I stopped to pick a few oranges and breathe in the savory, sweet and tangy smells drifting out of the store. I was concentrating on finding the best smelling oranges and didn’t look up when the door to the store opened and a customer walked out.
“Lacey?”
I glanced up from the produce. It seemed I was having one long day of awkward moments, starting with my lovely robe fashion show. Then there was the stilted, slow to smooth out conversation with Detective Briggs outside the bakery. And now I was standing face to face with the man I’d almost married and who my last words to had been, ‘I never want to see you again’. And yet, there we were standing not more than twenty inches apart, and both at a loss for words.
Jacob was one of those men whose appearance was so fluid, it was hard to describe him with exact terms. Certain attributes were solid and required no objective opinion. He was tall, a few inches past six foot, and his shoulders were impressively broad. But his hair could change from tawny to brown to dark brown depending on the length of it. It seemed he’d opted for a close cut along the sides with some short, almost teenager looking spikes on top. He was a thirty something trying to hold on to his twenties. Even his eyes changed color according to the light. They were anywhere from gray to green. I’d discovered a few months after our engagement that his eyes grew particularly green whenever he was lying. Near the end of our relationship they were like two brilliant emeralds, a stone I’d never wanted to wear since. His nose was noticeably red, which meant he was suffering from a cold. And suffering was a light word for the way Jacob acted when he was sick.
“Jacob.” I dropped the oranges back onto the cart. “I heard you were in town.”
“Yes.” His succinct answer left another clumsy moment of silence.
I looked down at the box of tea and bear shaped squeeze bottle of clover honey in his hand. “Grandma Georgio’s cure for a sore throat?” I’d brewed more than my share of tea honey concoctions for him when he was under the weather.
A cloud of menthol laden breath puffed out of his mouth as he pushed the last slivers of a throat lozenge around his tongue. He moved his scarf up higher around his neck. “I should have taken my doctor’s advice and gotten rid of those blasted tonsils.”
At least I’d gotten the conversation moving and out of the uncomfortable hole of silence. Even if we were talking about his blasted tonsils.
“I get colds way too often. I woke up yesterday with a raw throat and this damp coastal air isn’t helping matters.” Had he always been such a ‘delicate flower’? Maybe my initial crush on the man had blinded me to all of his many flaws.
“It is rather unusual for you to travel along on a photo shoot. What made you go this time?” I vaguely tried to reflect on whether or not I was fishing for a particular answer. But the truth was, I couldn’t remember even one time when he had dragged along with the photography crew for a photo shoot. He usually always sent an assistant, like Hazel, along to make sure things ran smoothly.
“To be honest, I needed a break from the everyday drudgery of running a business.”
“Ah, yes. I heard you were in charge now. I can see where that would make life harder and a little more tedious. Although, I’m running a business myself, and I absolutely love it.”
His mouth drooped some, and he seemed to be disappointed by my declaration. “So, you’re happy then?”
“Very.”
He nodded faintly. “I’m glad for you, Lacey. You deserve to be happy.” For the first time since our breakup I detected a genuine moment of regret in his tone. He had been angered and defensive when I’d confronted him about being unfaithful, but I’d never seen regret. It was both satisfying and a little sad to see now. Especially with him looking miserable from a cold.
“Thank you, Jacob. I wish you all the best too. Really.” Somehow we managed to initiate a stiff, brief hug. He held the tea in one hand and the honey in the other, but he seemed determined to pull it off. As his arms wrapped around me, it occurred to me that there was nothing. I could have been hugging any casual acquaintance and not the man I was once set to marry. There wasn’t even the slightest twinge of emotion or nostalgia or heartache. The only thing familiar was the faint scent of his cologne, a scent he’d had custom made by the company’s chemists. It was particularly familiar to me because I’d helped formulate the subtle woodsy fragrance. It was a blend of cedar wood and cypress tinged with the citrus twist of bergamot oil. Jacob and I had been at that early, nervous stomach flutter stage in our relationship. He was thrilled that his girlfriend would actually create his cologne, guaranteeing that I would love it. As much as I enjoyed the smell of the cologne, I never had the heart to confess that for someone like me, any scent could be overwhelming.
A car swept past, making a sharp U-turn at the corner and spraying some fine grit onto the sidewalk. I released my hold on Jacob and glanced out to the street. Detective Briggs’ car rolled past.
I lifted my hand to wave, but he had turned his face back toward the road. His car hurtled north on Harbor Lane.
Jacob straightened and clutched his tea and honey against him. “I better get back up to the location. It’s a unique setting. I think it’ll work. We decided to go with a sort of gothic feel to the whole thing. It’s our newest fragrance, Ode to Love. I’d love to get your opinion on it. Wendy, our new perfumer, has a pretty good nose.” He smiled weakly. “It’s not the Lacey Pinkerton million dollar nose, but I think she’s got a handle on things. You should come up and see everyone. Hazel has already told everyone that she saw you so you’re sort of on the hook now.”
“I’ll visit later today, after I close up shop. My house is walking distance from the Hawksworth Manor.”
He nodded. “I’ll bet that was a selling point for you. You always did like ghost stories and haunted houses. And if that big, old mausoleum isn’t haunted, then the ghosts around here are missing out big time.” His mood had brightened since he walked out of the market looking miserable with a cold. “It was really nice talking to you again, Lacey. I wish we hadn’t parted in such a bad way.”
“It was nice talking to you too, Jacob. And I’m sorry too. I’ll see all of you later, up at the manor.”
Chapter 7
Light was fading fast as I drove up Myrtle Place to home. Kingston paced the top of the passenger seat, anxious to get to his comfy perch for the night. Along with the pointed turret tops of the manor up on Maple Hill, I could see the glow of Lydia’s photography lights. They were still working. It wasn’t too surprising. Lydia was a perfectionist. She liked to take pictures at various times of the day to find the right natural light for the photos.
I decided to take Kingston home and walk up the hill for a quick visit.
The sun was just disappearing behind the roofs of the town as I reached the top of Maple Hill. The research I’d been doing on the Hawksworth murders had been mostly at the library and in the evidence room of the police station. I hadn’t been to the actual site for several months, ever since my disappointing self-guided tour through the museum of artifacts the town had set up in the old gardener’s shed on the estate. The steeply pitched gable roofs had even less shingles than a few months ago. And there was so much dust on the leaded window panes, it was hard to discern them from the dust covered facade. Some of the thick, bulbous balustrades that lined the long second story balcony had been broken, making it look like a row of bad teeth. The one improvement was the noticeable lack of chain link fence around the front of the house. It looked far less dreary without the safety barrier.
The manor had been built over a century ago high above the town on a large parcel of land, large enough to accommodate the six trucks and trailers that had been set up for the week long stay. Generators provided electricity. The company never spared any expense when it came to their marketing team. Magazine layouts were the perfume industry’s number one form of advertising, and a successful photo shoot was a top priority.
Lydia’s crew had set up large screens an
d lights. Lydia, herself, was still hunched in front of the tripod as I walked up. Jacob was nowhere in sight. Hazel was sitting on the steps of one of the trailers eating a burger. She waved for me to join her.
I walked a wide berth around the photo action, not wanting to break concentration. Jasper and Autumn, the stunningly gorgeous couple who had been the faces of Georgio’s Perfume for the last three years, were in a romantic embrace as Lydia called out cues for different poses.
I sat on the step next to Hazel, and she offered me an onion ring. “I’m so glad you came. They’re almost finished, so don’t leave until you get a chance to say hello.”
The onion ring was cold, but it reminded me that I was hungry for dinner. “I don’t see Jacob. Is he feeling worse?”
Hazel leaned aside to look at me on the narrow step. “How did you know he was sick?”
“I guess he didn’t mention that he ran into me down at the market. He was buying the ingredients for Grandma Georgio’s sore throat elixir.”
Hazel elbowed me with a laugh. “It cracks me up when he calls it that, like it’s some special, groundbreaking brew. I don’t think there’s a grandma from here to Siberia that hasn’t prescribed tea and honey for a sore throat.”
I laughed. “I’ve heard that the recipe is the first page in the grandmother’s handbook.” We laughed again, and I helped myself to another cold onion ring.
“And in answer to your question,” Hazel continued. “Jacob was feeling worse. He fell asleep in his trailer hours ago. We have rooms reserved at the nearby hotel, but something tells me we’ll all just camp out here for the night.” She rolled her eyes. “Lydia wants to get a few sunrise shots. The view from this hill really is like a postcard.”
I gazed out at the coastline several miles away. From Maple Hill I could see all the way down to the tallest masts on boats in the Pickford Marina. Off to the right, with a good deal of searching, I could see the white sands of Pickford Beach. The horizon line was blurred by a wall of incoming coastal fog.
“Lydia might be disappointed in the sunrise. That horizon looks a little ominous tonight. That usually means the entire town will wake to a heavy blanket of fog.”
“You know Lydia. She’ll consider it a sign that the tone needs to be more gothic. She’ll just run with it.”
“That’s true.”
Lydia Harris was a no-nonsense photographer who could be as brilliant and hard to please as any talented artist. Sometimes she had a fit if mother nature was messing around too much, making the sunlight as fickle as a fair weather friend. Other times, she invited the challenge. She was a taller than average woman, at least five ten with her own sense of style. Today she wore a flowing, gauzy tunic paired with leather boots. Her long hair was piled up on her head with metallic clips shoved in at various locations to keep it all secured.
Hazel and I watched her finish the shoot. “That’s a wrap, people. Be ready for a sunrise start tomorrow.” The mention of an early start sent a grumble around the crew.
Hazel sighed. “That means one of us will be saddled with the task of waking Jasper out of his sleeping pill coma.”
“Does he still suffer from that terrible insomnia?”
“I think it’s worse than ever. He takes pills to nap during the day and then he drinks those high-octane caffeine drinks to stay awake.”
Lydia let her assistants clean up. She headed over to Hazel and me with a broad smile.
“Pink, I heard you were coming to visit.” Lydia was one of the people, who not only preferred to call me by my nickname, I was fairly certain she didn’t even remember my real name.
I hopped up and gave her a hug.
Hazel handed Lydia her burger. “I got it with pickles and grilled onions, just the way you like it.” Haze, as everyone around the office at Georgio’s Perfume called her, was a people pleaser through and through. And even though she was a bit of a gossip (and there was plenty to gossip about at Georgio’s) she rarely said a cross word about anyone. Unless they firmly deserved it, like Olivia from accounting who was constantly cooking fish in the lounge microwave at lunch, even after Hazel had made a beautiful sign in a polite tone, a tone Hazel had perfected for office memos. The sign read “If at all possible, please avoid cooking foods with strong odors like fish.” It couldn’t have been more subtle and passive, yet it seemed Olivia took offense and made sure to eat fish every day for a week. Until she finally realized that everyone was avoiding eating lunch with her. Even her closest confidante, Rachel, from marketing had taken to eating at her desk.
Lydia unwrapped her burger. “Thanks, Haze. I’m starved. We should have ordered one for Pink.”
“Oh no, I can’t stay long.”
“Come see who’s here.” Lydia’s tunic flowed like wings as she waved over Jasper and Autumn, both dressed in elegant black formal wear. Autumn looked spectacular in a close fitting black sequin gown. She’d pulled on a warm coat. Autumn was in her early twenties with skin like pure cream and eyes that took up half her face, the other half being taken by full lips. She had more personality and charm than her male counterpart, Jasper, but she also tended to get whiny when a shoot was taking too long. Her hair had been dyed blonde for the pictures, which washed her out some, but it seemed the makeup artist had sprayed on a sun-kissed tan color to make her look as if she’d just stepped off a summer beach.
“Lacey, right?” Autumn asked, even though I was sure she knew my name.
“Right.”
Jasper huffed and shook his head. “How on earth could you possibly forget her name? Lacey is a perfume industry legend.” Jasper bounded forward for a hug.
Jasper Edmonton was the male half of the face of Georgio’s Perfume. He was one of those men who spent far more time in front of the mirror than would be considered healthy or normal. There was no denying that he was a sight to see, especially all polished up for a photo shoot. His dark brows looked as if they’d been painted on over wedgewood blue eyes that were framed by thick black lashes. His nose and chin were so perfectly symmetrical and in balance with the rest of him, I’d heard Lydia, the photographer complain that she had to tweak his photos sometimes because Jasper looked as if he’d stepped out of a Ken doll mold. He was too perfect to look real.
Lydia, with her artist’s eye had been trying to get the company to switch models for years, complaining Jasper and Autumn were so attractive they were dull. I had to admit she was right. And, as was often the case with people who were gifted with nature’s perfection, they tended to be a touch self-centered and pompous. And Jasper followed the stereotype as perfectly as he smiled for the camera.
“So, Lacey, are you actually happy in this tiny, dull town?” Jasper eyed my head of curls with an amused grin. “Looks like you gave up the curl fight against this coastal climate.”
“I think she looks adorable,” Hazel piped up.
I nodded at her. “Thank you, Hazel. Adorable wasn’t exactly the look I was hoping for, but I’ll take it.” I turned back to Jasper. “Yes, once I understood the fulfillment of being my own boss and running my own company, I found spending time in front of a mirror was a waste.”
Jasper’s mouth straightened, and he bristled at my comment.
“Burn,” Autumn said with a laugh. “Well, I’m going into my trailer to take off this stupid dress.” She cast me a perfunctory smile and floated away in waves of black sequins.
“I’ve got to head home too,” I said. “My pets are waiting for dinner.”
“Do you still have the crow?” Lydia asked between burger bites.
“I sure do. And he’s as ornery as ever.”
Jasper glanced around. “How did you get here? I don’t see a car.”
“I walked. I live just down the hill.”
“In one of those tiny houses?” Jasper asked, not even bothering to hide his distaste. If possible, it seemed he’d grown even more pompous.
“Yes, Jasper, in one of those tiny houses. And I’ve never been happier. Good night, everyone.�
�
I headed down the hill to my tiny, cozy, wonderful house and thought, I sure didn’t miss the perfume industry.
Chapter 8
I’d had a pet crow long enough that I should have been able to anticipate his every move. And yet, after breakfast, I’d blithely opened the front door so Kingston could cruise the neighborhood and stretch his wings. But instead of his usual route along Loveland Terrace, which always ended in the crow sweeping in and scaring all the smaller birds away from Helen Voight’s bird feeder, an escapade that usually earned him a hearty lecture from Helen, Kingston swept over the front yard and turned sharply to head up towards Maple Hill. My clever bird had already puzzled out that the activity on the hill would surely result in delicious morsels of food dropped carelessly on freshly thawed ground.
I’d said my hellos the night before, and a second visit was not on my list of things to do, especially not so early and so soon after seeing everyone. But I knew Kingston, who was far too at ease with humans, was quite capable of causing havoc. Or, at the very least, some frayed nerves.
I pulled on my coat and boots and trudged back up Maple Hill to Hawksworth Manor. I was pleasantly surprised to find that Kingston had maintained some level of decorum. He was scuffling around behind the trailers, out of sight of the donut munching humans, waiting politely for his chance to swoop in and clean up the crumbs.
Lydia was in the middle of a photo session. She had moved the lights and screens closer to the manor. Autumn and Jasper were posing on the rickety front steps leading up to the front door.
Jacob stood nearby watching the shoot. He hadn’t seen me walk up. In fact, it seemed only Kingston had noticed me. I was considering the possibility that I could get my bird down off the site before anyone saw me when I heard my name.
Roses and Revenge (Port Danby Cozy Mystery Book 4) Page 4
