiver. She had to get back upstairs. Anja could retrieve the brandy. Hopefully a few tablets of ibuprofen and she’d be able to finish the baked apples with brandy caramel sauce before heading to the emergency room.