Soul Scent: A Zackie Story (The Zackie Stories Book 2)

by Reyna Favis

  As I turned to enter the hallway, I encountered the old man as he peeked around the corner of the doorframe into the bedroom. Twisting his fingers in the opening of his cardigan, he spoke in a whisper. “I am so dreadfully sorry about the mess.” He wouldn’t meet my eyes as he apologized and his cheeks flushed a deep red. I had to jerk my head twice before he noticed that I was indicating that we needed to move away from the open door before we could speak. Once I had his attention, I moved farther up the hall and he followed.

  Putting down the bags, I turned to him and felt sweat trickling down my ribs. “It’s not your fault. This is completely natural. We’ll clean it up and it will look like nothing ever happened, okay?”

  He nodded, but I could feel his misery and mortification that strangers saw his house in such a state. Was he a neatnik in life? The messiness of death must really offend his sensibilities. I did what I could to reassure him. “Why don’t you keep watch for a while and make sure that everything is spick and span? If you see anything that still isn’t right when we’re done, you can let me know and I’ll make sure we leave your house spotless.”

  The old man gave me a shy smile. “Thank you for doing this.” Having a small measure of control over the mess seemed to put him more at ease. I smiled back the best I could through the respirator, picked up the bags and continued to the van. Depositing the bags in the back of the vehicle, I made sure there would be plenty of room for the mattress and box spring.

  By the time I returned to the bedroom, the old man was stationed at the threshold watching the activity. The guys had wrapped and sealed the mattress, using duct tape to hold it all together and to add handles that would help us to carry it out. I grabbed a handle towards the front and the new guy took up the rear.

  Rory Craymore did not look like he had much experience with malevolent odors. The respirators did little to filter out the stench, so I couldn’t really blame him when he pushed his face into his arm and made a small retching noise. “Gaah! So, like, was that dead guy made out of shit, or something?”

  Everyone paused what they were doing and looked at the new guy. The old man put his hands up to cover his face. He looked out from between his fingers, deeply ashamed, his eyes wide and his face coloring with embarrassment. Gander crossed his arms over his chest and stared at Rory. Without voicing any disapproval, his silence spoke volumes about being more respectful of the dead.

  Goose looked at the floor and slowly shook his head. “Uncool, grommet.”

  I cleared my throat and spoke up, more for the old man’s sake than to chastise the new guy. “Look, everyone’s body will do this.” Gazing at the new guy, I kept my voice low and gentle. “That will be you some day, so don’t act all offended by it.” I picked up my end of the mattress. The new guy stood rigid as he stared at me, his hands balled into fists. He was probably pissed by everyone’s reaction and decided he wanted to take it out on me, since being female, I was the least likely to deck him. As much as I wanted to prove him wrong, I wanted to keep this job more. Ignoring his reaction, I tried to get the work back on track. “Come on, let’s move this out.” For a moment, nothing happened, but then the Rory unclenched his fists and yanked the mattress up from the floor. Goose and Gander exchanged a look as we moved out.

  Reaching the van, we slid the mattress in on its edge, braced it against a wall and then returned to the bedroom. Experience showed as Goose and Gander repeated the duct taping process with the box spring. Before we really had a chance to rest, they had completed the job. As Goose maneuvered the wrapped box spring towards us, Gander stepped over the bed frame and examined the floor.

  “Good news. Looks like everything was contained in the bed. The floor’s okay.” Sweeping his eyes along the headboard and the bed frame, Gander nodded. “Nothing on the bed frame either.” Goose carefully checked the ceiling and the walls surrounding the bed and gave a thumbs up.

  Goose and Gander squeezed past the box spring and headed for the van, leaving the new guy and me to finish the carryout. By the time we reached the van, Gander had unloaded two heat-powered foggers and Goose was pulling out jugs of Thermo-55 disinfectant-deodorant.

  Carrying two jugs, I went back in the house, ostensibly to watch how the fogger was set up. The old man stood in the bedroom with his hands clasped behind his back and a smile on his face as we set up the machine. As I asked my question, I watched the old guy listen in. “So, what’s the point of running the fogger?”

  Gander answered me as he poured the chemical into the machine. “The Thermo-55 will coat the entire interior of the house and make everything smell like cherries. It even has insecticide to kill insects, so after this double whammy, the house ought to be market-ready.”

  “So, afterwards everything will be done here and we can move on?” I said this last part looking the old man in the eye.

  After turning on the device, Gander called over his shoulder to me as he picked up the machine and started fogging the room. “Yes, but I’m not sure what we’d move on to. There’s no new job scheduled yet.” The old man, meanwhile, nodded to me with a smile. Feeling secure that he was good to go, I trailed after Gander and helped to refill the machine as he fogged each room, moving from the master bedroom toward the backdoor exit. Goose and the grommet fogged everything from the basement to the opposite end of the house. Between both teams, the house was sanitized in no time. We locked the back door behind us and headed to the truck. Respirators, goggles and boots went to JoJo to sterilize. Everything else was disposed of in a biohazard bag before hitting the truck’s shower to decontaminate. I washed off the sweat and who-knows-what-else from the house and was squeaky clean by the time I drove home.

  # # #

  “She was pregnant.” Jill was about to start her shift and was talking fast, but I heard these three words loud and clear. After getting home and cooking a grilled cheese sandwich for lunch, I made several futile attempts to contact Ron Falling-Leaf. When none of my old contact information worked, I decided to call Jill Creighton to see if she had any new information on Maggie. State Troopers usually work a twelve hour tour from seven a.m. to seven p.m., or vice versa, so realistically, I had little hope of speaking to her and figured I’d just leave a message. To my surprise, Jill picked up on the third ring. She told me she was about to start a flex shift from three to three and she didn’t have a lot of time to chat.

  “Pregnant…” My lips were numb as I thought of the sad figure of Maggie, alone in the woods. “Is this from the autopsy?”

  “No. Autopsy hasn’t been performed yet. She was visibly pregnant when they stored her body and it was in her medical records from the accident.” Something scraped against the receiver and Jill cursed. “Sorry, got caught on the earpiece. I’m trying to get my uniform on.”

  “What’s the deal with the accident?”

  “Car accident. The husband died. She was severely injured. Head traUma. That’s all I’ve got.”

  “Will you let me know if anything funny turns up in the autopsy?”

  “You want to know if this is another Amy Turpin? Suicide or homicide? Sure.”

  The question was unspoken, but I thought I owed Jill some kind of explanation for why I was following up. “Thanks for helping. Just trying to fill in the gaps on lost person behavior. It’ll help with future searches.”

  After we said our good-byes, I immediately dialed Cam to tell him what Jill said.

  Cam let out a whooshing breath. “Really? Pregnant?” The soft clicking of a keyboard came over the phone. “I’m looking up the obituary for the husband. She was pregnant when the accident was reported, so the funeral must have been held in the last few months.” Cam was a genealogist and had access to more databases than was healthy for normal folk.

  Feeling like I ought to be doing something, I got up and started pacing around the little card table where I ate my meals. “How’s the obituary going to help us? It seems obvious that she was depressed because she lost her husband.”

  “We don�
��t know how anything can help until we take a look.” After a few more clicks, Cam continued. “Here it is. Gregory Pierceson.” I listened to him breathe while he read the article. “It says he leaves behind a wife named Maggie and they’d been married seven years.”

  “No other children?”

  “No, this would have been their first.”

  I rubbed some dried cheese off the corner of my mouth and thought about that. “Either this was a whoops baby or they’d been trying for a while.”

  “Or they waited until things were right with their jobs or they’d saved enough money to buy a home. Who knows?” Cam sounded distracted as he typed some more. “I’m pulling up the accident. It must have happened a short time before the date of the funeral.”

  I was still stuck on the implications of a late pregnancy. “Well, whatever the reasons for waiting to have a baby, I think that this would be a reason to hang on – not to kill herself. The baby was the last thing she had left of her husband. You’d think she’d want to live and have it.”

  “Maybe… Is there such a thing as prepartum depression? I’ll look that up next. Meanwhile, I’ve got the news report on the accident in front of me.” There was a pause as he read the article. “It happened last spring. They were driving at night and there was a sudden downpour. He was at the wheel and lost control of the vehicle. Slammed into a tree. Based on the picture of the wreck, she was lucky to have survived.”

  “So, no other vehicle and no one to blame? No reason to stay earthbound for vengeance?”

  Cam took a moment to skim the article. “Doesn’t look that way. Just a single-car crash. No mention of alcohol or drugs. It must have just been an accident. Bad luck.”

  “Okay…Can you look up prepartum depression?” I did another lap around the table while he clicked.

  “Huh. It does exist. Says here that doctors used to think that pregnancy was a ‘honeymoon’ away from depression risk, but that turned out to be a myth.”

  “So, maybe she was just depressed?” I went still and waited for his answer.

  “And this was exacerbated by the loss of her husband? Maybe, but why the gun? I still think that says something about her state of mind.”

  “Maybe it was just convenient. The gun was there and she used it.”

  “There’s nothing convenient about trekking a half mile into wilderness and then blowing your brains out. I don’t think so.” Cam sighed into the phone. “The gun is meaningful.”

  I shrugged my shoulders. “You might be right.” Forcing damp bangs out of my face, I took a deep breath and held it for a few seconds and then slowly blew it out. “What do you think we should do next?”

  “We’ll have to go back and talk to her. We need to see if anything we’re coming up with strikes a chord.”

  I rubbed my face with my good hand. “Okay, fine. But let’s go during daylight this time and put up some flagging tape along the easiest path to the clearing. I don’t think this is going to be our last trip there.”

  Cam grumbled something affirming my thoughts and we made plans to meet the next day. With exaggerated casualness and alarming speed, he changed the subject. “By the way, tonight’s our dinner with Lucas. Wear something nice. He’s treating, so it won’t be fast food.”

  I stopped my pacing and put a hand to my damp hair. “Dude, really? Tonight?”

  “Oh, come on. As if you had any plans tonight.” It sounded like he was smirking, as he filled me in on where and when we would meet. Resigned, I just nodded and jotted down the time and the name of the restaurant. As I stared at the dead hand dutifully scribing my appointment, I decided I could not put off telling Cam about the events of the morning.

  “One last thing before we hang up. I need to tell you about a new symptom.” Pacing around the table in the opposite direction, I spoke rapidly in a monotone and gave Cam the facts as I knew them about the message from the dead hand. “So, if this gets worse, I’ll need you to lock me down at night.” I said this as matter-of-factly as I could manage and then tensed for his reply.

  “Was this a threat or a warning?” Cam kept his voice all business.

  “How the hell should I know?” I dragged my hand through my hair and started pacing again.

  “It’s your hand…” Cam was really forcing himself to sound reasonable and logical, but the strain came through.

  “Is it?” I heard my voice crack as I spoke and immediately regretted this loss of control. Striving for a flippant tone, I continued. “So, what you’re saying is that I need to get in touch with my dead side? Maybe go to couple’s therapy? Cause, you know, it never really listens to me when I ask it to take out the trash.”

  Cam was silent for a moment. “You know I’ll help you any way I can. You don’t have to deal with this by yourself.”

  I took a breath and paused before answering. He really did have my back and I trusted him completely. “Yeah, I know. Thanks, Cam.” I tried to sound as grateful as I felt.

  After ending the call, I needed to get out. Grabbing a jacket, I walked down the driveway to Joel Armstrong’s house. He was my landlord and as part of my rent, I walked his dogs while he was at work. Joel was a contractor and he was always out early and back late and the dogs’ need to pee tended to fit my schedule better than his. Heckle and Jeckle were yellow and black labs, and it was a nice change of pace hanging around regular dogs sometimes. Unlike Zackie, they never gave me sarcastic looks or made me feel stupid with a conversationally well-timed, snarky huffing noise. Just as the dogs and I returned from my daily drag around the block, Joel’s red pickup pulled into the driveway. I felt a prickly sense of déjà vu creep up my scalp and I unconsciously touched the scar on my temple, a reminder of a few months ago when Joel had also shown up unexpectedly early after a dog walk. He had let loose with a story about seeing a dead little girl and this led to the most horrific encounter with a spirit that I had ever faced.

  Stepping out of the truck, Joel wore a sunny smile and I let out the breath I was holding. “How’s it going, Fia?”

  I took some involuntary steps forward as the dogs dragged me to Joel. “Oh, you know, same old, same old. What’s up with you?”

  Joel was as excited as I’d ever seen him. He was a big man and his gray hair gave him the air of respectability, but he was practically bouncing on his toes like a five year old. “We’re working on this historic house over in Phillipsburg. It’s called the Roseberry Homestead. I have a book somewhere about the old ways of construction and I wanted to bring it to the site.”

  “Cool. How old is the house?”

  “Might have been built around the Revolutionary War by the looks of it.” The dogs nudged his hands with their noses. “Aw, who’s a good boy?” Joel reached down and rubbed the dogs’ heads before continuing. “It’s a stone house and we’re gonna need to repair the masonry after we fix the roof and then think about installing windows and doors that are right for that era. We’re working with an architectural historian to make sure we get things right.”

  I nodded, impressed by the need for historical accuracy in the project. “I have a friend who’s studying to be a master stonemason. I think she’d be really interested in this kind of preservation work.”

  Joel grinned and spread his hands expansively. “The more the merrier. Bring her by. I’ll let you know when the historian will be onsite.”

  # # #

  I was under-dressed for an upscale restaurant like the Meridian, but my belly was growling, so I was determined to brazen my way through the meal. I wore a simple white top with dark slacks and flats. A little black dress with heels would have been more appropriate for this place, but due to an overwhelming need to pay the rent, that was not the type of outfit hanging in my wardrobe. At least my hair was dry. I had deliberately pulled it back in a loose ponytail to keep it out of my food. I figured this was one less thing that could go wrong during the meal. I even ate a little before I left, so that I wouldn’t automatically start stuffing myself, but this was to no ava
il. My stomach made it clear that it wanted to be fed again.

  When I arrived, both Cam and Lucas stood near the maitre d’s podium waiting for me. Lucas opened his arms for a hug as I approached. “Fia, great seeing you.”

  “Good to see you, too.” I hugged him back and I swear, my pupils dilated and my heart gave a hard squeeze in my chest. As I stepped back, I forced a smile and tried to act unaffected by the contact. Standing this close to him, I got a whiff of sandalwood cologne, but also a faint ammonia smell that I associated with hospitals. Hannah must be near. I raised an eyebrow at Cam and he returned the gesture with a slight nod. He sensed her too. As always, the only one unaware of a discarnate presence was Lucas. This must have been incredibly frustrating for Hannah.

  Turning to the maitre d’, Lucas smiled and gestured towards Cam and me. “This is all of us.”

  “Very good, Mr. Tremaine. Let me show you to your table.” The man turned smartly, tucked three menus under his arm and proceeded through the crowded dining room to a corner table near a window. I sat down in the seat he proffered and stared out at the great view of the fall foliage, all lit up by the setting sun.

  Looking through the menu, I eliminated the onion soup, the lobster and any pasta dishes from consideration. My white blouse would not survive these. Just as our server appeared, I settled on the salmon and crossed my fingers.

  “My name is Angela and I will be your server tonight. Can I start you off with something to drink?” Angela was a petite young woman. With her doe eyes and lustrous, long hair, she probably did okay with tips. To be fair, she also appeared to be calm and competent, as opposed to the irritated and put-upon demeanor that I radiated when I was waiting tables. Lucas and Cam both ordered glasses of red wine. Glancing down at my shirt again, I asked for a club soda. I could both quench my thirst and do any touch ups that might be necessary.