2 Unholy Matrimony

by Peg Cochran

  Gigi put the car in gear and slowly backed down the driveway. The wheels slid, then gripped again, and they were on their way. She switched on the windshield wipers, and the snowflakes, which were now coming down faster and harder, were briefly whisked away. The roads were covered with a fine dusting of snow, but here and there ice lurked beneath the surface. Gigi gripped the wheel as she negotiated the narrow winding road leading toward the small downtown area of Woodstone, Connecticut.

  Gigi made her delivery rounds as quickly as she could. Flurries of snow continued to fall, and the roads became even slicker. She’d spent most of the previous years living in New York City, where she’d hardly ever needed to get behind the wheel. She breathed a sigh of relief after she delivered the last Gourmet De-Lite container and was able to turn around toward home.

  She rounded the corner onto her street, and her spirits rose as her cottage came into view. It was white with a bright red door, dormer windows, and a picket fence.

  With a red, white, and green Ralph’s Pizza delivery truck in the driveway.

  There must be a mistake. She didn’t order a pizza. Not that she didn’t love it—especially the wonderfully aromatic pies Carlo and Emilio used to make at Al Forno—but Ralph’s was pedestrian fare, full of calories and laden with fat, and something she tried to stay away from.

  It had to be a mistake.

  A young man in a bright green ski cap and a zip-up plaid jacket was standing at Gigi’s front door, an expectant look on his face.

  She pulled into the driveway and stopped. She opened the door to let Reg out of the car and he ran ahead of her, jumping around the young man’s legs and sniffing furiously at the pizza box. Gigi was about to call out to the delivery boy when her front door slowly opened.

  “What on earth . . . ?” Gigi was so stunned she stopped in her tracks.

  A woman stuck her head out the door. She was tall and thin with dark hair styled in a pixie cut. She exchanged some cash for the pizza box in the delivery boy’s hands and was about to shut the door when she noticed Gigi standing in the driveway, still openmouthed.

  “Surprise,” she yelled, waving the pizza box toward Gigi.

  “What . . . when . . . how did you . . . ?” Gigi stammered as she approached her own front door.

  “You didn’t lock it,” the woman said, making it sound like Gigi’s fault. “Well? Aren’t you glad to see me?” She threw her free arm around Gigi’s neck and hugged her.

  “What are you doing here?” Gigi looked her younger sister up and down. Pia was a little thinner than the last time they’d seen each other, and the pixie haircut was new. Gigi liked it. Pia’s eyes were enormous, and the cut accentuated them beautifully. She hadn’t seen or heard from her sister in over a year—not since she had taken off for some artists’ commune in the south of England where they made their own paper and paint and grew their own food.

  Pia waved the pizza box under Gigi’s nose. Gigi had to admit, it did smell good. She just hoped none of her clients had seen Ralph’s delivery truck in her driveway! She tried to set a good example by eating healthily herself.

  “What are you doing here?” Gigi asked again.

  Pia made a face. “Let’s get comfortable first and I’ll tell you everything. I’ve brought a bottle of plonk—cheap red wine,” she explained, obviously noticing the look of bewilderment on Gigi’s face.

  Gigi followed her sister to the kitchen, still half stunned by Pia’s sudden appearance. A battered suitcase and stuffed backpack had been tossed willy-nilly into the living room. Gigi felt her jaw clench. She cherished her cottage and took the time to keep it neat and tidy.

  “Got any paper plates?” Pia pulled open drawers and cabinet doors and then slammed them shut. She opened the red, green, and white pizza box, which she’d placed on the counter, and pulled out a slice. “Sorry, but I can’t wait. I’ve been dying for some decent food ever since I left the States. It was all roasted root vegetables and dandelion salads in that commune. I’ve been pining for some good junk food.” She took an enormous bite of the pizza.

  Gigi grabbed plates and napkins from the cupboard and set them out on the island. The pizza really did smell good. She hesitated, and then finally helped herself to a piece.

  “To answer your question,” Pia said around a mouthful of pie, “there was this guy.”

  Gigi groaned. With Pia, it was always some guy. Gigi carefully blotted her slice of pizza with some napkins and then took a tiny nibble from the end. It wasn’t as bad as she expected. As a matter of fact, it tasted heavenly.

  Pia twisted the top off the bottle of red table wine she’d brought and waited while Gigi fetched wineglasses.

  Pia filled a glass for each of them. “You have no idea how wonderful this is. In the commune, we each had one ugly handmade brown mug that we used for everything. Even the elderberry wine ended up tasting like coffee.” She shuddered. “I did do some amazing work there though.” Pia helped herself to another slice of the pie. “And it was good with Clive while it lasted.”

  “What happened?”

  Pia heaved a dramatic sigh and rolled her enormous green eyes. “I thought I had found my happily ever after, but it turned out he was cheating on me with that witch Blythe, whose family owns the property the commune is on.”

  “I’m sorry.” Gigi looked at her sister. Somehow she didn’t seem particularly brokenhearted. “How . . . how long are you staying?” The words stuck in Gigi’s mouth, and she took a big glug of her wine. It went down the wrong way, and she began to cough.

  Pia shrugged. “Don’t know really. Until I’m on to the next good thing.” She pouted prettily. “You don’t mind, do you?”

  “Er, no. No. Of course not,” Gigi said insincerely.

  • • •

  Gigi’s cottage was small, but she’d always found it more than roomy enough for her needs. After only four days with her sister in residence, however, the space was beginning to feel terribly cramped. There was only one full bathroom and a tiny powder room, and Pia thought nothing of leaving her wet towels draped over the bath or her dirty clothes strewn across the floor. Gigi’s tiny guest room was already awash with Pia’s things. Her sister didn’t seem to feel the need to put anything away nor to make the bed. Whenever Gigi passed the room, the sheets were in a tangle and the comforter was in a pile at the foot of the bed.

  Gigi was working on boxing up her Gourmet De-Lite lunches when she glanced at the clock. Surely Pia would be up soon. Gigi had saved her something for breakfast, but it was already nearly lunchtime.

  “Good morning,” Pia called suddenly, startling Gigi. She was dressed in a pair of black leggings, over-the-knee suede boots and a long, hand-knit-looking tunic.

  “I’ve got some breakfast frittata left for you if you want,” Gigi offered.

  Gigi looked at Pia’s long, thin legs and wondered, not for the first time, why she couldn’t have gotten some of the same genes.

  “Thanks, but I’m going out. I have a lunch date.” Pia smiled enigmatically.

  “Really? Who?” Pia seemed to attract men like magnets attracted metal.

  Pia grabbed her coat, which she’d left draped over one of the kitchen chairs, and began to put it on. “I’ll tell you when I get back.” She winked at Gigi. “This could be the real deal, but I don’t want to jinx it.”

  “Oh,” was all Gigi could manage.

  “Do you need anything while I’m out? I’d be happy to stop by the grocery store.”

  “That would be great.” Gigi jotted a few things down on a list and handed it to Pia.

  “Ta-ta,” Pia said and headed out to the ancient, pea green Volkswagen van she’d bought from someone on Craigslist the day after her arrival. She’d assured Gigi that she was leaving soon and making her way across the country to California, but so far she hadn’t showed any signs of imminent departure. And now with romance in the air, Gigi was beginning to wonder if she’d ever get going.

  Gigi sighed. She loved her sister, and it w
as fun having her around, but she really wanted to have the cottage back to herself.

  Gigi put on her own coat, and Reg, who was asleep on top of the heating vent, snapped to attention.

  “Yes, you’re coming, too.” Gigi grabbed Reg’s leash while he did an animated dance around her ankles.

  Gigi drove down High Street, past all the shops that had become so familiar to her. Someone was leaving the Book Nook with two shopping bags. Sienna must be pleased, Gigi thought. She and Sienna, the bookstore’s owner, had been best friends since college, and Sienna had convinced Gigi to move to Woodstone and open her business when Gigi’s marriage came to an end. Gigi passed Declan’s Grille and felt hot color rush to her face. The owner, Declan McQuaid, was extremely attractive, and she always felt slightly awkward around him. He’d made it quite clear he found her attractive as well, but she’d sworn not to get involved. Declan himself had admitted to being the “love ’em and leave ’em” type, and Gigi didn’t want to take a chance on ruining the budding romance between her and Detective Bill Mertz.

  Gigi continued down High Street to her last stop, the law firm of Simpson and West. Madeline Stone, one of her newer clients, was waiting in the small wood-paneled lobby when Gigi got there. She was wearing a slim pencil skirt and a big smile. She had recently become engaged to Hunter Simpson, the son of one of the firm’s partners. She held out her left hand as Gigi approached. Gigi dutifully admired the large diamond solitaire that adorned Madeline’s ring finger.

  “It’s beautiful.” Gigi couldn’t help but recall that she’d had one very much like it, but she’d sold it and purchased her MINI after her divorce from Ted. She hadn’t regretted it for a minute.

  “I’m so excited about the engagement party Mr. Simpson is throwing for us Saturday night.” Madeline’s eyes glowed as she stopped herself and giggled. “I guess I should call him Bradley now that he’s going to be my father-in-law.” She blushed again. “I can’t quite picture myself calling him . . . Dad.” She ducked her head.

  A young woman in a pantsuit brushed past them and gave Madeline a strange look.

  “Everyone is so jealous,” Madeline whispered to Gigi as she watched the other woman push open the heavy front door. “They were all hoping to snag Hunter themselves.” A second, very becoming blush colored her cheeks pink. “I still can’t believe he proposed to me!”

  Gigi patted Madeline’s arm. “Hunter is the lucky one if you ask me.”

  Madeline’s blush intensified.

  The elevator doors pinged open and a tall, attractive blond woman rushed out, stomping past Gigi and Madeline, an expensive leather handbag swinging furiously from her arm. Her black suede stilettos clacked loudly against the marble floor. Her cheeks were flushed bright red, and her cashmere coat swung wide open despite the frigid temperatures awaiting her outdoors.

  “Hold my calls. I’m going out,” she barked at the secretary sitting behind the polished wooden reception desk. The girl jumped and nodded her head, but the woman had already swept past in a cloud of expensive-smelling French perfume. She charged through the front door, heedless of the half inch of snow that had collected on the sidewalk.

  “That’s Tiffany Morse,” Madeline said in an undertone to Gigi. “Rumor has it she’s in line to become the first female partner at Simpson and West.”

  Moments later they heard a car engine start up, and then a bright red Mustang streaked past the front window of the building, fishtailing slightly on the slick road.

  “I wonder what’s got her in such a tizzy?” Madeline stared out the window. She turned toward Gigi. “I heard her arguing with Bradley earlier.” This time she barely stumbled over the name. “I was surprised the two of them were fighting. She’s Bradley’s . . .” She hesitated. “. . . Pet. If you know what I mean.” She rolled her eyes at Gigi.

  Gigi nodded.

  “Don’t get me wrong, she’s a good lawyer. One of the best. It’s just that Simpson, West, Donahue, Flanagan and Moskowitz—that’s the firm’s full name but obviously it would never have fit on the sign out front or on the letterhead, so we just go with Simpson and West—has never had a female partner before.” She frowned. “Mr. West once said he wouldn’t have a woman partner unless it was over his dead body, but I guess Mr. Simpson”—she blushed again—“I mean Bradley, managed to change his mind.”

  Gigi supposed Madeline must be right. But if Bradley had changed Mr. West’s mind, it sure made her wonder what Tiffany Morse had done to change Bradley’s mind.

  • • •

  Gigi had just returned home from making her dinner deliveries when she heard the knocking sound that heralded the arrival of Pia’s beat-up old VW van. The car hissed loudly as the engine was turned off. Gigi couldn’t imagine Pia attempting to drive that thing to California—if she ever left, that is, now that she had apparently found true love, or at least, romance.

  Pia came in through the back door carrying two bags of groceries. Her cheeks were flushed from the cold and moisture glimmered in her short, dark hair.

  “Snowing again,” she said as she dumped her purchases on the counter. “I didn’t think Sparky was going to make it up the hill.”

  “Sparky?”

  Pia gestured with her shoulder in the general direction of the cottage’s driveway. “I decided to name that beastly van.” She sighed. “At least it’s getting me around.”

  Gigi thought of mentioning California but decided that perhaps this wasn’t the best time. “What did you buy?” she asked instead.

  “I’m sorry.” Pia made a sad face. “I forgot some of the things on your list. Just the parsley, lettuce and chicken stock though.”

  Those were the only things on her list, Gigi thought as she watched Pia unpack the groceries. “What did you get?”

  “Twinkies!” Pia held up the cellophane-wrapped package triumphantly. “And some of that buttered movie popcorn in case we want to watch a flick on television.” She dug deeper. “Hot dogs for dinner.” She laid them on the counter. “Chocolate chip cookies, marshmallow fluff and salt-and-vinegar potato chips,” she finished triumphantly. “Do you know the Brits call chips crisps?”

  Gigi shook her head. She was in shock over the contents of her sister’s shopping spree. Surely Pia didn’t think Gigi was going to eat that stuff?

  “How was your lunch date? It must have gone well.” Gigi glanced at the clock. “It’s almost dinnertime.”

  “Oh, I spent some time setting up a small studio I found to rent by the week. It’s out by that industrial park on the edge of town. Nothing fancy, but it will allow me to get some work done.”

  Gigi was relieved. The thought of Pia bringing in paint or clay or whatever she used for her artwork to the cottage gave Gigi the shivers.

  “My lunch date was dreamy though.” Pia perched on one of the stools around the island and popped the top off a can of soda—not sugar-free, Gigi noted—and took a huge gulp. “I sat at the bar and kept him company.”

  Gigi felt something in her chest freeze. “Sat at the bar?” she repeated.

  Pia shook her head. “Yeah. He runs this place downtown. A lot of English cuisine but nothing like the stuff we had in that commune. His food is good.”

  Gigi’s mouth had dried up. “What was the name of the place?”

  “Declan’s Grille. I never thought I’d fall for another Englishman, but Declan McQuaid has to be one of the dreamiest men I’ve ever met.” Pia stared into space, a rapturous look on her face.

  “Oh,” Gigi said in a very tiny voice.

  Books by Peg Cochran

  Allergic to Death

  Steamed to Death

  Iced to Death

  Writing as Meg London

  Murder Unmentionable

  Laced with Poison

  Fatal Slip

  eBooks

  Confession Is Murder

  Unholy Matrimony

  Oh, Brother! (young adult)

  Truth or Dare (young adult)

  About the Author
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br />   Peg grew up in a New Jersey suburb about twenty-five miles outside of New York City. After college, she moved to the City, where she managed an art gallery owned by the son of the artist Henri Matisse.

  After her husband died, Peg remarried and her new husband took a job in Grand Rapids, Michigan, where they now live (on exile from New Jersey, as she likes to joke). Somehow Peg managed to segue from the art world to marketing and is now the manager of marketing communications for a company that provides services to seniors.

  She has two cozy mystery series out from Berkley Prime Crime—the Sweet Nothings Vintage Lingerie series, writing as Meg London, set in Paris, Tennessee, and the Gourmet De-Lite series, under her own name, set in Connecticut.

  Peg has two daughters, a stepdaughter and stepson, a beautiful granddaughter, a cat named Frazzle, and a Westhighland white terrier named Reggie. You can read more at www.pegcochran.com and www.meglondon.com.

  Contents

  Cover

  Unholy Matrimony

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Excerpt from Iced to Death

  Books by Peg Cochran

  About the Author