Read Confession Is Murder Online
Authors: Peg Cochran
Tags: #Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, #Cozy, #Women Sleuths, #Mystery, #New Jersey, #saints, #Jersey girl, #church, #Italian
Confession Is Murder (27 page)
Adora took the container with her name neatly printed in the corner, whipped it open and stared at the contents. She’d pulled off the short wig, and her own blond tresses cascaded to her shoulders. “I could eat three of these,” she moaned, gesturing at the meal Gigi had delivered. “Pierce has been working us hard all morning. We’ve burned millions of calories, I’m sure.”
“Well, you can’t have mine,” said Barbie Bernhardt, clutching her container of food to her chest. She was pretty in a cotton candy kind of way and already had a figure to die for. But as the “trophy” second wife of rich investor Winston Bernhardt, she had to stay on her toes. Someone even younger, more attractive, and with a better figure might come along and snatch him away at any moment.
Which is exactly what Barbie herself had done, or so Gigi had heard—stealing Winston right out from under Martha Bernhardt’s nose. Barbie and Martha were icily polite with each other whenever their paths crossed, with Martha’s mouth set in a permanently bitter line and Barbie looking as smug as a cat that had discovered crème fraîche.
Adora took out a piece of melba toast and downed it in one bite. She closed her eyes. “Mmmmm, you do manage to make things taste delicious.” She ran the tip of her tongue languidly across her lips.
“I don’t know about you all, but I’m going outside for a breath of air.” Barbie tossed her blond ponytail over her shoulder. “It’s beastly in here.”
“Don’t bother,
cara mia
, it’s raining.” A man appeared from the shadowy depths of the theater, his shirt darkened with splotches of rain. He shook out his umbrella before placing it across one of the seats.
Pierce scowled at him over the footlight. “Emilio. You’re late.”
“I am so sorry.”
“Well, I’m going outside anyway. Winston’s here,” Barbie replied sulkily. We’ll sit in the car, I guess.”
Emilio shrugged. “Bon appétit.”
“Where’s Alice?” Gigi looked around, holding the last of her Gourmet De-Lite lunches.
“Here I am,” a voice sang out from the darkness, and Alice made her way toward them, her gray hair frizzed out around her like a halo. She took her lunch and sighed, weighing it in her hand. “Not enough here to keep a bird alive,” she grumbled.
“Now, Alice, you know if you want to lose enough weight in time for your daughter’s wedding, you have to make some sacrifices,” Adora purred.
Alice shot her a look. “Please. You don’t have to remind me. I have to look good for my daughter in front of that . . . that woman.”
“The future mother-in-law?” Emilio reached toward Alice’s open container, and she playfully slapped his hand away.
“This is mine, and I’m not sharing. I can’t. I need every bite Gigi allows me.” She took out one of the melba toast rounds and delicately bit it in half. “Mmmm, delicious, as always.” She licked the tips of her fingers. “Yes, you could say we’re having in-law problems already. Or, at least I am.” Alice sighed. “She’s a perfect size six, and she’s bought the perfect dress for this perfect wedding for the perfect couple,” Alice mimicked in a chirping falsetto. “And I perfectly despise her! Look at me.” She gestured toward herself. “I’m a perfect whale!”
“You’re going to be beautiful,” Gigi reassured her.
“It’s just that we were in high school together,” Alice mumbled around another bite of melba toast. “And she always thought she was better than me. She stole the first boyfriend I ever had. Just once I’d like to get the better of her.”
“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.
Books by Peg Cochran
Allergic to Death
Steamed to Death
Iced to Death
(coming 3/14)
Writing as Meg London
Murder Unmentionable
Laced with Poison
Fatal Slip
(coming 2/14)
eBooks
Confession Is Murder
Oh, Brother!
(young adult)
Truth or Dare
(young adult)
About the Author
Peg grew up in a New Jersey suburb about twenty-five miles outside of New York City. After college, she moved to the City, where she managed an art gallery owned by the son of the artist Henri Matisse.
After her husband died, Peg remarried and her new husband took a job in Grand Rapids, Michigan, where they now live (on exile from New Jersey, as she likes to joke). Somehow Peg managed to segue from the art world to marketing and is now the manager of marketing communications for a company that provides services to seniors.
She has two cozy mystery series out from Berkley Prime Crime—the Sweet Nothings Vintage Lingerie series, writing as Meg London, set in Paris, Tennessee, and the Gourmet De-Lite series, under her own name, set in Connecticut.
Peg has two daughters, a stepdaughter and stepson, a beautiful granddaughter, a cat named Frazzle, and a Westhighland white terrier named Reggie. You can read more at
www.pegcochran.com
and www.meglondon.com.
Content
Excerpt from Allergic to Death
Table of Contents