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Scent of Murder
Virginia Smith
Everything is going wrong for Caitlin Saylor. Her boyfriend has left her. Her musical trio is disbanding. And for their trio's swan song? They'll be playing another wedding: a chance to watch someone else's happy ending. And then, unexpectedly, Chase Hollister enters the scene.The candle factory owner is handsome, charming and very interested in Caitlin. His gift of a special candle proves it. But there's something more to the candle than Caitlin or Chase suspect. Something that puts Caitlin at risk. To keep Caitlin safe, Chase must face a haunting crime from his past–and a deadly killer in the present.
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?”
