The Sweet Scent of Murder

by Susan P. Baker

  There must be a name for an outdoor kitchen, but since I didn’t think I would ever own one, it was a moot point. I heard a woman say, “A woman private eye. I’ve always thought that to be a marvelous idea.”

  At that moment, I wasn’t too thrilled, myself. Perhaps I should have gotten an innocuous position as a receptionist somewhere.

  “Now what would you like to drink?” Lawson asked, patting me on the hand like he would an elderly aunt. “My bartender, Juan, can prepare most anything. Kelby, where’s Juan?”

  The man called Kelby said to Mr. Lawson, “Went inside for something. What do you want?” This last, to me.

  I glanced at the man and resisted making a snide remark. Though the day grew late, the sun continued to beat down, the humidity never ceasing, it being Houston, Texas, only fifty miles from the Gulf of Mexico. I longed for something to quench my thirst and debated whether it would be ethical to imbibe alcohol on the job.

  Lawson said, “There’s a pitcher of martinis in the fridge. Also, a pitcher of frozen margaritas in the freezer, but whatever you want.”

  Hilary Lawson smiled her good-witch smile and held out her empty glass. The ugly man popped several olives into it. She must have eaten the others while I wasn’t looking. He was about to pour the refill when Juan returned and took over. Juan filled her glass to the brim. She sipped until the level lowered about half an inch, smiled again, and tiptoed over to stretch out next to a woman on a chaise lounge.

  When I turned back, Lawson stared my way, awaiting my decision. His coloring looked off, as though he were ill. Sunglasses concealed his eyes. Feeling like an exhibit in a museum, I said, “A bottle of water?” My voice croaked.

  “Wonderful choice,” he said, as though I’d made some stupendous decision. “Juan, give the lady detective a cold bottle of water.” Immediately, conversations began again as if I’d never made an appearance. Lawson grinned and leaned on his elbow.

  Juan handed over the water, which I swallowed almost half of before coming up for air. My face felt flushed. Hilary Lawson conversed with the leggy woman lying next to her as though her children were upstairs playing video games and not in parts unknown. Both watched me. It seemed exceedingly strange that she would abandon our conversation. Didn’t she want to find her children? Or did she already know where they were? Why not usher me out the door?

  The Kelby-man now stood with two other men next to the diving board. One gestured animatedly as he talked, the contents of his highball glass rolling from side-to-side like a sailboat in rough seas.

  A man with smooth good looks seemed vaguely familiar. He relaxed in a lawn chair, alone, his eyes aimed toward Mrs. Lawson.

  On the opposite side of the pool, three middle-aged women whispered among themselves. A couple of men sat on the side of the pool, dangling their feet in the water, deep in discussion. Kelby-what’s-his-face now made his way to the other side and openly stared at me. He wore a gray pinstriped suit. He lit a cigar, the stinky smell wafting across to where I stood. As he headed our way, Lawson took my elbow, directing me elsewhere. As Ugly approached, he slipped in pool water and collided with us. Mr. Lawson’s arm went to steady himself while I grabbed the back of a chair for support. The other man grasped at Lawson and they stumbled around for a few seconds in a clumsy waltz until both of them regained their balance. I had to bite my lip to smother my amusement. It’s nice to know the rich can be as graceless as the poor.

  “Damn, Kelby, watch it,” Lawson said as he straightened up.

  “Sorry, old chum. That water is really dangerous, you know. You should tell one of your Mexicans to mop it up.” He picked up his cigar from where it had bounced on the concrete and landed against the bar.

  Lawson said something to Juan in Spanish. Juan left. Lawson made his way haltingly behind the bar, pulled out a folded, white dishtowel, and blotted the remainder of his drink off his clothing. “Good thing my glass was almost empty. This is Kelby McAfee, Miss Davis,” Lawson said, indicating the little ugly man. “He’s a business associate of mine. Kelby, shake the lady’s hand if you can manage it without knocking her down.”

  McAfee switched the cigar to his other hand and shook my fingers. The cigar stench clung to his clothing like fabric softener gone bad. “Nice to meet you.” I suppressed a shiver and wondered why Lawson hadn’t introduced us in the first place.

  “Same here. What is Harrison hiring you for?”

  I glanced at Lawson, but he had bent over behind the bar. He straightened up, his face red, and began sloshing more liquid into a glass. “He hasn’t hired me to do anything, yet.”

  “Then what are you doing here?” The deep voice came from behind me.

  I turned and came eyeball-to-eyeball with the owner of the familiar-looking face. He wore a sports shirt that matched his swimming trunks. The way he held his drink, I could see an impressive diamond pinky ring and a diamond-and-gold watch—which must have cost thirty-thousand if a dime—on his left wrist as though deliberately on display.

  “James Rush,” he said, and stuck out his hand.

  “The lawyer. I knew I recognized your face.” My hand slipped into his. His shake wasn’t bad. Firm, not bone-crushing, but there was something about him . . .

  “It’s nice of you to say so.” He bared what had to be chemically whitened teeth.

  “Not at all. I’ve seen your picture on the news and in the paper several times. Didn’t you win a huge verdict recently? What was it, some millions of dollars in a mass tort claims case?”

  “Two hundred or so, but what’s a mil or two one way or the other?” He cocked his head as he smiled at me.

  I laughed. “I can see why it wouldn’t be impressive to you, but to me, that’s a lot of money.

  Lawson came from behind the bar with a full glass. He still seemed tentative on his feet.

  “After a while, money doesn’t mean much,” Rush said.

  “Says you,” I said. “I know a lot of people who wouldn’t agree.”

  “What he means is, the greatest joy is in the winning,” Lawson said in a dour tone of voice.

  “It’s the battle—the challenge of seeing who’s going to come out on top.” More slurred words from another man who had just walked up. Looked like Lawson wasn’t the only one who’d had a bit too much.

  “This is Clayton Hadley, Miss Davis, another business associate,” Lawson said haltingly.

  “How do you do, Miss Davis,” Hadley said, “miss” sounding like myth. A short, pudgy fellow with a bushy mustache, tiny dark eyes, and a pockmarked face, he and McAfee might tie for the grand prize in a hideous man contest. Where were all the beautiful people?

  I held out my hand once again. Hadley shook it, barely touching it before pulling his hand away. I wasn’t sure I wanted to make contact with the fellow anyway.

  “Can I get a refill, Harrison?” Hadley asked.

  “You stay where you are, Harrison, and visit with your guest. I’ll get it,” Rush said, taking the glass and walking behind the bar as though it were his own.

  Juan had finished mopping up but hadn’t returned from storing the mop. Rush dropped a couple of cubes into Hadley’s glass, searched around under the bar, and poured Johnny Walker Black.

  “It’s just a game, is that it?” I asked, looking from man to man.

  “That’s it, all right. Fun and games,” Rush said as he handed Hadley his glass.

  Something was going on, only I wasn’t in on it. I glanced at their faces again. Their smiles went no further than their mouths.

  “So you’re going to hire this young lady to find the missing children, is that it?” Rush asked Lawson.

  “Seems she’s already been hired by someone else,” Lawson said. He grimaced and put his hand to his stomach.

  “You don’t mean Hilary?” asked McAfee.

  “No, I mean Tommy. He hired Miss Davis yesterday. Isn’t that right?” He nodded at me.

  “Yes, sir. That’s correct.”

  “Tommy’s always been i
maginative,” Lawson said. “Seems he thought something had really happened to Jeanine and went to Miss Davis’s office after school. Paid her a two-thousand-dollar retainer.”

  I cringed. Talk of money—where it concerned me at least—was embarrassing. I wanted to scoot right out of there before those rich snobs made me feel any cheaper. I couldn’t do that so I addressed the issue head on. “You’re obviously not worried about either of your children.”

  Lawson chuckled, though it hit an odd note. Again it resulted in a wrenching cough. Again he wiped at corners of his mouth and blotted his forehead. “No, my dear, I’m not. They’ll come back in good time. You know how hot-headed teenagers can be.”

  I studied his face. He looked strained and his words didn’t ring true. “I’ve never had children, but Tommy didn’t appear hot-headed to me, Mr. Lawson. He came across as a deeply troubled young man.” I began to get hot-headed myself and not just from the searing Houston heat. If he’d forced me outside in front of all his friends just to make me feel like a fool, he was succeeding.

  “What did he think Jeanine was up to, Miss Davis?” McAfee asked.

  “He didn’t know.” I turned to him. “But he thought she would have called him if it was an act to get attention.”

  “And she hadn’t?” Rush asked.

  “No.” I drank more water. “At least not the last time I talked with him.”

  “Well, I think I know my own children better than you do, Miss Davis,” Lawson said loudly, “and believe me, they’re just trying to punish us for some imaginary offense.” He backed closer to the bar and leaned his weight on his forearm.

  As loud as he’d been, Lawson had caught most everyone’s attention. The talking stopped again, all eyes turned toward our little group. My face grew hotter.

  “I’m sure you do, Mr. Lawson.” I saluted him with the water bottle. “I’ll send Tommy’s check back in tomorrow’s mail.” I gave him a cutting glance and started to leave when he reached out for me.

  “Hold on, Miss Davis.” He emitted a groan. “Nothing to get offended about.” He swallowed again from his glass.

  I started to give him a tangy retort when his glass fell out of his hand and shattered on the concrete. Like a slow-motion movie, he clutched his chest, his eyes rolled up, the whites shining, and he slumped to the ground. “Arrgh.”

  “Mr. Lawson!”

  Everyone gaped as if they’d swallowed too much pool water. Crouching over the man, I could see his skin had a sickly pallor.

  “Somebody do something,” I yelled. “Call nine-one-one.”

  “Move out of the way.” A man shoved me and bent over Lawson, putting his ear to Lawson’s chest. Then he felt Lawson’s wrist for a pulse. He started CPR.

  “Call an ambulance,” a voice said.

  I grabbed my cell out of my shoulder bag and punched in nine-one-one. A group of people encircled Lawson. I saw other people on their cells as well—the man McAfee, two almost pimply-faced young men, a couple of women I hadn’t been introduced to—but completed my call anyway.

  The man continued trying to resuscitate him for several minutes. Finally he rocked back on his heels and shook his head. “He’s dead.”

  Chapter Five

  “Harrison!” Mrs. Lawson shrieked from where she lay. Several women rushed to her, preventing her from getting up.

  “Holy shit,” a man behind me said.

  “Are you a doctor?” I asked the man who’d tried to resuscitate Mr. Lawson and made the declaration of death.

  “Afraid so,” he said.

  “Can’t you keep trying? Do something?”

  “Lady,” he said. “He has no pulse. Get me something to cover him.”

  “How do you ring for the help?” I asked McAfee, whose eyes bulged out of their sockets.

  “Huh?” He appeared dazed.

  “A blanket. I need a blanket. How do I ring for the help?” I looked to Hadley and back to McAfee. They both stared blankly. I couldn’t tell if it was the booze or shock. The circle had broken with people moving away from the body with apparent revulsion.

  “There’s a buzzer here on the bar, Miss Davis,” James Rush said. He had one hand on a liquor bottle. “I’ve already pushed it, but I gave Juan instructions.” He poured himself another belt.

  “You’re a cool one.” While I waited for a response to his buzzing, I noticed his hand shake as he lifted his glass to his mouth.

  The women gathered around Hilary. The doctor proceeded to her and took her hand. Her face was as pale as printer paper.

  As I watched, several of the men tossed off their drinks. The people in the pool climbed out and covered up.

  The housekeeper came outside. I said to her, “I’m afraid Mr. Lawson’s passed away. We could do with a blanket to cover him up.”

  The older woman stumbled, but I caught her.

  “I’m sorry,” I said and led her inside. “Could you tell me where they’re kept?” I wondered where Juan had gone. Now that I thought of it, the other two Hispanic men had faded from the scene as well.

  The housekeeper looked at me for a moment, eyes blinking rapidly.

  “We don’t want to leave him just lying there,” I prompted.

  She cleared her throat and fanned her face with her hand. “I’ll . . . fetch . . . it,” she said, stared at me a few seconds longer, and crept from the room.

  I walked back out to the pool. “Don’t anyone touch anything,” I said in a loud voice, though I’m not sure anyone was listening.

  The doctor looked at me from where he sat with Hilary.

  “Do you want to call in a prescription for Mrs. Lawson or something?” I wanted to get him alone and find out if he would guess at the cause of death.

  “Good idea, Joan,” he said to the woman who looked like an over aged cheerleader, all blonde hair and animation, “sit with Hilary.”

  As we left, I saw several people move closer to the body, staring down at it. I swear, if Mr. Lawson hadn’t already passed on, he’d have died of asphyxiation.

  Inside, the doctor rummaged around in the desk in the library, excuse me, media center, until he found a telephone book. “What do you think he died of?” I asked as I watched the doctor calmly punch in some numbers on his cell phone.

  He cocked an eyebrow and shook his head. “Don’t know. Looked like a heart attack.”

  “Well, was it a heart attack? I thought it might be a heart attack, but I thought heart attack victims made more weird noises when the attack came, like a squeal or a grunt. I was near a man who had one once, and he cried out something awful and jerked around like a fish out of water.”

  He rolled his eyes, and then identified himself into the telephone and gave an order for some medication to be sent to Mrs. Lawson. When he hung up, I said, “Well, could it have been maybe a stroke? I’ve never been around a stroke victim. Except I had a friend who got sunstroke once.” “Miss Davis,” he said with a sigh, “I don’t know. There will have to be an autopsy.”

  “If it’s a heart attack, why would there have to be an autopsy? Can’t the family waive the autopsy?”

  He sighed again and acted annoyed. “I don’t know. You have to ask the medical examiner or someone in that field.”

  “What kind of doctor are you? Aren’t y’all supposed to know these things?”

  “Look, I’m a plastic surgeon. I haven’t seen a dead body since medical school.”

  “Oh. Well, you’re a friend of the family, right? Did Mr. Lawson have a history of high blood pressure? How were his cholesterol and triglyceride counts? High?”

  He gave me an exasperated look as he started to edge away. “I don’t know, Miss Davis. Can’t this wait?”

  I shrugged. “I guess so. I just wondered if there would be any reason to suspect murder.” That just slipped out, surprising both of us.

  He gave me a furious look. “Are you saying you suspect someone here of killing him?”

  “You never know,” I said and backed away, wishing I’d ke
pt my mouth shut.

  “You’re not going to suggest such a thing to Hilary.”

  “I’m not?” He said the wrong thing. I hated it when people, especially men, told me what to do.

  His dark eyes grew darker. “Give the poor woman a break, will you? Her kids have run off, and now this—”

  “Say,” I said, “do you think the two events could be related?”

  “I’ll be damned if I know.”

  “How much do you know about the family?”

  “Not much, really.” He headed toward the pool area. “I know them socially and Hilary’s been a patient of mine, but never confided in me. She keeps her problems to herself,” he said. “Unlike most women.”

  “What’d she have done, a boob job?”

  “Really, Miss Davis.” He opened the door to go out.

  “Just asking, Doc.”

  Someone was coming inside. It was the woman, Joan. “She asked for you, Bart. Maybe she should be taken upstairs to lie down.”

  “I’m coming.” To me, he said, “Do me a favor, will you, Miss Davis?”

  “Anything.”

  “Try to be a little more discreet with the others than you have been with me.” He left to go to Hilary.