by India Ink
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 Seven
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.
I started out with some basic warm-ups, then decided to work out with my stability ball and stretchy bands. As I reached up, arms over my head, arching my back into a stretch, I fell into the familiar zone that always happened when I set my body in motion. The feeling of movement, of stretching beyond my limitations, energized me and challenged me to go just a little further, to push just a little harder. As soon as I was limber enough, I threw myself into the workout, tuning out everything else until I was done.
By the time I finished, I was ready for breakfast. I jumped in the shower, slid into a flowing beige rayon skirt and a dark brown tank top, and buckled a wide leather belt loosely around my waist, letting it rid
e on my hips. After slipping on a pair of ankle socks that wouldn’t show, I laced up my three-inch-heeled black suede granny boots. Sweeping my hair back into a long ponytail, I quickly curled it into a chignon and fastened it into place with black lacquer chopsticks before descending into the kitchen where Aunt Florence had just finished feeding the Menagerie. She held up a package of bacon and I nodded.
The sun decided to put in an appearance as we fixed breakfast together. It glinted off the water, turning the surface of the Pacific into a gleaming sheet of diamonds dancing on silver. The waves were frothy, but subdued compared to the past few days of stormy weather. I threw open the French doors that led out onto the balcony, letting the cool morning breeze filter in to air out the house.
“I’ll fry up the bacon if you make toast and slice strawberries.” Aunt Florence yawned. “Hoffman is safely ensconced in his outdoor run, by the way. I think I’ll keep him there while we’re gone during the day now that summer’s coming.”
“I wouldn’t do that,” I said.
“Why?”
“Coyotes. Stray dogs. That run isn’t strong enough to withstand a determined attack. I think you should just convert the coal bin into a rooster sanctuary. We don’t use it—it was built when the house was and serves no earthly purpose except to encourage the spiders. Have somebody clean it out and renovate it. They can put a sturdy wire door on and bingo—rooster fun.”
The coal bin hadn’t been built into the basement like in many houses of the era; it was a separate compartment buttressed against the side of the house. If a contractor replaced the doors with wire frame, it would be perfect for housing Hoffman, and if the wire was sturdy enough, would most likely keep him safe.
Auntie nodded, mulling it over. “I hadn’t thought of that, but it’s a good idea. I don’t think we have coyotes here, but you never know. And I do know that those Buffords down the road let their dogs run wild.”
I laughed. “So, what’s on the agenda today?”
She lined a square skillet with the thick slices of meat. “Well, Kyle said we could reopen Venus Envy whenever we want, now that Trevor’s in custody. I have to call the cleaners to take care of that bloodstain on the carpet. And I think we should call Bran Stanton in to cleanse the aura of the shop. He knows what he’s doing.”
I wasn’t going to argue with her there. While not my specialty, the psychic realm was something I firmly believed in and I couldn’t imagine opening the shop to customers again without somehow shaking out the energy. Bran Stanton was well known in town for his work with tarot and various other paranormal gadgetry. His twin sister Daphne owned a little bookstore over on Yew Street, where she also sold crystals, candles, and other goodies. We’d had several interesting talks, all good, and I had come to realize that the siblings were both highly intelligent and well educated.
“Good idea. Auntie, do you think Trevor did it?”
She bit her lip. “I just can’t believe the boy has it in him to be a killer. But then again, isn’t that what everybody says when someone goes over the edge? I don’t know, child. I just don’t know.”
The phone rang and I snagged it up. It was Sarah, finally getting back to me. I quickly sketched out the situation, reassuring her that everything was being done to prove Trevor innocent and that we were standing behind him.
“We’ll need you full-time, more if possible. We have to harvest the lilacs and weed the roses and I don’t know what else, you’d know better than I do at this point. The problem is that we’re going to be short-handed with Trevor out of commission. Today, you’ll have to handle the work by yourself. Tomorrow, I’ll come home at noon to help. The sooner you can get here, the better, and of course, we’ll pay you for any overtime you accrue.”
“I’ve already sheared the flock, so they’re ready for summer,” she said. “I can spare you a few weeks, but I’ll need to get on with my spinning and dyeing in a month. Six weeks at the most, if I’m going to get enough pieces made to sell for the autumn and winter.”
Sarah, a forty-two-year-old mother of four boys, raised llamas for their wool, which she spun by hand and dyed. Using the yarn, she wove blankets, hats, and scarves on a loom, and sold them for outrageous prices to the tourists. We carried a few of her items in the shop on consignment and they sold on a steady basis. Sarah also happened to have a green thumb that wouldn’t quit.
We made arrangements for the next couple of days and I returned to the table, where I finished my breakfast while filling Auntie in on Sarah’s stipulations.
“I thought she might not cozy up to working more hours. Her business is picking up so much that I think we’ll lose her in a couple of years—I know her goal is to build into working full-time for herself.”
“She’s good at what she does.” I had one of her llama-wool sweaters and absolutely loved it.
Auntie nodded. “Well, I’ll hire somebody to help out if things aren’t cleared up in a few days. It won’t be easy, but we’ll manage.” She paused but then left unfinished the thought we were both thinking: What if things weren’t cleared up? What if Trevor really did kill Lydia? Dangerous territory, thoughts like that, but I knew that she was thinking them, too.
As soon as we finished eating, we took off for the shop in her car. Baby belched smoke all the way there, and I winced as my aunt hugged the curves with breakneck speed. She drove like a trucker, fast and tight. Her reflexes were spot on, I’d have to give her that, but I was amazed that Kyle let her get away with it. Probably pure intimidation.
Venus Envy looked like it always had, with the exception of the yellow crime tape tagged across the door. Kyle had told Auntie she could take it down and dispose of it. I glanced at her and she cocked her head.
“I suppose we’d better just go for it. We aren’t going to open the shop by standing out here gawking,” she said as she reached out and ripped away the tape. After stuffing it in the garbage can near the entrance, she inserted her key into the lock, paused to take a deep breath, then opened the door.
The shop bells tinkled as we soberly entered the store. I noticed right away that the cheery Caribbean feel had dissipated and a pallor hung over the room. Even with all the lights on, and the sunlight sparkling through the windows, a gloom seemed to have settled in with Lydia’s death.
I gingerly stepped around the blood-soaked carpet. The stain was small, but all too visible and, even more than the sight of Lydia’s body, made me queasy. A quiet hush filled the room. I held my breath, shivering. I wasn’t really afraid that Lydia’s spirit would go winging by, but the smell of death and old blood lingered like stale perfume in some long abandoned boudoir.
“What should we do first?” I asked, setting my purse down on the counter at my station. Something tugged at the back of my brain, a feeling of déjà vu, but I couldn’t quite place it.
Florence looked around and I could tell that she was feeling the same thing I was. After a moment she shook her head. “Well, things won’t get shipshape with us just standing around here. I’ll call the carpet cleaners and get them over here. Then I’ll phone Bran Stanton. We can’t open to the public until everything’s taken care of. Why don’t you go in the office and check the messages.” As I turned to go, she added, “And I don’t want to know if Heddy called, unless she wants to make an appointment for a facial or her nails.”
I hesitantly made my way to the office. This was where they’d found Trevor’s hammer, I thought as I opened the door and flipped on the lights. Everything seemed as it should be, except for a small series of darkened smudges on one cushion. Blood . . . Lydia’s blood. Skirting the chair, I made my way behind the desk and tried to focus on my task at hand. I rewound the answering machine tape and turned it on, pen and pad ready to take notes.
There were five calls asking when the shop was going to be open and three calls from Heddy suggesting we “do lunch” as soon as possible—which meant she was snooping for the dirt. The last call, however, stood out from the others. A muffled voice came on the
tape, saying only, “Trevor didn’t do it,” before abruptly hanging up.
Startled, I stared at the recorder, then quickly rewound the tape and played it again. Yes, I’d heard what I thought I heard. I leapt out of the chair and raced into the main shop. “Auntie! Auntie! Come here, quick!”
Aunt Florence held up one finger. She was on her cell phone. “We need you to perform a purification ritual, Bran. I simply won’t feel comfortable opening up until something of the sort has been done. The carpet cleaners are coming today at three. Can you come over this evening? Around six? Wonderful. I appreciate it . . . yes, that works just fine for me. Thank you, and see you then.” She flipped the phone shut. “Bran will be over tonight. What is it? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” With a nervous laugh, she added, “You didn’t, did you?”