Iced to Death (A Gourmet De-Lite Mystery)

by Cochran, Peg

  Madeline shook her head. “Unfortunately, she didn’t know much of anything.” She rolled her eyes. “Tiffany was working on a case that Mr. Flanagan himself had asked her to handle. He’s a partner in the firm, although his name isn’t on the actual masthead.” Madeline took a sip of her tea and grimaced. She reached for a packet of artificial sweetener, tore it open and dumped the contents into her cup. “She didn’t know what the actual case was. Just that it was somehow related to Mr. Flanagan.”

  “And?” Gigi prompted.

  “That’s all. That’s all I’ve been able to find out. It was supersecret, and Betty herself never even saw the files. Apparently all the paperwork went to Mr. Flanagan’s secretary. She’s been with the firm for forty-five years, and rumor has it, she knows more than all of the partners put together.”

  Frustration washed over Gigi like a tidal wave. She felt like she was taking one step forward and two back. There had to be some other way to discover what it was that Tiffany had been working on. Why else would someone have searched her office? It didn’t make any sense.

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to find out anything more,” Madeline said as she sipped her tea. “But I do have some good news.” A brief smile crossed her face.

  “Yes?” Gigi was too disappointed to be more than mildly enthusiastic.

  “I talked to Hunter. You know he wouldn’t tell me where he went the night his father was . . . was . . . murdered.” Madeline looked down at her cup. “I finally got him to talk about it. Apparently after that speech his father gave, he decided not to approach him for the money for his invention. He’d hoped to keep it in the family, but Bradley had made it obvious that he had no interest in what Hunter was doing. Hunter had already been approached by a representative from a Japanese firm. They were very interested in providing him with the needed capital.”

  Gigi tried to look surprised although Madeline wasn’t telling her anything she didn’t already know.

  “Hunter had been resisting the idea, but after bolting from Declan’s, he called the woman who was here from the investment company and asked to meet up with her. He’d decided to accept their offer.”

  “So he was with her when his father was killed?

  Madeline nodded. “Yes.”

  Gigi was disappointed—another lead that hadn’t panned out. But she was happy for Madeline. If that woman could verify that Hunter was with her when Bradley was killed, Hunter was no longer a suspect. Unfortunately, that made one less person standing between Declan McQuaid, Pia’s current love of a lifetime, and an arrest for murder.

  Gigi and Madeline finished their drinks just as the waitress slid their tab across the table.

  Gigi fished a couple of dollars from her wallet. “Let me take care of this.”

  “Thanks.” Madeline retrieved her coat and buttoned it up. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be more helpful. Betty really had no idea what Tiffany was up to.” She frowned as she tightened her belt around her waist. “It’s very unusual. Whatever Tiffany was working on must have been top secret.”

  • • •

  Pia was home and asleep when Gigi arrived back at her cottage. She was relieved. She didn’t want to hear about Declan’s visit to Pia’s studio. She was terrified that Pia’s heart was going to be broken.

  Gigi went about preparing her clients’ lunches and dinners. She was dropping them both off at once this time since the weather forecast for later in the day was quite dire. High winds and whiteout conditions. Gigi thought about what Tiffany had said as she washed lettuce for a salad. What case could be so top secret that Tiffany’s secretary wasn’t even allowed to see the papers, and did it have anything to do with her murder or with Bradley Simpson’s?

  Gigi glanced out the window, where snowflakes had already begun to fall and a strong wind was shaking the trees like an invisible hand. She shivered. It would be so nice to stay inside and curl up with a book. She gave herself a little shake. She really had it easy. She thought back to her days in New York, slogging through all kinds of weather, struggling to get on crowded buses and subways, walking for blocks in the frigid temperatures. Now all she had to do was deliver these meals to her clients, and then she’d be able to spend the rest of the day warm and snug in her cottage.

  Reg was waiting by the door as Gigi slipped into her coat.

  “Sorry, not this time, buddy. You stay here and keep Pia company, okay?”

  He tilted his head this way and that, his ears twitching, as if to say, okay, I understand. I’ll guard the fort, don’t worry.

  Gigi ran the scraper over the MINI’s windows as quickly as possible. The wind blew snow in her face, and it felt like icy pinpricks against her bare skin. She threw the scraper in the backseat and slid behind the wheel.

  Barbara Simpson’s car was parked at the far end of the circular driveway, facing Gigi, but it was still the maid who opened the door to Gigi’s ring and accepted the Gourmet De-Lite containers. Gigi wondered how Barbara was doing. Was her grief slowly lessening or was it too soon for that?

  Gigi dashed into Simpson and West with Madeline’s containers, leaving them in the hands of the receptionist. The snow was coming down more heavily, and the wheels of the MINI lost traction on the icy road several times.

  Penelope Lawson was Gigi’s last stop. She dashed up the front steps of the Lawsons’ brick Colonial. A woven grapevine heart wreath hung from the front door, nearly obscured by clumps of newly fallen snow. Gigi shivered as she waited for Penelope to answer the door.

  “Gigi!” Penelope flung open the door. “You must be freezing. Come in and have something warm to drink. I’ve just made some cocoa.”

  Gigi was about to politely refuse when she noticed a shattered vase on the floor of Penelope’s foyer, a little pile of shards of glass right next to it.

  Penelope noticed her glance. “Oh, that. The kids have kept me running, and I haven’t had a chance to deal with it. I got it swept into a pile, and that’s as far as I’ve been able to get. George was in a bit of a temper this morning and knocked it over on his way out.” Penelope sighed. “Sometimes I wish he’d quit that firm. Oliver—you know Sienna’s husband—wants George to join up with him in his practice, but George is worried about the money.” She swept a hand around the hallway. “This place is a money pit, and with three children to put through college, he’s afraid to make the move.”

  Gigi had already changed her mind about leaving and was following Penelope out to her vast kitchen and family room. Penelope opened a cupboard and took out two mugs with red-and-white-striped candy cane handles. She filled them each with cocoa and handed one to Gigi.

  The warm mug felt good in her cold hands.

  Penelope took a sip then stopped abruptly and looked at Gigi over the rim of her cup. “Don’t worry, it’s sugar-free.”

  A thumping sound came from above.

  “Just the kids. Hughie’s having a nap and Mason and Ava are supposed to be resting in their rooms.” She rolled her eyes. “Doesn’t sound like they’re getting much rest.” She motioned toward the sofa. “Do you want to sit down?” She quickly picked up the sections of newspaper that were scattered across the cushions.

  Gigi joined her on the couch.

  Penelope turned toward Gigi suddenly. “Please don’t think badly of George. He’s just upset about this case that got dumped in his lap. Tiffany Morse was supposed to be handling it, but well”—Penelope rolled her eyes—“we all know what happened to her.”

  “Really?” Gigi tried to look innocent as she took a sip of her cocoa. “Is it a very complicated case?”

  Penelope rolled her eyes again. “No, and that’s what’s really got George in such a snit. It’s ridiculous to ask someone with his experience to handle this. But the orders came from Flanagan, and he’s a partner so . . .”

  Gigi nodded to show she understood.

  “And of course partners’ families get special treatment.” She shook her head. “The problem is George isn’t sure there’s anything he can
do. The police have really begun to crack down on traffic violations, especially anything involving alcohol. They even put up that camera on the corner of High Street and Elmwood. That’s where Flanagan’s grandson was clocked doing ninety-five miles an hour. Can you imagine? Even if it was late at night. Someone could have been hurt.”

  “Was he drinking?”

  Penelope nodded. “Yes, he was over the limit. And underage to boot. And I guess he’s not much more than a point away from losing his license. Apparently Tiffany had been trying to prove that the camera wasn’t reliable, but she didn’t get very far. Now it’s up to George to determine what course to take. And it’s making him very ornery. He feels the whole thing is beneath him.” Penelope picked up one of the throw pillows on the sofa and began to run her fingers through the border of fringe. “Besides, he’s afraid he won’t be successful, and they’ll can him.” She laughed. “Well, maybe that would be the push he needs to join up with Oliver and get out of that rat race.”

  Gigi was digesting this bit of news when a pitiful wail came from above.

  Penelope glanced at her watch. “Sounds like Hughie’s up. That wasn’t a very long nap.”

  “I’d better be going.” Gigi took the opportunity to get to her feet.

  The wail became louder and rose to an ear-shattering crescendo.

  “If you don’t mind seeing yourself out . . .” Penelope was already moving toward the back stairs that ran from the family room to the upper level.

  “No problem.” Gigi buttoned her coat as she headed toward the front door.

  All the way home the only thing she could think about was the information she’d gleaned from Penelope. It seemed likely that Flanagan’s grandson’s DUI was Tiffany’s last case. Gigi thought back to the folder she and Madeline had found under Tiffany’s rug. Did the dark blue Mercedes in that picture belong to the young man?

  But then why had Tiffany hidden it? And was there any relation between that and her murder?

  Gigi gave a groan of frustration as she pulled into the driveway of her cottage. She couldn’t go to Mertz with what she’d discovered. That would mean admitting to having snooped in Tiffany’s office. Gigi shuddered at the thought. That would not go over well at all.

  Gigi spent a luxurious afternoon on the sofa curled up with a book. It had been a long time since she’d been able to relax like that. Pia had woken up and made a brief appearance—just long enough to burn a bag of popcorn in the microwave—before departing for her studio. Gigi had opened several windows, shivering under a throw on the couch, hoping to rid the house of the smell.

  The shadows in the room grew darker until Gigi reluctantly left her warm cocoon to turn on some lights. She realized she was hungry, but for once, she did not feel like cooking. She poked around in the pantry until she found a container of mac and cheese Pia had purchased. It didn’t look that bad. Gigi read the directions, popped it in the microwave and pressed start.

  Reg looked at her with sad eyes as if he were embarrassed by her sudden and unexpected lapse in judgment. Gigi turned her back on him and stirred the mixture with her fork. She took a bite. The first words that came to mind were wallpaper paste. How could people eat stuff like this?

  Her stomach growled, and she was sorry she hadn’t saved some of her clients’ dinner for herself, but one of the women wanted her husband to try Gigi’s food so she had sent along the extra portion.

  By the third forkful she was used to the taste and wondering whether there was a way to make a more flavorful, lower-calorie version. She was scraping up the last bits of macaroni when the doorbell rang.

  Reg went into his usual paroxysms of barking, sliding the last few feet down the hall to the foyer. Gigi followed, still holding the container of mac and cheese. She pulled open the door.

  Mertz stood on her doorstep. “Are you busy?” he asked as he stomped his feet and brushed snow from his coat.

  “Not at all.”

  He stepped inside and kissed Gigi briefly on the cheek. He rubbed his hands together. “It’s freezing out there, and the streets are beginning to ice up. I’m afraid the road crews will be busy tonight.” Mertz gestured toward the container in Gigi’s hands. “What’s that you’re eating?”

  Gigi felt her face redden. “Macaroni and cheese,” she admitted reluctantly.

  Mertz shook his head. “That’s the kind of meal I subsist on, but I never thought I’d see you eating it.” He slipped out of his coat and hung it in the closet.

  “Pia left it in the cupboard,” she explained lest Mertz think she had actually gone out and purchased it. “I was hungry, so . . .”

  “I guess that means you don’t have anything for a starving detective?” Mertz draped an arm around Gigi’s shoulders as they walked toward the kitchen. He peered into her container. “Not even a bite left. Must have been delicious.”

  Gigi gave him a playful punch in the ribs. “Let me see what’s in the fridge.”

  She opened the refrigerator and poked around. “Would eggs and bacon do?”

  Mertz’s face broke into a smile. “Quite nicely. Far more nutritious than the granola bar in my pocket.”

  Gigi popped some bread in the toaster and got a carton of eggs and a packet of bacon out of the refrigerator and put them on the counter. “How do you like your eggs?”

  “Scrambled would be great.”

  Mertz played with Reg while Gigi fried some bacon and whisked eggs in a bowl. She slipped the golden liquid into the pan of hot, melted butter, where it immediately sizzled and soon began to form soft curds. Gigi realized she was whistling to herself. Having Mertz sitting in her kitchen, relaxing with Reg, suddenly seemed just perfect.

  She slipped the eggs from the pan onto a plate, added a few slices of crisp bacon, two pieces of toast, and placed it in front of Mertz. Reg’s nose twitched eagerly as he planted himself at Mertz’s feet.

  Gigi made herself a cup of tea and slid into the seat opposite Mertz. He’d polished off half the meal before he looked up.

  “I have a huge favor to ask of you.” He swiped his napkin across his lips. “I talked to the chief, and he agreed. Probably the only way we’re going to catch this lawn ornament thief is by setting up some kind of sting.”

  “Did you talk to Manny at the junkyard?”

  “I did. He wasn’t able to tell us much of anything. And his description was too vague to be of any use.” Mertz ate the last bite of his toast and licked his fingers. “Which is why the chief agreed to go along with my idea of a sting.”

  “How are you going to do it?”

  “Well, that’s where you come in.” Mertz looked away briefly. “I was hoping you’d let us put a lawn ornament out in your front yard. We’d have someone stationed here looking out. There’s no guarantee the guy will come by, but it’s worth a couple of man hours just in case. People are getting all riled up about the thefts—especially coming on top of the two murders. There wouldn’t be any danger to you,” he added reassuringly.

  “Sure. I don’t mind.”

  “Great!” Mertz pushed back his chair abruptly. “It’s in the car. Let me help you with the dishes, and then I’ll go get it.”

  Together they loaded the dishwasher, then Mertz went out to his car.

  Gigi heard the front door open again, and Mertz stuck his head into the kitchen. “Come and see. I’ve got it all set up.”

  Gigi grabbed her jacket from the hook and followed Mertz outside, Reg at her heels. She got to the bottom of the front steps and stopped in her tracks, her mouth hanging open. Smack in the middle of Gigi’s front lawn was a giant metal reindeer with a sack of toys slung over its back and a Santa hat on its head. A single spotlight, stuck in the ground, illuminated the whole thing with a glow as bright as the midday sun. Reg ran straight toward the metal ornament, stopped a safe six inches away and began barking furiously.

  Mertz eyed it proudly. “Our thief won’t miss seeing that.”

  “No one is going to miss seeing that,” Gigi said when s
he got her jaw working again. She heard the sounds of a car coming down the street, its headlights sweeping the road. It slowed perceptibly as it passed Gigi’s house.

  “One of the guys on the force loaned the piece to me. Said he didn’t need it at the moment.”

  “Really? That could be because it’s not Christmas,” Gigi said eyeing the deer in dismay. What on earth were the neighbors going to think?

  “You’re sure you don’t mind?” Mertz asked somewhat hesitantly.

  “No, it’s fine.” Gigi blinked several times but the apparition refused to go away. It was real, and it was on her lawn. “So, what’s next?” She turned to Mertz and shivered.

  “Come on, let’s get back inside.” He put his arm around her, and they walked toward the steps. Reg wove in and out between them, frolicking in the snow, stopping briefly to lift his leg on a snow-covered rhododendron bush.

  Gigi was grateful to get back inside. She flicked a few stray flakes of snow from her shoulders. Mertz had some clinging to his hair, and Gigi beckoned him close so that she could brush them away. That led to a kiss that took away any remaining chill Gigi might have felt.

  “What do we do now?” she asked, leaning against Mertz’s shoulder.

  “Wait. Police work is ninety percent waiting and ten percent action, I’m afraid.” He glanced at his watch. “I’d best be getting outside to keep watch.”

  “Oh, no. It’s freezing out there. Can’t you keep watch from the living room window?” Gigi gestured toward the bay window that gave a clear view of her front yard, now complete with a heinous spotlighted reindeer sculpture.

  Mertz looked doubtful. “I need to be able to take off after the fellow if he shows.” He pursed his lips. “I suppose it won’t be easy to get away with that thing. Ought to give me enough time to get out the door . . .” He still looked doubtful.

  Gigi pulled over a straight-backed armless chair and placed it in front of the window. She patted the seat. “You can see everything from here. And you’re right. It’s going to take some doing to run with that thing.”