Читать книгу Perfect Scents - Virginia Taylor - Страница 8

Kell inspected the ceiling in the old laundry room. Normally, on Mondays his appointment book was filled with visits to prospective customers who wanted kitchen estimates. He’d done two last Friday, freeing up part of this week so that he could help with the demolition while he plotted the changes.

“Good work,” he said to Trent who stood on the top of a ladder in the center of the old laundry building attached to the garage. Trent had been hired for a nominal wage and free board. “We should get a couple of hundred for this.”

Trent grunted and shoved his crowbar under the hole he had made to remove the ceiling rose, cracking off half a sheet of plastered horsehair, which dropped to the floor amid the cloud of dirt and dust that had accumulated over a hundred years. Like Kell, he wore a white disposable coverall.

Kell moved out of the way, his eyes covered with one hand while he adjusted his facemask. “Do you like the garden next door?” he asked, still annoyed the little dickhead had threatened him with a spray can.

“It’s okay if you like classy gardens.”

“That’s what I thought. He’s got a gardener, a young lad.”

“How young?”

Kell shrugged. “Eighteen, maybe. The kid is working there alone, if you believe that.” He glanced up at Trent. “He threatened to tag me, but he’s not such a smart-arse as he thinks. I got him to tell me the name of the neighbor. He’s a judge.”

“You don’t see him around much.”

“His cars haven’t moved from the carport since we’ve been here. The house looks deserted.” Kell took a leap to the side. The next plaster length thudded to the floor, scattering the accompanying detritus to the far corners of the room.

“And an eighteen-year-old is digging in the garden?” Trent waggled his eyebrows, almost concealed behind the layers of filth dropped on him from the roof cavity. “If you see him burying something, you might want to make sure it’s not a body.” He laughed.

“He doesn’t look tough enough to dig a hole, let alone drag a body into it,” Kell said sourly. “He’s a skinny little thing.”

“It’d be interesting, though, if we discovered a serial killer.”

Kell started stacking the shattered lengths of ceiling. “It wouldn’t be interesting to kill a judge. It’d be downright bloody stupid. I’d start out with someone less noticeable, like a handyman.”

“But if you were killing so that you could steal money, judges earn a bit.”

“There you are!” said a satisfied female voice. The doorway darkened as Vix Dee, Kell’s sister-in-law entered.

Kell straightened, removing his mask to smile at the pretty blonde wife of his older brother, Jay, the architect who had found this property and advised Kell to take out a mortgage to buy the best deal Jay had seen in years, or so he said. “I hope you didn’t hear Trent plotting a murder.”

“No. I heard you. Which particular handyman do you plan to kill?”

“Other than Trent? None of us earn enough to make the effort worthwhile.” He brushed the dust off the shoulders of his coverall.

“I brought lunch for you both.” She smiled at him. “It’s not often you take days off work and since you’re taking those days off to do more work, I thought I could help by supplying food.”

Trent backed down the ladder. “Great.” He removed his mask and wiped his sleeve across his dirty face. “I can’t tell you how much I didn’t want to buy a pie.”

“Why would you buy a pie when you must have a houseful of leftovers from the barbeque last night?” Vix shook her head. She had contributed most of the leftovers, if not most of the main meal. She thought she had to feed the world, and her wealthy family certainly supplied more than their fair share of good healthy sustenance to the less fortunate.

“I ate the cold sausages for breakfast.” Trent, as skinny as three-ply, decided he needed more protein than Kell, who had to content himself with pretzels and a tomato salad, which he hadn’t particularly minded although he wouldn’t admit that to Trent who thought he had scored.

“I have a rather large basket of food I need to get rid of before everything spoils. You’ll have to come out to the car and get it. I wouldn’t be surprised if I had a few pork pies in amongst everything else, but I think it’s mainly the usual for this time of year—oranges, honey, pâtés, cheeses, a ham, rye bread, nuts, too, I think. I took out the fresh vegetables because I knew neither of you would, um, have time to cook healthy meals.”

Kell nodded, faking detachment, but he honestly thought Vix was the most adorable women he had ever met. He had never known anyone quite as generous as her, or quite so embarrassed by her wealth. He tried not to be embarrassed by her wealth, too. Accepting gifts he could never pay back was hard, but Vix knew this and suffered with every thoughtful gesture she performed. He and the others could do no less than appreciate her consideration.

“Since you brought bread, we could set up a table and stop for a while.”

“Fortunately, I brought a tablecloth, too.” She laughed.

Kell shook his head with rueful amusement and wiped his hands down the sides of his filthy coverall, catching Trent’s glance. They both knew she had come to fuss over them like a mother hen. When they were building the theater set she painted, she had done the same. Jay was the luckiest man in the world. But Jay had made his own luck. Kell intended to make his own, too.

Kell envied his brother nothing other than his wife, who he richly deserved. Jay was the older brother who had cared for his siblings the way a parent should, working to support them while their father drank. Kell didn’t like to remember the bad times, but since his toughness had been formed by the bad times, he had little choice. “Where did you park?”

“Out the front. You parked across the drive and so I couldn’t get in.” Her voice held a tone of accusation.

Kell nodded, indicating the plaster sheets on the floor. “I was about to pack this rubbish into the truck bed.”

Vix lifted her shoulders. “So, I sincerely hope I don’t embarrass you.”

Wary, Kell scratched his ear. He couldn’t guess why the way she had parked her car would embarrass him, but as he reached the driveway gates, he spotted a bright racing red in the street. “A Ferrari,” he said in awe.

She looked guilty. “Jay hasn’t seen it yet. He won’t be pleased, but I’ll only have it for a couple of days. My father sent over the basket in it. He thought it was time I had the Beamer serviced.”

“You shouldn’t let him boss you around like that,” Kell said, trying to sound severe. “Hell, if my father did that to me….” He glanced at Trent.

“And if my father did that to me…” Trent shook his head, his eyes bright with suppressed laughter.

She pursed her lips. “I know you both think I’m ungrateful, but I live in a conservative area of town. This car does not suit my lifestyle.”

“It suits mine.” Kell ran his hand over the polished hood. He wanted to lie there, arms outstretched, hugging the expensive car, but instead he shrugged and tried to look detached. At that moment, the gardener from next door poked his head out of the driveway of the judge’s house. His skinny face disappeared quickly.

Kell frowned. He hoped the kid wasn’t scouting before doing something nefarious, but what could the kid do? Steal a car? He seemed to have left an old heap of his own in the carport. The judge probably told him not to park on the street. A car like that would give the classy neighborhood a bad look.

“You know when we were talking about murder?” he said to Vix. “The neighbor next door is missing and a kid is hanging around the place.”

She looked surprised. “That’s Adrian Ferguson’s house.”

“How do you know?” Kell said, and he wished the words back. Vix and her family knew everyone rich or connected.

“It’s a heritage house. It’s listed. Everyone knows Adrian owns it. Aside from that…” She looked uncomfortable. “He’s a friend of my father.”

“Have you seen him recently? The judge, not your father.”

She shrugged. “I think he is touring the Mediterranean.”

“Why would you think that?” He narrowed his eyes as he gazed at her.

“Because he and his wife went with my stepmother’s sister and her husband.”

Kell sighed. “Let’s get this basket indoors.” He grabbed one handle and Trent took the other.

“If he was dead, I would have heard, because my stepaunt certainly would have said something to my stepmother.” Vix walked down the side of the house.

Once this area would have been sheltered by an open veranda with a view onto a tennis court, but the roof had long since been dismantled, which saved Kell the trouble of knocking off the tiles. And the old tennis court had been lost in the weeds. “Well, the kid is up to something.”

“I’m sure Adrian will be very glad to know you are keeping an eye on his place.” She opened the back door of the house and stepped aside so that Kell and Trent could enter ahead of her. “If someone is planting a bomb to surprise him when he gets back, he would like to know before he opens the front door.”

“You may think this is funny, but the kid was wearing a disguise and snooping around.” Kell walked through the back lobby to the kitchen.

Vix followed behind Trent. “I’ll go and talk to him.”

“Then he’ll know we’re onto him,” Trent said, puffing a little. He grunted as he helped lift the wicker hamper onto the table. “It’s best if we keep cool.”

“Do you believe he is doing something wrong, or don’t you?” Vix gave them both a schoolteacher frown.

Kell inclined his head to the side. “I think it’s unlikely that anyone would employ a gardener to spray blue spots on the lawn, especially when they’re away.”

“So, I’ll talk to him. You two would only scare him off. At the moment you look like a couple medical examiner’s assistants. And with your masks, you would be downright scary. Lunch will be ready as soon as you are.” She raised her eyebrows at their garb.

“If she wasn’t my sister-in-law, I would suspect her of wanting to check out my body,” Kell said to Trent.

“She’s seen better.” Trent was already struggling out of his filthy white coverall as he headed toward the bathroom.

“Let’s hope he leaves the bathroom clear for me,” Kell muttered, having been annoyed by Trent’s habit of leaving his towels on the floor of the bathroom for the past three days.

Vix seemed to be on another track entirely. “You know, this is a beautiful house.” She glanced around the kitchen.

“I don’t see it, myself.” Kell couldn’t imagine who would want a kitchen double the size of the average living room, with a tiny laundry and bathroom opening into the same space. He would need to reconfigure. “I could make this room look pretty special, but it’s not worth too much bother.”

“Isn’t it listed?”

“That’s why I got it at a bargain price. Every other buyer wanted to knock it down.” His mouth hitched with dissatisfaction. “I only have permission to get rid of the later-built outhouses. I want to do a quick reno and then get on with my life.”

“The brickwork is something special,” she said, completely ignoring his words again and getting right back onto her own track. “My gran’s house was like this. When she sold it and went to live with my father, the man who bought the place added on a modern extension.”

Exasperated, he raked one hand though his hair. “I suppose that’s what will happen here. I’m not a builder. I’m a chippy, and I do interiors. I can’t afford to waste money on extensions. I need to get in quick, make a profit, and get out.”

She sighed. “My mind sees this place all spruced up and beautiful again.”

Lifting one palm, he rubbed a thumb over the ends of his fingers. “Money. When I can afford altruism will be the time for me to think that way.”

Her cheeks turned red and she nodded. He didn’t like bringing up her situation, but he had only stepped onto the first rung of success, unlike her father who had built a taller ladder and hauled his family to the pinnacle. One day Kell might do that.

“Your turn,” Trent said, returning a little sprucer than when he had left. “It’s a shame we don’t have any clean plates.”

“They’re in that cupboard above the sink.” Vix shot him a frown. “Don’t try your helpless act with me. I’m married to Jay who can set a table as well as I do.”

“That’s because he’s been domesticated. I’m still training Trent,” Kell said on his way to the bathroom where he yet again picked up Trent’s towel and washed.

By the time he returned, the card table in the center of the kitchen had been spread with a red tablecloth and dotted with white plates. Bread, ham, cheese, pickles, and a salad to eat, and he was a new man. Vix left the food in the fridge and took the basket back, likely for her father to refill.

Kell liked knowing that one of the richest men in the state was putty in his gentle daughter’s hands.

* * * *

The afternoon flew by while Calli concentrated, referring again and again to her diagrams. She wanted sudden views in the garden and hidden nooks. She wanted beds of color, patches of sunlight, and swathes of green. On paper, her plan seemed feasible. While she ducked through the old haphazardly planted undergrowth, the job looked bigger than she could manage. However, she had to manage. She had made a mess of her personal life and her business life, and she was tired of being used.

She whacked at the stake marking one of the curved edges for the front garden, using her righteous energy productively. For too long she had been no more than her parents’ daughter, and she had to find another self. If she wanted to change herself and her life, she had to do so now. Before she finished this job, she would be a whole new Calli. She gave an extra whack to the next stake.

During the afternoon, she finished shaping the new front garden. Re-plotting the complicated back garden would take her more than a week, in her estimation. She stripped off her gloves as she returned to the cottage and the cat, who greeted her with a raised head and a blink.

Calli put fresh food out for the animal, a bare mouthful, which seemed to be the amount Hobo could manage. She watched the cat eat for a moment and then she changed into slim black pants with a loose top patterned in black and white. With her short toffee-colored hair brushed back, she doubted anyone would look at her long enough to recognize her. She had omitted the lashes she had always worn and only added gloss to her lips. Her slight nod to vanity was her black-and-white striped heels, which made her as tall as the average man. Satisfied she looked neat and clean, she took herself and her phone to the local pub for a bar special.

The place employed a cook and not a chef, and the cook couldn’t cook. In between web searching for plants on her phone, she picked at the watery vegetables from the serve-yourself bain-marie. After cutting off the fat, she ate the greasy roast lamb, wishing she wasn’t hungry enough to do so, and she left after taking the last mouthful. She could drink good coffee at home, since the cottage was now her home.

Dark had descended when she arrived back. Lights glimmered through the forest surrounding the house next door. She now knew more than one person lived there, since the white SUV had left during the day. Later, she had seen two white-wrapped men, one blonde woman, and a Ferrari.

Perhaps because walking into a dark house alone at night spooked her, her mind began to hover over her speculations about the neighbors again. As the SUV hadn’t been there during the day, the tattooed gangster wasn’t either of the white-clad men. The only car to arrive had been the Ferrari. Women rarely drove Ferraris, therefore one of the men would have brought the blonde, or she lived in the house next door, too.

Why would the Ferrari macho stereotype, usually a youngish male who wanted admiration from other men or, of course, beautiful blondes, live in a dilapidated property hidden by trees? Why would he wear white coveralls? For cleaning? Unlikely. Or not? Momentarily letting her mind wander over cleaning, aka, body disposal, she hesitated in the doorway—but she couldn’t let her imagination loose when she only had herself to spook.

Deliberately relaxing her shoulders, she switched on the main light. A body disposer wouldn’t be interested in her. She hardly had a body at all, and she certainly didn’t have any mob connections. Aside from that, she had nothing to snitch to the police about, other than Grayson, of course. Her worst problem was the smelly cat.

“Hi, puss,” she said to Hobo, who stretched, and then soft-footed off the couch, aiming a reproachful glare at Calli. “What have I done? I’ve been out. Whatever has happened, you can’t blame me.”

Hobo did a figure eight around Calli’s ankles and then paraded to the fridge where her food dish sat empty.

“Very impressive. I suppose you expect me to fill the bowl again. Well…okay. But don’t take a single bite unless you agree to have a bath.” Calli spooned food into the bowl and set the dish in front of the cat, who ate like a taster in a cooking competition, taking tiny bites and pausing. “I hope you realize you have compromised yourself by accepting a bribe.”

She decided the cat had nodded in agreement. Grabbing her bottle of shampoo and one of the towels from the bathroom, she left the kitchen sink to fill with warm water while she made a pad that covered the drainer. “How to bathe a cat,” she said in a companionable voice. “In one easy lesson. Finished dinner?”

Hobo lifted a paw and began cleaning between her toes with her teeth.

“Don’t worry about that.” Calli picked up the cat, tested the water’s temperature with her elbow, which anyone knew to do, and with trembling hands put the cat in the water, which reached just past her knees. “Could you sit? No. Is it okay if I scoop water over you?”

The cat gave her an unreadable glance, but other than a slight shudder, she accepted having water scooped over her. Calli soaped her up, rinsed her off, cleaned her eyes, and then as gently as she could, she patted the bundle of bones dry. Without her matted fur covering, the cat was frighteningly delicate. On the plus side, washing a cat was rather like washing a teddy bear, but actually nicer, because the cat purred while she was being dried. Calli had no idea why the vet had said good luck.

Finally, Hobo decided she was dry enough and she sprang onto the tiles and ambled across the carpet to the front door. She glanced back at Calli as if to say, “C’mon.”

“If your need to go outdoors is in any way embarrassing, don’t tell me. And if you run away, remember I don’t care. I won’t have to clean your eyes again.” Calli opened the door.

The cat disappeared into the night. “I didn’t mean it,” Calli said, her fingers pressed to her cheeks. “I do care. Please don’t make me search for you.”

Within a few minutes, Hobo returned, glanced at the open door, glanced at the garden bed beside the open door, adopted an expression of complete innocence, and rolled herself in the dirt. Then she shook herself, bounded back inside the house, and curled up on the couch.

“So, that’s your true opinion of my bathing skills?” Sighing, Calli perched beside her and reached for the television remote controller. A crime show flickered onto the screen, lights flashing, actors clumping around in blue latex boots and white coveralls. She changed channels to a cooking show, even worse, because the food looked edible. Switching off the set, she listened for noises in the night. Not even an air conditioner hummed.

She couldn’t go to bed before eight at night despite being physically exhausted. Instead, she folded her arms and stared at the ceiling, noting a tiny cobweb in the corner. She breathed out and stared at the cat, who slept soundly. Tomorrow she would buy a book to read. Tonight she would think about what she would do first in the morning. Breakfast. Jog. Move a few plants from the front garden to the edge of the veranda facing the tennis court. The sun didn’t reach that area until the late afternoon. Then she had miles of brown plastic piping to cut and fit for the new dripper system.

She dropped her chin onto her chest, thinking. Then, with her jaw forward, she stood, kicked off her shoes, pushed up the sleeves of her sweater, and grabbed a white chair from the dining area. In the darkness of the night, she could peer over the neighbor’s fence—just to make sure they didn’t nurture a marijuana plantation or run a meth lab.

After switching off the light, she carried the chair to the side fence. Listened. Nothing. She took a step up onto the seat. The street lamps gave her a clear but gray view into the neighbor’s property. Immediately under her nose stood the overflowing smelly bin and a brick path leading to the back door. She hadn’t made herself into a snoop to watch her neighbors but to put her mind to rest about their illegal activities. Or so her mind insisted.

The property had the same back boundary as the judge’s. The house ended where the judge’s main house started. The backyard resembled the front garden, weedy and speckled with feral trees. Calli had no view through to the garage, but she knew a large area of land lurked between the house and the outbuilding. This meant the marijuana plantation would be out of sight, if the gangster grew marijuana. The meth lab would be in the crumbling garage, which would be a good disguise for a meth lab.

The yellow light from the windows of the main house lent menace to the shadows. Without any sort of warning, while she was peering through the weeds, the back door of the house creaked open. She had time to see a rangy man in dirty jeans open his eyes wide with surprise when he saw her. “Killer,” he shouted wildly.

Terrified, she immediately ducked down, huddling on the chair while clutching at the fence post. Was he yelling for someone to kill her? Surely they wouldn’t. Neighbors spied on each other all the time. In some areas, neighbor watching was considered to be an essential sport.

Her heart thudded in her chest, and she thought about calling out that she hadn’t seen a thing. She cleared her throat, and his back door slammed. The thump of footsteps. A bump against the fence, which rocked. Moving, she whacked her knee, and the chair tilted. She grabbed hold of the fence post, but too late. The chair tipped over, and she fell onto the upturned seat, the heels of her palms and her knees planting into the dirt. She quickly arose, only to be thrown onto her belly.

A heavy shape landed on top of her. “Got you, you little varmint.”

The neckline of her top jerked up under her chin, almost choking her. She froze. Her heartbeat went into overdrive, and her pulse pounded in her ears. She tried to turn but the man put his elbow around her neck. The weight of him held her down.

“Isn’t it time you went home?” he asked in a silky voice.

Her body tightened into defense mode, stiff and ready to fight back. “Not your business,” she managed to say in husky, breathless voice. “Get off me!”

His weight lifted off her, but he had a grip on her top. As he stood, he dragged her up with him. “Explain why you are still lurking around,” he said in a terse voice.

Almost crippled by the tackle, she turned to face him, tangled in her skewed top.

He examined her, his hand tightly gripping her shoulder. Then, he blinked and stiffened into a visible double take. While she stood frozen to the spot, her blouse settling back into place, he morphed into the dangerously handsome Mr. Neighborhood Watch. The palm that had flattened on her shoulder shifted to his hip, his whole stance expressing surprise. “You.”

Her heart dropped. She hadn’t expected him to recognize her face when he had only seen her in sunglasses and a hat. “Instead of worrying about what I’m doing, you should be concentrating on the gangsters next door,” she said through clenched teeth, bravely taking a step back.

“The gangsters next door?” His expression relaxed into the sort of amusement that would cause the elastic in women’s undies to melt.

Her shoulders eased. “And their meth lab.”

“Meth lab?”

She folded her arms. “Or marijuana plantation.”

“Marijuana plantation?” His eyebrows lifted slightly.

“I already know you have mentioned to one of these people that they might be happier living elsewhere. I heard you this morning. I can certainly report suspicious activity. The gangsters in there are probably making a fortune while you’re running around at night scaring poor innocent residents.”

He re-angled his stance. “You’re a resident?”

She flicked her head toward the darkened cottage. “That’s how I can hear what’s going on next door.”

“Noisy, are they?”

“No. Suspiciously quiet. Well, except for last night. They played loud music and laughed and broke bottles. I expect they were having an orgy after counting the millions they extorted from people during the day.” She straightened the neckline of her top.

He pressed a loosely curled fist to his mouth while he examined her face. “I think this neighborhood deserves further discussion. Tomorrow night over a meal, perhaps?”

“I think you should back off the property before I call the police.” She took a step back to the door, clenching her bare toes onto the lawn.

“What’s going on over there?” said a voice from behind the fence.

“I’ve had complaints about you,” Mr. Neighborhood Watch called back.

“Me?” the voice said in indignant squeak.

“And I would suggest you dismantle your meth lab before the police arrive.” Mr. Neighborhood Watch pushed his hands into his back pockets, and nodded at Calli, as if to imply he had the situation covered and was in collusion with her.

“Okay,” the voice said. “It sounds like you’re talking to a woman.”

“As it happens, I am. The eighteen-year-old boy turned into the jogging girl.”

“Story of your life, isn’t it, buddy? I expect you don’t need my help.” The voice sounded bitter. The back door squeaked and banged.

Calli stood for a moment staring at a face that even in the shadows set her heart thudding.

“The police won’t arrive in time, and they won’t find any evidence,” he said, holding her gaze.

She moistened her lips, her intake of air icy cold. “You’re one of the next-door neighbors, too, I presume?”

He shrugged, as if it didn’t matter. “About the bottles—we thought the cottage was empty.”

All of a sudden, she remembered his comment to the man over the fence. “You’ve seen me jogging?” She wet her lips. “Is that what you meant when you said you.”

He nodded. “We’re working on the house until the marijuana crop is ripe enough to harvest. The meth lab is Trent’s. I don’t have anything to do with it.”

“And you’re staying there while you work.” She hesitated and, in case he had seen her picture in the paper as her father’s spoiled dishonest daughter, she tested him with, “I’m Calli.”

He gripped her palm. “Kellen. Now, about that dinner….”

“There’s nowhere around here you would want to eat. Look, it’s been interesting talking to a gangster, but I have a pile of work to catch up with.”

“Right.” Kellen reached behind her and grabbed the chair. “Where do you want this?”

“I’ll take it inside.”

“I’ll take it inside. It’s the least I can do after throwing you to the ground and landing on top of you.”

“If I can carry it outside, I can carry it inside.” She lifted her chin.

His expression deliberately patient, he took the chair to the door and waited for her. “I understand that you don’t want a strange man wandering into your house. How about if you wander through mine tomorrow instead and check the whereabouts of the meth lab? It would save you climbing the fence at night.”

She firmed her chin. “I expect you wouldn’t want me to arrive until you’ve had time to hide everything.”

“Come for lunch,” he said, passing the chair to her. “We have a houseful of food.”

“I might,” New Calli said, surprising herself. Apparently she wasn’t quite as staid as she had thought. Or Kellen’s reluctant amusement had relaxed her. “At about one. By the way, how did you get into this garden?”

“I jumped the fence.” He backed away, a crooked smile on his face. “I’ll show you.” In two steps, he had hold of the top of the fence, lifted to the extent of his arms, and vaulted. “See you at one tomorrow.”