A crack of thunder preceded torrents of rain.
Maybe it’s a sign we shouldn’t be doing this. She nibbled on her bottom lip.
The short distance from the vehicle to the porch drenched them. She couldn’t remember the last time it rained this hard. Thank God we’re not riding in this.
The same woman they met on their first visit greeted them. “Come in out of the rain.” Mable closed the door behind them. “Let me get you some towels, I’ll be right back.”
“Thank you.” Becca smoothed her wet hair, knowing all too well the funky things rain did to it. Once they were towel-dried, the housekeeper ushered them into the library. Ten-foot walls flanked rich mahogany shelves, brimming with books. Hopefully it wouldn’t come down to going through this room. The professor obviously took great pride in his collection.
Several minutes passed before they were served mugs of hot coffee, and the professor arrived, this time with the aid of a walker. Pain etched tiny lines around his eyes. Grayness tainted his normally flushed complexion.
“I’m sorry to have kept you waiting. This damp weather isn’t kind to these old bones of mine.” The professor shuffled across the room to sit in a leather chair behind his desk. “I’m a little confused why you’re here again. I thought you searched everywhere.”
“Yes, we did, but we never searched your house, sir.” Chief sat at the edge of his chair. “There have been a few interesting developments we need to talk to you about.”
The professor steepled his hands under his chin. “Please, go on.”
He sat quietly while the chief told him about his wife’s connection to the victims, coupled with the flowers. “Do you see why we had to come back?”
His weary sigh filled the room. “Maybe I can save you some time. What exactly are you looking for?”
Randy stood. “I wish it were that cut and dried. I guess we’re looking for a connection between your wife’s patients and whoever killed them.”
“I can’t think of anything you might find here to solve your mystery.” He struggled to stand. “I’m going out to the sunroom. I don’t have the energy to deal with all of this.” He waved a hand over his vast collection of books. “There’s hundreds of thousands of dollars accrued here. Please be gentle.”
Becca rushed to his side. “Let me walk with you.”
The old man smiled weakly and began a slow, painful exit. Once they reached the sunroom she made sure he was seated comfortably before pulling a deck chair beside him.
“Did your wife ever talk about her cases with you?”
“Pauline had a steadfast rule never to bring work home with her.” His voice cracked. “It wasn’t until after she passed that I came to know just how deeply her patients affected her.”
“How so?” She hated pushing him, but he might know something helpful and not even realize it.
“Every night after work, she closed herself in her sitting room to write in a journal.” He coughed into his hand, his pale blue eyes misting. “My wife’s death was one of the darkest times in my life. Night after night, I wandered through this house lost and heartbroken. I usually passed her sitting room, but never strong enough to venture inside. A year went by before I found the courage to visit her there.”
Professor pulled tissues from a brightly colored box and dabbed at the dampness under his eyes. Becca wasn’t sure how to console him so she simply laid her hand atop his and remained quiet.
“I stepped into her room and the sheer magnitude of her lingering presence had me stumbling back out into the hall. Inside, everywhere I looked, there she was. A display of photos on a side table, her clothes hanging in the closet, and her robe draped over the back of a settee.” The muscles of his neck flexed. “I remember sitting in her chair, the scent of her perfume still lingering. The drawer sat ajar, just enough to catch a glimpse of her book. I bet I sat for an hour or more with it on my lap, my palm flat against its cover.”
Becca noted the toll his memories were taking on him. “Perhaps we can finish this talk later. I’m sorry to bring up such painful memories.”
Professor Davies looked into her eyes. “Not to worry. You’re like a breath of fresh air in my life. I’m sure your team will want to hear about the journal, and I trust you to keep some of the more personal details of our conversation between us.”
“Of course. Can I ask you a question?”
The professor nodded his consent.
“The killer has left me a flower a couple of times now. Do you know the significance of a purple rose?”
He arched an eyebrow. “Purple roses primarily stand for enchantment.”
“Enchantment? Are you saying he’s in love with me?”
He shrugged. “That is one definition, but from what you’ve told me, I tend to lean toward another interpretation. The Florist is infatuated with you. As hard as he tries he cannot resist you. He might even believe you’ve cast a spell on him. However, I don’t think it’s sexual in any way. The Florist has probably never met a woman quite like you. I’d bet money his attraction to you is more of an obsession.”
“Isn’t that wonderful.” She rolled her eyes, feeling ill and disgusted. “Thank you for all of your help. I’ve grown very fond of you, so I hope we can remain friends after this whole sordid affair is over.”
The man nodded slightly before he rested his head against the back of his chair and briefly closed his eyes. “Nothing could have prepared me for what I read on those pages. She never let on how deeply her patients affected her. I only read the first couple of entries and had to stop. Her patients were very sick individuals. So much so, much of her time at work was spent fearing for her life.” His grief-stricken eyes searched hers. “Why didn’t I see it?” His voice cracked.
“I’m sure she didn’t want to bring her fear into this house. I believe your wife loved you very much and wrote in her diary every night to get the remnants of the day out of her head. She wanted to offer you all of her love without the ugliness of the day interfering.”
Professor blinked back the tears in his eyes, the corner of his mouth lifting.
“Where is this journal now?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m positive I put it back in her drawer, but it wasn’t there a few weeks later when I went to read more.”
“When was this?”
“At least four years ago, maybe more.”
“Weren’t you curious to know what happened to it?”
“I saw it as a sign from my wife not to read any further.”
She rubbed the top of his hand, knowing all too well how a grieving mind can twist reality. “Thank you for sharing this with me. I’m sure you’re right in thinking that.”
He smiled. “Your job shows the ugly side of mankind, as did my sweet Pauline’s. Don’t let it get the best of you.”
Becca envied the love he and his wife shared and couldn’t imagine the profound loss of being left behind. The caretaker arrived with tea just as she was leaving.
“Hey, there you are.” Randy descended the grand staircase. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes, I’m good.” The rain had stopped and she now squinted against the sun shining into the foyer. “Tell everyone to keep their eyes open for his wife’s journal. Apparently she sat in her sitting room and wrote in it every night. It went missing over four years ago. There might even be a small collection of them.”
“Listen, I’m going to step outside for a breath of fresh air. I take it you have everything under control here?”
“Don’t go far.”
Becca put two fingers to her temple in a salute. “Yes, sir!”
Chapter Nineteen
The make-up artist lay on the ground, a single gunshot to his forehead. The guy really did a great job, but he couldn’t chance him leaking his new identity to anyone.
It took a few seconds to change the message on his answering machine. A family emergency has called me away, so please leave a message and your number....
Thank goodness his keys were on a side table. He didn’t relish the thought of having to put his hand in his pants pocket. He dragged the body to the bathroom and hoisted it up and over in the tub, drawing the curtain closed behind him once he’d finished.
Outside, the rain had stopped, and the sun streamed through a break in the clouds. He glanced around before dropping the artist’s set of keys into the waste bin.
Now to find Buddy.
A glimpse in a store window made him stop and smooth the moustache under his nose. It felt a little odd, having never been able to grow one. He’d tried many times, but it simply wasn’t in his genes.
It took the better part of the day hanging out in the streets before he spotted the dealer and casually swaggered over to where he stood.
The tall, tattooed man eyed him suspiciously. “What do you want?”
He managed to convince the guy to step into an alley.
“I need a shot of blocker. Can you help?”
The dealer narrowed his eyes and looked down his nose at him. “What do you need that for?”
“That’s my business. Can you do it or not? I’ll pay double your usual asking price.” He peeled off a few hundred from the roll of bills he pulled out of his pocket and held the money out to him. With his free hand, he covered the gun stuffed down the waistline of his pants. “I’ll give you the same amount when you hand over what I need.”
The dealer stepped back, laughing. “How do you know I won’t kick your ass and take that wad of cash?”
He glared at the man, staring intently into his eyes. “By the time you take one step toward me, I’d put a bullet in your head.” He lifted his shirt enough to show his piece.
The dealer held up his hands. “Whoa, buddy. No need for any of that shit.”
“Can you do it or not?”
“Of course I can. Why don’t you go have a cup of coffee at that shop across the road? Sit at the bar. I’ll be there shortly.”
He gave him a curt nod before crossing the street.
Randy stood with his back to the wall and lifted the edge of the curtain slightly. Becca stood at the end of the long driveway talking to Jacob. If she saw him checking up on her she’d freak, but if his hunch was right, there was a very real possibility the killer watched their every move.
News of the missing journal prompted the team to start from scratch. It always bode well to have an object in mind when conducting a search.
“Hey, Randy, come take a look at this.” One of the officers called out to him from the top of the staircase.
Randy’s heartbeat fluttered as he climbed the staircase two steps at a time. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as if the wind had whispered across it.
The officer ushered him through the master bedroom to a door off to the side. “What is this?”
“It’s the doc’s sitting room.”
A strong sense of intruding caused him to pause in the doorway. He shuddered involuntarily, a little spooked to see the woman’s things exactly how she’d left them five years ago. Given the layer of dust coating everything, it didn’t look like the professor ever let his staff in to clean.
“Mable? Do you think you can spare a minute or two so I can ask you a couple of questions?”
The woman looked up at him, a stack of freshly laundered towels in her hand. “Yes, just let me put these away first.”
The housekeeper waddled up the hallway and disappeared into the master en-suite. Seconds later, she reappeared and he crossed the distance between them.
“Is there somewhere we can sit and talk?”
“Come to the kitchen with me. I’ll pour you some tea and I can finish preparations for the professor’s supper.”
Randy welcomed the reprieve and sat on a chair at a huge island in the well-organized kitchen. The aroma drifting over from a big pot on the stove set his stomach growling.
“That smells pretty good.”
The housekeeper’s demeanor changed with the compliment, her eyes bright and alive. “Do you like soup?”
He nodded.
“Here, I’ll give you some and you can talk.”
He didn’t argue, practically drooling when she put a steaming bowl and two wedges of bread slathered in butter in front of him.
“Thank you.”
She smiled.
“How long have you worked here?” He dipped a corner of his bread in the dark broth. A medley of beef and vegetables exploded in his mouth. “Oh...now this is good soup.”
Mable giggled. “Thank you, it’s the professor’s favourite. I’ve been here for over twenty years now.”
He looked up briefly. “So you knew his wife?”
“The doctor was an angel. Oh, how she loved her husband. They shared the kind of love you see in movies.” She sniffled. “He isn’t the same man he once was. It’s like something went missing the day she died. Sadly, he loses his will to carry on the more time goes by without her.”
She took a picture down from the wall and passed it to him.
Randy saw what she meant. The professor in the picture was tall and proud, a hand lovingly resting on his beautiful wife’s shoulder. His other arm encircled a young man of about twenty. He didn’t recall seeing him in any of the pictures scattered throughout the house.
“Who is this?”
“That is Jeffery, their son.”
He dropped his spoon in the empty bowl. “I didn’t know they had a kid. I don’t think we’ve ever heard the professor talk about him.”
“It’s another sad story, I’m afraid.” Mable took the tissue out from her shirt cuff. “I think this is the last photo of them together.”
“Why is it a sad story?”
“Jeffery hasn’t set foot in this house since his mother died.” She dabbed at the corners of her eyes. “He took it very hard.”
“Where did he go?”
“Jeffery still works here, mostly in the fields, but refuses to set foot in this house. The memories are too painful for him, and the professor rejects any offer to clean or dispose of anything Pauline left behind.” She shrugged. “Sometimes he stays in the bunkhouse after a long day in the fields, but his place is about a mile or so down the road, in the middle of the property with fields on both sides of him. I go there once a week and clean up a little. I often leave him a pot of soup like this. He’s a very kind and gentle man.”
“I didn’t see him the day we came and talked to the workers.” Randy didn’t talk to the son. He would have remembered since the guy would be so different from the rest.
“Is Jeffery working here today?”
“I saw him leaving very early this morning. I think he took a drive into the city.”
He stood. “Thank you so much for the soup. I think it’s the best I’ve ever had.” He leaned across the island and kissed her rosy cheek. “I’ll leave you alone now to get on with your day.”
He blew out a long breath and went in search of the chief.
Why does it feel like everyone is keeping Jeffery a secret? Not even Jacob mentioned him.
Chapter Twenty
“How did we miss something like this?” Randy slid a photo across the table.
Becca’s jaw dropped. “That’s him! I’m not going crazy. That’s the guy I told you I saw standing at the back of the greenhouse. Who is he?”
“Jeffery Davies.”
“How can that be? Why didn’t the professor or anyone else mention him?”
“Apparently he hasn’t set foot in the house since shortly after his mother died.” Randy teetered on the back legs of his chair. “The guy even lives on the property about a mile or so down the road.”
“Are you saying you think he’s our killer?”
He shrugged. “Well, I definitely think we need to pay him a visit.”
“How do you want to handle this?” She couldn’t sit still.
“Why don’t we just go out there and take a look around?” He gathered all of his papers and stuffed them in a file.
“Let’s take the bikes,” she suggested. The rain stopped long ago, and the sun had dried the roads.
“Why not? It’s not like we have enough on the guy to arrest him or issue a warrant.”
“I’m going home to clean up a bit. Do you want to meet here?”
“I’ll drop you off and go get my bike.” Randy picked up the file and put a hand on the small of her back. “I think a ride is just what the doctor ordered.”
She smiled. “Copy that. I’ll meet you back at the shop.”
Randy glanced at his watch. Come on Becca. He keyed in her number for the third time only to get a recorded message once again. She wouldn’t take off on her own, would she? Almost half an hour had passed since he’d dropped her off. Something isn’t right.
He hopped on his bike and rode across town to her place, breathing a sigh of relief to find her ride in the driveway. His respite was short-lived once he noticed her back door slightly ajar.
“Becca?” He drew his gun and cautiously stepped inside. It looked like the only light on was in the kitchen. The door connected with something behind it. He looked down to find her helmet on the floor.
“Shit!” He ran out of the house and kicked in the garage door only to find it empty. He ran one hand through his hair while he keyed a number in his cell with the other.
The person you are trying to reach is not available....
“Dammit, Becca.” He entered the chief’s number.
“Hey, Randy, what’s up?”
“I think the bastard has her.” He walked around her bike, praying he was wrong.
“Calm down, who has who?”
“Becca, The Florist has her. I know it!”
He told the chief about Jeffery and their plan to ride out to his place and get a closer look around.
“I’m sending a team over there right now.”
“I’m going out there. That fucker better not hurt her.”
“Whoa now, Randy. You need to calm down. Nobody is going anywhere by themselves.”
“Don’t ask me to sit around and wait. I can’t do that.”
“When the team gets there, I want you back here and we’ll round up a few officers to look for her. I don’t know if the professor’s son is our guy or not, but my every instinct screams the answer is on that farm.”
Killer Scents Page 9