Free Allergic to Death by Peg Cochran

knew she wasn’t responsible for Martha’s death, she still felt guilty. As if she had failed Martha somehow. Maybe if she found the person who really did it, she’d feel better.
    Gigi cleaned up her breakfast dishes, put some fresh water in Reg’s bowl, exchanged her pajamas for a pair of jeans and a bateau-necked top and tucked her grocery list into her purse. She had to make a trip to the Shop and Save just outside of town but her first stop would be Bon Appétit. She needed a few things she wouldn’t find anywhere else like black truffle oil and a new tart pan. And, even more importantly, the owner, Evelyn Fishko, was near neighbors with Martha Bernhardt. Who knew what gossip she might be persuaded to share?
    Evelyn was behind the counter when Gigi pushed open the door to Bon Appétit. A small bell announced her arrival with a melodic tinkle. Evelyn looked up from the jar of lemon curd she was wrapping in tissue paper and glanced at Gigi over the top of her glasses. She had an apron with Bon Appétit! in scrawling black script fastened around her middle and a black cardigan tied loosely over her shoulders.
    She nodded at Gigi as she lowered the jar into a glossy white bag with Bon Appétit in the same black script. She pushed it to one side and leaned on the counter. “Morning. What can I get you?”
    She knew Gigi always came in with a list and was anefficient shopper, unlike so many of the housewives who trolled the aisles for an hour and left empty-handed.
    Gigi pulled the piece of paper from her purse. “Some truffle oil to start.”
    Evelyn pushed off from the counter and went to a well-stocked display to the right of the checkout. She ran her finger along the shelves until she found what she was looking for. “This do?” She adjusted the glasses on her nose and peered at the label. “It’s the Sabatino Tartufi from Italy. I’ve only got the smaller size.” She glanced at Gigi over her shoulder.
    “That’s fine,” Gigi reassured her. “I only need the slightest bit.” The last thing she planned to do was drown her clients’ food in hundreds of calories of expensive oil. She wouldn’t use more than the barest drop—just enough to provide the maximum flavor with the minimum of calories.
    Evelyn put the bottle of oil on the counter and stood poised with her hands on her hips.
    “Do you have a nine-inch tart pan? Preferably nonstick?”
    Evelyn snorted. “Of course I do. What kind of a cookery store would this be if I didn’t stock the most basic necessities?” She spun on her heel and disappeared into the warren of shelves opposite the cash register.
    Gigi wondered about a tart pan being a basic necessity. Most people these days did little more than take out, eat out or microwave.
    She glanced at the counter and noticed that Evelyn had received the day’s Woodstone Times . It was folded and still in its plastic wrapper. Obviously Evelyn hadn’t had a chance to read it yet. Gigi felt heat crawl from her feet to the top of her head. Once Evelyn—and everyone else in Woodstone—read about Martha’s Gourmet De-Lite meal and the peanut oil, she’d be ruined. She’d never be able to hold her head up again.
    Evelyn returned, brandishing the pewter-colored pan. She plunked it down on the counter. “What else?”
    “That’s it for today.” Gigi was itching to get out of there in case Evelyn had the only case of X-ray vision ever known and could see through the newspaper wrapper to the damning article inside on the front page. But that wouldn’t solve anything. If she was going to clear her name, she’d have to learn more about Martha, and Evelyn was a good place to start. She reached into her purse for her wallet.
    But how to introduce Martha into their nonexistent conversation? Perhaps she’d start with the usual pleasantries and find a way to weave it in. Surely Martha’s murder—she stumbled over the word, even in her own head—was on the tip of everyone’s tongue.
    “Nice day