Steamed to Death (4 page)

“Want to tell me what’s wrong?” Gigi went over to Alice and put a hand on her arm.

Alice gave a loud sniff and laid down her knife. She reached into the pocket of her skirt, pulled out a tissue and blew her nose. “It’s Stacy,” she mumbled around the tissue.

“Is she okay? Is something wrong?” Gigi went back to the pastry she was fitting into a tart pan.

Alice nodded. “She’s fine. Physically, anyway.”

Gigi waited. She knew Alice would tell her in her own time, in her own way.

Alice chopped one of the onions and swept the pieces into a bowl. “I don’t know what it is with young people these days.” She gave another loud sniff. “They expect everything to be easy. Marriage isn’t always easy.”

Gigi’s ears perked up. Alice’s daughter had been married only a few months. Was trouble afoot already?

“Are they not getting along?”

“No, according to Stacy, it’s not that. She feels like the magic has gone out of the relationship. I told her you can’t expect the honeymoon to last forever.”

That’s for sure
, Gigi thought. She and Ted had lasted almost eight years. Gigi had thought they were happy—she had been at least, but apparently Ted hadn’t felt the same way. No use thinking about that now.

“But surely, it’s just talk. Maybe Stacy and Joe had an argument.”

Alice shook her head so vehemently her gray curls bobbed up and down. “No. I wish that were the case. But Stacy mentioned”—she gulped and tears sprang into her eyes—“the
d
word.”

“Oh no.” Gigi didn’t know what to say. “Is there someone else?” she asked tentatively.

Alice shook her head. “I don’t think so.” She slid her knife through a new onion. “I think she’s looking for that courtship-and-honeymoon excitement. That’s not what marriage is all about.”

“Hopefully these feelings will pass, and she’ll settle happily into married life.”

Alice looked doubtful. “I hope so. I’m afraid Stacy is still a bit immature. Maybe she should have waited till she was a bit older—you know, after she saw a bit more of life—to get married.”

• • •

Lunchtime came and went, and Gigi was still working hard. Alice had already left for her part-time job at the police station. Gigi glanced at the clock. It was after two, and her stomach was reminding her that she hadn’t eaten anything since a boiled egg and a cup of coffee early that morning. She found some bread in the refrigerator and a jar of peanut butter in the pantry and slapped together a hasty sandwich. The old proverb about the shoemaker’s children going barefoot popped into her head as she munched and cooked.

By three o’clock Gigi had things well enough under control that she felt she could afford to take a break. She whistled for Reggie, who was asleep under the kitchen table, and together they climbed the back stairs to the third floor. Sienna’s makeshift office was at the top of the stairs, and Gigi realized she hadn’t seen her since the day before.

Gigi stuck her head around the door of Sienna’s office. It was empty. It didn’t look as if Sienna had been in at all—the desk chair with the special backrest Sienna had ordered was pushed in tidily. The top of the desk was clear of papers, and the trash can was empty. Gigi put her hand on the green-shaded banker’s lamp, and it was cool. That was odd. Perhaps Sienna had had to go into New York for the day?

Gigi turned around and was about to leave when she noticed a folded newspaper on top of the filing cabinet. Perhaps she would take it to read while she took her break. She tucked it under her arm, shooed Reggie out from under the desk where he was busy spelunking and went down the hall toward her room.

Gigi collapsed on the bed and leaned against the pillows, Reggie stretched out next to her sighing deeply, as if to say
It’s about time
. Never mind that he’d already spent the whole morning sleeping in one area of the kitchen or another.

Gigi unfurled the paper, glanced at the seventy-two-point-type headline and began to read. Her eyes were starting to droop, and she was about to put down the paper when something on the
New York Post
’s infamous “Page Six” caught her eye.

“No!” She sat bolt upright.

The grainy black-and-white photograph explained everything. No wonder Sienna had threatened to murder Felicity!

Chapter 3

Gigi read the bold, dark headline. “Felicity Davenport Holed Up in Her Connecticut Home with New Man
.
” The black-and-white photograph accompanying the article was slightly blurry, but there was no mistaking the handsome, shirtless man. It was Sienna’s husband, Oliver.

No wonder Sienna had been so furious with Felicity! Was this some sort of publicity stunt on Felicity’s part? She doubted that this was Sienna’s idea of a comeback plan. Gigi examined the photo more closely. It looked as if it was taken in Sienna and Oliver’s backyard, which was adjacent to Felicity’s property. The carriage house that they lived in had once been a part of the estate that Felicity now owned.

She was tempted to call Sienna—she must be very upset—but a glance at her watch told her she didn’t have time. Gigi scurried down to the kitchen, Reg at her heels, and donned a fresh apron. Her plan called for having everything ready so that Anja and the other servers could keep the hors d’oeuvres warm and ready to circulate. Felicity had insisted on Gigi attending the party, and Gigi had dug one of her little black dresses out of the closet—something she used to wear with far more frequency when she was married to Ted and living and working in the city. She planned to slip into it at the last minute.

Gigi grabbed a saucepan from the pot rack and put it on the stove. Her hands shook slightly as she adjusted the gas burners on the Aga. What a luxury it was working in such a well-appointed kitchen. Her worries about Sienna increased as the water came to a simmer and finally a full boil. Would the shock of seeing that picture in the paper harm Sienna’s baby? Maybe she’d already gone into premature labor?

Gigi could no longer tolerate the thoughts circulating in an endless pattern through her mind. She dug out her cell and punched in Sienna’s number. She waited until Sienna’s voice mail kicked in.

Gigi turned back to the stove and dropped a bagful of miniature red potatoes into the pot of boiling water. She would partially hollow them out and fill them with a dollop of low-fat sour cream. Some would be topped with a sprinkle of red caviar; others would get a dash of chopped, fresh chives. Potatoes were great for soaking up liquor at a cocktail party. She’d passed the library earlier where two young men in short white jackets were setting up the bar with bottles of every liquor imaginable, dozens of crystal glasses and cocktail napkins festooned with a large, flamboyant
F
.

Gigi was using a demitasse spoon to remove the insides of the potatoes when Anja bustled into the room. Her blond hair was swept into a low ponytail, and she had a knitted poncho over her shoulders.

“I must be going out for something.”

“What do you need? I might have—”

But Anja was already shaking her head. “No, I am afraid you won’t have what I need. I am getting Miss Felicity some of the herb tea that they blend especially for her at Bon Appétit. She takes it every morning to help with the . . . how do you say it”—she made a sweeping motion down the length of her body—“getting rid of the water.” She looked at Gigi and smiled. “We are out, and she will need it tomorrow.”

Gigi nodded, understanding. It must be Evelyn Fishko’s famous diuretic tea, Gigi thought. A combination of dandelion, cucumber and burdock that flushed excess water from the body. Evelyn was the owner of Bon Appétit and something of an amateur herbalist. Gigi knew that people from towns all over Connecticut came to her for her special blends thought to cure everything from edema to arthritis.

“I must be going, then.” Anja tossed her scarf over her shoulder and started toward the door.

She was stopped by an abrupt cry coming from the corridor. Both she and Gigi spun around.

“Help. Oh, help. Someone, I need help.”

Before either of them could move, Felicity burst into the kitchen. “Oh, help, someone,” she repeated. She was wearing a strapless, form-fitting, tiered fuchsia cocktail dress and was reaching behind her with both arms. “Help,” she repeated, dancing around the room, trying to reach in back of her.

“What is the matter?” Anja put down her handbag and regarded her employer curiously.

“I can’t get the zipper up,” Felicity fretted. “I knew I shouldn’t have had that extra glass of wine last night. I’m retaining water,” she finished on a wailing note.

“You must take a sauna,” Anja said. “It will get rid of the water, poof, like that.” She made an expressive gesture with her hands.

“You’re right.” Felicity gifted Anja with a broad smile. “Of course! Why didn’t I think of that?” She threw her arms around the housekeeper. “You take such good care of me, Anja. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

Anja smiled shyly, ducking her head at the compliment. “You go upstairs and take your sauna, and I will go and get your special tea. You can have a cup as soon as I get back.” She took a step toward the door. “Between them, you will fit into your dress perfectly.”

• • •

Gigi breathed a sigh of relief as Anja headed out the back door and Felicity went upstairs to her bedroom suite. Gigi was slicing a baguette when Alice arrived.

“The wind is picking up, and I think it wants to rain,” Alice announced as she whipped off her raincoat and hung it from a hook next to the pantry. She was going to help serve and was dressed accordingly in a slim black skirt and plain white blouse.

Gigi got out the bowl of ice water from the refrigerator where she’d been keeping the carrots, cauliflower and other vegetables she’d lightly blanched the day before. She cut the vegetables into bite-size pieces and dropped them back into the ice water to keep them crisp. She was making a tangy yogurt and spinach dip to go with them. She was cutting the last carrot when Vanessa Huff drifted into the room.

Alice’s head swiveled around, and her mouth opened in a small
o
. Alice, Gigi knew, was a fan of
For Better or For Worse
and watched the show regularly.

Vanessa was wearing what Gigi had heard called a “bandage” dress because it wrapped so tightly around the wearer. It was bright red and strapless, and Vanessa’s famous assets nearly spilled out the top. Up close, she looked younger than on television, and Gigi noticed that a blemish was forming to the right of her mouth. Her blond hair was softly curled and hung past her shoulders.

“Is Anja here?”

Gigi was about to answer when Don stuck his head around the door. His white dress shirt was open, and the ends of an untied bow tie dangled from his neck.

“Vanessa, be a doll and help me with this, would you?” He brandished the ends of the tie.

“Can I get you anything?” Gigi asked, but Vanessa shook her head and followed Don out of the kitchen.

Gigi breathed a sigh of relief. She had plenty to do as it was. She wondered if Sienna and Oliver would be at the party or if Sienna would even continue as Felicity’s publicist under the circumstances. Gigi didn’t think for a moment that Oliver and Felicity were really having an affair. The very idea was ridiculous. Oliver was head over heels in love with Sienna and completely focused on the upcoming birth of their baby.

Gigi took the satay sauce out of the refrigerator to come to room temperature. It was a mixture of various Asian spices along with soy sauce, sesame oil, chopped peanuts and spicy hot red chili paste. She would serve it with tiny bamboo skewers of grilled chicken. It was very tasty and relatively low fat. Of course, she was assuming that Felicity’s guests would nibble their way to a full meal at her party, although Gigi was not so naïve that she didn’t think there were some who would go out for a late, full dinner afterward.

Gigi glanced at her watch and felt a small bubble of panic rise in her throat. She had to finish soon and get upstairs to freshen up and slip into her dress. She’d thought about trying to do something with her hair—other than her usual style of letting it curl every which way around her face—but it didn’t look as if she would have time. She envied women who could, with a couple of twists and a bobby pin, create a charming up-do. Sienna was like that—she could plop her hair on top of her head without even looking and have it appear as if the best New York hairdresser had worked on it for hours.

Suddenly the door to the butler’s pantry swung open and both Gigi and Alice jumped.

“Is Felicity here?” Winchel demanded. He was already dressed in his dinner jacket, and a scowl marred his handsome face.

“Uh, nnnno,” Gigi stammered.

“Damn woman would be late for her own funeral,” he said before letting the door slam to in back of him.

Gigi and Alice exchanged a glance, and Alice raised one eyebrow.

“Captain of industry,” Gigi said succinctly and smiled.

“Indeed,” Alice concurred. “I’m so glad my Tom was a simple salesman, may he rest in peace.” Alice looked up at Gigi. “Tom and I were so happy, you know. Did the honeymoon last forever? No, not exactly. But we were happy. Long term, we were perfectly happy. I don’t understand my daughter.” She wiped at a tear that was threatening to spill over her lid and down her cheek.

Alice wasn’t the type who sought overt sympathy, so Gigi looked away and allowed her a moment to get herself together.

She was untying her apron when Derek slunk into the room. He was wearing a blazer with patched sleeves, dark velvet jeans and a sulky expression. “Is there anything to eat?” he asked petulantly.

Gigi was at a loss. There would be plenty of things to eat in an hour. Did he expect her to fix something especially for him?

“Here,” Alice said in experienced parental tones as she pushed a bowl of fruit toward him. “Have a banana or an apple.”

“I thought there were going to be hors d’oeuvres.” His lips turned down in an exaggerated pout.

“There will be,” Alice said firmly. “But you’ll have to wait for those.”

Derek rolled his eyes and sidled toward the door. “Have you seen Felicity?” he mumbled in Gigi’s direction.