Murder Mansion Page 8

  The department store squatted at the end of the mall walkway with red sale signs covering most of the display windows. Mannequin heads peeked above the signs, some with, she’d swear, affronted expressions. They only had one job and a sign prevented them from doing it.

  Cosmetic and perfume counters crowded the front of the store. A couple of lab-coated consultants paced the area between the cases waiting for a likely victim to talk into buying hundreds of dollars of expensive cosmetics. Been there, done that. She ignored their siren cries about the new mineral makeup and designer clutch with purchase. A wider berth sent her directly into perfume land crowded with bottles of all shapes and sizes.

  The profile of a man sniffing a cologne atomizer stroked a responsive chord. Something about him seemed familiar. He turned, caught sight of her staring and put down the atomizer with a clunk that made the attendant behind the counter wince.

  The man pivoted, revealing why he looked so familiar and placed both hands together in a prayer-like and pleading position. “Mary, Joseph and Blessed Jesus. You’re an answer to prayer.”

  Detective Taber’s eyes sparkled. The man actually looked happy to see her. Her hand went up to her hair, fingering a tendril. By this time of day, there’d be a shine on her nose and creases in the foundation around her eyes. Caught in her work clothes, which were only a step up from her ball cap and cargo pants, she mentally slapped herself. What are you doing? He’s the man who questioned you about a murdered guy in your inn, not a contestant on a dating program.

  “Oh, how are you?” What did one say to the man who grilled her on the details of the dead stranger? Find any other dead bodies?

  His cheeks tightened as a grin bloomed across his face. “You’re just the person I need.” He angled his head back toward the perfume bottles.

  Typically those words came with a request to work an extra shift, fill in on her off day, or forgo a planned vacation due to the emergency staffing shortage. Her brother started using a similar line on her whenever he conflicted with his new wife. Even though she pointed out not all women thought the same, he still delivered his problems to his big sister, expecting her to solve them. “Uhm, why?”

  He pointed to his own prominent blade of a nose, then to hers. Her fingers went up to her nose. Did his gesture infer they both possessed big noses? She felt the familiar proboscis, the only characteristic that she and Daniel shared, the dominant nose as her father liked to call it. He went on to refer to it as a nose for news, a nose for dirty doings and a nose for a business deal gone wrong. Yeah, it worked on the male members of her family, giving a masculine edge to their faces. On her, it looked like she hid behind the door when God passed out the small, cute, feminine versions and showed up late when he’d moved on to the masculine styles. Usually, she didn’t really think about it until someone mentioned it, like now.

  Taber continued speaking, taking no notice of her nose awkwardness. “Remember how you smelled the man’s cologne? Thought you’d be able to identify it if you were in a department store. Here we are.” Both of his hands went out with palms up, gesturing to the stacks of fragrance testers and gift sets.

  “So, here we are.” Her top teeth worried her bottom lip. Should she tell him she had only buzzed into the store to get a gift? No time to help solve crimes. Her stomach gave a rumble, suggesting the less than satisfactory lunch functioned only as a memory. Nope, she had to do it. She wanted the stigma of an unknown dead man removed from her house. Besides, helping in a police case provided more stimulation than eating in front of the television. “I can help.”

  “Great.” He rubbed his hands together as she stepped closer to the counter. Taber held a bottle of women’s cologne out to her. She took it and replaced it back on the counter.

  “That’s the female version of the scent.” Apparently, when it came to cologne he really could use her help.

  His brows lowered as he considered the oddly shaped bottle. “How do you know? They both have the same name.”

  She nodded, pushing the bottle toward its male counterpart. “Designers tend to do that. Make two separate versions of the cologne for different genders, but keep the name the same. You may notice the bottles fit together.”

  “Oh.” He angled his head to stare at the pair. “I see. They fit together like a puzzle. You can decipher which one is the male because it…” His voice trailed off as his face flushed. “Never mind. I got it. Could cause some trouble at Christmas though.”

  Cute. The man blushed when he realized the male bottle included an appendage that went into the female cylinder. Bottle designers must be thirteen-year-old boys. “Okay.” Her tone turned businesslike to minimize his discomfort. “Let’s go with what we know. The man wears expensive clothes and a mucho dinero Rolex.”

  “Mucho dinero?” Taber’s eyebrows went up again. The man could do sign language with his eyebrows alone. It might work the same as whiskers did for cats, enabling them ease in moving through the darkness.

  “Sue me, already. Let’s not waste time on the cheap stuff.” She gestured to the attendant who stood a few feet away from the counter, neck bent, reading her text messages. “Miss, miss, could you show me the higher end male fragrances?”

  The request stopped the female in mid-scroll. Her head went up, eyes alert, as her long strides brought her to the counter indicating a commissioned employee. “Glad to.” The sales clerk gestured to her right where an opening occurred in the strategically arranged testers.

  Ah yes, the good stuff. No testers allowed the cheap romeos to resort to a quick spray before their coffee date. Only those who already owned the cologne or willing to ask for a sample would be able to dabble in the pricey stuff.

  The attendant gestured to the bottles under the glass shaped like tiny muscular male torsos. Using her index finger, she pointed to a black decanter. “Aventus by Creed. We have a small bottle starting at $325. Perhaps you’d like to register for a store credit card.” A sly look came over the woman’s face. “A fragrance that incorporates the male dominance that made Napoleon a leader, but the charisma that won Josephine’s heart.”

  Sounded like a sales tagline to her. She was willing to bet the young chick had no clue who Napoleon and Josephine were. “Sounds possible.” She lingered on the last word, making it appear that she found the cologne somewhat dubious. “I want to smell it first.”

  “As you know,” the clerk continued, as she pawed through a box of tiny sample vials, “a cologne mixes with the natural smell of a man, creating an entirely original scent.”

  “Yes, I do know,” Donna, replied in a slightly bored manner calling on her inner diva, finding the girl easier to deal with than she would have thought. “Still, a superior cologne will always provide the recognizable top note of the mixed aromas emanating from the male.” In other words, don’t try palming off that cheap stuff on me.

  Taber muttered near her ear. “Sounds like an excellent way to overcharge for scented water.”

  The attendant held out a black card with a tiny spray vial inside it. Donna took it. Sprayed it in the air. Sniffed the air, caught a scent, but it fell fast, too soon. She picked up the slender aroma sticks on the counter and sprayed one. She waved the card in the air.

  Taber watched her with a curious expression. “Why are you waving that in the air? Shouldn’t you be sniffing it?”

  “Not yet. The sprays use an alcohol propellant to get the scent out of the bottle. If you smell it immediately, all you get is the noticeable alcohol scent.” She waved it a few more times before sniffing it. Complex combination. She could detect the musk over a vanilla base, citrus splurge and a hint of bergamot. Yes, this was it.

  She shoved the scented cardboard under the detective’s nose and announced, “This is it!”

  Taber took a good sniff. “Seems familiar, but how can you be sure?”

  “I have a great nose and better memory.” She felt like adding she didn’t know anyone, doctors included, who would spend that much on fragrance. It ha
d to be someone with so much money they treated money like toilet paper or someone who wanted to give the appearance of being wealthy.

  Taber nodded, took the sample away from her and pocketed it. His hand cupped Donna’s elbow, turning her away from the counter. The attendant’s voice flowed over their shoulders. “Don’t you want to buy it?”

  The poor thing actually thought she’d buy vastly overpriced cologne. Glancing back over her shoulder, she noted the female’s nametag. “Not today, Brendi, but I will consider it for a future purchase. I’ll make sure to ask for you.” The attendant, who had been on her toes, suddenly rocked back, her height diminished along with her forced smile.

  The two of them walked away from the counter into the glove and sock section before speaking. Donna glanced around her looking for any shoppers who might also serve as eavesdroppers. Nada. “Are you going to subpoena the records of all those who bought that cologne?”

  “No.”

  She blinked. Must not have heard him right. “How are you going to discover who the man is without going through the sales records?”

  “Local store records won’t help that much. Too many variables. The man could have bought the cologne on the Internet. It could have been a gift. He could have bought it elsewhere, even another county. Then again, he could have breezed through the store and asked for a sample. We’d waste time checking sales records.”

  Why was he even bothering to sniff cologne? Why did he waste her time then? Her mouth dropped open as she realized she’d put her much vaunted olfactory skills to work for absolutely no reason.

  “I didn’t say we wouldn’t use the information. It helps create a profile of the unknown man and places he may have frequented and better yet, people who may be able to identify him.”

  She nodded. “Why didn’t you say that in the first place?” Her tone sounded a touch harsh even though she tried to hide her disgruntlement.

  Taber laughed. “My goodness. You’re a breath of fresh air. A woman who says exactly what she means.”

  “Not really. About 85 percent of the stuff I think I don’t say.” If he only knew. Her eyes skimmed over the laughing man, miffed that he found her hilarious when she had no intention of being so.

  Inside the overheated mall, he’d discarded his suit jacket and loosened his tie. He carried a little weight around his middle, but not too much. Not unexpected, considering his work consisted mainly of sitting behind a desk or a steering wheel. The very opposite of nursing, which consisted of reacting, continually putting out small fires and the occasional mad dash with the crash unit when someone went into cardiac arrest.

  His laughter died as he gulped for air. His merriment clearly showed in his eyes, despite his gasping. Her smile tugged at her lips, despite her natural desire not to laugh at herself. “Yeah, yeah, I’m a laugh riot. That’s what they keep telling me at work.” Actually, they never did. Except for Karen, on second shift, who usually made a joke out of everything and often couldn’t differentiate that others weren’t kidding. When Donna warned her, the patient in room 412 was meaner than a bee-stung jackass, that’s exactly what she meant.

  Taber ran his hand over his face a couple times, rubbing way the laughter. He blinked, composed his face into a reasonably somber countenance, although amusement showed in the way the skin around his eyes crinkled. “You must be a delight to work with.”

  Delight. She inhaled deeply to prevent a bark of spontaneous laughter that threatened. “Ah, yes. Delight is not often a word associated with me. Efficient. Punctual. Responsible. Makes me sound more like a Boy Scout.”

  “Not a bad deal, either.” He shrugged his shoulders. “So what brings you to the mall? I’m betting you didn’t come to sniff men’s cologne.”

  They fell in step together as they moved out of toiletries and passed lingerie. Donna lengthened her step, determined not to continue their conversation by a mannequin attired in a tiny black corset and fishnet hose. Ah, yes, why she was here. “There’s a bridal shower at work and I need to pick something up from the gift registry.”

  “Makes sense.” His gaze dropped below her chin briefly, returning to her eyes. “See you came right from work.”

  “No wonder you made detective with such astute observations skills.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she wanted to recall them. It bordered on being sarcastic and unfortunately, she often was. Not smart to mouth off to a cop. The man didn’t make her tense up the way flashing lights in her rearview mirror did. Guilt settled on her, similar to a gargantuan pigeon, pressing her down into her car seat, even when she motored along at the set speed limit. Somehow, Taber did just the opposite, relaxed her when she should be nervous. What was it about him?

  His mussed hair gave him an absent-minded professor mien. His features settled into a pleasant expression as if he could break into song or laughter at any time. His folded plaid sports coat rested on one arm, his remaining hand settled in his pocket, where he jingled change and keys from the sound of it. Interesting, a telltale sign displaying nervousness.

  “You’re a pistol. Can’t decide if you’re a smart-ass or a flatterer.”

  Before she could clarify she was neither, Taber continued. “Probably the first, since you’re not one to give false praise.”

  “You’re right about that, but that doesn’t mean I’m a smart aleck either. Sometimes a donut is just a donut.”

  Merciful Heavens, did she just say donut? You couldn’t get any more stereotypical than that. A location sign hung from the ceiling directing her to the bridal registry with a stylized arrow and lettering. Rescue in the form of a sign, she could peel off before any other jewel of stupidity tumbled from her mouth.

  “Donut. Ha ha!” His brows bounced up and down with his laugh. He withdrew his hand from his pocket to slap his thigh. “Donna Tollhouse, you are a sharp one. I might have to linger around to see what you’ll say or do next.”

  What? No one had ever wanted to hang about in case she made another brilliant remark. “Might let you.” She murmured low, not even meaning for him to hear, but he did.

  He touched her elbow briefly, guiding her in the direction of the registry. A small desk with two chairs and a diminutive silver-haired woman dressed in a pastel suit sat behind it. She looked up at their approach. “Oh, another happy couple, I can tell.” Before Donna could correct the woman’s erroneous assumption, she continued. “So unusual to see two mature individuals shot by Cupid’s arrow. A second chance at love, huh?”

  What second chance? She didn’t even get the first opportunity. Mature individual. Her nose wrinkled at the euphemism, another word for old. “I’m here to purchase a gift from the registry.”

  The woman’s enthusiasm dimmed. No doubt realizing she’d only sell one gift as opposed to making a list of endless gifts from pickle forks to electric blankets. “I need the list for Courtney Emory.” What was the fiancé’s name? She had only heard it once. “I think the groom’s name is Kevin.”

  The woman’s fingers flew across the computer keyboard. “I know which one you mean. A half dozen people have already come by today.”

  A hearty sigh escaped Donna’s lips, causing the man beside her to give a curious look. She stood closer as the registry printed out and then spoke in a low tone. “That means all the inexpensive presents may be gone, leaving only vacuum cleaners and stand-up mixers.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Yeah, but it’s how my luck’s been.”

  The woman stapled the list and handed it to Donna. “Make sure you tell them at checkout that your gift is on the registry. That way it can be checked off to prevent someone else buying it again.”

  Donna nodded, anxious to be away from the desk and all it represented. The clients would come in holding hands. Two love-saturated people oozing affection all over the floor would prance through the store with a label gun of sorts, pointing it at everything they wanted on their list. In the china section, they’d linger, discussing what pattern would best r
epresent the two of them, planning dinner parties, deciding how many plate settings would be best. Her gait picked up as she gritted her teeth, crumpling the paper in her hand, irritated that memories she thought long buried would resurrect similar to zombies. A few sharp turns brought her into the brightly colored world of kitchen supplies.

  Taber lifted a neon green metal teakettle and turned it around. He whistled. “Never even knew these came in this color. Easy to find in the morning while still half asleep.”

  “Yeah.” She acknowledged his comment while searching the list for the cheapest unpurchased item. A shadow fell across the paper indicating Taber reading over her shoulder. The behavior typically solicited an annoyed comment, but she chose to let it go.

  His index finger tapped at the paper. “The plastic storage bowls are a good bet. Practical.”

  “Thank you, Detective. I considered that one and the handheld vacuum too.” Strange that they would come to the almost same decision. Then again, there wasn’t a large selection of items under fifty dollars.

  “Detective.” He spoke with a touch of scorn right into her ear. “I hope you can call me Mark. After all, we did sample cologne together.”

  “Mark.” The name had a good, solid feel, traditional name. Daniel’s comment about Mark being interested came back. She shook her head. Ridiculous. At the grand age of fifty, she didn’t expect any casual flirtation. She wasn’t a young babe in yoga pants and a revealing belly shirt.

  “It sounds different when you say it, Donna.” He lingered on her name, making the derivative of her father’s name all soft and lovely. Her brother at the young age of seven barked her name several times, trying to illustrate how it resembled a canine utterance. Her mother put an end to that behavior, but it didn’t stop the barking imagery from attaching to her name. No wonder doctors calling her by her first name got on her nerves. She preferred her last name, Tollhouse, even though she had endured multiple snide comments about being a cookie expert.