The Sweet Scent of Murder Read online

  Ben had apparently gotten custody of the bedroom furnishings. They matched. He had a king-size waterbed complete with built-in bookshelves and stereo unit with speakers.

  The music comes out on each side of the headboard. It’s the kind of thing that a typical male would think sensual. That was where we made mad, passionate love that night to the accompaniment of a Houston oldies-but-goodies radio station. Afterwards, we split a beer and lay talking for a while. Then we made love again, this time it wasn’t so frenzied.

  The word contented comes to mind when I think of how I felt as I lay there dozing on and off while Ben snored loudly beside me. I was happy. I hadn’t enjoyed being estranged from him. Those few days seemed like years. There was something about our semi-constant bickering that I’d missed.

  I got up around ten and wandered into the kitchen for a drink of water. As I stood there, I pondered all the possible suspects in the Harrison Lawson murder. I think the count was now up to five, or was it six? Then I remembered Annette. I’d put her out of my mind. I felt too guilty.

  I knew it was no burglar who broke into Annette’s house and practically killed her. It must have to do with the murder, but how? Why? If it was the insurance, wouldn’t she have known I could find out about the policies anyway? Maybe she knew something else. Did Harrison know about James Rush? Was that the clincher to the whole case? I knew she hated Hilary and would do anything she could to get her if Hilary killed Harrison.

  I went back to bed still thinking about Annette. The least I should have done was go by the hospital to see her. I should have sent flowers, too. God, I felt responsible. I wanted to find out who tried to kill her almost more than I wanted to clear myself. If it weren’t for me . . . I made a mental list of things I would do the next day. I’d go see Smythe, then Hadley. Afterwards I’d buy some flowers and take them to Annette at St. Joseph’s. I fell asleep still feeling guilty.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  When I awoke late the next morning, Ben had gone. He’d left a sweet note on his pillow. I would have felt great except I remembered Annette and vowed to see her before the day was over. In the meantime, I wanted to see if I could make Hadley and/or Smythe squirm.

  On my way home for a quick shower and change, I called Margaret and got the addresses of the two men. I’d hit Hadley first, since he was the farthest out. Then I could swing downtown to catch Smythe.

  Hadley had an office on the fourth floor in one of his almost-deserted office buildings off the Katy freeway. The leather chairs in his reception area were worn and faded. The solid wood coffee and end tables were scarred and chipped. What I observed reinforced that which I’d already learned.

  Handing the receptionist-secretary, a rather plump young woman in ill-fitting clothing, my card, I said, “I’d like a few minutes with Mr. Hadley.”

  She took the card and disappeared behind a closed door. About sixty-seconds later, Clayton Hadley appeared, briefcase in hand. As he came toward me, I saw that he looked like he’d slept in his suit. The pockmarks on his pig-like face were like the craters at Yellowstone, the pupils of his dark eyes like pinpricks behind his eyelids. His gray-streaked black hair was pasted to his pate. “I’m afraid you’ve caught me on the way out, Miss Davis.” His smile revealed abnormally yellowed teeth. “Another time, maybe.”

  “It’ll just take a couple of minutes, Mr. Hadley.” He passed me so I followed him to the door.

  He glanced at his watch. “Can’t. Sorry. I’m already late for an important meeting.” He reached for the door.

  “I’ll walk you down to your car then,” I said. “We can talk on the way.” Persistence, I’ve found, is a good quality in a detective.

  He grunted and glared back at the girl, opened the office door, and walked through the doorway in front of me. I followed him to the elevators.

  “So what is it you want from me, Miss Davis? I understand the Lawson children have turned up.” He frowned with his pig eyes.

  “I guess you could say I’m looking into Mr. Lawson’s murder,” I said.

  His eyebrows shot up. “Oh, really?”

  “Yes, sir.” The elevator arrived and I followed him inside even though I knew I would be at his mercy. Sometimes I’m not as bright as I think I am. I did stand next to the buttons, though, so I could push the red emergency one if he slugged me.

  “Well, what do you want from me? I saw the same things you did. We were both there.” He faced me, his eyes watching the numbers above the door.

  “I understand you held a large policy on Mr. Lawson’s life.”

  His eyes became little slits as he slowly turned them on me. I had my hands at the ready, one to block his blow and one to push the button.

  “Now wait a minute. Are you implying that I had anything to do with Harrison’s death?”

  “I’m not implying anything. I’m merely conducting an investigation. It’s odd, though, that Miss Jensen from the insurance company should be seriously assaulted after the murder. Like it leads one to think that maybe someone didn’t want her telling anyone about all the beneficiaries.” He didn’t flinch. He didn’t move a muscle. He didn’t look surprised. He just continued to stare at me with what could only be described as contempt—no, pure hatred.

  The elevator door opened on the first floor. Hadley still hadn’t said anything. He walked briskly toward the exit. I followed.

  “No comments, Mr. Hadley?” I called from behind him.

  He turned on me when we got outside. “Get out of here,” he said and headed toward some cars.

  “What?” I was following again. It was no problem since his fat little legs had to take two steps to each one of mine.

  He reached his car and hit the button on the key fob, unlocking it. I waited on the sidewalk for a response. It appeared he wasn’t going to give me any. “I know you need the money, Mr. Hadley. I checked you out,” I yelled as he was getting in his car.

  He slammed the car door and started up, leaving me standing there watching as he drove away. Interesting response.

  Earl Smythe was a totally different sort of fellow. I arrived at his office before noon. He worked for a large company in downtown Houston. A young woman who looked like she had just stepped off the cover of Cosmopolitan showed me to his office.

  Quite handsome, Smythe couldn’t have been a day over forty. He had large, straight white teeth and a captivating smile. Blond hair, sea blue eyes, strong nose, clean shaven, he looked like he should be on a tennis court with a sweater tied around his shoulders. Dark circles under his eyes were the only telltale sign of hard times. He wore an expensive three-piece suit, a signature tie, and pastel shirt with cufflinks. He shook my hand when I entered. His hand warm, his shake was firm but not quite what I had imagined, a little wanting.

  After I sat down across from him, I said, “I don’t think we met at the Lawson’s, Mr. Smythe. I arrived just before Mr. Lawson died.”

  “I remember you.” He was solemn.

  “I’m looking into Mr. Lawson’s murder.”

  “They’ve decided it’s murder then?”

  “Yes. Poison.”

  He grimaced. “What can I do for you?” He started twisting his wedding band around on his finger.

  “I hope you won’t take any offense, but I heard that you and Harrison had a falling out.”

  “We did.” He brushed at his hair and went back to fiddling with his ring.

  “Could you tell me about it?”

  “There’s not much to tell. He lost a bundle in the market and blamed me for it.” He stared at me, his somber eyes not wavering. “That was back when I had my own agency.”

  “You’ve only been here a while, then?”

  “Since last month. My business fell off slowly and I couldn’t afford the overhead.”

  That certainly rang true. “To what do you attribute that?”

  “Harrison. He bad-mouthed me all over town.”

  I nodded. “When did you find that out?”

  “I had sus
pected it for a long time, but someone confirmed it for me recently.”

  “Who?”

  “I’d rather not say, if you don’t mind.”

  “How recently?”

  “Couple of weeks ago, after I got here.”

  “Oh, I see.”

  “Yes, I had a motive, Miss Davis, but I didn’t kill Harrison.” He leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. “The thought did cross my mind when I first found out what he went around saying, but . . . I guess you could say I didn’t have the guts for it.”

  “It seems to me that it takes more guts not to do something like that when you’re angry.”

  He shrugged. “Let’s say that I considered it very seriously. I might have done it if Joe hadn’t given me a job here, believe me. I’ve been at my wit’s end.”

  “Who do you think did it?”

  “I don’t know. All I know is it wasn’t me.”

  I wasn’t entirely convinced, but just the same I took my leave of him.

  When I arrived at the hospital, Annette was just regaining consciousness. Her condition was still serious, the doctors allowing as how she might never fully recover. They permitted me to go inside her room when I showed them my identification and stretched the truth a bit by telling them I was investigating her case.

  Her head had been wrapped in thick bandages. I needn’t mention the guilt that I felt. I felt so inept, so useless, so incompetent. I had botched it; bungled it; blown it. I was nothing but a screw-up and had almost cost a lady her life.

  Annette turned her head toward me slightly, her eyes watching me.

  “I’m so sorry, Annette,” I whispered. “I should have been there.”

  She blinked her eyes at me and tried to say something. “What?” I moved closer.

  She was whispering. It sounded like “find the file.”

  “No, I didn’t find anything, but I know what it was you wanted to show me. Mr. McAfee told me.”

  Annette shook her head.

  “Yes, Annette, he told me about all the life insurance policies. I went to see Mr. Hadley this morning. And I know Mr. Lawson was going to change his will. I don’t think he did, though. I don’t think he had time.”

  “No,” she whispered. She shook her head again and began to cough. A ragged sound came from deep inside her chest so I went for a nurse. The staff told me to leave, that perhaps I could see her tomorrow.

  I took my misery and went to Lana’s where I could be alone. When I looked up after my second long neck, I saw Lana wiping her hands on the ever-present dishtowel pinned on the front of her. She came toward me with a bottle in her hand. She eased herself into the chair across from me. I started to ask for another beer, but she cut me off with a sharp wave of her hand.

  “Whatsa’ matter with you, Mavis?” Her beady black eyes bored into mine. “You never drink so much in you life.” She pushed strands of gray hair away from her pudgy face and wiggled around on the chair until her bulk came to a comfortable solution to a chair that is smaller than the bottom of the sitter. I had the feeling that she would stay so situated until I made a clean breast of it.

  I told her. Not everything but enough that she got the idea. And I told her that the old lady I was supposed to meet could have died because of me.

  “So you help her now by getting drunk on beer, no?”

  “Go away, Lana,” I said when I didn’t get the sympathy for which I’d been hoping. “I’ve only just begun.”

  “No.” She shook her head. “You need me to talk sense to you.”

  I stared at the bar. “The only thing I need is another beer. If you would be so kind as to waddle over and draw me one.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her head wag. “You be mean to me if you want, Mavis. It won’t help the old lady.” My guilt was only exacerbated by my words and Lana’s response, but I couldn’t help myself at that point. “Nothing I could do would help her now,” I said miserably. “Just bring me another beer, will you?”

  “No.” Lana crossed her flabby arms in front of her chest. “You want to get drunk, go someplace else. I not help you.”

  “Screw you, Lana.” I started digging in my purse for money to pay my bill. “I will go someplace else. I’ll never ask you for anything again.”

  “Tch, tch. I never know you were a quitter.” It sounded like kweeter, the way she said it with her Tex-Mex accent. “I’m not. The police are on the case. They don’t need me.

  “So why don’t you find other work? You make somebody a good secretary or somethin’.”

  I knew what she was getting at, and it was working. I felt my mouth turn up in a crooked smile in spite of myself. My eyes I kept staring at the contents of my purse. I didn’t want her to see that she was winning.

  “What you say to that, Mes Davis—huh?”

  “I say why you don’t mind your own business?”

  “My customers are my business. They help me. I help them. You wanna sandwich or somethin’? You can’t go out to work on the old lady’s case with nothin’ but beer on you stomach.”

  She knew she’d won. I was feeling exceedingly stupid. “Yeah, give me a turkey—”

  “With lotsa onions.”

  “Right.” I looked at her as she lifted the heavy burden of herself and shook off the clinging chair. She smiled, knowingly, but not so big a smile. She was going to let me save a little, tiny bit of face.

  “I got something for you first.” She took a shot glass out of her pocket and poured a clear liquid from the bottle she’d been cuddling to her chest. “Sip. Don’t gulp.”

  “What is it?”

  “Just you drink it but slowly.”

  I sipped and almost gagged. Ugh. “What the hell is it?”

  “Schnapps—I bought a bottle so you could taste.”

  That touched me; it really did. “Aw, thanks for thinking about me.” That stuff was so bad no wonder Harrison Lawson couldn’t taste the poison. Assuming the poison had really been put into the bottle. Ifs, ands, buts, and assumptions. A way of life for private investigators. It mentions that in the rule book, in a footnote.

  Lana started across the room toward the end of the bar and turned back. “Mavis—did you find the envelope she had for you?”

  “What envelope?”

  She held her hands apart to indicate its width. “Big, yellow with papers for you she said.”

  “Shit.” Whoever whacked her in the head had probably been looking for that when I’d arrived. I wondered if it was just copies of the policies or whether Annette had something else to show me. She’d been trying to tell me something at the hospital.

  “I tole you no talk like that in my place,” Lana said loudly, a scowl on her face and her finger wagging at the end of a short, flabby arm. She turned back to the bar.

  “Make that a take-out order,” I said. “I gotta go.”

  The Mustang practically flew to the office by itself. Candy arrived at the same time and we entered together. Margaret was on the phone and printing out something from the computer. When she hung up, we had a meeting, the three of us in the kitchen again, gathered around the table.

  “That was Ben on the phone,” Margaret said. “He just wanted to let you know that there was no change with Annette Jensen.”

  “I know,” I said. “I was there myself a while ago.”

  “Tommy called, too.” Margaret held out a stack of pink slips. “He wanted to know what you’d come up with to keep him and Jeanine from being sent away. Oh, and Ben said to tell you the meeting went real well. He said you’d know what he meant. Are you and Ben on speaking terms again?”

  I looked at Margaret and then at Candy. Couldn’t fool either of them. “Yeah,” I confessed. “Well—he’s helping—you know.”

  “We know, Mavis,” Candy said.

  Margaret snickered.

  “All right, you two. Enough of my love life. We’ve got to get down to business if we’re going to make any headway with this thing.” I tried to give them my reprimanding
look, but it didn’t quite come off.

  “Come on, Margaret, let’s get serious here,” Candy said and put her hand over her mouth.

  “Very funny, Candy,” I said. I looked at Margaret. “Anyone else call?”

  “Besides people wanting subpoenas served?”

  I nodded.

  “Your lawyer. They’ve already got you set for arraignment, she said.”

  “They’re not wasting any time. Did you mark it down on the calendar?”

  “Ummm,” Margaret murmured, her forehead drawn together in a tight crease. “What exactly is that? I looked it up in the dictionary. What are you going to have to do?”

  “I just have to go in and plead not guilty, Margaret, that’s all,” I tried to reassure her with a glance and a smile. “Don’t worry. Gillian’s going to take care of it. Speaking of whom, Candy, how’d you like your cousin?”

  Candy sat upright in her chair. “Like she’s pretty cool, Mavis. She was real busy when I got over there, but like she came out of her office and, you know, talked to me. She’d like to get to know me, she said.”