Steamed to Death (31 page)

Gigi backed out of the cubicle. They didn’t need her there right now. She felt a pang of jealousy and wondered when she’d find someone to be there for her.

The thought that Mertz had shown up at just the moment she needed him crossed her mind, and she smiled to herself.

Gigi headed back to her car. Reg lifted his head briefly when she opened the door, but by the time they were out of the lot, he was back to sleep again.

Gigi was extremely grateful when she rounded the corner and her cottage came into view. She thought about soaking her aching bones in a nice, hot bath but decided that she’d probably crawl straight into bed instead.

The message light on her phone was blinking. Gigi hesitated with her finger over the flashing button. What could be so important that it couldn’t wait till tomorrow? But maybe Oliver had called? Maybe the baby had arrived, jet propelled, while Gigi was on her way home?

She pushed play. A deep unfamiliar voice came through the speaker. It was Victor Branston. A chill swept Gigi from her head to her toes. Was this going to be good news or bad?

• • •

Branston Foods was located several miles outside of Woodstone in a small industrial park. The building was a long, low rectangle with a large parking lot in the rear. Gigi pulled Alice’s Taurus into one of the spaces marked
Visitor
and got out.

Branston hadn’t revealed much in his voice mail message—just that his secretary would be in touch about a meeting. Gigi had e-mailed him the set of recipes she’d created, and his test kitchen was going to assess their suitability for freezing. Gigi crossed her fingers.
Please let this be good news.

The lobby of Branston Foods was spare, with floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out onto a patch of shriveled grass, a few small trees and a deserted-looking park bench. The furniture was utilitarian, and there was a coat rack behind the receptionist’s desk.

Gigi gave her name and was told to wait. She eased onto a fake leather chair and tried to calm the butterflies in her stomach. Barely two minutes later, a door to the left opened, and a woman came out. She was wearing dark slacks and a turtleneck, and her gray-streaked brown hair was cut short.

“Gigi?” She smiled and held out her hand.

Gigi hoped her own hand wasn’t sweating, and she was tempted to wipe it on her coat before extending it.

She followed the woman through the door and into a carpeted corridor lined with open doors. Various plaques hung from the walls, as did a large gold-framed picture of Victor Branston.

The woman led Gigi into a small anteroom with a desk, computer and what Gigi thought was transcription equipment. A large, fake ficus tree stood in the corner. Another framed portrait of Victor Branston dominated one wall. The woman tapped lightly on a door at the rear of the office, then cracked it open and stuck her head around the edge.

“Miss Fitzgerald is here.”

“Send her in, then.”

Gigi recognized the voice as Victor Branston’s. She sent up a quick prayer and entered.

“Gigi!” Branston said warmly, coming out from behind his desk to shake Gigi’s hand. He clapped her on the shoulder. “I appreciate your coming today.” He led her toward two armchairs arranged around a low wooden table. “Please. Have a seat.”

Gigi settled into one of the chairs. The seat was very deep, and she had to move forward a bit to avoid having her feet dangle off the floor. Branston sprawled in the other one, one leg crossed casually over the other, revealing a peek at his diamond-patterned socks. He had the look of a top executive—silver gray hair cut just so, expensively tailored suit, autocratic nose—but Gigi had always found him to be surprisingly warm despite his position.

She tried to gauge his thoughts from his expression, but like any good CEO, he kept them well hidden behind a noncommittal exterior.

“Well.” Branston clapped his hands together and rubbed them briskly. “Our test kitchen has checked out all your delicious recipes, and if you’re in agreement, we’d like to get going right away on a line of Gigi’s Gourmet De-Lite frozen meals.”

Gigi’s heart, which felt as if it had stopped, started again with a giant
thud
. She felt the grin that broke out across her face. So much for playing her cards close to her vest.

“Wonderful,” was all she could manage.

“Some of the recipes will have to be adapted, of course, for the freezing process.” He held up a hand. “Nothing that would change the taste or quality, don’t worry about that. Sometimes flavors have to be heightened in order to withstand being frozen.”

Gigi nodded mutely. The rest of the room had retreated to a haze, and Branston’s voice sounded as if it were coming at her through a long, hollow tube. She shook her head in an attempt to clear it.

“We’re going to start with your excellent beef stew, the chicken tortilla soup, your low-fat Swedish meatballs and for our breakfast entry, the Mexican egg tortilla. How does that sound?”

Gigi still hadn’t found her voice and settled for nodding yet again.

The rest of the meeting went quickly, and what seemed like only minutes later, Gigi was waving good-bye to the receptionist and heading toward where she’d parked the MINI.

She had to restrain herself from giving a small skip as she walked to the car. It was hard to believe that in several months’ time, grocery stores all around the area would be carrying meals with
her
name on them. From
her
recipes.

She was overcome with a sense of lightness she hadn’t felt in a long time.

• • •

The first dusting of snow arrived in Woodstone two weeks before Thanksgiving. It frosted the tree branches, twinkled on the grass and gave a festive, Christmas-card appearance to the whole town. It was the perfect setting for Declan McQuaid’s pre-Thanksgiving dinner to benefit Joe and Stacy Flanagan. Sienna and Oliver were going, bringing along two-week-old Camille Paisley, whom Gigi, Oliver and Sienna all agreed was the most adorable, intelligent and charming baby girl ever born. Alice was going, of course, and Evelyn Fishko from Bon Appétit, virtually all the other shopkeepers and a good number of the townspeople as well. Even Mertz planned to be there, assuming there wasn’t a crisis that required police presence.

Which was why Gigi was taking so much trouble with her outfit. Reg sat curled up on the braided rug in her bedroom watching as she slid into her new dress—the one she’d bought for her date with Mertz that had turned out so disastrously. The cleaner’s had done an admirable job of getting the stains out from her spilled dinner. So what if Mertz had already seen it? No one else had, and she knew from experience that clothing wasn’t the sort of thing men remembered—sports stats, maybe, but not fashion. Reg nodded his approval, or so Gigi imagined, as she twirled in front of the mirror.

Gigi refilled Reg’s water dish, tidied a few things in the kitchen and got her coat from the closet—the good one she wore constantly in New York but had hardly looked at since moving to Woodstone.

“I’ll be back soon,” she reassured Reg as she closed and locked the front door.

Her MINI was waiting in the driveway, clean and polished and good as new. She was thrilled to have it back. She’d been grateful for the loan of Alice’s car but had really missed her own.

The parking lot at Declan’s was filled when Gigi got there. She was pleased to see that he had such a great turnout. She drove past and found a spot on the street outside Bon Appétit. She pulled her collar closer around her neck, yanked her hat down over her ears and began to walk the block back toward the restaurant. A plume rose from Declan’s chimney, and the delicious scent of wood smoke filled the air.

The mellow sounds of voices and tinkling glasses, along with the aroma of roast turkey and other delicious dishes, washed over Gigi as soon as she pulled open the door. She stood for a moment to take in the scene. Fires crackled in the fireplaces where groups of people gathered, the men in blazers and sweaters, the women in knit dresses and suede jackets. Once again, Gigi was glad she’d splurged on her new outfit. She looked good, and she knew it.

The tables were already set with pumpkin-colored napery and vases filled with autumn leaves. The silver shined, the glasses twinkled; it was magical. Declan had done a splendid job. Gigi noticed Joe Flanagan ensconced in a deep red velvet armchair, his leg propped on an ottoman. The small table at his side held a drink and a plate of hors d’oeuvres. He was being treated like royalty, and Gigi thought he looked like he was enjoying it thoroughly. She wondered how he’d feel if he knew that his wife and Declan were going around behind his back.

“Gigi!”

Gigi turned to see Alice rushing toward her, her cheeks flushed red and her halo of curls flying every which way.

“It’s wonderful, isn’t it?” She grabbed Gigi’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “I couldn’t believe it when I found out Declan was planning this. It’s incredible. This is going to mean the world to Joe and Stacy.”

Alice waved to someone, and Gigi turned to look in that direction. It was Stacy . . . in an old-fashioned barmaid’s uniform, complete with full skirt and off-the-shoulder blouse.

Alice squeezed Gigi’s arm. “Stacy has been working here! Isn’t that great? I had no idea. I’m afraid I jumped to the wrong conclusion.”

“So did I,” Gigi admitted.

“And everything with her and Joe is okay again. Nearly losing him after that fall made her realize what he means to her.” Alice smiled benignly in Stacy’s direction, but Stacy was busy handing around a tray of drinks.

A blast of cold air blew across the room, and Gigi glanced toward the door. Sienna and Oliver were closing it behind them. Oliver was holding a baby carrier that was completely swathed in a pink and white knitted blanket.

“Oh, it’s Sienna with the baby!” Alice exclaimed. “I haven’t seen the little angel since the hospital.”

Gigi and Alice wended their way through the crowd toward the front of the room. Oliver had placed the carrier on a chair and was hanging up his and Sienna’s coats. Sienna began to unwrap the blanket, and Gigi and Alice waited with bated breath until the little sleeping beauty was revealed. She had soft curls and long, dark lashes that rested against her plump, pink cheeks. Gigi thought she was the most beautiful baby she’d ever seen.

“And how is little Miss Camille today?”

“She’s wonderful,” Sienna cooed as she undid the baby’s tiny pink jacket. “A little gassy, though.”

“Fennel tea,” Alice said knowledgeably. “It worked a charm for my Stacy. My grandmother used it, and so did my mother.”

“Really?” Sienna paused in removing Camille’s coat.

Alice nodded, and her curls bobbed briskly. “Boil a spoonful of fennel seeds in some water, add a little sugar and let it cool. It will have her right as rain in no time.” Alice chucked Camille under the chin, and the baby sighed and turned her head but didn’t wake.

“I’ll have to try that.”

Oliver returned from the coat check with two ticket stubs which he tucked into his pocket. “I hear we’ve got some celebrating to do.” He smiled at Gigi.

Gigi grinned back. “I guess we do.”

“What’s this?” Alice looked from Gigi to Oliver and back again.

“I’ve just signed a contract with Branston Foods.”

“Gigi’s Gourmet De-Lite is going big time,” Sienna said.

Alice clapped her hands. “Wonderful news! Just wonderful.”

Gigi beamed at them all.

Sienna grinned as well. “Oliver has some good news, too.”

Oliver looked down at his shoes briefly. “Yes, I do. I’ve snared a couple of new clients so everything is going to be all right.”

“That’s great,” they all chorused.

“As a matter of fact, Jack Winchel is one of them. He’s being investigated for some SEC irregularities.”

“No more gambling,” Sienna said, shaking her finger at her husband in mock-sternness.

“Absolutely no more gambling,” Oliver said. “It was terribly boring and not very lucrative.”

“I found out something interesting,” Sienna said. “A former colleague in New York heard it and passed the information along to me. With Vanessa Huff still in jail for theft, they decided to replace her with that girl, Tammy, who Gigi met at Derek’s funeral.”

“I’m happy about that.” Gigi felt a warm glow. She had liked Tammy and was glad to hear that she was going to be getting ahead.

“Is there a quiet place where we can sit with the baby?” Camille had begun to stir, and Sienna stroked her cheek soothingly.

Gigi craned her neck. “Your best bet seems to be over there.” She pointed toward the other end of the room where the crowd was thinner.

Sienna and Oliver moved off, with Alice clucking along behind them, and Gigi was momentarily alone. Before she could move, Declan was at her elbow.

“I’m so sorry. I meant to come over and greet you as soon as you came in, but there was a crisis in the kitchen.”

“Oh no.”

He waved a hand. “Nothing that couldn’t be solved. But I hate to see a pretty lady standing alone.”

Gigi didn’t know what to say, but she did know that her face was getting as red as the flames in the fireplace. “Everything looks wonderful,” she said to change the subject.

Declan gave a satisfied smile. “I’m very pleased. We’re going to raise a lot of money for Stacy and Joe.”

“It really is amazing of you to go to all this trouble.”

Declan shot her a wicked grin. “It’s marketing, remember? I had to find some way to ingratiate myself with your little community. The fact that it’s helping two really nice people is icing on the cake.”

Gigi felt a movement at her side and turned to see Mertz standing there. Very close, so close that they were almost touching. He looked down at Gigi. Their eyes met, and the look in his said everything.

“I’ve brought you a glass of that wine you like.” Mertz handed her a goblet half full of a ruby red liquid and looked up to glare at Declan.

Declan shrugged, raised an eyebrow and gave Gigi a crooked grin that said
You win some, you lose some.

Gigi felt a momentary pang of regret, but then she looked at Mertz, who was smiling at her, and it passed, replaced by a warm glow of satisfaction.