by India Ink
“Christ, this is bad,” I dropped the report on the desk and glanced over at Trevor. “Are you okay? You handled those flowers.”
He nodded. “I went to the doctor. Though I’ve got a rash and some burning, I was lucky. I stopped once I noticed the residue. But Persia, if the roses were tampered with, what about the rest of the grounds? We’re going to have to go through every single garden to find out if anything else was touched. Including the herbs.”
I stared at him, my understanding growing. This could have a considerable impact on Venus Envy’s livelihood. If the roses were the only thing hurt, we could probably manage to get out of this without a major disaster, unless the soil was contaminated. If there were other casualties in our gardens…I didn’t want to think about what that might signify.
I glanced at the clock. Now, not only did I have to write that stupid speech and get my appointments out of the way, but I had to start figuring out what to do to cope with the current disaster. Auntie was going to need all the help she could get on this one. Or rather, I corrected myself, we were going to need all the help we could get. I was, after all, almost a partner.
“As soon as Auntie gets back, I’ll talk to her. Meanwhile, call Sarah and let her know what’s going on, then the two of you examine the rest of the gardens. Don’t overlook anything. In fact, I’m just going to make the decision that we should have samples from each garden tested. If your friend Dave can do it within the next few days, all the better. Be sure to wear protective clothing. I don’t want either you or Sarah dropping dead on me. Got it?”
He nodded. “Are you going to call the police?”
“Yeah, but I’ll wait till Auntie comes back. No doubt Kyle will have questions for all of us, and I want Auntie here when he comes over.”
“Who do you think could have done this?” Trev asked, pushing himself out of his chair, the look on his face gloomy.
I gazed into his eyes. “Trevor, I have a good idea of who might be behind it, but there’s no way to prove anything. So I’m going to wait until we talk to Kyle to voice my suspicions. But you and Sarah, keep an eye out for anybody wandering our property. Maybe it’s time we got a guard dog. Beast fancies himself one, but he’s about as ferocious as a three-week-old puppy.”
“Have you thought about fencing in the property? It would cost you plenty, but it might be a good idea. Right now there are any number of ways people can sneak onto your land.”
We had thirty acres; there were always going to be ways people could gain access to our gardens. But maybe we were making it too easy. “I’ll mention the idea to Auntie. As soon as she’s back from her lunch, we’ll head out to the house and meet you and Sarah there. I’ll call before we leave.”
As Trevor took off, leaving the bag of petals and the lab report with me, my thoughts turned immediately to the most likely culprit. Bebe Wilcox. It had to be her. Why she was so hell-bent on running us out of business, I wasn’t sure. Maybe it was simply that we were stiff competition, and our merchandise was far higher quality than hers. Whatever the case, the attack on our roses was tantamount to industrial sabotage, and neither Auntie nor I were of the nature to let the matter drop.
I slipped out into the main shop and motioned to Tawny. As soon as she finished ringing up Mrs. Gentry, she made her way over to where I was standing, out of earshot of any customers who might be wandering by.
“Tawny, we’ve got a bit of an emergency on hand. I want you to cancel my appointments for today. Call them, make some excuse, just don’t let them think anything’s wrong.”
“Nobody died, did they?” She glanced nervously at the back of the store, and I laughed gently, shaking my head. She’d never quite got over the fact that I’d found a body in the shop a few months back. “No, nobody died, but we have a crisis out at the gardens.”
She glanced through the appointment book. “Juanita Lopez is probably on her way—she’s due here in less than ten minutes. You want me to try her home number? She doesn’t have a cell phone.”
Juanita was one of my favorites. “No, I’ll take care of her, but call everyone else, and do it right now. Leave messages if you can’t reach them. And the minute Aunt Florence comes in, tell her I need to talk to her. Immediately.”
Juanita Lopez was not the woman she’d been a few months ago when she feared her husband was cheating on her. One of the lucky ones, she’d discovered the supposed affair was all in her imagination, and with the help of a fragrance oil I’d blended for her and a lot of work on her self-esteem, she’d blossomed from a woman worrying about wrinkles to the epitome of confidence and contentment. She’d changed from jeans and tee shirts to pantsuits, and now an elegant but simple application of makeup graced her face instead of the brilliant sheen of pink lipstick she used to wear. Her hands were still rough from the work she did, but she held her head high, and her eyes sparkled.
“Juanita, you’re positively glowing! Have a seat. What can I do for you today?” If I hadn’t been so worried about the roses, I would have been happy to see her. Over the months, Juanita and I’d developed an easy friendship.
She winked at me. “Give me a new fragrance, Persia. I still have half a bottle of Narcissus Dreaming, but I want something a little lighter and more playful—and I also want it in a custom blend of bath salts and lotion.”
“Summer fragrance,” I murmured, knowing exactly what she meant. I’d concocted Narcissus Dreaming for her when she feared for her marriage, and it had been perfect to elevate her mood and strengthen her perception of herself, but the scent was too heavy for the summer heat.
I pulled out my oils. Summer was all about the beach and waves and salt spray and strolling along the pier. But Juanita’s body chemistry couldn’t carry a crisp, breezy fragrance. I turned my thoughts away from the water toward the long, shady lanes that skirted the island, the parks and dusky evenings during which couples strolled hand in hand.
Starting with a base of apricot oil, I added an undertone of silver fir, then heady amounts of white camphor and rose. After that came a subtle but spicy mix of top notes: sandalwood, French vanilla, lemon, and sweet orange. One whiff told me it was perfect. I dabbed a drop on her wrists, asking her to walk around the shop for five minutes in order to get a clear idea of how the fragrance would blend with her body chemistry.
When she returned, she was lit up brighter than the rays of sun glinting through the arched windows over the door. “I love it! And so will my husband.”
“You wanted that in bath salts and lotion?” I asked.
She nodded. “Yes, and could you add a cologne base to this so I can use it as a spray? I like oils for winter, but in summer…”
“Not a problem.” I blended the oil into a cologne base and poured it in a spray bottle, labeled it Evening in Summer, then wrote up her order and invoice. “I’m in a bit of a time crunch. I don’t think I can have the bath salts and lotion ready before Wednesday. Will that be okay?”
“Of course,” she said, giving me a quick hug, after which she took her order to the counter, paid Tawny, and left.
I glanced at my watch, wondering just how long Auntie was going to be. Might as well use the time to work on the speech, I thought, but had to nix that plan before I could make it halfway to the office. Sharon Wellstone breezed into the shop, stopping me in my tracks.
Whoa. Sharon had been our model for the life-sized replica of The Birth of Venus that covered one entire wall of the shop, and her voluptuous figure was usually draped in a chiffon floral dress, nipped in at the waist and tied with a satin ribbon. Likewise, she usually wore her shining blonde hair held back by a wide velvet band. The ultimate Stepford Wife, albeit sexier than the all-American-woman image. But today, Sharon looked anything but dreamy.
Poured into a butt-hugging, thigh-showing, boob-boosting power suit, she carried a nifty briefcase—the type that turns into a shoulder bag. Her hair had been swept up into a chignon held by two black lacquer chopsticks, but it pulled at her temples, giving her that
taut, face-lift look of surprise. I didn’t quite know what to say as she quick-stepped her way up to me, her heels tapping smartly against the floor. The noise made me regret the fact that Auntie had taken up the carpet a month ago and had tile laid in its place.
“Persia! I’m so glad to see you!” Her voice had taken on a burr, and her enthusiasm immediately set me on edge. Usually I found Sharon congenial, but I wasn’t up for perky today.
“Sharon, you look so…different.” When in doubt, find a neutral word.
Just as I hoped, she took it as a compliment. “Thank you! I love my new look. It really suits me, don’t you think?”
I didn’t think, but refrained from commenting. “What can I do for you? A new fragrance to match your new style?”
She glanced around. “Persia, is your aunt around?”
“Still out to lunch, I think. Why, did you need to talk to her about something?”
A canny look crept into her eyes. “No, actually I wanted to talk to you. Have you given any thought to your future?”
My future? What was she doing, selling insurance? I cleared my throat. “I’ve made arrangements; I have my will, as well as all the insurance I need to cover emergencies or accidents.”
Confusion flashed across her face for a moment, then understanding. She shook her head and laughed with a light, almost giddy giggle. “No, no—I’m not trying to sell you anything.”
Good thing, I thought, because with that getup and her new persona, I doubted if Sharon Wellstone would have many takers unless it was to a lonely man looking for a bit of thigh with his policy.
“Can we sit down?” she asked.
I glanced at the clock. “I’m sorry, I’m so busy—”
“Please! This will only take a moment.”
With a sigh, I led her to my station and motioned for her to take a seat. “What’s up?” As she leaned over the counter, I began to tidy up, straightening my brochures, card, and fragrance journal.
Her eyes glittered with an unnatural brilliance, and I thought she might be high on something. “We want you.”
Huh? What the hell was she talking about? Not amused, I shook my head. “I don’t have time for riddles, Sharon. What are you talking about? Get to the point, please.”
She flushed as her words tumbled out like boulders caught in a rockslide. “I belong to Bebe’s Belles as a sales associate and HR person. Bebe wanted me to recruit you. Your expertise with fragrance isn’t going unnoticed in this town, nor in Seattle, either. You’ve made a name for yourself, and Bebe’s interested in negotiating a contract with you.” She settled back, a triumphant look on her face. There was something else there, but I couldn’t quite catch it. Envy? Irritation? Whatever it was, the look vanished, and she beamed again, her smile not rising to meet her eyes. “I promise, it will be worth your time.”
What the hell? “Sorry, not interested. I have no intention of stabbing my aunt in the back, and I would have hoped you’d realize that, but apparently I was wrong. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got work to attend to—”
“Think about it before you answer,” Sharon said, standing. Her gaze flickered over my station, over the store. “Venus Envy’s on the way down. And this is the kind of opportunity women long for. It could totally change your life. Get in with the right people, and your career will skyrocket. If you brought your lines over to Bebe’s, we would start advertising immediately. We could really get your name out there.”
I pushed aside my fragrance journal, wanting nothing more than to kick her butt out the door, but I managed to keep my voice even. “Asking me to betray my aunt is pretty much the last thing I ever expected to hear out of your mouth. I suggest you turn around and walk out the door before I tell you just where you can shove your offer, because my patience is wearing thin.”
“I can’t believe you’d pass this up. Think of the money you could make.” Sharon seemed miffed, but did I detect a slight hint of triumph behind her effervescent voice? Whatever the case, she was breathing so hard that the material across the front of her jacket strained, and I had a nerve-racking vision of buttons popping and boobs exploding out of the push-up bra she’d crammed them into.
“I choose to keep discussions of my monetary situation between me and my banker. And my loyalty isn’t for sale.” As I turned to leave, she dashed around the counter and caught my arm. I firmly grasped her hand and applied a little force, and she paled and let go.
“One last chance, Persia. You’re going to be sorry you turned us down. We’re offering you a chance to grow, to become a major force in the fragrance industry.”
I whirled on her. “At whose expense would that be? The expense of Venus Envy? Of my aunt and our relationship?” I jabbed her shoulder with my finger, not hard enough to hurt her, but enough to startle her into taking a step back. “Aunt Florence raised me as her own daughter. Yet you suggest I just toss her aside? I wouldn’t work for you if I was out on my ass in the pounding rain.” I pointed to the door. “You’d better go.”
Her cheerful demeanor disappeared like hot dogs at a Super Bowl party. She grimly shouldered her bag. “You’re making a mistake, Persia. We’re going to put Venus Envy out of business, and if you’re still here when that happens, good luck in finding a new job. If you come to your senses, give me a call, and I might be able to talk Bebe into reconsidering.”
And with that, she hightailed it out of the store.
Disconcerted, I motioned to Tawny. “I’ll be in the office. Send Auntie in as soon as she gets here.”
On my way to the office, I couldn’t help but wonder just who had applied that insecticide to our rosebushes. Could it have been Sharon? One of her cronies? Or was it Bebe Wilcox herself? I wanted to call Kyle, but Auntie needed to hear about this first.
An hour later, I had about one hundred words written, and was thoroughly depressed. I couldn’t get the problem with the roses off my mind, but the conference started tomorrow—on Saturday—and my speech was scheduled for Sunday. I’d better get on the ball. I sighed, knuckled down to work, and wrote an outline, highlighting the points on which I’d touch.
The use of scent harkened back to basic biology. Pheromones produced by insects and animals were the love potions of the natural world, drawing together those seeking romance and reproduction. Unfortunately for some of the creatures, their love code had been broken and mimicked by others in order to catch an unwary, love-struck dinner. Ants seemed to have particularly bad luck in this area.
And plants played their own form of deception. A few species of orchids—tropical in nature—had broken the code of wasps, inviting the creatures into a bizarre mating attempt that succeeded only in helping the orchids pollinate one another as the frenzied males went from flower to flower, seeking gratification.
While the existence of human pheromones was still in question, hormonal responses had been noted in experiments done to stimulate menstruation in women, whose cycles notoriously swung into synch when exposed to other females on a daily basis. However, since nature’s romantic calling card definitely existed in insect and mammal populations, it was probably only a matter of time before biologists discovered the secret within our own human realm. Until then, all the pheromone-promising perfumes worked on what was, most likely, a psychological level, since it wasn’t clear just what type of pheromones the companies were using.
I paused, leaning back in my chair as I stared at the words on the screen. Would my audience be interested in all this? I’d have to jazz it up, of course, anthropomorphize the ants and wasps and orchids, but when speaking about fragrance and desire, there was no way to avoid the subject of pheromones. Not unless I wanted to go for pure fluff. The world of scent was so complex, so incredibly intricate, that a two-hour lecture wouldn’t even touch on the basics.
It was easy to discuss fragrances that had specific correlations. This perfume has undertones of vanilla, or that perfume has a top note of roses and lilies. But then we got into more esoteric discussions—what d
oes a freshly mown lawn smell like? What does grass smell like? There, vocabulary lagged and inevitably the conversation fell into comparisons. Cut grass smelled like sunshine. What did sunshine smell like? Warm, yellow chiffon.
The intercom buzzed, startling me out of my thoughts. It was Tawny, telling me that Auntie was on her way back. I sighed, dreading the upcoming conversation. I saved my file and shut down the laptop. As the door opened and Auntie came in, a quizzical look on her face, I vacated her chair and motioned for her to sit.
“You’d better sit down. I’ve got something to tell you, and it isn’t good.” As I launched into the news about the roses, the look on her face changed from puzzled to angry, and I knew we’d just entered a war.
Chapter Four
As I sped along Beachcomber Drive, the top of my convertible down to allow the breeze and sun to pour in, I hoped to hell that Kyle would take our complaints seriously. The chief of police was stubborn, and usually he managed to irritate the hell out of me, but I had to give the man credit. He wasn’t blind, and he wasn’t stupid. The official report from the lab would help. Both it and the tainted rose petals sat in the passenger seat of my car, held down by my purse to keep them from blowing away.
Auntie had been furious, after the shock wore off. She immediately called Kyle and informed him that he should meet us at our house as soon as possible. Then, while she talked to Tawny, I called Trevor.