Allergic to Death (3 page)

“You will. You’ve lost weight already, and you’ll lose even more before the wedding.”

Alice raised her chin slightly. “You’re right. I can’t let her get me down. Besides, it’s going to be my Stacy’s special day, and that’s all that matters.”

Gigi glanced at her watch. “I’ve got to get the rest of my meals delivered.” She looked around the darkened theater. “I thought I saw Martha Bernhardt’s car in the parking lot.”

Alice gestured toward the back wall with her chin. “She’s in the office, I think. I heard her on the phone when I went back to get Pierce’s stupid sweater. Sounded really furious with someone.”

Gigi found her way to the corridor that ran behind the stage. The bare lightbulb hanging from the ceiling didn’t even begin to penetrate the gloom. Suddenly, one of the doors opened, and a woman brushed past her, jostling her elbow.

“What a waste of time,” the woman muttered under her breath. “People just aren’t reliable anymore.”

“Pardon me?” Gigi swiveled around and realized it was Martha Bernhardt who had bumped into her.

Martha turned toward Gigi. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean you.” She peered at Gigi more closely. “Oh, it’s you. Have you brought my lunch?”

“It’s in my car just outside.”

“Well,” Martha sniffed loudly. “At least the morning won’t have been a complete waste, then.”

Martha’s cheeks were flushed, and her pointed nose quivered with indignation. Her black hair was swept off her high forehead and teased and sprayed into a bouffant, chin-length flip. She might have been called attractive, but with her features set into rigid and bitter lines, she was merely forbidding.

She followed Gigi out to the parking lot, her black cape swirling around her legs.

It was raining heavily. Gigi could see Barbie and Winston huddled together in the front seat of his Mercedes. Martha noticed, too, and scowled at the car as she stomped toward Gigi’s MINI.

“Why don’t you hop in, and I’ll drive you over to your car?” Gigi dashed around to the front door and pulled it open. The rain was heavier, and cold drops slid down the back of her shirt.

Martha got in beside her, her cape tucked under her. It made the interior of the car reek of wet wool, and Gigi wrinkled her nose as she turned the key and put the car in gear.

“I’m very grateful, Miss Fitzgerald,” Martha said when they pulled up in front of her Element. She accepted her Gourmet De-Lite container and opened the door. Gigi watched as she dashed toward her car, pulled open the door and stuck her head inside.

Gigi was about to pull away when Martha began backing out of the driver’s seat of her Element, her broad backside aimed in Gigi’s direction. She turned toward Gigi and gestured wildly, her mouth moving furiously. Gigi buzzed down her window.

“Someone’s stolen my purse. It was right here on the front seat. And now it’s gone.”

“Did you lock your door?”

“No, of course not. This is Woodstone, not New York or Detroit or someplace like that.”

“I have my cell. We can call the police.” Gigi twisted around and pulled her bag from the backseat.

Martha shook her head. Rain dripped off the end of her sharp nose and her hair was slowly deflating in the humidity. “Never mind.
The police station is just down the road. I’ll drive over and make a report. Not that it’s going to make any difference. They’re unlikely to ever find the thief. I don’t know what this town is coming to—”

“If you’re sure…”

Martha nodded and slid into the front seat of her Element, rolling down the window. “It’s going to be dreadfully annoying, canceling all the credit cards and all, but fortunately I rarely carry much cash. If memory serves, I had around five dollars and eighty-nine cents in my wallet.” She pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Well, I’ll just have a tiny bite of my lunch first.” She opened her Gourmet De-Lite container and extracted one of the melba toast rounds. “Heavenly! Absolutely heavenly.”

She crammed the rest of the piece of toast into her mouth, nodded at Gigi, rolled up the window, put the car in gear and drove slowly out of the parking lot.

Gigi followed behind her. They passed the Knit Knack Shop on the right, and then Folio next to it. Gigi made a mental note to call to see if her new stationery was ready. They were passing the Take the Cake Bakery when Martha began driving erratically, weaving back and forth along the narrow lane and nearly bumping the curb at one point. Several pedestrians drew back from the road and into the shadows along the storefronts.

What on earth was Martha doing, Gigi wondered? Was something wrong?

Gigi watched helplessly as Martha swerved across the center yellow line. The Element jumped the cobblestone curb in front of Bon Appétit and headed straight for one of the massive oak trees that lined the sidewalk.

Chapter 2

“
Mama mia
, you look terrible,
cara
. What happened?” Emilio Franchi rushed forward, wiping his wet hands on the apron tied around his substantial waist.

“There’s been an accident.” Sienna urged Gigi forward into the sheltering depths of Al Forno.

The restaurant was empty. The lunch crowd had finished their meal, and the after-work crowd hadn’t yet arrived. A waitress was replacing burned-out candles on the tables, while a busboy whistled tunelessly to himself as he bundled up dirty tablecloths. Carlo Franchi had his back to them, writing specials on the blackboard that hung over the bar. Today they were offering osso buco Milanese and chicken francese. Tantalizing aromas drifted from the kitchen, infusing the air with the scent of garlic, lemon and thyme.

“Carlo,” Emilio called, snapping his fingers.

Carlo whirled around, chalk in hand.

Emilio motioned toward Gigi. “Get our friend a drink, quick.”

Carlo turned back toward the bar, his hand hovering over several bottles.

“A whiskey,” Emilio called to him after another look at Gigi’s face.

Carlo selected a bottle, twisted off the cap and poured a generous splash into a tumbler. He slid the glass of amber-colored liquid across the counter toward Gigi. “Drink,” he commanded, his brown eyes dark with concern.

Gigi’s hand shook as she picked up the glass. She took a sip and sputtered as liquid heat slid down her throat. Slowly the shivery feeling in the pit of her stomach was replaced with spreading warmth. She put the glass down with slightly steadier hands.

“Tell us what happened?” Carlo looked from Gigi to Sienna and back again.

Sienna perched on the stool next to Gigi, her long cotton skirt tucked around her legs. Carlo held up the bottle of whiskey, but she shook her head.

“Just some water, please.”

Carlo grabbed a large fluted glass, dug ice out of the freezer and filled it to the top with water. He set it on the counter in front of Sienna, then looked at Gigi. “You’re not hurt, are you? You said there’s been an accident?”

Gigi nodded. The scene had been playing over and over in her mind like a tape, only in long, drawn-out slow motion—Martha’s car gliding across the center line, into the other lane, over the curb and finally straight into an oak tree whose limbs were bursting forth with spring greenery. A sickening
thud
, leaves and small branches swirling down, people dashing forward, voices raised and yelling. She shuddered.

The police and an ambulance from Woodstone General had arrived almost immediately, their sirens tearing through the quiet of the weekday afternoon. Gigi had waited, pacing, as emergency crews spent an hour extricating Martha from the crushed Element.

They were loading her onto a gurney when Sienna came running out of the Book Nook, pausing only long enough to lock the front door. She took Gigi gently by the arm and urged her down the street and into the safety of Al Forno.

Emilio slid behind the bar, chose a wine glass from the shelf and filled it with merlot. “Tell us what happened,
cara
.” He took Gigi’s empty whiskey glass and pushed the wine toward her.

“I don’t know.” Gigi twirled the wine glass between her fingers. “Martha was driving just in front of me. All of a sudden she started weaving all over the road.” Gigi made a wavy motion with her hand. “Her car went up over the curb and hit the tree in front of Bon Appétit.”

Sienna pushed a hand through her long mane of curly, honey-colored hair. “I wonder what happened. Did one of her tires blow?”

“I don’t think so.” Gigi glanced at her friend. “I didn’t hear anything, and I would have, wouldn’t I?”

Emilio
thunk
ed his chest with his fist. “It was probably a heart attack.”

“You might be right.” Gigi had another sip of her wine. She was starting to feel better—less cold and shivery. “Her purse was stolen while she was at the theater. She was furious. Maybe that caused a heart attack?” She looked from Carlo to Emilio.

“Hooligans,” Emilio shook his dish towel in the air. “Carlo? Remember old Mr. DeSapio?”

Carlo nodded. “Certainly, Uncle. I was just a little boy.
Before we came to this country. Poor Antonio.” He glanced at Gigi and Sienna. “He had a heart attack.”

“He was driving?”

“Yes. Followed by an accident. Same thing, he hit a tree.”

“There was only one difference,” Emilio chuckled.

“That’s right,” Carlo began to laugh, too. “He was riding a bicycle.”

They both burst out laughing then, and Gigi and Sienna joined in.

“If you could have seen him.” Carlo wiped tears from his eyes with the edge of his apron. “Wobbling like crazy, then,
bam
”—he punched his fist into his palm—“right into the tree.”

“I’ll never forget it.” Emilio opened the oven and slid a pizza from its wood-fired depths. He cut it deftly into eighths, the pizza wheel biting easily through the thin, blistered crust.

“I do hope Martha will be okay,” Gigi said as Emilio slid the pizza onto the counter and handed out plates and small paper napkins.

“Me, too.” Sienna swirled the ice around in her glass. “Wasn’t she going to do a whole write-up about your gourmet diet business?”

Gigi nodded. Just her luck. She’d finally snagged a client who could help her publicize her business, and now look what had happened. Martha had had a whole series planned for the newspaper—complete with recipes and before and after pictures. Gigi mentally shook herself. Poor Martha was possibly fighting for her life in the hospital at this very minute, and here she was moaning about her lost opportunity.

The bell over the front door tinkled, and Alice Slocum burst through it and into the restaurant. Her hair was even
more disheveled than usual, with drops of rain glittering on the ends of the curling, gray strands.

“Have you heard?” Her voice was breathless. She bustled over to the bar, where she eyed the pizza longingly.

“About Martha’s accident?” they chorused.

“Gigi”—Carlo put a hand lightly on her shoulder—“actually saw it.” Gigi could feel the warmth of his palm through her blouse and felt herself beginning to blush.

“You know she’s dead?” Alice’s eyes nearly bugged out from beneath their shaggy brows.

“No!” Gigi half rose from her seat.

Alice nodded and absentmindedly grabbed a piece of pizza and took a huge bite. “I heard the guys talking about it when they got back to the station.” Alice worked part-time as a secretary for the Woodstone Police Department. “It’s hard to believe. I just saw her at the theater this morning, and now…”

“Was it a heart attack?” Gigi asked while simultaneously raising an eyebrow at the piece of pizza in Alice’s hand.

Alice put the slice down abruptly. “I don’t know. No one does. The docs still have to do the autopsy. But what else could it have been?” Alice shook her head.

The bell over the front door tinkled again, and everyone turned in that direction. Adora Sands strode in, snatching a scarf from her head and shaking off the raindrops. Her unnaturally bright blond hair tumbled in artfully created waves around her shoulders.

She was wearing a calf-length pencil skirt with an off-the-shoulder blouse and wide patent leather belt.

Sienna snorted when she saw her and leaned over to whisper in Gigi’s ear. “Looks like Adora is channeling her inner Gina Lollobrigida.”