Steamed to Death

by Peg Cochran

  Alice was going to help Anja serve, but meanwhile she was taking a short break, her apron put aside, her feet up and her nose buried in the Woodstone Times. Gigi could hear the clink of silver and the occasional ping of china from the butler’s pantry where Anja was organizing the serving pieces for the lunch.

  Gigi was putting the chicken in the oven when a car turned into the drive, quickly followed by another and another. The service was over and the guests were arriving.

  Moments later, they heard the front door open, and Anja scuttled out of the pantry toward the foyer to help with coats. Drinks were being served in the formal living room, and Alice was going to help Anja with that, too.

  Gigi bent over the stove, making the final preparations. Putting together a multicourse meal was like conducting an orchestra—each dish coming together at the right moment and in tune with the others. The oven timer pinged, and Gigi removed the chicken and tented it with foil. In turn, she slid a pan of apple cake batter into the oven. It was a simple dessert that she would dress up with a side of crème anglaise.

  Gigi fanned her face with an oven mitt. With the burners going and both ovens lit, the kitchen was getting warm. She stepped into the hall briefly, which was still slightly chilly from the front door’s opening and closing. Winchel came down the corridor, a glass of amber-colored liquid in his hand.

  “Miss Fitzgerald. Why don’t you join us?”

  Gigi had no desire to face the crowd in the living room, but it would be a good opportunity to snoop. She ditched her apron and ducked into the powder room. She’d brought along a change of clothes in case Anja or Alice needed help serving—plain black slacks and a simple beige sweater. She donned them quickly, checked the security of her ponytail and tried to slip into the gathering as inconspicuously as possible.

  Winchel was in the corner, surrounded by tall men in suits. Their expressions were uniformly grim, and Gigi wondered what they were discussing. An onlooker would have thought that Vanessa must have been an extremely close relative. She was the only person in the room dressed in unrelieved black, although how appropriate the dress was, Gigi wasn’t sure. It was long sleeved but low cut, and hugged her curves tightly. Vanessa was in an intense tête-à-tête with Don. Gigi caught a flash of brilliance as Vanessa waved her hand in the air. A huge diamond flashed from the ring finger of her right hand. Had Don already cashed in the insurance policy on Felicity?

  Gigi took her glass of wine and sidled as close as she could get to the two of them.

  “You’ve got a lot of nerve,” Gigi heard Don say, but not without a note of admiration in his voice.

  Vanessa faked a very attractive pout and waved her hand around in front of Don’s face. “It was worth it, don’t you think?”

  Anja slid between Gigi and the couple with a tray of bite-size croquettes. Gigi felt like swearing. What had Don and Vanessa been talking about? Had Vanessa had something to do with Felicity’s death? Gigi knew she wanted to be the star of For Better or For Worse, but to Gigi it seemed as if all she had to do was bide her time until Felicity was eased off the show. Surely she hadn’t resorted to murder.

  “We have too many suspects,” Gigi murmured to Alice when they were back in the kitchen dishing up bowls of butternut squash soup.

  “Don and Derek . . .” Alice counted on her fingers. “Is there someone else?”

  Gigi nodded. “I heard Don and Vanessa talking in there. It sounds as if Vanessa may have had a hand in things.”

  Alice sighed. “Does no one mourn that poor creature? It’s so sad.”

  • • •

  For the next hour, they were all run off their feet and had no time for anything else. Finally, the last plate of apple cake was taken out to the dining room, and Gigi sank into a chair. She kicked her shoes off and rubbed the balls of her feet. Cooking was sometimes more of an endurance sport than anything else, she reflected. Maybe she needed to start exercising to build up her strength?

  Anja came into the kitchen. Her face was drawn, and there were dark circles under her eyes.

  “Why don’t you get some rest?” Gigi suggested. “The dishes are done, and you can put them away later.”

  “I promised to take Derek a cup of tea with honey. He is not feeling well.”

  “I’ll do that,” Gigi offered. “You go lie down for a bit.”

  • • •

  Gigi wondered what was really wrong with Derek as she boiled water and steeped an Earl Grey tea bag in the pot. Was he feeling remorseful over stealing from Felicity after all she’d done for him?

  Gigi found a tray in the butler’s pantry and arranged the teapot, cup and saucer along with cream, sugar and honey. She had no idea how Derek took his tea, but he was welcome to make his own.

  Winchel was still closeted in the library with the serious-faced men who had been at the funeral, so Gigi decided to go up the back stairs. She thought about the leaf Mertz’s team had found on the steps and wondered again how he could possibly tie that to Sienna. Certainly Sienna did go up and down those stairs to get to her office, but so did any number of other people.

  Derek’s door was partially open. Gigi knocked softly and waited. Nothing. She knocked again. Had he fallen asleep? If so, then he certainly didn’t need his tea. She pushed the door an inch or two and peered into the room. Heavy tasseled drapes had been pulled haphazardly across the large windows. The bed was unmade, its dark red velvet spread bunched up at the foot. The room was clearly empty. Clothes were scattered in a path from the dresser to the en suite bathroom. That door was open as well, and although Gigi listened, it didn’t sound as if anyone was in there.

  She would leave the tea on the bedside table. She pushed aside a graphic novel that was bent open to a page in the middle of the book, a television remote control and an empty eyeglass case. Her hand brushed something and knocked it to the floor.

  Gigi grumbled under her breath and got down on her hands and knees to search for whatever it was she’d knocked off the table. Although how likely Derek was to notice anything missing, she couldn’t begin to guess. She lifted up the drooping top sheet and peered underneath the bed. Something was there, but it was too dark to see. She swept her hand along the rug until she was able to grasp the object by feel.

  She edged her hand out from under the bed and leaned back on her heels to examine the object she had retrieved. It was a prescription bottle—for a generic brand of a well-known tranquilizer. But instead of “Derek Winchel” on the label it read “Felicity Davenport.”

  And the bottle was empty.

  Chapter 10

  Gigi stared at the bottle for a long minute before dropping it on the carpet as if it had suddenly turned radioactive. She had added her fingerprints to the potential murder weapon! And she had possibly destroyed some real concrete evidence. She groaned. Why hadn’t she left the bottle under the bed and called Mertz?

  Gigi decided she had to tell Mertz about the bottle even though it meant risking his wrath. She crept back down the stairs to the kitchen. Voices still emanated from the library, and Anja was nowhere to be seen. The bicycle she often used to ride into town wasn’t leaning against the back railing where she tended to keep it.

  Gigi slipped into her jacket, pocketed her phone. She decided it would be safest to phone Mertz from her car. A strong breeze whipped her hair back from her face when she opened the back door, and she paused for a moment to catch her breath. Swift clouds scudded across the gun metal gray sky, and a few plump drops of rain spattered onto Gigi’s windshield as she slid into the front seat. She pulled her cell from her pocket and dialed the police station. She punched in the last number and hesitated. She really, really didn’t want to hear what he was going to say, but she stabbed the talk button decisively.

  It took three tries to route her to Mertz’s phone. His economical “Hello” gave nothing away. Gigi crossed her fingers and prayed he would be in a good mood.

  “I think I found some evidence that relates to Felicity Davenport’s death,�
� Gigi said after introducing herself.

  Mertz groaned so loud that Gigi pulled the phone away from her ear.

  “We always appreciate it when the public comes forward with information,” Mertz said, sounding as if he were reading from a handbook of some sort. He sighed and his tone softened. “Look, I haven’t had anything to eat all day. I’m headed out for a bite. Can you meet me at Declan’s?”

  This time Gigi groaned. Why did everyone want to eat at Declan’s? What was wrong with the Woodstone Diner for a change?

  “Well?”

  “Sure,” Gigi said reluctantly. “I’ll meet you there.”

  Gigi clicked off the call and tossed the phone onto the passenger’s seat. She let her head drop forward until her forehead rested against the steering wheel. It was really difficult, but she managed to resist the incredibly strong urge to smack her head repeatedly against the wheel.

  • • •

  Gigi had a Gourmet De-Lite package ready to deliver to Madeline Stone for her dinner. She’d made some extra butternut squash bisque and had included a portion of the chicken and spinach rollatini with lemon orzo. It was easy enough to drop it off on her way to Declan’s.

  Gigi drove slowly down High Street, dreading the moment when Declan’s would come into view. Her feelings were in a complete state of tumult. Her heart beat just a bit faster when Mertz was around, and she found him incredibly attractive, but so far he had shown no interest in taking their relationship beyond casual acquaintance.

  She certainly found Declan McQuaid attractive as well, but Gigi guessed him to be the “here today, and gone tomorrow” type no matter what Sienna said. And she’d already had more than enough of that with Ted.

  Gigi reluctantly pulled into the tiny parking lot between Declan’s and Gibson’s Hardware next door. Mertz’s Crown Vic was nowhere in sight.

  Gigi pushed open the front door and a rush of air, scented with the aroma of roasting meat and browning garlic and onions, wafted over her. Declan was in his accustomed spot behind the bar, and Gigi avoided his eye as she scanned the room for Mertz.

  Suddenly Declan appeared at her elbow. “Lovely to see you again.” He gave her a smile that made her feel woozy.

  He put a hand toward Gigi, and she instinctively flinched.

  “I didn’t mean to scare you, but there’s a leaf caught in your beautiful hair.” He leaned closer and plucked a brown-tinged maple leaf from Gigi’s locks.

  “See?” He handed it to Gigi. “I’ve only dated one or two redheads in my life.” He leaned against the hostess stand, and the look he gave Gigi made her feel as if they were the only two in the room. “But they were always a lot of fun. Up for the moment, you know what I mean? Maybe one of these days we could . . .”

  Gigi heard someone clear his throat, and they both turned to see Mertz standing a foot away. He moved closer until his elbow was nearly touching Gigi’s.

  “Could we have a table please?”

  Declan gave Gigi a rueful smile. “Certainly.” He grabbed two menus from the hostess stand. “If you’ll follow me.”

  “There’s something about that fellow,” Mertz grumbled as he looked over his menu at Declan’s departing back.

  Gigi unfurled her napkin and put it in her lap. Was Mertz jealous? she wondered. He still hadn’t asked her out, although he’d hinted often enough that he found her attractive. Maybe this would be the push he needed?

  Mertz slapped his menu closed. “I’m going to have the roast beef. At least there are things on this menu I recognize. Not like when it was that Eye-talian place.”

  A retort nearly burst from Gigi’s lips, but she quelled it in time.

  “What are you going to have?”

  “I don’t know. I had a big lunch, and it’s not nearly dinnertime yet.”

  “I didn’t have any lunch, and who knows if I’ll get dinner. The sorry lot of the policeman.”

  Gigi looked at him sharply.

  “You’re supposed to feel sorry for me.” Mertz made a comically sad face.

  “Don’t worry, I do, I do.” Gigi laughed.

  Mertz gave his order to the waitress, with Gigi settling on just a glass of sauvignon blanc. When the waitress turned away, they were left staring at each other.

  “Well,” Mertz said.

  Gigi’s nerves had ratcheted up like a tightened piano wire. She knew what she had to say, but she was loathe to say it. The silence lengthened until it became as uncomfortable as the chafing of a scratchy garment.

  “I found a prescription bottle in Derek’s room,” Gigi blurted out to break the awkward pause.

  Mertz closed his eyes briefly, and Gigi saw his hands clench on the table. “A prescription bottle?”

  Gigi kneaded the napkin in her lap as if it were bread dough. “Yes. For tranquilizers—probably the same ones that were found in Felicity Davenport’s system.”

  Mertz steepled his fingers on top of the table. “And how do you know about that?” There was the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

  Gigi looked down, trying to avoid his piercing blue eyes. “The maid, Anja, heard you talking to Mr. Winchel, and she told me about it.”

  Mertz shook his head back and forth slowly. “And you . . . swallowed . . . this information?”

  Gigi jerked upright. Was Mertz making fun of her? He didn’t believe she’d uncovered anything useful. She felt her Irish rising to epic proportions. “The prescription happened to be for Felicity, not Derek. And the bottle was empty.”

  So there, Gigi thought. Let him chew on that one for his meal.

  Mertz sat up straighter in his seat if that was even possible. “Did you touch it?”

  Gigi felt her telltale blush flood her face with color. “Yes,” she admitted.

  Mertz groaned as if he had been shot. “Figures.”

  “What do you mean by that!”

  But before he could answer, his phone buzzed. He smiled apologetically and pulled it from his pocket.

  Gigi fiddled with her fork, turning it over and over and over again.

  Mertz spoke quietly for a few moments and then ended the call. He tossed his napkin on the table and got up.

  “I’m sorry. Something critical has come up at the station, and I need to get back. Tell the owner”—he jerked his head in the direction of the bar where Declan was pulling beer—“to send the bill to me at the station.” He gave Gigi a crooked smile. “Let’s try this again sometime, okay?”

  Before Gigi could say another word, he was gone.

  She wondered if it was too late to cancel their order and leave, but before she could summon the waitress, Declan slid into the seat vacated by Mertz. He jerked a shoulder toward the door.

  “What happened? You guys have a fight?” His deep blue eyes were concerned.

  She shook her head. “He had an emergency.”

  “Mind if I join you, then? I haven’t eaten yet.”

  Gigi groaned inwardly. The last thing she wanted to do was to become any more ensnared by the charm of Declan McQuaid. He’d made it obvious that he was after a good time. With Gigi’s biological clock ticking so loudly, she couldn’t afford that sort of relationship. She wanted to enjoy her glass of wine in peace and then go home to her sweet, little cottage.

  But instead she said, “Sure.”

  The waitress put a glass of white wine in front of Gigi and slid a plate in front of Declan. Gigi glanced at Declan’s dish. A huge T-bone steak covered half of it, and the other half was hidden beneath a pile of thin, crispy fries.

  Declan turned out to be a very amusing companion, and more than once, Gigi found herself laughing out loud. They talked about everything from their Irish ancestors to his youth in England and hers in Massachusetts. Gigi was surprisingly disappointed when Declan finished his last bite of steak and it was obviously time to go.

  She glanced at her watch. She was glad she’d dropped Reg at home earlier in the day and had arranged for the young girl down the street to give him a walk and feed h
im his dinner. He expected to be fed promptly at six P.M., and Gigi swore he could tell time better than most humans. He did not brook any tardiness in having his bowl filled.

  Gigi said good night to Declan—an awkward moment where she wondered if she ought to stick out her hand to be shaken. She almost fainted when Declan pulled her close and gave her a kiss, European style, on both cheeks. Gigi knew those cheeks were burning red as she backed awkwardly out the front door.

  She got into her MINI and slammed the door shut. Would she never learn to play it cool and sophisticated? She was pulling out of the driveway when her cell phone rang. She eased over to a vacant spot at the curb and pulled the phone from her handbag.

  It was Mertz.

  “I want to apologize about dinner.”

  There was a long pause, and for a moment, Gigi thought they had been cut off, but then she heard Mertz clear his throat several times.

  “I hope we can do it again sometime. When I’m not on duty, and we won’t be interrupted.”

  Gigi gulped. Was Mertz . . . asking her out?

  She mumbled something incomprehensible and ended the call, pulling away from the curb with the car jerking as if she were driving a manual shift and not an automatic.

  How had she gone from zero men interested in her to two in less than half a day?

  • • •

  Gigi’s sleep was disjointed and fitful to the point where Reg jumped off the bed and made himself comfortable in his dog bed, sighing loudly. The faces of Declan and Mertz rotated through Gigi’s mind and dreams until she pulled the pillow over her head and groaned loudly. Men were such a distraction! Did she really need that in her life?

  She finally rolled out of bed and convinced a sleepy and reluctant Reg to go for a walk. Her cottage was within walking distance of Woodstone’s main street, and they headed in that direction. The sidewalks and street were deserted except for a delivery truck pulled up in front of the newsstand opposite Abigail’s. A man in a cap was wheeling a hand truck loaded with a stack of the day’s newspapers toward the store.