A year ago the head chef and kitchen manager hadn’t been working the line. If I’d realized how his duties had expanded—no doubt a result of Harris’ cutbacks on hours—I never would have monopolized his time.
“Karl!” he bellowed, making me jump. “Where are you?”
The red-haired cook hurried out of the walk-in. “Here, boss. Oh!” he said when he saw me. And then a more rueful “Oh” when he saw the orders. “Sorry, boss.” He reached for the slips and began gathering ingredients.
I turned to go, hoping to be able to ask Maggie one last question, when I saw the poor little philodendron hanging in the corner of Harris’ office. Grabbing a water glass, I filled it at the industrial sink. Wrinkling my nose at the smell of his stupid aftershave, I went in to give the dry plant a drink. Upon examination, it wasn’t dead. It needed some fertilizer and to move from the dark corner into the sunshine.
Not my place, though. Harris would throw a fit if I started moving stuff around in his office. I eyed the closed blinds and decided against opening them.
“Sorry, little guy,” I said to the philodendron. “Good luck.”
I swung the office door back open. Karl stood right outside as if waiting for me. His eyes twinkled. “I thought I saw you go in there.”
“I was watering the plant,” I said.
“Uh-huh,” Karl said with a grin. “I get it. So did you find whatever you were looking for?”
I glared at him and turned toward the door to the dining area. “I wasn’t looking for anything!”
He sniffed. I took a step.
“Sure you don’t want to go out the back door?” he asked.
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Harris will be very interested to learn you were in his office.”
“Well, you be sure and tell him the second he gets back, then,” I said. It would have been nice if my voice hadn’t warbled, though.
His lips turned down, creating parentheses around his mouth. “Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me.”
I rolled my eyes. “See you later, Raleigh,” I called.
He looked up from plating an order and waved.
If anything, it was busier out front. Maggie was mixing and shaking drinks like a madwoman, and didn’t even see me leave.
I’ll ask her about Josie’s cleaning clients when she comes to work for me this afternoon.
The thought that I’d be able to open Scents & Nonsense that afternoon buoyed me as I untied Dash and we headed home.
CHAPTER 14
BACK at Scents & Nonsense, I finally opened the doors for the first time in a day and a half. Almost immediately a young couple came in the shop. The woman spent several minutes perusing the fragrant body oils while her boyfriend grabbed a ginger softie and went out to the Enchanted Garden. He settled into a seat by one of the bistro tables in the sun, seemingly content to eat his cookie and read something on his phone while she shopped. The woman finally chose a potent combination of juniper berry and basil with a soupçon of sandalwood mixed in as a base note. I inhaled the scents from across the room, smiling at her as she made her way to the register and paid for her purchase.
While she browsed, I’d looked up Vance Overland in Silver Wells on the Internet. He worked for a firm called Clary, Bittel and Sorgenson. Sounded pretty fancy schmancy. It occurred to me that Josie’s brother might not be available that afternoon. If not, I wondered if I could convince Ritter to wait until after hours and try to catch him away from work. The thought made me itchy, though. I didn’t have time to waste.
There were pictures of the three partners online, but none of Vance. However, remembering the photo of the man on Josie’s wall, I thought I had a pretty good idea of what Josie’s brother looked like. He might say they didn’t get along, but Josie had his picture up in her apartment where she could see it every day. Vance must have been a lot angrier with his sister than she’d been with him.
As soon as my customers had gone, I crossed my fingers and punched in the number of the law firm on my business landline. I waited through three rings, and then a woman answered.
“Clary, Bittel and Sorgenson.”
“Hi. I’d like to talk with Mr. . . . wait. No. I would like to make an appointment with Mr. Overland.” I’d pay for his time, if I had to.
“Really?”
Her response confused me. “He does work there, doesn’t he?”
“Sure. Yeah, okay. I’ll make an appointment for you. When?”
“Um, this afternoon if he can squeeze me in.”
She laughed. “Oh, I think he can manage that. What time?”
I did a few quick calculations in my head. Ritter would be here at one thirty, it would take us forty minutes to get to Silver Wells. . . . “Does he have anything open around three?”
There came her laugh again. I had no idea what was so funny. “Yes, I think we can do that, Ms. . . . ?”
“Allbright,” I said.
“See you at three, then.”
“Thank you.”
“Buh bye.”
I looked at the receiver for a few seconds before hanging up, still a little puzzled. I guess I’d find out what that was all about in a few hours.
There was just enough time before my new helper arrived to mix up a little scentual something to take with me on the afternoon’s fact-finding mission. I wanted something to help Josie’s brother in case he really was grieving, and I also wanted to encourage him to talk with us.
Maggie showed up at five minutes after one, raring to go. I corked the tiny bottle I’d just filled, and showed her where to stow her stuff in the office. Before giving her the rundown on Scents & Nonsense, I asked her about Josie’s cleaning clients.
“I know about the Traces,” I said. “And Inga Fowler.”
She nodded. “There were only two others. You know the Tillman place?”
I gave her a wry look. “Everyone knows the Tillman place, or at least of it.” She was referring to Rance Tillman, the actor. A few months before, I’d talked to him for a few minutes at the Scottish Irish Festival.
“Well, his wife, Sophia Thelane. You know, the model?”
I nodded.
“She hired Josie to help out their full-time housekeeper sometimes.”
I whistled. “Boy, I bet their house is amazing.”
Maggie smiled. “Josie said it was more of an estate than a house, but yeah—amazing.”
And Thea had mentioned that Sophia wanted her to do a landscaping project for her. I wondered what the timeline on that was.
“Who else?” I asked.
“Missy Renault, the former Olympic ice-skater.”
“Ah.” Ms. Renault did not often deign to talk to the common folk like me. Two haircuts ago, she’d been in Foxy Locksies having her long black hair trimmed. When the stylist was done, it had looked fine to me, but Missy had thrown an enormous hissy fit. In the end, Cynthia hadn’t charged her. I wondered if she was as particular about her house as she was about her hair.
I explained to Maggie how the register worked. It was similar enough to the one at the restaurant that she hardly needed any instruction. Then I gave her a quick tour of the different areas of the shop.
“Candles are all in this area. Bath items are all on this wall. Children’s items are mostly in this corner. And there are miscellaneous goodies on all the display tables.” I stopped in front of the locked display case. Bottles of all shapes and sizes stood in colorful, glittering rows on the shelves. “This is where I keep the perfumes that aren’t custom-made. The bottles are so small it’s easy to slip one in a pocket and some of those oils are pretty expensive, so I usually keep this locked. The key is in the register.”
“Sounds good,” Maggie said with her hands on her hips as she surveyed her new place of employment. “I’ll make myself familiar with everything in no ti
me.”
“I’m sure of it. There’s coffee and cookies there by the back door, and customers are welcome to spend time out in the garden.”
Her face lit up. “Oh, I’ve heard about that garden!”
I smiled. “You should check it out. Just keep the back door open so you can hear if customers come in while you’re out there.”
“Okeydoke.”
I heard her breathe a contented sigh as I left to change my clothes.
This afternoon I wanted something a bit more businesslike than my usual attire. Dash watched from the foot of the bed as I rifled through the built-in armoire, finally decided on beige linen slacks and a light yellow button-down silk shirt.
“What do you think?” I asked him.
He grinned his approval.
“You have excellent taste.” I slipped into leather flats and added a pair of simple earrings and a silver chain necklace.
We returned to Scents & Nonsense to find Maggie leaning on the counter, chatting with Ritter. He wore a dark blue shirt that called out his eyes, tidy jeans, and cowboy boots.
He looked up when Dash and I came in from the back patio, a smile flashing across his face. “You look nice, Elliana.”
“Thanks,” I said. “So do you. Don’t want to show up at the lawyer’s office looking too shabby.”
“Are you sure the brother will talk to us?”
I could almost see Maggie’s ears perk up. I hadn’t mentioned where I would be going that afternoon. Now I explained. “We’re going to Silver Wells to talk with Vance Overland. See if there’s anything I can do to help with his sister’s . . . arrangements.”
“Oh, that’s nice of you,” she said. “Josie never talked about him much.”
“Um,” I said, debating how to say it and deciding on candor. “Could you keep this little trip to yourself for right now? I don’t know if the police will approve.”
She looked puzzled, but shrugged. “I’m the very picture of discretion.”
I highly doubted that, but nodded anyway. What was the worst that could happen? Lang had told me not to leave town, but he hadn’t left me a lot of choice, either. I’d be back before he knew it. Still, I was glad Ritter had offered to drive.
“You stick here with Maggie and take care of the shop,” I said to Dash.
He gazed up at me with disappointed brown eyes, inducing an instant wave of guilt.
“Aw, Dash. Don’t do that,” I said with a groan.
“He can come with,” Ritter said. “It’s not too hot out, and he can stay in the truck with the windows down, can’t he?”
“You sure you don’t mind?” I asked.
“Come on, little guy,” he said in answer, leading the corgi to the door and holding it open for both of us.
“I shouldn’t be more than a couple of hours,” I told Maggie.
“Don’t worry about me. I’ve got your number, and I’ll call if anything urgent comes up. I’m happy to hold down the fort for as long as you need.”
“You’re a gem,” I said, meaning it. I knew how lucky I was to have found someone to help out at Scents & Nonsense so quickly. I began running numbers in my head to see if I could bring Maggie in five afternoons a week in order to give me more time to concentrate on the delicate perfume side of my business.
Ritter lifted Dash into Thea’s vintage Chevy truck, parked in front of Scents & Nonsense. He offered his hand to me next. I took it and stepped onto the wide running board, then settled in beside Dash and fastened my seat belt. The corgi had regained his usual cheer, and sat on the bench seat, eagerly looking out the windshield. The big engine purred like a leopard cub as Ritter pulled onto Corona—just as Detective Max Lang turned onto the street and drove toward us.
I ducked down, suddenly interested in the concoction I’d tucked into my purse on the floor. If Ritter noticed I was invisible to the detective as we passed, he didn’t say anything. I could only hope Lang hadn’t noted my dog sitting on the seat next to Thea’s brother.
Straightening with the bottle in my hand, I held it up to the light streaming in the window. Even through the blue glass of the bottle, the oils looked dark.
“What’s that?”
I glanced over at Ritter to see genuine interest on his face. “It’s a combination of essential oils. I find that they sometimes help in certain . . . situations.”
He still looked interested, but now a little puzzled.
I tried again. “You know I make perfumes, right? And I’m an aromatherapist.” It was the first time I’d actually called myself that out loud, and it felt good. Even though I didn’t have any kind of certificate on the wall to prove my bona fides, I knew—and felt—more about scent than anyone I knew.
“So I made up a little preparation, just in case it might be helpful.” I didn’t mention that I had only guessed what might be most useful, and that normally I’d try to intuit that information upon meeting Josie’s brother. That hadn’t been possible in this situation, though.
“Are you going to tell me what’s in it?” he asked in a teasing tone. “Or is that a proprietary secret?”
“You really want to know?”
He nodded.
“White poppy, for one. For consolation,” I happily explained. “Then there’s bittersweet for truth. And finally, a little heather.” For protection. I figured that last couldn’t hurt.
“Can I smell it?”
I uncorked the bottle and held it out to him. He took a sniff and passed it back. “Subtle. But nice.”
I shrugged. “Maybe I go overboard with the whole aromatherapy thing.”
He shook his head. “Never apologize for what you’re passionate about.” He turned toward the highway to Silver Wells, his long fingers curled around the big steering wheel. Strong hands. Tan and capable. As I watched, he reached up and ran one through his sun-highlighted hair, then looked over at me.
“What?” he asked.
Feeling myself blush, I looked away. I’d been thinking what it might be like to run my own hand through that thick mane. “Thanks for saying that. About my passion for scent.” I looked back, but his eyes had returned to the road. “You know, I’d forgotten that about you.”
His eyes cut my way for a second. “What?”
“You’re a really good listener, and you don’t judge.” He’d been like that even with his little sister’s obnoxious friend back in high school. “People respond to that.”
“People like the brother of a murder victim?” he asked with a sideways grin. I was glad he wasn’t taking me too seriously.
“Exactly.”
“People like you?” Still grinning, but now his words held more weight.
“Maybe,” I said, quickly looking out my window.
Dash settled back and looked between us. Ritter rolled down his window, and the cab filled with the smells of new-mown alfalfa hay from a nearby field, hummingbird sage, and chaparral currant. I closed my eyes, enjoying the air caressing my cheek.
• • •
SILVER Wells was big enough to have a Trader Joe’s on one side of town and a Walmart on the other. The law firm Vance Overland worked at was two blocks off the main drag. It was housed in a renovated Victorian painted a drab cream color, gingerbread and all. Ritter parked in the small lot next to it, and we got out.
Dash stood with his front paws on the door, and I reached through the open window to rub his velvety ears. “Stay here, be good, and don’t bark if any other dogs walk by. Okay?”
He barked his agreement, which made me wonder if he might be toying with me.
Ritter and I climbed the front steps of Clary, Bittel and Sorgenson, and he held the door open for me. I paused inside, blinking as my eyes adjusted to the dim light. A young woman lounged behind a metal desk, her blond tresses caught up in two ponytails on top of her head. Her T-shirt looked to be
a size too small and advertised a band I’d never heard of. It went well with her jeans and the jeweled flip-flops on her feet—which were on the top of the desk.
Feeling positively overdressed, I approached.
“Help you?” she asked.
“I have an appointment with Vance Overland,” I said. “We’re a little early.”
She pointed at me. “Right. You’re the one. I’ll get him.” She swung her feet to the floor and stood. “Follow me. You can wait in here.”
Trailing behind her, I breathed in her effluence of baby powder and butterscotch candies. She showed us into a conference room with a table and six folding chairs around it. The only other pieces of furniture were a file cabinet with folders overflowing from the half-shut drawers, and an industrial floor lamp to augment the sunlight streaming in the windows. The hint of Indian takeout from lunchtime still lingered faintly in the air.
Suddenly I understood the receptionist’s attitude on the phone earlier. Everything about the place screamed “ambulance chasers.”
“Have a seat. I’ll grab Vance.” She closed the door.
I looked at Ritter. “I don’t think I’ll be hiring any lawyers from this place.”
A grimace crossed his face. “I’m with you on that.” He pulled out a chair and sat down.
Putting my purse on the table, I extracted the blue vial and marched to the floor lamp. Three drops of the elixir went onto the bulb, and then I turned it on and returned to the table.
Bittersweet for truth. Here goes.
The lamp light was hardly noticeable in the bright room. I was sitting by the time the door opened and Vance Overland walked in.
Immediately I recognized him from the photo hanging in his sister’s apartment. She’d been a brunette, and he had hair light enough to be called blond, but their eyes had been the same shape, and there was something familiar about the curve of his lips—though his certainly weren’t curved up in a smile. Instead he frowned down at the file in his hand, flipping through a sheaf of papers.
“Excuse me, but I can’t seem to find your name anywhere in the class action suit.” His gaze flicked to Ritter, then to me. “You’re Mrs. Allbright?”
Daisies For Innocence Page 13
