Steamed to Death (21 page)

“Oh?” Gigi’s ears perked up.

“Just plain old Mary Jane Huffmeister. We grew up together. Down in Tennessee.”

“Really?”

The blonde nodded as she examined her cuticles. She picked at one of them and frowned. “We came north together to the city. Looking for fame and fortune like in one of those old movies.” She flung the end of her boa over her shoulder. “Of course, Mary Jane
had
to leave Ashland on account of what happened.”

Gigi waited, wondering if she ought to prompt her. But Tammy was like a ship in full sail and didn’t need any prompting.

“Of course, we all did it back then, but Mary Jane . . . I mean Vanessa . . . was different. The other girls and I would shoplift a magazine or a pack of gum or something cheap like that, you know? It was nothing but a game.” She looked at Gigi as if she expected her to understand. Gigi managed to nod encouragingly, although her Catholic-school soul was shocked to its very core.

“We didn’t steal stuff we needed, but Vanessa had it real hard at home.” Tammy lowered her voice and leaned her head toward Gigi’s. “Sometimes I think her parents put her up to it.” Tammy snapped her gum loudly. “Her father was out of work, and her mother cleaned for a couple people in town. They had this trailer, a single-wide, which they were desperate to hang on to.” She paused for thought. “I think they owned the trailer itself. It was a piece of junk to be honest with you, but they still had to pay the park to rent the lot.”

“Really?”

Tammy nodded. “One afternoon we went into Taylor’s Jewelry Store. That’s where we were supposed to go to get our class rings. I sure as heck didn’t have the money for one, and I’m pretty sure Vanessa didn’t either. But she kept insisting, so I agreed. Next thing I know, she’s yelling
Run!
and she’s through the front door so fast I near broke my neck trying to keep up. She’d grabbed this bracelet—a whole bunch of diamonds strung together with gold. Must have been worth a fortune.”

Gigi’s mind flashed to the diamond tennis bracelet Vanessa had recently begun wearing—
diamonds strung together with gold
as Tammy had described it.

“The owner was willing to drop the charges as long as he got his bracelet back. What a creep.” Tammy shivered. “Thought he could take advantage of the situation, but Tammy’s dad came after him with a baseball bat, and that sure changed his mind.”

Gigi nodded encouragingly.

“Vanessa and I had to get out of town . . . fast. We decided to head north and ended up in New York City.” Tammy shuddered, making her silver chandelier earrings bob to and fro. “I learned my lesson. No more taking what isn’t mine.” She was quiet for a moment. “But I’m not so sure about Mary Jane—I mean Vanessa. It’s like she’s driven, know what I mean?” She looked up at Gigi. “She’d do anything to get ahead.”

“What part do you play on the soap? I’m afraid I’m not much of a television watcher.”

Tammy made a face. “I’m not on the show. I do makeup. Vanessa did, too, until—”

The swinging door to the kitchen flew open, and Anja entered with an empty platter in each hand. Gigi wanted to swear but had to content herself with clenching her fists at her sides.

“Anywho, I really need to use the loo?” Tammy said inquiringly.

Gigi glanced at Anja, who was arranging slices of ham and turkey on one of the empty platters.

“Come on.” Gigi cocked her head at Tammy. “I’ll show you where it is.”

They started up the back stairs.

“Vanessa certainly got ahead quickly in New York,” Gigi remarked as casually as she could.

Tammy snorted. “She sure did. We were both up for that part, but she . . .” She paused. “Let’s say there were some things I wasn’t willing to do to get what I wanted no matter how much I wanted it. I’m not that kind of girl.”

Chapter 19

When Gigi looked out the window the next morning, frost had tipped the ends of the grass with white. She shivered. Time to start dressing more warmly. She dug in her drawer and pulled out a black knit turtleneck and a pair of warm socks to go with the ubiquitous jeans.

Reg followed her down to the end of the walk where she retrieved the daily
Woodstone Times
from her box while he lifted his leg on a nearby laurel bush. He trotted obediently behind Gigi as she went through the back door to the kitchen and settled at the table. She unfolded the paper next to her mug of coffee.

According to the headline, Woodstone High had won Sunday night’s football game. Gigi remembered hearing the horns blaring as students rode through town afterward. Woodstone was also considering a more stringent pooper-scooper law. Gigi glanced at Reg, who was now snoring softly in a sunbeam. There was also an interview with the mayor about crime in Woodstone. He was calling for immediate action in the death of Felicity Davenport and her stepson, Derek Winchel. He called the delay in an arrest “scandalous” and vowed that “heads would roll.” The reporter closed with a quote from Mertz that the police would “do everything in their power to close the case within the next few days.”

Gigi wondered what that meant. She hoped he wasn’t going to jump to the wrong conclusions.

• • •

By the time Gigi had her coat on, Reg was waiting at the door. “Sorry, buddy, but I can’t take you this time. I’m having lunch out, and restaurants frown on pets, although I can’t imagine why.”

Gigi had her keys in one hand and a Gourmet De-Lite container in the other. She’d made Madeline a low-calorie turkey burger stuffed with shredded zucchini and crumbled feta. She included a small container of low-fat tzatziki sauce and a Greek salad.

Now that most of her work for Winchel was finished, she was relieved that several new clients would be starting shortly. She’d enjoyed the brief foray into catering, but she was anxious to get back to her Gourmet De-Lite business.

Gigi stopped by Simpson and West where an exuberant Madeline greeted her with the news that she’d lost two pounds. She was wearing a new cranberry wool dress and high-heeled black suede boots and looked every inch the high-salaried executive she aspired to be.

Gigi was meeting Alice for lunch at the Woodstone Diner. Alice had wanted to go to Declan’s, but Gigi had managed to steer her away from that idea. She didn’t feel like facing Declan herself, and heaven forbid they would run into Stacy there.

Alice was already perusing the menu when Gigi arrived. She tossed the plastic-coated sheet down on the table. “Can you believe they still do a diet plate here of a hamburger patty, cottage cheese and a peach half?” She smiled at Gigi. “Is tonight your big night with the very handsome Detective Mertz?”

Gigi nodded.

“He’s a nice guy, even if he does sometimes jump to the wrong conclusions.”

The waitress buzzed by their table. “Something to drink?” she asked.

“A Diet Coke, please.”

“Me, too,” Alice said.

The waitress pulled a pad from her pocket and made a note. “Ready to order?” Her pencil was poised above the page.

“A turkey burger,” Alice said, pushing the menu away from her.

“Same for me.

“I have some interesting news for Mertz,” Gigi said as the waitress walked away.

“I met a colleague of Vanessa Huff’s at Derek’s funeral lunch. She seems to think that Vanessa would do absolutely anything to get ahead.”

“Including murder?” Alice unfurled her napkin as the waitress approached with their drinks.

“So it would seem. I think Mertz should look into her alibi.”

“He’s not going to like you telling him how to run his business.”

“I hope to be a little more subtle than that.” Gigi took a bite of her turkey burger.

“I could easily imagine Vanessa killing Felicity. But Derek? What reason could she possibly have?” Alice asked around a mouthful of coleslaw.

“I’m not sure. Perhaps he saw her sneaking upstairs to lock Felicity in the sauna and threatened to tell the police?”

Alice lowered gray brows over her faded blue eyes. “Derek was more the type to go after something that would benefit him. Like a spot of blackmail, perhaps.”

Gigi paused as the waitress slid their tea in front of them. “You’re right. That’s definitely more Derek’s style. I wonder if I could get into Vanessa’s room. Maybe there’s a blackmail note or something like that . . . ?”

“Be careful.” Alice lifted her spoon and pointed it at Gigi. “If the killer feels threatened, who knows what they might do next.”

• • •

Reggie watched with seeming amusement as Gigi beat a path between her bathroom, bedroom and closet. She wondered if Mertz was spending even half as much time getting ready—most likely not. His biggest concern was probably whether or not he needed a second shave to get by.

Gigi, meanwhile, had shaved virtually every inch of herself, spread on half a bottle of lotion, washed and dried her hair with the diffuser on her blow-dryer—something she’d never done before. It had taken her twenty minutes alone to find the attachment.

Finally the big moment was at hand—donning her new dress. She felt a frisson of excitement as she slipped the fabric over her head. As usual, Deirdre was spot on. The color burnished the copper in her hair and brought out the green in her eyes. She wondered if Mertz would notice. Her stomach did a complete somersault at the thought.

• • •

Gigi was ready when Mertz rang her front bell at seven o’clock. He looked especially handsome in a navy blazer, open-necked blue shirt and gray slacks. And instead of the police-issue Crown Vic, he was driving a sporty Nissan.

Gigi tried to relax as they wound their way through Woodstone and into the next town. Mertz appeared nervous, too, which made her feel slightly better.

The Auberge Rouge was crowded when Gigi and Mertz arrived, and a tidal wave of voices washed over them as soon as they opened the door. The maitre d’ rushed forward to check their names against his list and then led them to a plush-covered bench to wait while he checked on their table.

“I’m sorry.” He smiled at Gigi. “Not sure what the point is in making a reservation if the table’s not ready when you arrive.” Mertz glanced pointedly at his watch.

“I don’t mind,” Gigi reassured him, and she noticed his shoulders relax. She was drinking in the atmosphere—the delicious smells, sights and sounds. It had been a long time since she’d been in such a restaurant. The women were all quite fashionably dressed—she couldn’t help but admire the pair of short, black suede booties one of them was wearing. She was glad she’d splurged on her new dress. She felt perfectly at home in the sophisticated crowd.

Finally, the maitre d’ led them to their table—tucked into a corner where, Gigi was delighted to note, she had a good view of the entire room.

“At last,” Mertz said as they settled into their seats. “I’ve been wanting to do this for a long time now.”

“Oh?” Gigi fiddled with her menu. It was odd being on a date with anyone, let alone with Mertz. So far their relationship had been at times hostile, suspicious, conflicting and borderline cordial.

“What would you like to drink?” Mertz smiled at Gigi as the waiter approached their table.

Gigi froze. What was the cool thing to order these days? She used to enjoy a kir, but that was a long time ago. A glass of wine seemed so pedestrian. A cosmopolitan? Were they still considered
in
? She remembered a movie where they ordered dirty martinis, but she had no idea what that was. And she definitely didn’t like the sound of it.

Mertz must have sensed her hesitation. “I’m having a Manhattan.”

The waiter smiled. “Ah, the classics are classic for a reason.”

Gigi remembered her grandmother drinking Manhattans. Surely she’d be able to handle one. She looked up with a smile. “I’ll have one of those as well.”

Mertz put his hand on the table, and Gigi pointed at it. “What happened? What’s that?”

“Oh.” Mertz laughed. “Whiskers and I were playing, and she scratched me. It’s nothing, but I’m thinking maybe I should consider having her declawed.”

“That’s probably not a bad idea. Especially if she’s going to be an indoor cat.” Gigi picked up her menu.

Mertz did the same. “Some interesting stuff here. But I have to admit I don’t know much about fancy food.”

Gigi smiled. “I’m a fairly accomplished cook, so perhaps I can be of assistance.” She began to read the entries. She glanced up at Mertz. “Any major dislikes? Likes?”

He smiled. “I’m not a huge fan of beets or Brussels sprouts, to be honest.”

“There are plenty of choices, then.” Gigi scanned the menu for things that Mertz, a self-confessed “meat and potatoes” kind of guy, would like.

“You’d probably enjoy the dry-aged New York steak and the fingerling potatoes.”

“The three words I recognize are
steak
,
New York
and
potatoes
, but I’ll take your word for it.” Mertz put down his menu. “What on earth does dry-aged mean?”

“The meat is placed in a special cooler, ironically known as a hot box,” Gigi said. She’d once done a piece for
Wedding Splendor
magazine on a well-known steak house in Brooklyn, and the owner had insisted on explaining the process to her. “There’s a lot of shrinkage and the whole process makes the steak cost more, but the meat is supposed to be extremely tender and flavorful.”

The waiter placed their drinks on the table and discreetly withdrew.

“What’s the alternative?” Mertz took a sip of his Manhattan, and Gigi thought she noticed his face actually relax.

“Appropriately enough, it’s called wet aging. Virtually all the beef you find in supermarkets is placed in a vacuum-sealed bag and wet aged. There’s less loss of moisture, therefore less weight loss.”

“I guess no one wants to start out with a pound of steak and end up with three-quarters.”

“Yes, and dry aging can take up to a month.”

“So this is going to be special.” Mertz rubbed his chin. “I’m guessing I shouldn’t order it well done.”

Gigi was about to say something when she realized he was joking. She smiled as she told him, “Medium rare at the most.”

Mertz picked up his menu again. “What would go well with that for starters.”