“Is everything all right?” he answered.
She hesitated again. Maybe he was just concerned about her welfare. But they had been friends once—sparring, perhaps, but close.
“How do you feel about dinner?” she asked.
“It’s a necessary meal,” he said. “Just teasing. Was that an invitation?”
“Yes. I’m going to the store. What do you like?”
“I’ll tell you what. We’ll head out somewhere tonight. You can make use of all your culinary skills tomorrow.”
“I don’t remember saying that I had any,” she said, smiling.
“Ah, well, that’s to be seen, then, hmm?” he said. “I’ll be around sometime after five. I’m day shift—unless something serious happens at night,” he added.
She smiled, a little dismayed that the fact that he was coming over seemed so wonderful. She realized, too, that coming back was easy. The property was just as it had been. The house seemed like home. Even as cluttered and dusty as it had become. Her mother had died here, but before she had died, there had been many good times. She remembered the grand parlor when it had been all decked out for Christmas—her parents had always gone all the way. There had been ornaments on the antlers of the mounted animal heads on the walls, and the mantel had been strewn with decorations, from a Nativity to Christmas-clad Disney characters. Lights in a multitude of colors had blazed all around the property, making it a beacon in the night.
“I’ll see you soon, then,” she said softly.
They said goodbye and clicked off. Kelsey decided to put her call through to Joe Richter and then decide whether to shop first or drive out to see him.
Dialing, she left her list on the table, walked to the family room and then outside. Looking northward, she saw nothing but the endless horizon. The sky was a beautiful blue; the ocean was calm. The little snatch of sandy beach was inviting.
As she stood there, though, she thought that she smelled something unpleasant.
Death. It was the smell of death and decay, organic matter.
It was gone with a whisper of the breeze. She shook her head and winced. Cutter had died inside. She didn’t smell it inside. Whoever had been there had cleared the house of the smell.
Liam had probably seen to it.
Her heart seemed to take a little lurch. She had to stop; she was getting sucked back into the past far too quickly.
Determined, she turned around and headed back inside.
The phone call to Joe Richter put the day in order; she’d stop by to see him, and then she’d head out shopping.
But when she stepped out of the house to drive to the lawyer’s office, she was struck again by a strange and haunting scent on the air.
Death.
It was in her mind, she thought. It had to be.
Franklin Valaski was in the middle of an autopsy when Liam arrived at the morgue. His receptionist, Lizzie Smith, had worked for the county almost as long as Franklin. Between them, the pair might have been an advertisement for clean living and longevity, except that Liam knew well that Franklin enjoyed an evening glass of single-malt Scotch—perhaps several—during the week, and also indulged in cigars.
So much for clean living.
Katie had always said that the old folks from the morgue had hung around their embalming fluids for so long that they were alive and well and preserved. Since everyone liked both Franklin and Lizzie, it was a good thing.
“Lieutenant, what can I do for you today?” Franklin asked, coming out to reception. He had stripped off his gloves, but he still wore his magnifying goggles, and his eyes appeared huge. He might have been the mad professor from a movie about aliens.
“Hey, Franklin,” Liam said. “Who is on the table? Anyone I should know about?”
Franklin shook his head. “No, thank the good Lord above! No young traffic fatality or victim of foul play, though, of course, by law, since Mrs. Annie Merriweather died alone in her trailer by the sea, I am responsible for assuring the state that she indeed died a natural death. Alas, good Annie produced three children, outlived all of them, and actually has doting grandchildren and great-grandchildren who were not present when she expired in front of her television. Annie recently turned one hundred and one, and indeed the autopsy has proven that she expired when her dear old heart gave out probably while she was dozing through an episode of Jeopardy. What can I do for you?”
“I just thought I’d stop by. I know that you ruled Cutter Merlin’s death as natural, but I was still curious. You commented about his expression. And you said that you’d seen it before on his daughter’s face. You didn’t find anything out of the ordinary during the autopsy, did you?” Liam asked.
“Like Mrs. Merriweather, Cutter Merlin expired when his heart gave out,” Franklin said. “But I am having a strange anomaly with the man,” he said.
“Oh?”