Lavender and Lies

by London Lovett

  "That's right. How did that go? Did he have anything interesting to add to your case?" There was a touch of teasing in his tone.

  I stopped. "James Briggs, you act as if I'm some silly woman who is delusional in thinking she can solve a murder. I've solved quite a few of them."

  He took hold of my hand and pulled me closer for a kiss. "You are so adorable when you are mad." He gazed down at me with those dark brown eyes. The soothing scent that was a mix of his soap and aftershave surrounded me. Any touch of anger vanished.

  "And, you don't play fair with that magnetic brown gaze," I complained. "How can a girl stay mad? Although, I'm still sore about your derisive tone when mentioning my case. I'm going to solve it. Just wait and see."

  He hugged me. "I have no doubt about it. I'm sorry about teasing you. You're the best assistant a detective could have."

  "Partner," I muttered as I peeled myself out of his arms and took hold of his hand to continue our walk.

  "Assistant," he muttered in response.

  "If you say so," I said, teasingly. "Anyhow, back to marvelous Marty." I laughed at the alliteration. "That's a perfect name for him. He's such a great guy. He told me so many stories that I didn't leave his house until close to eleven."

  "Should I be jealous?" he asked.

  "Yes, you should. Especially because Marty found an old photograph of his mother standing with her friend Jane Price."

  It had been a few months since I'd brought up the Hawksworth investigation so it took Briggs a few seconds to remember the name Jane Price. "Oh, that was Harvard Price's daughter from his first marriage. Do you think she's tied up in all this?"

  "Not sure but I think I might be closer to linking her to Bertram Hawksworth."

  The wharf was mostly deserted. The shops and kiosks were closed for the night. Without the usual lively conversations, intermittent shrieks of the gulls and rumble of boat motors, our footsteps reverberated on the weathered dock much louder than they would have during a busy day. Aside from the rhythmic thumps and clangs of boats in their slips, the only other sound was a woman's laugh. It rolled out from the boat slips and bounced along planks.

  My hand was still wound tightly around Briggs' arm as we trod lightly along the uneven wood planks that made up the long stretch of dock between the moored vessels.

  "What did Marty have that is helping you link Jane Price to the Hawksworth murder?" Briggs asked.

  "Not sure if I should tell you because you might think I'm just grasping at straws, or, in this case, lavender."

  He looked over at me. "Did you just say lavender?"

  "Yes. Remember when I told you about the love letters to Teddy from Button? Well, they were in Bertram's trunk with his personal belongings, so it's fairly easy to deduce that he was Teddy. But my intuition tells me that his wife, Jill, was not Button. I think I might have mentioned that there was a piece of dried lavender still stuck inside one of the letters."

  "You might have mentioned it," he agreed.

  "Well, it just so happens that Jane Price was holding a bouquet of lavender in the picture Marty showed me. He said she used to grow it in a field behind the mayor's office. She made soap out of it."

  Briggs tilted his head side to side. "Could mean something or could just be a coincidence."

  I was just about to give my view on his comment when a figure climbed out of the boat in the second to last slip of the marina. It was the luxury boat called Funtasy where I'd seen the glamorous woman sipping her pink cocktail.

  I stopped short, inadvertently pulling Briggs to a stop too. The tall figure leaned down to kiss the aforementioned glamorous woman (only without the pink cocktail) goodbye, then spun on his expensive loafers our direction. The overhead lights on the dock illuminated his face, but I already knew the man leaving the boat was none other than Lionel.

  "Boy, that man is busy as a beaver," I muttered under my breath and pulled a confused Briggs along.

  Lionel nodded at us. "Evening."

  "Evening," Briggs said in return.

  I hurried him along, out of ear shot of the boat.

  "Why do I get the feeling I'm about to be tied up and thrown onto a pirate boat?" Briggs asked. "Is there a reason you are dragging me toward the end of the marina?"

  I turned back to make sure we were far enough away from Funtasy and Lionel's other girlfriend.

  Briggs was smiling with amusement. "I like it when you get all clandestine, like an adorable secret spy. What is going on?"

  "That man we just passed—the one who kissed the woman on that boat goodbye—"

  "Yes, I saw all that."

  "That is Kate's new, rich boyfriend, the guy who bought the Palmer house." He stared back at me, not quite sure what was stunning enough to cause me to pull him to a quiet place, away from the boats. (Typical man.) His brows rose with sudden comprehension.

  "Ah, I see, he was kissing that woman on the boat, and that was definitely not Kate Yardley so he's a two timer."

  I held up three fingers. "He's a three timer. Yesterday, he was inside Lola's shop buying an expensive necklace for a widow who lives near him in Chesterton."

  "Huh, I don't know whether to be disgusted or impressed," he said off-handedly.

  I stared up at him. He caught my scowl.

  "Disgusted," he said emphatically. "Definitely disgusted."

  "Good answer. Now I'll even invite you to my house for a movie." I took his arm again, and we started the journey back.

  Chapter 12

  The distinctive buzz of a phone woke me from a deep sleep, only as I opened my eyes I realized I wasn't in bed and the pillow under my head was a chest. My arm had fallen asleep, and it tingled as I pushed to sitting. Briggs' head was leaned back against the couch. He was fast asleep, his arm still around me and our legs in somewhat of a tangle. I lowered his arm from around me and rather than wake, he groaned quietly as his head slipped to the side. I fumbled around for the remote and turned off the television.

  The phone buzzed again. I tapped his chest. "Hey, sleepy man, that's your phone."

  It took him a second to open his eyes. He glanced around confused by his surroundings.

  "We fell asleep watching the movie," I explained. "But I think you're needed."

  "No, I think you're needed." He circled his arms around me and pulled me against him. His phone buzzed again. He groaned louder. He released me and reached for the phone on the coffee table.

  "Briggs here." He sat forward. "Go ahead."

  I got up to put on some coffee. Something told me he was going to need it. Naturally, I kept a curious ear turned in the direction of the couch.

  "Yeah, get the evidence team over there, but tell them not to touch anything until I get there. Text me the address. I'll be there in ten." He got up from the couch, rolled down his shirt sleeves and buttoned the top of his shirt. "Got a dead body over in Chesterton." His phone beeped and he glanced at it. "They just sent me the address. Looks like it's the Palmer house. Maybe that guy cheated on one too many women."

  Stunned, I put the coffee pot down. "Is Lionel dead?"

  "Not sure yet. They've got a male victim. The neighbors heard a gunshot and decided to call the police." He grabbed his coat from the hook and pulled it on, oblivious to the pleading look I was giving him. He finally noticed it when he walked over to kiss me goodbye.

  I stared up at him with my best, pretty please smile.

  "It's the middle of the night, Lacey. You don't want to be hanging out at a murder scene at this hour."

  I switched to my annoyed brow raise look.

  He stared down at me. "Oh, all right, get your coat."

  I did the fast clap and tap shoe dance, then hurried to the coat hook. "Good thing we fell asleep during the movie. That way we are both rested and ready to investigate."

  He helped me put on my coat. "How many people would be this cheery to be woken from a sound sleep and sent out into the cold night air to inspect a corpse?" he asked. "Don't answer that. I already know
. One. Just one person in the world." He pulled the hood up on my coat and yanked it down around my ears to draw me closer for a kiss.

  We headed out and climbed into his car. He started the motor and turned on the heater. "Did you happen to see the end of the movie?" he asked.

  "I think I fell asleep just before the pivotal moment when all was revealed." I pushed the heater vents so they were pointed directly at me.

  He backed the car out of the driveway. "Great, so now we'll never know who the murderer was, and I don't think I can sit through the whole thing again just to find out how it ends."

  "It was the wife," I said confidently, even though I had no real clue about it. "She had those shifty eyes, and she was wearing tight leather pants. Never trust a woman in tight leather pants."

  His wry smile popped up. "Why is that?"

  "Can you imagine how uncomfortable tight leather pants would be? You can't be of sound mind if you look in your closet and say, why, I think I'll wear those tight leather pants today. They look super comfy."

  Briggs nodded. "Good point. However, it probably wouldn't stand up in court."

  The high end Chesterton neighborhood was quiet and dark until we reached the explosion of red flashing lights and police activity at the end of the street. A few neighbors were staring out windows, and some had pulled on plush robes to stand, pale with concern, on their front porches as they watched police and emergency personnel crisscross the vast front yard of the house that was the center of action. While the other houses on the block had lush, verdant green front lawns, Briggs and I found ourselves hiking over dried, dead weeds. The landscaping was nonexistent in front of the massive home. Lionel's Porsche was sitting in the driveway in front of the garage. The bright light of the evidence team shone through the large front windows of the house.

  A policewoman with the Chesterton uniform met us as the front door. She briefly glanced at me before turning her attention back to Briggs. "Sorry to pull you out of bed, Detective Briggs," she started. She gave me a second glance.

  "Officer Gillum, this is Lacey Pinkerton—"

  "Oh, this is the famous nose," Officer Gillum began then cut herself short. "Sorry, I mean so this is your girlfriend with the million dollar nose." She shook her head. "Sorry again." She nodded at me. "Nice to meet you. I've heard a lot about you and your talents." (I'd only just met her, but I liked her already.)

  She led us through the entryway. It became instantly clear that the interior of the house was in need of repair. Shredded strips of pale blue and silver wallpaper curled up along the wainscoting, which was badly in need of sanding and paint. Three electric wires dangled from the ceiling in the spot that probably once held a grand chandelier or light fixture.

  "The victim is a male, forty-two, according to his identification. Lionel Dexter," Gillum continued.

  It took me a second to absorb the information. It was just yesterday morning when Kate Yardley had been gushing about her new boyfriend. Briggs and I had just seen him kiss a woman on a luxury boat goodbye. And now the man was dead.

  "You mentioned the word identification," Briggs said as we were led past two hallways and into a large room with high ceilings and a great view of what I could only assume was Chesterton Bay, only it was too dark to enjoy.

  "Yes," Gillum said. "It wasn't a driver's license. Just an Ohio state identification card. We found it in his wallet, which was on the sofa in the sitting room. His credit cards and a hundred dollar bill were still inside. Spoke to a few of the neighbors. Apparently, he only just moved in, which would explain the lack of furniture." She glanced around the large room. It was mostly empty. "I was surprised to hear that someone bought this old wreck."

  "I was surprised too," Briggs said.

  "Must have gotten a good deal," she said. "I like to watch those restoration projects on the Home and Garden channel, and bringing a big place like this back to its former glory would cost a fortune."

  The officers standing around the body parted to allow Briggs and me through. Once again, I was going through some curious scrutiny until Officer Gillum kindly filled them in by pointing to her own nose and winking a few times.

  Lionel Dexter was on his back, dressed in a shiny, navy blue silk robe pulled over a pair of pajamas. Blood had spread out from a bullet hole in his chest.

  Briggs pulled a pair of latex gloves out of his pocket and handed me a pair as well. The circle of officers seemed to get smaller as they apparently moved in to watch the famous nose in action. I was certainly going to disappoint them. The overwhelming scent of Lionel's expensive cologne hovered in a dense cloud over his body. It would be hard to detect anything else, especially mixed as it was with the pungent smell of blood.

  "Cause of death looks pretty obvious," Briggs said. "Has the coroner been called?"

  "On their way," Gillum answered.

  Briggs peered up at Gillum. "Anything show up in the initial sweep? Any weapon yet?"

  "Negative on the weapon," she answered. "The front door was unlocked when we entered. No sign of forced entry so it seems he might have known the killer."

  "Officer Gillum," a voice called from the entry. "The coroner's team is here."

  "Right, let's clear this area so they can set up," Gillum ordered.

  Briggs looked at me. His hair was ruffled from sleep and his shirt was wrinkled, no doubt from me curling against him on the couch. He didn't look his usual polished self. I rather liked the rumpled look. It reminded me of one of those murder shows with the disheveled detective like Columbo. "Do you detect anything unusual, or is his cologne smothering everything else?" He waved his hand in front of his face. "It's a wonder any woman would go near him. He must bathe in the stuff."

  "Mariner Number Six," I said, confidently. It had taken me a few whiffs to finally discern which expensive cologne Lionel used, but my time in the perfume industry made me somewhat of an expert on particular brands.

  "What is that? Sounds like a code for something." Briggs looked rightly confused. Of course, he had no use for expensive, heavy men's colognes. He made simple soap smell divine.

  "That is the name of the cologne he uses—I mean used. I think it costs about a hundred dollars a bottle."

  Briggs' brows bunched up. "Seriously? He paid big bucks to smell this pungent?"

  "I'm afraid so. It's actually a nice smelling cologne, just not in such a large dose. Apparently, he liked to splash on a lot of it. I noticed it when he walked into Lola's shop to buy the vintage necklace."

  "That's right, you have some information about the various women he seemed to be courting. We'll have to talk about that later. Any other smells jump out at you?"

  I shook my head. "Nothing I can discern past the cologne and the blood. Not a pleasant mix, I might add."

  Voices and activity echoed in the entry, letting us know the coroner's team had arrived.

  Briggs offered me his hand and pulled me out of the crouched position. When no one was looking, he discretely reached up and pushed a curl of hair off my face. "Do you want to go back home and climb in bed, or do you want to have a look around the crime scene?" he asked.

  "What do you think, Detective Briggs?"

  Chapter 13

  Briggs returned to the entry to examine the front door. He ran his gloved hand along the edge of the door and door frame. I ran my sniffer around the room to see if I could catch any lingering scent of perfume but couldn't find even a trace of it. The large house was so empty and with its walls so devoid of wallpaper and proper paint, the porous plaster had absorbed years of mildew and stale air. The entire place should have been fumigated and checked for mold before anyone moved in, but it seemed Lionel Dexter hadn't minded a little stale, sour air.

  After a close examination, Briggs shut the door. "Like Gillum noted, no forced entry," he said.

  "Makes sense if it was one of his many girlfriends. He would have just invited them in. As long as he wasn't already entertaining," I added wryly.

  Briggs nodded. "Maybe he was
entertaining, and he had an unexpected visitor, exposing his infidelity."

  "Possible." I tapped my chin in thought. "Although, the crime scene suggests no struggle, like the killer just walked in and shot her unsuspecting victim point blank as if she had it all planned."

  "Good deduction, Miss Pinkerton." We were alone in the entry, so he managed to get in a little squeeze before getting back to business. "I notice you are using the pronoun she," he said. "Are you settled on the killer being a woman?"

  "I don't know if settled is the right word." We headed back down the hallway toward the kitchen area. "It's just that if the man was seeing various women, then it follows that someone would be left heartbroken, possibly even upset enough to kill."

  "Crimes of passion are definitely trending lately. But often the spurned lover goes after the person who has stolen their beloved away from them."

  "Yes, that's true, but in this case they went after the beloved. Or maybe it wasn't a crime of passion at all. Rich men tend to have plenty of enemies."

  "Good point." Briggs pushed open the door leading into a large kitchen that looked as if it had once been the hub of activity for vast, important social events and holidays. The copper pot and pan rack was still gleaming over a stove that was coated with dust and grease and what could easily be discerned as rat droppings. A dormitory sized refrigerator sat in the nook where a regular sized fridge once sat, according to the warped faded vinyl floor left behind. A long extension cord snaked up from the back of the mini refrigerator, stretching a good ten feet around a very old double oven and a cook's desk, to the nearest outlet.

  "Apparently, Lionel's personal chef hadn't arrived yet," Briggs quipped. "So, how do you know the woman on the small yacht?"

  "Can Funtasy be classified as a yacht?" I asked for no real reason except it was late and my attention was a little scattered. "I wasn't sure whether to consider it a yacht or a luxury cruiser or some such thing. And I don't know the woman Lionel was kissing at the marina."