Christmas Sweets by Joanne Fluke

Author:Joanne Fluke
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington Books
Published: 2019-09-08T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

Gigi was subdued in the days following Scotty’s death. Gone was the spring in her step and the sparkle in her eye. She led her charges up to Santa’s chair with all the joie de vivre of a condemned man tootling off to the electric chair.

Rumor had it she was seeing a shrink.

I tried to question her about Scotty’s murder, hoping she could provide me with a valuable clue. After all, she was on duty with him when he was killed. But every time I tried to talk to her, she seemed to be in a hurry somewhere—to her acting class, to her gym, to her aromatherapist . . .

If I didn’t know better I’d say she was avoiding me.

Well, she wasn’t going to lose me that easily.

With a quick trip to Molly’s office, and a fib about wanting to send Gigi a Christmas card, I was able to obtain her address.

I planned to pay her a visit in person. Nothing like a face-to-face chat to wring the truth out of a witness.

I waited till the following Saturday when the weekend Santa Land crew had taken over and neither of us was working. Then I called her to make sure she was home, using a pay phone at the public library so she wouldn’t see my name on her caller ID.

She answered the phone with a weary “hello,” and I immediately hung up and dashed to my car—eager to zip over to her apartment for our long-delayed chat.

Gigi Harris lived in Westwood, in one of the many courtyard buildings that dot the neighborhood around UCLA. I walked up the front path to a security gate, and peering inside, saw a tiny pool, surrounded by rusty lounge chairs. An abandoned volleyball bobbed forlornly in the turquoise water.

Unwilling to ring Gigi’s buzzer and risk having her blow me off, I waited at the gate, examining the names on the intercom, until at last one of the tenants came out, a lanky guy toting a backpack and wheeling his bike. After he pushed the gate open, I held it out for him, and then scooted inside.

Safe in the courtyard, I trotted over to Gigi’s apartment and knocked on her door.

“Who is it?” she called out.

“It’s me. Jaine Austen, from work.”

I heard footsteps shuffling and then the door opened a crack.

Gigi peered out at me with glazed eyes, her uncombed hair sticking out in messy spikes. Yet somehow she still managed to look cute.

Life’s sure not fair, is it? When my hair sticks out in messy spikes, I look like Medusa on uppers.

“How did you get past the security gate?” she asked.

“It was open,” I fibbed.

“Well?” she said, making no move to let me in. “How can I help you?”

“Look, I know you’re unhappy about what happened to Scotty, but I really need to talk to you. Can I come in for just a minute?”

“Oh, all right,” she sighed.

She opened the door, and I almost gasped when I saw that she was standing

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