Steamed to Death (23 page)

• • •

If Gigi hadn’t promised Sienna to talk to Mertz, there was no way on the face of the earth that she would be headed toward the Woodstone Police Station that morning. She was still mad at Mertz for not telling her that they were bringing Sienna in for questioning last night, but she realized she had been rather rude about the whole thing. He was just doing his job, and he
had
taken her out for a nice dinner, or at least tried to.

Gigi found herself slowing down as she approached the police station. She wished she’d worn something . . . nicer . . . and had done more with her hair than run her hands through it. But it couldn’t be helped. If she didn’t do this now, she might lose her nerve.

She was as surprised as Sienna to discover that Oliver was gambling. It wasn’t like him. Sienna said he’d never gotten involved in it before, and they’d been married for over ten years. Oliver hadn’t noticed her following him, but Sienna planned to broach the topic when the time was right.

Gigi pulled into the police station lot and parked. She gave a quick glance into the rearview mirror, but there wasn’t much she could do with her appearance. She’d left her purse at home, taking only her keys and her license along to Sienna’s, and didn’t have her compact, a lipstick or even a comb.

Gigi sat for a minute, rehearsing what she would say to Mertz, then got out, locked the MINI and walked up the path to the front door of the station. The lobby was quiet, and the woman behind the desk was drinking coffee and reading the newspaper. Gigi went up and tapped on the bulletproof glass that protected the front-desk personnel from anyone crazy enough to carry a gun into a police station.

“Hello?”

The woman stopped with her sugar-and-cinnamon donut halfway to her mouth. “Yes?”

“I’d like to see Detective Mertz, please.”

“Not here,” the woman mumbled around a mouthful of pastry.

A sense of relief washed over Gigi so abruptly that her knees almost buckled.

“Fine. I’ll come back another time.”

Gigi had to stop herself from running out of the building. She yanked open the front door and bolted for the sidewalk where she walked briskly toward the parking lot next to Declan’s Grille. She was almost to where she had parked the MINI when she sensed someone behind her. She glanced over her shoulder.

“Hey.”

Gigi stopped.

“You look like someone who could use a good cup of coffee.”

It was Declan McQuaid acting dreadfully chipper for so early in the morning. He was headed toward the back door of his restaurant, his keys in his hands.

“We don’t open until noon, but I’ve already got a pot of coffee going. Let me give you a cup.”

“That would be great.” Gigi silently vowed for the one millionth and hopefully final time that she was never leaving the house again without combing her hair and at least putting on some lipstick.

Declan fell into step beside her as they headed toward his restaurant. The sign was unlit, and the grate was still pulled down over the front window. Declan fished a wad of keys from his pocket, selected one and opened the front door.

The interior smelled of freshly brewed coffee along with the residual scents of rich food and the tangy aroma of slightly stale beer. Gigi found it oddly comforting. She perched on a bar stool as Declan retrieved thick white mugs and filled them with freshly brewed coffee.

“I’ve got the timer set so that when I arrive in the morning, the coffee is ready.” Declan grinned, and Gigi noticed the laugh lines around his eyes and the darker flecks in his blue eyes. She thought he noticed her looking, and she quickly took a sip of her coffee to cover her confusion.

“Mmm, this is delicious.”

“Glad you like it. To my mind, a good cup of coffee is one of the most important things in life.”

Declan continued to grin, and Gigi again noticed those attractive laugh lines. Warmth rose up her neck and spread, and she quickly hid her face in her mug.

Declan went behind the bar and scrambled through a stack of papers. He came back brandishing one of them. “I think I’ve got the menu for my Thanksgiving Day dinner hammered out.”

He took the stool next to Gigi and spread the paper out on the bar. His shoulders were wide, and they nearly touched Gigi’s as they sat side-by-side. He ran a finger down the list, and Gigi tried to concentrate.

“I do know that Thanksgiving is all about the bird.” Declan gestured toward the first item on his list. “I found a farm a few miles from here where they raise turkeys, and I’ve ordered fresh ones for the day. I’ll be able to pick them up two days before, and that’s about as fresh as you’re going to get.”

Gigi nodded agreement. For one moment, she could smell the bird roasting in the oven, the creamed onions simmering on the stove and the pumpkin pie cooling on the counter. Thanksgiving was her favorite holiday for a reason.

“What else do you have there?” Gigi ran an eye down the neat column of menu items. “Stuffing, gravy, mashed potatoes, creamed onions and peas.”

“What do you think?”

“There’s one thing missing.”

“What’s that?” Declan made a sad face, and Gigi laughed.

“Sweet potatoes. You absolutely have to have sweet potatoes.”

Declan felt around in the pocket of his flannel shirt, pulled out a stubby pencil and carefully wrote in
sweet potatoes
on the piece of paper.

“Do you have any good recipes?”

Gigi was suddenly conscious of how close together they were. She felt a trickle of sweat make its way down her back.

“I have lots of good recipes. My favorite is the casserole with the miniature marshmallows on top.”

Declan wrinkled his nose. “That sounds heinous.”

Gigi laughed. “It’s quite good, actually, if terribly sweet.”

“Let’s do that one, then, shall we?” Declan turned so that he and Gigi were face-to-face, their knees touching, eyes locked.

Gigi took a deep breath to steady herself. Declan had made it very clear he was only out for a good time. Gigi was looking for something more.

“I’ll send you the recipe,” she said as she slid off the bar stool. She feigned looking at her watch. “Sorry, but I’ve got to get going.”

Declan gave an amused smile, and Gigi suspected that she wasn’t the first female to bolt from his attractiveness only to be reeled in later like a hapless pike caught on the hook. Gigi had the impression that he was willing to bide his time to get what he wanted.

She practically bolted out the door and onto the sidewalk, running full tilt into a pedestrian.

“Sorry,” she said as she glanced up.

Right into the cold, uncompromising stare of Detective Mertz.

Chapter 21

Gigi had heard other women talk about the so-called walk of shame—leaving your boyfriend’s apartment first thing in the morning wearing the clothes from the night before. And that’s exactly how she felt as Mertz glanced pointedly toward the closed and shuttered front of Declan’s. Well, she had absolutely nothing to be ashamed of! Absolutely nothing!

Mertz merely looked deflated. Gigi was shocked to see his shoulders slump. She wanted to tell him that nothing had happened between her and Declan, but the words refused to form. Mertz looked as if he cared . . . but what if he didn’t? She’d make a fool of herself.

“I need to talk to you,” she said, smiling, hoping he could read the message in her eyes. “I have some information on your murder case you might be interested in hearing.”

“Really?” Mertz’s voice was glum. “We can go to my office, then.” He gestured toward the police station down the street.

It felt like the longest walk of Gigi’s life. They were both silent. Several times she tried to say something, but the words still refused to come. Finally, they were at the station and walking down the hall toward his office.

Mertz led Gigi into his office where she perched on the edge of the wooden chair meant for visitors. Mertz dropped into his desk chair, sending it rolling backward. It caught on the edge of the carpet and stopped. He pulled himself closer and leaned his elbows on the desk.

He smiled at Gigi. “Okay, shoot. What is it you wanted to tell me?”

Gigi’s mouth had gone dry suddenly. “Sienna has an alibi,” she finally blurted out.

Mertz’s eyebrows shot upward. “That’s great. Let’s hear it.”

Gigi looked at him askance. Was he teasing her? “Sienna wasn’t anywhere near Felicity’s house the afternoon Felicity was murdered. She was following Oliver.”

Mertz’s eyebrows shot up again. “Following Oliver?”

Gigi stared at a spot just above Mertz’s right ear. “Yes. She was concerned about . . . something . . . and she followed him.”

“Where did he go?” A faint smile hovered around Mertz’s mouth.

“To a casino. Just outside of New Haven.” Gigi felt as if she were giving out someone else’s secrets, and she could feel her face getting hot.

“What did he say?”

“What do you mean?” Gigi twisted the fringe on her scarf into a braid.

“Well, when Sienna confronted Oliver, what did he say? He must have been pretty upset to have been caught out like that.”

“I don’t know,” Gigi mumbled. “She didn’t actually talk to him.”

“She didn’t actually
talk
to him?” Mertz repeated.

Gigi felt her cheeks burning. “No. But she definitely saw him.”

“But she didn’t speak to him, and he didn’t see her.”

“That’s right.”

Mertz leaned his elbows on the desk and steepled his fingers. When he answered, his voice was gentle.

“Frankly, Gigi, this just doesn’t ring true to me. Don’t you think it sounds like your friend Sienna is trying to give both of them an alibi?”

Gigi’s breath caught in her throat. She realized that in trying to be helpful, she had pushed Sienna from the proverbial frying pan into the fire.

How was she going to break it to her?

• • •

Gigi’s newest client, Bea Dennis, lived at the other end of Woodstone, in a new development that had sprung up between it and the next town. She had recently opened a jewelry store in downtown Woodstone—the sort of place where one could get a gold bracelet to celebrate a graduation, a silver teething ring to commemorate a birth or a strand of pearls to mark a wedding or anniversary.

Gigi had spent the day immersing herself in cooking—trying not to think about Declan, trying to forget Mertz and trying to put off talking to Sienna. She’d chopped and diced and minced and pureed, but still the thoughts swirled in her head. How was she going to convince Mertz that neither Sienna nor Oliver had had anything to do with Felicity’s death?

Gigi packed up the chicken rollatini she’d made for Bea and stowed it in the back of the MINI. It should be a quick trip, so she let Reggie tag along. He sat happily in his accustomed seat, sniffing the air rushing in from the barely cracked window.

“Sorry, bud.” Gigi zapped the window up the rest of the way and turned on the heat. “It’s a little chilly for someone not sporting your thick fur coat.”

Borne by a brisk wind, brown, curling leaves skidded across the road. Gigi glanced at the landscape rushing past the window. Some brightly colored leaves still clung here and there, but the skeletal branches of the trees were already visible. Autumn was almost over.

She found Bea’s house easily enough. Bea had a skeleton dangling from the lamppost and a blow-up ghost on the front steps. The wind blew the ghost toward Gigi as she mounted the stairs. She jumped and then looked around quickly, hoping no one had noticed.

Bea answered the door almost immediately. She had on pink sweats with a large
B
embroidered on the zip-up top, and fuzzy black slippers.

“I just got home and couldn’t wait to change. We were incredibly busy this afternoon. But that’s good.” She smiled at Gigi. “Come in, come in.”

Gigi stepped into the foyer where a braided rug provided a splash of color against the pale wood floor.

“It smells delicious.” Bea sniffed the container. “And I’m starved.” She smiled almost apologetically. “Unfortunately, I had to skip lunch we were so busy. And it’s not even Christmas yet.”

Gigi nodded and was about to say good-bye when Bea took a breath and was off and running again.

“I heard all about your diet service when one of my customers told me that Felicity Davenport had hired you. That must have been so exciting.”

Gigi opened her mouth, but Bea rushed on, her penciled brows rising toward her graying hairline.

“You could have knocked me over with a feather when that other actress from the soap walks into my shop. Vanessa Huff. I couldn’t believe my eyes.”

Gigi had been inching toward the open door, but that stopped her. “Vanessa Huff?”

Bea nodded. “She plays Daphne on
For Better or For Worse
.”

“I know.”

“She came in to buy herself a little treat. Said she owed it to herself on account of something that happened a long time ago.”

“Really?” Gigi tried to provide encouragement, but fortunately, Bea needed virtually none in order to continue.

“I thought she was after a charm for a bracelet or perhaps a thin gold chain. You know, something like that. But no, she picked out our most expensive item—a diamond tennis bracelet.”

“Really?” Gigi said, picturing the gorgeous string of diamonds that had so recently graced Vanessa’s wrist.

“I didn’t know if we’d ever sell that piece, it being so expensive, but she didn’t hesitate for a minute. Tried it on and said she’d take it, just like that.” Bea snapped her fingers.

“I wouldn’t want that credit card bill,” Gigi said, not so subtly digging for more information.

“Oh, she didn’t charge it,” Bea said, her eyes round. “She handed me a check.” She shook her head. “I was a little reluctant at first on account of the check was from a third party. But then the third party was Cornelius Vandenberg, the well-known collector. I can’t imagine he’d be writing bad checks, can you?”

Gigi reassured her that the check would most likely sail through the clearance process, and then made her way back down the stairs toward the MINI where Reg had his face pressed to the driver’s side window, leaving a horizontal string of nose prints.