The Scent of Murder--A Mystery

by Kylie Logan

  And that was that.

  Or at least it would have been if Jazz hadn’t noticed one thing. When she walked into the office, when she mentioned Florie’s name, Joyce Wildemere had casually reached a hand across her desk and slid an envelope beneath a stack of books. It was a Pepto Bismol–pink envelope decorated with white polka dots the size of half dollars.

  At the same time she thanked Joyce Wildemere for taking the time to talk to her, Jazz reminded herself that she didn’t believe in coincidences.

  She made a quick stop at Florie’s school studio.

  And found it completely bare.

  The sign that said FLORIE’S PLACE was gone. So were the photographs on the wall—the champagne bottle popping, the wise old woman, the tabby cat.

  All gone.

  So was the stack of pink envelopes.

  “You just missed them.”

  Just walking out of the studio, Jazz turned in time to see Khari walking into one of the other studios, his long dreadlocks swaying around his shoulders and brushing the extra-large pizza box he carried.

  “Florie’s parents came by earlier,” he told her. “They cleaned out her studio.”

  Jazz thanked him and raced to her car. She couldn’t say why it mattered; she only knew it did, and she was disappointed when she got to Murray Hill and heard the same thing from Meg and Croc in the second-floor apartment.

  Florie’s parents had been and gone and her room was bare.

  There wasn’t a trace of Florie Allen left anywhere.

  CHAPTER 15

  Spring can be ugly in Cleveland, and the next Sunday proved it.

  There was a bone-chilling rain falling when Jazz took Luther for his morning walk, an icy spray too persistent to call a mist that turned into a steady downpour by the time they got home, had breakfast, and she loaded him into the car to go to the derelict amusement park to meet her fellow trainers.

  Once there, Jazz parked her SUV up against a maintenance shed with peeling green paint and a roof with missing shingles, and watched raindrops patter on the windshield.

  “Doesn’t it figure?” she asked Luther, though she couldn’t say if he was listening or not since he was in his crate, all the way in the back of the vehicle. “I think the universe is trying to tell me something.”

  That would certainly explain why the weather matched her mood.

  Gathering the enthusiasm for heading out into the elements, she couldn’t help but think about what she’d spent every waking hour since Thursday thinking about. Well, when she wasn’t thinking about her mom’s text (Home, honey, and reporting in as ordered. One more glass of wine and we’ll call it a night) and what it meant, and if the mysterious Peter Nestico was destined to become more of a presence in their lives than Jazz was ready for.

  When she wasn’t worrying about her mom, she’d been giving herself a figurative kick in the pants.

  What was she thinking, accusing Tate Brody?

  How on earth did she imagine that embarrassing herself and chasing shadows was going to help Florie?

  In that one moment, with the rain pinging against the car like buckshot and her fellow handlers hunched under a nearby overhang and looking like wraiths thanks to the fogged car windows, Jazz decided she was done.

  There was nothing she could do for Florie, no peace she could bring to the girl’s family. There was nothing to discover that she didn’t already know.

  And what she already knew was that she was wasting her time and making herself look like a horse’s ass.

  Determined to get on with her life the way it had been before she found Florie’s body, ran into Nick, inconvenienced half of Cleveland with her questions and her innuendos, and even heard the name Peter Nestico, much less imagined what he and her mom were up to, she pushed open the car door and hopped out.

  Cathy Greztman had obviously been waiting for exactly that, because in a matter of seconds, she splashed her way over. As the newest member of the training team, Cathy was still in her probationary period—that time when both the team and the prospective member size each other up and decide if they’re a good fit—and Jazz knew she’d never make it.

  Cathy was a habitual complainer, a retired accountant who had a head of silvery hair and a frown like a shriveled jack-o’-lantern. She peered at Jazz from beneath the hood of her navy-blue rain jacket. “Really? We’re really going to spend a few hours out here in this weather?”

  “You don’t have to.” Jazz had left Luther in his soft-sided portable crate in the SUV. There was no use both of them being miserable. Without a leash to hold, she poked both her hands into the pockets of her yellow slicker. “But it is good for the dogs to work in all sorts of weather. Scents spread differently in the rain, remember, and you don’t want Arnold…” Cathy’s dog sat at her side, and when he heard his name, the pitty mix looked up, his tongue darting out of his mouth to capture a raindrop. “You don’t want him to be skittish in rain.”

  “He’s not skittish. I’m skittish,” Cathy harrumphed, but she set her jaw and went to stand with the rest of the team, waiting beneath the minimum protection provided by the building’s overhanging roof. The others—there were six who’d come out in spite of the weather—had left their dogs in their cars, and Cathy finally got the message and kenneled Arnold.

  One less animal to worry about.

  Jazz closed in on her fellow handlers, stepping into a small dry spot outside the door of the maintenance shed. “Matt ought to be here by now,” she said.

  “He better get his ass in gear.” Donny Folbrook was a longtime member of the group, a registered nurse who lived and breathed human remains detection and was an excellent handler. His Australian cattle dog, Sheik, had won competitions around the country. Donny lit a cigarette. “Matt’s in charge today. He said he had the training all planned out.”

  “I hope nothing happened to him.” Remembering her own white-knuckle drive, Jazz glanced beyond the chain-link fence that ringed the property. The streets were slick with standing water, and too many drivers were unconscious idiots. She’d seen more than one near accident on the ride from home, and what should have been a forty-minute trip had taken an hour. “I’ll call him.”

  Before she could, Matt’s SUV wheeled up to the main gate. He leaned out the window, poked in the security code, and a minute later, he was parked nearby.

  When he sauntered over, his smile was not in keeping with the weather.

  “We were worried,” Jazz told him.

  Matt hadn’t bothered to pull up the hood of his slicker. Raindrops plopped on his head, rolled across his forehead, snaked along his cheeks.

  He clapped a hand on Jazz’s shoulder. “No problemo! What are we waiting for?” he asked no one in particular, and they got to work.

  Jazz and Luther were up first, and she was just as glad. She was more than willing to stand out in the rain and watch the other dogs work, offer advice, learn a thing or two, but once his training time was done, Luther could go back into the car and snuggle into the blankets she’d put in his crate.

  Considering the rain and the stiff breeze that kicked up out of the north, the shepherd did great. He found the ulna Matt hid behind the maintenance shed, and a metacarpal Matt had taken a real chance with, dropping it into a two-inch-deep puddle. Detecting the scent of decomp through water was a specialty not even Manny had ever mastered, and Jazz couldn’t wait to call Greg that evening and let him know that they’d discovered new depths (literally) to Luther’s talents.

  Once he was finished working, Jazz gave Luther a treat and put him back in the car. By the time she rejoined the group where they stood in a cluster on top of a rise at the end of a pitted asphalt drive, the rain had let up a little, but they still had their hoods up, their shoulders hunched, their hands in their pockets. Matt had just sent Cathy out to hide behind an old hot-dog stand so one of the search-and-rescue dogs could get some work in, and Jazz came up behind him.

  “I know why I’m in a good mood,” she told him. “Lut
her did great today. I can’t wait to tell Greg.”

  “I can tell you’ve been working with him.”

  Jazz swiped a raindrop from the tip of her nose. “That doesn’t explain why you’ve been smiling the whole time you’ve been here.”

  Like every other member of the team, Matt watched the golden who belonged to Bob Harris do sweeping figure eights between rows of dilapidated buildings where parkgoers had once bought food, played games of chance, had their names etched into flattened pennies. From there Scooter raced across the drive to the waist-tall vegetation that grew in an empty lot. Oblivious of the rain, the dog pelted along, back and forth, his nose in the air, waiting to catch Cathy’s scent, and when he did, he took off toward the old hot-dog stand to be sure, then came back to sit down next to Bob, signaling that he’d found what he was looking for.

  “Show me,” Bob said, and handler and dog took off. A minute later, they came back with Cathy, who looked more miserable than ever, and the team called out praise for the dog.

  “Good boy, Scooter!”

  “Way to go, Scoot!”

  While Scooter went from person to person so they could play with him and the tug toy Bob had given him as a reward, Matt slipped an arm around Jazz’s shoulders.

  “Thanks,” he said.

  “Thanks for…” She glanced at Matt. “What did I do?”

  “You introduced me to Sarah.”

  “I did. But I didn’t—” Jazz groaned. “Damn! I’m sorry, Matt, you asked for Sarah’s number and I told you I’d ask her if it was okay. It completely slipped my mind. But—” She gave him a careful look. Nonchalance was not Matt’s strong suit and he didn’t even try to disguise the smile that lit his face. “If that’s true, why are you grinning like that?”

  “You didn’t ask her if it was okay. You didn’t give me her number. As it turned out, you didn’t need to. Sarah found me all on her own.”

  “How—”

  “Don’t ask me!” Just the way she’d seen her brothers do when they were particularly pleased with themselves, Matt rocked back on his heels. “I think she called every fire station in town until she tracked me down. Some woman, huh? Just proves how anxious she was to see me again. We went out last night.”

  “Went out as in had dinner and saw a movie and said good night at the door, or—?”

  “Oh, definitely the or.” Matt winked. “Her kids were with their dad, the lights were low, the champagne was flowing, and—”

  “I don’t need to hear this!” As if it could stop the images that automatically danced through her brain, Jazz covered her ears and pulled away from Matt. She’d always thought of him as another brother, and she did not need specifics from a brother. Besides, she was sure she’d hear it all—in detail—from Sarah. “I’m glad you two are—”

  It was just as well Matt’s phone rang, because Jazz wasn’t exactly sure what she was going to say.

  I’m glad you two are getting along seemed pretty lame, considering.

  I’m glad you two had wild, passionate sex and you’re still smiling about it was a little too personal.

  “Hey, people!” Matt finished his call and tucked his phone in his pocket. He raised his voice and waved to the team. “We just got a call, a missing kid in Cleveland. Anybody want to put their dogs through the paces?”

  Except for Donny, who said he’d hang back with Sheik, the ulna, and the metacarpal, and Cathy, who used the excuse of an oncoming cold—and would obviously never be back now that she’d gotten a taste of how uncomfortable training could be—they all did, and a few minutes later they were in a caravan, following Matt and driving toward the city. Training was over. It was time for the dogs to get down to real work.

  * * *

  The recreation center where ten-year-old Samantha Luckey was last seen was separated from a freeway by a playground and a baseball field. Half the team went in that direction, the dogs sweeping back and forth, noses in the air, alert and anxious to do their jobs.

  Jazz hung back. Luther had picked right up on the scents of the other dogs, who’d headed across the ball diamond, and he knew he was missing out on the action. In his crate, he panted and whined, antsy to join them, but he wasn’t trained in search and rescue and—thank goodness—no one coordinating the search had even said the words human remains. Once Matt got his final instructions from the uniformed police officers he talked to outside the rec center, she’d tag along with him and Buddy.

  It would be a treat, really, to join in the search for a living person and not worry about the dead.

  Jazz held onto the thought—at least until she saw Nick step out of the building.

  At least until he caught sight of her and closed in.

  He was dressed casually, in jeans and a green sweatshirt from Cleveland State University, and since it had stopped raining, his jacket was unzipped and his hood was down.

  “Did you bring Luther?” he asked, a strip of blacktop between them like a gulf.

  Her throat clutched. “They think the little girl is dead. You wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

  “Oh, God, no!” He closed the distance between them, and she had the feeling he would have pulled her into a comforting hug if he had the nerve. She was glad he didn’t. “I heard the commotion and came out to see what was going on. I told Santiago and Tom…” His look at the black-and-white patrol car with its rollbar flashing told her those were the two uniformed cops talking to Matt. “I offered to help out if I could. I’m really just here for a meeting about this year’s baseball season.”

  He didn’t have to explain. Nick had coached baseball there at the rec center for years, and if he was asked, he would no doubt say what he always said—he loved the game. Jazz knew better. An only child, he’d grown up just around the corner with no dad and a mom who, even though it was just a bit past noon and a Sunday to boot, was probably already getting hammered at one of the local bars. Nick wanted to give neighborhood kids the attention he’d never had.

  The attention he’d never given their relationship because he was always too busy with his work and other people’s children.

  Jazz brushed away the thought. Right now all that mattered was that one of those children was missing.

  “When I saw you, I thought you knew something had happened to the girl.”

  “As far as we know, Samantha just wandered away.”

  “You know her?”

  “I know the face.” He twitched his shoulders. “I work with the boys, but Samantha, she’s here a lot so I’ve seen her around. She loves Beyoncé and jump rope. Nice kid, though I hear her mother is a real piece of work.”

  Jazz did not point out the obvious. She didn’t ask about Kim, either, because if she did, he’d tell her what he always used to tell her when she asked about his mother—Kim was fine.

  Even though she never was.

  Nick poked a thumb over his shoulder. “I thought I’d walk the neighborhood and see what I can see. As long as you’re here, you could bring the dog and come along.”

  She could. If she was certifiable.

  “Luther’s not a search-and-rescue dog,” she said.

  Nick closed the distance between them and leaned close enough to peer into the back window of the car, and Luther barked. “I hear you were out at Geauga Lake. That’s a long drive. I bet he’d like to stretch his legs.”

  She took her car keys out of her pocket. “We’re not far from home. I’ll walk him there.”

  “I get it.” He backed away from the car and the conversation. “I understand you probably don’t want to risk it. I mean, I don’t think anything happened to Samantha, but if it did, if there was a chance you might find another body, I can see how you’d be feeling a little gun-shy.”

  She bristled. “Are you questioning my professionalism, Detective?”

  Nick was quick to defend himself. “Hey, nobody could blame you if that’s how you feel. Finding Florie Allen like you did, then going out looking for another possible victim so soon after, t
hat would make anybody hesitant.”

  “Except I’m not hesitant.”

  “But you are hesitating.”

  She hit the release button on the back of the tailgate, hooked Luther’s leash to his collar so he could jump down, and locked the car.

  “Let’s go,” she said.

  She felt a rush of gratification when Nick had to scramble to catch up to her.

  Unfortunately, it didn’t last long.

  Jazz locked her knees and shot him a look. “You did that purposely.”

  “Did what?”

  “Said that about how I was afraid to go out and do a search. You did that purposely because you knew you’d piss me off. You knew I’d come with you.”

  He had the nerve to smile. “It worked, didn’t it?” When she stepped back toward the car, he darted to the side, blocking her way. “Come on, what can it hurt? A walk will be good for both of us. And for Luther.”

  He was right about the dog. And maybe he was right about himself, too. Jazz wasn’t so sure how right he was about her.

  She waved to Matt, a signal that she was heading out.

  “Matt’s looking well.” Nick carefully avoided a puddle. But then, he didn’t know he’d be out in the elements that day. She was wearing waterproof boots. He had on sneakers. “I haven’t seen him in a while.”

  They had known each other well back when Nick and Jazz dated. Nick, Matt, Hal, Owen. Her dad liked to call them the Four Stooges, only when he did, it was always with a smile.

  Jazz knew it was dangerous to get too personal, yet it didn’t feel right not sharing news so monumental about people they both knew. “Matt and Sarah are dating.”

  Nick whistled low under his breath. “No offense, I mean, I know she’s your friend and everything, but—”

  “Sarah’s high maintenance.” It wasn’t news to Jazz. “And Matt’s no prize, either. He’s got a reputation when it comes to women.”

  “And it never ends well.”

  Jazz shrugged. “Not my problem.” She knew it would be. When whatever it was that Matt and Sarah had of a relationship fell apart, she’d hear about it from both of them and be expected to take sides.