Allergic to Death by Peg Cochran

like Winston and Barbie had come into money from somewhere, Gigi thought as she waited for them to come home. Was it just good luck that Martha had died right when they needed money so desperately?
    Or was it something else entirely?



Chapter 8

    Winston and Barbie zoomed up the drive in their shiny, dark Mercedes half an hour later. Gigi had dozed off in the front seat of her car, her cheek pressed into the steering wheel, and she stretched awkwardly. The air inside the car was hot and stale despite the open windows. Barbie gave her a peculiar look as they whizzed past in a cloud of dust and cut grass.
    Gigi got out of her car, retrieved Barbie’s container of food, and followed them on foot down the long, circular drive. Winston had already parked and was waiting for her on the front step when she got there.
    “What have we here?” He held out a hand to take the glossy Gourmet De-Lite box from Gigi.
    “It’s Barbie’s dinner—”
    “Ah, yes! Especially prepared in your kitchen so we don’t have to dirty ours. How thoughtful of you.” Winston bowed with a flourish.
    “It’s not that, it’s low-calorie food,” Gigi began before he interrupted her again.
    “But of course. So my charming wife doesn’t even have to make the effort to diet. You do it all for her.”
    The scent of wine washed over Gigi—some expensive vintage, no doubt. Winston had obviously been drinking. As if to confirm it, he swayed slightly and grabbed at one of the white pillars holding up the portico.
    “Well, not exactly. She still has to—”
    “Just another way to spend my money,” Winston sighed.
    “If you’d rather I didn’t—” Gigi was seriously tempted to bolt back down the stairs, leap into her car and drive off.
    “Do I owe you some money for this?” Winston began to pull a tan leather Gucci wallet from his back pocket.
    “No.” Gigi shook her head. “It’s all been taken care of already.”
    “Will wonders never cease?” Winston swayed again and grabbed for Gigi’s shoulder.
    His grip was strong, and she tried not to flinch as he held on while regaining his rather precarious balance. She thought of what Alice had said about being careful, and a tremulous shiver ran up and down her spine. There was an underlying ruthlessness about Winston that was frightening.
    Gigi cleared her throat. She wanted to ask him if he knew anything about Martha’s cottage, but she was half-afraid. He swayed again, and Gigi moved backward on the step, out of arm’s reach.
    “I wonder if you might be able to tell me,” she began, taking a deep breath, “who owns my cottage now that Martha is dead. I know that you and Martha owned the theater together…”
    “Ah, yes, Martha’s twee little cottage.” Winston burped. He pointed to his chest. “I own it. It’s all mine. At least untilI find a buyer. I don’t know why Martha bought that place. It’s too small to be of any use. But”—he hiccoughed this time—“the land it’s on should fetch a pretty penny.” He looked thoughtful. “A pretty penny, indeed.”
    “So you’re planning on selling?” Gigi tried to keep the disappointment out of her voice, even as she felt her spirits plummet.
    He nodded. “Martha was very savvy, you know. Very savvy. She was the one who suggested we invest in that miserable old barn they call the Woodstone Theater. Too bad she didn’t live to see our investment come to fruition.” He wagged a finger at Gigi. “We got it at an excellent price, too. Martha knew how to drive a bargain.” He looked thoughtful again. “She knew how to”—he hesitated—“overlook things, as well.” He glanced back toward the house, where mellow lights had suddenly appeared in the windows. He cackled gleefully. “And she knew when and how to exact her revenge.”
    “Revenge?”
    He waved a hand at Gigi. “Ancient history now, my dear. Ancient history.”
    The front door creaked open. “Winston!” Barbie stood on the threshold, hands on hips. She