Allergic to Death (15 page)

Gigi was surprised. That didn’t sound like Carlo.

“She was someone real important,” Lara continued, as if she had read Gigi’s thoughts. “I don’t remember her name,
but Carlo seemed to think she might say bad things about Al Forno on account of it.” Lara shrugged. “It wasn’t my fault that’s the day the chef decided to overcook the chicken.”

“What did the woman look like?” Gigi righted her now empty water glass. The liquid had flooded Mertz’s plate, leaving his panini a soggy mess.

“Ordinary,” Lara replied snapping her gum. “Dark hair. About so tall.” She held a hand out roughly level with her own head. “Nothing special, you know?”

Gigi’s stomach plummeted. She had a pretty good idea who the woman might have been.

And if she were right, then Carlo was in big trouble.

Chapter 10

“Carlo a murderer?” Sienna squealed.

Gigi put a finger to her lips and looked around. “Shhh, not so loud.”

Sienna grabbed Gigi by the elbow and pulled her through a beaded curtain and into the storeroom of the Book Nook. She leaned against a towering stack of dusty volumes, chin in hand. “Okay, now tell me everything.”

Gigi explained about the waitress and Carlo getting all upset about her spilling water on the woman. “It must have been Martha,” Gigi declared.

“Not necessarily.” The books Sienna was leaning on began to wobble, and she grabbed them quickly. “It could have been any good customer that Carlo didn’t want to upset.”

“I wish that were true. But I know Carlo. He wouldn’t act like that for no reason. It had to have been someone very
important. And that someone had to have been Martha. She was probably planning to review Al Forno.”

Sienna frowned. “We don’t know that—”

“Believe me. I don’t want it to be Carlo, either,” Gigi said, wondering why she was trying so hard to convince Sienna of just that.

“You
are
falling for him!” Sienna thumped the stack of books, and they wobbled dangerously.

“I’m not,” Gigi said, but the denial felt halfhearted, even to her.

“You are.” Sienna clapped her hands. “We knew it. Everyone has been—”

“What?” Gigi demanded. “Has everyone been talking about me?”

“No, no, it’s just that anyone can see Carlo is crazy about you.” She glanced at her watch. “Come on. It’s teatime. Let’s sit down with a cup and figure out what we’re going to do.”

“What
are
we going to do?” Gigi followed her glumly to the coffee corner and collapsed on the sagging sofa while Sienna fiddled with the tea things.

“First, we have to find out if Martha planned to review Al Forno. Because if not, then it doesn’t matter what happened to this mystery woman Lara claims ate at Al Forno.”

“I can stop by the newspaper on my way home and talk to the editor,” Gigi interjected. “You’re right. If Martha had no intention of reviewing Al Forno, then Carlo had no reason to murder her.” Her tongue stuck a little on the word
murder
.

Sienna nodded as she poured hot water from the coffeemaker into two mugs.

“Carlo has been acting rather weird, though. Like yesterday,
when he was helping me with the lunches for Branston Foods—”

“What? You didn’t tell me that.” Sienna stamped her foot in mock offense and water sloshed over the side of one of the mugs.

“Don’t look at me like that. Nothing happened!” Gigi thought about that moment when she and Carlo had come face-to-face, pressed together in her tiny kitchen and how, just for a second, she had thought he might kiss her. She could feel heat coloring her cheeks, and it wasn’t from the hot tea.

Sienna smiled smugly and took a sip from her cup. “All the more reason to prove Carlo had nothing to do with this whole business.” She plopped down in the chair opposite Gigi, moved a stack of books out of the way and leaned back. “So what do you mean by
weird
?”

“Kind of jumpy. I mentioned something about Martha reviewing Al Forno, and he spilled dressing all over the counter.”

“Hmmm.” Sienna fiddled with one of the sequins scattered across her long, gauzy skirt. “But this woman the waitress told you about—it could have been anyone, right?”

“Lara said she had plain, short hair, not very tall, rather severe.”

Sienna snorted. “That describes half the population of Woodstone. It doesn’t prove it was Martha.”

“It had to have been. Why else would Carlo get so upset?”

Sienna turned her tea around and around in her hands. “True. You’re probably right. That’s not like Carlo.” She stared into her mug for several long seconds. “So, if that was Martha, and things didn’t go well with the dinner, chances are she would have been giving them a pretty bad
review. Assuming she’d been planning to review Al Forno in the first place.”

“It could have ruined them. Like that other place—”

“The Woodstone River Grill?”

Gigi nodded. “They closed shortly after Martha’s review appeared in the
Woodstone Times
.”

Sienna frowned. “Then that gives Carlo a pretty good motive for murder, doesn’t it?” She looked up at Gigi, her face pinched and her mouth drawn downward.

Gigi’s face mirrored Sienna’s. “I’m afraid so.”

Traffic crawled through downtown Woodstone. Gigi sat behind a double-parked Sweet Kleen laundry van and watched as the numbers on her dashboard clock ticked toward the hour. The offices of the
Woodstone Times
would be locking their doors any minute now, and she had no idea whether Devon Singleton would leave with the staff or not. There was no point in even blowing her horn, since the van’s driver was still inside the Woodstone Medical Group with his delivery.

And she had to get home, fill her Gourmet De-Lite containers, and get them delivered. Fortunately, dinner was cooking itself today—the slow cooker was a wonderful tool for producing low-fat dishes. Tonight it was a savory beef barbecue that she would serve over whole-grain buns with a low-fat coleslaw.

The thought of food made her feel slightly queasy. She couldn’t believe Carlo would murder anyone—not even the acerbic Martha. But if Martha had been planning to pan Al Forno, it really was quite possible. She wasn’t in love with Carlo, no matter what Sienna thought, but the idea of his not being there behind the counter of Al Forno as
usual made the area in the region of her heart ache in a strange way.

A sharp-faced woman in a long denim skirt and Birkenstock sandals was locking the front door to the
Woodstone Times
when Gigi got there, hot and breathless.

“Has Mr. Singleton gone?” she panted. The only parking place she’d been able to find was in the lot at the other end of High Street.

The woman paused in the process of putting her key in the lock and looked at Gigi. “We’re closed.” She turned the key decisively.

“Yes, I can see that, but I need to talk to Mr. Singleton. If he’s here.”

The woman gave a sigh that heaved her sloping shoulders up and down. “Suppose it’s okay.” She slid the key back into the lock, turned it and pushed the door open with one broad hip. “Devon,” she called through cupped hands. “Someone here wants to see you.”

“All right,” came the grumbled reply from somewhere down the hall.

“I’ll be going then.” The woman headed toward the glass-fronted door.

Gigi perched on a chair in front of the reception desk and flipped through a dog-eared copy of the previous day’s paper. Finally she heard footsteps shuffling down the hall. She realized she’d never met Devon Singleton before. She also realized she had no idea what she was going to say.

She’d been expecting an older man, Gigi realized, as Devon Singleton ambled into the reception area, running a hand through black hair that was already standing on end. He looked to be about twenty-five years old and was wearing low-slung jeans
with a rip at one knee and a faded white T-shirt upon which the red letters
BU
were faintly visible.

“Hey,” he said, and stood looking at Gigi, one foot on top of the other, one hand scratching his belly.

“Devon Singleton?”

He nodded and gave a grin that made him look even younger. “What’s up?” He tilted his head to the side and stifled a yawn with the back of his hand. “Sorry. I haven’t been getting much sleep. New baby.” And he grinned again.

“Congratulations.” When had newspaper editors become so young? Gigi wondered.

He gestured behind him. “Want to go sit in my office? I left my coffee on the desk.”

“Sure.” Gigi followed him down the hallway, where framed copies of the front pages of the
Woodstone Times
were hung every few feet.

Devon’s office was surprisingly neat, with an aerodynamic computer chair and an ergonomic keyboard. A Nerf ball hoop stood in one corner and a scrolling computerized picture frame was in a prominent position on his desk.

He picked up a cardboard container of coffee from the Woodstone Beanery and motioned toward a low-slung chair in front of his desk.

Gigi sat down, and her knees immediately jackknifed to a position under her chin. She hoped she didn’t look as stupid as she felt.

Devon threw himself into his chair and took a big gulp of his coffee. “So, what’s up?” He glanced at the picture frame, where a drooling baby was staring up at the camera.

Gigi fiddled with the strap of her purse. She couldn’t just come right out and ask him if Martha was planning to review Al Forno, could she? She cleared her throat. Devon was still staring at the rotating pictures of his new baby.
What if she pretended to have some connection to Al Forno? Devon wouldn’t be likely to know one way or the other.

“It’s about Al Forno, actually.”

Devon reluctantly peeled his eyes away from his newborn to glance at Gigi. “The place down the street?”

“You know it?”

“Sure.” He poked a finger through the hole in the knee of his jeans and scratched idly. “Can’t afford it now, though. Even if we could get a sitter.”

Gigi nodded and wet her lips.
Here goes nothing
, she thought. “I’m doing some freelance marketing for Al Forno.” She put both hands behind her back and crossed her fingers. She still couldn’t tell even a tiny white lie without thinking of the nuns back in grade school.

Devon nodded, and his head swiveled back to the baby pictures.

“And I’m wondering…” Gigi cleared her throat again. “Are there any plans for the
Woodstone Times
to review Al Forno?”

Devon tore his gaze from the baby pictures long enough to look slightly startled. “I guess you didn’t hear about Martha. Martha Bernhardt. She’d been reviewing for the
Woodstone Times
for, like, forever—”

“Yes. I heard about what happened. Terrible, just terrible.” Gigi tried to look suitably sad. She really was sad, but if she started to think about it now, she wouldn’t be able to concentrate. “Are there any plans for anyone to take her place? Not that anyone could, of course…”

Devon grunted.

“And maybe they would consider reviewing my client’s restaurant.”

“It’s funny…” Devon began, when his attention was caught by a particularly adorable baby picture that had
rotated to the screen. It changed again, back to the beginning this time, and he returned his attention to Gigi.

“What’s funny?” she prompted encouragingly.

“Well, Martha told me she was planning for her next review to be Al Forno. As a matter of fact, she said she was really looking forward to it.”

“So Martha was planning on reviewing Al Forno.”

“Apparently.” Gigi sighed. “And now she’s dead. Murdered.” She choked the word out.

Sienna rolled a wide swath of white paint across a piece of scenery intended to suggest part of the elegant drawing room that was the setting for the first act of
Truth or Dare
. She had a smudge of paint on the end of her nose and a streak of it through her golden hair.

Gigi sat with her back against a large armoire that would be wheeled into place during the third act while Sienna worked on her piece of scenery. She’d volunteered to help in order to keep busy during Oliver’s increasing absences.

“Do you really think she was murdered because of that? I mean, a bad review isn’t life or death.”