Steamed to Death

by Peg Cochran

  Sienna was picking Gigi up to make her early morning deliveries, and then dropping her off at Alice’s. Alice still wasn’t able to drive, so she was loaning Gigi her car until the MINI was repaired. In exchange, Gigi was going to ferry Alice to and from the police station so she could continue her part-time job, albeit with one arm. Alice was positive she would be able to handle it, and Gigi knew how important the income was to her.

  Gigi was looking out the window when Sienna arrived. Sienna struggled to get her stomach around the steering wheel and when she’d finally extricated herself, stood for a moment with her hand on her back. She was panting slightly.

  Gigi had the door open before Sienna even mounted the steps. Her normally fair complexion was even paler than usual, and the circles under her eyes had deepened to a charcoal hue.

  “Are you okay?” Gigi asked in concern.

  “Sure.” Sienna stopped on the top step to catch her breath. “Other than that I’m the size of an elephant and about as graceful. I can’t breathe, I can’t sleep, and I haven’t seen my toes in a month.”

  It sounded horrendous, and Gigi was surprised to feel a pang of actual jealousy. Would she find her own Mr. Right soon enough to have a baby herself?

  “Only a few more weeks to go, and I can’t wait.” Sienna tried to bend down to scratch Reg’s head, but it was impossible. “I wish we didn’t have this huge cloud over our heads. That’s not making it any easier.”

  “I’m sure the police will find the killer soon, and you and Oliver can relax.”

  Sienna sighed. “I hope so.” She looked at Gigi. “Ready to go?”

  “Just a sec. Let me get my meals.” Gigi looked down at Reg. “Sorry, bud, but you’ll have to stay home this time. I’ll be back before too long.”

  • • •

  Alice’s decade-old Taurus was parked in the driveway when Gigi got there. Gigi looked at it in dismay. How she missed her MINI! But the garage had assured her they would perform the repairs as quickly as possible.

  Gigi turned and waved good-bye as Sienna backed out of the driveway, and then she started up the path to Alice’s front door. Flowers on either side of the path had succumbed to the early frost and were lying gray and limp in the garden. Gigi knew Alice was an avid gardener, and it must be killing her to not be able to get out and put her precious plants to bed for the winter.

  Alice was ready and waiting when Gigi rang the bell.

  “How is Stacy?” Gigi asked tentatively. She didn’t know if it would upset Alice more if she asked about Stacy . . . or if she didn’t.

  Alice shrugged and opened the hall coat closet. “I don’t know.” Her voice echoed strangely with her head halfway in the closet. “I’ve called over there a couple of times, and she’s never home.” Alice handed Gigi a tan, belted raincoat, and Gigi held it out for her. “Unless she sees it’s me on the caller ID and doesn’t pick up.” Alice was slightly breathless from struggling into her coat.

  Gigi held open the front door.

  “I’m dying to get out of the house,” Alice said as she handed Gigi the keys to the Taurus. “If I watch any more daytime television, my brain will rot. I did catch a couple of episodes of For Better or For Worse, though. Reruns. I’ll be curious to see how they deal with Felicity’s absence.”

  Gigi held the passenger door open for Alice.

  Alice got in and grabbed for the seat belt and missed. “Oh, I hate being one-armed!”

  Gigi stuck her head in the car and helped Alice fasten the belt. “I wonder if they’re bringing someone else in to take over the part.”

  “Could be. I know Vanessa was hoping they would make her role bigger.”

  Gigi got behind the wheel, and Alice looked at her with concern. “How about you? How are you doing? I heard about your accident.”

  Gigi shrugged it off. “Nothing worse than a couple of bruises.” She pulled out the newspaper clipping she’d found and had tucked in her purse. “Do you know anything about this?” She handed it to Alice.

  Gigi waited as Alice read the short piece.

  “I do remember that. At the time, a lot of people thought the maid”—she gestured toward the grainy black-and-white photo in the clipping—“had gotten a bum deal. It was just as likely that Derek was the one stealing the money from Felicity’s handbag.”

  Gigi nodded slowly. She should have thought of that given Derek’s history. “That woman looks so familiar, but I don’t know why.”

  “You weren’t here at the time, so you couldn’t possibly have known her.”

  Traffic on High Street was fairly light, and before Gigi knew it, they were pulling up in front of the Woodstone Police Station. The geraniums the Woodstone Garden Club had planted out front were shriveled and wilted.

  Alice tut-tutted when she saw them. “They should have swapped those out for some mums weeks ago. If I weren’t being held hostage by this thing”—she gestured toward her casted arm—“I’d do it myself.”

  Gigi waited while Alice got her purse and lunch tote together and exited the car. She watched as Alice mounted the front steps. Suddenly the image of Sienna and the dark circles under her eyes flashed across Gigi’s mind. She thought of the blackmail note she’d found but had yet to show to the police. She really should bring it to Mertz. Even though he would most likely pooh-pooh it. Unfortunately, now she was feeling peculiarly shy about seeing him. That kiss he’d given her . . . while only a peck, it had signaled . . . something.

  She pulled away from the curb, drove the several dozen feet to the Woodstone Police Station parking lot and pulled in. Gigi found a space in the last row, parked and turned off the engine. She sat for a minute, giving herself a pep talk. She had no right withholding this evidence from Mertz if it could in any way help find Felicity’s murderer. She would have to gather up all of her courage to go in and present it to him. He could dismiss its importance all he liked, but she would have done her duty.

  Maybe he won’t be in his office, Gigi hoped as she got out of the car and locked the doors.

  Gigi approached the woman behind the bulletproof glass in reception. She dutifully dialed Mertz’s extension, and they both waited while she listened to the buzzing of the telephone. Gigi crossed her fingers behind her back. She really hoped Mertz wasn’t in. Really. It would be so much easier to leave the note for him to look at later, after she was gone. Long gone.

  It was not to be. The woman led Gigi down the hall to Mertz’s office. He was on the telephone but gestured with his chin toward the empty chair in front of his desk. Gigi perched on the edge. She wished she hadn’t eaten breakfast—nerves were gnawing at her stomach.

  She looked at Mertz out of the corner of her eye, and he looked nervous, too. That made her feel slightly better.

  Mertz finally hung up the phone, and his normally serious face broke into a smile. “You’re looking good. I mean . . .” The color Gigi suspected she’d seen in his face earlier deepened. “I mean, you look none the worse for wear . . . I mean . . . after the accident.” He seemed to realize he was digging himself in deeper and suddenly became quiet.

  The silence lengthened, and Gigi grabbed for her purse. She extricated the note she’d found in Felicity’s bathroom and held it toward Mertz as if it were a sacred offering.

  “What’s this?” He frowned as he took the ragged piece of paper.

  “I found that on the floor in Felicity Davenport’s third-floor bathroom.”

  Mertz’s eyebrows shot up.

  “I wanted to freshen up, and I didn’t want to use the first-floor powder room because Winchel had guests, and I knew there was a bathroom on the . . .” Gigi realized she was babbling and ground to a halt.

  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.