Steamed to Death (2 page)

The phone rang, and for one delusional minute Gigi thought it might be Jackson calling to say the new piece of pipe had arrived, and he’d be right over to install it. Of course, in reality, Jackson was probably still in her driveway trying to fit his key into the lock of his truck door.

Gigi grabbed the receiver. “Hello?”

“Gigi? It’s Felicity.” Gigi recognized the actress’s fruity tones and well-practiced modulation even without the introduction.

Gigi groaned. What was she going to say if Felicity asked her how things were going? She’d always been taught that honesty was the best policy, but more than once that had landed her in hot water.

“Actually, Felicity, I’m in a bit of a bind. My kitchen pipe sprang a leak, and the plumber won’t be able to fix it for several days.”

Felicity made a sound that Gigi took to mean she was sorry to hear that, but then Felicity quickly plowed ahead with what she had planned to say herself. “Listen, some of our guests for the party are arriving early, and a few may be spending a day or two with us afterward. It’s turning into something of a house party since we’re all currently on hiatus from the show. Our housekeeper normally does the cooking for me and Jack, and it’s perfectly fine, but I’d like to offer my friends something a notch above. Is there any chance you’ll consider acting as chef for a few days?”

“Ah . . . ah . . . sure,” Gigi stuttered.

“It would probably be easiest if you just moved in temporarily. My kitchen is state-of-the-art, and I have a very comfortable spare bedroom you should find suitable.”

“I don’t know . . . I can’t leave Reg—he’s my dog—alone—”

“Bring him,” Felicity said in a voice that clearly brooked no opposition. “We’ve a golden, and she’s pining for some canine companionship.”

• • •

That was that, then, Gigi thought as she stuffed some clothes into an overnight bag. Reg, her West Highland white terrier, hovered around her legs, weaving in and out and making the process take twice as long as necessary. “Don’t worry, you’re going, too.” Gigi bent down to scratch his ears. “Felicity is a big dog lover and insisted you come along.”

Reg watched as Gigi shoved a worn pair of jeans into the suitcase. He tilted his head to one side and fixed her with a beady stare.

To Gigi it looked as if he were saying,
Why are you bringing those old things with you?
If she hadn’t sunk all her money into the purchase of the cottage, perhaps she could update her wardrobe. She drooled every time she went past the window of Abigail’s on High Street. But she didn’t regret her decision—not for a minute. And with the deal with Branston Foods actually looking as if it would go through, she’d soon have a bit more leeway when it came to spending money.

• • •

Gigi heaved her weekend bag into the trunk of her bright red MINI Cooper and settled Reggie in the front seat. He immediately stuck his head out the partially opened window, but then pulled it back when he discovered there wasn’t any breeze.

Gigi gave a last backward glance at her cottage. She’d watered the asters in the planter, swept the steps and put out the fat pumpkin she’d purchased at the local farmer’s market. She hated leaving her cozy little home, but there was no help for it. Without water, she was up a creek. Although perhaps that wasn’t the most apt analogy!

Gigi glanced at the front windows of the Book Nook as she drove down High Street. She knew Sienna wasn’t there—Felicity had given her a small office on the third floor of her house to work in. Sienna had rather reluctantly left the reins of the shop in the hands of Madison Frost, the sullen twenty-something who had been helping Sienna for several years. People had become used to seeing her behind the counter of the Book Nook, and the subject of her nose ring was no longer a topic for conversation around town.

Gigi passed Abigail’s where something pink, fluffy and very feminine was hanging in the window. She noticed Reg’s head swivel toward the garment as they drove by. “Someday, boy, I’m going to buy stuff like that. You wait.”

Gigi instinctively slowed as she passed the police station, although she was already slightly under the speed limit. It would be too embarrassing to be picked up for speeding and possibly have Detective Mertz come out of the building. Gigi found him infuriating and attractive in equal measures. She was almost sure he was interested in her, but then, he still hadn’t asked her out although they’d known each other for several months.

The green and white striped awning that had shaded the front of Al Forno, an Italian restaurant, had been replaced with a red one with
Declan’s Grille
written on it in white letters. Gigi felt a pang every time she went past. Life in Woodstone wouldn’t be the same without Emilio and Carlo. She felt her face get warm at the thought of Carlo and pushed the gas pedal a little harder. Declan’s retreated in her rearview mirror, and Gigi tried to turn her thoughts toward Felicity’s upcoming party and the menu she was planning.

Gigi came to the end of the High Street shopping area and turned right. The road wound away from town past several old churches and cemeteries with crumbling headstones, clumps of trees and finally open fields. About a mile down the road, she began looking for the fence that heralded the beginning of Felicity’s property.

She caught sight of it at the last minute and came to a screeching halt, grateful that no one was behind her. She backed up carefully and turned down the long drive that zigzagged through a copse of trees. They were so dense that Gigi reached to turn on her headlights, but right before she did, she exited the trees and was out in the open again with the sun peeking through her window.

Felicity’s house, a southern-style colonial, stood on a slight rise and was flanked by weeping willow trees whose leaves were starting to turn yellow. The house was over one hundred years old but had been meticulously restored. Of course, it was only one of Felicity’s many residences—there was also the Manhattan apartment with spectacular views of Central Park and the Palm Beach condo that was right on the beach. Felicity’s salary for acting in
For Better or For Worse
had plenty of zeroes after the initial figure, but her husband, Jack Winchel, really raked in the money as the manager of a large hedge fund.

Gigi passed the house and pulled her car up to the curb just beyond. She supposed Felicity would tell her where she wanted her to park.

Reg dogged Gigi’s heels as she retrieved her overnight bag from the trunk of the car, along with several grocery bags, and mounted the wide brick steps to the house. She wondered if she was expected to go around to the servant’s entrance. Every great house such as Felicity’s had one of those, along with a set of back stairs and a rabbitlike warren of rooms on the top floor meant for staff.

She hesitated for another moment and then rather timidly smacked the door knocker against its post. It didn’t seem to have made much noise, but the door was thrown open almost immediately by a young man who would have been very handsome if it hadn’t been for his rather weak and petulant-looking chin.

“Can I help you?” he asked in a voice that matched the plummy tones of Felicity and other actors Gigi had known. She recognized him as Felicity’s leading man in
For Better or For Worse
.

Right behind him was a large, eager golden retriever.

“I’m Gigi.” She stuck out her hand. Reg stood stiffly at her side, gazing at the other dog as if taking its measure.

The fellow enveloped Gigi’s hand in both of his own. “I’m Alex Goulet.” He gestured toward the football-field-size foyer. “Welcome to the madhouse.”

Gigi hesitantly stepped over the threshold and looked around. Each time, she couldn’t help being struck by the grandeur of Felicity’s home. A huge staircase spiraled up toward a second-floor landing, and a living room and dining room yawned open on either side of the foyer, framed by carved, white columns.

“I think Felicity’s in the kitchen.”

Gigi followed Alex as he led the way toward the back of the house. Reg trotted at her side with the golden close behind, its nose perilously close to Reg’s hindquarters.

The foyer ended in a small round room whose ceiling and walls were draped in fabric. An elegant, antique-looking desk stood dead center. They rounded a corner and went down a long hall that opened into an enormous kitchen, at the far end of which was a large bay window. An island dominated the center of the room, and all the countertops were granite. Gigi glanced around in awe—the appliances were state-of-the-art, commercial grade. Cooking in this space was going to be a real luxury.

The room was empty.

“I can’t imagine where Felicity has gotten to,” Alex said. He looked around as if he were expecting Felicity to pop out of a cabinet at any minute. “I’ll go see if I can find out where she’s gone.”

Before Gigi could say a word, he was gone, too, leaving behind only a wisp of fragrance from his aftershave.

Gigi heaved the two laden grocery bags she was carrying onto the counter and sorted through the contents. She opened the refrigerator and began organizing her supplies on the sparkling glass shelves.

Reggie found a quiet spot under the wood refectory table and lay panting, his pink tongue bobbing up and down. The golden crawled underneath and took up residence right next to him, its bright red tongue lolling from the side of its mouth.

“He’s done it again. After I told him absolutely not to.” Felicity burst into the room, her long red hair flying around her shoulders. She was wearing a hot pink velour tracksuit with a very chichi brand name scrawled across her rear in fancy black script. She gripped a purse by one handle, the bag yawning open and threatening to eject its contents all over the kitchen floor.

She stopped short when she saw Gigi. “Oh, so sorry. I didn’t realize you were here.” She made a dramatic gesture that Gigi recognized from episodes of
For Better or For Worse
. “Derek’s been in my purse again.”

For a moment Gigi had a vision of someone named Derek scrounging in Felicity’s purse for her lipstick or powder compact.

Felicity dumped her handbag on the table and yanked her wallet from its depths. She fanned open the billfold and waved it toward Gigi. “Empty! Completely empty! And I went to the ATM yesterday. That boy is going to be the death of me.” She blew back a piece of hair that had fallen onto her forehead.

Gigi must have looked as confused as she felt because Felicity went on to explain.

“Derek is my stepson. He’s in the habit of going through my purse and helping himself to money whenever he runs short. His father gives him more than enough for his allowance. I can’t imagine what he spends it on. We provide virtually everything he needs, and he has charge accounts in every store on High Street.”

Must be nice
, Gigi thought. She wondered how old the thieving Derek was.

A young man strode into the room, stopping short at the sight of Felicity and her open purse. He was tall and thin, with dark hair that fell across his forehead and flopped over the collar of his shirt. Gigi judged him to be in his midtwenties.

“Derek,” Felicity declared with a broad sweep of her arm. “You’ve been in my purse again.”

The young man gave a snort of disgust, grabbed an apple out of the basket on the counter and bit into it decisively. “Don’t look at me. I didn’t do it. It must be that new maid you’ve hired.”

“Anja has impeccable references,” Felicity called after his retreating back.

“As I said, welcome to the madhouse.” Gigi turned around to find that Alex was standing behind her.

“I gather you two have met.” Felicity indicated Alex with a wave. She opened the refrigerator, gazed at the contents for a moment and then shut the door resolutely.

“I’ve already lost ten pounds,” she announced to Gigi triumphantly.

Gigi felt the glow of satisfaction she always did when one of her clients succeeded. Sometimes she thought she was even more excited than they were.

“Let me know if there’s anything you need.” Felicity tapped Gigi on the shoulder before whirling around and disappearing out the door, leaving a cloud of expensive perfume in her wake.

• • •

Gigi set to work cutting radishes into decorative flower shapes to garnish the hors d’oeuvre serving platters. They would keep in a bowl of water in the refrigerator overnight, and she wouldn’t have to fuss with them the day of the party. They were easy to prepare and always made a spectacular presentation. Gigi firmly believed that everything tasted better when arranged attractively. It was one of the tips she regularly gave her clients—put your food on a pretty plate, use a linen napkin and sit down and savor each bite. She dropped the radishes into a bowl of ice water as she finished carving.

She was carrying the bowl to the refrigerator when Sienna popped her head around the corner to say hello.

“Welcome to the madhouse,” Sienna said, echoing Alex’s earlier statement. She had just come in from outside, and her cheeks were blushed with color from the crisp air. Her long, strawberry blond hair was twisted into a precarious knot on top of her head, and she had a newspaper tucked under her arm. Gigi noticed that her stomach now protruded through the opening of her jacket.

Sienna must have seen her glance. She patted her belly happily. “The little bugger has been unbelievably active today. Oliver thinks he’s going to be a soccer player.”

Gigi smiled. “What if it turns out to be a she?”

Sienna laughed. “Please, don’t tell Oliver that! He’s convinced it’s going to be a boy.” She was quiet for a moment. “Either way, we’re going to love it. We’re both so happy.”

Gigi smiled at her friend. It was good to see Sienna so happy. She and Oliver had weathered some major storms, but it looked as if they’d finally sailed into calm waters.

Sienna tilted her head toward the ceiling. “I’m going to go upstairs and get some work done. You’ve done wonders with Felicity,” she said, rubbing her belly again. “She said she’s already lost ten pounds, although frankly, I think it’s closer to five.”

“At least she’s going in the right direction.”