As I trudged up to the third floor, the wind howled outside, shaking the trees and knocking fir cones and branches onto the roof. It would be the perfect night for the Cap’n to show himself, but by the time I was ready for bed, I decided he was going to remain in whatever shadowy realm he lived in. Suddenly nostalgic, I whispered, “Goodnight, Cap’n. Sleep well,” as I crawled into bed.
The windows rattled and rain lashed the windowsill, but I fell into a deep sleep as soon as my head hit the pillow. At some point, I woke to hear the sound of a fog horn from some boat passing by, or perhaps I dreamed it, but after that, my slumber was uneasy, and images of arguing beauty queens and angry young men filled my dreams.
I WOKE UP to find Delilah sitting on the pillow next to me, staring down at my face with a bemused look. As I struggled to sit up, still caught between my dreams and the waking world, I pushed back the hand-sewn Hawaiian quilt that covered the rich walnut sleigh bed and swung my feet over the edge. The cat watched me cautiously, reaching up to pat my face with her claws barely sheathed. I waited until she withdrew her tufted toes from my cheek before stumbling out of bed. Squinting in the dim light that peeked from between the curtains, I reached out to give Delilah a few scritches behind the ears.
“You’re not so tough,” I cooed to her. “Not really.” She started to bite, but then—teeth poised on my finger—stopped, purred, and thwapped her tail against the vanity. Laughing at the smug, self-satisfied look that filled her eyes, I chased her out of the room.
I opened the drapes. The weatherman was right for once. More clouds were on the way in, ponderous and rain-filled. Nothing new for western Washington during the month of May, but after my dreams the heavy sky felt ominous, almost claustrophobic.
Leaning out into the cool air, I inhaled deeply, watching as a patch of mist rolled along the ground, swirling up from a low-lying part of the backyard. The raucous call of a family of Steller’s jays echoed through the morning. The birds made their home in a large fir tree in the backyard and they set up a stink every time it was going to rain.
As the first splatter of drops hit my face, I closed the sash, fastening it tightly. Maybe I should take my chances and stroll along Lighthouse Spit. Sure, it was raining, but I wouldn’t melt, and I could watch the waves cresting in, maybe have breakfast at the Lighthouse Café. But a glance at the clock showed me that I didn’t have time for any of that. I needed to start getting up earlier if I wanted to get in a walk every morning before breakfast.
I dressed quickly. Black jeans that fit my curves, hunter green turtleneck that slipped over my head, masking my tattoos. A brilliant spray of roses embracing my mother’s name adorned my lower back, and, for Christmas, I’d treated myself to an exotic faerie hiding among a spray of bluebells that twined around my left forearm and up to my shoulder. My belly button and left nipple were pierced, but few people knew about those little gems until summer hit and I started wearing crop tops and swimsuits. My body art startled a lot of people when they first noticed it, but I figured that if people were going to stereotype me because of the way I looked, then they could find somebody else to talk to. Blanket generalizations irked me to no end. Some of the most ethical people I knew looked the roughest.
I clattered downstairs, whipped up a quick smoothie, chugged it down, and headed for the shop, keeping within the speed limit all the way. Kyle could go suck a lemon; he wouldn’t be giving me any more tickets.
The drive to Venus Envy wound along Beachcomber’s Drive. I hugged the curves overlooking the ocean for a mile or two until the road headed east, directly into the heart of the town.
Gull Harbor was nestled on Port Samanish Island, one of several little islands making their home in Puget Sound between Seattle and the Kitsap Peninsula. The island was connected on the west side to Kitsap County by a floating bridge, and on the east side, ferry service provided transit across Puget Sound to Seattle.
The town had grown quickly over the past ten years from its roots as a tiny tourist attraction, housing sight-seeing boats for the summer trade. Now Gull Harbor had a thriving economy thanks to both the high tech and tourism industries. In the early 1960s, a cooperative of artists and writers decided to make their headquarters here. One by one, they moved in, bringing with them their arts and crafts. Then, ten years ago, Sand Bar Software opened up, along with Red Oak Technology Services, which provided computer consultant contracts along the inland peninsula coastline, as well as over in the Seattle-Bellevue-Redmond area. Though still small, new businesses were beginning to look over to Port Samanish Island instead of Seattle proper when they relocated to Washington State.
The locals were an eclectic—if relatively harmless—mix of stubborn Northwest individualism and quirky artistic vision. But along with the growing population and the java-jive mentality, the natural beauty of the area was indisputable, and still pristine.
As I reached the shop, I pulled into my parking space and absently turned off the ignition. Aunt Florence was spending the morning with her accountant, so I’d be in charge till she arrived after lunch. I had three appointments scheduled, and also wanted to get cracking on a new blend—something to inspire energy and vitality.
I hadn’t decided what I was going to call it yet; maybe something along the lines of Juniper Girl or Mountain Maiden. Whatever the name, I wanted to get right to work. Tawny wouldn’t be in for another hour and I worked better when nobody else was around.
As I unlocked the door and entered the shop, I noticed a strange scent. Something almost metallic—sickly sweet and cloying. I flipped on the lights and all thoughts of perfume and bath salts and clients went flying out the door. There, on the floor next to the front counter, lay Lydia Wang, her dark hair matted with blood, a stunned look on her face.
Everything registered in slow motion for a moment until my instincts kicked in and I rushed over to her side, knelt, and even though I knew it was futile, felt for a pulse. Her delicate hand was cool to the touch; she’d been dead long enough for rigor mortis to set in. Shivering, I gently let go of her wrist and rubbed my hand on my jeans.
From the look of things, her death hadn’t been accidental. Her neck was turned too far to the right. Probably broken. On her forehead, an indigo bruise blossomed like an exotic, beautiful flower that had suddenly taken root on her skin. The back of her head looked misshapen, and her hair was thick with clotted blood. Queasy, I looked up at the counter. The corner was right in line with the way she’d fallen, and it had blood on it. I flinched as I pictured her head hitting the marble as she went down. But something… or someone… had to have struck her from behind because no way could a blow to her temple have caused the back of her skull to break.
The thought that the killer might still be around crossed my mind. It wasn’t likely, but no use taking any chances. I edged cautiously back to the door. There was nothing I could do for her. Wherever she was, Lydia didn’t need my help—or anybody else’s—now. I stepped outside, making sure that I didn’t touch anything else, and pulled out my cell phone to call my aunt and the police.
Chapter 4
KYLE LAUGHLIN SWEPT in with his men, looking distinctly out of place among the perfumes and lotions. When he saw me he rolled his eyes.
Thanks a lot, I thought. I like you too.
He motioned for his men to fan out. “Make sure nobody’s here, don’t touch anything—the murderer could have been anywhere in this place.” Turning his attention back to me, he asked, “Have you touched anything?”
I frowned. “I work here, I’ve probably had my hands on everything at one point or another.”
Kyle gave me a disgusted look. “This morning,” he said, enunciating each word precisely. “I mean have you touched anything this morning?”
I raised my eyebrows but pointed to the door. “The handle and probably the door itself, of course. It was locked, by the way. And… Lydia. I checked to see if she had a pulse, and I steadied myself on the planter next to the counter when I stood up.”
His eyes flickered. “Who was the last person to leave here last night?”
“I was.” The minute I said it, I knew it sounded bad. Good going, Sherlock. Place yourself at the scene of a crime. All of Aunt Florence’s detective shows came flooding back. “I worked late, till about nine o’clock.”
One of the men tapped him on the shoulder and Kyle motioned to me that he’d be just a moment. He turned to whisper to the officer, then glanced back at me. “Are you sure of the time?”
“Yes, I’m sure. I looked at the clock before I locked the door to make sure that I’d have time to get to the grocery store.”
“And which store did you go to?”
“Shoreline Foods Pavilion.”
He jotted a note in his book. “Okay. Are you positive that you locked up when you left?”
I pressed my lips shut and stared at him. What did he think I was? A ditz? “I lived in Seattle, Kyle. I always lock up. And we don’t have a security alarm system here, so we always double-check the door.”
“Who else has access to the keys for the shop?” He kept one eye on me, one on his notebook.
Something was churning around in that little brain of his. No doubt some new way to make my life miserable. “Auntie can tell you better than I can. She has the complete list.”
“Well, I need to know what time you got to Shoreline Foods, how long you were there, and where you went after that.”
I walked over to my station and sat down, watching as the men snapped pictures of Lydia’s body and the surrounding area. Maybe I should cut Kyle a little slack. He’d just had a murder dropped in his lap, one that would make the papers for sure. I sighed and glanced around the shop. Something felt out of kilter, but I couldn’t quite pinpoint it.
“Okay, give me a minute to collect my thoughts.”
Just then, a roar outside announced the arrival of Aunt Florence in her convertible. She’d owned the Mustang for years, and it desperately needed a new muffler, but she insisted “Baby” was in top notch condition and repeatedly ignored the neighbor’s pleas for her to quiet the beast.
The medical team was in the process of photographing the body but they paused as Auntie entered the shop, her brilliant mu’umu’u swishing against her legs. My aunt acted nothing less than the island’s grandé dame. The officers hesitated as she passed, as if waiting for permission to continue.
She nodded at them, then strode over to Kyle’s side.
“Well, if this doesn’t tear all,” she said, staring at Lydia’s body with a pained look on her face.
“Morning, Miss Florence.” Kyle shifted so that she could sit down on the bench next to him. “I was just asking Persia who has access to the shop.”
Auntie adjusted her mu’umu’u and sat down, still staring at Lydia. “Persia and I both have keys, of course. Tawny has a key, and I gave one to Trevor last week when I asked him to bring down a load of supplies. Other than that—Barbara, next door, in case of emergency.” She sucked on her lip for a moment. “Who did this, Kyle?”
“I don’t know, Miss Florence. That’s what we’re trying to find out.” He turned back to me. “You were going to tell me where you were last night, after you left the shop.”
“I left here at nine o’clock, stopped at Shoreline Foods to pick up some groceries around nine-ten, and pulled into the driveway around forty minutes later.” As much as I wanted to give him a swift kick, I refrained. First biting, then kicking… maybe Kyle wasn’t the only one who hadn’t grown up.
He glanced for confirmation at Aunt Florence, who seemed to grasp the situation.
“You can just stop thinking along those lines right now.” She puffed up, the stuffed parakeet on her straw hat jiggling precariously. “Persia got home when she said she did. The power went off right at that moment, and I remember thinking we were going to miss Magnum if it didn’t come back on. Magnum runs every night at ten PM on TV-Nation.”
Kyle held up his hands. “I’m just trying to establish a time frame, Miss Florence. No disrespect intended. I’d better talk to Trevor and Tawny now.”
Aunt Florence glanced over her shoulder at the door. Tawny had just entered and I watched as she glanced around, her eyes lighting on Lydia’s cold body. Tawny gasped and reached for the doorframe.
Auntie waggled her finger at Kyle. “You just make sure you’re polite to her. She’s a good worker. Trevor, too.” With that, she glanced back at Lydia’s body, which they were now lifting into a body bag. “I hate to think of the hell her poor parents are going to go through.” She sighed. “How long will this take? Should I be prepared to close down for several days?”
Kyle scratched his head and squinted. “I think we’ll be done by this afternoon, but I’d like to keep tomorrow free, just in case we have any questions that pop up. Meanwhile, if you and Persia could look around the shop and figure out whether anything is missing, I’d be much obliged.”
“That’s it!” I jumped up. Something had been niggling at the back of my mind and now I knew what it was. Both my aunt and Kyle stared at me like I’d lost my marbles. I pointed to an empty space on the wall next to the door leading to our spa area. “Aphrodite’s Mirror… it’s gone.”
“What mirror?”
“Barbara Konstantinos gave me a mirror that I keep here at the shop. It’s called Aphrodite’s Looking Glass, all handmade from Greece. Yesterday, Lydia got bent out of shape because I wouldn’t sell it to her. I thought something was off, but it took a while for me to figure out what it was.”
Aunt Florence gasped. “You’re right. I hadn’t noticed, but it’s gone, all right.” She peeked in the till. “I don’t think we’re short—it’s hard to say without pulling it out and counting, but it looks right.”
Kyle glanced at me. “You were the last one to lock up, did you count out the till last night?”
I shook my head. “Tawny did.”
He called her over and she confirmed that everything looked to be there. The store credit card was still in place, as was the fifty-dollar bill she accepted from a customer the day before. Auntie and I took a thorough look around while Kyle questioned Tawny. Nothing else seemed to be missing.
I leaned close to my aunt. “This is too weird. I know I locked that door.”
“Of course you did. So somebody either picked the lock or there’s another key floating around. Since I had the locks changed when I first opened the shop, there shouldn’t be any more out there.”
“Even if I had forgotten last night, it was tight as a drum this morning, and you can’t lock the door without a key. A lot of women admired that mirror. A lot of people were also mad at Lydia.” I crossed my arms and shivered. “How could she have gotten in here? And why?”
Florence patted my arm. “Don’t you fret about Kyle and his questions. I know you two rub each other the wrong way, but he’s really a good man underneath it all.”
“Um hmm, I’ll believe that when I see it,” I mumbled, lowering my voice as he wandered over.
“The coroner says that it looks like somebody hit her on the back of the head. The impact knocked her into the marble edge of the counter.”
Aunt Florence grimaced. “Did you find the murder weapon?”
“Not yet.” He glanced back at the body. “We’ll know more after the autopsy. So yes, if you could hold off opening your shop for a day or two, that will give my men the time to go over everything as we learn more about her death. In the meantime, it looks like your staff has an unplanned vacation.”
WE SAT IN a corner booth in the BookWich, staring mutely at our coffee. My aunt was never speechless about anything, but when we gathered our things and left the shop, she deflated like a sagging balloon. I wondered what was going through her head.
She absently stirred another spoonful of sugar into her coffee, sipped it, and grimaced. “Too sweet. Persia, I tell you, I haven’t felt this worn out since… well, since your mother died. I’ve lost a lot of people in my li
fe, but this is only the second time that I’ve known someone who was murdered. Tell me what happened.”
I squeezed lemon into my tea. “I don’t know. I got there, found her on the floor. Pretty gruesome. I’ve been going over everything I can remember from yesterday, but—here’s Barb.” I’d left a note for Barbara to meet us in the café.
“What on earth is going on at your shop?” She slid into the booth next to me. “The police are there, and the coroner, too. There’s crime scene tape everywhere. Are you okay? I was terrified when I saw your note.” She glanced around. “Where’s Tawny? Did she get hurt?”
Auntie cleared her throat. “Down, girl. Lower your voice.” She looked around. Heddy Latherton was sitting at the counter. “Wonderful, just what we need. The town gossipmonger.” She leaned over the counter and whispered, “A customer was killed in our shop during the night.”
Barbara gasped. “Oh my God! Who?”
“Hush! Not so loud,” Auntie said. “I’ll have to field off questions soon enough. I’d like a little time to regroup and think.”
Just then, Kyle wandered in. He saw us and gave a little nod, then leaned over the counter to talk to the cashier. She pulled out a clipboard and jotted down something, then handed him the piece of paper. As Kyle turned toward the door, a distraught Chinese man raced in. Probably in his fifties, he wore a rumpled suit and his face was streaked with tears.
“Who did it? Who killed my daughter?” The man lunged toward the Chief, grabbing his jacket. “It had to be that punk she was dating! Who else would want to hurt my Lydia?” With a sob, he let go as Kyle gently led him to a chair and motioned to the waitress for a glass of water.
The BookWich Café erupted into a cacophony of noise and activity. Heddy immediately pounced on Kyle. He pushed her away with a sharp retort as he tried to calm down Lydia’s father.
Barbara inhaled sharply. “Lydia Wang was murdered in your shop? Oh my God, that’s going to make the news, all right! It will be on the front page of the Seattle Times and the Seattle P.I. by tomorrow morning.”
Scent to Her Grave Page 5
