The Scented Cipher (A Nora Black Midlife Psychic Mystery Book 9)

Chapter 2

As the late morning sun cast a warm glow over our booth, Ari, Gilly’s daughter, and Mason, Ezra’s son, were setting up the displays under the branded tarp that they’d put up for me while I had gone to get more supplies. Marco, Ari’s twin, was out of town for the week playing baseball. He played for the Rasfield Rangers, and they were playing a series in Arkansas. He wouldn’t be back until Monday. Gilly made all his home games, but the away games were harder, especially now that summer had kicked off.

Ari and Mason were both home for summer break from college and had been inseparable. For a hot minute, when they were in high school, I’d thought Ari might have a little crush on Mason, but it turned out she wasn’t Mason’s type. Wrong gender.

He’d finally come out to his dad at the end of last year, and I’d been so proud of Ezra’s reaction. He’d told Mason that he loved him, straight or gay, and he only ever wanted Mason to be happy. I hadn’t been there, but I’d seen the memory the next time we’d gotten dinner from the Taco Shake Shack. It had been the meal they had been eating when Mason had nonchalantly told his dad that he was gay and had a boyfriend named Dillon.

I’m pretty sure Ezra had already known—about the gay part anyhow—but I’d given him points for not saying it.

It had been another week later before Ezra had told me about the conversation. I’d known for a while about Mason, but only because Ari had let it slip once. Even so, I hadn’t told a soul. I figured the young man had a right to come out in his own time and in his own way.

And he had. Huzzah.

The tarp Pippa had ordered was a bright, sunny yellow. The “Scents and Scentsability” logo across the front was in a deep purple script, and we had three tables set up beneath it in a horseshoe configuration.

Mason’s infectious laughter filled the air as I wheeled the dolly the last few feet. He’d arranged the sample-sized scent balm display with artistic flair and slapped Ari’s hand away when she tried rearranging it. We were selling them for three dollars a tube as an introductory offer. Mason had been such a shy, quiet kid when I first met him, but college had brought out a different side to the young man. His energy brought a sense of excitement and creativity to our booth.

It was a Memorial Day weekend four years ago when I first met Mason. Ezra had invited me to dinner with the two of them. Shortly after we’d ordered our meal, I discovered the body of a woman in the lake, cutting our date short. He’d been a gangly teen, but I could already see the man developing. Now that he was twenty, he’d filled out a bit and looked more and more like his dad every time I saw him.

Ari, a science wizard and perfectionist, meticulously organized our products by type and scent, ensuring that each item was presented in its best light. In high school, she’d worn her hair short, and her clothes were mostly androgynous. Now, her dark brown hair was past her shoulders, and she wore a bright yellow cropped tank top and a lavender maxi skirt.

The second time she reached for Mason’s area, she whipped her hand away before he could slap it and flicked his ears. Both of them dissolved in a fit of giggles.

They straightened up immediately when a customer, Barb Clarence, stopped at our booth. Barb was the pharmacy tech at Craymore’s Pharmacy. The first time I’d met her, she acted like I was cooking meth because I’d asked for Pseudo-Act, my favorite antihistamine decongestant to use during allergy season. I bet she had been horrified to find out that the pharmacist she worked for at the time, Burt Adler, had been trafficking drugs out of the pharmacy. Barb had treated Leila well during her chemo, and it was the only thing that softened me toward the hard woman.

“Hi, Barb,” I greeted her. “Nice day for it.”

She smiled. “It sure is.” Leaning over, she scanned the scent balms. “I just love your Mint-alyuptus and Lavender Sandalwood. I’ll take a couple of each.”

“Awesome,” I told her. Ari was already dropping the balms in the bag. “That’s twelve dollars.”

“Wonderful.” Barb dug a ten and a five out of her wallet. “Keep the change.”

“Or you can have one more,” I offered.

“Oh.” Her eyes brightened. “I’ll take a Citrus Blast.”

Ari added it to the bag, and Barb was on her way.

Jasper Riley and Jessica Lyons strolled into our booth next. Jasper was a defense attorney in town, and he’d briefly represented Gilly when she had been arrested for the murder of her ex-boyfriend, and Jessica Lyons had been the prosecutor on the case. Jasper was competent, but Jessica was, by definition, a shark.

“Is it lawyers’ day out?” I teased the two of them.

Jessica looked practically giddy. “Just browsing,” she said. “The street fair has come off amazing.” She arched her brow at me. “How are you doing?”

“Fine,” I said. “How about yourself?” The way she was staring, I figured she’d seen the Gazette letter. However, if she wasn’t going to mention it, then neither was I.

“Oh, good,” she said, giving me a knowing look. “Well, we’ll let you get back to business.”

Conspiratorially, she added, “I’m sure business will be scent-sational today.”

After she left, I rolled my eyes. Hard. If this was any indication of how the rest of the day was going to go, I should’ve swapped duties with Tippi. I could be cuddling babies right now.

Mr. Lems, the owner of the antique furniture store next to our shop, stopped by with his son, Waylon. Waylon, who made metal sculptures and lawn ornaments as a side hustle, was in his mid-forties, thin but not overly tall, and his father was just the opposite. I’d bought an optical illusion windmill from his last year, and I loved watching it go in my backyard on a windy day. Mr. Lems, on the other hand, was imposing in height and girth. He was in his late sixties and semi-retired. He only opened the furniture store during peak season and collected his social security the rest of the time. He told me once it was more profitable keeping the lights off than keeping them on.

“Good morning, Mr. Lems,” I nodded to the older gentleman. He was only a little over ten years older than me, but his white hair and craggy face lines made him look like he was in his eighties, not sixties. “Sure is nice weather we’re having today.” I cringed as I thought about how many times I would make small talk today. I smiled at his son, who was smelling the variety of soaps on display. “Morning to you too, Waylon. You all looking for anything in particular today?”

“I bet business sure is good for you,” Mr. Lems said, eyeing me like the cat who ate the canary. “Can’t buy publicity like that. Or can you?”

“Dad,” Waylon snapped, clearly embarrassed. “Don’t mind my dad, Nora. He woke up cranky.”

“It’s okay,” I muttered. But it really wasn’t. I hoped nobody in town truly believed I would arrange to publish an anonymous letter about myself as a publicity stunt. Our store was lucrative thanks to online sales and a spa clinic we supplied year-round.

“Foul,” I heard someone say as they walked by behind the Lems. “Fortune telling is the devil’s work.”

I grimaced, but I tried to pretend like I didn’t hear. “Anyhow,” I said loudly. “Can I bag you up any of those soaps?”

Mr. Lems snatched his son’s arm and dragged him from the stand. Waylon cast me a sympathetic look as they left.

“Wow,” Ari whispered. “That dude is totally cray-cray.”

“Super cringe,” Mason added.

“Very,” I agreed. Mr. Lems had always been a bit cantankerous, but this was a new low. If this kept up, I was going to let the kids handle the booth without me.

Mason nudged me. “Hey, isn’t that the Mayor?”

Allison Green was up for reelection, and she was milling through the crowd of locals and tourists, handing out buttons and hand fans. She had on a dressy taupe tank top and khaki slacks that were tailor-fit to her body. There was an entourage of two men and three women, all dressed nicely as well, holding buckets of the swag. When she started past our booth, she scowled at me. Uh-oh, someone hadn’t liked the letter almost as much as me.

I’d met Allison several times, and she knew about my work with the police department. She only cared about results, but something told me the results weren’t her priority today.

“Is it just me, or did a cold front just come in?” Ari faked a shiver.

“I’m sorry, guys.” I gave her an apologetic look. “This is my fault.”

“Oh, bull,” she replied. “These people need to get over themselves. You slay, Aunt Nora. Don’t let anyone tell you different.”

“What she said,” Mason agreed.

One of the men from Allison’s group, a handsome guy with short blond hair, came over and handed me a button and a fan. “Vote Green,” he said. “A mayor who makes a difference.”

The slogan on the fan and the button was “Go Green with Green.” There was a QR code on the button that you could scan for more information about her campaign. I smelled the same cologne that had been on the shirt that a group of ladies had brought into the shop for me to sniff. “You don’t by chance know a Jackie and a Loretta, do you?”

He jerked his chin, surprised by my question. “Why?”

I shook my head. “Not important.”

He rejoined his group, and I got a short reprieve. The next round of customers were all tourists who didn’t know me from Adam, thank heavens, but several of our earlier guests kept walking by and giving me the stink eye. Ugh.

The popcorn stand next to us had a line that trailed down the street. The rhythmic mix of sharp cracks and softer puffs of popping corn against the inside of a metal kettle added to the air of excitement and celebration. The buttery scent grew stronger, mingling with the scent of my soaps. There were other aromas, like sweet cotton candy, savory hot dogs, and the faint smokiness of grilled Polish sausages, but it was the popcorn that held my focus.

A shadowy figure, the head obscured by a black hoodie pulled down over his or her forehead, sits on a chair in front of an unfinished coffee table. Even if I could see faces in my visions, which I can’t, this one is covered with a matching black balaclava. There are four large stainless-steel bowls on the table surface spilling over with buttery-perfumed popcorn as the figure, wearing gloves, plucks up a puffy piece and lifts it to his or her nose. The inhalation is deep, followed by a distorted chuckle.

The memory is strangely staged, like nothing I’ve experienced before.

“Hickory, dickory, pop,” the person says in a voice that I instantly recognized as Christopher Walken. “If you can’t catch me, I won’t stop.”

A chuckle ensues before the mysterious person sets the piece of popcorn down on the rough wood surface next to two 9mm bullets.

The popping had slowed as the vision faded, each remaining pop a little louder, more deliberate, until finally, the symphony faded into a gentle crackle.

“Aunt Nora,” Ari’s hand rested on my shoulder. “Are you okay?”

I shook off the strange memory, pressed my temples and forced a smile. “I’m fine,” I assured her as I gave the displays on the tables a once-over. “You guys do great work.”

“So, we can expect a bonus?” Mason teased.

“They’re in the mail,” I replied.

He looked confused.

“You know,” I explained. “The checks in the mail.”

“Why would you mail it?” he asked, clearly confused by the reference.

Ari sighed dramatically. “It’s what old people used to say when they were past due on paying a bill.”

“Ahhh,” he said, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “A dinosaur reference. Gotcha.”

Ari nudged him with an elbow to the ribs, and he doubled over as if she knocked the wind out of him.

I shook my head and chuckled. Their friendship reminded me so much of mine and Gilly’s. It had been a slow morning, but we’d had a few visitors wander past our booth, drawn in by the vibrant colors and enticing scents of our aromatherapy products. Then the buses started to arrive. And the street was flooded with tourists ready to spend their money.

We’d nearly sold out of our lotions and scent balms by noon.

“I’ll go get more,” Ari volunteered.

A loud pop, like a firecracker hitting a bell, cut through the noise of the crowd, and a woman shouted, “Shooter!” It hadn’t sounded like any gun that I’d heard, but a throng of tourists started running, pushing, and shoving each other on the street in front of us as they desperately tried to get away from what was happening.

I grabbed Ari and Mason by the shoulders, urging them to the ground. My only concern was their safety. Our booth was situated near the alley between an empty building that used to be Dolly’s Doll Emporium and Barker’s Antiques.

“Stay low and get down that alley until you are on the next street, then go into the nearest building and hide,” I told them, my voice steady but urgent. “Once you’re safe, call Ezra.”

“What about you, Aunt Nora?” Ari’s eyes were wide with fear, her voice trembling.

“I’ll be right behind you,” I assured her, giving her a quick nod and a firm push.

Edgar Jones, the Garden Cove Central Bank manager, staggered into our booth, his face pale and eyes wild with fear. He collapsed onto the ground, stretching out a bloody arm toward me. “Help me,” he rasped, his voice weak with shock. “I’ve been shot.”

Another loud pop sent a jolt of adrenaline through me.

“Go,” I repeated to the kids, my tone leaving no room for argument. “Go now.”