Scent of Gardenia (Scott Tucker Series)

 

 

 

 

 

Scent of Gardenia

By Dick C. Waters

 

 

Copyright © 2012 All Rights Reserved

Dick C. Waters

 

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in
any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including
photocopying, recording, typing, or by any information storage retrieval
system, without the permission, in writing, from Dick C. Waters.

 

This is strictly a work of fiction; names, characters,
places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are
used fictitiously.

Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events,
or locales is entirely coincidental or fictionalized.

 

 

 

 

 

“Fool me once, shame on you;

Fool me twice, shame on me.”

 

 

 

 

Dedicated to “Our Mr. Kelley”

Frank Kelley

If we remember even half of what you taught us, and/or half
the example you set – we will be much better people. Thank you for influencing
our lives.

 

 

“Scott Tucker Series” novels

Listed in the recommended reading sequence:

 

Branded for Murder

Serial Separation

Scent of Gardenia

Fragrance of Revenge

Foreplay for Murder*

(*The Adult version of Fragrance of Revenge)

 

 

Author Page:

http://www.amazon.com/author/DickCWaters

Prologue – December 1966

 

Life
presents many opportunities, death presents a mystery.

She
stretched on the mattress feeling the cool air on her naked body. Soon the
image in the strategically placed mirror would not be hers alone.

Margaret
didn’t believe in heaven or hell, but if they did exist, she knew it was the ‘fiery
lake of burning sulfur’ for her. She had committed many sins in her twenty-eight
years, but instead of altering her sinning ways, she decided it was too late to
change. Besides, she enjoyed the benefits associated with being such a bad girl.

Having
planned and struggled to implement the accommodations for over a year, she
rewarded herself now for finally completing the project. She had even thought
about and provided a means for them to go to the bathroom. It was not ideal,
but it provided for the necessity. Showering was out of the question. She would
have to give them a nurse’s bath, which immediately caused her to smile.

The compensation
for laboring on the accommodations many nights until midnight was so close—when
she closed her eyes she could almost imagine the man’s heated scent. It would
have been so much easier to provide a single cell rather than five, but one man
would only bore her—the thoughts of having the choice of up to five men, or all
of them, caused her breathing to quicken.

 

*.*.*

 

Margaret
dressed in her favorite sundress with only an insignificant touch of underwear.
She sat on the pier bench watching the yacht dock at the adjacent float. The blond,
shirtless man was finely tanned. She was close enough to see his excellent
physique as he worked to tie the vessel. He wore only frayed cutoffs, the
pockets showing bleached-white against his tanned thighs. It was hard to
believe he could handle this large yacht all by himself.
She wondered if a
deer hunter felt what she was sensing, just before pulling the trigger.

 

*.*.*

 

She
waited at the closest restaurant bar hoping for his arrival. It was a little
early for dinner, but she anticipated he would be hungry after his cruise. She
didn’t have long to wait. He was still wearing his cutoffs, but had donned a
white polo and boat shoes. He sat down at the bar just two stools away. His faded
white Boston Red Sox cap gave her a way of starting a conversation.

After he
placed his drink order with the bartender she broke the silence. “Did you parrk
your carr in Harrvard yarrd?”

His
smile displayed the whitest teeth. “What gave it away?”

She
reached for her non-existent hat, murmuring a soft laugh.

“Well, I
am from Boston, and do like what the Sox are doing against the Yankees so far.
I’m Roger Elliot, just coming into port. Are you a local?”

“No. I’m
not from Bermuda. I’ve been here for almost a year now.” She was careful not to
reveal where she came from.
I may share that later with you in private.

Would
you mind if I joined you?” Roger asked, with a hopeful smile.

“I would
love the company,” she replied, finishing her daiquiri.

The
bartender brought his draft. “Would you please get my friend here another of
whatever she’s drinking?” He offered his hand to her. “You are…?”

“Margaret,”
she said, filling in the blank.

“It’s
very nice to meet you Margaret,” he said, saying her name almost to see how it
sounded.

“It’s
entirely
my
pleasure.”
You have no idea how much of a pleasure you
are going to be.
She turned towards him. In doing so, her knee touched his
bare thigh. The shock ran up her leg. She flipped her long red hair behind her
ear. As she crossed her legs, her purse fell. She bent slightly to pick it up, but
he reached down and fetched it. She watched his eyes checking out her assets.
He looked ravenous and might be hungry too.

After enjoying
their meal, he invited her to check out his yacht. The boat was a very fine
specimen—he was
even better
.

An hour
later she was showing him some of the local sights, then her house and finally her
body. Three hours later she was moving his unconscious, naked body to the
closest guest cell. Several hours later, his wrists and ankles were bleeding
from the restraints. His body refused to respond any longer to her urgings. He
had finally fallen asleep, or passed out.

She
stood at the foot of the bed, paying particular attention to where the tan
stopped. She was extremely satisfied with the success of this portion of her
plan. Now she had to deal with his—no
her
yacht. Getting him to sign the
bill of sale took some special prodding, but she had to admit she enjoyed the
extra effort…he on the other hand hadn’t. However, she was careful not to
inflict any permanent damage to any of his special parts. There was only a
slight hint of blood left.

She
thought about sleeping with him the balance of the night, but knew she really needed
to get some sleep. There would be plenty more days, and nights, to enjoy her new
playmate. She went over to the side of the bed, leaving her panties strategically
perched on him.
That should give you something to remember me by.

He was
in excellent physical shape, and extremely strong. However, even with all of
that strength, he couldn’t control his own body once she worked her magic. She
could feel the urge coming again, realizing she needed to leave before it was
too late
.
There really wasn’t a need to lock the cell door, but she did
it anyway. She took one long look before leaving.

Chapter 1

 

Cambridge
Massachusetts
—May 1968

 

Fortunately
I was alone in my apartment going through today’s mail, which I didn’t have
time to review in the office. Normally, this is no big deal, but today’s mail
could be life changing in so many ways. The letter in my hands came addressed
to me. The tranquil envelope gave no indication as to the explosive content. It
was in an envelope with Bermuda postage and return address. Initially I didn’t
recognize the name ‘C. Williams,’ but having read the letter twice already I
know who she is.

Although
her intent was not to wake up the demons of my past—it did. My hands are still
shaking and many suppressed emotions are back again for me to deal with. I
could feel her pain along with her frustration. I couldn’t put her letter down
and had to read it again.

‘Scott,
you barely know me. However, we have something that bonds us together. I was
almost killed by the same man who almost killed Lisa, who later became your
wife. Fortunately neither of us was killed. I was rescued by members of the
task force, and you were smart enough to rescue Lisa.

You
and I have the painful memory of being held against our will. Now, my brother
may have the unfortunate circumstance to be also held against his will. My
brother disappeared here in Bermuda six months ago, along with several other
men. I fear for his safety and that of the other men. I don’t know who to turn
to, but for a reason I will share with you later in this letter, I thought of
you.

You
know what it’s like to face the end of your life, as I have, and as Lisa did
that day. Although I don’t wish this fate for my brother, it is far better than
believing he has already been killed. I have exhausted my resources here
without any success, and the authorities seem to be making no progress and are
now ignoring my pleas for updates and status. I have no one else to turn to.

Two
years ago, my mother sent me the newspaper article about your wife being killed
in that horrible auto accident in New Hampshire. When I received it, I gave
some thanks for my life being spared and said some prayers for your wife.

Three
days ago, when I felt God might not be hearing my prayers for my brother’s
rescue—I took my bible down and said some additional prayers. When I opened my
eyes the article about your wife’s accident fell out of the bible. I forgot I
put it there years ago. I don’t know whether it was a message from God, or not,
but I couldn’t overlook the timing. I think God knows you might be able to
help. I have run out of options and my life is becoming a mess.

You
know what it’s like to lose someone you love. You also personally know what
it’s like to know your end is near, as I did that day years ago. I’m hoping my
brother is not already dead, and I hope you can help me find him before his
time runs out…if it hasn’t already.

I
thought things were important in my life, but now I question everything—and
unfortunately, I’m questioning my faith. As you may remember, I teach in a camp
for young people. Recently, I find my ability to teach the way I used to…well,
not up to my standard. Regrettably, it shows itself to the youngsters and I am
now embarrassed to continue in this profession.

I
apologize for those actions, and regret I’m losing hope…I also apologize for
sending you this letter. You have had enough grief in your life. However, my
back is against the wall and you might be my last hope…and maybe my brother’s.
I am also sorry for the condition of this letter, but this is the third time
I’ve tried to prevent it from getting wet—without any success.

I
thought about not sending it, but you know by now, I couldn’t ignore the final
thread of faith I have left.

May
this letter find you and yours well. If you can find a way to help I would be
eternally grateful. My brother’s name is Paul Williams, and as I said, he went
missing six months ago. Enclosed are some articles about his disappearance and
that of the other three men. I can be reached by phone at the number on the
attached card, or at the school’s address.

Regrettably,

Charlotte
Williams

 

The
letter brought back the bad memories of three years ago. Lisa being held
against her will by a madman who had killed two women and almost killed Charlotte. My own captivity at the hands of a crazy woman, who had teamed up to kill
several men, but my life was saved. I looked at the picture of Lisa and me on
our honeymoon and wished she hadn’t been killed in that car crash.

I was
glad nobody could see my tears. I felt so trapped and it was hard to breathe.
Twenty minutes ago the other letter I received indicated I passed the bar exam
and could finally practice law in Massachusetts. That was a goal Lisa and I had
planned for, but now it no longer seemed important.

Lisa’s
not here to share the excitement. As much as I try, I still can’t believe she’s
gone. Even though I wasn’t with her on that winter’s night, I picture that
scene every day. She was driving on Route 93 headed to her parents’ house. The
report said she and several other vehicles hit black ice and crashed into each
other. The large semi behind her couldn’t stop either and hit her car broadside
killing her instantly.

I had
planned to be with her that night, but was delayed getting out of Boston. I still wonder if either my driving, or slightly different timing, would have
prevented that outcome. I will never know, but those thoughts haunt me.

 

*.*.*

 

After we
were married, we had a wonderful year together. Being married to Lisa was the
greatest thing that ever happened to me. From the time we met we couldn’t get
enough of each other. We were even lucky enough to survive our separate
encounters with different serial killers. However, it’s a shame we can’t
fulfill our dreams of a future together. “Lisa, I miss you with all my heart…I
wish you were here with me,” I screamed.

I know I
need to get over her loss. However, two years is not enough time. We made so
many plans together, but now I question their importance. I would give up
everything to have her back with me. I’m fortunate in a way that one of our
plans wasn’t fulfilled. Having a child, or children, would be so much worse. It
would be difficult raising them without their mother.

I could
feel my anger building again. I had to get my mind off something I couldn’t do
anything about. I was glad I was alone and no one could see these tears. I
should be happy to be licensed to practice law. However, the pursuit was
something we both worked so hard to accomplish. Right now, I don’t think I
could practice law—my heart wouldn’t be in it. I know I need to focus on what
I’ve been doing. Maybe someday my feelings will change and I can happily share
this milestone.

I picked
up the other letter dated May 15, 1968—Scott Tucker, Esq. and put it in my
dresser drawer because I didn’t want anyone to know I had passed the bar exam.

Now,
only one thing remains—how am I going to handle Charlotte’s situation, which is
something I might be able to do something about?

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