The Scent of Murder (8 page)

Gerri Richmond gave a strangled little laugh. “What would you know? How could you understand? You don't have a child.”

“And you have Murphy's.” The words came out before I could stop them. I could have kicked myself. This wasn't the way I'd planned to say it.

She gazed at me insolently. She was queen of the manor and I was nothing, a field hand. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

I could feel my cheeks burning with shame and anger. “Oh, yes you do. Tell me, did your husband know Murphy was Amy's father, or did he think the baby was his?”

“I don't have to answer you.”

An idea flashed across my mind. “Or did he just find out?”

Gerri turned and started towards Amy's bedroom. “I'm calling the police.” The words bubbled behind her. “If you're here when they arrive, I'll press charges.”

I left. I was surprised to find I was shaking when I got outside.

A
s I drove out of Gerri Richmond's driveway, I wondered if what I'd said back at her house had been right. I gnawed at my thumbnail, as I turned onto East Genesee. Had Dennis suddenly found out about who Amy's real father was, after all these years? It seemed unlikely. How would he find out? Who would tell him? But if he had... I pictured the scene.

Dennis threatening divorce. Which meant no more nice house for Gerri, no more fancy car, no more cashmere sweaters. She didn't strike me as the type of lady who would take that well. The question was: What was she willing to do to hold on to what she had? After all, if Dennis was gone, so was her problem. Did she know about his apartment too? Had she hired someone to go over there and stab him? End of discussion. End of messy domestic drama. She sure hadn't looked as if she were engulfed in grief over her husband's death.

I tapped the steering wheel with my fingers. It was an attractive picture, but it probably wasn't a true one, and I reluctantly put it aside and headed back to the store. The fact that I hated Gerri Richmond didn't mean she was a murderer.

Tim looked up from sweeping the floor as I walked in the front door. “The guy you sold the iguana to this morning called.”

Zsa Zsa came over for a pet. I bent down and scratched her rump. “And?”

“He said to tell you it worked.”

“Good.”

“And George phoned.”

I cursed. I couldn't believe I'd missed him again.

“He said he'd try again later.”

“I don't suppose he left a number?”

“Nope.”

“Anything else?”

“The crickets haven't arrived.”

Great. This was the second time this had happened this month. I was going to have to find a new supplier.

Something moved in Tim's shirt pocket. “Mr. Bones,” he explained, when he saw me staring. “He was getting bored in the cage so I took him out.” A moment later, two ears, a pair of brown eyes, and a white snout peered out at me.

I lifted him out of Tim's pocket and cradled him in my arms.

“What are you going to do with him if Amy doesn't come back?”

“Make him into a collar.” ,

“Seriously.”

“Why? You want him?”

“Maybe.”

Zsa Zsa jumped up to smell him. I put the ferret down on the floor and the two animals began playing tag. Tim and I watched them for a few minutes. Then he went in the back room, and I returned Mr. Bones to his cage. I should have gone through the mail, but I found myself thumbing through Amy's assignment book instead. It didn't tell me much, outside of the fact that the words “assignment pad” were a misnomer. Instead of homework assignments, its pages were filled with intricately rendered drawings of necklaces, bracelets, and rings. They were good. The girl definitely had talent. If she ever got out of the mess she'd gotten herself into, she could have a career designing jewelry. Unfortunately, what the book didn't have were her friends' names and phone numbers. Maybe she didn't have any. Then on the last page I found the initials UB. They were underlined three times and encased in an ever expanding spiral.

I reached into my pocket, unwrapped a stick of gum, put it in my mouth, and stared at the letters. Did they stand for anything? A boyfriend? A girlfriend? A ferret? Then it hit me. The
Herald
article I'd read about Dennis Richmond's disappearance had mentioned that the business was co-owned by his brother Brad, the man I'd met at Gerri Richmond's house, the man she'd slapped when he called her daughter a freak. “B” for Brad. “U” for Uncle. UB. Could that be who Amy meant? It was certainly worth trying. I mean, it wasn't as if I had hundreds of leads to explore. I got out the phone directory, looked up the number for the Syracuse Casket Company and dialed. When the receptionist came on, I told her I wanted to speak to Brad Richmond and added it was in reference to his niece, Amy. He came on the line a moment later.

“Have you seen her again?” His voice was brusque. I could imagine him tapping his fingers on the table. “Did she come back to your store?”

“No.”

“Then what is this about? Why are you calling.”

“Your nephew hired me to find her.”

“Well I'm afraid I can't help you. She hasn't put in an appearance here.”

I explained.

“All right.” He sighed. “Let me look at my calendar.” There was a short pause, and he came back on the line. “Let's get together tomorrow at three thirty out here.” He hung up.

I went in the back and poured myself a cup of coffee and got to work.

 

 

I set out for the Syracuse Casket Company a little before three the next day. It was a perfect fall afternoon. The sky was a brilliant shade of Caribbean blue. The temperature was 60 degrees. The air had a damp, spicy, woodland aroma. A shower of golden beech leaves fluttered around my car, as I headed down the street towards 81 North. The sidewalks were full of men and women raking up the last leaves before the winter snow. Packs of high school boys and girls jostled each other good-naturedly. Children ran through leaf piles. Shopkeepers stood in the doorways of their stores enjoying the autumn sun. It was enough to make me almost believe in Mom, Apple Pie, and the American Dream.

I got off 81 at the Liverpool exit and turned onto Hiawatha Boulevard. Twenty minutes later, I was at the factory. It was an unremarkable long, square-shaped brick building. Somehow I was disappointed. I'd wanted it to be a strange, eerie place guarded by a grizzled, humpbacked caretaker and a one-eyed dog. Instead I was walking towards a plant that could have manufactured pipes or storm doors or cartons. Oh well. Murphy always had said I was overimaginative. I threw the piece of gum I was chewing out, went inside, gave my name to the receptionist, and sat down to wait.

The smell of freshly cut wood and varnish permeated the air. The reception area was small and plain. No attempt at decorating had been made. The walls were putty colored and the chairs were standard office issue. I was thinking that even a plant would have been nice, when the door to the office opened and a girl came out. She was five-five, maybe 120 lbs. She had brown hair that came to her chin, hazel eyes, and regular features. Her dress—a flowered print number—and jacket overwhelmed her frame. With the right clothes and makeup, she would have been attractive, but now she seemed invisible.

She came over and shook my hand. “I'm Elizabeth Walker, Mr. Richmond's secretary. Please come with me.”

She turned, and I followed her back through the doorway. We moved past the office space and the Xerox room, walked down a hall that housed more offices and a couple of large conference rooms, took a left, and came to an alcove that contained a desk, phone, and filing cabinet. Beyond it was another office. The door was partially closed. Elizabeth Walker knocked.

“Yes,” a voice from inside said.

“It's Dee.” Her voice became animated. “Robin Light is here.”

“I'm ready.”

Walker ushered me in, then left, carefully shutting the door behind her.

“Please sit down,” Brad Richmond said, indicating a maroon leather armchair in front of his desk.

He'd taken off his tie and jacket and rolled up his sleeves. I looked around, as I sat down. It was a working office. The place was crammed with file cabinets and metal shelving overflowing with magazines, thick books encased in red plastic, and papers. Two prints, one blue and one green, hung on the wall. They were the room's only decoration. Both were abstract. Neither was memorable. Something told me they'd been bought the same time the furniture had.

Richmond cleared his throat as I took my place. I was thinking I'd give anything for a cigarette, when he spoke. “I'd like to apologize for the other night at my sister-in-law's house. I'm sorry you had to see that.”

I made a noncommittal noise. I was more interested in listening to him than in having him listen to me.

He ran his hand through his hair. It was, I realized, as thick as his brother's had been. It just wasn't grey. As I was wondering if he dyed it, he leaned back in his chair and studied me. I returned his gaze.

Eventually he must have found what he wanted, because he started talking again. “You have to understand. It's been a dreadful time around here. Between Dennis's death and Amy's disappearance....” He made a vague gesture. “Anyway, I didn't want you to misinterpret what you saw the other night. That's why I agreed to talk to you.”

I shifted my weight slightly. The chair was too deep to sit in comfortably. “How would you like me to interpret it?” As far as I could see, it wasn't the type of scene that left too much room for interpretation.

He pursed and unpursed his lips. “I like Amy, but you have to understand that she's done some things that are... well... to be frank... not very nice.”

“She circled your name in her notebook. May I ask why?”

He made his fingers into a steeple and brought them to his lips. “She wanted to borrow some money from me.”

“Given what you said about her earlier, I find it difficult to believe she'd turn to you for help.”

He flushed. “Sometimes I let my temper get the better of me. But Amy knows she can come to me.”

I wondered if that were true. “How much did she want to borrow?”

“Two hundred dollars.”

“Did she say why she wanted it?”

“No.”

“Did you give it to her?”

“I told her I didn't think it was wise, considering her past history.”

“What did she do?”

“She called me an asshole and stalked out of my house.”

“Did you tell her father about it?”

He gave a bark of a laugh. “No. I didn't feel it was any of his business.”

“Amy is his daughter.”

Brad Richmond grimaced. “My brother and I weren't in the habit of talking very much.”

“It must be difficult to run a business that way.”

Brad Richmond looked around. His expression was self-satisfied. “We manage.”

“I understand there's been a lot of tension in Dennis's household as well.”

“So I hear. Word gets around,” he explained, even though I hadn't asked him how he knew.

I sat back. “Is there anything you can tell me about Amy that might help me find her?”

“Not really.” Brad Richmond studied the green and blue prints for a moment before going on. “Amy's always been a difficult child, right from the day she was born. She wouldn't sleep through the night for two years. When she was three, she would only eat potatoes and milk. If you served her anything else, she'd have a tantrum. My brother spent an enormous amount of money on therapists, a private school. Take this rehab facility he sent her to—our health insurance doesn't cover this sort of thing you know. That was big bucks. Maybe forty, fifty thousand dollars.” He picked up a pen and dropped it. “You know who I blame her problems on?”

“Who?”

“Gerri. The moment I saw her, I knew she was trouble. I advised Dennis not to marry her. But he insisted. She was the first woman he ever went out with. My brother was not what you call socially adept where women are concerned.” He smiled wanly. “I probably shouldn't have said anything, but it's hard not to when you see someone you care about doing something you think is going to make them unhappy.”

“And did it?”

“What?”

“Make him unhappy?”

Brad Richmond picked up a paper clip and began straightening it out. “Gerri has managed to make all of us unhappy. In one way or another.” He tossed the paper clip down. “From the day she married Dennis, things between my brother and I have never been the same.” He shook his head. “Such a shame. Family. It's wonderful when everyone gets along.... But when they don't...” His voice trailed off. I was beginning to wonder if I'd wandered onto the stage of an afternoon talk show, when I heard yelling.

T
he yelling grew louder.

Richmond gripped the edge of the desk. Ragged splotches of red spread across his cheeks. “Stay here,” he barked. “I'll be right back.” He jumped up from his desk and hurried across his office. The door banged against the wall as he threw it open on the way out.

I couldn't resist. I waited all of three seconds before I went after him. His gait was stiff-legged with rage as he half-walked half-ran down the corridor. As I followed him, I became aware of how quiet it was. Besides the yelling, the only noise I heard was the whirring of machinery from the plant. I remember thinking it was odd no one was in the hallway and that all the office doors were closed. What was this? Showdown time at the O.K. Corral? Was everyone hunkering down behind their desks waiting for whatever was going to happen to blow over? I was less than a foot away when Richmond halted at the entrance to the second conference room. I couldn't see in, though. Richmond was blocking my view. I took a couple of steps to the left and banged into a trash can. Richmond didn't turn around. I don't think he even heard. All his attention was focused on what was going on inside the room.

From where I was standing, I was able to catch a glimpse of two men. One was Charlie Richmond. The second man looked familiar, but I couldn't put a name to him. They were both standing close to each other. They were breathing hard. Their hair was mussed. Their ties were askew. Their bodies were rigid. They were staring at each other with the all-consuming attention you either give to your lover or to your mortal enemy. In another couple of seconds the punches were going to start flying.

“Listen, you cocksucker,” Charlie Richmond was screaming. “I'm going to ...”

“What?” Brad Richmond bellowed. “You're going to do what?”

The two men sprang apart.

Charlie Richmond turned to face his uncle. His ears were red. His lips were quivering. “Good. I'm glad you're here. It saves me the trouble of calling you.” He went over to the conference table, picked up a piece of paper, and waved it in the air. “This is it. The end. I want your son out of this building now.”

“You're the one that's going,” Brad Richmond's son sneered.

“I don't think so,” Charlie Richmond said.

“This time daddy isn't here to protect you.”

Charlie Richmond balled up the piece of paper he was holding and crushed it in his palm. “His death was real convenient for you, wasn't it?”

“Exactly what are you implying?”

“Even a moron like you can figure it out.”

“Fuck you.” Brad Richmond's son clenched his fists and began bouncing up and down on his toes. “Fuck you where you breathe.”

“Stop it,” Brad Richmond yelled. “Both of you shut up.” He took another step inside and kicked the door shut behind him. It closed with a thud. The door must have been a fire door because, while I could still hear voices rising and falling, I couldn't make out what they were saying. Not that that kept me from trying. I was as close to the door as I could get without actually putting my ear against it when I became aware of someone at my elbow.

It was Brad Richmond's secretary. “Would you like to wait in Mr. Richmond's office?” she chirped. “I'm sure this won't take very long.” Her voice sounded as if she'd dipped it in syrup. Just listening to her made my teeth ache.

I straightened up. A person of finer sensibilities would have been embarrassed at being discovered this way, but since my sensibilities are pretty base, I didn't have that problem. I just moved down the hall a little. I wanted to be able to see if anyone opened the door.

“What's going on?” I asked.

Elizabeth Walker shrugged and gave her nails a quick perusal. They were colored a deep pink. “It's just Charlie and Frank.”

“They do this a lot?” Judging by her attitude—total indifference—I was willing to bet they did.

She shrugged again. “Usually they're not here at the same time.”

“That's lucky.”

“I guess.” Elizabeth Walker was obviously not someone who cared deeply about the place she worked for. My guess was that she didn't care about much outside of herself.

“Do you know what they're fighting about?”

“No. I think it's a personal matter.” She pushed a strand of hair that had fallen over her eye back into place and studied my appearance for a second. It was as if I'd finally penetrated her consciousness. “So how come you're here? You don't look like the kind of person Mr. Richmond normally sees.”

“Charlie Richmond hired me to find Amy. I was hoping your boss could help me.”

“She hasn't been here in awhile. I could have told you that.” She glanced at her watch. It looked like a good Rolex knockoff.

“What's awhile?”

Elizabeth Walker thought for a minute. “Two months.”

“Did you have talk to her?”

“She never talked to anybody. She used to just sit in her dad's office and read. I'll tell you one thing though.” Elizabeth Walker paused to readjust her skirt. “She wouldn't be walking around like that if she was my kid.”

“No?”

“No. All she needs are a couple of smacks to straighten her out.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“Well it never hurt me,” she said defensively, and she checked her watch again. “One more hour. Then I'm out of here.” She smiled. It was a genuine one. The first I'd seen. “I'm gonna go home, take a nap, and have me some fun.”

“Where are you going to go?”

“Dancing.” Her smile grew wider. She nodded towards the door Brad Richmond had slammed behind him. “I think they're going to be in there for awhile.”

“You're probably right.” I started back down the hall. I had a lot of other things to do. I could always come back if I wanted to. “This kind of stuff must make working here difficult,” I said, indicating the conference room.

“Only if you pay attention to it.” Elizabeth Walker had fallen into step beside me. Our pace was marked by the clicking of her heels on the floor. “And I try not to. Have you ever been to Cancun?” she asked, suddenly changing the subject.

“Yes,” I replied cautiously, momentarily thrown by the change of topic.

“Did you like it?”

“It was pleasant. Why? Are you planning on going?”

“I'm thinking about it.” Elizabeth Walker smiled again. “My boyfriend says it's real nice down there. It's like you're here, only cheaper.”

“Then why bother to go to Mexico at all, if you feel that way? Why don't you just go down to Florida?” By now we were back in front of Brad Richmond's office.

“Because I can drink lots of margaritas and sit on the beach.”

I suppose that was as good an answer as any. We spent the next five minutes chatting about the different hotels and where the best places to buy boots and silver jewelry were. I was just about to ask her when she was planning on going, when Brad Richmond and his son, Frank, came barreling around the corner. Both halted when they saw me. Both looked as if they wished I weren't there. I pretended I didn't notice, went over, and introduced myself to Frank. A cloud of Aramis washed over me. For a moment I thought I was going to sneeze, but then the impulse went away, and I studied the man standing in front of me. He was a taller, skinnier version of his father, except for one thing: He had two slightly different colored eyes. One was light and the other dark brown. Even though the colors were so similiar I hadn't noticed when I first saw him, the effect was unsettling, and I found myself staring at him without meaning to.

“It looks as if you're the only member of the Richmond family I haven't met,” I told him.

“Is that so?” His voice was higher than I expected.

“Yes,” I replied, still doing polite.

“You'll have to forgive us,” his father interjected. He'd gotten his CEO persona back. “Perhaps we can finish our conversation at another time.” He gestured to his secretary before I could answer. “Ms. Walker will show you out.”

But I wasn't ready to go yet. I pretended I hadn't heard and asked Frank if he knew Amy.

He straightened his tie. “Obviously I do.”

“Have you seen her recently?”

“I'll tell you what I told the police. Not since she disappeared.”

“Do you have any idea where she could be?”

“He doesn't,” Brad Richmond interrupted. “He already told you that.”

“Your son can't talk for himself?”

“Of course he can,” Brad Richmond snapped. “I was just trying to speed this up.” He turned to his son. “Go on, answer her.”

Frank crossed his arms over his chest. “I haven't seen Amy in maybe six, seven months,” he informed me. “She stopped coming around when I stopped lending her money.”

By now, Brad Richmond had his hand on the doorknob of his office door. He obviously couldn't wait for me to leave. I don't know. I seemed to have that effect on the Richmond family. Maybe it's a chemical thing.

“I hope you find her,” Frank said. “But I don't think you will.”

“Why's that?”

“She's probably run away down to New York.”

“What gives you that idea?”

“Because she's been talking about doing it for the last year or so.” Then he and his father turned and went inside Brad Richmond's office.

Elizabeth Walker escorted me to the front door and said good-bye. It was still nice outside, even though the sky had begun to grey over. The weather forecasters had called for rain this evening. It looked as if their predictions were going to be accurate. But I couldn't really complain. Due to an unusually dry summer, we needed all the rain we could get. The pumpkin and apple harvests had been off by almost forty percent, and deer were coming out of the woods to gnaw on the trees.

I took a piece of gum out of my backpack and started chewing it as I walked towards my car. Okay. What had I learned from this meeting? I pondered the information I'd gotten, as I watched a coven of crows convening in a tree over by the perimeter of the parking lot. I'd learned that Brad and Frank Richmond didn't know where Amy was either and that neither one had anything to do with her. Which was probably true. I blew a bubble and popped it. What else had I come away with? Well, I'd learned that no one in the Richmond family got along with anyone else. Not that this was big news. You could probably apply that sentence to half the families in America—including mine.

I blew another bubble. It was huge. For a moment, I saw the world through a pink haze. Then it popped, flattening out across my face. This, I remembered, as I scraped it off my lips and chin, was why I'd given up blowing bubbles. As I got the last piece off the corner of my mouth, I wondered what Frank and Charlie had been fighting about and what had been on that piece of paper Charlie had waved around. Not that it really mattered except as a matter of idle curiosity. I watched the crows for another minute, as they wheeled and dipped and bobbed above the tree. Maybe it was my imagination, but there seemed to be more of them and fewer song birds every year. I spit my gum out and started on another piece. It wasn't a cigarette, but for now it would have to do.

I got in the cab and turned on the ignition. So where the hell was Amy? Basically I didn't know any more than I had when I came out here. The fact annoyed me, but then everything was annoying me these days. Someone could tell me they were going to Alaska, and I'd be ready to snap their head off. I started the cab up. It looked as if it was time to start looking for Toon Town. He was turning out to be the only viable lead I had, but first I needed to get something to eat.

I stopped at a convenience store and bought myself a pint of Ben and Jerry's Aztec Harvest Coffee ice cream, a Snickers bar, a bag of Oreo Cookies, and a cup of hazelnut coffee to which I add half and half and three packs of sugar. If I couldn't smoke, at least I could damn well eat what I wanted. I drank the coffee and ate the candy bar, while I drove over to the store. By the time I arrived, I was in a slightly better mood. I guess my blood sugar had been low.

Zsa Zsa came running over to greet me when I came in. As I bent down to pet her, I noticed that Amy's ferret wasn't in his cage. I was about to ask Tim what had happened to Mr. Bones when I saw him running up and down Tim's arm.

“It doesn't seem fair to keep animals like these in cages. Can you believe that he likes cantaloupe?” Tim marveled, as Mr. Bones disappeared up his sleeve. “I offered him a piece and he gobbled it down.”

“Fascinating.” I went into the back room to hang up my jacket and start on my ice cream.

“By the way,” Tim said, as he came in. Mr. Bones was now riding on top of his head. “Amy called.”

I put my spoon down.

“She wanted to know how Mr. Bones was doing. I told her he was doing fine.”

“Did she say anything else?”

“She wanted to speak to you.”

I groaned. My timing was always impeccable. Without fail, when I should be at place A, I was always at place B.

Tim lifted Mr. Bones off his head, cradled him in his arms, and began rubbing his belly. “She said she'd call back again.”

“Did she give a time?”

“No.” Tim rubbed under the ferret's chin. Mr. Bones sneezed.

“I don't suppose she happened to say where she was?”

He shook his head.

“And you didn't ask?”

“She hung up before I could.”

“Terrific.” This was definitely turning into a great day. The hell with the ice cream. What I needed was my cigarettes and about four shots of Scotch.