Perfect Scents

by Virginia Taylor

  Calli put fresh food out for the animal, a bare mouthful, which seemed to be the amount Hobo could manage. She watched the cat eat for a moment and then she changed into slim black pants with a loose top patterned in black and white. With her short toffee-colored hair brushed back, she doubted anyone would look at her long enough to recognize her. She had omitted the lashes she had always worn and only added gloss to her lips. Her slight nod to vanity was her black-and-white striped heels, which made her as tall as the average man. Satisfied she looked neat and clean, she took herself and her phone to the local pub for a bar special.

  The place employed a cook and not a chef, and the cook couldn’t cook. In between web searching for plants on her phone, she picked at the watery vegetables from the serve-yourself bain-marie. After cutting off the fat, she ate the greasy roast lamb, wishing she wasn’t hungry enough to do so, and she left after taking the last mouthful. She could drink good coffee at home, since the cottage was now her home.

  Dark had descended when she arrived back. Lights glimmered through the forest surrounding the house next door. She now knew more than one person lived there, since the white SUV had left during the day. Later, she had seen two white-wrapped men, one blonde woman, and a Ferrari.

  Perhaps because walking into a dark house alone at night spooked her, her mind began to hover over her speculations about the neighbors again. As the SUV hadn’t been there during the day, the tattooed gangster wasn’t either of the white-clad men. The only car to arrive had been the Ferrari. Women rarely drove Ferraris, therefore one of the men would have brought the blonde, or she lived in the house next door, too.

  Why would the Ferrari macho stereotype, usually a youngish male who wanted admiration from other men or, of course, beautiful blondes, live in a dilapidated property hidden by trees? Why would he wear white coveralls? For cleaning? Unlikely. Or not? Momentarily letting her mind wander over cleaning, aka, body disposal, she hesitated in the doorway—but she couldn’t let her imagination loose when she only had herself to spook.

  Deliberately relaxing her shoulders, she switched on the main light. A body disposer wouldn’t be interested in her. She hardly had a body at all, and she certainly didn’t have any mob connections. Aside from that, she had nothing to snitch to the police about, other than Grayson, of course. Her worst problem was the smelly cat.

  “Hi, puss,” she said to Hobo, who stretched, and then soft-footed off the couch, aiming a reproachful glare at Calli. “What have I done? I’ve been out. Whatever has happened, you can’t blame me.”

  Hobo did a figure eight around Calli’s ankles and then paraded to the fridge where her food dish sat empty.

  “Very impressive. I suppose you expect me to fill the bowl again. Well…okay. But don’t take a single bite unless you agree to have a bath.” Calli spooned food into the bowl and set the dish in front of the cat, who ate like a taster in a cooking competition, taking tiny bites and pausing. “I hope you realize you have compromised yourself by accepting a bribe.”

  She decided the cat had nodded in agreement. Grabbing her bottle of shampoo and one of the towels from the bathroom, she left the kitchen sink to fill with warm water while she made a pad that covered the drainer. “How to bathe a cat,” she said in a companionable voice. “In one easy lesson. Finished dinner?”

  Hobo lifted a paw and began cleaning between her toes with her teeth.

  “Don’t worry about that.” Calli picked up the cat, tested the water’s temperature with her elbow, which anyone knew to do, and with trembling hands put the cat in the water, which reached just past her knees. “Could you sit? No. Is it okay if I scoop water over you?”

  The cat gave her an unreadable glance, but other than a slight shudder, she accepted having water scooped over her. Calli soaped her up, rinsed her off, cleaned her eyes, and then as gently as she could, she patted the bundle of bones dry. Without her matted fur covering, the cat was frighteningly delicate. On the plus side, washing a cat was rather like washing a teddy bear, but actually nicer, because the cat purred while she was being dried. Calli had no idea why the vet had said good luck.

  Finally, Hobo decided she was dry enough and she sprang onto the tiles and ambled across the carpet to the front door. She glanced back at Calli as if to say, “C’mon.”

  “If your need to go outdoors is in any way embarrassing, don’t tell me. And if you run away, remember I don’t care. I won’t have to clean your eyes again.” Calli opened the door.

  The cat disappeared into the night. “I didn’t mean it,” Calli said, her fingers pressed to her cheeks. “I do care. Please don’t make me search for you.”

  Within a few minutes, Hobo returned, glanced at the open door, glanced at the garden bed beside the open door, adopted an expression of complete innocence, and rolled herself in the dirt. Then she shook herself, bounded back inside the house, and curled up on the couch.

  “So, that’s your true opinion of my bathing skills?” Sighing, Calli perched beside her and reached for the television remote controller. A crime show flickered onto the screen, lights flashing, actors clumping around in blue latex boots and white coveralls. She changed channels to a cooking show, even worse, because the food looked edible. Switching off the set, she listened for noises in the night. Not even an air conditioner hummed.

  She couldn’t go to bed before eight at night despite being physically exhausted. Instead, she folded her arms and stared at the ceiling, noting a tiny cobweb in the corner. She breathed out and stared at the cat, who slept soundly. Tomorrow she would buy a book to read. Tonight she would think about what she would do first in the morning. Breakfast. Jog. Move a few plants from the front garden to the edge of the veranda facing the tennis court. The sun didn’t reach that area until the late afternoon. Then she had miles of brown plastic piping to cut and fit for the new dripper system.

  She dropped her chin onto her chest, thinking. Then, with her jaw forward, she stood, kicked off her shoes, pushed up the sleeves of her sweater, and grabbed a white chair from the dining area. In the darkness of the night, she could peer over the neighbor’s fence—just to make sure they didn’t nurture a marijuana plantation or run a meth lab.

  After switching off the light, she carried the chair to the side fence. Listened. Nothing. She took a step up onto the seat. The street lamps gave her a clear but gray view into the neighbor’s property. Immediately under her nose stood the overflowing smelly bin and a brick path leading to the back door. She hadn’t made herself into a snoop to watch her neighbors but to put her mind to rest about their illegal activities. Or so her mind insisted.

  The property had the same back boundary as the judge’s. The house ended where the judge’s main house started. The backyard resembled the front garden, weedy and speckled with feral trees. Calli had no view through to the garage, but she knew a large area of land lurked between the house and the outbuilding. This meant the marijuana plantation would be out of sight, if the gangster grew marijuana. The meth lab would be in the crumbling garage, which would be a good disguise for a meth lab.

  The yellow light from the windows of the main house lent menace to the shadows. Without any sort of warning, while she was peering through the weeds, the back door of the house creaked open. She had time to see a rangy man in dirty jeans open his eyes wide with surprise when he saw her. “Killer,” he shouted wildly.

  Terrified, she immediately ducked down, huddling on the chair while clutching at the fence post. Was he yelling for someone to kill her? Surely they wouldn’t. Neighbors spied on each other all the time. In some areas, neighbor watching was considered to be an essential sport.

  Her heart thudded in her chest, and she thought about calling out that she hadn’t seen a thing. She cleared her throat, and his back door slammed. The thump of footsteps. A bump against the fence, which rocked. Moving, she whacked her knee, and the chair tilted. She grabbed hold of the fence post, but too late. The chair tipped over, and she fell onto the upturned
seat, the heels of her palms and her knees planting into the dirt. She quickly arose, only to be thrown onto her belly.

  A heavy shape landed on top of her. “Got you, you little varmint.”

  The neckline of her top jerked up under her chin, almost choking her. She froze. Her heartbeat went into overdrive, and her pulse pounded in her ears. She tried to turn but the man put his elbow around her neck. The weight of him held her down.

  “Isn’t it time you went home?” he asked in a silky voice.

  Her body tightened into defense mode, stiff and ready to fight back. “Not your business,” she managed to say in husky, breathless voice. “Get off me!”

  His weight lifted off her, but he had a grip on her top. As he stood, he dragged her up with him. “Explain why you are still lurking around,” he said in a terse voice.

  Almost crippled by the tackle, she turned to face him, tangled in her skewed top.

  He examined her, his hand tightly gripping her shoulder. Then, he blinked and stiffened into a visible double take. While she stood frozen to the spot, her blouse settling back into place, he morphed into the dangerously handsome Mr. Neighborhood Watch. The palm that had flattened on her shoulder shifted to his hip, his whole stance expressing surprise. “You.”

  Her heart dropped. She hadn’t expected him to recognize her face when he had only seen her in sunglasses and a hat. “Instead of worrying about what I’m doing, you should be concentrating on the gangsters next door,” she said through clenched teeth, bravely taking a step back.

  “The gangsters next door?” His expression relaxed into the sort of amusement that would cause the elastic in women’s undies to melt.

  Her shoulders eased. “And their meth lab.”

  “Meth lab?”

  She folded her arms. “Or marijuana plantation.”

  “Marijuana plantation?” His eyebrows lifted slightly.

  “I already know you have mentioned to one of these people that they might be happier living elsewhere. I heard you this morning. I can certainly report suspicious activity. The gangsters in there are probably making a fortune while you’re running around at night scaring poor innocent residents.”

  He re-angled his stance. “You’re a resident?”

  She flicked her head toward the darkened cottage. “That’s how I can hear what’s going on next door.”

  “Noisy, are they?”

  “No. Suspiciously quiet. Well, except for last night. They played loud music and laughed and broke bottles. I expect they were having an orgy after counting the millions they extorted from people during the day.” She straightened the neckline of her top.

  He pressed a loosely curled fist to his mouth while he examined her face. “I think this neighborhood deserves further discussion. Tomorrow night over a meal, perhaps?”

  “I think you should back off the property before I call the police.” She took a step back to the door, clenching her bare toes onto the lawn.

  “What’s going on over there?” said a voice from behind the fence.

  “I’ve had complaints about you,” Mr. Neighborhood Watch called back.

  “Me?” the voice said in indignant squeak.

  “And I would suggest you dismantle your meth lab before the police arrive.” Mr. Neighborhood Watch pushed his hands into his back pockets, and nodded at Calli, as if to imply he had the situation covered and was in collusion with her.

  “Okay,” the voice said. “It sounds like you’re talking to a woman.”

  “As it happens, I am. The eighteen-year-old boy turned into the jogging girl.”

  “Story of your life, isn’t it, buddy? I expect you don’t need my help.” The voice sounded bitter. The back door squeaked and banged.

  Calli stood for a moment staring at a face that even in the shadows set her heart thudding.

  “The police won’t arrive in time, and they won’t find any evidence,” he said, holding her gaze.

  She moistened her lips, her intake of air icy cold. “You’re one of the next-door neighbors, too, I presume?”

  He shrugged, as if it didn’t matter. “About the bottles—we thought the cottage was empty.”

  All of a sudden, she remembered his comment to the man over the fence. “You’ve seen me jogging?” She wet her lips. “Is that what you meant when you said you.”

  He nodded. “We’re working on the house until the marijuana crop is ripe enough to harvest. The meth lab is Trent’s. I don’t have anything to do with it.”

  “And you’re staying there while you work.” She hesitated and, in case he had seen her picture in the paper as her father’s spoiled dishonest daughter, she tested him with, “I’m Calli.”

  He gripped her palm. “Kellen. Now, about that dinner….”

  “There’s nowhere around here you would want to eat. Look, it’s been interesting talking to a gangster, but I have a pile of work to catch up with.”

  “Right.” Kellen reached behind her and grabbed the chair. “Where do you want this?”

  “I’ll take it inside.”

  “I’ll take it inside. It’s the least I can do after throwing you to the ground and landing on top of you.”

  “If I can carry it outside, I can carry it inside.” She lifted her chin.

  His expression deliberately patient, he took the chair to the door and waited for her. “I understand that you don’t want a strange man wandering into your house. How about if you wander through mine tomorrow instead and check the whereabouts of the meth lab? It would save you climbing the fence at night.”

  She firmed her chin. “I expect you wouldn’t want me to arrive until you’ve had time to hide everything.”

  “Come for lunch,” he said, passing the chair to her. “We have a houseful of food.”

  “I might,” New Calli said, surprising herself. Apparently she wasn’t quite as staid as she had thought. Or Kellen’s reluctant amusement had relaxed her. “At about one. By the way, how did you get into this garden?”

  “I jumped the fence.” He backed away, a crooked smile on his face. “I’ll show you.” In two steps, he had hold of the top of the fence, lifted to the extent of his arms, and vaulted. “See you at one tomorrow.”

  Chapter 4

  “You might be sitting here thinking I fell for that smooth line,” Calli said to the cat as she tucked up her bare feet beneath her on the couch. “But I sure as heck didn’t. Yes, I did say I would go to lunch, but first he asked me out to dinner. Ha! He must have a whole lot to hide. You need to watch out for men who pretend they want a date when you don’t have your hair or makeup on. I don’t mean bald—don’t get me wrong. I mean without, you know, a bit of camouflage.”

  The bundle of bones opened her golden eyes with surprise. She seemed to have natural eyeliner herself and probably couldn’t see a reason to worry about makeup.

  “You’re right, of course. He was trying to change the subject. They do that.” She pressed her lips together, knowing that she had never been man-bait. She had to tell herself the truth. The men she knew saw her as either contemplative marriage material or the useful daughter of her influential father.

  Despite the smoldering amusement in his eyes, Kellen hadn’t been trying out his charm. He didn’t even know her. He wanted to appease her. The thought that she might report him for coming onto the judge’s private property and accosting her must have had him worried. By asking her over to lunch, he meant to calm the situation. Little did he know that offering food to her was about the smartest thing he could do, even if he did have a marijuana plantation or a meth lab, which she no longer really believed or likely never had.

  And judging by the shows she saw on television, drug dealers didn’t have offbeat senses of humor like Kellen’s, which in the normal way of things she enjoyed. The obvious had never appealed to her. The sexiest thing about a man was a brain and a sense of humor. Although the two should go together, quite often clever men didn’t “get” her and they m
ade her explain, which dried up her conversations and jolted her confidence. And then, of course, she decided she wasn’t smart enough, and she let them dump her or swindle her. Her relationships that began with admiration and high hopes, ended with her losing part of herself.

  Tonight, however, she had stood her ground, despite the fact that Kellen had knocked her flying, and he had scared her. If nothing else, she could be proud of herself for that. Although everything she had thought for the past two days had been turned upside down, she had come out ahead. Instead of living on her own near gangsters, she lived near a couple of tradesmen trying to earn a wage, just like her. She no longer felt alone. If she could manage to be friendlier toward them, she might be comfortable by herself. She might not be spooked by noises in the night.

  She might not tell saintly lies to herself, either.

  Sliding down in the seat, she crossed her arms over her chest, grumping. A month ago she would have sworn she would never look at another man, and here she sat, trying not to imagine Kellen without his clothes. Her body hadn’t connected with a man’s for a very long time, certainly from pre-Grayson days, and almighty Kellen had lifted her to her feet with a tug of her shirt. Primitive, of course, but very manly.

  Judging by the width of his shoulders and the way he had tossed her around, he had Muscles, with a capital M. She happened to be very keen on toned men, or looking at them. Well, she was a healthy young woman. Naturally she would look twice at a man as easy on the eyes as Kellen.

  “And you didn’t hear me say that,” she said to the cat, who gave a huge, utterly bored yawn.

  * * * *

  Kell strode into the kitchen. “Jogger Girl’s coming to lunch tomorrow.”

  “What happened to the dinner date?” Trent asked sourly, scrubbing at the plates they had used for the evening meal.

  “That was a no-goer.”

  “Does she look as good up close as she does when she jogs past?”

  “It’s hard to tell without a light, but she feels good.”