Iced to Death (11 page)

Gigi barely remembered leaving the Woodstone Police Station. She knew she said good-bye to Mertz and even discussed their plans for Valentine’s Day, but her mouth felt paralyzed, and there was a strange rushing sound in her ears. She didn’t think Mertz had noticed anything awry. She hoped not. Although he did keep looking at her with an expression that combined wariness and concern.

Tiffany and Declan. The words rang in her ears as she walked to her car, her coat pulled closed against the icy February wind. As soon as she slid into the driver’s seat of the MINI Reg jumped into her lap and began to lick her face, as if he sensed her distress.

What was she going to tell Pia? Or, more accurately, how was she going to persuade Pia to turn her affections elsewhere and move on to someone else? When Pia fell, she fell hard. And by all accounts, she’d fallen hard for Declan. They hadn’t done more than have a few cozy chats together, but Gigi knew that to Pia, that was tantamount to declaring undying love. She remembered the first time her mother had taken the two of them swimming. Gigi couldn’t remember where the pool was—probably at a friend’s house. Pia had never been in the water before, but had jumped straight into the deep end with no hesitation. She was the same way when it came to romance.

Gigi thought about what Mertz had told her. She still didn’t believe Declan had murdered Bradley. He might not have been telling Gigi the truth about their argument the night of the party, but she was certain he’d been telling the truth when he’d insisted he had had nothing to do with Bradley’s death.

Gigi drove home slowly, her brain whirling furiously. She had to do something—bring Mertz some new evidence, a new fact—anything that would move the case in another direction.

“What are we going to do?” she said to Reg as she opened the front door. She stuck her hands in her coat pockets to retrieve the gloves she’d stuffed in them—she’d been too stunned to remember to wear them on the ride home. She pulled them out and put them on the top shelf of the hall closet. She was shutting the door when she noticed something on the floor wink in the light from the foyer.

Gigi bent down to see what it was. It was a tiny silver object—she was able to pick it up on the tip of her middle finger. She held it to the light. It was a sequin. Where on earth had that come from?

Then she remembered the night of Bradley’s murder. She was crossing the parking lot when she saw something glinting in the splash of light from the lamp. A sequin. She’d mindlessly put it in her pocket and forgotten about it. It had stayed there until now when she pulled her glove out, bringing the sequin along with it.

The sequin had obviously come from a woman’s garment. She remembered Tiffany Morse’s dress the night of the party—short, tight and black with a row of sequins adorning the plunging neckline. Had Tiffany stolen Barbara’s wrap, used it to cover her own dress and attacked Bradley with the ice pick?

Gigi felt stirrings of excitement. Maybe she was onto something. But why would Tiffany murder Bradley? He was her mentor and had nominated her for partner at Simpson and West. She had no reason to hate him. Unless there was something Gigi didn’t know about? She would have to find out. Madeline might have some information, or maybe even Gigi’s other client Penelope Lawson. Her husband worked at Simpson and West and must know Tiffany Morse as well.

Gigi would get her Gourmet De-Lite meals ready and she’d be sure to stop at Penelope’s last so they would have time to chat. The woman had often tried to engage Gigi in conversation before, but Gigi had always been in a hurry to finish her deliveries. This time she would linger and find out what Penelope had to say.

Gigi passed the site of the new gourmet shop again as she drove through downtown Woodstone, but there was still no discernible activity. She could see Madison and her bright pink-streaked hair through the window of the Book Nook, and the clerk who had helped her pick out picture hooks was standing in front of Gibson’s Hardware clearing some snow away from the front door. Gigi averted her head as she passed Declan’s Grille. She didn’t want to think about Declan right now.

She finished her deliveries in record time, cutting off anyone who wanted her to linger and chat, and was ringing the bell of Penelope Lawson’s oversize center hall Colonial ahead of schedule.

Penelope opened the door and smiled when she saw Gigi. She shifted Hughie to her other hip and held her hand out for her Gourmet De-Lite container. Gigi hesitated on the doorstep. Normally Penelope tried to lure her into the foyer at least. Had Gigi made it too plain that she didn’t have time for conversation?

Luckily, Penelope switched Hughie—his parents were convinced he was going to be a linebacker someday—back to her right side and motioned toward the entranceway. “Want to come in a minute? That wind has picked up something fierce, and I have a pot of tea brewing.”

“Sure.” Gigi stepped inside.

Penelope looked surprised. Normally Gigi was in too much of a hurry to stop and chat. She led the way down the center hall toward the kitchen at the back of the house.

The kitchen was huge, with a granite center island opening to a family room with an L-shaped slipcovered sofa that Gigi recognized from the cover of the Pottery Barn catalogue. A brick gas fireplace dominated one wall and a large, flat-screen television hung above it. The carpet was strewn with children’s toys although the children were not in sight.

Penelope must have noticed Gigi’s glance. “The au pair is giving Mason and Ava their baths so they’ll be ready for bed when George gets home, and we can have a quiet moment together.” She deposited the enormous Hughie in a combination bouncy seat/play station that was pulled close to the kitchen table. She put the Gourmet De-Lite container on the counter. “George is bringing home take-out for himself. Normally, I’d be tempted by what he chooses, but your food is so good that I don’t even mind being on a diet.” She smiled at Gigi.

Gigi smiled back.

Penelope got out two mugs and plopped a tea bag in each. “Earl Grey okay with you?”

“Sure.”

Gigi glanced at Hughie, who was happily bouncing in his seat and pushing a button that made “Farmer in the Dell” play over and over again. She didn’t know how Penelope could stand it, but she seemed oblivious to the racket.

Penelope poured boiling water into their mugs and replaced the kettle on the very expensive Viking stove that dominated one wall and that, based on various things Penelope had said, was rarely used for doing much more than heating water. She plunked a bowl of sugar and a pitcher of milk on the table and slid into the seat opposite Gigi.

“I was so sorry to have missed Bradley Simpson’s party,” she said, idly dunking her tea bag into her mug of hot water. “We found some spots on Mason’s stomach, and George was afraid he was coming down with chicken pox. He had the vaccine, of course, but apparently it’s not foolproof.” She took a sip of her tea. “Of course, it didn’t really matter since I didn’t have a thing to wear. Nothing fits yet, although I’m getting there.” She smiled reassuringly at Gigi. “Having a baby really does wreak havoc on your figure. I’ve told George, no more. He’s made an appointment at the doctor’s for a . . . you know.” She hid her face in her mug of tea.

Gigi nodded reassuringly.

“Anyway,” Penelope continued on, much like a locomotive after a brief stop at a railroad crossing, “I was sorry to miss the party. Although not what happened afterward.” She gave an exaggerated shiver. “I haven’t seen much of anything in the papers lately. Do they know what happened? Who did it?”

“No, we don’t know anything yet. The police are still investigating.”

Penelope leaned forward and wiped a blob of drool from Hughie’s chin with her napkin.

“I assume that Tiffany Morse was at the party?”

“Yes,” Gigi managed to slip the word in before Penelope was off and running again.

Penelope made a face. “I can’t stand that woman. She made a big play for George at one point. Of course I was out to here with Ava.” She indicated the distance with her arms in front of her stomach. “I felt unattractive enough as it was. It was the firm’s big Christmas party and Tiffany was dressed in something all slinky red and cut to here.” Penelope pointed to a spot on her chest. “I could barely squeeze into this heinous black velvet tent I’d found in the maternity department. Besides, my feet were so swollen I had to wear a pair of flip-flops even though it was the dead of winter! Of course George had just bought me this divine diamond and pearl necklace to wear, so that kind of helped.” Penelope paused momentarily to sip her tea. “She only went after George because it was his turn.”

“What?”

Hughie let out a cry, and Penelope put her foot on his bouncy chair, setting it in motion and aborting the full wail that he was clearly contemplating.

“Tiffany made her way through all the men in the firm. She wanted to become the first female partner of Simpson and West.”

“I’ve heard that,” Gigi said as Penelope took a breath.

“They’ve only recently begun hiring women associates. Old man West is a misogynistic so-and-so, and he held out as long as possible. But Tiffany was determined to crack the glass ceiling, even if it meant seducing every man in the firm. Probably even old man West.” Penelope laughed. “That desiccated old fossil.”

“I understand that she and Bradley . . .”

“Yes.” Penelope nodded. “Bradley fell for her act. Everyone knew, George said. They’d come back from a three-hour lunch, and Tiffany always made sure her hair was just that little bit mussed up and her clothes a teensy bit rumpled so everyone would know.” Penelope snorted. “All that work, and it didn’t do her a bit of good.”

Gigi sat up straighter. “Why? What do you mean, it didn’t do her any good?”

“She didn’t make partner. Bradley told her right before his big party. George said they had a terrific fight about it. Everyone in the office could hear them. She even threatened to kill Bradley, George said.”

• • •

Gigi was so excited by the news from Penelope that she had to concentrate extra hard on her drive home. Her hands shook on the wheel, and more than once, she found herself inching a little too close to the curb. So Tiffany wasn’t making partner after all. She’d put her whole life into gaining that position—including romancing Bradley Simpson and, if Penelope were to be believed, every man in power at Simpson and West short of old man West himself. She must have been absolutely furious when she found out. Gigi thought back to the day she’d delivered Madeline’s lunch and Tiffany had come stomping through the lobby. Had that been when Bradley told her?

And her big show at the engagement party, flirting with all the young men while Bradley was forced to look on. Payback time?

But it hadn’t been enough. She wanted real revenge for not getting what she wanted. She could have stolen the ice pick as easily as anyone and then waited until Bradley stepped outside. Barbara had already gone home. Tiffany knew he would be alone, and the other guests would have all departed. It was the perfect setup.

The sequin Gigi found in the parking lot must have come from Tiffany’s outfit. She would have to take it to Mertz tomorrow. He would be able to obtain a warrant, or whatever was necessary, to pick up Tiffany’s dress and see if it matched. Gigi’s car slid slightly on the ice, and she forced her attention back to the road and her driving. She was relieved to pull into her own driveway, but her heart sank when she saw Pia’s VW van pulled up to the garage. She had forgotten all about her.

How was she going to break it to her that Declan was seeing someone else?

Gigi sighed and pushed open the back door. She closed her eyes in dismay. Wet, slushy footprints led from the mudroom to the kitchen table, the sink was piled with dishes and crumbs were scattered across the counter. Gigi felt her fists clench. She was going to have to have a word with Pia soon. Either Pia got her own place, or she learned to keep Gigi’s the way Gigi wanted it.

Pia’s coat was draped over a kitchen chair, and her scarf trailed off the end of one of the stools that surrounded the island. Had Pia gone to bed early? Gigi noticed the lights were on in the living room. Most likely Pia was in there.

Gigi’s sister was in front of the fireplace, poking at some embers that were giving off more smoke than fire. She whirled around when she heard Gigi.

“Hey. I’m just getting a fire going. It was awfully cold in here.”

Gigi bit her lip. “Yes, I can see that. Did you open the damper?”

Pia gave her a questioning look.

Gigi reached into the fireplace and pushed the damper open. “That opens up the chimney to let the smoke out. And when it’s closed, it keeps cold air from coming into the room.”

“No wonder it got so smoky in here.” Pia waved her hand in front of her face.

She had a mug of cocoa on the coffee table. Gigi unobtrusively slid a coaster under it.

Pia looked at her sister. “You know, I think you work too hard. You need to take it easy and enjoy life more.”

Gigi snorted. “I’d love to, but there’s this little thing called money.”

Pia curled up on the sofa, her legs crossed in the lotus position. She was wearing black leggings and a red-and-white-striped sweater. “Didn’t you make a bundle selling your stuff to that outfit? What’s its name?”

“Branston Foods? No, I didn’t make a bundle unfortunately. Enough though, and I’m really grateful. It allowed me to buy my cottage, but there’s nothing left over, so I need to keep working.”