Steamed to Death (20 page)

Gigi stood up slowly and very carefully put some experimental pressure on her ankle. It wasn’t as bad as she had feared. She managed to hobble toward the foot of the stairs. She was about to begin ascending when the cellar door slammed shut.

“Hey!”

There was no answer.

Gigi yelled again and again, but there was no response. She started to feel her way up the stairs, making her way one leg at a time like a child. The darkness felt thick and menacing, but she was too mad to be scared. She was going to give Anja a piece of her mind. What did she mean by shutting the door?

Gigi finally got to the top and swept her hands across the door until she found the handle. She turned and pushed.

Nothing.

She twisted the handle, and it turned easily enough. The door must be stuck. She had noticed that it was often left slightly ajar. The frame must have swelled. She put both fists against it and shoved. She thought she felt it give the slightest bit. She put up her hands and shoved again, this time yelling as loudly as she could.

Suddenly the door gave way, and Gigi flew forward into the kitchen and landed on her knees.

“Oh.”

“Sorry about that.” Vanessa smiled and took a sip from the cocktail glass in her hand. “I saw the door was open, and I shut it. I didn’t realize anyone was down there.”

Gigi dusted herself off. “Couldn’t you hear me yelling?” She hobbled to the counter, wincing with each step. She had some ibuprofen in her purse. She’d take it right away.

“What were you doing down there anyway?”

“I needed some brandy for the dessert.”

Vanessa raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow. “I’ll get you some from the library.”

Gigi heard Vanessa’s heels tapping down the hallway, and she reappeared in the kitchen a few moments later holding a bottle of Rémy Martin. “Will this do?”

“That’s fine.” Gigi took the bottle and plunked it down on the counter. She had the momentary urge to twist off the cap and take a big swig. She couldn’t believe Vanessa hadn’t heard her calling from the basement.

Vanessa trailed off, and Gigi got to work on the brandy caramel sauce for the apples. She really needed to get her ankle looked at. It had started to swell and was throbbing in spite of the painkillers she’d taken. She managed to hobble around the kitchen, stuffing the apples with brown sugar and butter and popping them into the oven to bake. Then she poured the container of heavy cream into a saucepan and brought it to a boil on top of the stove. She added the sugar and then after a few minutes, removed it from the heat and stirred in the brandy, vanilla and butter. She would let it cool, and Anja could reheat it later when the guests were ready for dessert.

Gigi paused for a moment and leaned her arms on the counter. How could she have injured herself? She had several new clients starting in a few days, and she would have to be completely on her game. She stared at her ankle, which looked like an overstuffed sausage with streaks of color the shade of an eggplant. How long before she was running around as usual? Was this the third bit of bad luck Anja had alluded to?

Gigi grabbed the bottle of brandy by the neck to return it to the library where it belonged.

She made her painful way down the hall, favoring her good leg heavily. The door to the library was half-closed, and a splash of light illuminated the jewel tones of the Oriental throw rug in the hall.

Gigi heard voices—male and female. She recognized the woman’s voice as Vanessa’s, but the man’s, she wasn’t so sure. It didn’t sound like Winchel. The voice became louder, and Gigi stopped short just shy of the door. Obviously an argument was in progress, and she didn’t want to interrupt.

Her ankle was really throbbing now, and she leaned against the wall to rest. The man raised his voice even more, and Gigi realized it was Don. She held her breath as she listened. Had Don found out about Vanessa and Winchel?

Vanessa’s voice rose to match his and came clearly through the partially open door. “That part was mine.”

It sounded as if she stamped her foot for emphasis. What a performance, Gigi thought.

Don’s tone was wheedling. “I’m sorry, pet, but there was nothing I could do. The network had their heart set on bringing in Graciela for the lead. It’s already in rewrites. They’ll be bringing her on as Felicity’s long-lost twin sister.”

Vanessa groaned. “I deserve the lead, you know that. And now this!”

Gigi peered around the edge of the door. Vanessa’s face was red and blotchy. Anger certainly didn’t become her. Don rose from the sofa and put a hand on her arm, but she shook it off.

“You’re my manager. Can’t you do something?”

Don held up his hands in surrender. “There’s nothing I can do. The decision has been made. They wanted a name for the part.”

“A name?” Vanessa exploded. “What am I? Chopped liver? I’ve been on the show for three years. I have legions of fans. Legions!”

Vanessa paced in front of the sofa, her fists clenched, face tight. She whirled around to confront Don. “I would think you would be a little more interested,” she said softly, her face inches from Don’s. “After all, you know what I did to get this part.”

There was a noise behind Gigi, and she moved as quickly as she could away from the door. But she had heard enough.

She was now more convinced than ever that Vanessa had killed Felicity.

Chapter 18

Gigi’s ankle was slightly less swollen on Sunday morning, and she was pleased to be able to put more pressure on it. The doctor in the emergency room had confirmed that it was merely strained and nothing more serious. She was relieved to know that she’d be walking normally again in a day or two. Winchel had asked her to help prepare the luncheon after Derek’s funeral on Monday, and she was still working on the meals for Branston Foods. She would spend the day with her foot up and hopefully all would soon be well.

Gigi felt fortunate that it was her left ankle that had sustained the strain, making it possible for her to still drive. Monday morning, she bundled Reg into the car with her—Tabitha had been moping about the house since Felicity’s death, and Gigi hoped that some canine companionship would cheer her up.

A strong wind had swept the sky clear of clouds and added an icy edge to the atmosphere. Gigi shivered as she got behind the wheel, and she cranked up the heat in the MINI. Reg took his accustomed seat and immediately pressed his nose to the glass, watching the passing scenery, his ears up and alert.

Gigi had the dress she’d bought at Abigail’s hanging in the backseat. There was no point in keeping it. Mertz hadn’t said anything about another date for dinner, so she had decided to return it.

First, though, she needed some supplies from Bon Appétit. Gigi drove slowly through downtown Woodstone, slamming on her brakes when she noticed the tail lights of a dark blue Volvo wagon go on, followed by the left-turn signal. Gigi waited patiently as a blond-haired woman with two children strapped into the backseat maneuvered her car out of the space.

Gigi made the sign of the cross and pulled up parallel to the opening in the long row of cars. If that woman had been able to park her wagon in the space, Gigi certainly ought to be able to shoehorn the MINI into it. She crossed her fingers and began turning the wheel, but almost immediately she realized she was coming in at the wrong angle. Reg’s head spun around to look at her when they bumped the curb.

Gigi pulled out and tried a second time. She was closer, but the front of the car stuck out at an embarrassing angle. She couldn’t possibly leave it that way. She was pulling out for the third time when she noticed a shadow out of the corner of her left eye. Someone had come up to the car and was blocking the reflection from the sun.

For a moment Gigi had the absurd thought that if she didn’t look, the person would go away. But she knew that wasn’t going to happen. She felt her face burning as she turned her head to see who it was.

“Oh,” Gigi said out loud. She fought the urge to sink down into her seat, out of view. Instead, she rolled down her window, put on her most insouciant face and gave her biggest smile.

Mertz leaned an arm on the car and bent down to the level of Gigi’s window. “It looks like you could use some help.”

Gigi smiled back with grim determination. “No, thank you. I can handle it.”

Mertz peered at the space and appeared to be assessing the angle of the car. “I learned this from my father. Unfortunately I blew a stop sign and failed my driving test anyway.” He scowled. “I had to take the bus when everyone else was driving to school.” He shook his head at the memory and smiled. “Somehow I survived. But it was the longest six weeks of my life until I was able to take the test again.” He pointed toward the curb. “The key is to aim toward the rear corner of the space.”

Gigi glanced into her rearview mirror. Check. She was aiming in the right direction.

“Now here’s the trick. When your front seat aligns with the rear bumper of the car in front of you, stop and turn the steering wheel one revolution to the left. That will straighten your tires. Then keep backing until your right fender clears the fender of the car in front of you.”

Gigi swallowed her tongue and her pride and did as he suggested. The MINI slid as easily into the spot as Cinderella’s foot had into the glass slipper.

“That’s all there is to it.”

Gigi’s mind was whirling. She was trying to memorize what Mertz had told her for future reference, all the while attempting to suppress her feelings of triumph.

“Thank you. That seems to have done the trick. I’ll make a note to remember it.” Gigi was all briskness as she exited the car.

There was only one problem. Mertz continued to block her way.

“Excuse me.” She gave him her most winning smile. “I’m going over there.” She pointed across the street to the red, white and green sign of Bon Appétit.

Mertz took a deep breath and momentarily closed his eyes. “I’m so sorry about the other night. But in detective work, dead bodies trump dinner dates every time. I’d like to make it up to you. Tomorrow night? Please?”

Gigi felt as if the breath had been sucked from her body. She nodded yes.

Mertz nodded back and continued down the sidewalk toward the brick façade of the Woodstone Police Department.

Gigi glanced briefly into the backseat, then looked at Reg. “Guess I’ll be keeping that dress after all.”

Reg grinned at her, Westie style, his pink tongue bobbing up and down with each breath.

• • •

After a brief discussion with Winchel, Gigi had decided a buffet was the easiest way to serve the crowd that would descend on the house after Derek’s funeral. There would be platters of cold meats—Gigi had already baked the ham, a turkey breast and the roast beef—along with a selection of salads, cheeses, rolls and breads. She had decided on a warm potato salad garnished with chopped bacon; a beet, goat cheese and arugula salad; and a quinoa salad that could double as a vegetarian main course.

Anja was setting up the dining room when Gigi arrived. Gigi unclipped Reg’s leash, and he made a beeline for the hallway where Tabitha was stretched out in a sunbeam. Together they raced the length of the hall several times before skidding into the kitchen for a big gulp of water from Tabitha’s metal bowl. Gigi expected them to resume their race, but instead they both curled up on the rug in front of the kitchen fireplace.

By the time Gigi had peeled her tenth potato, she was wishing that Alice was still available to help. Fortunately, she had plenty of time before the guests arrived. And dessert was coming from the Take the Cake Bakery—a selection of bite-size confections.

The slamming of a car door heralded the arrival of the first guests. Gigi whisked off her apron and made a half-hearted stab at neatening her hair. Anja was already stationed by the front door, holding it open for the man and woman in black suits who were coming up the walk.

Within twenty minutes the dining room was crowded with people. Winchel was walled off in the corner by two grave-looking men in expensively tailored charcoal suits.
More business associates?
Gigi wondered. Couldn’t they let him be even at his own son’s funeral?

Vanessa hovered nearby, but as far as Gigi could tell, she hadn’t managed to get any closer to Winchel than that. Alex and Don were on the other side of the room talking, but Gigi noticed Don’s glance stray toward Vanessa every couple of minutes.

Several other members of the cast and crew of
For Better or For Worse
had made a second trip to Connecticut for the funeral. Gigi edged her way through them with a fresh platter of meats. She set it on the sideboard and removed the spent platter to take back to the kitchen. Technically, Anja was supposed to manage the serving herself, but Gigi didn’t have any problems with lending her a hand. Her ankle was still a little sore but considerably better than it had been.

Gigi was backing through the swinging door into the butler’s pantry when a young, blond woman approached her. She looked like a less-polished version of Vanessa and was about the same age. Gigi thought she remembered seeing her at Felicity’s funeral.

“Excuse me?” she said in a broad southern accent.

Gigi paused, one hip against the door.

“Can you tell me where the powder room is?”

“There’s one in the hall—”

The blonde made a face. “Someone is in there and has been for ages already. Isn’t there someplace else . . .”

“There is one up on the third floor. You can take the back stairs.”

“Great.”

She followed Gigi down the hallway toward the kitchen.

“It’s so much cooler in here.” The blonde fanned her flushed face with her hand. “It must be over a hundred in the living room.” She was wearing a knitted black dress with a pair of over-the-knee suede platform boots and had a fake fur boa wound around her neck.

The woman stopped and looked around the kitchen unabashedly. “This is some place.” She turned to Gigi and stuck out her hand. “I’m Tammy, by the way.”

“Gigi.” They shook hands. “Are you here with—”

“The soap people? Yes.” Tammy pursed her lips in displeasure. Her head swiveled as she looked all around the kitchen. “Vanessa and me, we go way back. Of course, she wasn’t Vanessa Huff then.”