Iced to Death Read Online Free Page A

halfway to her mouth. She made a noncommittal noise. She could feel heat rising up her chest to her neck and toward her face. Perhaps it would be better to feed Mertz first before breaking the news to him.
    Gigi had opened up the small gate-legged table in the living room that served as a dining table on occasion, and Mertz helped her carry out the platter of chicken, along with the bottle of wine and their glasses. She had a fire going in the fireplace—not exactly roaring, and it had taken her the entire Sunday edition of the
Woodstone Times
to get it going, but the logs glowed brightly in the shadowy room.
    Mertz wasted no time in tucking into the meal. “I’m starved,” he said around a mouthful of chicken. “Lunch was a bag of chips from the vending machine.”
    “What do you think?” Gigi watched him as he chewed.
    Mertz gave a deep sigh. “Delicious. Absolutely delicious. What did you call this again?”
    “Chicken cacciatore.”
    “Best meal I’ve had in a long time.” He forked up another bite of the stew. “I was about to run down to the diner for lunch when a call came in. Those potato chips didn’t quite fill the void, I’m afraid.”
    Gigi raised her eyebrows questioningly.
    “Someone stole Mrs. Nottingham’s garden gnome.” Mertz rolled his eyes. “That’s the second yard ornament to go missing in as many days. Someone also swiped one of those old-fashioned jockeys the Yarboroughs had beside their driveway.”
    “What on earth would anyone want with them?”
    “Beats me.” Mertz sighed and finished the last bit of chicken on his plate. “My guess is some kids are pulling a prank. I’m sure they think it’s funny, but I don’t appreciate their wasting my time.”
    Mertz shrugged and tossed his napkin onto the table. “That fire looks very inviting. Why don’t we take the rest of our wine over to the sofa?”
    “Okay.”
    They sat side by side on the couch, a careful two inches separating them. Mertz placed his left arm along the back of the sofa, the tips of his fingers lightly brushing Gigi’s shoulders.
    The warmth of the wine and the cozy crackling of the fire relaxed Gigi, and she found herself leaning against Mertz’s shoulder.
    He moved his hand to the back of Gigi’s neck, his fingertips brushing her skin lightly. “What time should I pick you up for tomorrow night’s party?”
    Gigi stiffened, all sense of relaxation gone. “About the party . . .”
    “Hmmm?” Mertz turned toward her slightly.
    Gigi’s fingers twisted together in her lap. Guilt pricked at her skin like a thousand porcupine quills. How was she going to break the news to Mertz?
    “What about the party?” Mertz turned further around so he could see Gigi.
    She closed her eyes. “Something has come up.”
    “Oh, no. I hope nothing’s wrong.” Mertz’s blue eyes crinkled with concern.
    “Not wrong, no. Not exactly.”
    “What is it then?”
    Gigi twisted her sweater between her fingers. “It’s like this. Declan’s chef quit—”
    “The party’s cancelled?”
    “No. But Declan needs help in the kitchen, and I . . . I . . .”
    “Volunteered?”
    “Yes,” Gigi said meekly. “I didn’t want to, but he persuaded me.”
    “Persuaded you?” Mertz jumped to his feet. “I have heard the fellow is terribly persuasive so I’m not surprised.
    “I’m sorry.” Gigi got to her feet, too.
    “I was looking forward to going with you.” Mertz’s mouth quirked downward.
    “You can still go,” Gigi said although she knew that would be scant consolation.
    “Forget it.” Mertz opened the closet by the door and retrieved his coat. He slipped into it briskly. “Thanks for dinner.”
    The slam of the door on his way out told Gigi everything she needed to know.

Chapter 3
    Gigi woke up on Saturday morning feeling as gray as the skies outside her window. By agreeing to help Declan, she’d upset Mertz—and just when their relationship was starting to take off. Would he forgive her or just move