Scent to Her Grave

by Ink, India

  The ferry settled at the dock, the gates opened and a line of cars began to disembark. Able to hold over two hundred vehicles and almost twenty-five hundred passengers, the Klakatat was one of the jumbo-class category of ferries that served the Puget Sound inlet.

  My cell phone rang and I flipped it open. It was Aunt Florence.

  “Persia, are you on board yet?”

  I glanced at my watch. “No, we still have another moment or two before boarding. Auntie, while I’ve got you for a moment, I went to see Trevor today. He sure could use some cheering up. It would be nice if you could get some of his friends to go visit him.” The line started to move. “I’ve got to go. I’ll call you later from Seattle.”

  “Be careful! Please, both of you.” She was trying to sound brave but I could hear the worry in her voice.

  “Auntie, don’t fret. We’ll be home before you know it.” I flipped the phone shut, tossed it to Barb, and put the car in gear. Barb dropped my phone in my purse and grinned at me.

  “She’s nervous, isn’t she? Well, I don’t blame her. You might not think I’m taking this seriously, but I know perfectly well what goes on in some of these clubs. I just had to get away from the bakery for awhile.” She sighed. “Persia, am I old? Do I look old to you?”

  I glanced over at her as I eased the car into line. “You’re kidding. You look around my age. Why?”

  She shrugged. “I feel old. Midlife crisis, maybe. I’m forty-one. I have a successful business and a wonderful husband. So why am I getting so antsy for adventure? I feel like I’ve been in a rut lately.”

  I guided the car onto the ramp and we ended up almost at the bow of the boat. We gathered our purses and made sure the doors were locked. “Do you want to go topside?”

  “Sure. The stairs?”

  I glanced at her, surprised. Usually I had to bully her into taking the stairs instead of the elevator, which always struck me as odd because Barb was hyperactive and could never sit still.

  “Over there,” I said, and pointed to the nearest stairwell. We climbed three flights to the top and emerged to a magnificent view. The pilot house sat in the middle of the deck. From there, the captain steered and supervised the vessel. Enclosed passenger cabins graced each end of the ferry, with stairs leading to the viewing platforms atop them. The wind was nippy, and most people had stayed inside the cabins, or on the enclosed deck below. I motioned to Barbara and we scampered up to the platform facing the bow. Nobody else was there and we had an uninterrupted view of Puget Sound. Even though the day was overcast, it was lovely and I remembered, once again, just why I’d made my home here. A loud horn signaled our departure, and the ferry pulled out from the docks and headed across the water at a surprisingly fast clip. At maximum speed of eighteen knots, the water churned up from the bow as we drove a wedge through the inlet.

  “Oh God, it’s so beautiful,” I said, letting the wind stream through my hair.

  Barb nodded, silently staring ahead. From where we stood, we overlooked the car decks. Several people were milling below, near their cars, walking out to the end of the boat’s prow until they were staring almost straight down into the waves created by the ferry’s passage. I leaned against the railing and closed my eyes, listening to the churning of the water as we chugged across the Sound.

  After a moment, I took a deep breath and asked, “Barb, are you happy with Dorian? Really? I’ve never heard you talk this way before. I thought you loved being married.” She was beginning to worry me. Barb had been ecstatic when Dorian proposed and, at thirteen, I’d been her youngest bridesmaid. Now, after eighteen years, was she getting cold feet?

  She stared at the skyline. “I love him, I’m happy with him. I don’t want a divorce or anything like that, if that’s what you’re asking. I just feel old. Men don’t turn their heads anymore when I walk into the room. It would be nice if somebody showed an interest—it’s not like I want to have an affair. I just want to feel attractive.”

  I heard her loud and clear. Barbara wanted to feel desirable. She wanted to feel appealing enough to make a man wonder what he might be missing. I sighed. She had no idea how pretty she was. I thought about Debbie, and Juanita. It seemed none of the women I knew felt good about their looks. While I understood this on a gut level, I’d never fully played into the game. I intimidated a lot of men, but also got more than my share of attention, a lot of it from guys I wouldn’t let touch me with a ten-foot pole. But perhaps I’d feel different in ten years, when the glances my way slowed down and I began to see little lines on the corners of my eyes.

  “I don’t have an answer for you, Barb. I think maybe you need to do something for you, though. Take a class that makes you feel alive. Do something that Dorian doesn’t want to do. You two hang out all the time together at work and at home. Maybe you just need to create some space where you can focus on your own needs.”

  She shrugged. “Maybe. Dorian seems to think we need to do everything together. It’s not possessiveness, it’s just the way he was brought up. Family is important, and even though he was glad to leave Greece, he carries that upbringing with him.”

  We fell into a companionable silence as the ferry rippled across the water. Shorelines of other islands were visible in the distance, heavily wooded patches of land rising up from what were once mountain valleys. The inlets and bays of Puget Sound had once been above water, caught in the clench of glacial ice floes that stretched across upper North America during the last ice age. When that epoch came to an end, the floes melted and the ocean level rose, giving birth to Puget Sound, the collective name often not only given to the actual Sound itself, but to Hood Canal, Admiralty Inlet, the Saratoga Passage, and numerous other waterways that spun off from the Strait of Juan de Fuca where the long arm of the Pacific Ocean crept in to infiltrate Washington State.

  The channels in the Sound allowed the wind to whip strong storms through and, depending on which direction a storm was coming from, some communities were clobbered while others remained unscathed. Port Samanish was in the perfect position to bear the full brunt of a lot of the major wind and rain storms that raged through the islands.

  Barb and I watched as the ferry ate up the miles. Some twenty-five minutes into the ride the Seattle skyline came into view, the docks jutting out into the water amidst seafood restaurants and marinas. In some ways I missed the city, with the skyscrapers and Space Needle and Seattle Center. I did not miss the steep hills that had put me to the test on my morning runs. I found out the hard way why Seattle was known as the “little San Francisco” the first time I went out for my morning jog up Queen Anne Hill. I never tried that route again.

  The Klakatat Ferry eased into port. As it docked we headed back down to the car and a charge of electricity raced through me. The city was so much more fun now that I didn’t have to worry about finding a job here or paying rent.

  I loved the quirky area surrounding the Port of Seattle. The docks, ferry terminals, Maritime Museum, and seafood restaurants all blended together in a cacophony of noise and bustle. The wharf was home to fascinating and just odd attractions, including the Imax Dome, the Maritime Museum, and Ye Olde Curiosity Shop, where the shrunken heads were real and the fudge delicious.

  When Auntie came over to visit, she always wanted to go to Ivars’ Acres of Clams for lunch, and then on up to Pike Place Market—the marketplace mecca of the northwest—where the fish throwers tossed gigantic salmon from one to another in a show that delighted tourists and locals alike. Yes, I had fit right in with the city in so many ways, as much a misfit as everybody else.

  At the deckhand’s signal, I started the car and we eased off the ramp into the docking area. We followed the arrows out of Pier 52 and turned right onto Alaskan Way, driving along the waterfront until we reached Yesler Way, which led us directly to Pioneer Square, where the Radiance Cosmetics Boutique was situated.

  “I love Pioneer Square,” Barbara said, peering out of the window. “It’s got such character.”

 
“That it does,” I said. And it did. Pioneer Square was the oldest and funkiest part of the city, where the pavement on the roads was interspersed with brickwork. Glistening skyscrapers nestled against old, rundown taverns, and the streets were crowded with tiny specialized shops.

  I signaled and made a left turn. Damn it! Wrong street. “Shit! I should have gone up two more blocks. Now I’ll have to circle around again. I can never remember which street goes which direction.”

  The layout of the streets had driven me crazy when I lived here, patchwork and meandering like the plans had been designed by an architect drunk on cheap wine. Roads often ran one-way part of the time, then would suddenly switch direction on the other side of a main cross street.

  After another half-hour of traffic gridlock and wrong turns, I finally got going in the right direction and we found a parking garage near the building that housed the boutique. For five bucks an hour, they’d better watch my car, I thought, as I stretched my legs, listening to the traffic and voices, the hum of electricity as it zinged through the wires, the blaring of horns.

  “I am not wearing spikes to hoof it over to that boutique,” Barb said, switching to her pumps. “I’ll put them back on when we head for the club.”

  “Good idea.” I was used to wearing stilettos, though I hadn’t as much since I moved. All my boots were stacked heels, sending me soaring over six feet tall. I liked the feeling.

  After making sure the car was locked, we took off up First Avenue. The street was divided in the center by a landscaped island that ran for several blocks. Cafes, consignment clothing, import goods, Persian rugs and carpeting, antiques and collectibles, crystals and bookstores, Pioneer Square had it all. We crossed Cherry, and a half-block later, saw the stairs and a ramp leading down to the bottom floor of the Bellos Building. The stairs led into a long hall, where we turned left. As we passed a Starbucks, Barb tapped me on the shoulder. “I need caffeine. Can we stop for coffee?”

  I grinned at her. “You junkie. Tell you what, I’m only going to be a few minutes. Why don’t I meet you at Starbucks after I’m done? Then you can enjoy your fix without hurrying.”

  She thought about it, then nodded. “Sounds good. I need a buzz more than I need to look at makeup.” As she headed into the coffee shop, I continued down the hall. At the end, a door opened into the Radiance Cosmetics Boutique, identified by an expensive and subdued sign in shades of ivory and pink. The shop was devoid of customers. I glanced at my watch. Five-twenty. This shouldn’t take long.

  As I entered the shop a hush descended, broken only by the soft hum of elevator music. Five counters served for skin care, eyes, lips, cheeks, and nails. A podium guarded the entrance, and behind the podium stood a young woman elegantly coiffed in a pinstripe suit with a skirt so short that I could see the tops of her thigh-high stockings. She hurried over to greet me.

  “How do you do? I’m Nadia. May I help you?” she asked.

  I glanced around; a few years ago I’d pulled a stint in a boutique much like this one. Oh yeah, that had been fun, all right. Not.

  “Hi, I’m Persia Vanderbilt. I’m from Gull Harbor, on Port Samanish Island.” I paused to see if the name of the town registered. It did—a flicker of recognition passed over her face. “I was an acquaintance of Lydia Wang’s,” I added.

  “Oh!” She sucked in a deep breath. “So you knew her?” Her eyes narrowed. “Were you a friend of hers?”

  I paused, considering the best direction in which to proceed. By the tone of her voice, I had the feeling that Nadia hadn’t been one of Lydia’s fans. Nothing surprising there, considering Lydia’s lack of diplomacy with those she considered underlings.

  “Not really. She was a client in our shop over there—Venus Envy, a bath-and-beauty shop that my aunt and I run.”

  Nadia smiled. “Venus Envy! I’ve heard of your shop. You make some wonderful bath products. A friend gave me your Lavender Blue bath salts and I just love them—in fact, I was planning on asking her to pick me up a few more items next time she’s over in Gull Harbor.”

  A thought crossed my mind that we really needed to get a Web site up and move into mail order. I fished one of my cards out of my purse and handed it to her. “Just call me and I can take a credit card order by phone.”

  “That would be great! Now, what did you need?”

  I sighed. “To be honest, I wanted to ask you a few questions about Lydia and Radiance Cosmetics, if I may. I’ll buy something to make sure you get your commission—I know how these jobs are and I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Don’t sweat it. Nobody else is here this afternoon—there’s a big to-do at Westlake Center and everybody’s at our shop over there. But I’m not sure I can help you.”

  “Maybe you can, maybe not.” I pulled out one of Winthrop’s cards. “I’m helping out Winthrop Winchester, a lawyer defending a suspect in Lydia’s murder who also happens to be a friend of mine.”

  She shrugged. “What do you want to know?”

  “I was hoping that you can tell me about Lydia’s interactions with the company. Did people respect her? Was she friendly? Did she ever show up with any men that weren’t connected with Radiance?”

  The phone rang.

  “Excuse me,” Nadia said, holding up one hand as she hurried over to answer it. She spoke in low tones for a moment, then returned, shaking her head. “Sorry for the interruption. Is this an official question? Can you keep it off the record that I answered?”

  I nodded. “I’ll do my best to keep your name out of things. So, was Lydia a regular at the boutique?”

  Nadia’s eyes flickered and she snorted. “Oh, she made it a point to come in every week for a makeover, all right. Before she won the contest. Afterwards, she showed up once or twice but that was it.”

  So Lydia had been cultivating favorites? “Was anybody here on the judging committee for the contest?”

  Again the scornful smile. “No, most of the judges were from HQ, and most were older men. Lydia made it a point to get to know them, though. That much was apparent at the contest, which we were all required to attend.”

  So Colleen had probably been on the mark with her accusation that Lydia had slept her way to the top. “Do you know who the judges were?”

  Nadia rattled off a few names, then said, “But if you’re looking for a murderer, look somewhere else. None of those men have the guts to kill anybody. Their wives would make whatever time they had left a living hell. Anyway, whether Lydia slept with any of them didn’t matter. That wasn’t why she won.”

  “What do you mean?” From what I’d seen of the lineup, several of the contestants were clearly more beautiful than Lydia was, and they had to have better personalities. If she hadn’t slept her way to the top, how had she won?

  “Lydia was the only one who fit the uniform, if you know what I mean.”

  I didn’t. “Explain, please.”

  “I’d get my butt fired for telling you this, but then again, I get paid shit wages and I’m thinking of moving to New York anyway.”

  I had the feeling that Radiance Cosmetics was only a blip on her resume, and I’d bet dime to dollar she wanted to be an actress and was just biding time until her “big break.”

  “You headed to Broadway?” I asked.

  Her eyes lit up. “Oh yes, that’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

  “I can see you on stage—you’re beautiful.” I meant it, too; she was a lovely young woman. Take her out of the Ally McBeal suit and put her in a flowing Elizabethan gown and I could see her in a production of Romeo and Juliet or some other classic. She was perfect for the young ingénue.

  She debated another minute and I didn’t press her. “You promise you won’t say where you got this information?”

  I raised my hand. “I give you my word.”

  “Okay. Radiance Cosmetics has a culture gap. We draw a lot of upper-crust white women, and we’ve broken into the African-American market with the new Yolanda line for darke
r-skinned clients. But the one market Radiance hasn’t been able to crack is the Asian line. The head honchos want to break open the market. They want it bad. And Lydia Wang was their ticket in. She was gorgeous, Asian American, from a prominent local family, and would have been the perfect spokeswoman.”

  “But why the contest? Why not just hire her directly?”

  “The contest built her name through all the publicity, without having to pay her anything near what they’d normally pay a model. I’ll lay odds somebody from Radiance knew her beforehand and encouraged her to enter. Lydia was stupid in that regard. She thought she was such a hot shot and getting so much money, but it was really jack shit and they got away with it. Except for one problem. She’s dead and now they have to play by the rules and offer the crown to the second-place winner.”