Scent to Kill: A Natural Remedies Mystery (Natural Remedies Mysteries) Page 4

  “Who in the hell is calling at this hour?” Jackson said into his pillow.

  “I don’t know.” I crawled back into bed and snuggled up next to him again. I had almost drifted off when the phone pinged, notifying me that I had a text message.

  “Now what?” Jackson said.

  I reached over and picked up my phone and checked my messages. There was only one, from Simon: HELP! COME RT AWAY! BIXBY ESTATE.

  chapter four

  Dr. Willow McQuade’s Healthy Living Tips

  Peppermint is good for muscular aches and pain, headaches and migraines, colds, flu, upset stomach, and nausea. The smell of peppermint can also give you a quick pick-me-up. According to a study in the North American Journal of Psychology, drivers were more alert and had more energy when exposed to peppermint. Put this into practice by opening a bottle of peppermint essential oil (Mentha x piperita) and inhaling a few times. Chewing strong peppermint gum or peppermint mints will also help perk you up.

  Yours Naturally,

  Dr. McQuade

  Jackson and I got dressed, hopped into his black Ford truck, and headed back to the estate.

  My stomach churned at the thought of what might have happened. Was Simon injured? Had he gotten into another fight with Roger at this time of night? Did one of the supposed spirits cause havoc?

  Jackson didn’t say much. He held my hand while he drove, knowing that I was upset. I tried to focus on my breathing, tried to stay calm. I knew that I needed to be clearheaded to handle whatever was next.

  Ten minutes later, we arrived at the Bixby estate driveway, but a patrol car blocked the way. I felt sick. “Why are the police here? What is happening?”

  Jackson pulled over, parked, and turned to me. “Look, Willow, I know you’re worried, but let’s just wait and see what has happened first and then we’ll decide what to do, okay?”

  I nodded, but I could already feel that dark energy coming from the house. Somehow I was sure that whatever had happened here tonight was only the start.

  “Stay here,” Jackson said, his voice warm and reassuring. “I’ll go talk to him and see what I can find out.” He got out and went over to talk to the policeman, who was out of his patrol car, pacing back and forth in front of the gate.

  Jackson and the cop had a short conversation. The cop used his walkie-talkie to talk to someone, and after he was done, he shook his head no to Jackson. Now what were we going to do?

  “What happened? Is Simon hurt?” I asked when Jackson got back into the truck.

  Jackson shook his head. “The cop guarding the place wouldn’t tell me. But he called your old friend Detective Koren, and Koren told him not to let us through.”

  Detective Koren had been my nemesis when I was trying to solve my aunt’s murder. Not only were he and his partner, Detective Coyle, ineffective, they also tried to prevent me from helping to find her killer. Of course, they didn’t succeed.

  “What are we going to do? Simon sounds like he’s in a panic. We’ve got to find out what’s going on!”

  Jackson turned the truck around and headed back up the road. “I’m working on it.” He drove until we were out of sight of the cop car. Then he pulled the truck onto the side of the road, next to the estate’s tall fence. “Are you up to jumping the fence? It’s the only way we can get in.”

  “Detective Koren won’t like it.”

  “Too bad,” Jackson said, and got out of the truck.

  The night was cool and there was no wind as Jackson helped me over the fence, and together we made our way through the woods. Fortunately, Jackson had been a Boy Scout and had come prepared with a flashlight. We followed the small circle of light through the trees, zigzagging where the underbrush was too thick to pass. We could hear animals skittering away, and above us, an owl calling. After twenty or so minutes we made it to the edge of the woods on the estate. Through the branches we could see the mansion, two police cars, an ambulance, and a coroner’s van. “The coroner is here. Someone’s dead!” I could feel myself starting to tremble. I had sensed something terrible was going to happen here—and now it had. . . . That dark energy connected to this place, it wasn’t my imagination. It was real.

  Jackson pulled me into his arms. “We don’t know that yet. I know this is hard on you, Willow, after what happened to your aunt. Are you up for this? Maybe we should go home and wait and see.”

  I had discovered my aunt’s lifeless body on the floor of Nature’s Way in June after she had been poisoned by cyanide mixed in a homeopathic remedy. Three months later, the memory was still fresh, and whatever happened here might add to the trauma. But for Simon, I needed to be strong. “No.” I forced my voice to sound steady. “I have to know now.”

  “Okay then.” Jackson pointed to the beach. “See those lights? That is where they are.”

  I could see klieg lights shining down on the Bixbys’ private beach.

  Jackson took my hand. “We’ll take the long way around the north side of the tent. Okay? You with me?”

  I nodded. “Let’s go.”

  We jogged across the grass, which was moist with dew, and headed past the mansion, which looked even more foreboding at this late hour with all the lights off inside. Only the spotlights over the front door were on. I spotted a cop in one of the patrol cars in the driveway, but he was on his radio and didn’t see us. We headed for the yellow-and-white-striped tent and snuck around the northern end. When we came out on the other side, we could see activity down on the beach. There looked to be five or six cops and several other people, but I didn’t see Simon. “Where is he?”

  “Let’s go over to the retaining wall to get a better look.”

  I followed him, and we scurried across the lawn to the retaining wall that separated the estate from the inlet and looked down at the beach. Lights had been set up along the shore. Between them and the almost full moon, it was bright as day. Unfortunately, we were still too far away to see anything. “I don’t see Simon!” I whispered.

  “We’re going to have to go over there to find out what is going on,” Jackson said. “If Koren kicks us out, so be it, but at least we tried.” He took my hand and we walked toward the stairs that led down to the beach.

  As we got closer, I could see the wide stretch of sand, broken by several large boulders and numerous pieces of driftwood. A seaweed trail ran down the middle of the beach, evidence of the last high tide. Waves lapped at the shore. A wooden dock led from the edge of the beach out into the inlet. A powerboat was moored at the end of the dock, and an American flag hung from a post on the stern.

  I stepped closer to the stairs. Suddenly, I saw a body underneath the bright lights. I stifled a scream. A man was lying on his stomach with his arms spread out to the side, as if he had been trying to fly. I couldn’t see his face, but I recognized the cerulean-blue shirt and the dark, almost black hair. Roger Bixby.

  I grabbed Jackson’s arm and pointed. “It’s Roger! He’s dead!”

  The cop who was guarding the top of the stairs and the entrance to the beach heard this, put his hand on his gun, and yelled, “Freeze right there!”

  “We’re not here to cause any trouble,” Jackson said, his voice low and calm. “We’re here because we’re friends of Simon Lewis. He texted Willow a little while ago and asked us to come.”

  The cop began, “I don’t care if the queen of England texted you—”

  But he never got to finish. Detective Coyle, Detective Koren’s partner, dressed in an ill-fitting blue blazer with a garish green-and-red tie, jogged up the stairs to the landing. He had worked with Koren on my aunt’s murder and shared his disdain for my amateur sleuthing. “Fred, what is going on up here?” Then he spotted us and groaned. “Not you again.”

  Detective Coyle studied us for a few minutes, fingering his tie, as if we were some mysterious phenomenon he couldn’t figure out. Finally he said, “I thought Detective Koren told you two to stay away.” He gave Jackson a pointed look. “You don’t listen too good, do you, Jac
kson Spade?”

  “Simon Lewis asked Willow to come here.”

  “Is he okay?” I asked.

  “Simon is busy with Detective Koren right now.” Coyle’s walkie-talkie squawked. He pressed a button on it and said, “Go for Coyle.”

  Koren’s voice blasted out of the handset. “What are you doing? Get back down here!”

  Coyle spoke into the walkie-talkie. “We’ve got company. It’s that Willow McQuade and her boyfriend, Jackson Spade. She says she wants to see Simon Lewis.”

  After a long moment Koren finally said, “Send ’em down.”

  Coyle turned to us. “You heard the man.” He pointed his finger at us. “No funny business.”

  From the minute I’d suggested that my aunt had been murdered, Coyle and Koren had thought I was meddling. Things only got worse as I pinpointed suspects and discovered clues in my investigation. When I caught the killers, they grudgingly admitted that I had done a good job, but that didn’t mean they wanted my help now.

  I gripped the banister on the stairs as Jackson and I followed Coyle to the beach. I scanned the area for Simon. Crime techs were working all over the beach, looking for evidence. Cops stood in tight circles, talking, but no Simon.

  When we reached the bottom of the stairs, we followed Coyle to the right, and I finally glimpsed him. Simon was sitting on top of an overturned rowboat, half-hidden in the reeds. He was talking to Detective Koren. Simon’s pants were wet below the knee, and his shoes were missing. A few yards away, Carly was sitting on a log that had washed up on the beach, talking on her cell phone, her face blotchy from crying, and a wad of tissues clutched in her hand.

  As we walked up, Koren said to Simon, “Now, when did you leave the estate?”

  Simon spotted me and immediately came over and hugged me. He smelled like seaweed. “Willow, thank goodness! You’re an absolute lifesaver!”

  “I haven’t done anything,” I said, trying to make sense of the scene. It was like something from a bad dream.

  “What’s going on here?” Jackson said.

  “Back off, Spade.” Koren drilled Jackson with an angry look. “I’m just asking a few questions. And I only let you two down here to read you the riot act. This is a murder investigation, and you had better not interfere like you did the last time. I’m warning you.”

  “Murder? What makes you think it’s murder?” I sucked in a breath, suddenly feeling light-headed.

  I looked over at Roger’s body, lying on the beach, his clothing soaked and covered with sand, his face a ghastly, pasty white, eyes staring blankly into space, and I felt bile rise in my throat. It had been less than three months since my aunt had been killed. As I had feared, all the horror that I’d felt when I’d found her body rushed back. For a minute, I couldn’t breathe. Jackson gave me a look of concern and took my hand.

  “Let’s just say that Roger Bixby didn’t just go for a moonlight swim.”

  “What exactly happened?” Jackson said.

  Koren smirked. “Spade, you know I can’t discuss an active case with civilians. You’re not a cop anymore.”

  “No, I’m not. But I can tell Simon not to answer your questions.”

  “Simon, listen to Jackson,” I said.

  “I need to talk to Willow,” Simon said to Koren.

  “Go ahead, talk to her.” Koren slapped his notebook against his thigh. “You’ve got five minutes, Lewis.” He walked over to a crime-scene tech who was now working around Roger’s body.

  “Thank you for coming, both of you,” Simon said. “I’m going to need your help. That detective is asking me all kinds of questions about Roger. I think he sees me as a suspect because I’m with Carly now. And because Roger and I had that fight this afternoon.”

  “That’s not enough to make you a suspect,” Jackson said. “And how did he know about the fight?”

  “I had to recount my movements from the party on.” Simon winced. “There’s more. I also just invested in Galaxy Productions. With Roger gone, I’m the primary shareholder.”

  Talk about bad timing. “Why did you do that?” I asked. “Buy the shares, I mean.”

  Simon looked perplexed. “Carly asked me to help out. She told me that Galaxy was losing money. Plus I needed the tax break.”

  Jackson shook his head. “You’ve created quite a mess for yourself, Simon.”

  “I know I did. But I didn’t kill Roger.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Now tell us what happened tonight, Simon.”

  Jackson glanced at Koren, who was still talking to the tech. “Make it quick. Koren will be back soon, with more questions.”

  Simon ran his hand through his hair. “Carly and I left the set and went home around eleven thirty, but she forgot her phone back here. She had to make a bunch of calls to the coast and the numbers were stored in it. She couldn’t even contact Amanda, so we had to come back. When we pulled into the drive around midnight and walked toward the production trailer, we heard MJ screaming. We ran over and found her on the beach, standing over Roger’s body, which was floating at the water’s edge. Carly and I pulled him out.”

  “What was MJ doing down here?” I asked.

  “She said that she was just out taking a walk on the grounds before midnight when she was drawn to the beach because she sensed that something terrible had happened. She gave her statement to the police, and Rick took her back to their cottage on the estate a little while ago. The rest of the crew is staying at the Greenporter in town, so nobody else knows.”

  “Sounds like Carly is your alibi,” Jackson said. “You were with her when the murder supposedly took place, right?”

  “The coroner gave a window of from ten to twelve. Koren figures I had time to kill Rick before we left. That’s why I need your help, Willow.”

  “Simon, I don’t know what I can do.”

  “You need a lawyer,” Jackson said, squeezing my hand. “Not Willow.”

  “You really do,” I said.

  “Carly is taking care of that right now.” He pointed to Carly, who was still talking on her cell phone. “I’ve got a good legal team. Hopefully, they’ll be able to straighten this out. But what if they can’t? There are plenty of innocent men in prison.” Simon took my hands and gazed deeply into my eyes. “Willow, I need you to find out who did this.”

  “Me? Why me?” I felt flabbergasted. I was no detective.

  “You’ve done it before. You caught your aunt’s murderer.”

  I had solved Aunt Claire’s murder because I had to. Once I started, I couldn’t stop, not until justice was served and her killers punished.

  “That was different,” I tried to explain. “It was beginner’s luck.” I felt a whirl of emotions, fresh pain over Aunt Claire’s death, worry for Simon, and panic over what he was asking me to do.

  “No, it wasn’t,” Simon argued. “You took that case apart—in a way that the cops never did. Honestly, you impressed the hell out of me, Willow. I know you can do it again.”

  Carly put her phone in her pocket and walked up to us. She looked totally drained, and her face was red and puffy from crying. “Simon, I just talked to Dick Browning, and he’s on his way to LAX.” She looked at her watch. “It’s three oh two a.m. here, so it’s midnight their time. He’s going to shoot for a red-eye and be here in the morning. In the meantime, he’s contacted an associate in the New York office and asked him to get out here as soon as possible. He said to keep your mouth shut. No talking to the cops.”

  Simon nodded and put his arm around Carly. “I understand. Jackson said that, too.”

  “Thank you both for coming out here in the middle of the night, but I think we’d better leave this to Simon’s legal team,” Carly said.

  “Agreed,” Jackson said. “Willow, you can’t get involved in this.”

  “Yes, she can.” Simon gave me a pleading look. “Please, Willow. Help me.”

  Nightmares wrecked any chance for peaceful sleep. I kept seeing Roger lying on the beach dead, and Simon’s face wh
en he asked me for help. When I woke up at 6:35 on Monday morning, my mind went into overdrive. I couldn’t stop mulling over the facts about the crime that I knew so far, which weren’t much. I was sure that Simon didn’t kill Roger, but the police seemed less certain. I’d received a text from Carly at 3:30 a.m. just after we had arrived home and knew that Koren had taken Simon to the station and was holding him for questioning. I wondered if the lawyer from New York City had gotten him out, or if he would have to wait for his lawyer from L.A. Carly had also texted that she had authorized an autopsy. Hopefully, it would reveal evidence that would help the cops catch Roger’s killer.

  I tried to turn off my mind and go back to sleep. I snuggled next to Jackson, and he put his arms around me. Qigong was between us, and the cats were at our feet. After the horror of last night, I felt cozy and safe. I concentrated on my breathing and was almost asleep again when I heard the ping of my iPhone, telling me that I had a text message.

  “Don’t get up,” Jackson said sleepily, reaching out for me. “It’s still too early.”

  I leaned over and kissed him. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

  Jackson groaned. I stepped onto the floor and padded over to my purse, which was on the dresser next to the window that overlooked the harbor. Outside, it was a truly glorious Indian summer kind of day, with a bright blue sky and little poofs of white clouds that looked like pillows. The Shelter Island ferry moved silently across the bay, which looked like plate glass. Seagulls wheeled overhead, and a man strolled through Mitchell Park, walking his two pugs. I reached inside my purse, pulled out my phone, and checked my text messages. There was only one, another message from Carly.

  “Let me guess, Simon?” Jackson said as he sat up in bed. Qigong jumped on his belly and licked his face.

  I nodded. “It’s from Carly.” I walked back over to the bed and handed him the phone.

  Jackson read the message aloud. “EXPECT LAWYER SOON. S STILL AT STATION & WANTS YOUR HELP. C.”

  I felt my entire body start to shake. This was a nightmare. One I’d lived through before, only three months ago. Granted, Simon was alive, but he was still in a lot of trouble. Jackson put the phone down and gently rubbed my back. “Willow, don’t take this on. He has lawyers for this. She says they will be here soon.”