Scent to Her Grave

by Ink, India

  “We’ll figure out how they got in later. My point is that the murderer could have swiped the hammer from the back of Trevor’s truck during the afternoon, used it to kill Lydia in a place he’s known to frequent, then left it behind for the police to find. You have to admit, Trevor would have to be terribly stupid to implicate himself like that. We both know that, although he’s no genius, the young man has his wits about him.”

  “What about his fingerprints? They were on the hammer.”

  “Smudged, but yes, they were. So was Lydia’s blood. But it wouldn’t be too hard for a killer looking to frame Trevor to use gloves, now would it?”

  I thunked myself on the forehead. Gloves? Why hadn’t I thought of that?

  “Okay,” I said, squinting as I tried to piece things together. “Say that somebody decided to frame Trevor—it doesn’t matter whether the main goal was Lydia’s death or not. The real murderer would have to have known something about him. And who better than a rival boyfriend? Someone who might be holding a nasty grudge?”

  “Or someone who might have been afraid he’d end up in jail for drugs if Lydia opened her mouth to Trevor,” Winthrop added.

  “So, if the club bigwigs can spot a P.I., what’s our alternative?” I knew what he was going to say so I saved him the trouble. “Maybe I should go check it out.”

  Winthrop smiled. Yep, I knew it. Spider and fly, and he had spun a nice little web around me. “My dear, I think that’s the best idea we’ve got at the moment. You’re more likely to cage information out of them, as . . . well endowed as you are. Don’t give me any feminist rhetoric and don’t pretend to be shocked,” he said before I could protest. “You and I both know that a pretty woman will attract men into talking a lot faster than an old geezer like me. The question isn’t whether it’s most efficient for you to go, but whether it’s safe for you to go.”

  I leaned back in my chair and gave him an easy smile. “I’ve got you covered there. I can bring down a grown man and make him cry.”

  He gave me an inquisitive look.

  “I’ve been studying the martial arts for years. I also climb mountains, though I wouldn’t try Everest . . . yet, and I snorkel, scuba, swim, and most importantly—can run like hell if the need arises.”

  Throwing back his head, Winthrop let out a belly laugh. “Persia, your aunt said you were a ripsnorter, and she was right! Okay, say you go to the Blue Dragon. What are you going to look for?”

  Good question. I hadn’t thought about it when I went to see Kyle, but now I could understand his reluctance to send a man up there. “I’m not sure. Got any suggestions?”

  Winthrop rubbed his hands together and gave me a sneaky grin. “Oh my dear, yes I do. I do, indeed.”

  As I hurried back into the shop, I glanced around. By now, it was going on late afternoon and Venus Envy was practically empty. I’d either missed the rush or we were having a slow day. Aunt Florence was pricing inventory. She waved at me and I headed over to fill her in on what I’d learned. She hesitated when I mentioned the idea of going to the Blue Dragon myself.

  “Persia, child, I know you can hold your own, but are you sure you want to go alone? Maybe you should take Barbara with you?”

  Barbara? I laughed. “Auntie, she’d stick out like a sore thumb. I can pass. I’m good at blending in, but Barbara . . . No, I don’t think so.”

  Just then the shop door opened and Bran Stanton walked in. I blushed as Aunt Florence winked and jostled me with her elbow. “Stop it,” I whispered. “He’ll see you.”

  She motioned Bran over to the counter. “What can we do for you today?”

  He took off his hat and kissed her cheek. “Miss Florence, how are you?” He turned to me. “I thought I’d make sure we’re still on for Sunday,” he said in a smooth voice. My stomach flipped again, and I found myself looking forward to more than our date.

  “Better be. I don’t like being stood up, you know. Can we make it two o’clock, though? I have a self-defense class to teach that night.”

  “Two o’clock is fine.” He grinned. “And any man would have to be nuts to stand you up.”

  I was suddenly aware that both my aunt and Tawny were watching us with amusement. Clearing my throat, I let the banter drop. “So, is there anything else we can take care of for you?”

  He shook his head. “Not unless you’ve got a seven-inch quartz crystal for sale. Last night, some yahoo I invited over decided to play light-saber with one of my best spikes and the damned idiot dropped it and broke it. Made me so mad, but it was my fault for not stopping him.”

  I groaned; those crystals didn’t come cheap. “No, we don’t have anything like that here. Try Malley’s Gem Shop out on Oceana Drive. I’m sorry, though.”

  “Thanks, that’s where I got several of my crystals. I suppose I should drive out there today. The next time I try to be nice to some lout who just broke up with his girlfriend, I’ll take him to a bar and not invite him over for a drink.” Bran shook his head, grinning like a chastised schoolboy.

  Aunt Florence spoke up. “You’re just too sweet for your own good. But then, you always were. Persia, why don’t you escort Bran to his car while Tawny and I start arranging a new display table?”

  As I walked Bran out to his car, the wind picked up and I stopped, lifting my head to catch the breeze on my face. I motioned for him to remain quiet as I listened to the currents of air as the brisk gusts race through me.

  “There’s more trouble coming,” I said. “I can smell it on the wind. This isn’t over yet. Some thread linked to Lydia’s death is still playing itself out.”

  Bran leaned against his truck—a sleek black Honda CRV. “What is it? Can you tell?”

  I tried to glean more information but the impending storm overwhelmed me; the hairs on my arms stood straight. Lightning was on the way, and thunder, and waves that would crash against the shore, eating the sand. “No,” I said slowly. “I can’t catch hold of it, but something’s about to happen.”

  Bran pulled out his keys. “You know where to reach me if you need me. I’ve got to go batten down my boat. A bad storm could do some serious damage.” He waggled his fingers and climbed into his car.

  As he sped away, I looked up at the sky. The clouds were building, layer upon layer of gray, and the weather had warmed, turning muggy. Rain would come in an hour—the edges of moisture tickled my skin. And it would bring with it whatever was making me want to run home, climb into bed, and hide my head under the covers.

  A gale-force gust slammed past and I jumped as a crash from across the street splintered the air. An old oak standing in the corner lot—which had been turned into a garden sanctuary for shoppers—plunged to the ground, taking the power lines with it. Auntie, Tawny, Barbara, and several other shopkeepers rushed outside to find out why the electricity had suddenly cut off. A shiver danced up my spine. Something was afoot all right, and it was riding the edges of the storm.

  Barbara shouted a choice curse or two and headed back inside the bakery—she had an oven full of baking bread and no backup generator. I slipped past Auntie and Tawny, and began closing up shop. The power was down for the count and it would take the city awhile to get it back up, that much was apparent by looking at the mess across the street. I just hoped the sparking wires wouldn’t cause any fires, but the high pitched keen of sirens told me that the fire department was on the way to keep watch.

  Aunt Florence and Tawny bustled in and together, we closed up as quickly as possible.

  “Auntie, why don’t you go home and I’ll finish up here? There isn’t much left to do, and you can make sure all our emergency supplies are ready. That oak may not be the only tree toppled by this storm.” The winds were whipping like crazy outside the shop now. We were in for a real bruiser.

  “Good idea, Imp. You be careful on the way home, and don’t take too long—I don’t like the looks of that sky. Leave everything that doesn’t matter and lock up the deposit envelope in the safe. Don’t bother stopping at the
bank.”

  She gathered up her purse, grabbed a handful of candles, and headed for the door. Tawny followed shortly after. I’d just finished locking up the receipts and deposit envelope and was about to leave when Kyle Laughlin pulled up in his prowl car. He tapped on the window, and I unlocked the door for him.

  The shop was beginning to cool down. Without the heater working, I could already feel the sharp tang from the salt air that was spraying through the town. I lit a second candle.

  “Hey, Chief. What’s up?”

  He frowned. “Your aunt employs Marta, doesn’t she? As your cleaning lady?”

  “Here at the shop, yes.” I shrugged. “But we hire her as an independent contractor, so she’s not officially considered an employee. She comes in a couple times a week. Why?”

  With an imperceptible nod, he said, “Marta’s dead. We got a call from the woman who lived across the hallway from her—old Mrs. Fairweather. She heard some a scream and called nine-one-one. When we got there we found Marta, dead.”

  Dead? I stared at him. “What happened? Was it her heart? She was under a lot of strain. I know she was having money problems.”

  Kyle let out a loud sigh. “No, not her heart. She was murdered this afternoon. Hit over the head from behind.”

  “Hit over the head?”

  “From behind. First, Lydia’s found in your shop, dead. Then the woman who cleans your shop is murdered. I don’t know if there’s a link, but something strange is going on here. It’s too bad Mrs. Fairweather is blind, or she might have been able to tell us more.”

  “Mrs. Fairweather can’t see, but Marta could,” I said slowly, a thought occurring to me. “Maybe Marta saw something? She cleans several shops in this block, you know. Maybe she was around the area when Lydia was killed and saw the murder? Maybe the killer found out, so he came back and took care of her before she could tell the police.”

  Kyle held up his hand. “That’s a big stretch. Although, it would fit in with the call you got on that tape from the Delacorte Plaza.”

  “Why?”

  “Because Marta lived across the street in those apartments, and she didn’t have a phone. She had to go across the street to the Plaza whenever she wanted to make a call. Perhaps Marta was our mysterious caller.” He shifted, sitting on my counter. “So, in other news, I hear through the grapevine you’re going out with Bran Stanton?”

  I glanced at him. News sure traveled fast in this burg. “Yeah, we’re going out on Sunday. Why?”

  He raised one eyebrow and leaned forward, taking care not to topple the burning candle. “Persia Vanderbilt, you mean to tell me that you’d actually go for some guy who believes in crap like that? I always thought you were some sort of genius or something back in junior high. You went away to college at what . . . sixteen? And yet you believe in all this woo-woo stuff?”

  Regardless of what my beliefs were, I didn’t like his tone. I treated the world of the paranormal just like any other belief system. I didn’t have to partake in something to offer a show of respect.

  Hands on my hips, I said, “Whether you believe in prophecies, omens, or the tooth fairy doesn’t mean jack-shit. Bran is a nice man and he helps a lot of people. Our shop feels ten times better after he cleared the energy.”

  Kyle snorted. “A guy like Stanton could read Mary Had a Little Lamb backwards, shake a whirlybird pinwheel three times, and you’d fall for him, wouldn’t you?” He picked up his hat, shaking his head. “But hey, if you’re gullible enough be taken in by Stanton’s smoke and mirrors, be my guest.”

  That did it! Nobody called me gullible and got away with it. I stepped around the counter and jabbed him on the chest. “I don’t care if you’re the chief of police or a sideshow freak. Show a little respect for me and maybe then I’ll show a little back.”

  He slowly stood up so that we were almost eye to eye. A few inches taller than me, I had a feeling he wanted every inch of the advantage he thought his height gave him.

  A hostile look clouded his face and, for the first time, I was a little afraid of him, but I held my ground. Never turn your back on a lion. “How about this little scenario? What if Bran Stanton wants to get in good with you because your aunt has a lot of money and he knows you’ll inherit someday? I trust him about as much as I trust Ed McMulheny’s rottweiler, which is why I made Ed get the dog neutered and keep it on a short leash. I should do the same with Stanton.”

  “You think he’s asking me out because of my aunt’s money? Kyle, you better get your head out of your ass before you get hemorrhoids. Stay off his back. And mine.”

  We stared at one another, in a standoff neither one of us was willing to break. He suddenly grabbed my arm, yanked me to him, and planted a kiss on my lips. Furious, I backhanded him a good one across the cheek, the sound of my slap ringing through the room as he grimaced.

  Kyle dropped my arm like he’d been burnt and stepped away. “Damn you,” he whispered. “Why did you come back to Gull Harbor?” As if aware of what he was saying, he stopped abruptly and turned his head. I stared at the counter, not sure what had just happened. After a moment, the cool, reserved chief of police had returned.

  “That shouldn’t have happened. I am so sorry. Please, accept my apology.” He waited and I knew that he was hoping I’d let him off the hook rather than filing a sexual harassment charge, which I’d be within my rights to do.

  Not wanting to tread any further into what had become an unfathomable bog, I swallowed. “Don’t ever let it happen again.”

  Obviously relieved, he exhaled. “I’d better go check on what my men have found out. I’ll drop by later tonight to ask your aunt some questions about Marta. I’d appreciate it if you’d tell her what happened so it won’t come as a shock when I show up. I don’t know how close they were.”

  I forced a smile to my lips. Nothing like glossing over problems by making nice-nice. “Fine, I’ll be glad to help.” I pointed out the window. The storm was in full force right now and I wasn’t looking forward to the drive home. “I’d better get on the road now.”

  He silently followed me out of the store and waited until I’d locked up and was safely in my car. As I pulled out of the parking lot, the memory of his lips on my own flooded back. His kiss had left me angry and confused, and yet . . . and yet . . . yet nothing! Nobody manhandled me and got away with it.

  My thoughts were a jumble as I drove home through the crashing thunder that had swallowed up the town. The water in the sound swelled in tumultuous whitecaps as I wound along Beachcomber’s Drive, the roar of the storm so loud that it sounded as if it were going to envelop Gull Harbor with one giant wave.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I pulled over at a turnout in the road, dug through my purse for my cell phone, and punched in Barbara’s number. Her voice came crackling over the line.

  “Hey Barb, has Kyle talked to you yet?”

  “No, why should he?”

  “Marta’s dead.”

  A heavy silence rang over the line and then, her voice tinged with both disbelief and shock, she asked, “What happened?”

  “I’m on my way home. Can Dorian spare you for awhile? I’ve got to tell Aunt Florence before Kyle shows up to ask her some questions about Marta. I’ll explain everything then. I’ll stop on the way to pick up some take-out.”

  Barbara agreed to meet me in fifteen minutes. I pulled into the drive-thru at Yoshie’s Southern Fried Chicken & Sushi Bar, where the power was still on, and ordered a twelve-piece bucket of crispy chicken and a Happy Variety Platter of sushi. By the time I arrived home, Barbara was easing into the driveway. She climbed out of the car, holding a large pink box which could mean only one thing. Cake. Salivating like a Pavlovian puppy, I hoisted my bags and we headed up the porch steps together, saying little more than hello. I could tell that my news about Marta had shaken her. I wasn’t looking forward to spilling the beans that it had been murder.

  Auntie was waiting for me, looking worried. “I was about to call you. Tha
t storm is shaping up into a nasty squall.” She glanced over at Barbara. “Aha, a stranger bearing gifts.”

  The table was set, candles were lit around the room, and Auntie had opened the curtains so we could watch the storm rage across Puget Sound. The wind whipped the trees into a frenzy as the clouds reflected an eerie silver light, punctuated by occasional bursts of lightning. Seattle traffic, especially on the 520 floating bridge, was probably a mess. That is, if they hadn’t closed the bridge yet. When a sustained wind of forty-five miles per hour had been recorded for over fifteen minutes, officials shut down the bridge to all traffic. Gusts were already rattling our windows here, and once again, I felt a sense of relief that I’d moved back to Gull Harbor.

  Barbara helped me arrange the chicken and sushi on platters, while my aunt fixed a quick salad. I dug through the cupboard and pulled out the olive oil and balsamic vinegar and placed them on the table, and we were ready to eat.