Free Iced to Death by Peg Cochran

smarmy about him that set her teeth on edge.
    “Alec Pricely.” He held his hand out. He was wearing a brown suit, a dark brown shirt and a silver tie.
    Gigi shook his hand gingerly. It was quite cold. Before she could say anything, the door to the recording area opened and a young man popped his head out. He had dark hair that stood on end and the tattoo of a fleur-de-lis on his right wrist.
    “I think we’re about ready,” he said.
    Gigi felt her heart do a slight tap dance in her chest.
    “There’s nothing to be nervous about,” Pricely said, as if reading her thoughts.
    Gigi just smiled at him.
    “You can leave your pooch with me,” the girl behind the desk said. “I’ll be glad to keep an eye on him. We’ve got three strays ourselves.” She reached into her desk drawer and pulled out a dog biscuit.
    Reg was happily nibbling away as Gigi and Pricely went into a windowless room dominated by a control panel with all sorts of dials and buttons. A young man who introduced himself as Geoff sat down in front of it in a worn-looking swivel chair. He faced a wall of glass and a smaller room beyond, where Gigi could see a narrow podium and a microphone.
    Pricely handed Gigi a piece of paper. “Your part is written right there.” He pointed a rather stubby finger at several lines of text.
    Gigi took the paper and read over the words. She hoped she could get through them without flubbing.
    It took her ten tries to nail it. It felt strange talking into the microphone while wearing a set of headphones.
    “Pretend you’re talking directly to your audience,” Pricely said, sounding slightly exasperated after the fifth take.
    Gigi could see him through the window turning his gold-and-diamond wedding band around and around.
    She tried again. “From my house to your house . . .” she began, when Geoff tapped on the glass, and she heard the click of the mic coming on.
    “Sorry about that. I wasn’t quite ready.” His voice came through the glass.
    Gigi started over. By the time Geoff and Pricely were both satisfied, perspiration was running down her sides, and she’d finished the glass of water the receptionist had brought her.
    “Great job,” Pricely said, clapping her on the back.
    Gigi gave a weak smile.
    “About the music,” Pricely said, slumping back into his seat. “Something upbeat, I would think.”
    Gigi hesitated.
    He waved a hand at her. “Thanks a million. I’ll take care of the rest of this.”
    Gigi nodded gratefully and headed toward the reception area.
    She was wrapping Reg’s leash around her hand when the receptionist looked up at her. “Didn’t I see you at Hunter Simpson’s engagement party?”
    Gigi nodded. “Yes. I was meant to be a guest, but Declan, the owner, needed my help in the kitchen.”
    “I thought you looked familiar, but I couldn’t place you. It was driving me crazy.” She stuck her pencil behind her ear. “Quite a do wasn’t it?” She looked down at her nails briefly. “Until that sod Bradley had to cut into Hunter the way he did.” She quirked a smile at Gigi. “Jimmy—that’s my husband—is Hunter’s uncle. Not much love lost between him and his brother-in-law, as you can imagine.”
    Gigi tried to look interested without looking too interested. In her experience, an overly obvious show of interest tended to remind people that they were spilling their secrets to a near stranger, and it would often staunch the flow of information.
    “I’m Cheryl, by the way.” She held out a slim hand. The skin on the back of it was pale and thin and dotted with a handful of brown spots. Cheryl was a lot older than she wanted people to think. “I felt badly for Barbara. First Bradley going off the way he did, and then her coming down sick. Barbara’s a good egg.”
    Gigi nodded. “Are Barbara and Jimmy close?”
    Cheryl made a back-and-forth motion with her hand. “They used to be, but ever since Barbara and Bradley got married . . .” She rolled her eyes.