The Sweet Scent of Murder Page 10

  “What about Hilary?”

  “I don’t know what her motive would be. He gave her everything she ever wanted and more.” He grinned and I could see his yellow teeth. Yuck.

  “Did you do it?”

  He bellowed again.

  “Did you?” I repeated when he’d stopped.

  “Would I tell you if I did?”

  “No.”

  “Why answer? You wouldn’t believe me.”

  “Don’t you have any suspicions of your own?”

  “That’s your job, lady, or at least it’s the police department’s job.” He pushed his chair back and stood up. “Anything else?”

  “Yes. Do you know where Arthur Woodridge’s cabin is? Hilary says his family owned a cabin and that he might be holding the kids there.”

  “Um. One of the counties north of Harris, I believe. Or it could be east.” He shook his head. “I’m not sure. I was only there once a long time ago. Wish I could be more help.”

  Like hell he did. I handed him one of my cards as I got up. “Call me if you think of any clues about where the kids might be, okay? Or even if you think of anyone who might have wanted to do away with Lawson.”

  “Sure. I’ll do everything I can.”

  “I’m sure you will,” I said, and smiled my sweetest at him as I went out the door, pulling it to behind me. I walked over to Annette’s desk, where she was on the telephone, stuck my finger down my throat as if I was going to throw up, and pointed in McAfee’s direction. She drew in a sharp breath and put her hand over the phone. For a moment, I was afraid I’d offended her, but then she smiled.

  “Call me for lunch sometime, Annette,” I whispered. “I need to confirm something with you.”

  She whispered back, “Okay.”

  I waved at her and found my own way out. I had lots of things to do. I had a date with Ben that night that I needed to get ready for. But the three big things were to find out if Harrison Lawson was really murdered, to find the children, and to confirm the story that McAfee had told me about Hilary Lawson. And not necessarily in that order. I also had to see the Child Protective Services file. And I would practically kill to get it.

  Chapter Eleven

  I went home and spread my Texas map across the kitchen table. The following day, Margaret and I would review tax and deed records until we found the Woodridge property.

  Due north of Houston lies Montgomery County, county seat, Conroe, and the beginning of the Sam Houston National Forest. We’d start there and work our way around clockwise. When I got through mapping out all the places where Margaret and I might have to go, I had to hurry to get ready for my date with Ben. He’d asked me to dinner. He said he had something serious to talk to me about.

  I was dressed to kill and when I opened the door for Ben, he had a murderous look in his eye, his face the color of a thundercloud. Were we in for another fight?

  He stopped to kiss me on the cheek, though, before he stormed through the door. “You ready?”

  “Quite.” I’ve learned to respond in that fashion when Ben’s in one of his black moods. Feeling guilty about snooping into the murder when I’d promised not to, I just knew I was the cause of his apparent foul temper.

  “I’m not mad at you, honey,” Ben said, his deep voice booming through the living room. “I’m just tired of being a go-between.”

  “What’s the matter now?”

  “The homicide captain’s on my back about you again.” His eyes had that piercing, close-lidded look.

  I remembered his saying he had something serious to discuss. Wasn’t going to happen in the doorway. I grabbed his hand. “Don’t let him ruin our evening, okay?”

  He grunted.

  I let go of his hand, snatched up my bag, and sailed out the door to the car before he could say anything else, determined to salvage the evening. Maybe he’d still come out with whatever was on his mind, even though I wasn’t sure that night was the best time to discuss our relationship. And I just knew that what he wanted to talk about wasn’t the weather.

  After a dinner at which it seemed a dark cloud hovered over our heads, we patronized Starbucks for coffee, tea, and cake. He forced me to give up when he still wouldn’t come out with whatever it was.

  Finally, we arrived back at my apartment. I asked him in, as I always do. He leaned against the doorjamb and loosened his tie. “I don’t know, Mavis. I’m tired and don’t want to fight.”

  I looked into his large face, his eyes more soulful than angry. “Then don’t, honey.” I patted his cheek. “Just tell me you like my new dress.” I twirled around. “And that you had a wonderful time.” I stood on my tiptoes and kissed him lightly on the mouth. “And since I may not be around for a while, come make love to me.” I smiled and crooked my finger.

  He frowned as he reached his arm out and pulled me to him. His face came down close to mine. For a minute, it seemed like something out of a mushy novel. “You really know how to frustrate a guy, you know it?” His coffee-scented breath warmed my face.

  I grinned, raised my eyebrows at him, and made a move toward the door.

  He released me. “Where’re you going?”

  “Inside. It’s stupid to stand out here talking in the humidity.” I unlocked the door and pushed it open. Pulling on his arm, I said, “Come on. You can fuss just as well in the air-conditioning.”

  He shook his head. “Mavis . . .”

  I walked inside.

  “I meant, where are you going that you won’t be around to make—are you going out of town again or what?”

  By that time, he stood behind me and in front of the door. I circled around him and threw the dead bolt. “Yes.”

  He put his hands in his pockets and began jangling his keys. “Where?”

  “Not sure yet.” I sat on the edge of the easy chair, pulled my skirt up above my knees, crossed my legs, and started unbuckling my sandal.

  “For what?” He stood over me, watching.

  I slipped that shoe off and re-crossed my legs, starting on the buckle of the other one. I stared up at him, enticingly, I thought. “To find the Lawson kids.”

  “No,” he said.

  By taking off my sandals, I’d lost some advantage when I stood. “Yes. We agreed on Friday.” I’m not exactly a squirt but had to crane my head back to meet his eyes once I had my shoes off.

  “Friday I didn’t know their real father was a convicted felon,” he said, and crossed his arms. “Hell, I didn’t even know there was another father.”

  “So?” I glared, my face defiant. Unfortunately, my forehead and his chin were as close as we got to being eye to eye.

  “So he may be armed and dangerous, and you’re not going to hunt for them.”

  “Why don’t you take off your jacket and get comfortable?”

  Ben cocked his head. “No you don’t, Mavis. Let’s have this out first.”

  I tugged gently at the knot of his tie, pulling it from around his neck. Then I began unbuttoning his shirt.

  “You’re not going, and that’s final.”

  “Says who, darling?” I reached inside his shirt and put my arms around him. Shoot, if he was going to get mad, I might as well enjoy getting him that way.

  “Says me and Captain Milton.” He pushed me away.

  “I’m only going to Conroe, that’s all, Ben. I was just teasing.” I laughed, trying to sound all sweetness and light like the ladies do on the soaps. Instead, it had a tinny sound.

  “Okay. You can go right after you see Captain Milton in the morning,” he said, smirking.

  “What does he want now?”

  “To talk to you about the alleged killer. Lon’s brought him in for questioning.”

  Chapter Twelve

  That bit of news made me feel like I’d just suffered cardiac arrest. I clutched Ben’s arm, anxious to hear how they’d caught Woodridge so quickly. “Where did they find him? Are the kids okay? Have they sent them home? Where did he take them?”

  “Hold it,” Ben
said, clamping a hand over my mouth. “I said the alleged killer, not the ex-husband.”

  I tore his fingers away. “Not Arthur Woodridge? But that’s who Hilary Lawson says killed her husband.” I was totally befuddled. “Just who did Lon bring in? And has the ME already done the autopsy and determined it wasn’t a heart attack for sure?”

  Ben laughed, obviously enjoying my confusion. “See, I knew you were involved in this case. If you’ll calm down, I’ll tell you.”

  “I’m calm.” I wanted to shake him. “Tell me.”

  “First of all, Lon picked up Kelby McAfee this evening.”

  “McAfee . . .” I didn’t want Ben to know I’d been to see him. “Was that the ugly guy with the faded red hair and shifty eyes?” I gave him the same dumbfounded expression I had used on McAfee earlier.

  “Secondly, the ME’s prelim shows that there was more to it than a heart attack. He may have ingested something.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Just what I thought! Someone did slip him something.” Was I good or what?

  “Captain Milton wants to get a statement from you about what you saw. He thinks you might be the only witness who is unbiased.”

  “I’ve got to get a drink.” I made a beeline to the kitchen where I grabbed a beer out of the icebox, opened it, and chugged from the can. It felt good and cold running down my throat. I couldn’t imagine how they’d figured it was McAfee. Where was their evidence?

  “Got another?”

  “Help yourself. There are mugs in the freezer.” He did. “What I don’t understand is how they knew this guy did it,” I said.

  Ben popped the top and poured the contents down his throat, squeezing the can in his fist when he was through and throwing it away. He wiped at his mouth, grinned at me, and said, “Good police work.” He opened another can.

  “Your ass, too,” I said. “You said Lon picked him up?” He knew what I thought about the homicide division, or at least certain members of that group.

  “Let’s not get into that. I don’t know what the hell’s going on, except that I received a call this afternoon to see Captain Milton—which I did. He said Lon was bringing the guy in for questioning. The captain wants to see you in the morning. You might be a material witness since you were standing right there. Milton wants me to make sure you get to his office.”

  By this time, we were back in the living room. I curled up on the couch, pulling my legs up under me and put my beer on the end table. I seemed to think best curled up almost in a fetal position. What did that say about me? Ben sat an arm’s length away.

  “What about Arthur Woodridge? Hilary thinks he did it.”

  “Oh. It’s Hilary now, is it?”

  I shrugged. “Not to her face. Are you going to tell me about Arthur Woodridge or not?”

  He drummed his fingers on the back of the couch. “I don’t know what they’re going to do about that. They didn’t find out about him until after Lon went for McAfee and another uniform went over to the Lawson house later to tell Mrs. Lawson.”

  I ducked my head. “Then Captain Milton knows I’ve been to talk with her?”

  He nodded. “He apparently went himself as a favor to James Rush and had quite a little visit with her earlier today.”

  “What evidence do they have against McAfee?”

  “A fingerprint on Lawson’s glass—an accusation against him by his wife,” he said in a quiet tone.

  “That would be the cheerleader-type—Joan?” As if I didn’t know.

  “Right. When Lon talked to her about the fingerprint, she got hysterical.” He closed his eyes and shook his head. “She said she knew McAfee had found out about her affair with Harrison Lawson, but he didn’t have to kill him.”

  That was pretty much what McAfee had said, but he hadn’t been concerned when I spoke with him. This was all very confusing. I swallowed another mouthful of beer. “That’s it?”

  “No—he had more motive than that—”

  “Wait.” I held my palm up. “I know what it was. He was next in line for Harrison’s job at the insurance company.” He stared at me as if to say that he wasn’t surprised. “Something someone said at the cocktail party,” I said before he could get the question out.

  “You’re amazing, you know that?” He leaned toward me.

  “Wait a minute, Ben. I’m still wondering . . . what are they going to do about Hilary Lawson saying her ex-husband killed Harrison?”

  He scooted closer to me. “I don’t know,” he said, putting his second can of beer down on my coffee table. Then he took my beer away from me and set it beside his.

  “Have they charged McAfee?”

  “I don’t think so, yet,” he said, sliding closer. “They were waiting to speak to the assistant district attorney.” His arm slipped across the back of the couch and down around my waist.

  “I’m trying to think here, Ben,” I said, pushing at his chest. “Aren’t they the least bit concerned about Hilary’s accusations?”

  “Sure, sweetie. The captain’s taking care of it.” He put his face up to my ear and began nibbling.

  “Ben,” I said softly, pushing at him again. I giggled in spite of myself. It tickled. “How can they go on a fingerprint and an accusation? How do they think McAfee did it? So the ME must have determined for sure it wasn’t a heart attack. What exactly did the ME say? Have the lab results come back already?”

  He continued to come at me. “I don’t know, Mavie.” I was familiar with his approach. He was moving in for the kill.

  “Are they going to try to find Arthur Woodridge and the kids?” I chuckled then. Let’s face it; my resistance is not all that strong in the first place.

  “Yes. That’s why you’re off the case. They’re treating it like any other kidnapping.” He reached for me with his other hand.

  It was now or never. If I spoke up, I would ruin the best part of the evening. If I didn’t, he’d assume that I was off the case, which I definitely wasn’t. I needed that two thousand dollars. Besides, I didn’t care for the way HPD handled kidnappings. And besides that, I had a head start on them. But what the hell—we could fight later.

  The next morning I awoke to the aroma of frying bacon and baking waffles. When I wandered into the kitchen, I found Ben in his bathrobe, which at some time in the past had found a home in my closet, spooning batter into the waffle iron. He had set the table and poured orange juice, milk, tea, and coffee. Crisp bacon lay on a paper towel-covered plate. It would take a real dunce not to realize what he was hinting at, but I wasn’t buying.

  Slipping my arms as far around his waist as they would go, I rested my cheek on his shoulder blades. “Good morning.”

  “Sleep well?”

  “Mmmm.”

  “Your tea’s all ready.” He picked up the bundled Houston Chronicle. “Got your paper in.”

  “Thanks.” I took it from him, pulling at the plastic wrapper. “I wonder if there’s a follow-up on the story about Lawson.”

  “Didn’t get a chance to look.” He put the lid down on the batter and turned and kissed me on the forehead. “You go ahead and sit down while I finish cooking.”

  I smiled. I wasn’t going to comment. I have to admit it was nice, though, having someone keep my feet warm during the night and wake up to in the morning. The snoring we’d have to deal with later.

  I wandered over to the table and finished unwrapping the paper. Scanning the front page, I didn’t see anything, but that wasn’t unusual. The previous stories were inside. I thumbed through the sections that usually carried police and court news but couldn’t find a mention of Kelby McAfee’s arrest.

  “They may not have charged him by the time that went to press,” Ben said, coming over to the table with a platter of waffles.

  “Yeah. I was thinking the same thing. It may not be as easy as they thought yesterday morning. What if Woodridge or somebody else did do it?” After smearing butter on the waffles, I turned back to the newspaper.

  “Homicide doesn’t need any
bad press right now.” He stood over my shoulder, looking on.

  “True.” There had been too many unsolved cases lately.

  He leaned down and put his face to the back of my neck, inside the collar of my robe, rubbing his stubby chin on my bare skin. “What do you care anyway?” he said in a hoarse voice. “It’s not your problem.”

  I didn’t answer. I merely turned the page.

  “You smell good.”

  I turned my head and smiled at him. “Don’t start anything you can’t finish.”

  “I don’t go on until eight-thirty.”

  “It’s seven-thirty now,” I said. “We still have to eat.”

  He sighed exaggeratedly. “There’s always tomorrow.” He pulled out the chair adjacent to me. “I could come back tonight and we could go over what happened with you and the captain.”

  I cringed inwardly and turned another page.

  He put a finger under my chin. “You are going to see Captain Milton.”

  “I haven’t decided yet.” My attention stayed on the news. “I’ve got a busy day ahead of me.”

  He jerked his hand away. “Doing what?”

  “I have a client that wants me to check some records in some of the outlying counties.” I put the paper aside and took a sip of orange juice.