“Perhaps now would be a prudent time for us to make our departure.” My aunt tossed a ten on the table and we snuck out the back entrance, unnoticed in the clamor surrounding Kyle and Mr. Wang. A little luck saw us through the parking lot and around the side of the building to where our cars were parked in front of Venus Envy and the bakery.
Auntie pulled out her keys. “Persia, we should go directly home before anybody catches sight of us. Barbara, any chance you can come over? Whatever we do, let’s get a move on. I want to get out of here before that old biddy catches us.” My aunt and Heddy Latherton weren’t the best of friends.
Barbara nodded. “Let me go tell Dorian. I’ll meet you at your place in twenty minutes.”
I climbed in my Sebring as Aunt Florence revved up Baby and we took off out of the parking lot, her convertible roaring like a lion on steroids.
I STOOD BY the window, staring out at the inlet. The water was choppy, waves foaming against the shore. A lone dog, someone’s chocolate lab, raced along the sand, barking at whatever it could find. The wall of windows in my aunt’s house let a world of light and motion into the house, and sometimes during the early twilight, we would sit in the living room, curtains open, and watch the dim silhouette of the waves as they crested and ebbed along the shore.
The events of the morning seemed surreal. Lydia was dead and I had found her. I still wasn’t sure how I felt. Death wasn’t a stranger to me.
My mother had died of a heart attack when I was four years old. One day, she put me down for my nap and the next thing I knew, the house was swarming with people. Our next-door neighbor wouldn’t let me go into the living room. She held me on her lap, and I still remember the sweet, sad look on her face. I was too young to understand what had happened and kept asking where my mother was. When the neighbor told me, “Your mama has gone to heaven,” it didn’t click. We weren’t a religious family.
Three years later, after I came to live with Auntie, we were traveling in England on a winding rural road when the car in front of us skidded into an old pickup. Auntie managed to pull over to the side before we ended up in the pile-up, but four cars plowed into the fray and two of the drivers were thrown through their windshields.
Even though Auntie hurried to keep me from seeing the wreck, I caught a blurry look at one of the victim’s faces. His expression was one of a surprise, of realization that—oops—there would be no tomorrow, the ride was over just like that, with no warning. I’d seen the same surprise on Lydia’s face.
Aunt Florence carried in a tray holding a delicate bone china teapot and cups. As she placed it on the coffee table, the scent of lemon rose from the pot, which was shaped like a fat black tuxedo cat, the spout being one paw held up in the air. A crunch of tires on gravel announced Barbara’s arrival. As I opened the door she dashed through the downpour, carrying a box of freshly baked cookies. For a moment, nobody said anything, then Barbara broke the silence.
“Heddy was looking for you. She popped into the bakery as I was leaving and asked where you were.” Barb opened the box and spread out an assortment of peanut butter and chocolate chip cookies on a plate. I inhaled deeply, letting the familiar aromas soothe my frazzled nerves.
“I guess word is out,” Florence said. And sure enough, just as she spoke, the phone rang. She sighed and pushed herself out of her chair. “I’ll take this call, then I’m switching on the answering machine for the rest of the day.”
As Auntie went into the kitchen to answer the phone, I turned to Barb. “What did Heddy want, as if I couldn’t guess?”
She grinned. “What else? An ‘in’ on the latest gossip. So tell me what happened.”
I filled her in. “A lot of people didn’t like Lydia. What I want to know is why she was killed in our shop? And who managed to get hold of a key?”
Barbara fished in her purse and pulled out her key ring, holding up one with a pink piece of tape on it. “Here’s mine—safe and sound. What about Tawny? Trevor?”
“There’s a bit of a problem there. Yesterday, Trevor and Lydia had a blowout in the store. It wasn’t pretty.” The memory of his anguished face flashed in my mind. “They were an item, until she dumped him.”
“Do you think he was mad enough to kill her?”
“Trevor? Of course not, but I expect Kyle will be asking me that before long. Just a sec…” I leaned over the back of the sofa to peek into the dining room to see if Aunt Florence needed any help. She shook her head, so I turned back to Barb. “I’ll have to tell him about the argument, but do I believe Trevor could—or would—hurt Lydia? No, not really. He’s a hard worker and a good kid, from what I can tell.”
Barb shrugged. “That doesn’t mean anything. Trevor could have a secret life you know nothing about. I agree that he seems harmless, but sometimes the most innocuous ones are most dangerous.”
I poured the tea and handed her a cup, then added lemon to my own as I bit into one of her peanut butter cookies. Sugar was good for shock, it kept the body moving. “These are wonderful,” I said. “Give me the recipe?”
“As long as you don’t start competing with the bakery!” She grinned, then sobered. “I hate to say it, but Lydia’s death was good for business. All the busybodies stopped in to buy cookies. Kind of gruesome, when you think about it.”
The mail truck pulled up while we were waiting for Aunt Florence and I told Barb I’d be back in a moment. I made a mad dash to the mailbox through the rain, almost running in front of Kyle’s cruiser as he pulled into the driveway. I jerked my thumb toward the door, then sprinted back to the shelter of the porch.
While waiting for him, I flipped through the envelopes and broke into a cold sweat. One of the letters was addressed to me and I recognized the handwriting. Cripes! A letter from Elliot, my ex-boyfriend. How had he found me, and what did he want? I’d thought he was still in prison, but the return address was a simple post office box. If he was still behind bars, the prison would have added their “from a correctional institute” stamp.
I thrust the envelope into my pocket as Kyle took the stairs two at a time. Elliot and whatever he was up to would have to wait. As soon as Kyle took off his raincoat and draped it over the porch swing, I knew something was wrong. His stress levels were so high I could smell them. I motioned him into the living room where Barbara murmured a quiet “hello.”
Aunt Florence bustled in. “Kyle,” she said, nodding. “Have you found out anything yet?” she asked, settling her abundant frame into the overstuffed rocking chair.
“Well, Miss Florence, I came to ask Persia a few more questions.” He took a seat in the wing chair by the sofa.
“This better not be what I think it is, Kyle Andrew Laughlin.” Auntie pushed herself forward.
He shook his head. “Just routine. Persia, I forgot to ask you who your cashier was at Shoreline Foods. Do you still have the receipt from last night? That would tell us which checker cashed you out.”
Oh jeez, did he really think I killed Lydia? I gave him a withering look, then stomped off into the kitchen. This was ridiculous. What motive could I possibly have other than thinking that she was a miserable excuse for a human being? After rooting through the garbage, I yanked out the receipt. It was smeared with old cat food and yogurt, but the date stamp and checkout counter were still clearly visible. I wiped it off and took it back to the living room, shoving it in his face.
“Here. Now you can see that we eat deli meat, salads, and lemon pound cake. The man who waited on me was young, had a spiked Mohawk, and wore three huge earrings in his left ear. Will that narrow it down?”
Kyle gave me a tight smile. “This is fine. We should be able to establish your alibi with this. I’m sorry I interrupted your afternoon,” he added, glancing over at my aunt. “I know it’s been a troubling day. But I have to ask you a couple more questions. Trevor Wilson was in the shop yesterday, wasn’t he?”
Oops, somebody had spilled the beans about the argument.
&nb
sp; “Yes, he was,” I said. “I was running the shop and he came in to ask about lilacs. Before you ask—yes, he and Lydia mixed it up a little. Lydia treated him like dirt and he lit into her for being such a bitch.”
Kyle scowled at his notebook. “Is it true that he told her she’d better watch out or she was going to get hurt?”
Uh oh, somebody had been listening really closely. “Well, he didn’t threaten her personally, if that’s what you’re getting around to.” I stopped. Actually, he had threatened her. Twice. First in the front of the store, when he’d raised his hand toward her and said, “Right now, Persia is the only one who’s keeping me from wiping that fucking smile off your face,” and later in the office, when he’d said to me, “She makes me so mad, sometimes I just want to… to make her hurt as much as she hurt me.”
As much as I dreaded the fallout, I had to tell the truth. I didn’t believe for a moment that he was guilty, but if it came out that I had withheld information, things would look bad for both of us.
“Actually, I guess it did sound like he was threatening her,” I said, forcing ambiguity into my voice. “But he didn’t mean it. Trevor was upset because she’d been spouting off a bunch of garbage at him.”
Kyle met my gaze and held it. His eyes were dark, darker than I’d remembered them. “Why don’t you tell me exactly what he said?”
I laid out what had happened, hiding nothing, including Lydia’s all-too eager delight in trashing Trevor’s ego. “She was the queen of mean, tell you that.” I glanced over at Aunt Florence, who was frowning. “Auntie, I’m sorry, but I have to tell him what I know. Trev didn’t do it—we both know that. I’m sure that he’ll be off the hook as soon as they verify his alibi.”
She sighed and wiped her eyes, looking tired. “I know, child. You’re doing the right thing.”
Kyle cleared his throat. “Actually, we’ve already talked to him. Trevor doesn’t have an alibi that checks out after nine o’clock. He went bowling with friends, but left around eight forty-five. He claims to have gotten a call from Lydia, asking him to meet her down on the Lighthouse Spit. When he got there, he said the Spit was empty. We’re tracing her calls to see if we can find evidence that she phoned him, but even if we do, he still could have taken her back to your shop and killed her.”
Auntie knitted her fingers together. “Trevor’s a good boy. I’ve known him since he was born. I can’t believe that he’d do something like this.”
Kyle sighed. “I’m just doing my job. Lydia was murdered in your shop. The door was locked, and requires a key. Lydia was seen having a very public argument with Trevor, her ex-boyfriend, who—for all intents and purposes—threatened her in the earshot of others. He doesn’t have an alibi for the time during which she was murdered. What do you expect me to think?”
I slipped over to my aunt’s side and gave her a gentle hug. “It’s all right. We know Trevor’s innocent, we’ll help him if they decide to charge him.” And heaven help him if Kyle did decide to go after him.
She nodded, resting her head against my shoulder. “I’ve got a tequila-sized headache right now. I think I’ll go get an aspirin.” As she wandered into the kitchen, I turned back to Kyle.
“It doesn’t look good for Trevor, does it?”
He raised one eyebrow. “You always were a master at understatement.” Just then his radio squawked. He moved over to one side to take the call in private while I sat down next to Barbara, who handed me my tea.
As I took a sip, Aunt Florence joined us in our little huddle. “I’d better call my lawyer and tell him to get his hind end over here. The way things are looking they’ll have you and Trevor teamed up on this.” She shook her head. “I don’t get it. Things like this just don’t happen in Gull Harbor. And certainly not in my shop, for God’s sake.”
Kyle clicked his radio off and slipped back into his seat. Something in his face told me he had bad news for us. “Persia, you’re off the hook. We found your clerk. Apparently, you insisted that he recheck the register tape because he overcharged you for an item, and you made him go through it three times.”
For once, my attention to detail had paid off. “Score one for the squeaky wheel. So everything’s okay?”
“For you, yes. But my men found something else.” Kyle sobered. “I just ordered my boys to pick up Trevor Wilson. We found the murder weapon.”
Aunt Florence, Barbara, and I leaned forward as one. “What?” I asked. A low rumble of thunder raced through the room as the storm picked up speed.
He stood up and jammed his hands in his pockets. “They found a hammer in the back room. Trevor’s fingerprints are all over the handle, and it’s covered in Lydia Wang’s blood.”
Chapter 5
I STARED AT Aunt Florence, a growing knot of dread in my stomach. What the hell? Trevor’s hammer? With Lydia’s blood on it?
Kyle cleared his throat and headed toward the door. “I’ve got to get back to the station. If Trevor shows up here, call us. I mean it, Miss Florence.” He sounded like he half-expected her to pitch a fit, but she just gave him a faint nod as I escorted him out on the porch.
He peered back over my head toward the living room and lowered his voice. “Persia, I meant what I said. If Trevor Wilson shows up anywhere near here, you call the station. He’s dangerous, and I don’t want anything to happen to your aunt or you.”
He actually sounded sincere. I murmured an assent and shut the door behind him. As I returned to the living room, Auntie was leaning against one of the carved wooden pillars that ran from floor to ceiling, a pained look etched on her face. I led her back to her chair.
She stared at the coffee table for a moment, then leaned forward to pick up a copy of Vogue and fanned herself with it. “One moment life’s going on as usual, the next, everything’s been shot to hell,” she said. “I know Kyle has no choice, but I just can’t believe he’s going to arrest Trevor. Trevor’s a good boy, he wouldn’t hurt a fly.” Her voice trembled with a flutter of doubt.
I wandered over to the window. The rain was pelting the water, rippling the surface with concentric rings that spread out in even circles. All it took was one drop… one disturbance, to shake up lives and alter history. A shiver raced up my back and I returned to the warmth of the fire, grabbed the tea tray, and hurried into the kitchen, where I freshened the pot and added more cookies to the plate.
As I returned to the living room, Barbara was saying, “Kyle has to haul him in, Miss Florence. Look at the evidence—he can’t ignore it. That’s his job. Granted, I don’t believe that Trev is guilty, but Kyle’s the chief of police. He has to go by the book.”
“Even though I don’t like him, I have to agree with Barbara,” I said. “Trevor’s his most logical suspect.”
Just then, Trubbul leapt up on the sofa and tried to climb in my lap. I shooed at him, but the orange tabby ignored me and crawled over my hands, settling into a ball on my skirt. Like Delilah, he was getting on in years. Auntie had taken him in from a rescue shelter and—as with all the cats in the household—he was an indoor-only babe. I stroked his fur, breathing quietly as the rumble of his purr lulled some of the tension out of my shoulders.
“Auntie, can you think of anybody else who might have a key to the shop? Did you ever give one to a maintenance man or… say, what about Marta? Does she have a key?”
Barbara looked at me like I was crazy. “You’re suggesting Marta might have killed Lydia? That’s absurd. Marta’s too lazy to go around killing anybody, and why would she? What would she have to gain?”
Marta was the cleaning lady for several of the downtown businesses. Aunt Florence, Barbara, and Marianne Stila, who owned Marianne’s Closet, hired her to come in and clean for them, and paid her under the table. Marta was seventy if she was a day, took too many breaks, and smoked too much—though not in the shops. Auntie, Barb, and Marianne had threatened to fire her if they smelled a single hint of cigarette smoke.
“Maybe she gave h
er key to somebody else?” I was clutching at straws.
Auntie shook her head, putting an end to my speculation. “Marta’s never had a key to my shop. She comes in twice a week during the early morning. That’s why Tawny opens early on Mondays and Thursdays. I told her to keep an eye on Marta because the old girl has been known to take a few five-fingered discounts.”
“What?” Barbara straightened up, a curious gleam in her eye. “She steals? I didn’t know that. Why didn’t you tell me?”
My aunt blushed. “Yes, the old dear steals. I caught her several times before I set Tawny on guard duty. But Marta hasn’t got a soul in the world to look after her, and I didn’t want to be responsible for her losing work. Really, what she took was minor… a bar of soap, a bottle of lotion, and I think once I noticed a bath mitt disappearing into that big old tote bag of hers. She doesn’t make a lot of money. So as far as I’m concerned, if she needs a bit of soap, she’s welcome to it. I thought I told you about it, but I guess it slipped my mind.”
Barbara looked thoughtful. “That could explain our missing inventory. We don’t count the number of individual muffins or cookies we make, but now and then it seems like we’re a little low on stock compared to what we put away for the night. I thought that maybe Ronette and Colin were getting overenthusiastic and was going to talk to them about it. Maybe I should hold off. What do you think?”
Ronette and Colin, two high school kids, helped out in the bakery on weekends and after school.
“Given Colin’s height and age, it wouldn’t surprise me to hear that he’s been dipping into the doughnuts,” I said. “Teenagers eat like they have bottomless stomachs. Auntie’s right, though. Marta’s on a fixed income and I’ll bet she finds it hard to resist a little treat now and then.”
“Then I’ll just hold off on that lecture,” Barb said. “But that leaves me with the question of whether I should I talk to Marta. I don’t like the idea of a thief working for me, petty or otherwise.”
Scent to Her Grave Page 6