Allergic to Death (16 page)

“It isn’t, of course, but it depends on how you look at it. If Al Forno closed because of it, where would Carlo and Emilio be? I’m pretty sure Emilio only got a visa because he’s helping Carlo with the restaurant.”

“But still”—Sienna dipped her roller in paint—“I can’t picture either Emilio or Carlo murdering Martha.”

“Maybe they just wanted to scare her, or delay the review, and things backfired. It’s not like they held a gun to her head or stabbed her in cold blood. All they had to do was add some peanuts to the food I’d prepared and then let nature take its course.”

Gigi sprang to her feet and began pacing. “Remember the day Martha was killed? Someone had stolen her purse. Why? She said she didn’t have much money in it—barely more than a five dollar bill.”

“Maybe the thief was after something else?” Sienna dipped her roller in the paint tray again and ran it back and forth to remove the excess paint.

Gigi stared out into the darkened theater where the ghost light flickered feebly—a light left burning to prevent hapless actors from breaking their necks when entering an unlit theater, or to keep ghosts at bay, depending on your beliefs. “If not money, then what?”

Gigi thought back to the times she’d seen Martha at the theater or around town. She always carried the same purse—a large, black leather satchel with handles that she looped over her arm or tucked over her shoulder. She closed her eyes and tried to picture it more clearly. She snapped her fingers and whirled around toward Sienna.

“Her notebook,” she announced triumphantly. “It was spiral bound with a brown cover. About so big.” She held her hands about six inches apart. “I saw her at the Woodstone Diner once, making notes in it. Then, when she came to ask me about Gigi’s Gourmet De-Lite, she wrote everything down in the same notebook.”

Sienna stopped mid-roll. A blob of white paint dripped onto her foot, but she didn’t notice it. “And maybe her notes about her dining experience at Al Forno were in the same notebook.”

Gigi paced faster, her hands clenched in front of her. “And maybe that’s why her purse had to disappear.” She whirled around to face Sienna. “Carlo said something when he was helping me prepare the lunches for Branston Foods.” Gigi realized she still hadn’t heard from Victor Branston,
but she pushed the thought out of her mind. “He said Adora is hiding chip bags in the prop box.”

Sienna pointed the roller at Gigi, and another blob of white paint slid down her calf and landed on her big toe. “And how would he know that if he hadn’t been going in there himself?” Sienna made a wide gesture with the roller and paint splattered in every direction, like an airborne Jackson Pollock. “He stole Martha’s purse with her notebook and stuffed it in the prop box.”

Gigi and Sienna whirled around as one and headed for the prop box. They lifted the lid and began to root through the contents. Finally, they pulled out the last item—a rather moth-eaten stuffed bear—and stared into the now-empty depths.

“Okay, there’s nothing here now, but what if this was merely a temporary hiding place?”

Sienna looked at Gigi with one eyebrow raised.

“Okay, let’s go back to the day Martha’s purse was stolen.” Gigi had a sudden flashback to Martha’s car swerving unsteadily across the yellow line before heading straight at the roundabout and the sturdy oak tree in its center. She rubbed a hand across her forehead. “Someone—and we don’t know who that is yet,” she added defiantly, “steals Martha’s purse. This place is crawling with people. I’ve just arrived with the lunches, Barbie flits out to have lunch in the car with Winston. Who knows who else was coming and going at the time.”

“So this person has this purse, which, of course, they can’t possibly be seen with,” Sienna added.

“Yes.” Gigi turned on her heel and began pacing in the other direction. “So what do they do?” She looked up at Sienna.

“Ditch it,” Sienna said succinctly, “in the prop box.”
She pointed to the wooden steamer trunk with its lid flung back.

Gigi nodded. “But they can’t leave it where it is. Anyone might go into the prop box at any time.”

“Especially Adora, who is hiding goodies in there.”

“That’s right. So, as soon as no one is looking, they retrieve the purse and take it with them to—”

“Dispose of it somewhere else.”

Gigi whirled around. “The question is where.”

“There.” Sienna pointed out the open stage door at a hulking, rectangular-shaped object, shrouded in darkness, squatting next to the theater.

“The Dumpster?”

Sienna nodded. “Come on. Let’s go check it out.” Sienna grabbed Gigi by the arm and pulled her through the open door.

Gigi’s stomach did flip-flops as unappetizing aromas drifted toward them on the warm, humid air.

“How are we going to get in there?” Sienna stood on tiptoe and peered over the edge of the Dumpster. “I can’t see anything from here.”

“Is there a stool around here somewhere?”

“There’s one in the dressing room. I’ll get it. Be right back,” Sienna tossed over her shoulder as she headed toward the back door of the theater.

Gigi stood in the darkness, trying to quell the faint sense of nausea caused by the smells wafting from the Dumpster and the thought of having to get up close and personal with its odiferous contents.

An owl hooted in the distance, and she jumped. Goose bumps prickled along her arms and legs. She glanced toward the door, willing Sienna to hurry. Being out here alone in the dark was giving her the creeps.

The door opened, and a rectangular chink of light spread across the gravel drive. Sienna eased through the opening, holding the stool in front of her, much like a lion tamer.

“This is the tallest one I could find.” She set it next to the Dumpster.

Gigi put a hand on Sienna’s shoulder and stepped up onto the stool. It put her waist-high with the top of the Dumpster. She leaned over the edge and peered into the darkness. “You didn’t, by any chance, happen to grab a flashlight while you were at it, did you?”

Sienna shook her head. “No, but we can turn that light on at least.” She pointed toward a bare floodlight hanging over the back door to the theater.

Gigi gripped the edge of the Dumpster and swallowed hard. The smell was much worse up there. She closed her eyes and tried to remember why she was doing this and how important it was to find out just what had happened to poor Martha. Because if she didn’t, she was pretty sure the public planned on pinning it on her. They might call it an accident, but it would ruin her business nonetheless.

The bulb flashed on, and the top of the Dumpster was illuminated with watery light. A quick glance told Gigi that Martha’s purse wasn’t part of the top layer. She leaned over the edge, held her breath, and began pushing the contents to one side. She just prayed she’d find Martha’s handbag without actually having to get in the Dumpster. Her stomach was giving little warning heaves as it was.

Gigi jumped down from the stool, and they dragged it to the other end of the Dumpster.

“Want me to try this time?”

Gigi shook her head. “I’m already up to my elbows in ick.” She held her hands away from her. “No need for both of us to get dirty.”

Once again, Gigi gingerly sifted through the contents she could reach—discarded tissues clotted with face cream and makeup remover, rotting banana peels, half-eaten sandwiches and crumpled-up wads of paper. Something black and leather-looking was sticking up out of the disgusting morass. Gigi stretched out a hand, but it was just beyond reach. She couldn’t be sure, but it looked like it might possibly be a strap from a handbag. Then again, perhaps that was just wishful thinking.

She stood on tiptoe and reached forward again.

“Careful. You’re going to fall in.” Sienna rushed forward and grabbed Gigi around the ankles.

Gigi shuddered. There wouldn’t be enough water and soap in the world to make her feel clean after tumbling around in this disgusting stuff.

With Sienna’s grasp strong on her legs, she reached even farther. This time her fingertips brushed the object briefly. It definitely felt like a leather strap. She took a deep breath, heaved herself up a little higher onto the edge of the Dumpster and stretched.

Gigi’s feet shot out from under her, and Sienna lost her grip on her ankles. For a moment, Gigi teeter-tottered on the edge, flailing for purchase with her feet and failing.

She tumbled headfirst into the putrid contents of the Dumpster.

“What’s that smell?” Sienna sniffed and looked around her.

“It’s me!” Gigi declared on an anguished note. “I can’t wait to get home and shower. I can barely stand myself.”

“Phew, you can say that again.” Sienna pulled a cord, and the theater passage lit up. “Let’s take it in here.” She pushed open the door to the dressing room and felt along the wall for
a switch. “There’s a sink, so you can at least wash your hands and face.”

As tempted as she was, Gigi couldn’t wait to begin exploring the notebook she’d unearthed from the contents of the Dumpster. A quick glance had revealed that it was most definitely Martha’s. They may not have found Martha’s purse—the leather strap had turned out to be a black plastic garbage handle—but this was even better.

Gigi peeled back the cover and glanced at the first page. It was college-ruled in grayish blue. Martha’s handwriting had been small, neat and precise. Her notes were easy to read.

Gigi flipped through the pages. With each one, her heart thudded harder and harder until she could hear it echoing in her ears like a drumbeat. She came to some notes about Sprouted Goodness, the new health food restaurant on Cherry Street. She remembered the review. She read through Martha’s notes. Yes, she hadn’t like Sprouted Goodness all that much—the wait staff had been pretentious and the bread moldy. A few pages beyond she found Martha’s reactions to Surf and Turf—a place catering to the weekend and summer crowd and their opinion that the best meal included either lobster or steak.

That review had been quite recent. She checked the date on Martha’s notes—a week before she’d died. Gigi turned the next page with clumsy fingers. Her heartbeat went into overdrive, and she felt light-headed and slightly breathless. She should be getting to the notes Martha had taken about her visit to Al Forno. She crossed her fingers. Maybe things hadn’t gone as badly as all that.

The page wasn’t there.

“What?” Gigi looked up at Sienna, her mouth open in surprise. Gigi showed her the notebook. “That’s it. The last
notes are on the Surf and Turf, and then that’s it.” She fluttered the pages at Sienna.

Sienna grabbed the notebook. “Maybe she flipped it over and started again from back to front, like you do with steno pads.” She flipped through the pages but soon realized that hadn’t been the case. She handed the notebook back to Gigi.

“What do we do now?”

“I don’t know.” Gigi sat with her chin in her hands, finally oblivious to the smell that surrounded her like a noxious cloud. “She must have started a new notebook and thrown this one away.”

Sienna groaned. “We’ll never find it, then.”

Gigi thought for a moment. “Maybe she tore those pages out—the ones with her notes about Al Forno.”

“Why would she do that?”

“Maybe she changed her mind about the review?”

“Why does that sound like wishful thinking?”

“Okay, maybe she was already working on the review of Al Forno and needed her notes close at hand.” Gigi turned the hot spigot on the sink to full blast, added a bit of cold water and plunged her hands under the stream. “She might have torn the relevant pages out and left them by her computer.”

Sienna nodded. “Makes sense.”

Gigi lathered up to her elbows with soap. “Which means we need to get into her house and look around for those pages.”

“But how are we going to do that? I’m sorry, but I draw the line at breaking and entering.” Sienna handed Gigi a wad of paper towels.

“Maybe there’s one of those hide-a-key thingies. You know, the ones that look like a rock, and people keep them by their front door in case they’ve misplaced their regular set.”

“That does sound like Martha. I can imagine her having something like that.”

“What are we waiting for then?” Gigi tossed the towels in the trash with a flourish.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go home and shower first?” Sienna fanned the air in front of her nose.

“Do I still smell?”

“Well…yes, but I’m starting to get used to it.”

“Let’s go, then.”

“Great idea to bring Reg. It will look like we’re just out walking the dog.”

Gigi glanced at the sky, where dark clouds swirled across the moon. “Yes, except I’m not about to walk the three miles to Martha’s house. We can drive over, park and then saunter up her drive with Reg.” She opened her car door, and Reg hopped into the backseat of the MINI obligingly.

A slight drizzle, barely heavier than mist, was falling when Gigi and Sienna turned onto Martha’s street. Gigi cut her lights and coasted to the curb in front of Martha’s house. She looked at the houses on either side—the one to the right was dark except for a lit globe over the front porch, and the one on the other side had a light burning in what was probably the kitchen.

“Which house is Adora’s?” Sienna hissed under her breath.

“That one over there with the light over the front door, I think.” Gigi shut her door and winced at the quiet
thunk
it made. She opened the back door, and Reg bounded out, stretched and immediately began to sniff the ground, his tail wagging furiously.

“Do you think he smells Martha?” Sienna came around the car and joined Gigi.

Gigi shrugged. “Probably. Their sense of smell is so much keener than ours.”

“Too bad we can’t tell him to sniff out the key to the front door,” Sienna grumbled as they made their way up the drive. “I don’t want to be standing out here where we can be seen any longer than necessary.”

“That makes two of us,” Gigi whispered.

A car came around the corner, its headlights sweeping the street in a flash of brilliance. Gigi and Sienna pressed into the bushes as far as they could and held their breath. Gigi realized she would have a hard time explaining what she was up to if someone called the police. She could just imagine Detective Mertz’s poker face at the news. He already thought she was guilty as sin—this would clinch it.