Scent to Her Grave

by Yasmine Galenorn

  I started out with some basic warm-ups, then decided to work out with my stability ball and stretchy bands. As I reached up, arms over my head, arching my back into a stretch, I fell into the familiar zone that always happened when I set my body in motion. The feeling of movement, of stretching beyond my limitations, energized me and challenged me to go just a little further, to push just a little harder. As soon as I was limber enough, I threw myself into the workout, tuning out everything else until I was done.

  By the time I finished, I was ready for breakfast. I jumped in the shower, slid into a flowing beige rayon skirt and a dark brown tank top, and buckled a wide leather belt loosely around my waist, letting it ride on my hips. After slipping on a pair of ankle socks that wouldn’t show, I laced up my three-inch-heeled black suede granny boots. Sweeping my hair back into a long ponytail, I quickly curled it into a chignon and fastened it into place with black lacquer chopsticks before descending into the kitchen where Aunt Florence had just finished feeding the Menagerie. She held up a package of bacon and I nodded.

  The sun decided to put in an appearance as we fixed breakfast together. It glinted off the water, turning the surface of the Pacific into a gleaming sheet of diamonds dancing on silver. The waves were frothy, but subdued compared to the past few days of stormy weather. I threw open the French doors that led out onto the balcony, letting the cool morning breeze filter in to air out the house.

  “I’ll fry up the bacon if you make toast and slice strawberries.” Aunt Florence yawned. “Hoffman is safely ensconced in his outdoor run, by the way. I think I’ll keep him there while we’re gone during the day now that summer’s coming.”

  “I wouldn’t do that,” I said.

  “Why?”

  “Coyotes. Stray dogs. That run isn’t strong enough to withstand a determined attack. I think you should just convert the coal bin into a rooster sanctuary. We don’t use it—it was built when the house was and serves no earthly purpose except to encourage the spiders. Have somebody clean it out and renovate it. They can put a sturdy wire door on and bingo—rooster fun.”

  The coal bin hadn’t been built into the basement like in many houses of the era; it was a separate compartment buttressed against the side of the house. If a contractor replaced the doors with wire frame, it would be perfect for housing Hoffman, and if the wire was sturdy enough, would most likely keep him safe.

  Auntie nodded, mulling it over. “I hadn’t thought of that, but it’s a good idea. I don’t think we have coyotes here, but you never know. And I do know that those Buffords down the road let their dogs run wild.”

  I laughed. “So, what’s on the agenda today?”

  She lined a square skillet with the thick slices of meat. “Well, Kyle said we could reopen Venus Envy whenever we want, now that Trevor’s in custody. I have to call the cleaners to take care of that bloodstain on the carpet. And I think we should call Bran Stanton in to cleanse the aura of the shop. He knows what he’s doing.”

  I wasn’t going to argue with her there. While not my specialty, the psychic realm was something I firmly believed in and I couldn’t imagine opening the shop to customers again without somehow shaking out the energy. Bran Stanton was well known in town for his work with tarot and various other paranormal gadgetry. His twin sister Daphne owned a little bookstore over on Yew Street, where she also sold crystals, candles, and other goodies. We’d had several interesting talks, all good, and I had come to realize that the siblings were both highly intelligent and well educated.

  “Good idea. Auntie, do you think Trevor did it?”

  She bit her lip. “I just can’t believe the boy has it in him to be a killer. But then again, isn’t that what everybody says when someone goes over the edge? I don’t know, child. I just don’t know.”

  The phone rang and I snagged it up. It was Sarah, finally getting back to me. I quickly sketched out the situation, reassuring her that everything was being done to prove Trevor innocent and that we were standing behind him.

  “We’ll need you full-time, more if possible. We have to harvest the lilacs and weed the roses and I don’t know what else, you’d know better than I do at this point. The problem is that we’re going to be short-handed with Trevor out of commission. Today, you’ll have to handle the work by yourself. Tomorrow, I’ll come home at noon to help. The sooner you can get here, the better, and of course, we’ll pay you for any overtime you accrue.”

  “I’ve already sheared the flock, so they’re ready for summer,” she said. “I can spare you a few weeks, but I’ll need to get on with my spinning and dyeing in a month. Six weeks at the most, if I’m going to get enough pieces made to sell for the autumn and winter.”

  Sarah, a forty-two-year-old mother of four boys, raised llamas for their wool, which she spun by hand and dyed. Using the yarn, she wove blankets, hats, and scarves on a loom, and sold them for outrageous prices to the tourists. We carried a few of her items in the shop on consignment and they sold on a steady basis. Sarah also happened to have a green thumb that wouldn’t quit.

  We made arrangements for the next couple of days and I returned to the table, where I finished my breakfast while filling Auntie in on Sarah’s stipulations.

  “I thought she might not cozy up to working more hours. Her business is picking up so much that I think we’ll lose her in a couple of years—I know her goal is to build into working full-time for herself.”

  “She’s good at what she does.” I had one of her llama-wool sweaters and absolutely loved it.

  Auntie nodded. “Well, I’ll hire somebody to help out if things aren’t cleared up in a few days. It won’t be easy, but we’ll manage.” She paused but then left unfinished the thought we were both thinking: What if things weren’t cleared up? What if Trevor really did kill Lydia? Dangerous territory, thoughts like that, but I knew that she was thinking them, too.

  As soon as we finished eating, we took off for the shop in her car. Baby belched smoke all the way there, and I winced as my aunt hugged the curves with breakneck speed. She drove like a trucker, fast and tight. Her reflexes were spot on, I’d have to give her that, but I was amazed that Kyle let her get away with it. Probably pure intimidation.

  Venus Envy looked like it always had, with the exception of the yellow crime tape tagged across the door. Kyle had told Auntie she could take it down and dispose of it. I glanced at her and she cocked her head.

  “I suppose we’d better just go for it. We aren’t going to open the shop by standing out here gawking,” she said as she reached out and ripped away the tape. After stuffing it in the garbage can near the entrance, she inserted her key into the lock, paused to take a deep breath, then opened the door.

  The shop bells tinkled as we soberly entered the store. I noticed right away that the cheery Caribbean feel had dissipated and a pallor hung over the room. Even with all the lights on, and the sunlight sparkling through the windows, a gloom seemed to have settled in with Lydia’s death.

  I gingerly stepped around the blood-soaked carpet. The stain was small, but all too visible and, even more than the sight of Lydia’s body, made me queasy. A quiet hush filled the room. I held my breath, shivering. I wasn’t really afraid that Lydia’s spirit would go winging by, but the smell of death and old blood lingered like stale perfume in some long abandoned boudoir.

  “What should we do first?” I asked, setting my purse down on the counter at my station. Something tugged at the back of my brain, a feeling of déjà vu, but I couldn’t quite place it.

  Florence looked around and I could tell that she was feeling the same thing I was. After a moment she shook her head. “Well, things won’t get shipshape with us just standing around here. I’ll call the carpet cleaners and get them over here. Then I’ll phone Bran Stanton. We can’t open to the public until everything’s taken care of. Why don’t you go in the office and check the messages.” As I turned to go, she added, “And I don’t want to know if Heddy called, unless she wants to make
an appointment for a facial or her nails.”

  I hesitantly made my way to the office. This was where they’d found Trevor’s hammer, I thought as I opened the door and flipped on the lights. Everything seemed as it should be, except for a small series of darkened smudges on one cushion. Blood… Lydia’s blood. Skirting the chair, I made my way behind the desk and tried to focus on my task at hand. I rewound the answering machine tape and turned it on, pen and pad ready to take notes.

  There were five calls asking when the shop was going to be open and three calls from Heddy suggesting we “do lunch” as soon as possible—which meant she was snooping for the dirt. The last call, however, stood out from the others. A muffled voice came on the tape, saying only, “Trevor didn’t do it,” before abruptly hanging up.

  Startled, I stared at the recorder, then quickly rewound the tape and played it again. Yes, I’d heard what I thought I heard. I leapt out of the chair and raced into the main shop. “Auntie! Auntie! Come here, quick!”

  Aunt Florence held up one finger. She was on her cell phone. “We need you to perform a purification ritual, Bran. I simply won’t feel comfortable opening up until something of the sort has been done. The carpet cleaners are coming today at three. Can you come over this evening? Around six? Wonderful. I appreciate it… yes, that works just fine for me. Thank you, and see you then.” She flipped the phone shut. “Bran will be over tonight. What is it? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” With a nervous laugh, she added, “You didn’t, did you?”

  “No, thank heavens. That would be all we need. But come with me. There’s a message you have to hear.” We hustled back into the office, where I replayed the tape for her. We listened to it twice. “What do you think of that?”

  She frowned. “No telling whether it’s a man or woman, at least not to my ears. What time did it come in?”

  I checked the machine. “Eight-thirty. Shortly after Trevor was arrested last night, it looks like. News must travel fast.”

  Aunt Florence let out a sigh. “It could be anybody—a friend trying to help him, or perhaps somebody who saw something. Whatever the case, we have to give this to Kyle. I’ll call him and tell him to get his ass over here. Meanwhile, will you start cleaning the counter and surrounding shelves? We don’t want a single blood spatter left. That would be a faux pas I wouldn’t want to have to live down. And be sure to wear rubber gloves—I don’t want you taking any chances. I’ll be out to help in a moment.”

  I wandered into the utility room where we kept the washer and dryer to wash the face towels and other supplies used for the facials, manicures, and pedicures that we offered in the shop. The cleaning supplies were in the lower cupboard and I rummaged through until I found a good-sized bucket, which I filled with warm water, soap, and enough Clorox to choke a skunk. It made my eyes sting but, like my aunt, I had no intention of leaving any shelf untouched where Lydia had made her last stand. I pulled on the rubber gloves and headed back out to where my aunt was busy clearing off merchandise.

  As I scrubbed away, trying to avoid the bloodstain on the floor, my thoughts wandered back to the tape. Trevor couldn’t have made it himself. He was in custody by the time the machine picked up the phone call. Who else could have known he’d been arrested? Well, actually, a lot of people probably knew that the police were looking for him. Gull Harbor was, after all, one of those small towns where word traveled fast. Chances were just about everybody knew that he was wanted for Lydia’s murder.

  It might have been one of Trevor’s friends. His alibi put him at the bowling alley until around eight, shortly after which he supposedly got a call from Lydia. However, he couldn’t account for the time during which she was murdered. Maybe one of his pals wanted to help out and thought an anonymous tip would do the trick. But why call us? Why not the police?

  As I cleaned off the corner of the counter the image of Lydia’s bruised temple and the bloody back of her head flashed through my mind. Had she been dead when she fell? Had the blow to her forehead hurt—flesh kissing the sharp marble edge? Shaking a little, I leaned my head against one of the shelves just as the shop bells chimed and, grateful for any distraction from my gruesome task, I stood up to greet whomever it was.

  Kyle Laughlin strode in, looking grim. “You found a tape?” he asked.

  I wiped my hands on a towel. “Yes, the answering machine tape. It has a message on it about Trevor.” He followed me back to the office, where Aunt Florence was poring over an invoice. She set the paper aside and motioned for us to take a seat, then played the tape for Kyle.

  He frowned at the machine. “I need to take that in for evidence, Miss Florence. I don’t know what this could mean—it’s not much help as far as I can tell—but we have to examine anything to do with the case.”

  She made sure the battery was firmly in place so that the machine wouldn’t lose its settings, then unplugged it and handed it to him. “Kyle, you know Trevor didn’t do it.”

  He shrugged. “Regardless of what I think, I can’t let my personal opinions interfere with the investigation. This morning we checked out Lydia’s phone records—both her land line and her cell phone. There was no record that she called Trevor the night she was murdered. So either he’s lying, or somebody else called him, pretending to be Lydia.”

  “Or she called him from a pay phone. Did you ever think of that?” Aunt Florence squinted.

  Kyle shrugged. “Yes, Miss Florence, we thought of that. He has caller ID on his cell phone, and when we went through the received calls, there was one logged in at approximately the time he told us that Lydia called. It came from a pay phone in the Delacorte Plaza, but there’s no way to prove it was from her. There’s something else. Your golden boy has a record.”

  “What?” Florence looked shocked. “Trevor’s been in trouble? What for?”

  Kyle leaned back in his chair, his lips set in a thin line. “Assault. Four years ago when he was nineteen he hit his girlfriend and gave her a black eye. He claims that he went to counseling, that he only did it that one time, but it still counts as a history of abuse. And our records show that Lydia was in the process of swearing out a restraining order on him. She noted on the request that he was stalking her. He says that he was just trying to get a few answers about why she broke up with him. Things don’t look good for him right now.”

  My heart sank as I glanced over at Aunt Florence. Could our instincts be that far off? Had Trevor killed his ex-girlfriend in a fit of jealous rage? It happened all the time. Nice guy turns psycho, kills family or friends. People shocked because he was always the quiet type. The news was filled with stories like these.

  My aunt stood up and, for the first time since I’d moved to Gull Harbor, she looked worn out, older than her years. “Well, thank you, Kyle, for coming over. I hope that tape helps.”

  He nodded. Then, as if he could read how weary she was, he added, “Cheer up, Miss Florence. Maybe new evidence will turn up to clear him. The case is still young.” I walked him to the door, mired in the awful feeling that Trevor was facing a bleak future, if any future at all. Just before he left, Kyle turned to me and said, “Persia, we don’t see eye to eye, but can I give you a piece of advice?”

  “What is it?” I really didn’t want to listen to anything he had to say but wasn’t feeling up to a battle of wits. I just wanted him to leave so we could finish cleaning and try to get things back to some semblance of normalcy.

  He hesitated, then said, “Don’t underestimate Trevor just because you think he’s nice. Lydia may have been hell on wheels, but she didn’t deserve to die like that. Whoever killed her set her up as far as we can tell. It’s obviously premeditated. Why else would she have been in your shop after hours?”

  “I’d like to know why she was in our shop at all. Trevor’s not the brightest boy, but he’s not stupid enough to kill somebody in a place that would leave him one of the primary suspects.”

  Kyle shook his head. “People don’t always think clea
rly when they’re upset. Sometimes they do stupid things. Or want to… I know. Believe me, I know.” Something in his tone of voice told me that Kyle had seen too much of the darker side of the human psyche, given the nature of his job. Gull Harbor might be a small community, but it wasn’t immune to the violence that pervaded the country.

  I reached out to shake his hand. I might not like him, but I did understand his position, regardless of what he thought. “Thank you, Kyle. I know you’re trying to protect us. We’ll be careful.”

  He raised one eyebrow, but clasped my hand firmly. As he left, I locked the door behind him. I returned to my cleaning with a sigh, and after a few minutes, Aunt Florence came out to help me. We sweated away in silence, polishing and scrubbing until every shelf in the place gleamed.

  Chapter 8

  WHILE THE CARPET cleaners went to work on the blood stain, Aunt Florence and I spent an hour at the BookWich, eating thick ham sandwiches and tomato-basil soup. By the time they cleared out, it was going on four-thirty and we were able to finish organizing the shelves before Bran arrived.

  Less than forty-eight hours ago, Lydia Wang had stood in our shop, facing the counter, while some psycho bludgeoned her to death. As we worked in silence, every now and then, I thought I heard something, but when I stopped to listen, the noise turned out to be a truck passing by or a sudden gust of wind rattling the doors. By a quarter to six, we were done. The shelves gleamed, the stock was in clean, orderly rows, and the counters sparkled. But a gloom still hung in the air.

  “Do you feel that?” I turned to Auntie. “Like something is clouding the shop.”

  She nodded. “That’s why I asked Bran to come in. If anybody can get rid of it, he can. Tawny’s refusing to open up in the mornings anymore, unless one of us is here with her.”