by Ink, India
“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 clearly 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 Eight
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 yo
u 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.”
“That means we’ll have to take turns getting down here an hour earlier. She’s really spooked, isn’t she?” I didn’t look forward to being on a restrictive schedule, but there wasn’t much we could do about it. Tawny had every right to be creeped out and, as our employee, her safety was our concern.
Auntie picked up the tray containing her cleaning supplies and shrugged. “She’s young, she’ll get over it. Until then, we’ll show up early and make sure she feels safe.” She smiled. “I think the girl will bounce back before too long. You can’t let fear rule your life, and I hope she’ll realize that in time.”
I was about to go through my station for a last wipe down when the door opened and Bran Stanton strode though. Bran was . . . how to put it . . . an interesting man. He and his sister Daphne had moved here about five years ago, from what Barb told me. I’d been intrigued when I met them both at a New Year’s party to which my aunt dragged me.
Fraternal twins, their resemblances didn’t end with looks. They had similar mannerisms, expressions, and finished each other’s sentences. I thought they might be a little younger than me, although I wasn’t sure. Both brother and sister had a timeless quality, a maturity not usually found until the later years in life. Together, they made an imposing pair. Neither one was married, although Daphne was supposed to be engaged to a professor who was on the teacher-exchange program for a year, over in England.
Bran peeked around the door, then waved before lugging in his briefcase and a tote bag. I caught my breath. Despite our previous encounters, it hadn’t registered just how handsome he was. Dark curly hair cascaded past his shoulders and was caught back in a ponytail, and a well-trimmed beard hugged his chin. He favored black jeans, like me, and was wearing a green tank top and, over everything, a black duster kissed the top of his motorcycle boots. Completing the picture, an Aussie bush hat perched on his head with carefree abandon.
He gently set down his briefcase and tote bag, removed his duster, then swept Aunt Florence up in a bear hug. “Hey, Miss Florence! You look younger every time I see you.” He sounded genuinely happy to see her.
“Bran, you’re a sweetie, but save your flattery for my niece,” Auntie said, but her cheeks were glowing as she motioned me over to her side.
I stepped out from behind the counter and held out my hand. “Nice to see you again.”
As his fingers brushed mine, a tingle of shockwaves raced through me and I pulled away abruptly, trying not to blush. He had magic hands, all right.
“Persia, good to see you, too. You look nice today.” His eyes flickered over me from head to toe, but with a respectful demeanor; not once did he invade my space. Before I could say a word, he turned to Aunt Florence. “Somebody killed Lydia? I don’t know what this world is coming too. Granted, she was asking for trouble. When you treat people like dirt, you have to expect that somebody’s going to object. But I can’t believe she was murdered like this.”
Aunt Florence nodded. “The girl made a lot of enemies. I’m just sorry Trevor got caught up in the maelstrom. He’s a good boy and I’ll stand beside him until they prove beyond all doubt that he killed her.” She sighed. “I’m not looking forward to our reopening tomorrow. The gossip mill will be going full tilt and you know that Heddy Latherton will show up, looking for dirt.”
Bran’s dimples crinkled. The deep lines belied how much laughter had passed through his life. “We’ll see what we can do about putting a stop to that before it begins.” He opened his tote bag and pulled out a short bundle of tightly tied sage—a smudge stick—and a Tibetan singing bowl. Venus Envy carried smudge sticks, as well as small singing bowls, although Bran’s was larger and more ornate than the ones we kept in stock.
Aunt Florence set out a few purple and white taper candles. “Do you need anything else?” she asked.
Bran studied the counter for a moment, and I had the feeling he was listening to something that neither Auntie nor I could hear. After a moment, he shook his head. “No, I’ve got everything. Why don’t you two come back in about an hour? I work best alone.”
Disappointed, I realized we weren’t going to be allowed to watch. I leaned on the counter. “You mean we have to leave? I thought we’d get to see you in action.” Nope, wasn’t just saying that because he was a handsome man. Not me. I could rationalize a better reason than that. After all, I had friends in Seattle who worked with psychic energy, but had never had the opportunity to participate and I’d always wanted to observe.
He laid one hand over my own, and I felt weak in the knees. “Lydia died violently. That kind of death can leave a stubborn mark on the energy of a place. Even if she passed through the veil quickly, the act itself embeds what I call a psychic engram onto the area.”
I looked at him quizzically. “Engram?”
“Think of it this way: The memory of the act becomes imprinted in the space in which it took place. That’s what often happens when people talk about hauntings. The spirit doesn’t necessarily hang around, but sometimes the energy of the death itself does. I need to focus in order to clear the shop and, frankly, I can’t do that with you around. You’d distract me.” He beamed at me, throwing me off guard.
“I suppose I could be insulted by that, but I’m not.”
He winked, then abruptly turned back to double-check his supplies. Oh yeah, he was charming all right.
“Come on, Auntie,” I said. “Let’s go talk to Barb.”
We headed over to the bakery. Dorian was in the back while Barb minded the counter. She brightened when she saw us.
“I am so glad you’re here,” she said, immediately filling a plate with doughnuts and hot buns. “Today has been the day from hell. You wouldn’t believe the rush we’ve had.”
We settled in at a table and she joined us, bringing the iced tea pitcher with her. “What’s going on?” my aunt asked.
“What do you think? Lydia’s death. Since you were closed this morning, everybody and their brother popped in here to ask what I knew about Trevor being arrested. People seem to think that since Persia and I are such good friends, I’m harboring secret information. I can’t seem to convince them otherwise.”
I picked up a chocolate éclair and bit into it. The creamy filling flooded my mouth in one big wave and I swallowed, then licked my fingers. “Well, I wish I did know something more. I might be able to help Trevor if I did.”
My thoughts wandered back to the message on the answering machine. Kyle had promised to do his best, but he had been skeptical whether they could make out any more than we had.
Barbara leaned back in her chair. “Well, I wish to hell whoever killed Lydia hadn’t run off with that mirror. It was one of a kind. Trevor certainly wouldn’t have had any use for it.”
“True,” I said. The missing mirror bothered me, too. I knew it related to Lydia’s murder, but I couldn’t figure out how or why. Kyle didn’t seem to think it mattered, but I had a gut feeling that the murder and theft were linked and if we solved one, we’d solve the other.
Ever since Barb had given me the mirror, I’d noticed something odd about it. Aphrodite’s Mirror reflected hidden assets—as if reaching into the soul and pulling all of a woman’s charms to the forefront; a beauty the majority of women never recognized as being their birthright. Almost as if the looking glass could reveal a glimpse of all the qualities they wanted to project to the world . . . confidence, sexiness, poise.
All attributes that Lydia possessed, except for personality. The fact that she’d wanted it so much told me that maybe it revealed a hidden spark in her, too—something that she’d never been able to dredge to the surface. There had to be a link between the theft and Lydia’s murder.
“What are you thinking about? You seem a million mile
s away.” My aunt polished off her doughnut and finished her coffee.
I told her. “It’s ludicrous to think that Trevor would take the mirror after he murdered her. He had no motive. Men weren’t attracted to the mirror.”
“I know, but we have to give Kyle something to go on if we expect him to act. And he may be right—the connection may be incidental. That’s a hard lesson I’ve learned over the years; never jump to conclusions because you may well be wrong.” She sighed. “I wonder how much longer Bran is going to be? I’d like to get everything ready to open up again tomorrow. It’s going to be awkward at first. You and Tawny need to prepare for a rush of curiosity seekers.”
Great. Just what we needed—people who buttered their bread on misfortune. “You can bet your ass Heddy Latherton will be in,” I said.
Auntie grimaced. “Don’t remind me. That woman has done more harm in this town with her mouth than a kissing bug with mono.”
Barbara glanced at the clock. “Almost seven.” She stood and yawned. “I hate to break this up, but we’ve got to close up shop. You’re welcome to stick around, but I need to give Dorian and Ari a hand.”