by India Ink
I glanced over at Kyle. “Marta’s daughter and grandson?”
He jammed his hands in his pockets, staring at the photograph. “Yeah. Poor kid. I think we’ll start up a charity fund at the station for his care. Marta’s daughter isn’t a slacker, she’s just so unprepared for what life threw at her.”
Yet another side of Kyle I didn’t know existed. I reached out and patted his arm. “You’re a good-hearted man, know that?”
He looked down at me and shook his head. “I just can’t figure you out, Persia. Why are you here? You don’t strike me as a curiosity hound.”
I shrugged. “I don’t really know. I just felt like I needed to see her apartment.” I wandered through the living room, stopping when I almost stepped onto the outline of a body. Not twenty-four hours ago, Marta’s life had ended, right here. A sudden whiff of scent caught my attention—it was familiar and yet . . .
“What is it?” Kyle asked.
I frowned, trying to concentrate. I recognized it, yet couldn’t put a name to it. The fragrance was faint, lingering only in minute traces. I let my mind drift, trying to follow the thread of memory that the scent evoked. After a moment, I shook my head. “I know that scent, but can’t quite place what it is.”
“What are you talking about?” Kyle sniffed, but then shook his head. “I don’t smell anything.”
“It’s musky, almost pungent, but faint.”
He inhaled again. “Nope, still don’t smell anything.”
I shrugged. “I have a heightened sense of smell. I can detect minute levels of cyanide, identify most floral scents if given time, and have what you might call a photographic memory for scents. If I’ve smelled it once, I’ll recognize it again.”
He let out a snort. “That’s some talent. Well, if you identify what it is, let us know. It might help us out.”
“May I look in her bedroom? I’ll be able to tell if what I smell is one of her perfumes by comparing it to what she has.” I didn’t relish going through the dead woman’s things but Kyle was right. This could be important.
He led me to the back room that Marta had used for her bedroom. I glanced through the sparse scattering on top of her dresser. A bottle of Lemon Verbena spray from the shop, which I was pretty sure had been lifted. An old bottle of Chanel N°5 with just a few drops left in it. Probably a gift from long ago. Deodorant, foot powder, a bottle of inexpensive rose-scented hand lotion. Nothing remotely resembling what I’d smelled in the living room. I peeked in the bathroom, but again, the shampoos and soaps didn’t match.
“Nothing. I think it may have come into her apartment on somebody else.”
Kyle stroked his chin. “The murderer?”
I set down the can of talcum powder that was in my hands and turned to face him. “Perhaps. I don’t know. But I can tell you that from what I’m able to find, the scent didn’t originate in this apartment.”
He escorted me to the door. “I hope you can place it. We need all the clues we can get right now.” He locked the door behind him and we headed for the elevator. He steered me away from Mrs. Fairweather’s door. “Persia, I hope you’re not still upset at me about that kiss. I don’t know what came over me.”
I punched the button for the ground floor. “Don’t sweat it, Kyle.” With a gentle smile, I added, “It wasn’t so bad. At least you have soft lips.” Leaving him speechless, I walked out of the building and headed to my car.
I made one more stop before heading back to the shop. The Gull Harbor City Hall housed everything from the police station to the city jail to the county clerk’s office. Since Kyle hadn’t returned to the station by the time I got there, I had to wait until one of the uniformed officers finished typing up a report before she could escort me back to see Trevor.
The jail was small—apparently Gull Harbor’s criminal element was less active than Seattle’s—and the waiting room where they’d bring Trevor to meet me was clean, if a little sparse and, for the most part, empty. After letting the officer go through my purse, I took a chair by one of the booths and waited. Within five minutes, Trevor was on the other side of the glass. I motioned for him to pick up the phone.
“Hey, how you doing?” Trevor looked like he’d lost a little weight, but otherwise seemed to be in good shape. “How are they treating you?”
He forced a smile. “Not so bad. The food’s decent and they aren’t beating me up. What’s happening?”
“My aunt’s going to drop by later today or tomorrow. Has Winthrop been here in the past day or so?” I wondered just how much the lawyer had told him about our plan to find out who Lydia’s boyfriend was.
“He left a message that he’d be by later today.” He gave me a keen look. “Why? What’s going on?”
I cleared my throat and lowered my voice. “Trevor, Marta’s been murdered. They found her in her apartment after her neighbor, Mrs. Fairweather, reported a scream. It looks similar to Lydia’s murder.”
“Shit. Marta? Are you sure?” He looked shocked. “Who would want to kill her?”
“Somebody she might have been trying to blackmail. Maybe somebody who thought she knew something about Lydia’s murder. That’s why I’m going over to Seattle, to the Blue Dragon club tonight.” Softly, I added, “I’m looking for Lydia’s boyfriend. I know this may hurt to talk about, but we found out that she was seeing someone who worked there, and that he might have some idea of who killed her.”
Trevor’s entire countenance changed. His eyes narrowed and he looked like he was ready to jump out of his seat. “Persia, stay away from there. It’s a dive, a real pimp joint. I think they run drugs out of there but I’m not sure.”
I stared at him. “You know about the Blue Dragon?”
His expression drooped and he looked like a whipped puppy. “A little. I’ve never been there, but Lydia . . . yeah, she said she met somebody there.”
“You know?” A mingled sense of surprise and relief swept over me. I wouldn’t have to rat out the fact that Lydia had been two-timing him. On the other hand, the fact that he knew provided a stronger motive for him to have murdered Lydia.
He blinked back tears. “I know the guy works at the Blue Dragon or hangs out there or something. She wouldn’t tell me his name. I get the impression that he’s a member of some gang. Lydia got herself tangled up with a real winner.”
I contemplated his words for a moment. “Are you sure she never mentioned his name?”
“I’m sure. She didn’t want me going off half-cocked. Persia, a lot of weird people hang out there. Don’t go alone.”
“I’m taking a friend so don’t worry.” He didn’t have to know that the friend I was going with was Barbara. “So do you think that her boyfriend might have been capable of murder?”
Trev’s head jerked up. “What? I thought she was in love with him. I asked her to marry me and she said she’d think about it. She took off for Seattle the next morning and stayed the entire weekend. The night she returned, she dumped me. Told me that it was over, that she was seeing somebody else. She called me a loser and told me to leave her alone, to never bother her again.” His voice trailed off.
I stared at his face. He was in obvious pain and I could see how much he’d loved her. Who knew what drew two people together? She was a bitch and a conniving snot, but she had some elusive sparkle that had caught Trevor’s eye enough to make him propose. I didn’t believe he’d killed her, not for one second. Behind that façade of anger rested a broken heart and it wasn’t a heart that could turn and murder the object of his affection.
“Did you tell Kyle about her boyfriend?”
His eyes fluttered to the ground. “No,” he said, “but there wasn’t much to tell, now was there? My ex-girlfriend was seeing somebody else. Big whoop. I didn’t know his name, didn’t know anything about him. And it would have looked real good for me, wouldn’t it? They’d say I killed her out of jealousy.”
“What else do you know about him? Spill it. Every little bit will help me find him. I already
know that he was probably Lydia’s dealer.”
Trev’s jaw dropped. “What? Her what?”
Oops. So he hadn’t been aware of the drug use. “Trev,” I said as gently as I could, “Lydia was using. Speed, most likely. From what I’ve been able to find out she got her drugs from this guy she was seeing. In fact, I’m wondering if he didn’t threaten her, make her back off from you so she wouldn’t accidentally spill the beans.”
Trevor rubbed his forehead. The officer standing guard near Trevor signaled that our time was up. “I didn’t have a clue. How could I have been so blind? Persia, listen to me. Be very careful. If he is a dealer, you don’t want to get on his wrong side.”
“Trev, we’re doing what we can. Take it easy, okay?” I motioned to the guard that I was almost done.
“Yeah . . . and thanks. I hope you find something.” Trev stumbled over his words to fit in a good-bye as he was led away. I waved, watching him as they led him out of the booth, back to his cell. He looked so defeated and so angry. What on earth would happen to him if we couldn’t prove his innocence? Trevor would never last behind prison bars. I pushed back my chair. We had no other option. Barbara and I would visit the Blue Dragon and find out everything we possibly could.
When I reached the shop, Barbara was waiting for me. Aunt Florence hadn’t gotten there yet, so I told Tawny that we were taking off. As we stepped out of the shop, a ray of sunlight struck me in the face and I basked in the warmth.
“I forget how much I love the sun until it shows up,” I said. Sunshine was a precious resource in western Washington, an infrequent visitor that was welcomed in with open arms when it showed up.
Barbara patted my arm. “When we were in Greece, it was so sunny and brilliant I honestly thought about moving there. Well, if it weren’t for Dorian’s parents. To tell you the truth, I love the villages over there, although I don’t think we’d fit in very well.”
We climbed in my Sebring and took off for her place, where I stretched out across her bed and filled her in on my conversation with Trevor while she dug through her dressing room. “This could be dangerous, you know.”
“Of course I know that,” she called from inside her walk-in closet. The woman had more clothes than my aunt and I put together. “I care about Trevor too, and frankly, I think you underestimate me. You remember me from years back when I was just your babysitter. I’ve grown up a little since then, Persia.”
I grinned. “So have I. I guess we’re both big girls and we can take care of ourselves. But be careful who you talk to, and don’t say anything about Trevor. And don’t—”
“And don’t get into trouble. I know, I know! I heard the whole spiel from Dorian last night and again this morning. He’s not thrilled that I’m going, but I told him I have to get out of here now and then and do something out of character. I’ve become too sedate. As much as I love the big galoot, I want a little spontaneity and verve back in my life.”
I sighed. I still didn’t think she grasped the full significance of what we were walking into, but then again—maybe I was just being overprotective. Barbara was a decade older than I. She’d seen a lot of life and probably had a good number of adventures I hadn’t heard about yet.
“At least I don’t have the big hair I used to,” she said from behind the door. “Remember that awful style I had when I was twenty-five and you were . . . what . . . fifteen? I copied it off Joan Cusack’s character in Working Girl.”
I remembered, but had the good graces to refrain from commenting. Barb and Dorian had taken me to see the movie. Two days later, Barb had been sporting big hair, which looked even bigger thanks to its brilliant coppery color. Dorian, to whom she’d been married two years at that point, had the good sense not to comment more than his usual grunt.
I leaned back on my elbows. “Oh, those days of pretty boys and glam. I’ll take grunge and leather any day, thank you!”
“Hey, I dated one of the boys in Pussy-Dewdrops during the early eighties! Don’t knock it till you try it.” I laughed as her voice trailed out again. “I gave up the glam boys, though,” she said, “when I met Dorian and he swept me away from the discos and the wine bars. God, look at me.”
My jaw dropped as she entered the room. I’d seen Barb with big hair, but I’d never seen her decked out like this. She had poured herself into a skin-tight pair of jeans that I hadn’t even expected her to own, jet black with thin white stripes up the sides, and had on a crop top worthy of Britney Spears. She’d looped a gold chain belt to hang low on her waist, and four-inch stiletto Candies sealed the outfit. Her makeup was glam, but fit the look, with a dusting of gold body glitter trickling down her neck. My best friend had suddenly devolved from a competent, on-the-go career woman to an exotic extra on the set of a Missy Elliot video.
I pushed myself to a sitting position. “What the hell? Where did you get that? I didn’t even know you owned clothes like that!”
She leaned toward her mirror, shimmied, and squinted at her reflection. “I have my secrets, darling. I’m married, not dead, you know.”
After I came out of shock, I stammered, “Barbara, you’re gorgeous. Are you sure Dorian will let you out of the house like that? You’ll rock the club in that get-up.”
“What Dorian doesn’t know, won’t hurt him. He’s seen me wear this, of course, but he thinks we’re going to a lounge. I didn’t exactly tell him it was a nightclub.” At my look, she hastily added, “It was the only way I could convince him to let me go. He’s got strong opinions on clubbing.”
I stood up and gently took her by the shoulders, turning her to face the mirror. “Are you sure you want to come with me, considering Dorian wouldn’t like it? Look at yourself.”
Hesitating, she glanced at her reflection and sighed. “Yes, I want to go. I love Dorian to pieces, but I need to get out now and then. And it’s not like I’m looking for anybody else.” She grinned. “Besides, who’s going to have your back if it’s not me? So, I look good?”
I nodded my approval. “You look great.”
“Okay, then, I guess I’m ready. What about purses? Leave it at home?” She held up her Coach handbag.
“I’d switch to something less expensive.”
After she found a clutch and transferred her keys, wallet, and makeup bag into it, we trucked over to my place. Aunt Florence had left a note instructing me to make sure to call her if we decided to stay the night in Seattle and she also left a packet of sandwiches for us to take on the road. I might not have my mother, but I had my Auntie. That was more than a lot of people could say.
We dashed up to my room, where I chased Delilah off the vanity and picked up the bracelet that she’d knocked off the table. While Barbara poked around my closet, I slid into a pair of black leather pants that were laced up the side. They were so tight that I could barely sit down, rode low on my hips, and set off my abs. The cropped halter top had a built in shelf bra—a necessity for my build. Black Lycra, it was on the shiny side, and fit like a glove.
“You look like your clothes are molded on your body,” Barb said, snickering. “Man, you’ve got a good figure. I wouldn’t want to take you on in a fight, that’s for sure.” She handed me my stacked-heel black suede ankle boots with the silver buckles on the side. I slipped on a pair of socks that wouldn’t show over the tops, and then zipped them up.
After scrunching into a velveteen bolero out of the closet and swinging my hobo purse over my shoulder, I was ready to go. I tucked my Day-Timer into my tote bag along with the sandwiches, a bottle of water, and several Luna Bars. As we sped off, I couldn’t help but wonder if we’d find Lydia’s boyfriend. And if we did, would we learn anything helpful? Whatever happened, I just hoped to hell we weren’t walking into the “gaping maws of death,” like the screaming chicks in a slasher exploitation flick.
Chapter Sixteen
The drive to the ferry took ten minutes, though once we merged into the righthand lane that was open only to cars waiting to board, our pace slowed to a
snail’s crawl. Still, we managed to arrive just in time to be near the front of the line for the three o’clock run. As we pulled into the terminal we stopped by the toll booth to pay our fee, then eased into the next open spot in one of the ten lanes where drivers and their cars waited to board.
Saturdays were always busy, though not as bad as the morning and evening commutes during the week. While Sand Bar Software employed fifty or sixty Gull Harbor techies, there were still quite a few chipheads who lived on Port Samanish Island and commuted by ferry over to Seattle, Bellevue, and Redmond in order to work at one of the numerous high-tech companies making their home in the Northwest.
As we waited, the ferry eased into the dock. With two full decks for loading cars, and several decks above that where passengers could walk, look over the railings, and get a bite to eat at the vending machines, the Klackatat Ferry was named after some creature that supposedly haunted the northwest woodlands.