Scent of Murder

Chase knocked on the door.

Nothing.

Exchanging a glance with Caitlin, he pounded with a fist. “Willie? Hey, Willie, are you in there?”

Not a sound from inside. Concern flooded Caitlin’s features. “Maybe he’s ill and can’t come to the door. I think you should go in, Chase. He might need help.”

She was right. Chase pounded on the door once again. “Willie, I’m coming in.”

He unlocked the door, stepped inside. And froze.

Willie lay facedown on a large throw rug, his head at an unnatural sideways angle. An incredible amount of blood soaked the thin rug. Chase’s stomach lurched. From his vantage point, he could see that Willie’s throat had been cut.

Just like the man in the park. Just like Kevin.

Chase backed out and pulled the door closed.

“Chase?” Caitlin sounded worried. “Is everything okay?”

Chase swallowed hard. “We’d better call 9-1-1. Willie’s dead.”

VIRGINIA SMITH

A lifelong lover of books, Virginia Smith has always enjoyed immersing herself in fiction. In her mid-twenties she wrote her first story and discovered that writing well is harder than it looks; it took many years to produce a book worthy of publication. During the daylight hours she steadily climbed the corporate ladder and stole time to write late at night after the kids were in bed. With the publication of her first novel, she left her twenty-year corporate profession to devote her energy to her passion—writing stories that honor God and bring a smile to the faces of her readers. When she isn’t writing, Ginny and her husband, Ted, enjoy exploring the extremes of nature—snow skiing in the mountains of Utah, motorcycle riding on the curvy roads of central Kentucky and scuba diving in the warm waters of the Caribbean. Visit www.VirginiaSmith.org.

Virginia Smith

Scentof Murder

I’m grateful to many people who helped me take this story from idea to published book.

Thanks to

My husband, Ted, for helping me work out the details and for shopping with me in Little Nashville, though that’s probably his least favorite thing to do in the world.

A terrific group of friends with whom Ted and I have spent many delightful hours in Brown County: Trudy Kirk (my shopping buddy and retail therapist), Bob Young, and two we’ll see again on the other side, Larry Kirk and Paul Morris.

Janet Stephens from Candle Makers on the Square in Bowling Green, Kentucky, for openly sharing her knowledge and helping me understand the candle-making process. And Shawn Freeman, L.A.P.D.

The CWFI Critique Group for brainstorming all sorts of crazy things that can be stored in candles: Tracy Ruckman, Sherry Kyle, Vicki Tiede, Amy Barkman, Amy Smith, Ann Knowles and Richard Leonard. And special thanks to Tracy for reading this manuscript in its roughest form and offering excellent suggestions.

My agent, Wendy Lawton, for encouragement above and beyond the call of duty.

All the people at Steeple Hill Books who continually give to me freely of their time and expertise, especially Elizabeth Mazer, Tina Colombo, Louise Rozett and Krista Stroever.

And finally, eternal thanks to my Lord Jesus, without whom nothing would matter.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

EPILOGUE

QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

ONE

The rising sun glimmered in the eastern sky as Chase Hollister followed a well-defined trail that skirted the edge of Brown County State Park. He maintained a brisk pace, though low branches from the dense trees made running impossible. Night clung to the forest around him with stubborn determination, even as tendrils of sunlight threatened its tenacious hold. Chase welcomed the shadowy darkness. It suited his mood.

A lingering chill penetrated his T-shirt and sent a shiver rippling through his body. Nights in early May here in Indiana were still pretty cold. He should have grabbed a lightweight jacket on his way out of the house.

Scratch that. He should have kept to the open road for his morning run, where the heat of exertion would have kept him warm. What possessed him to come to the park before dawn—again?

Chase climbed over a dead tree limb lying across the path. No matter how determined he was not to haunt this place, he kept returning.

Not as often as before. A year ago, right after the tragedy—his mind skipped across the details, best not go there—he’d wandered these trails almost daily. His parents assumed he’d found some sort of comfort in surrounding himself with nature. Maybe they thought he was praying. And Chase had done some praying, if his repeated questions of Why, Lord? Why didn’t I see it? How could I miss it? counted as prayers. But no answers had been forthcoming, and the questions still tortured Chase, almost a year later.

And he still wandered the park trails every few weeks. How sad was that?

The shadows lost their tenuous grip on the wooded area around him, and Chase could now make out a few more details. A movement up ahead turned out to be a deer. He caught sight of a patch of white fur as it scurried off and disappeared into the forest, no doubt startled to see anyone out at this early hour. Something rustled the thick green leaves in the tree overhead. The residents of the park were waking.

He heard the stream before he saw it, smelled the fresh, rich scent of mud from the shore. The trail turned sharply and ran alongside the wide stream for fifty yards or so, to the place where the path ended at the road. Chase tensed when he glimpsed a dark structure, the covered bridge that stood sentinel over the north entrance to the park. And beneath it…

He set his teeth together. The place that drew him here. That haunted him.

How many times had he told himself he would not come back here, that he needed to put the past behind him and move on? And yet, here he was.

His step slowed as he neared the trail’s end. The stream splashed along beside him, the sound an almost joyful counterpoint to his dire thoughts. I was too focused on myself, on my stupid infatuation with Leslie. If I’d paid more attention to my friend, surely I would have known. I could have helped him.

His throat tightened like a clenched fist, a familiar feeling lately. I’m so sorry, Kevin.

The sun had not yet risen above the trees to his left, so the wide, muddy area beneath the bridge was still in shadows. Try though he might, Chase couldn’t stop himself from staring at the place where the nightmare had begun.

His footsteps faltered. The shore wasn’t empty. Something was there, something big. Black. It was…

Chase’s mouth went dry. A car. The front tires rested in the water, the rear end angled upward on the steep bank.

He broke into a run. One corner of his mind noted the angle of the tire tracks in the soft soil as he splashed into the stream. The car had been driven, or maybe pushed, off the two-lane road a few feet before entering the covered bridge. Icy water wet Chase’s sweatpants up to the knees. He barely noticed. His fingers grasped the door handle and jerked. Locked. He shielded his eyes and peered through the window.

Acid surged into Chase’s throat. He jerked away, stomach roiling. No doubt at all what had killed the person inside. Dark stains covered the man’s clothing and the car’s interior. An ugly wound gaped in his throat.

Just like Kevin.

Chase stumbled to the shore and fell to his knees. Mud seeped through his pants, but he didn’t move.

Lord, no—it can’t happen again.

“I’m really sorry, Caitlin. I just can’t take the time off work right now.”

Sincerity filled the voice on the phone, but Caitlin Saylor couldn’t quite bring herself to accept Jazzy’s apology. They’d planned this trip for two months, and Caitlin had been looking forward to the five-day vacation with her musical-trio friends more than she cared to admit. But both Liz and Jazzy had cancelled last week.

Correction. Not cancelled. They’d abandoned her. That’s what it felt like.

Stop it. They can’t help it if they don’t have enough vacation time.

Of course, the reason Liz and Jazzy had used up all their vacation time was the root of Caitlin’s hurt feelings. Over the past couple of years they had played their classical music at dozens of weddings. Now the trio was breaking up because Jazzy and Liz were both getting married themselves, and moving away. And Caitlin wasn’t.

Abandoned, in more ways than one.

She switched the cordless phone to her left hand, leaving her right free to rinse her coffee mug and set it in the top rack of the dishwasher. “You are still planning to take off Friday afternoon and get up there in time for the rehearsal, aren’t you? We have a commitment to the bride. I can’t play an entire wedding and a reception as a flute solo.”

“You know we wouldn’t duck out on our last performance. Liz and I are both leaving work at noon. We’ll meet you in Indiana at three. That’ll give us plenty of time to get to the rehearsal by four.”

They’re not leaving much room for error. What if they have car trouble or something? Caitlin was glad her friend couldn’t see her scowl. She didn’t want to be accused of acting childish—even though she was.

“The Internet says there are hundreds of craft shops and art galleries in that little town. You’ve got two and a half days to search out the best shopping spots,” Jazzy went on. “We’ll have Friday night after the rehearsal, and most of the day Saturday, since the wedding isn’t until evening. So, take a notepad and make a list, okay? And if you find something really good, buy it for me as a wedding present.”

Caitlin picked up the dishrag and gave the counter a final, savage swipe. That was exactly what she wanted to do for the next few days—shop alone. Not!

But she told Jazzy, “I will.” Did her voice sound as forlorn as she felt?

“Listen, are you sure you want to go up there by yourself? Why don’t you call the hotel and tell them we’ve been delayed and we’ll be checking in two days later?”

She glanced across the dinette area, at the luggage sitting next to the front door of her apartment. Sassy, her Lhasa Apso, kept running over to sniff it.

“I’m sure.” She forced a confidence she didn’t feel into her tone.

“Well, make sure your cell phone is fully charged. Do you have mace in your purse?”

Caitlin paused. “Why would I need mace?”

“What if you have a flat tire and you’re stranded on the side of the road when some sicko stops? You need protection.”

“You are such an alarmist, Jazzy. No, I don’t have mace, but I do have my trusty pocket knife.”

“Like that little Girl Scout toy could stop anybody.”

Caitlin heaved an exaggerated sigh. “I won’t need to stop anyone. My tires are fine. But if anything does happen, I’m perfectly capable of changing a tire. Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.”

“If you say so.” Jazzy sounded hesitant. “Call me when you get there, and let me know how the hotel room is. You’ve got Lysol, right?”

That drew a grudging laugh out of Caitlin. Compulsively clean Jazzy never went anywhere without a plentiful supply of antibacterial cleaning products. “I’ll call you. Good-bye, Jazzy.”

Caitlin replaced the phone in its cradle on the kitchen wall. Melancholy feelings returned as she glanced around the too-clean kitchen. She’d spent so much time cleaning lately, she could be accused of having germaphobic tendencies herself. But what else did she have to fill her evenings?

Sassy charged into the room and hopped on her hind legs, yapping. At least someone still wants to spend time with me. Caitlin scooped Sassy into her arms and buried her face in the dog’s neck. If a few tears fell into the fuzzy fur, well, it wasn’t the first time.

She carried Sassy into the living room, where her suitcase, flute, and music portfolio stood ready to be loaded into the car. Maybe she ought to do as Jazzy suggested. If she postponed until Friday, she could make the trip with her friends.

But she’d been looking forward to this minivacation for months. Her schedule was clear. She’d told all her students there would be no lessons for the remainder of the week. The deposit had been paid for Sassy to spend five days at Raintree Pet Resort. True, they’d probably let her cancel the first couple of days if she decided to stay home.

But why should she? So she could sit around and feel sorry for herself? She clenched her teeth. Stop it, Caitlin! Her friends’ upcoming weddings were ruining her mood lately. Not that she wasn’t thrilled for Jazzy and Liz, but both of them planning weddings at the same time? That’s all they talked about anymore. If she waited to drive up with them, no doubt the entire three-hour trip to Indiana would be full of wedding talk and plans for happy homemaking. They seemed to forget that while they were busy planning for their new lives, she was being left out in the cold.

Or maybe they just don’t care.

Caitlin thrust the thought away. Of course her friends cared about her. She was just feeling sorry for herself. After all, it hadn’t been so long since she was the only one of the three who even had a steady boyfriend. Oh, how the tables could turn in the span of a single year. Now Jazzy and Liz were both getting married, and she was facing life as an old maid.

The familiar ache in her chest turned to anger and threatened to send more tears into her eyes. If Glenn were here right now she’d…she’d…she’d kick him in the shin, that’s what she’d do. Serve him right, after leading her on for three years and then dumping her for someone else. I wasted the best years of my life. The thought only made her angrier. He’d reduced her to thinking in clichés!

Sassy wriggled around in her arms to lick her face. The attempt to calm her brought a smile to Caitlin’s lips.

“I’ve got to get on with life,” she told the dog. “I’m driving up to Nashville, Indiana, by myself, and I’m going to make myself have a good time. It’ll be like a retreat. I’ll take my bible and spend some serious time in prayer. That’ll give me a new perspective for sure.”

She gave Sassy a final snuggle, then set her on the floor. Standing around here was getting her nowhere. Time to get a move on. In more ways than one.

TWO

Chase leaned against a tree, his face angled away from the activity around the car. The sick knot that had formed in his stomach since the moment he saw the vehicle halfway in the stream refused to let up. Instead, it tightened every time he glanced that way.

The police had closed down this section of the park by stringing yellow tape across the road up above, fifty feet beyond the bridge. He kept his face turned away from that area, too. He’d caught a glimpse of television cameras there, and the last thing he wanted was to be identified on the news as the person who discovered the body of a dead guy. Only a matter of time before some reporter recognized the similarities to last year’s crime, and a little digging would reveal Chase’s involvement with that one, remote though it had been.

The police had certainly already made the connection. He’d given his statement, told them everything he could, but had been informed that he could not leave yet. They were holding him here until he could be questioned by—

The sound of footsteps crunching dead leaves behind him interrupted his thoughts. Chase half turned and caught sight of the approaching plainclothes policeman. His spine stiffened. As he expected, the man who approached was familiar. And unwelcome.

Detective Jenkins.

Jenkins’s gaze locked on Chase as though daring him to turn away. Chase stood his ground and returned the hard stare without flinching.

“Hollister.” The detective’s head dipped in a nod, but his eyes did not release Chase’s. “Been a while.”

“Yes, it has.” Chase was proud that his voice betrayed none of the turmoil he felt. He’d been interrogated last year by Jenkins. Not an experience he cared to repeat, but given the circumstances, he couldn’t see any way to avoid talking with the guy. Chase squared his shoulders. “I guess you want to hear how I found the body.”

Jenkins didn’t answer immediately. In his left hand he clutched a rolled-up sheet of paper, which he tapped on his thigh. His right hand rose to tug a lock of hair behind his ear. Sunlight reflected off a few strands of silver mixed in with the brown that Chase didn’t remember from last year.

Finally, Jenkins gave a slow nod. “Eventually. First, I want to know why you happened to be in the park, at this particular spot—” he gestured vaguely toward the car beneath the bridge “—so early in the morning.”

Chase scuffed the toe of his running shoe in the grass. “I run a few miles every morning before work.”

Jenkins cocked his head. “Don’t you live pretty far from here? Out past that factory your family owns?”

“I drove. No doubt your deputies have already found my car in the parking lot a few miles back.”

The detective’s eyes narrowed. “This is a mighty strange place for a morning run. I’d think you, of all people, would stay as far away from here as possible.”

Chase didn’t reply. What could he say? Jenkins was right. Returning to the place where his best friend had been killed wasn’t just strange. It was downright weird.

After an uncomfortable silence, Jenkins unrolled the paper and scanned it. “I have your statement here. Says you left your house at five this morning, drove to the park, walked from there to here, where you spotted the victim’s vehicle. You tried to open the door, but it was locked. So you backtracked to your car to get your cell phone and called 911.” He raised his eyes from the paper without moving his head. “That right?”

“Yes, except I didn’t backtrack across the trail. I went up on the road and ran to the parking lot because it was faster.”

“Did you get a look at the body?”

Chase closed his eyes. If only he hadn’t. He nodded.

“Recognize him?”

“I—” Chase swallowed. “I don’t think so. I couldn’t see him very well. I mainly saw a lot of blood.”

The image had been burned in his mind’s eye. Kevin’s family had chosen cremation, so Chase’s last memory of his friend was of him waving good-bye as he left the factory after a long day’s work. Only now, Chase’s active imagination put Kevin’s face on that body in the car, the one with the gaping wound in the throat. He doubted he’d ever be able to forget it.

“There’s a lot of blood when a body bleeds out.”

The detective was studying him with an intensity that Chase remembered from last year. He didn’t like it then, either.

“Listen, I’m late for work. Is there anything else you need me for here?”

Jenkins paused. Then he rolled the paper once again into a tube and tapped it against his palm. “Not at the moment. But I’m sure I’m going to have more questions.” His stare grew hard. “You’re not planning to leave town anytime soon, are you?”

Chase’s mouth went dry for the second time that morning. Was he a suspect?

He probably was. Even he had to admit it looked odd for the best friend of one murder victim to find the body of a second victim in the exact same place, murdered in the exact same way. He was lucky Jenkins wasn’t hauling him in and charging him with murder.

Wordlessly, Chase shook his head.

“All right, then you can go.” The detective started to turn away, then stopped. “I’ll be in touch.”

The words sounded like a threat.

Ed dug at his eyes with a thumb and forefinger as he stumbled toward the coffeepot. His wife sat at the kitchen table reading the newspaper.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” he snapped. “I’m going to be late again.”

She didn’t raise her eyes from her perusal of the paper. “I tried. Three times. Getting you up in the morning after you’ve been out drinking is more like a resurrection than an awakening.” She turned a page. “Besides, it’s not like anybody there’s watching a clock.”

Ed bit back a sharp response as he snatched a cup off the mug tree on the counter and sloshed coffee into it. Better to hold his tongue than to argue with Janie this morning. She’d probably heard him come home last night, though he’d tried to be quiet. But when he’d tripped over the doorjamb and knocked into the hall table, the crash had been loud enough to wake her up. At least she didn’t flip on the light and yell at him when he got into bed, like she did last time. He hadn’t meant to get rough with her, but she ought to know better than to nag him when he’d had a snootful.

The house was quiet. Too quiet. It emphasized the pounding ache in his head. He spoke just to break the silence. “Kids left for school?”

Most mornings, Janie chattered like a monkey. She must be mad at him. He could just see the top of her silver-streaked dark head nod behind the open newspaper.

Ed snatched the remote control off the table and pointed in the direction of the small television they kept on the kitchen counter. The pair who anchored the local morning news show appeared. Bright red letters scrolling across the bottom proclaimed, Breaking News! Ed punched up the volume.

“…to report the discovery of a body inside a car at the bottom of a steep embankment near the park’s north entrance. Medics arrived shortly after and declared the man dead. The police have not yet issued a statement, so the victim has not been identified. Stay tuned to Channel 13 for the latest updates on this disturbing situation.”

Coffee sloshed onto the counter as Ed slammed his mug down. He punched the off button as a curse escaped his lips. The remote control missed the table and hit the floor. The back popped off and batteries rolled across the kitchen.

“Hey, you broke it.” Janie gave him a narrow-eyed look over the top of the paper. “What’s the matter with you?”

Ed ignored her. He slammed out the back door toward his car.

That idiot! He should have known better than to leave the job in the hands of a two-bit moron. Ed could have handled the guy himself, roughed him up a little. He would have listened to reason. No need for someone else to die.

You just couldn’t trust anyone in this business.

By the time Chase arrived at the family candle factory for work, the news had broken—another murder victim discovered at Brown County State Park. He’d called his parents on the way home to grab a shower, not only to let them know what was going on, but to explain why he would be late for work. Mom had been understandably upset, but promised not to mention anything to their employees. Dad, who had taken over the cooking duties when he’d retired a year ago, responded with his usual brand of comfort. “Sorry, son. Drop by tonight and I’ll toss something on the grill.”

Now that Chase was finally at work, he was determined to keep a low profile and get some paperwork done. But it seemed everyone wanted to talk about the day’s hottest news. He considered closing the office door so he wasn’t such an easy target, but he knew the open-door policy was interpreted literally by the employees at Good Things in Wax. Closed doors made people nervous.