Killer Scents Read online

  KILLER SCENTS

  Killer

  Scents

  Adelle Laudan

  Killer ScentsAdelle Laudan

  Copyright© 2012 Adelle Laudan

  Editor: Faith Bicknell-Brown

  Cover Art: CoversByStruzA

  ISBN: 13- 978-1480026148

  ISBN: 10- 148002614X

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews. Due to copyright laws you cannot trade, sell or give any ebooks away.

  This is a work of fiction. All references to real places, people, or events are coincidental, and if not coincidental, are used fictitiously. All trademarks, service marks, registered trademarks, and registered service marks are the property of their respective owners and are used herein for identification purposes only.

  Adelle Laudan

  http://adellelaudan.com

  167

  KILLER SCENTS

  Dedicated to…

  All of the lovely people

  In the 30’s Room

  I’ve come to cherish as friends.

  You know who you are…

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  KILLER SCENTS

  167

  KILLER SCENTS

  ~Mykaela Baxter

  Copyright©2012

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  KILLER SCENTS

  167

  KILLER SCENTS

  Chapter One

  Silence.

  Not even the rustle of leaves intruded on the sinister concerto playing over and over in his mind. Only one obstacle stood in the way of his cleverly orchestrated plan: a rather intrusive beagle that barked at everything and anything. He’d come too far to have a four-legged shit machine jeopardize it all.

  It was much easier than he imagined. The stupid mutt didn’t hesitate to snatch the strip of beef jerky he held between the fence boards. It took less than a minute before Shithead lay on the ground, frothing at the mouth while a lethal dose of pesticides shut his yap for good.

  His owner’s reaction had been an added bonus. An hour or so later, the kid, no more than twelve years old, kicked a can up the road toward the house. Several minutes after the boy disappeared inside, ear-splitting cries filled the cul-de-sac.

  Too bad I don’t have any more of that jerky. I’d shut the kid up, too.

  He diverted his attention to the familiar whine of his next victim’s relic Pinto rounding the corner. Sandra Bedows parked out front of her tidy bungalow and opened the door. She shifted her massive belly to the side, extracting herself from behind the steering wheel and then lumbered up the pathway to her house. The swish of her overstuffed polyester pants rubbing together kept perfect rhythm with her labored breaths.

  The acrid stench of her sweat assaulted him as she passed the cluster of bushes he hid behind. It took every ounce of restraint not to jump out and put a gun to her head while she unlocked the door.

  Obscured in the shadows of the house, he opened a leather-bound journal to the bookmarked page, and then followed the neatly written lines with his finger to the bottom where he paused.

  Happy with the way the room looked for her co-worker’s celebration, I slipped away to freshen up. I wasn’t gone ten minutes and returned to find Sandra Bedows cramming the last corner of my beautiful cake in her mouth.

  The woman offered no apology, and when I asked her to leave, she charged and pinned me to the wall with her mounds of fat. Luckily, the first of my guests arrived and were able to talk her down and convince her to leave.

  Do I have to worry about her coming after me again? If she does, surely I’m as good as dead...

  With a definitive nod, he tucked the book safely away and straightened his stance. He then shrugged the thick strap from his shoulder to gain access to a long, black, cylindrical case carried on his back. He pulled out a most exquisite fuchsia azalea protected by a sleeve of heavy Cellophane.

  He drew a deep breath and then let it out slowly.

  Calm down. You’ve been over this a hundred times. Stick to the plan and nothing can go wrong.

  A quick look up and down the street assured him he was safe to step out of the shadows. He quickly rounded the corner of the house and knocked on her front door.

  Ready or not...it’s time to die.

  The curtain moved aside enough to garner eye contact, and he forced a smile. The lock clicked, and the door opened a crack.

  “Can I help you?”

  Her bright-eyed gaze settled on the flower presented to her.

  “Delivery for a Ms. Sandra Bedows. You’ll need to sign for it, ma’am.” He bedazzled her with a smile, all the while gritting his teeth.

  Her cheeks stained pink. She fluttered her eyelashes. “For me? I can’t imagine who it’s from.”

  Just open the door, you fat piece of shit.

  His heart beat so loudly he feared she’d hear it and grow suspicious.

  Sandra stepped out from behind the door, now wearing some kind of long dress. No, it was a tent decorated with big yellow and red flowers.

  “Where do I sign?”

  He dipped his hand into his bag and closed his fingers around the cool metal of his 9mm pistol. Without warning, he pushed his way inside and kicked the door closed behind him.

  Sandra stood frozen, her gaze trained on his gun.

  “Do exactly what I say and things will go much easier for you.” He pressed the muzzle to her sweaty temple. “Trust me, you don’t want to piss me off.”

  Her knees buckled and she dropped. The woman hit the floral-patterned carpetand grabbed hold of his pant leg, tears streaming down her flushed face unchecked. “Please...take anything you want. Oh, God! I beg of you...don’t rape me!”

  An involuntary shudder travelled through his body at the mere suggestion, prompting him to take out a roll of duct tape, rip off a piece, and pull it taut over her mouth.

  “Don’t flatter yourself. You’ll get exactly what you deserve and it has nothing to do with me trying to find your twat.”

  Sandra fell back in a big puddle of fat. Repulsed, he took rope out of his bag and nudged her with the toe of his boot. “On your feet!”

  It took a couple of attempts for her to stand. Once she did, he backed her up against the sofa. “Lay down on your back.”

  Every movement took monumental effort until she sat at the edge of a well-worn sofa, pleading with tear-filled eyes, her mousy-brown hair plastered to the sides of her face. His patience grew thin and he forcefully persuaded her to stretch out on her back. Her flab melded with the tired checked pattern of the couch, making him gag.

  With no regard for the pain he was causing, he tied her ankles as close together as her tree-trunk legs would allow. Folds of skin pooled at her swollen, purple feet, and he swallowed back the bitter taste in his mouth, quickly manoeuvring her fat and tied her wrists together over her.

  It took a few seconds to calm down and wipe the sweat from his forehead. He stretched to his full height and perused the room, noticing most of the faded, baby-shit brown curtains were drawn.

  Probably so she can stuff her face in peace.

  The corners of his mouth twitched as he took a plastic container from his bag and lifted the lid with an air of drama. “I brought you something.” He took out half a cake with candles on it.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Do you remember eating a cake just like this?”

  Her head shook from side to side vigorously. As he tore the tape from her mouth, a pain-filled shriek rippled through the house.

  “Oh, God, please... Why are you doing this to me?” Spittle and snot covered her mouth and chin.

  “Think about it really hard. It will come to you.” He di
dn’t wait for a response before forcing her mouth open and cramming the cake into it. She tried to turn her head to the side but was no match for him.

  “Do you remember now?”

  Her mouth was so full of cake it muffled the sound of her coughing and sputtering. Her eyes bulged.

  “Why did you have to eat the whole cake? You fucking cow.”

  He briefly closed his eyes to rein in his anger. He then took a deep, cleansing breath before fishing a needle, one used by veterinarians to stitch through the thick hide of animals, from his bag. Heavy weight fishing line settled against his pant leg as he rested the needle on his knee to don surgical gloves and a mask. He picked up the remote from the coffee table and turned up the volume before setting it back beside a container of moist towelettes.

  Snot bubbled from his captive’s nose, and her pupils dilated while she struggled to remain conscious.

  Oblivious to anything else, he tore off another length of tape with his teeth and ran it across her hairline, securing it to the back of the couch and the edge of the coffee table to keep her from moving her head.

  He wanted her eyes to remain open, but kept his own line of vision on the task before him. After a deep, steadying breath, he pierced the center of her bottom lip, completely pulling the line through before repeating the action to her top lip. She grew rigid and tried in vain to escape, her screams muted by the cake in her mouth. Once her lips were secured together, he proceeded to sew her entire mouth shut. He took a few of the wipes and cleaned the blood from her face before replacing the soiled gloves with a fresh pair. He then meticulously cleaned every surface he’d touched.

  Barely lucid, Sandra stopped fighting him long ago. Big crocodile tears rolled from the corners of her eyes into her hairline.

  “Don’t worry, it’s almost over.”

  He checked his pistol one last time and stepped forward, standing on the arm of the sofa by her feet. Her eyes grew big, terror dancing behind dilated pupils. In a final attempt, she struggled against her bindings.

  Calmly, he took aim and pulled the trigger. Her body bucked once before settling in a pool of fat. The putrid stench of feces wafted up from under her. He felt no remorse ripping the tape from her head, uncovering a perfect hole in the center of her forehead. Her position allowed for very little spillage. He wiped around the hole and stood back to admire his handiwork.

  Perfect.

  Satisfied, he gathered his dirty cloths and gloves, along with the needle and tape before taking the azalea out of its protective sleeve and pushing the stem through her clasped hands.

  At the door, he paused to give the room a final once over. If anyone were to look through the window he doubted they’d find anything amiss at first glance. There were no blood-spattered walls or signs of struggle. Sandra Bedows appeared to be sleeping peacefully on the couch until one looked a little closer to find a bright pink azalea in her hands and her mouth sewn shut. The gunshot seriously looked like someone had taken a marker and drew a perfect hole between her eyes.

  Feeling very smug, he slowly turned the door handle. Just like he’d planned, the sun had begun its decent, offering him a veil of darkness to escape undetected. He looked up and down the street, waiting a few seconds for a car to pass before rounding the corner of the house and slipping away into the night.

  Chapter Two

  “You do realize not everyone is like your former patients passing through life on drugs and shock therapy?”

  “Of course.” Susan rubbed her ever-present hanky over the glass tabletop, a gesture she’d done since they’d sat for tea.

  Becca loved her sister’s best friend, but it became more and more difficult for them to have a pleasant visit. Her paranoia and OCD about having a clean home consumed her.

  “Do you know what you need?” Susan asked.

  “No, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”

  “When’s the last time you had a man in your bed?”

  “You don’t really think I’m going to answer that question, do you?” Heat flooded Becca’s face. “Besides, I could ask you the same thing.”

  “Oh my, are you blushing? Come on. Out with it. You might as well tell me, because you know I won’t stop bugging you until you do.”

  “It’s no big deal. After Jack’s funeral, I went to the bar and had a few too many margaritas. Then in walks one super-hot guy, and the next thing I know we’re in a room upstairs having the most intense sex I’ve ever had in my life. I left before he woke up and never laid eyes on him again.”

  “You’re making this up,” Susan insisted.

  “Nope. I wish I was. I don’t even remember the guy’s name, but he called me Red. It’s not exactly something I’m proud of. Your turn.”

  “Jeremy Wilson, happy now?”

  “Jeremy Wilson? Are you telling me it’s been twenty years since you’ve been with a man?”

  “Just because I don’t have a man in my life doesn’t mean I don’t have a satisfying sex life. I’ll have you know, some of the best orgasms are self-induced. Besides, did you ever stop to think that maybe I’m happy here on my own? For twenty years the only time I’ve ever had to myself was when I closed my eyes, and even then my patients found their way into my dreams.”

  “There’s a whole big world out there between the hospital and here, you know.”

  Susan balled up her hanky, agitated. “Is that what you tell yourself?” She narrowed her gaze at Becca. “What do you do with your time between visiting Jack’s grave and riding around on that motorcycle? I mean, aside from your drunken one-night stand.”

  “Touché.” Becca raised her cup and drained the last of her tea. “And on that note, I’ll leave you in peace to do whatever it is you do here every day, all day, on your own.”

  “Don’t be like that. I don’t expect you to understand. Just know that I’m okay.” Susan lightly patted her hand and immediately wiped it on her hanky.

  Becca pushed away from the table and picked up her helmet from beside the chair. “Okay, but promise me if you need anything—and I mean anything—you’ll call me?

  Her friend smiled. “Yes, I promise.” She picked up the cups and stepped over to the sink. “Lock the door behind you.”

  “You got it. I’ll call you sometime tomorrow.” Becca stepped out onto the front porch scattered with potted mums of yellow and red. She smiled at the colourful, homey touch and made her way down the stone walkway to her bike. What gives me the right to judge her or anyone for that matter? With a heavy sigh, she straddled her bike and turned the key.

  Would I have ended up a recluse like her if my father hadn’t left me his bike? What would’ve happened if I had stayed in the room that night? She pushed the thoughts from her head.

  “There’s no turning back the clock.” She flipped up the kickstand. The sun still shone high in the sky, and she paused at the end of the driveway to slip on her sunglasses before turning onto the street.

  The mere mention of her partner, Jack, had her heart aching. Almost a year had passed since that horrific day he was shot. If she had dismissed protocol and followed her gut instinct, she could’ve saved his life. She would’ve taken the perpetrator down before he had the chance to point his gun at Jack’s head and pull the trigger.

  A car horn blared behind her, jolting her in her seat at the same time the light turned yellow, then red. The irate driver honked again and yelled out his window. “What the hell’s the matter with you? Shouldn’t you be home baking cookies or something? Do everyone a favour and leave the big toys to the men.”

  Becca sucked air through clenched teeth, reminding herself she wasn’t a cop on duty anymore. She turned the key off, set her bike on its kickstand, and counted to ten under her breath as she sauntered back to where the driver stared wide-eyed at her.

  “Listen, why don’t you just turn yourself around like a good girl before things get ugly.”

  Becca reached his door and jerked it open. “Get out.”

  “What? Are
you nuts?” He chuckled. “Trust me, you do not want me to get out of this car.”

  Before the driver had a chance to move, Becca pulled him out of the car and threw him belly-up on the hood of his fancy Mercedes. She twisted his arm behind his back and leaned over him until her mouth was a whisper from the silver fringe of hair above his ear. “Listen, asshole, you’re lucky I’m in a good mood. I suggest you learn some manners on how to treat a lady before you open that fat trap of yours again.”

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” He strained to turn his face toward a group of bystanders. “Someone call the cops. She’s fucking crazy.”

  Becca laughed, and so did most of the crowd.

  “What’s the matter? You don’t want to call the cops on a little girl like me, do you?” She kept hold of his arm and pulled him upright, shoving him into the driver’s seat. “Now I suggest you take your sorry ass home and check your undies.” She slammed the door and strutted back to her bike while the crowd erupted in applause. Before she twisted the throttle, she glanced back.

  “Have a nice day.” She smiled sweetly and batted her eyelashes over the rim of her shades. The driver mopped his damp forehead.

  Her heart beat a hundred miles an hour as she rode away. What the hell did I just do? Becca hadn’t lost her temper like that in years. When she first joined the force she’d been reprimanded several times for her quick fuse, and had to quickly master reining in her anger.

  Why now? Sure the guy was a chauvinistic pig, but he didn’t deserve to have her go all psycho on him. If she wasn’t so embarrassed about her behavior she’d turn around and apologize. She smirked. In any case, I bet he thinks twice the next time he’s pissed at a chick on a bike.