Iced to Death (A Gourmet De-Lite Mystery)

by Cochran, Peg

  The warm water did the trick. She felt her muscles relaxing and she was nearly dozing off when she thought about Pia’s jacket again. Was it possible that Pia was going around Woodstone stealing garden ornaments? Gigi worried her bottom lip with her teeth. The thefts had started shortly after Pia’s arrival. But what on earth would she do with them? As a child, Pia had been something of a magpie, hoarding strange items like paper clips, hair ties and stray buttons. It would seem that her recent nomadic lifestyle would have cured her of that. She’d arrived with just a backpack and a small suitcase—not enough room to carry much of anything around.

  Gigi pushed the thought from her mind and let the warm water soothe her. Finally it grew tepid, and she stepped out of the tub and wrapped herself up in an old terrycloth bathrobe.

  She was heading down the hall toward her bedroom when she heard voices coming from the kitchen. Was Pia on the phone or did she have company? Curious, Gigi tiptoed closer and peered around the corner.

  Mertz was sitting at the kitchen island, companionably chatting with Pia.

  They both swiveled around when they sensed her presence.

  “I’ve finally met your detective,” Pia said.

  Gigi pulled her robe around her more tightly. “I can see that.” She smiled at Mertz, who looked exceptionally weary. “If you’ll give me a minute, I’ll go put some clothes on.”

  Gigi hastily donned some clean jeans and a turtleneck sweater. When she returned to the kitchen, she noticed Pia and Mertz were drinking cups of tea.

  “Would you like one?” Pia gestured toward her cup.

  “No, thanks.”

  “Guess I’ll take mine into the living room and leave you two alone.” Pia picked up her mug. “Nice to meet you.” She called over her shoulder at Mertz.

  He smiled in Pia’s direction. “Your sister is quite a character. I’m glad I’ve finally had the chance to meet her.”

  “She keeps rather strange hours, or you would have probably met her sooner.”

  “I stopped at the station on my way back from the scene. The chief was nearly apoplectic when I told him what happened.” Mertz rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “I guess the mayor has been busting his chops about the murder and the thefts around town. And now this. I’m afraid I’ll be wearing a uniform and patrolling a mall somewhere if I don’t get these murders solved, stat.”

  Gigi’s heart ached for him. She could understand the pressure he was under.

  “Did anything else turn up at the scene?”

  Mertz shook his head. “Not really. We found fingerprints, of course, but they’re unlikely to lead to anything. We did find one of those fancy cushions she had on the sofa in the sunroom—”

  “Throw pillows?”

  “Is that what you call them? Anyway, one was on the floor next to the sofa. It’s possible someone used it to smother her. There were traces of blue around her lips. But we won’t know for sure until the ME gets through with his examination.”

  “You’ll figure it out. I know you will.”

  “I hope so.”

  • • •

  News of Tiffany Morse’s murder made the headlines of the Woodstone Times the next day. The story was short and relatively factual and included a quote from the mayor that the police of Woodstone would not rest until the murderer was caught.

  Another small crowd had gathered outside the Woodstone Police Station, Gigi noticed, as she drove past on her way to Bon Appétit. She felt terribly sorry for Mertz.

  She passed the location of the new cookery store again and quickly glanced at the storefront as she went by. As far as she could tell it was still empty, and there were no signs of construction. Perhaps the owners had changed their minds? That would certainly be a relief to Evelyn.

  Evelyn looked considerably more chipper than she had the last time Gigi had seen her, and the renovations to Bon Appétit were much further along. Gigi admired the new paint and wall décor.

  Evelyn leaned her elbows on the counter, her gray bob swinging forward to touch her cheeks. “It’s all thanks to you. I was stuck in a rut and not seeing things as they were. At least now I’ve got a fighting chance.”

  “I went past the storefront where the new place is supposed to be. They don’t seem to have done a thing yet. Maybe they’ve changed their minds?”

  Evelyn frowned. “I doubt it. They’ll probably bring in a huge crew and get it all banged out in a couple of days. Like they do on those home shows on television.” She clenched her fists and raised them in the air. “Bring ’em on. I’m ready for them.” She glanced around her newly decorated shop. “There are still a few more things I want to do. I’m waiting on some antique dressers I ordered—the kind you put in the kitchen for your dishes, not the kind that holds clothes. I’m going to use them for display to give the place more ambiance.”

  “That’s a great idea.” Gigi looked around. The dressers would be far more attractive than the wire shelving units Evelyn was using now.

  “And I’m going to stock some kitchen accessories—linen dishtowels, fancy aprons, hors d’oeuvres plates. Things like that.” She sighed. “It’s taken me this long to get with the times. I hope it’s not too late.”

  “I’m sure it’s not.”

  “I’ve always carried French and Italian gourmet items, but I’m branching out there, too. I’ve gotten in a whole batch of Asian seasonings and ingredients as well. Even the stuff that Japanese woman was asking for—dashi, I think it’s called.” She was quiet for a moment, then pointed at the newspaper folded up next to the register. “Read about that second murder in this morning’s paper. What is Woodstone coming to?”

  Gigi shook her head. “I don’t know.

  “We’ll all be murdered in our beds before we know it.”

  “I don’t think we have to worry. This murder was . . . personal.”

  Evelyn shook her head. “Well, here I’ve been nattering away when you’ve obviously come in for something. What can I get you?”

  Gigi read off her list, and Evelyn scurried among the shelves, bringing various items to the counter.

  Gigi went through her list one more time. “That’s it,” she said.

  Evelyn began ringing up Gigi’s purchases. She looked up suddenly and whipped off her reading glasses, leaving them to dangle from the chain around her neck. She pointed toward the window. “There she is.”

  Gigi spun around. “Who?”

  “The Japanese woman I saw with Hunter Simpson the other day. You don’t think he’s playing around, do you? Doesn’t seem the type. Not like his father.” Evelyn snickered.

  “You’re right, he doesn’t seem the type.” Gigi watched as the woman strolled past the window. She was slim, elegant and very pretty.

  Gigi decided to follow her.

  “Thanks,” she threw over her shoulder to Evelyn as she grabbed her bag and moved quickly out of the store.

  The sidewalk wasn’t crowded, and Gigi easily spotted the woman up ahead. She stayed a discreet distance behind her, stopping when she stopped and moving on when she did. She was wondering whether she might have a second career as a private investigator when the woman disappeared from view.

  Darn! Gigi scanned the heads in front of her. A couple walked ahead of her, holding hands. They parted briefly, and Gigi caught a glimpse of the woman’s long, shiny, dark hair. Yes! She gave a very discreet fist pump and quickened her pace.

  Gigi followed her all the way through downtown Woodstone. The wind had picked up, and Gigi’s hands were numb. She pulled her collar up around her neck and stuck her hands in her pockets.

  The woman had left downtown behind and was now walking along tree-lined streets. She turned into the small park where Gigi sometimes took Reg to romp, and took the path that traversed the green from north to south. Gigi couldn’t imagine where she was headed.

  Few people were out in the park, and Gigi was worried the woman would spot her, but she never turned around—just continued her purposeful walk. They c
rossed the park and came out on the other side facing Woodstone Hospital. Was she meeting Hunter, Gigi wondered?

  The woman walked up the circular drive and disappeared through the hospital’s front door. Gigi waited a second or two, then whooshed through the revolving door and into the hospital lobby. It felt blessedly warm inside.

  Men and women in scrubs rushed back and forth, charts tucked under their arms, stethoscopes draped around their necks. The woman Gigi had been following hovered near the information desk. Gigi lingered behind a fake hibiscus tree and watched.

  Hunter Simpson came rushing across the lobby toward the woman. He smiled and shook her hand briskly.

  Gigi looked on, puzzled. If this was a romance, wouldn’t Hunter have been a bit more . . . romantic . . . in his greeting? A discreet touch on her arm, her hand lingering in his . . . nothing that would arouse suspicion, of course.

  Gigi watched as they left the lobby together. The woman had taken off her coat and was carrying it over her arm. Gigi could see a hospital badge pinned to the lapel of her suit. Was she simply another employee?

  She would have to see if she could get any information out of Madeline.

  • • •

  Gigi went about delivering her diet lunches. She’d been as quiet as possible so as not to wake Pia while she prepared them, but she suspected that it didn’t matter—her sister could sleep through anything. She seemed to be catching up on z’s after being away for so long and, according to her, working like the devil.

  Gigi rang Barbara Simpson’s bell, and a uniformed maid answered, accepting the container and assuring Gigi she would bring it to Barbara immediately. Gigi headed toward Simpson and West with Madeline’s lunch, figuratively crossing her fingers that Madeline would be feeling chatty.

  She pulled into the law firm’s lot and carefully parked the MINI in one of the spaces marked Visitor.

  As Gigi entered, the girl behind the reception desk looked up, a bored expression on her face.

  “Hi,” Gigi said as she approached the girl. “I’m here with a delivery for Madeline Stone.” She brandished the Gourmet De-Lite container.

  The girl’s mouth settled into discontented lines. “Not here. Said to give it to me.” She held out her hand and wiggled her fingers impatiently.

  “Oh,” Gigi said. “You’ll be sure she gets it? It’s her lunch.”

  The girl heaved an enormous sigh. “I know,” she said and waggled her fingers again at Gigi.

  Gigi bit back her disappointment and placed the container on the highly polished reception desk.

  “Be sure she gets it,” she said, tapping Madeline’s lunch and turning to go.

  The girl gave a grin that was more of a smirk than a smile. Gigi had no recourse but to leave the Cobb salad and low-fat vinaigrette in the girl’s hands and hope it got to Madeline in time for her lunch.

  Gigi slumped behind the wheel of her MINI. She had so hoped to have a chance to chat with Madeline and possibly glean some information about Hunter. She started the car and backed out of the space.

  She was waiting to turn left out of the parking lot when her cell phone rang. She was definitely not a fan of talking and driving—or worse, texting and driving—but since she was stuck waiting for traffic to clear, she decided to answer the call.

  It was Alec Pricely, the marketing manager for Branston Foods. They wanted Gigi to rerecord a tiny bit of the commercial she had done for them the other day. Something about background noise intruding onto the tape.

  Gigi groaned. She absolutely hated, hated, hated having to make these commercials. Hearing them on the radio was even worse. She thought she sounded as if she were holding her nose the entire time. Did anyone like the sound of their own voice?

  She switched her blinker from left to right, and when the traffic cleared, she pulled out onto High Street and headed toward Keith’s Recording Studio.

  Pricely’s car was already in the parking lot when Gigi got there. Gigi pulled in next to it and got out. She tried to console herself with the thought that she might learn something new from Cheryl, but she sincerely doubted it.

  “Hey,” Cheryl said as Gigi pushed open the front door. She snapped her gum loudly, and spun her chair around so she was facing Gigi. “How’s it going?’

  “Oh, fine.” Gigi fiddled with the ends of her scarf, trying to think of a way to introduce Hunter Simpson into the conversation.

  Unfortunately, Pricely called her into the recording studio before she was visited by any flashes of inspiration.

  This time the recording session went more smoothly. Pricely gave Gigi an oily smile and a thumbs-up as she exited the recording room. He flashed his oversize gold watch.

  “Great job. Gotta run. Have a meeting with the big guy in fifteen minutes.” He graced Gigi with another toothy smile, slipped on his coat and bolted for the door.

  Cheryl rolled her eyes as she watched Pricely through the window heading toward his car. She shuddered. “Can’t stand that guy. The first time he was here he tried coming on to me. Honestly, if Jimmy ever found out . . .” Cheryl let her comment trail off.

  “He is kind of creepy, isn’t he?” Gigi agreed.

  “You can say that again.” Cheryl giggled.

  Gigi felt as if the two of them had established at least some sort of rapport. She decided to put a toe into the water. “Jimmy’s Hunter’s uncle, right?”

  Cheryl nodded.

  “How is Hunter taking things? I feel so sorry for him. Losing his father like that . . .”

  “Poor Hunter is so conflicted!” Cheryl swiveled her chair to face Gigi. “He does feel just terrible about his father. After all, Bradley was his dad, and that alone puts him in a special category. But he was so mean to Hunter sometimes. My girlfriend, she sees one of them psychologists once a week, said that that would make it even harder for Hunter to grieve.”

  Gigi nodded her understanding. She began to open her mouth, but Cheryl was already off and running.

  “I mean, you heard what Bradley said at Hunter’s engagement party. Bambi, that’s my girlfriend, said that would cause Hunter to be conflicted. On the one hand, he loves and respects his father, but then his father goes and does something flat-out mean like that. What is Hunter supposed to think?” She paused to chew on the side of her thumb. “Then when Hunter brings him this invention of his and asks for money and Bradley laughs in his face . . .”

  “What?” Gigi stood up a little straighter.

  Cheryl nodded briskly. “Believe me, I have no idea how the thing is supposed to work, or what on earth it’s supposed to do, but according to Hunter, his invention would replace something he called the LVAD. Said it worked way better and cost less. And it would save people’s lives. I mean, who wouldn’t want to save someone’s life?”

  “So Bradley refused to invest in Hunter’s invention?”

  Cheryl nodded and swiveled her chair back and forth. She had one leg on the ground and the other tucked up underneath her.

  “Does Hunter inherit money now that his father is dead? Maybe he can go ahead with his plans.”

  “Could be. I don’t know. Bradley might have left the whole pot to Barbara.” Cheryl rolled her eyes. “Although goodness knows, there’s more than enough to go around. We’d been kind of hoping . . . well, never mind about that.”

  What had Cheryl been about to say, Gigi wondered? Was she going to admit that Barbara expected repayment of the money that had been loaned to them?

  But, more importantly, how desperate was Hunter to see his invention launched? If he really did have something that would replace the LVAD, a device that kept heart patients alive while they waited for a transplant, then his career would be assured and his name would go down in history.

  Was that something worth killing for?

  Chapter 17

  Gigi thought about going home, but she needed to talk to someone. She pulled up to the curb in front of the Book Nook, locked the MINI, got out and pushed open the door to Sienna’s store.
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br />   Madison was behind the counter. She gave Gigi a brief nod. Gigi noticed that her pink streak had undergone a color change and was now green. Gigi couldn’t decide which she liked better—or perhaps which one she disliked the least would be more accurate.

  Sienna was in the back room going through several boxes of books that had just been dropped off. She picked up a volume and blew the dust off. She held it toward Gigi.

  “Why would anyone think I’d want a mildewed copy of Vanity Fair?” She flipped through the pages of the book. “Look at that! The edges of the cover are all bent, the pages are foxed . . .” She tossed the book into a box on the floor.

  “Where’s Camille?” Gigi looked around, but the baby’s bassinet was not in sight.

  “I didn’t want her back here while I was going through all these dusty old volumes. Alice is taking her for a walk in that absurd pram Oliver’s mother insisted on buying us. A Silver Cross! It cost more than that old beater car I had in college. The good thing is that it does keep Camille well protected from the cold and wind.”

  Sienna wiped her hands on the smock she’d put on over her clothes. “So what have you been up to?”

  “Well—” Gigi began.

  Sienna linked her arm through Gigi’s. “Come on. Let’s get a cup of coffee or tea. I’ve been on my feet for hours, and you probably have, too.”

  They were settling into the coffee corner when the front door opened and Alice arrived with Camille. She parked the unwieldy carriage by the front door and carried the baby over to where Gigi and Sienna were sitting.

  “Let me get her bouncy chair.” Sienna disappeared, returning almost immediately with a bright red-yellow-and-blue-covered baby seat. She eased Camille into it. The baby’s cheeks were flushed pink from her walk outdoors, and her eyes were already closing, her long lashes casting dark shadows on her cheeks.

  “She is just so precious,” Alice cooed. Her face puckered in concern. “I do so hope Stacy is expecting, but she still hasn’t said a word.”

  “Give her time. If she is expecting, I suspect you’ll be the first to know.” Sienna smiled.