The Sweet Scent of Murder

by Susan P. Baker

  I called Margaret to hear what she’d learned about Hadley, Smythe, and McAfee.

  “You’re going to be surprised at all I’ve done so far, Mavis,” she said.

  “Good. Shoot.” I walked outside and tried to hear what she had to say as I went for my car.

  “Hadley is in real estate in a big way. I checked the deed records for the last twenty years. I can go back further if you want.”

  “We’ll see. What did you turn up?”

  “Well, it seems that he owns several large office buildings off the Katy Freeway. He and Mr. Lawson were partners in two of them and in a small shopping center at Sharpstown.”

  “That’s interesting.” There was an old, old Sharpstown scandal in the early 1970s or late ’60s. I couldn’t quite remember what it was about, but I wondered if Hadley and Lawson were involved in it. Weren’t they a little young for that?

  “I checked the tax rolls, and the two office buildings they’re in partners on are valued by the central appraisal district at a half million each. The shopping center is valued at a million.”

  “Smart thinking, Margaret, but are you sure those are the correct figures? They’re awfully low.”

  “Actually, there’s a reason for that. When they bought them years ago, they were valued way below that. Then later, after the real estate boom, the values soared. Then within the last year, the appraisal district devalued them again. Someone obviously has or had some connections there.”

  “Were the taxes paid up to date?”

  “No. They’re a year behind. The billing address is to Mr. Hadley. You want it?”

  “Yes.” I wrote it down as she called it out to me. “Okay, Margaret, good work. Did you find out anything about McAfee?”

  “Not really, Mav. I went ahead and checked the real estate records on him. He and his wife own a home in River Oaks, too. The taxes are up to date on it, by the way. Then he has some real estate holdings in his own name.”

  “What are they?”

  “A couple of rental properties in the Heights and a restaurant on Westheimer.”

  “That all?”

  “Yes, nothing grandiose like the others, but the restaurant does have a lot of value.”

  “Oh. What about Smythe?”

  “Wait. Just want to finish telling you about McAfee.”

  “Okay.”

  “Taxes paid up on everything and the total values of his rental houses and restaurant are seven hundred and fifty thousand.”

  “Okay, Margaret, now Smythe?”

  “Smythe is really interesting. He was listed in the grantor index quite a bit beginning last year. He’s sold a number of properties.”

  “He’s not in on any deals with Lawson or the other two?”

  “Not that I could find.”

  “Well, you done good, kid. Listen, I’m going to run down to the welfare office and try to talk to my friend there. Then I’m going to talk to Joan McAfee. I probably won’t make it to the office before y’all leave. If I don’t, you don’t have to wait for me. I know you’ve got to be tired from last night.”

  “What about you? You’ve got to be dead on your feet about now, Mavis. Can’t some of this wait until tomorrow?”

  “Don’t worry about me, hon. I’m okay. I feel as though adrenaline is rushing through my veins.”

  “I don’t like it, Mavis. I’m worried about you.”

  “Just get some rest yourself, Margaret. You never know what tomorrow holds.”

  “Well, be careful.”

  “Right.” I hung up and called Joan McAfee. “This is Mavis Davis, Mrs. McAfee. I wonder if I could come by your house a little while later. There’s something I’d like to ask you.”

  “Certainly, dear,” her voice boomed into the phone. I could swear I smelled alcohol through the receiver. “What time?”

  “Whatever time would be convenient for you, ma’am.”

  “Pu-leeze call me Joan.”

  “Yes, Joan. What time would be convenient for you?”

  “Is this something you’d rather my husband not be present for?”

  If she wasn’t intoxicated, she was at least psychic. “Well . . . sort of.”

  She laughed so loudly that I had to hold the phone away from my ear. “How about six, then. Be prompt. He usually gets back around seven.”

  “Right. I’ll be there with bells on.” I couldn’t believe I said that.

  After we hung up, I drove over to the child welfare office and staked it out. The way I skulked around outside the building, hiding from everyone that came and went, I felt like a criminal preparing to do a mugging. I would be a criminal, if Captain Milton had his way and I couldn’t prove Arthur Woodridge innocent.

  My greatest fear was that I was wasting time for nothing. Since it was late in the day, downtown began to clear out. The weirdos were starting to come out of the woodwork, hanging around the sidewalks like low-flying vultures looking for prey. Angela might have skipped out and gone home without anyone knowing. It would be easy for her to cover for herself by telling everyone the next day that she’d gotten stuck at the police station or someone’s home. We used to do it every once in a while when we were feeling so burned-out that we couldn’t stomach the remainder of the day. Anyhow, I waited impatiently, thinking those thoughts, remembering why I quit the department, and sweating puddles until finally Angela showed up.

  I came from around the corner and grabbed her arm before she could slip inside. I had learned that from the housekeeper, Frankie.

  “What are you doing here?” She shook my hand off her arm as though I were a leper.

  “I’ve got to see that file,” I said as I pulled her away from the front door. “You got it with you?”

  “No,” she said. “I can’t. You shouldn’t come around here. You’ll get me into trouble.”

  Her attitude had totally done a one-eighty since our last meeting. “What’s wrong, Angela? Have I been blackballed or something? Shit.”

  “Look,” she said, glancing over her shoulder and turning her back to the front of her building. “I don’t know what you’ve done, but I’ve been warned to stay away from you. Mandy’s been on my case. Called me into her office this morning. Said I’d been seen talking to you. Told me in no uncertain terms that if I was caught giving you any information, I’d sorely regret it. I need this job, Mavis.”

  “Damn. It must have been Captain Milton.” I pleaded, “I’ve got to get a look at what’s in that file. It could mean life or death to someone.”

  “Who, Mavis, you?” she said. “I don’t owe you anything and I’m not going to risk my neck. What did you ever do for me?”

  “Christ, Angela. What’s gotten into you?”

  “All you ever think about is yourself. I’ve got a baby to think of and bills to pay. Besides, I heard you were arrested for helping that kidnapper.”

  “He’s the man I’m talking about, Angela. Listen to me. Something funny is going on or there wouldn’t be so much pressure coming down from up high. Don’t you get it?”

  “Get what?” She was beginning to look interested.

  “Why don’t they want me to see what’s in there? There’s a reason.” If she would only listen. She probably had the proof of Arthur Woodridge’s innocence right in her hands.

  “I don’t know. What could be in a file that old that would have to do with a kidnapping that took place last week?”

  “Have you looked at the file?”

  She stared at me.

  “Have you?”

  “Well . . . no.”

  “Listen, you don’t have to let me see it if you’ll just promise me something.”

  She cocked her head. “I’m not making you any promises.”

  “No—no, that’s not what I mean. You look at the file. You study it. I don’t have to see it.”

  “You don’t?”

  “No. You read that file and study it closely. Read between the lines. I mean, look at everything that’s in it, and look at it as if yo
u were the mother and trying to set up the father for charges of sexual abuse, and then you call me. I’ll bet you’ll be as suspicious as I am right now.”

  She was chewing on her bottom lip, as if trying to decide.

  “I don’t want to get you into trouble, Angela, but I think you’ll see something that will tell you I’m right. Now I think she’s trying to do it again. Set him up, I mean. It turns my stomach every time I think about it.”

  “People didn’t do that back then, Mavis. Not like everyone does now, yelling sexual abuse when they decide they want custody.”

  “Yes they did. I read about several cases, only they weren’t carried to the extent that she went. That was the beauty of it for her, Angela. She not only got his rights terminated, she got him sent to prison so he couldn’t ever bother her again. She didn’t count on him being paroled before the kids left home.”

  She stared at me hard, as if she was trying to make a decision. I clenched my hands like I was in prayer and held them out to her.

  “If anyone finds out . . .”

  My hopes raised, I had to be careful now. “I won’t tell a soul, Angela. I swear. I won’t call you. You call me after you’ve read it. No one will know.”

  She sighed. “I don’t know, Mavis.” She ran a hand over her face and rubbed at her eyes with two fingers, leaving her eyeliner smeared at the inside corners.

  I didn’t know what else I could say that would convince her. I could only hope that she was still as fair-minded as she had been when she first went to work at child welfare.

  “I don’t even have any time to read it. My caseload is so heavy, and I’ve got supervisory duties as well.”

  I still kept quiet. The argument was with herself.

  She turned sideways and looked back to her right at the front of the building. “I’ve got to go.” She started edging away.

  “Angela—”

  She held up one palm. “I’ll do it. Not going to promise you it’ll be right away, but I’ll look at it.”

  I expelled a deep breath. “Thanks. Just so long as it was yesterday.” I grinned at her.

  She shook her head in my direction and turned her back, swinging her briefcase as she headed for the front door. In a few seconds, it was as though we’d never had that conversation.

  I hurried to my car and headed to River Oaks. When I found it, I saw that Joan’s house was every bit as pretentious as the other two I’d seen, spacious landscaped yard, huge. It was decorated differently, though. Oriental rugs and screens combined with antiques.

  Joan was pickled, to put it mildly. She sat at her piano, attempting to play, when the housekeeper led me to her. I heard her pick out a few notes, hit a bad one, then I entered the room in time to see her take a gulp of a drink and try to play again. She stopped when she saw me, for which I was truly grateful, and waved the housekeeper away.

  “Hi-i-i-i, Mavis,” she said.

  She certainly was. “Hi, Joan,” I responded. “Had a bad day?”

  Joan slid off the piano bench and picked up her drink. “You mean this? No. Went shopping and my feet hurt, I’m tired. Thought I’d have a cocktail before Kelby got home.”

  I glanced down at her stockinged feet.

  “But why am I telling you this? It’s none of your business.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you. I’ve sort of had it rough today myself.”

  “So I hear.”

  “Oh, you too, huh?”

  “Yep. It’s okay, though. I know you wouldn’t do anything wrong. I liked you the minute I met you. Come sit down,” she said, all of this in slurred words, as she led the way to a flowered sofa.

  I sat at the other end. Just in case she got sick. You never know.

  “Want a drink?” She jumped up again.

  “No, thank you. Just a little conversation, if you don’t mind.”

  She dropped down again. “Don’t mind if I have one, do you?” Without waiting for an answer, she tilted up her glass.

  “I was wondering if I could get you to finish telling me what you started the other day about Mr. Smythe,” I said. “What about him?”

  “You said that he and Mr. Lawson had a falling out.”

  “They did. After the stock market did that loop-de-loop; Kelby tells me never to say crash.”

  “So you said, but could you elaborate on it for me?”

  “You think Earl killed Harrison?”

  “I don’t know. What do you think?”

  “Could have, I guess, but I’d put my money on Hilary.” This from the lady who a couple of days ago fingered her husband?

  “Why do you say that?”

  “What?”

  “You’d put your money on Hilary.”

  “She stood the most to gain.”

  “Mr. Lawson had a lot to leave her, didn’t he?”

  “Yep, but he was going to change his will.”

  “Excuse me? How do you know?”

  “Told me so.”

  “Mr. Lawson told you?”

  “Yep.” She grinned.

  “When?”

  “Well . . .”

  “I didn’t mean that—I meant, recently?”

  “Last week.” She got up and almost stumbled as she went over to mix herself another drink.

  “I wonder if Hilary knew.”

  Joan shrugged. “Who knows?” She pushed her sleeves up to her elbows and held out her highball glass as she poured vodka over ice, as if measuring. When she stopped, it was more than half full. Puke.

  “I wonder if Frankie would know,” I muttered to myself.

  “What’d you say?”

  “Nothing. But you still haven’t told me about Earl Smythe, Joan. Is there something you don’t want me to know?”

  I watched while she poured a couple of inches of tonic on top of the vodka, then she dipped her finger in her glass and stirred. After she sucked off her finger, Joan came back to the sofa and smiled. “Sure you don’t want something to drink?”

  I know most alcoholics don’t like to drink alone, but this was getting ridiculous. “I’m sure. I have to meet someone later. I’d hate to get stopped and smell of alcohol, but thanks anyway.”

  “You can’t smell vodka, Mavis.”

  That’s what she thought. “No, thank you. What I’d really like is to get out of here before your husband gets home. I don’t think he likes me very much.”

  “He thinks you’re a pain in the ass,” she said. “But he thinks everyone is a pain in the ass.”

  The woman was a constant source of amazement. I couldn’t decide if she was stalling or just lonely for someone to talk to. “About Smythe . . .”

  “Well, since you aren’t going to have a drinky with me, I guess I’ll just have to tell you. Harrison lost a lot of money in the stock market. Earl was his stockbroker.”

  “I figured as much.”

  “Harrison got mad because he said if Earl was any good, he’d have known what was going to happen instead of just making money off his friends when the market was skyrocketing.”

  “Sounds like he was pretty angry, all right.”

  “Well, everyone lost money.”

  I didn’t. For obvious reasons.

  “Even Earl lost a lot of money. He made some of it up in the following months, but Harrison took his out on Earl’s advice at that time and from what I hear didn’t invest with Earl after that.”

  “But, Joan, they seemed to have remained friends. I mean, Mr. Smythe was over for dinner the other night, wasn’t he?”

  “You have been getting around, haven’t you?”

  I nodded. “Some.”

  “Yes, they still associate. That’s because Earl lives around here and we all have the same set of friends. Harrison couldn’t have just excluded him, you know. As it was, Harrison led Earl to believe that he wasn’t investing in the stock market anymore, but that wasn’t true. He just found another broker.”

  “Earl believed that?”

  “Oh, I don’t kn
ow, but Harrison is influential and has a lot of contacts, so I guess Earl decided to pretend like he believed it, anyway.”

  “So life went on as though nothing had happened.”

  “Well, Mavis, Earl thought so, but it wasn’t true.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Earl was counting on their friendship and Harrison’s contacts to a great extent. Harrison sort of made Earl in the stock market, so to speak. He picked him out years ago when Earl was fairly new, sent him a lot of business, and Earl got rich off it. They’ve only lived here a few years, you know.” A condescending tone had crept into her voice in spite of the fact that she was soused.

  “No, I didn’t know.”

  “Well, it’s true. The last few years, Earl’s business has tapered off and I heard that Earl just discovered that Harrison put the word out about him.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He nixed him-you know, spread the word that he was a lousy stockbroker. The guy’s going broke, Mavis.”