Steamed to Death (27 page)

Mertz had his head down and was reading the neat, precisely printed words. He looked up, his eyebrows drawn down over his light blue eyes. “What is this?”

“I don’t know. I thought maybe it was a blackmail note.” Gigi fidgeted under Mertz’s stern gaze.

“And you found this at our murder victim’s house?”

Gigi nodded, unhappy with the turn the conversation had taken.

Mertz was quiet again, but it was a different type of silence this time. Gigi fidgeted, wishing he would say something, anything.

He finally did, and his teeth were clenched so tightly, Gigi could barely understand him.

“How can I convince you to stop poking your nose in where it doesn’t belong? It’s dangerous. It makes me nervous.”

Gigi opened her mouth but then closed it again quickly as Mertz continued.

“Someone”—Mertz pointed a stern finger at Gigi—“loosened the lug nuts on your tires. Someone”—his voice got louder—“wanted your tire to come off. Someone”—he was practically shouting now, and a vein that ran across his forehead throbbed purple—“is trying to you kill you.” He finished by pounding the top of his desk with his fist.

Gigi kept her mouth closed. Silence was probably her best defense.

Mertz closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. “I told you. If anything happened to you . . .” He looked at the note on his desk. “I don’t suppose there will be any useful prints on this. . . .” He mumbled to himself. He looked up at Gigi. “Where did you find this again?”

“In the third-floor bathroom.”

“What else is up on the third floor?”

“There’s Anja’s room and what looks like an exercise room of some sort—at least I noticed a treadmill and a couple of weights . . .”

“Go on,” Mertz prompted. “There’s something you don’t want to tell me.”

Gigi looked startled.

“You wouldn’t be much of a poker player, you know.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“So, out with it.” Mertz leaned back in his chair, and it creaked loudly.

“Sienna’s office,” Gigi admitted, the words sticking in her mouth like peanut butter. “Or, it used to be her office when she was working for Felicity.”

“So the two people who were most likely to be up on that floor were Sienna and this Anja.”

Gigi nodded unhappily.

“And Derek,” she added. “He used the exercise room sometimes.”

Mertz pursed his lips. “In truth, anyone in the house might have gone up there.”

Gigi nodded eagerly.

“Of course, this might be some kind of prank.” Mertz brandished the note. “There are no names on here. Nothing, really. Just a note taken out of context.” He let out a gusty sigh. “But I’ll do my best.” He pointed his finger at her again. “On one condition.”

“What’s that?” Gigi asked in a very small voice.

“That you stop investigating this minute. Promise me you’ll stop. Please.”

“Okay,” Gigi said.

She didn’t tell him her fingers were crossed behind her back.

Chapter 25

Gigi was on the road delivering Bea’s and Madeline’s lunches when she had a phone call from Winchel. The board had convened an emergency session, not having finished their business the day before. Could she whip up a simple dinner for them?

Gigi couldn’t afford to turn down business, although she had never intended the focus of her company to be on catering. But money was money. She drove home quickly to pick up Reg, and then turned Alice’s ancient Taurus around and headed back to Felicity’s.

The wind had picked up, and the skies were the sort of steely gray more common in late November than October. Gigi shivered and switched on the heat. A few colored leaves still clung to some of the trees, but the tops of the branches swayed like skeletal arms scratching the darkening sky.

Lights had already been turned on at Felicity’s when Gigi got there, casting a warm glow into the gloom. She pulled into the lay-by at the top of the driveway, clipped on Reg’s leash and walked toward the house.

Anja was in the kitchen when Gigi opened the back door to the mudroom. She glanced up when Gigi and Reg entered.

Gigi unclipped Reg’s leash, and he took off with Tabitha, who had been dozing by the oven. They circled the kitchen table several times before dashing off into the hallway.

Gigi sat at the table and pulled a piece of paper and a pen from her handbag. She had to come up with a quick menu for Winchel and his guests. He’d indicated he wanted something simple, and Gigi was more than willing to give him that—a main course and something sweet for dessert. She went through the recipe file in her head. Something with boneless chicken breasts. She could bake them topped with naturally low-fat mozzarella cheese and a quick, homemade tomato sauce. A sprinkle of fresh herbs would serve to enhance the flavor. She began scribbling ingredients on her piece of paper.

She’d do a big, fresh green salad, and for those not watching their weight, she’d offer crusty bread to dip in olive oil perfumed with herbs. Dessert, for those wanting it, would be quick tiramisu sundaes—ice cream on top of vanilla cookies moistened with amaretto, served with chocolate sauce, fresh whipped cream and a cherry.

She’d noticed a couple of heads of lettuce in the refrigerator earlier—she could start washing them for the salad. Then she’d head out to the Shop and Save for the rest of her list.

Suddenly Reg came tearing through the pantry with Tabitha at his heels. The Oriental throw rug bunched and scattered behind them. Gigi jumped up, startled. Reg had a bone in his mouth—a veal shank by the looks of it.

“Give that back, Reg,” Gigi yelled as she took off in pursuit of the canines.

The harder she chased, the faster they ran. Reg started up the back stairs, his short legs making hard work of the steep steps. Tabitha was right behind him, panting slightly.

Reg paused briefly on the second-floor landing, but with Tabitha so close behind, he didn’t dare stop but kept on going up the stairs to the third floor. He dashed into the empty room that had been Sienna’s office, but before Gigi could go after him, he turned on his heel and ran out again, Tabitha still in hot pursuit. Gigi cursed mildly under her breath, nearly losing her balance on the small rug the dogs had churned up in their wake.

Reg passed the bathroom and darted toward Anja’s room. Gigi yelled at him to stop, but the marrow bone was too much of a temptation, and he dove under the bed and out of reach. Tabitha attempted to go after him, but she was too big and she got stuck, her more substantial rump wedged beneath the bed frame.

Gigi sighed in exasperation and looked around. The room was comfortable but impersonal. It reminded Gigi of a room in a budget hotel. Plain beige spread, plain beige curtains, serviceable furniture. Anja had added little of herself to the room. An alarm clock stood on the bedside table with a worn-looking paperback next to it. A pair of wool slippers peeked from under the bed skirt, and a dark cardigan sweater was draped over the single chair.

A single bottle of perfume stood on top of the dresser. The name was in a foreign language, but there was a picture of a single flower on the front. Next to it was a dark blue enamel frame. Gigi glanced at the picture and started to turn away, but then came to a sudden halt.

She wrested the newspaper clipping she’d found in Felicity’s cookbook from her pocket and held it up to the picture of the girl in the frame. The photos were of the same girl. Tucked into the corner of the frame was another clipping. Suddenly, the wind sent a thin tree branch raking across the window, like a skeletal hand rapping against the glass. Gigi jumped, her heart leaping into her throat.

She waited until her heartbeat slowed, then eased the clipping from its mooring and opened it up. The girl whose picture was in the frame stared back at her. The story was in a foreign language—Gigi thought it might be some Scandinavian language—but she could tell that it was an obituary. The girl’s name was printed under the grainy black-and-white photograph, and under that were two dates—her birth and death. Gigi traced her finger along the unfamiliar words until she came to a list of what looked like names. In the center of the line was
Anja Lauri
.

Gigi tucked the clipping into the pocket of her jeans along with the other one, then got down on her hands and knees, collapsed onto her stomach and stuck her head under the bed. Reg had his treasure tucked between his two front paws. Gigi grabbed hold of his collar and dragged him out from under the bed. As soon as he’d cleared the frame, he took off again with Tabitha close behind.

Gigi brushed some dust balls off her sweater and blew a lock of hair out of her face. She was about to follow the dogs, but when she turned around she came face-to-face with Anja.

Anja gave Gigi a strange look, then issued a small smile that barely lifted the corners of her mouth. Gigi managed to smile back, although she was sure her eyes had given her away. She hadn’t been able to resist glancing toward the dresser where the frame was missing its accompanying clipping. Gigi prayed that Anja wouldn’t notice it was gone until Gigi had managed to flee the house.

Gigi started out of the room, fingers crossed that Anja would follow her. She did, and Gigi breathed a huge sigh of relief. They retreated to the kitchen in mutual silence where the only sound was the grinding of Reg’s teeth against the purloined bone.

Suddenly Reg dropped his bone and began to whine and scratch at the back door.

“I suspect that veal bone has given him a tummy ache,” Anja said. “I always take peppermint tea when my tummy hurts, but I don’t suppose you can give that to a dog.”

“I doubt he would drink it.” Gigi clipped on Reg’s leash and retrieved her jacket from the hook in the mudroom. She felt in her pockets, but they were empty. She would need something with which to scoop should Reg decide to do his business on the lawn.

A sleeve stuffed with grocery bags to be recycled hung next to the refrigerator. Gigi grabbed two and shoved them into her pocket. She opened the back door, and a blast of cold air blew into the kitchen.

The wind immediately whipped her hair across her face, and she thought she felt the frigid touch of a snowflake against her cheek. She looked toward the sky where white flecks swirled down from above, melting on contact with the still warm ground.

Reg pulled her down the drive and toward the street, but before they got there, he stopped. Gigi waited until he was finished and then fished the heavier of the two plastic bags from her pocket. It had
Bon Appétit
printed across the front in black letters and reminded her of the day Anja had set out to purchase some of Evelyn’s special tea for Felicity. The whole terrible ordeal of the murder came rushing back, and she shivered.

She pulled her collar up, then stuck her hand into the bag to invert it. A piece of paper was trapped inside. Gigi pulled it out. It appeared to be a receipt from Bon Appétit. She looked at it more closely. It was for $5.59 and
special diuretic tea blend
was noted on it in Evelyn’s bold handwriting. She had also signed and dated it—Evelyn still liked to do things the old-fashioned way. Gigi folded the paper in half and carefully tucked it into her pocket. Anja must have missed it when she put the bag away and might need it for reimbursement later.

Gigi thought about the clipping as she drove home after finishing the dinner prep for Winchel. Maybe she could find someone to translate it.

The recollection that someone had tried to stop her from snooping altogether by loosening her tire brought her up short. She remembered her panic as she lost control of the car and felt it veering toward the left. Whoever had done that was serious. They’d meant to warn her off . . . or kill her. Gigi’s mouth went dry, and she gulped. She looked around the interior of Alice’s Taurus, but she’d forgotten to pack any bottles of water.

The snow had turned to pelting rain by the time Gigi got back to her cottage. She parked the car and ran for the door, pulling her jacket up over her head. She switched on the lights in the kitchen, then rummaged in the refrigerator for something to eat. She hadn’t felt like eating earlier. She found the remains of some chicken, mushroom and wild rice soup and put the container in the microwave to heat.

Meanwhile, she booted up her computer and did a search for nearby community colleges. Hopefully they would have professors proficient in several languages. The closest was Brookcrest Community College, approximately twenty miles away. Gigi made a note of the telephone number, and by then the timer on the microwave had pinged.

Gigi ate her soup quickly, then dug her cell phone from her purse. She dialed the number she’d jotted down for Brookcrest Community College. It only took being put on hold for a total of thirty minutes, being redirected to eight different extensions and four voice mails, and being forced to redial after one dropped call to discover that a professor by the name of Hendrik Nissen, who taught art history, also had an interest in Scandinavian languages.

Gigi arranged to meet with him and show him the clipping.

Chapter 26

At one time Gigi had been a passionate New Yorker who never wanted to leave the city, but somehow, after her move to Connecticut, she had managed to avoid going into the city even once. But if she was going to talk to the people at the Vandenberg Gallery about the check they’d given Vanessa Huff, she was going to have to take the bull by the horns. She checked the train schedule for the third time and decided that she would take the eight forty-five train into Grand Central Station.

The biggest problem was—what to wear? Gigi dove into her closet for the third time and emerged with her former go-to outfit: a black pantsuit. She blew the dust off the shoulders and pulled it off the hanger. She would wear her new blouse with the ruffles down the front and add a colorful scarf. Scarves were practically de rigueur for women in the city no matter what the weather or temperature. It would add a note of sophistication to an otherwise bland outfit.

She laid the suit, blouse and scarf on the chair in her bedroom along with her good high-heeled leather boots and a tote bag for reading material and a pair of tennis shoes in case her feet gave out. She pawed through her jewelry box and selected a pair of—real—gold earrings, a gold bangle her mother had given her for college graduation and a thin gold chain she’d bought herself when she’d landed her first job. She thought of the fantastic diamond tennis bracelet Vanessa had treated herself to and felt completely belittled. But there was nothing she could do about it. This was all she had to work with.