Sweet Smell of Sucrets

by Renee Pawlish

  “Hey,” a sweet voice said a while later.

  I opened my eyes as a cold gust of air enveloped me. The living room was dark and blue light from the television bathed the room in an eerie glow. Willie was standing in the doorway, grocery bags in her hands.

  “Hey yourself,” I said, pushing myself off the couch. I turned on a light, then helped her with the groceries.

  “Are you feeling okay?” she asked as she put fresh vegetables into the refrigerator.

  “I had a headache but I’m okay now,” I said.

  “You’ve been pushing it too hard,” she scolded me.

  “I don’t have much choice. I’ve got to figure out who killed Noel Farrell.”

  “I know. Why don’t you sit down and I’ll fix dinner. Then you can relax tonight.”

  She didn’t have to ask twice. I sat down at the table and we chatted while she prepared some canned soup and salad.

  “You’re not going to believe what Ace did,” I said and then filled her in on my afternoon.

  She shook her head at his antics, then became serious. “You think Gus will be able to find where we live?”

  “I don’t see how he could, but be careful, okay?” Now I sounded like her. “What I don’t get is how Gus and Mick are connected to U.S. International Realty.”

  “Maybe they’re realtors?” Willie suggested.

  “I highly doubt it,” I said. “They’re not exactly the realtor type. Plus, there were only a couple of realtors listed on the website. I met one named Lois. She showed me properties in Belize.”

  “We’re moving to Belize?”

  “Hardly. I was trying to figure out why Gus and Mick were driving an SUV that belongs to that company. Lois said the realtors usually use their own cars to take clients to properties, so I’m not sure why there’d be a vehicle registered to the company.”

  “Who owns the company? Maybe the SUV belongs to the owner.”

  “That’s not a bad thought.” I dug out my cell phone and Googled the company. “Their website doesn’t say who owns it.”

  “Cal can find it,” she said as she put plates on the table.

  I sighed and gingerly scratched my jaw. I hadn’t shaved in a couple of days and the stubble was itchy. “I can’t see how Noel Farrell, the thugs Gus and Mick, and Trevor Welch are connected.”

  “You’ll figure it out,” she said. She smiled. “I have faith in you.”

  I appreciated her trying to make me feel better. We lapsed into silence while she puttered around and finished making the salad. I helped her put everything on the table and then we sat down.

  “Where do you go from here?” she said after we’d eaten a bit.

  “I’m going back to Welch’s townhouse.”

  “Now?”

  “Tonight.”

  “Do you think he’s going to come back?”

  I shook my head. “He’s in hiding, so I’m going to try to get in and see what I can find.”

  Her face fell. “Are you sure you want to do this tonight? You look tired.”

  “I am tired, but it’ll be better to go when it’s dark, and I can’t waste any time.”

  “You’re right.” She started to take a bite of salad, then put her fork down and pushed her plate away.

  “I’ll be fine,” I said before she could say anything. I’d lost my appetite, too, and I stopped eating.

  She nodded but I hadn’t convinced her. “I’ll go with you.”

  “No way.”

  “We’ll take my car, that way if those thugs are around, they won’t recognize your rental. And if they show up, I can call and warn you.”

  I had to admit, that made sense. I pointed at her. “But you stay in the car. Two people breaking into a home is easier to spot than one. And my mother would never forgive me if you ended up in jail.”

  “That’s true,” she said. “By the way, have you told her what’s going on?”

  “Are you nuts? She’d lose her mind if –” I saw the look on her face and realized she was kidding. She burst into laughter. “Very funny,” I said. “I’ll clean up the kitchen and then we’ll go.”

  She was still laughing when I went into the bedroom to change into dark clothes and get my lock-pick set and flashlight.

  ***

  “Don’t you dare leave this car,” I said. “Don’t pull an Ace on me.”

  “That’s funny,” she said. “But I’ll stay here. Sneaking into a house at night like this gives me the creeps.”

  We were sitting in her car, parked down the street from Trevor Welch’s townhouse. I pulled on my black knit cap, silenced my cell phone, then got out of the car. The street was quiet. Here and there lights were on in windows, but the shades were all drawn. I waved at Willie, then stole down to Welch’s townhouse. It was bitter cold and dark, and the streetlight at the corner gave little illumination where I was. I sneaked up the drive and around the back, then tiptoed up the stairs to the back deck.

  I pulled out the lock-pick set, hoping it wouldn’t take too long to unlock the door. My hands were already cold. I tried the doorknob, and to my surprise, it turned. I guess Gus hadn’t bothered to lock it after he’d broken in. I put away the pick set, took a deep breath and eased the door partway open. Then I waited, ready for someone to jump out at me. When that didn’t happen, I pushed the door open farther, stepped inside and listened. Nothing. It was chilly inside, as if the heat had been turned down low, but even so it was a welcome relief compared to outside. I heard a car coming down the street, so I quietly shut the door.

  The back window shade was down, making it darker in the house. I took the flashlight from my other coat pocket and flicked it on. I was standing in a kitchen with wallpapered walls and outdated cabinets. I didn’t hear anything so I started snooping around. The cupboards didn’t have much in them, some canned chili, pasta, potato chips, cereal and crackers. The refrigerator had beer, some condiments, a Styrofoam container with spoiled Chinese food, and a half-full milk carton. I opened it and sniffed.

  “Ugh!” It was spoiled.

  I put it back and shut the door. It didn’t seem like Welch had been around in a while. Either that or he didn’t care about rotting food.

  I moved through the kitchen, past a dining area with a cheap table and chairs, and into a small living room. A couch faced a large oak entertainment center, and a long coffee table sat under the front window with magazines strewn about it. I walked over and shined my light on them. Sports Illustrated, ESPN, Card Player Magazine, a Playboy, and more. A couple of bills, one with a red “Past Due” notice on it. Nothing else. To my left was a small bathroom with a toilet and sink.

  I sighed and went down stairs to a tiny foyer, then to a lower level. There were two bedrooms and a full bathroom. The bedroom on the left had a bed and dresser in it. The bed was made, but the dresser drawers were open. T-shirts were strewn haphazardly across the bed, as if they’d been tossed out of the drawers. The closet door was open. I spied dirty clothes on the floor, and jeans, pants and shirts hung up neatly.

  I pictured Welch running into the room, digging in his drawers for something, throwing the T-shirts aside in his haste. I dug around the drawers and unearthed an empty translucent orange prescription bottle. Vicodin, but that was it. No pharmacy name or patient name on it. I moved more clothes and found another empty bottle. This one read simply “antibiotic”. I stuffed the bottles in my pocket and went into the other bedroom. A desk and computer sat in the corner. I went to the desk and moved the mouse, but the monitor stayed dark. I bent down and turned the computer on. The whir of the computer’s fan sounded loud in the silence, but when the computer booted up, it was password-protected.

  “Damn,” I muttered. If needed, I knew Cal could hack into it, but I wasn’t going to go that route right now.

  The closet held nothing but office supplies, so I checked the bathroom. It was fairly tidy. I opened the medicine cabinet. It had the usual stuff, toothpaste, toothbrush, shaving cream, some cold medicines and T
ylenol. Nothing remarkable. I turned and was about to leave when I noticed something in the trashcan. I trained the flashlight into the can, then bent down to figure out what I was seeing. It took me a second to realize that it was bandages with blood on them. I picked up the top one and noticed more underneath, plus a bloody washcloth. Welch, or someone, had bled a good bit. I stood up, my mind mentally going over the rest of the house. Nothing else gave me any indication of what might have happened to Welch.

  I was headed up the stairs when my cell phone vibrated. My cell phone. I stuck a trembling hand in my pocket, grabbed the phone, and swiped the screen.

  “Reed, are you okay?” Willie whispered.

  “Yes,” I said. “Is someone coming?”

  “No, but you’ve been in there for a long time.”

  I gritted my teeth. “I didn’t say this would be quick.”

  “I know, but you looked so tired, I was…well, I was worried.” She went from sheepish to defensive in less than a second.

  “Everything’s okay,” I said. “I’m almost finished and I’ll be back.”

  “Fine.”

  I put the phone back in my pocket. She was a sexy sidekick, but she had a lot to learn. I hurried up the stairs, back through the kitchen and out the back door, locking it behind me. No sense in making it easy for any future thieves. I waited a moment on the back deck, making sure no one was around. Satisfied that I was alone, I ran down the steps, around the side of the building and back to the car.

  “Let’s go,” I said as I got in. “And crank the heat.”

  “What’d you find?” she asked, specifically not mentioning her call to me.

  I pulled out the prescription bottles. “Vicodin and an antibiotic.”

  “Vicodin’s for pain. The other is for infections. But why does he need them?”

  I told her about the bloody bandages. “Did Trevor get hurt? Maybe a gunshot wound?” I snapped my fingers. “Ace said that Trevor was hunched over.”

  “Like he was in pain,” Willie said.

  “Makes sense.”

  “So what does all this mean?”

  “I wish I knew,” I said. I stared out the window. “I have too many questions and no answers.”

  “Maybe a good night’s rest will help.”

  I nodded. I had to admit, I was exhausted. I’d go home and get some sleep and maybe things would make more sense tomorrow.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  When we got home, I wanted to call Cal and talk to him about Trevor Welch, but Willie insisted I go to bed.

  “This isn’t your girlfriend talking, it’s your nurse,” she said.

  “I’ll bet Bogie’s woman never made him go to bed,” I mumbled as I headed into the bathroom. “Like I’m a child.”

  “What?” she called from the bedroom.

  “Nothing.” I stripped down to my boxers and brushed my teeth. I wanted to shave but my jaw still hurt, so I skipped that. When I went back in the bedroom, Willie had turned the sheets back for me. Sweet. “Are you coming to bed, too?” I asked.

  “It’s a little early for me. But you need the rest. Trust me,” she said. She held up a glass of water and Advil. “Take these.”

  I popped the pills in my mouth and washed them down.

  “Now get some rest,” she said as she took the glass from me.

  I crawled under the covers. “I’ve got work to do,” I said lamely.

  “It’ll wait.” She turned out the lights and closed the door.

  I laid in the dark, certain that it would take me a while to fall asleep. I was wrong. Within seconds I was out.

  ***

  The next morning, I awoke at nine, refreshed, and stunned that I’d slept so long. I guess I was more tired than I realized. My nose and jaw didn’t hurt too much and my headache was gone. I stretched, rolled over and saw a note from Willie.

  Gone to work, have a great day. Be careful. Love you.

  I’d been really out because I didn’t remember her coming in last night, and I didn’t even hear her when she got ready for work this morning.

  I took a shower and dressed, then went into the kitchen. I scoffed down some cereal, poured myself a cup of coffee and called Cal.

  As I waited for him to pick up, I glanced out the window. Light snowflakes meandered to the ground. One of the things I like about Denver is that we get to experience all four seasons; it could be wintry cold one day and springtime warm the next. However, it was unusual to have such cold weather for so long, and I was ready for a change.

  After a few rings, Cal’s nasally voice said to leave a message. Maybe he’d pulled an all-nighter. I asked him to call because I wanted to find out if he’d had a chance to research Trevor Welch, and I wanted to add U.S. International Realty to his list.

  As the snowflakes fell, I thought about what I’d learned. I didn’t know much about Welch, except where he worked, and that he most likely had some kind of injury. But I had no idea why Noel Farrell was investigating him, or what that had to do with Gus and Mick. What was the connection?

  “Der!” I slapped my forehead, then grimaced. I’d completely forgotten that Ace had seen Gus go into a doctor’s office. And Gus had been coughing and he needed Sucrets. Was he visiting a doctor because he was sick? Or was Welch being treated for his injury at that doctor’s office and maybe Gus was looking for him? Either way, it warranted more investigation by yours truly.

  I called Ace next.

  “Hey, Reed, what’s up?”

  “Got a question,” I said, too focused for banal conversation. “Yesterday, when you saw Gus go into that doctor’s office, did you see the doctor’s name? Or was it a clinic?”

  “I didn’t notice,” Ace said. “Sorry.”

  “Which corner was the office on?”

  A pause. “Southeast,” he said. “It’s a rectangular concrete building.” He paused. “It’s kind of ugly. The parking lot’s on the south side, and so is the office entrance.”

  Wow, he’d been very observant. “Great, thanks. How’s the 4x4?”

  “I like it.” I could hear the delight in his voice. “It’s better than the Kia.”

  “Yeah, but the Kia’s cheaper.”

  “That’s true,” he said ruefully. “When will I have to return the truck?”

  “I hope soon because that means I’ll have cleared my name.”

  “Then I hope it’s soon, too. And if you need my help again, let me know.”

  I thanked him and hung up, gulped down the rest of my cold coffee, and bundled up and left. I was familiar with the doctor’s office where Gus had been, remembering it because it did look just as Ace had described it, and it was indeed ugly. It must not have been snowing for long, because the streets were still clear as I drove to 22nd and Downing. I parked in the lot on the south side of the building and traipsed in.

  Inside was a foyer with three doors. The one on the right said, “Stewart Mendelsohn, M.D., Psychiatrist.” The one on the left said, “David McKenzie, M.D., General Practitioner.” The third door was unmarked. Since no one was around, I tried that door, but it was locked. I took a gamble and figured that neither Gus nor Welch was seeing a psychiatrist, so I went through McKenzie’s door.

  I stepped into a small waiting room that had some chairs along one wall, a television up in the corner and a coffee table with magazines on it. A woman with silver hair sat in the chair furthest from the door, reading a book. She didn’t acknowledge my presence. To my right was an enclosed cubicle with sliding windows. A receptionist in purple scrubs glanced up at me when I walked in, then gave me the full-on stare. I was getting used to that.

  “Uh, may I help you?” she asked politely.

  “I hope so.” I flashed her my most charming smile, which must’ve been a sight with my swollen nose, black eyes, and scruffy chin. “I see that Doctor McKenzie is a G.P.”

  “That’s correct.” She was eyeing the bruises, probably wondering what the other guy looked like. I’d like to say he was in worse shape, but that
wasn’t the case.

  “Does Doctor McKenzie do any kind of emergency work?” I asked, trying to think about Welch and the type of wound he might’ve had to cause the kind of bleeding that was on the bandages.

  “You mean like…”

  “Stitches, or day surgery for…” My mind was a blank. Geez, you’d think with Willie being an E.R. nurse I could’ve lied better.

  “Well, stitches, yes, but…” She gave my face more scrutiny. “What kind of emergency work might you need?”

  “Oh, no, it’s not like that,” I said. “I was just curious. I need to make a follow-up appointment for this.” I pointed at my face.

  “Certainly. Are you a current patient?”

  I shook my head. “I’m new to the area, but the hospital said I should have my nose looked at.”

  “Is it broken?”

  “No. Badly bruised.” Although at times it felt like it had been badly mangled.

  “I see. We don’t have any appointments until the end of the week.” She typed on her keyboard as she talked. “Would Friday work?”

  I realized I’d spoken impulsively, and that I really didn’t want to make a fake appointment. “Uh, I was supposed to see someone today.”

  “You waited until today to try and make an appointment?” she said, with more than a little disapproval in her tone. “I’m afraid we don’t have anything right now. Even the cancellations have been rebooked.” Now the tone was one of I can’t believe you don’t know that doctors are extremely busy. “If you’d like to leave your name and number, I could call you if we get an opening tomorrow. But I’d have to give current patients first preference.”

  “That’ll work,” I said. “It’s Phil Marlowe.” Who happened to be the detective in The Big Sleep. I gave her a fake number.

  “Okay, Phil,” she said as she wrote down my contact information. “Would you still like to make an appointment for Friday?”

  “Let’s see what comes up,” I said, ready to make my escape. I really did need to make a follow-up appointment to have my shnoz looked at, but I preferred to see my own doctor.

  “Well, suit yourself,” she said dismissively.