Iced to Death by Peg Cochran

Sienna’s expression.
    It also made her another perfect suspect in Bradley Simpson’s murder.
    • • •
    Gigi was surprised to see Pia sitting at the kitchen island nursing a cup of cocoa when she got up the following morning. Her sister’s face looked thinner than usual and was ashen with fatigue. Pia poked at the marshmallows in her cup with her index finger.
    “Good morning,” Gigi offered tentatively. It was obvious from the stiff set of Pia’s shoulders that something was bothering her.
    Pia didn’t respond, just lowered her face into her mug of cocoa.
    Gigi sighed and began measuring coffee into the coffeemaker. She added water, pushed the button, and the machine gurgled to life. It was equipped with an automatic timer, but she never seemed to remember to set it up the night before—although the few times she had, it was heavenly to wake up to the smell of freshly brewed coffee instead of the usual racket from her alarm clock.
    Pia made a small noise—to Gigi it sounded halfway between a squeak and a suppressed sneeze. Was Pia crying? Gigi glanced at her sister again and saw her shoulders were shaking.
    She was.
    “What’s wrong?” Gigi asked with a sense of resignation. Pia regularly got into scrapes that ranged from almost nothing to practically illegal.
    “I went to Declan’s last night,” Pia said with a hiccough. “We had a wonderful chat. I’ve really missed having a man in my life.”
    By Pia’s own account, she had said good-bye to the philandering Clive barely a few weeks before, so her love life had hardly been akin to the Sahara desert.
    “He asked me to stay for a nightcap.” She glanced up at Gigi. “It’s wonderful to find someone who
understands
you.”
    Anyone who could understand Pia was exceptional indeed, Gigi thought. Gigi had hoped that Pia’s infatuation with Declan would have passed by now. Obviously it hadn’t. She had to figure out a way to let Pia know that Declan wasn’t serious . . . but without hurting her feelings. Somehow Gigi didn’t think that was going to be possible.
    “We had such a lovely chat.” Pia drained the rest of her cocoa and put the mug down. It had already left a series of wet rings on Gigi’s countertop. “And then the police came in! Said he was wanted for questioning.” She turned large, imploring eyes on Gigi. “For that murder in the parking lot!”
    Gigi was reaching for the carafe of coffee, and her hand jerked, sloshing hot liquid onto her bathrobe. She stared at the spot and sighed. The robe was due for a wash anyway.
    “You have to do something.” Pia knitted her fingers together as if she were praying.
    “Me?” Gigi pointed to herself. “There’s nothing I can do. I’m sure that the police will soon sort it out and realize they’ve made a—”
    “You can call that detective of yours. Tell him he has to let Declan go. He had nothing to do with the murder. It’s not fair!” She ended on a wail.
    “We’re somewhat on the outs at the moment,” Gigi admitted.
    “Then you have to make up with him. Come on,” Pia pleaded. “You know you want to.”
    Gigi had to admit her sister was right. She missed Mertz.
    “Just call him and see what you can find out.” Pia slid off her stool and grabbed the phone from the cradle. “Here.” She held it out toward Gigi.
    “I can’t just call him and . . . demand an explanation.” Gigi insisted.
    Pia’s face fell, then almost immediately brightened. “Have him over for dinner. Wine him and dine him. That ought to do the trick.”
    Gigi was surprised to find herself actually considering the idea. She’d always done whatever was necessary to take care of Pia. Was this any different?
    Pia waved the phone at Gigi.
    “Oh, all right.” Gigi took the receiver from Pia’s hand and quickly dialed the Woodstone Police Station. Her mouth went dry. What if Mertz refused to talk to her? What if he hung up on her?
    She glanced over her shoulder at Pia, who was making encouraging