The other three rooms had odd bits of furniture in them, and were slowly evolving into a comfortable home of my own. The one with the coppery paper I had turned into a study; the largest had become my workout room with exercise bike, rowing machine, home gym, yoga mat, and various other goodies to play with; and the coziest, I’d transformed into my own private perfumery.
I slid into the bubble-filled tub and leaned back, not wanting to think about death of any kind, be it murder or natural, until I was clean, relaxed, and warmed through to the bone.
Aunt Florence was making dinner as I emerged from the stairwell. I’d spent the rest of the afternoon experimenting with different fragrances and finally came up with a blend that I thought would sell well. My thoughts turned to food as my stomach rumbled. Auntie was frying up a couple of steaks along with a skillet full of mushrooms and onions. The steamer hummed, filled with broccoli and carrots. I leaned over her shoulder and took a good sniff.
“Oh, that smells good. I think that I found a new line for the shop. I’ve decided on ‘Juniper Girl’ instead of ‘Mountain Maiden.’ ”
She gave me an astute look. “I like the name. Who’s your market?”
“Hikers, bikers… women on the go. The scent’s woodsy with an undertone of rose. Strong yet feminine… not overtly sexy, but rain-washed and fresh.” Along with my talents as a sensory expert, I was now learning how to be an effective marketer. Aunt Florence could turn dog poop into gold if she put her mind to it, and I was determined to learn everything I could from her.
She winked at me and touched her nose. “Sounds good. Start mixing up some samples tomorrow and we’ll see how she flies. Although with Trevor out of commission, you’re going to have to put more time into the gardens until we find a temporary replacement. Let’s aim for an introductory sale in three weeks.”
“Speaking of Trevor, have you heard anything more about him this afternoon?” I pulled out the plates and began setting the table.
She flipped the searing meat and sprinkled on Worcestershire sauce and added a dash of port to the pan. A rush of flavor-filled smoke washed through the kitchen. My stomach rumbled.
“I talked to my lawyer and he’s going to see me tomorrow, then go talk to Trevor. But there’s a hitch in the works. I just got a call from Kyle.” She paused to remove the broccoli from the steamer.
“What’s up?” I added French bread, butter, and a bottle of steak sauce to the table, then filled two goblets with a rich Merlot that was one of my favorites.
Florence handed me the platter of steaks and mushrooms. “Trevor seems to have disappeared.”
Disappeared? Uh oh. That wasn’t going to sit well with the police. Even if Trevor was just scared, it would make him look guilty. And if he was guilty, then he was dangerous and on the loose.
“Where’d he go?”
She snorted. “If they knew where he went, I wouldn’t be telling you that he’s disappeared, now would I? They’ve set up roadblocks at the ferry and at the bridge. There’s no other way off the island. Kyle doesn’t think Trevor skipped town yet, because his truck is still parked in his driveway. Persia, I know that I said he’s innocent, but my dear, be careful. Even if he didn’t kill Lydia, fear has reduced many a man to desperate acts. I don’t want anything happening to you.”
Carrying the broccoli, she joined me at the table and we ate in silence, amid the tinkle of forks and knives on good china.
After we finished dinner, I let the dogs out to take care of their after-supper business. Dusk had fallen early, with the incoming storm, and I was huddling on the porch, waiting for Beauty, Beast, and Pete to return, when a rustle in the bushes alerted me. I grabbed one of the walking sticks that was leaning against the wall, and cautiously edged over to the south end of the porch, where a set of side stairs led down into the hydrangea garden. As I slowly descended the steps, the rustling stopped and for a moment I thought about going back inside, but then a scent spiraled past me in the wind—the smell of sweat and fear.
I took a deep breath and froze as an unwelcome thought crossed my mind. What if Lydia’s killer had been targeting my aunt or me, instead of her? Had she been in the wrong place at the wrong time? What if one of Elliot’s friends had tracked me down, deciding to get revenge on him by hurting me? And what if I had just walked into a trap? I turned to race back up the steps but someone leapt out from behind the bushes, slapped a hand over my mouth, and dragged me back against the side of the house.
Leaning into my attacker’s weight, I unbalanced him just long enough for me to grab hold of his arm and flip him over my shoulder. I raised my foot, ready to stomp him a good one in the neck, but the satisfying thud as my assailant hit the ground brought him into the light and I jerked sideways, much to the surprise of some smaller muscles in my upper thigh which protested mightily.
“Jeezus!” Leaning over the prostrate figure, I launched into a tirade that would have made Aunt Florence proud.
“Trevor Wilson! What the hell do you think you’re doing? I ought to smack you upside the head. You know that I’ve got years of experience with both Tai Chi and Aikido! I could have killed you.”
He winced, pushing himself into a sitting position. “Well, I realize that now,” he said, rubbing his head. “Damn, you’re good!”
“You got that right,” I said, kneeling beside him to make certain that he hadn’t broken any bones in his fall. “What are you doing here? I heard you disappeared.” I kept my voice low to avoid the attention of any snoops wandering through the neighborhood. Though the houses on this road were spaced quite a ways apart, each having substantial acreage, I didn’t want to take a chance. I wouldn’t put it past some gossipmonger like Heddy to come craning her neck in hopes of seeing something interesting.
He groaned as I helped him up. Once we were sitting on the side steps, relatively protected from view by a large huckleberry bush in the front yard, I turned to him. “Okay, spill it. What’s going on? Why were you hiding in the bushes?”
“I had to talk to you. I didn’t kill Lydia. On my word, it wasn’t me. I heard they were looking for me and panicked and ran but by then it was too late—the roadblocks were up and the cops were watching the ferry. I don’t know what to do.” With a mournful shrug, he fell silent again.
I bit my lip, regarding him silently. Trevor was a handsome young man, about twenty-three, with his whole life in front of him. From what I’d gotten to know of him, he was a good-hearted soul and, even if he wasn’t the brightest bulb in the socket, he had qualities that more than made up for it. When he said he hadn’t killed Lydia, I believed him. Well, ninety-five percent. I never trusted anybody unconditionally, another useful lesson taught to me by my absentee father.
“Here’s the thing. You’re lucky it was too late to run.” When he jerked his head to stare at me, I held up one hand. “No, hear me out. Trev, you have to turn yourself in. If you run, if you make them hunt you down, everybody will assume you’re guilty and the cops won’t even bother trying to find any other suspects.” I paused, debating whether to tell him that the cops found his hammer covered with blood. On one hand, it would be interesting to see his reaction. On the other, if he was guilty, I didn’t want to be his next target.
He pushed himself to his feet and leaned against the wall, hands jammed in his pockets. “Do you think I’m stupid? I know that! Logically, I know that. But it’s so damned scary. Persia, I was angry at Lydia, but I didn’t hate her enough to kill her. You believe me, don’t you?”
Maybe not enough to kill her, I thought, but you wanted to hurt her… at least that’s what you told me. I kept my mouth shut, though.
“Come on, sit down,” I said, feeling trapped between two equally frightening choices. If Trevor refused to turn himself in, and the police found out that I’d talked to him and didn’t tell them, I’d be in for a whole lot of grief. On the other hand, Trevor was frightened and relying on me to help him out and if I betrayed him, he’d blame me
forever. My gut said he was innocent. My head said, be a friend, but be careful.
I tried again. “Listen to me. Aunt Florence called her lawyer. He’s the best there is in Gull Harbor and he said he’d take your case. However, if you don’t turn yourself in, the court’s going to brand you Guilty with a big red G and you know you won’t get a fair shake then. Let me call Kyle. If you turn yourself in voluntarily, they’ll see it as show of good faith. That can go a long way with a judge.”
He scuffed the ground with his foot and I knew he was mulling it over.
“Trev, think how hard it’s going to be if you head out on the road. Life as a fugitive won’t be easy and murder has no statute of limitations. You’d always be a wanted man.” I paused, then shrugged. “There aren’t a lot of hiding places on this island. You aren’t going to escape.”
His voice trembled. “I could end up in the electric chair for this, if they decide I’m guilty.” He scuffed his foot on the step and finally said, “If I turn myself in, will you help me? I know that Florence’s lawyer is probably the best there is, but I’d feel better knowing that he wasn’t the only one on my side. A lot of people hated Lydia, and somebody set me up to take the blame for her death. I’m not taking the fall for anybody.”
I held out my hand and he helped me to my feet. “Come on, let’s go call Kyle.” As we headed toward the door, I added, “I’ll do whatever I can to help. I believe you didn’t kill her.” I just hoped it was the truth.
Wrapped in a thick terrycloth robe, Aunt Florence was coming out of the downstairs bath when Trevor and I walked through the door. Her long silver hair, unbound from the braid in which she usually kept it, hung flowing and wet to the small of her back. She looked at me, then at Trevor, then back at me.
“Good Lord, you two about gave me a heart attack.” Her eyes narrowed as she scanned Trevor’s face. “Trevor, you are in a heap of trouble. What were you thinking, running off like that? You can’t afford any more stupid stunts.” She glanced down at her robe. “Persia, call Winthrop and tell him to get his butt in gear. Once he’s here, he can notify the police and help Trevor turn himself in. I’ll go get dressed.”
Before either of us could say a word, she turned and disappeared up the stairs. Trevor slung himself into the rocking chair, a pained look on his face. He knew better than to cross Aunt Florence—we all did. I thumbed through her address book and punched in Winthrop Winchester’s number, keeping an eye on Trev so that he didn’t bolt. The lawyer’s housekeeper answered, and I gave her my name and told her that Florence Vanderbilt needed to speak to him. Within less than five minutes, he was on his way.
I motioned for Trevor to follow me into the kitchen, where I started a pot of coffee and fished out a plate of cookies. As an afterthought, I plopped a thick hamburger patty in the skillet.
“You hungry?” I asked.
He nodded.
“You like mustard, ketchup?” I asked.
“Yeah. No mayo though. What are you doing? Fixing my last supper?” His gaze darted toward the back door. It occurred to me that if he was guilty, he might be thinking about the hammer and where he’d left it. If not, he might just be frightened. Either way, I couldn’t let him escape.
“No, just feeding you before reality hits and you faint. You look like you’re starving.” Trev settled down as I buttered a hamburger bun and popped it into the toaster oven, then placed a thick slice of cheddar over the ground beef once I’d flipped it. By the time I finished cooking the burger, Aunt Florence had returned, wearing a mu’umu’u cut from black tapa cloth and covered with green and purple patterns. Her hair was tidily braided, caught by a green ribbon at the end.
She nodded approvingly at Trevor as he ate. “Good thinking, Persia. We don’t want the boy lightheaded. Did you get hold of Winthrop?”
“He’ll be here in a few minutes. He said not to call the police until he gets here.” Trev ate at the breakfast nook while I washed up the pan and Aunt Florence tended the pot of coffee. I was just about to hang up the dishtowel when the doorbell rang. The three of us played round robin, staring at the door, and then finally, Aunt Florence made her way over and peeked out the peephole.
“Shoot,” she said, hurrying back to us. “It’s Kyle. I’ll keep him in the living room while you two hide in the den. Don’t make any noise. We want Winthrop here before Kyle sets eyes on Trevor.”
I grabbed Trevor’s hand and pulled him into the den, where I motioned for him to sit down, then cracked the door a sliver to see if I could hear what was going on. Unfortunately, their voices were indistinct and the steady drone of the ceiling fan drowned them out. With a shake of my head I gently eased the door shut, then sat down next to the shivering young man and put my arm around his shoulders.
“It will be all right,” I whispered. “Winthrop’s a damned good lawyer.”
“But what if he can’t find the evidence we need to prove I’m innocent? A lot of guys go to jail for crimes they didn’t commit. I don’t want to spend my life behind bars just because my girlfriend dumped me and I yelled at her.”
I shuffled through the top right drawer of Aunt Florence’s desk where she kept some of her medications. There, in a bottle that I recognized immediately, was the aromatherapy blend I’d made for her to calm her nerves. I’d designed the scent to soothe anxiety and reduce stress.
I unscrewed the top and motioned for him to give me his hand, then dabbed a few drops on his fingers. “Hold your fingers under your nose,” I said. “Breathe slowly and evenly.”
Trevor lifted his hand to his face and did as I asked. After a moment, I could see his shoulders loosen just a little, and he slumped back in the chair and closed his eyes, resting his head against the cushion. Just then, there was a tap on the door. Aunt Florence’s voice echoed from the other side.
“Winthrop is here, I’m going to let him in now.” She ushered in the lawyer, a tall, stocky, beady-eyed man with a Fu Manchu moustache. He wore a dark gray suit and was carrying a briefcase.
After giving me a perfunctory nod, he said, “I’d like to talk to my client alone for a few moments, if you two ladies will excuse yourselves.” As we closed the door behind us, I could hear Trevor as he began to answer Winthrop’s questions.
Kyle didn’t look happy. He shifted his weight as he leaned against one of the pillars on the low wall that ushered the foyer into the living room, but said nothing. Aunt Florence ignored him. I followed suit. Within a few moments, Winthrop Winchester entered the room and spoke in quiet whispers with the chief of police. After Kyle gave him a perfunctory nod, the lawyer disappeared again, then returned with Trevor in tow.
Trevor’s gaze flickered over to me. I gave him a stalwart smile, and Aunt Florence patted his shoulder as he passed by. When he was standing in front of Kyle, he straightened his shoulders.
Winthrop cleared his throat. “My client wishes to surrender himself at this time. He is doing so in order to clear his name, not as an admission of guilt.” Winthrop listened while Kyle read Trevor his rights, asked if he understood them, and then snapped on the handcuffs. The three men turned and silently passed through the door.
Chapter 7
I WOKE TO a piercing shriek that turned into a cock-a-doodle-doo as I came to full waking consciousness. As I lay there, trying to shake myself out of my dreams, another round of crowing split the air and I jumped out of bed and yanked open the curtains. Yep, just as I thought. For the first time since I’d moved back to Moss Rose Cottage, Hoffman had decided to hightail it up on the roof and let out a brazen war cry.
Within minutes, I heard a thumping on the stairs as Auntie came rushing into my room. “What’s that racket? Not Hoffman?”
I pointed out the window, to where he’d picked a spot to make his stand. “Want me to shoo him down?”
“No! He’s not geared toward flight. The stupid bird hardly ever goes outside. Persia, I hate to ask this but could you…” One look at Auntie’s face was all it took. I
pulled on a pair of yoga pants and a tank top and gently opened the window. As I climbed out onto the roof, I held my breath, praying Hoffman wouldn’t take it into his head to go zooming off into the wild blue yonder and end up a streak of chicken mush on the sidewalk, but he just looked at me, quizzically turning his head.
The roof near my window was slanted, but not at such an angle that I couldn’t navigate it if I was careful, and so I inched my way over to the rooster, gritting as the rain-slicked shingles scraped my hands. “You dumb bird.” I kept my voice as pleasant and soft as possible. “Come to mama and we’ll make chicken fricassee tonight.”
Thank heavens it wasn’t raining. Though the roof was wet, I was able to keep my balance and creep right up to his side. Hoffman even helped out, ambling over to stare into my face with his two beady little eyes. I let him get close enough and made a grab with one arm, steadying myself with the other. Bingo! Mission accomplished. Rooster safe and secure. He squawked all the way as I scooted myself back to the window and handed him through to Auntie.
“Here, take him before I decide to make soup.” I flashed her a grin to show that I wasn’t serious, and she laughed. “How’d he get out?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. He must have slipped out when I woke up around five and decided to step outside for a breath of fresh air. I guess I just didn’t notice him. We’ll have to be more careful with the doors. The last thing I want is for the cats to get out.” She trundled off down the stairs.
After that delightful morning jaunt, I knew I’d never get back to sleep so decided to squeeze in a workout before breakfast. I padded into my home gym. My aunt knew how important fitness was to me, so the day I moved in she handed me a charge card and told me to go crazy at the Fitness Warehouse. I’d taken her at her word and outfitted my home gym with a Bow-Flex machine, stationary bike, treadmill, home Pilates Reformer, exercise mat, yoga mat and blocks, a new stability ball and stretchy bands, and a TV and stereo.
Scent to Her Grave Page 8