Steamed to Death Read Online Free Page A

heard plenty of scurrying at night, and it’s not mice afoot.” Alex played with his teaspoon, turning it over and over. “It’s worse than one of those English drawing room comedies.” He scrunched the last bite of his galette between the tines of his fork and licked it off. “Don has been Felicity’s agent for years, and she wasn’t at all pleased when he signed Vanessa and got her a part on For Better or For Worse .”
    Gigi made a vow to tune into the soap the next opportunity she got. She’d watched it once or twice when she was sick in bed, but she certainly hadn’t seen it since Vanessa joined the cast.
    “And,” Alex said breathlessly, his eyes open wide, his gaze pinning Gigi’s, “Don used to be Felicity’s exclusive property, if you know what I mean . And you don’t take from Felicity what is Felicity’s. At least not without suffering the consequences.”
    Gigi couldn’t help it. Her head swiveled toward Felicity’s husband, who was at the head of the table, his plate pushed to one side and his cell phone pressed to his ear.
    Alex waved a hand. “Jack and Felicity have what could be called an open relationship. She doesn’t question him, and, in turn, he lets her go her own way.”
    It was all too much for Gigi. She excused herself quickly and beat a retreat to the kitchen to help Anja with the dishes.
    • • •
    The next day, Gigi was already showered, dressed and up to her elbows in flour when Alice Slocum arrived to help. Alice worked part-time at the police station and was one of Gigi’s most successful clients. She’d started Gigi’s meal plan several months before the wedding of her daughter, Stacy, and by the time the big day rolled around, was fitting into a very nice size ten.
    “It’s going to rain,” Alice said ominously as she shed her knitted jacket and ran a hand through her silver curls, removing a dried red leaf that had blown into her hair. “How is it going?”
    Gigi looked up from the pastry crust she was rolling out. “So far, I’m on schedule.” She brushed at the flour that clung to her forearms.
    “How is Woodstone’s very own diva?” Alice picked up the apron Gigi had set out for her and tied it around her now slim waist.
    “Felicity? About what you’d expect. Half-nervous, half-excited. Fortunately she’s been staying out of the kitchen.” Gigi picked up her rolling pin and dusted off the excess flour. She glanced at Alice out of the corner of her eye and noticed that Alice’s normally cheerful face was anything but. Was something wrong?
    “Okay, boss, what do you want me to do first?” Alice smiled, but Gigi noticed the smile didn’t reach her eyes.
    “I’m going to need at least two cups of chopped onions, so maybe you can start on those.”
    “Right-o.” Alice tore open the netted bag of yellow onions, took a handful to the sink and began peeling them. She flushed the peels down the disposal and began cutting the onions into quarters.
    Gigi noticed her dash a hand across her eyes.
    “They say if you run some cold water, it will keep your eyes from tearing.”
    “Thanks.”
    Alice’s voice sounded funny. As if she really was crying. Gigi turned around.
    “Hey, what gives? I don’t think it’s that onion making you cry.”
    Alice shook her head.
    “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.