Allergic to Death (8 page)

“Mrs. Branston, those appetizers are hundreds of calories each. You won’t lose weight unless you stick to the diet.”

“Nonsense!” Georgia grabbed a ham croquette from a passing waiter’s tray and brandished it under Gigi’s nose. “Nothing to these. Can’t be
more than a few calories each. Look at the size of them, my girl.”

Gigi felt her face burn. If only Georgia would stuff the darned croquette in her mouth and be quiet! She glanced around. Victor Branston was headed their way. If Georgia kept bad-mouthing Gourmet De-Lite, would Branston Foods still want to do business with her?

“Here’s the gal who makes the dinners you think are so good.” Georgia snagged her husband’s elbow and pulled him over to where they were standing. He had the autocratic air of a typical CEO, but there was a kindly look in his gray eyes. “It’s a shame I haven’t lost a pound on the stupid diet.” Georgia popped the rest of the appetizer in her mouth and chewed enthusiastically.

Gigi felt her stomach plummet. Great, just what she needed. An enthusiastic endorsement in front of the owner of Branston Foods—from his wife. They’d never go through with the deal now.

“You haven’t lost any weight because you cheat,” Branston admonished with a wink in Gigi’s direction. “No diet will work if you don’t stick to it. You should know that.”

“Let’s just hope the food doesn’t kill me,” Georgia brayed. “Like that other poor woman.”

“What’s this?” Branston’s bushy gray brows rose in alarm.

Gigi felt a cold shiver trace its way down her spine. If only the fool woman would put something else in her mouth and be quiet! Gigi was ready to grab her another hors d’oeuvre herself, calories be damned.

“I’d rather not talk about it here.” Gigi tried to smile reassuringly, but her face felt stiff and her mouth would hardly move.

Branston gave a curt nod. “So right. This is hardly the time or place. I’ll give you a call. Come on, Georgia, I’ve had enough. Time to go.” He put a hand on his wife’s arm and led her away.

Gigi’s knees shook. How on earth had Georgia gotten wind of the fact that the police had questioned her about Martha’s death? She had to find out what really happened that day. Or else she and her business were going down faster than a cold soufflé.

She glanced around the still-crowded room. Barbie Bernhardt was talking to Yvette, their heads nearly touching, over one of the display cases. There was a velvet pad placed on top of the glass on which an elaborate and expensive-looking silver necklace had been arrayed. Gigi sidled closer. Maybe she would be able to grab a moment to talk to Barbie. Barbie had been sitting outside in Winston’s Mercedes the day Martha died—perhaps she had seen someone go near Gigi’s car.

Barbie and Yvette were busy examining the necklace and didn’t notice Gigi inch closer. Barbie wore a pink, Chanel-type suit and kitten-heel slingbacks and had a black velvet headband holding back her blond hair. She always dressed very conservatively, although expensively, and Gigi wondered again where she had come from. She had the impression that Barbie was trying just a little too hard to look the part.

Both of them were intent on their examination of the necklace, and Gigi took the opportunity to squeeze in a little closer. She peered over Barbie’s shoulder. The necklace was exquisite—and obviously very expensive—with detailed silverwork studded with diamonds and pearls.

“I have to have it,” Barbie said breathlessly. She ran a well-manicured
finger lovingly over the ornate design and looked up at Yvette with a sly smile.

“And with that bitch, Martha, out of the way, Winston is no longer stuck paying alimony. He won’t have any excuse not to buy it.”

Chapter 5

“You stay here.” Gigi knelt down and tied Reg’s leash to a parking meter along High Street. “I doubt they allow dogs inside.” She gave him a pat, and he sat obediently, his attention focused on a woman and a brown miniature poodle headed their way.

Gigi gave one last, backward glance, then pushed open the door to Abigail’s. She’d peered through the windows but had never ventured inside before. She knew, without even turning over a single tag, that the prices were out of her league.

Although she doubted that Barbie would have killed Martha just to get some fancy-schmancy necklace, it was quite possible that Barbie was after more than that. Like a wholesale shopping spree and lifestyle upgrade. She figured Abigail’s was as good a place as any to start investigating.

“May I help you?” A saleswoman glided forward, her forehead creased into a slight frown, as if she wondered at Gigi’s
nerve on entering the sanctity of her shop. Her hipbones protruded through the simple but expensive white linen sheath she wore, and her black hair was twisted into an elaborate knot at her neck. She had a black cashmere cardigan draped loosely around her shoulders and an enormous cocktail ring on her right hand. Her gold name tag read
Deirdre
in fancy script.

Gigi stammered a greeting. “I’m just looking, thanks.”

“Anything in particular?” The clerk positioned herself adroitly between Gigi and the nearest rack of dresses.

“Er…no…not really.” Gigi spotted a flash of pink sleeve on the rack behind her. “Pink. I was thinking of something pink.”

“With your coloring?” Deirdre shrugged and began clicking through the hangers. Each garment had its own padded hanger, and there was a plastic sleeve over the shoulders to keep off the dust.

Gigi began to sweat even though the shop was well air-conditioned. How was she going to get out of this? She got a glimpse of the tag, and there were way too many zeros for her extremely meager budget.

With a stiff back, the saleswoman started toward the back of the store.

She spun around abruptly, and Gigi nearly crashed into her. “How did you come to find us?”

Well, you’re right in the middle of Woodstone’s main street, was Gigi’s first thought, but she bit her tongue and managed to resist that little bit of sarcasm, satisfying though it would have been. “Mrs. Bernhardt recommended you. Barbie Bernhardt.”

The saleswoman nodded solemnly. “Mrs. Bernhardt is an excellent customer,” she intoned with the deepest respect.

Gigi wondered how much you had to spend to earn that
appellation. More than she was prepared to, that was for sure.

“Now, if you’ll follow me.” The clerk opened a door with a flourish and snapped on a light.

The dressing room was bigger than Gigi’s bedroom, with walls papered in red toile and a gold brocade bench in the corner. The clerk hung a number of garments from an ornate hook in the wall. She gestured toward the clothes. “I’ve chosen a few things that I think will work for you.” She looked Gigi up and down. “Size eight, I believe?” She arched her thin, black brows.

Gigi nodded.

“This color would suit you better than the pink.” She brandished a watery blue-green silk dress at Gigi. “Of course if you insist on the pink, that’s up to you.”

Gigi supposed that was her own version of “the customer is always right.”

The clerk pulled the door closed behind her, and Gigi was left standing in the dressing room with thousands of dollars’ worth of dresses she couldn’t possibly afford. A handkerchief, maybe, but certainly not a whole dress.

She pulled off her T-shirt and slid out of her denim skirt. Her underwear, the kind that came six to a pack, looked tatty in such regal surroundings, even though she’d bought them at the grocery store just last week. She sighed and freed the blue-green dress from its hanger and plastic cover. It really was pretty. She held it up to her and looked in the mirror. The color brought depth to her eyes and made her hair shine. She wondered what Carlo would think if he saw her…

She wouldn’t think about that. She couldn’t. Gigi slid the dress over her head. It probably wasn’t going to fit, and if it did, it would look terrible. She pulled the garment into place,
and the silk floated coolly around her bare legs. She risked a glance in the mirror.

It was perfect. Absolutely perfect. She had to give the arrogant Deirdre her due—she knew her clothes.

She wondered if just maybe, if she really cut down her expenses—nonessential things like food, electricity, toilet paper and the like—if there was any way she could possibly afford such a heavenly piece of clothing. She peeked at the price tag with one eye half closed, as if that would lessen the shock.

Gigi gasped and put her hand to her mouth. She shouldn’t even be trying something like this on, let alone contemplating buying it. What if it ripped when she took it off? What if she accidentally drooled on it—not that she was in the habit of drooling, but you never knew. Very carefully, she pulled the dress over her head and placed it back on the hanger.

“Can I help with anything?” The clerk’s snooty tones filtered through the door.

“No, everything’s fine,” Gigi called back.

“How was the blue silk? Did you like it?” The clerk swung open the door abruptly.

Gigi grabbed her T-shirt and held it in front of her. “It’s very lovely. But I’m afraid it’s just a bit—”

“Would you like me to hold it for you? You’re not going to find anything more perfect in Woodstone, I assure you. Unless, of course, you’re planning to shop in the city.” She said
city
as if it were a bad word.

“No, no, it’s perfect. It’s lovely. It’s perfectly lovely,” Gigi stammered. She couldn’t possibly buy the dress. It was more than her rent for the month. For six months.

“What name shall I put on it?” The clerk held a thin, gold pen poised above a tiny blue card with
Abigail’s
engraved across the top.

“Gigi Fitzgerald. But I’m not—”

“Don’t worry. This is the only one we have in stock in this style. You won’t be seeing yourself coming and going.”

Did she really look as if she worried about that sort of thing? Gigi wondered. “And Mrs. Bernhardt—” Gigi blurted trying to turn the conversation back to Barbie.

“Oh no, that dress wouldn’t suit her at all.”

“She told me she had her eye on several things…” Gigi proffered, hoping Deirdre would take the bait.

Deirdre sniffed haughtily. “Mrs. Bernhardt was in yesterday afternoon. She has excellent taste. We managed to completely flesh out her summer wardrobe. They are going to the south of France in August, and she needed the perfect things to take with her.” Deirdre’s mouth clamped shut suddenly as if she realized she shouldn’t be gossiping about her customers.

“Oh, yes, that’s right. She mentioned that.” Gigi crossed her fingers behind her back.

Putting the dress on hold couldn’t possibly commit her to its purchase, could it? Gigi wondered as she stumbled out of Abigail’s with a sigh of relief. At least her trip hadn’t been wasted.

Barbie was off to Europe. With a suitcase full of new clothes that certainly had cost a small fortune. It sounded as if Winston and Barbie were throwing plenty of money around all of a sudden.

Were they just lucky that Martha had died, or was it more sinister than that?

Reg followed Gigi out to get the paper the next morning. She yawned and stretched her arms over her head. She was exhausted after tossing and turning all night, until even Reg
got fed up and jumped off the bed. Gigi had heard him snuffling around the dog bed she’d bought him, which he had, up to now, ignored with a disdainful sniff.

She couldn’t get Martha’s death out of her mind. If it wasn’t an accident, that meant it was on purpose—which was basically how the dictionary defined the term
murder
. It was a word Gigi was used to hearing on television or radio but certainly not in her everyday life.

Gigi retrieved the
Woodstone Times
from the end of the driveway and walked back toward the house, Reg trotting happily at her heels. The cottage was full of the aroma of coffee—her favorite, Sumatra Mandheling—and she inhaled appreciatively. She poured a cup and spread the newspaper open on the kitchen table. She was turning away to get her toast from the toaster when the lead article caught her eye. Her knees buckled, and she sank gratefully into one of the chairs. The headline was bold and black and nearly jumped off the page. “Local Restaurant Reviewer Felled by Peanut-Laced Food.”