The Scent of Murder

by Barbara Block

  “The least you could have done was call,” Tim grumbled, when I walked in the door. “You’re two hours late. I can’t do all of this by myself.” He gestured towards the boxes of cat products that needed to be unpacked and shelved.

  I apologized and handed Tim his dinner. He accepted it grudgingly. “Did Manuel call?”

  “Nope.” Tim went in the back to eat. Zsa Zsa and Pickles followed behind him.

  Actually I wasn’t expecting Manuel to. I figured he’d roll in somewhere between three and four in the morning. But I was wrong. He was waiting for me when I got home from work. He must have been listening for the car, because he opened the door as I was about to put my key in the lock.

  “Listen,” Manuel began. “I know you must be really pissed and I’m really sorry about the way I’ve been acting for the last couple of days. If you’ll just give me a chance to explain....”

  “You’ve got to be kidding.” I stepped into the hall and put my backpack down on the table. “I want you out of here.”

  Manuel tugged his pants up. “You’ve been real nice to let me stay here and I’ve been a shmuck.”

  “No. You’ve been a liar. I spoke to TJ.”

  Manuel became absorbed in studying the cracks in the floor. He twisted the heel of his left foot back and forth. “I guess you want to hear what’s been going on.”

  “Actually I don’t give a shit.” I walked into the kitchen.

  “Come on Robin, don’t be like that,” Manuel pleaded, as he dogged my footsteps.

  “How do you expect me to be?” I demanded. Then I stopped short. The counters were clean, the sink was gleaming, so was the floor.

  “I did the upstairs too.” Manuel went over to the refrigerator and opened the door. “See,” he said, pointing to the pan sitting on the top shelf. “I even made us meatloaf. I figured we could talk while I heat it up.” I didn’t say anything, but I was wavering, and Manuel knew it. “Please Robin,” he begged. “At least listen to me.”

  “All right,” I conceded, sitting down. “But it had better be good.”

  Manuel’s smile lit up his face. He turned on the oven, put in the meatloaf, along with some garlic bread, and sat down across from me. He proceeded to spin a long complicated story having to do with a friend named Jamal, his girlfriend, the girl’s brother, hiding out, an abortion, money owed, a flat tire, and a fight out in the parking lot at Fay’s.

  “You believe me, don’t you?” he asked when he was done. He looked at me anxiously, while he waited to hear what I was about to say.

  “Yes.” The story was too complicated and stupid for a lie.

  “Good.” Relieved, he leaned back in his chair.

  “Why didn’t you tell me this in the first place?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know.” James jumped up on the table and Manuel started to pet him. “I guess ’cause I didn’t want you to think I was some kind of jerk. I mean these guys are my friends, right? What could I do?” He lapsed into silence.

  I was about to say, “find some new ones” when the phone rang.

  It was a collect call from Amy.

  I told the operator I’d accept the charges. Amy got on a moment later. Her speech was slurred. She sounded drunk. Or stoned. She was rambling, but I didn’t want to interrupt her because I was afraid that if I did, she’d hang up on me.

  “I dyed my hair,” she told me. “Now it’s black.”

  “It must look nice,” I said, even though I was fairly sure it looked horrible. Black was the one color no one should ever dye their hair. It looked like shoe polish.

  “No it doesn’t. I hate it.” She started to cry. “Everything is so complicated,” she said, between sobs.

  Manuel’s head was practically resting on my shoulder, as he tried to hear what Amy was saying. I frowned and pushed him away.

  “I didn’t think it would be, but it is.”

  I picked my next words with care. “Things do tend to get out of control.”

  “People shouldn’t lie.”

  “No they shouldn’t,” I agreed, looking at Manuel. He blushed and studied the ceiling.

  There was a long pause on the other end of the line. I could hear Amy’s breathing. It was heavy, almost feverish. “I’m sorry I involved you in this mess. I didn’t mean to. You have to believe that.”

  “I do. You know your father’s funeral is tomorrow.”

  Amy didn’t say anything.

  “Do you want to go?”

  She didn’t answer, which was an answer in itself.

  “Amy?” I said, after a moment had gone by. “Are you still there?”

  “Yes.” Her voice sounded far away. “I need to talk to you,” she told me. “Maybe we can meet.”

  One of my grandmother’s sayings popped into my head. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. By those lights, I should feel ashamed indeed. “How do I know you’re going to be there?” I demanded. “You’ve run out on me what? ... Three times in a row?”

  “I won’t this time.” Amy apologized again. “I really need your help. Please.”

  “This is the last time.”

  “Tomorrow at three o’clock. At Carousel. In front of the Halloween store.” She hung up.

  “I bet she doesn’t show,” Manuel said.

  “Bet you’re right.”

  I got a bottle of wine and two glasses out of the cabinet, went into the living room, turned the TV on, and slipped The Shining in the VCR Manuel and I watched it together, while eating his meatloaf. Then I went to bed.

  When I got up the next morning, I briefly entertained the idea of going to Dennis Richmond’s funeral, but there didn’t seem to be much point, so I went to work instead. Business was steady and, before I knew it, Tim arrived and it was time to take off for the mall. I got there ten minutes early. Around Christmas, it could take you half an hour to find a spot in the parking lot, but now I got one close to the entrance. The place was huge. It had all the usual national chain stores, a food court, several movie theaters, and a carousel that seemed out of place, its hurdy-gurdy music plaintive under the mall’s relentlessly bright lights. A cathedral to the American spirit of acquisition, the place had done well, throwing the other malls in the area into a steep decline. The area’s population was static, and new stores and restaurants took customers away from older establishments in a never ending game of retail roulette.

  I rode the escalator to the second floor and sat on a bench in front of our appointed meeting place and studied the Halloween masks and costumes displayed in the window. The space had once housed a bookstore, but it had gone out of business. Now whoever rented it sold Halloween costumes up until the end of October, after which the space was given over to Christmas decorations. At the moment the place wasn’t doing much business, but I was certain things would pick up, once the kids got out of school and dragged their mothers in to buy fake blood and fangs—two favorites that never seemed to go out of favor.

  I was feeling restless, so I got up and walked inside. The store housed the usual array of monster masks and makeup. I walked out again and looked around. Amy wasn’t there. I went over to Barney’s, got myself a cup of coffee, and came back. She still hadn’t arrived. She was now officially five minutes late. I decided to give her an hour. I spent it pacing, eating a Wendy’s hamburger, drinking a second cup of coffee, and making another tour of the Halloween store. I left precisely at four and sped back to the store.

  “Let me guess. Amy didn’t come,” Tim said when I walked in.

  I was telling him he should get a job telling fortunes, when Manuel sauntered out from the back room. “I could have told you she wouldn’t show,” he said.

  “You did last night,” I reminded him. Pickles jumped on the counter and rubbed her head against my hand.

  Manuel ran the palm of his hand across one of the cages. “Why did you go?”

  “I guess because I wanted her to be there.”

  “I don’t get it,” he said.

 
“It’s simple. At least I know I did the right thing. My conscience is clear.”

  And it was until the phone call came. Then everything changed.

  Chapter 25

  I was making room on the shelves for the new shipment of bird toys we were getting in tomorrow, when the phone rang.

  Tim answered and handed me the receiver. “Who is it?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “Some guy. He asked for you.” He went back to fixing one of the filters.

  I wedged the phone between my ear and shoulder. “How can I help you?” I enquired, as I kept on working.

  “Is this Robin Light?” the person on the other end of the line asked.

  I told him it was.

  “Good.” The voice was male, but it sounded muffled, as if he had wrapped a wool scarf around his mouth and was speaking through that. “Now listen carefully.”

  “Who is this?” I demanded.

  He cut me off. “Just listen,” he ordered. “We have Amy. I want you to do exactly what I say. If you don’t, she’s going to get hurt.”

  I straightened up. “This is a joke, right?”

  “Wrong.”

  And I heard a scream.

  The scream rose in a crescendo of pain. It seemed to go on forever, even though it probably lasted thirty seconds at the most. Then there was silence, and the only sound I heard was the burbling of the water in the fish tanks. I became aware that my left hand was aching. I glanced down. I’d clenched it into a tight fist. My knuckles were white. I felt my nails digging into my palm. When I opened my fingers, I had four perfect half-moons incised in my palm.

  “Now do you understand?” the man said.

  My mouth was dry. My tongue seemed to be having trouble forming the word “yes.” I said it anyway.

  “Good.”

  A few seconds later, I heard Amy say, “Robin, do what he says” and a moan.

  Then the man came back on. “Follow my instructions, and your little friend will be fine. If you don’t, I’ll ship pieces of her back to you, understand?”

  “Yes,” I whispered.

  “Pay attention.” He told me to write down his instructions.

  My hand was shaking as I hung up the receiver.

  “What’s going on?” a voice asked in my ear.

  I must have leaped at least a foot. It was Manuel. He was looking at me curiously. So was Tim. “Don’t sneak up on me like that,” I snapped.

  “Bad news?” Tim asked.

  I blurted it out. “Amy’s been kidnapped.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” he said, echoing my words.

  “I wish I were.”

  Manuel sucked in his breath and tugged up his pants. “Why would anyone do something like that?”

  A lot of answers came to mind, and I didn’t like any of them.

  Tim put his screwdriver down on the counter and shook his head. “Jesus,” he said. “Jesus.” He turned around in a circle and hit the counter with the flat of his hand. “God damn.”

  I walked over to where Tim was standing, removed my pack of cigarettes from my bag, extracted one, and tried to light it, but the flame from my lighter didn’t seem to want to connect with the tip of the Camel. I managed on the third try.

  “What does the caller want?” Tim asked.

  “A small envelope that’s supposed to be beneath my desk.”

  Tim stared at me. “Your desk?”

  “That’s what the man said.” I bit my cuticle. “Amy must have put it there when she ran out the door.”

  So I’d been right and George had been wrong, I thought, as I walked towards the back room. Manuel and Tim followed. Someone had been searching for something when they went through Dennis Richmond’s apartment and my house and store. I wondered if that someone was Toon Town. And then I wondered why I’d let myself be talked out of my idea. It was a female thing, I decided. A facet of my personality I thought I had under control, but obviously didn’t.

  The macaw screeched as we went inside the room. Tim looked around.

  “From what you said, I didn’t think Amy had time to hide anything.”

  “The back door is right next to this room. She must have run in, tossed whatever she was carrying under the desk, and run out the door. That wouldn’t have taken her more than a couple of seconds. I just hope it isn’t drugs.” I knelt down in front of the desk. Tim was so close to me, I could feel his breath on my neck. I worked the fingers of my right hand into the space between the desk and the floor. I didn’t feel anything.

  “So?” Tim said.

  I stood up. My fingertips were covered with dust. I wiped them off on my jeans. “It looks as if we’re going to have to move it,” I said.

  Manuel stood off a little, while Tim and I lifted the desk up. We carried it about half a foot and put it down. It was a lot heavier than I remembered it being.

  “Look,” Manuel cried, and he pointed to a three-by-five inch tan paper envelope lying on the floor amid the dust bunnies.

  It was close to where the back of the desk would have been before we moved it.

  “I see it.” I bent down and picked the envelope up. It was sealed with Scotch tape. I felt it. Whatever was inside was hard and lumpy. My first thought was rock cocaine, but then I realized it couldn’t be. The envelope was too small to be holding an amount worth any real money. Tim and Manuel crowded around me as I peeled the tape off and opened the flap. They gasped as I poured the contents into my palm.

  The diamonds sparkled in my hand, passports to another world.

  “How much do you think they’re worth?” Manuel asked, in a hushed whisper, temporarily overcome by the sight.

  “If they’re perfect one carats, maybe two or three hundred thousand, maybe more.”

  Tim picked up one of the gems between his thumb and forefinger and held it up to the light. “Amazing. Really amazing.”

  I had relatives that were supposed to have bought their way out of Nazi Germany with stones like these. I wondered where Dennis had planned to go, as Tim handed the diamond to me. I put all of them back in the envelope and resealed it.

  Tim shook his head. “Where did Amy ever get something like this?”

  I thought of my last conversation with her. “From her father’s apartment.”

  Tim snorted. “Boy, my father sure didn’t keep things like this around our place.”

  “Maybe he wasn’t planning on pulling a disappearing act.”

  “Even if he was, he could never have mustered together more than twenty extra bucks in cash. Twenty bucks doesn’t take you very far. Maybe that’s why he never left.”

  “Neither does two or three hundred grand. Not today—not if you’re planning on disappearing for good.” I weighed the packet in my hand. “I wonder what else Dennis had socked away?”

  Tim sighed. “We’re definitely in the wrong business.”

  “True.” One thing about stealing stolen money: the person you steal it from can’t very well complain. Who knew? Obviously Amy. Maybe Dennis’s brother. Maybe his wife.

  “So what do you have to do with that?” Manuel asked, pointing to the packet and interrupting my thoughts.

  I glanced at my watch. “I’m supposed to leave it on the water tower over by the Lincoln Square apartments in three hours.”

  “How about Amy?” Tim asked.

  “After I drop the packet off, I’m to go to the phone booth on Plum Street and wait for a call that will tell me where to go to pick her up.”

  “Wow.” Manuel tugged on his goatee. “This is intense. Really intense.” He started drumming on the wall.

  I told him to stop it.

  “Sorry.” He sat down. Two seconds later he was tapping his foot on the floor.

  I found myself gritting my teeth. “Manuel, cut it out.”

  “Right.” He gave me a sickly grin. “This whole thing is getting to me. I think I’m gonna take a walk. You mind?”

  I told him I didn’t. Actually, I was glad to see him go. At the moment, he was just a
n annoying distraction.

  “I’ll be back in a little while.”

  “Whatever.”

  Manuel fingered the buttons on his shirt. “If you promise someone you’re going to do something, do you think you should?”

  “That depends on what it is.”

  For a second, I thought Manuel was going to say something else, but he didn’t, he just turned and headed for the door. I walked toward the phone.

  “What are you doing?” Tim asked.

  “Calling the police. They’re better set up to cope with this kind of thing than I am.”

  Tim swallowed. “I hope that’s the right thing to do.” The doubt in his voice was palpable. His body was vibrating with tension.

  “Believe me, so do I.” I was reaching for the phone, when it rang again. The sound pierced the silence. My heart started thudding. “It’s probably just a customer,” I said.

  “Probably,” Tim agreed, but he’d gone pale.

  It rang again. The smallness of the room seemed to amplify the sound.

  “Jesus,” Tim murmured. “Aren’t you going to get that?”

  I picked up the next time it rang. “Yes?” I said. I could hear the catch in my voice.

  “I’m not a customer,” the voice on the phone informed me. I listened closely, but the voice was so muffled I couldn’t identify it. “Modern electronics is a marvelous thing, isn’t it?” the man continued. “All these cheap listening devices that you can buy through the catalogs. I can hear and see everything you and your employee say, so you follow my instructions to the letter, or your little friend gets hurt.”

  I knew who it was. The electronics stuff cinched it. It couldn’t be anyone else. “Toon Town,” I said.

  “Just do what I said.”

  “This is you, isn’t it?”

  I heard a click. He’d hung up. “Fuckin’ son of a bitch,” I yelled into the receiver. “As long as you can hear me, I just want to let you know, I think you’re a piece of pond scum.” I kicked the desk.