Dead Men Don't Lye (Book 1 in the Soapmaking Mysteries)

by Tim Myers

  DEAD MEN DON’T LYE

  By Tim Myers

  Book 1 in the Soapmaking mysteries

  Praise for the Lighthouse Mystery series by Tim Myers

  “A thoroughly delightful and original series. Book me at Hatteras West any day”

  —Tamar Myers, author of Thou Shalt Not Grill

  “Entertaining ... authentic ... fun ... a wonderful regional mystery that will have readers rebooking for future stays at the Hatteras West Inn and Lighthouse.”

  —BookBrowser

  “Myers cultivates the North Carolina scenery with aplomb and shows a flair for character.”

  —Fort Lauderdale Sun-Sentinel

  “Tim Myers proves that he is no one-book wonder... A shrewdly crafted puzzle.”

  —Midwest Book Review

  “Colorful... picturesque ... light and entertaining.”

  —The Best Reviews

  Praise for the Candlemaking Mystery series by Tim Myers

  “Excellent storytelling that makes for a good reading experience…Myers is a talented writer who deserves to hit the bestseller lists.”

  ---The Best Reviews

  “A sure winner.”

  ---Carolyn Hart, author of the Death on Demand series

  “An interesting mystery, a large cast of characters, and an engaging amateur sleuth make this series a winner.”

  ---The Romance Reader’s Connection four daggers

  “A smashing, successful debut.”

  ---Midwest Book Review

  “I greatly enjoyed this terrific mystery. The main character…will make you laugh. Don’t miss this thrilling read.”

  ---Rendezvous

  Praise for the Cardmaking Mysteries written by Tim Myers as Elizabeth Bright

  “Independent-minded sleuth Jennifer Shane tracks a murderer, crafts cards, and resists her overprotective family with panache and good humor.”

  --Carolyn Hart, Award winning author of Death of the Party

  “Elizabeth Bright shines in this crafty new series.”

  Nancy Martin, author of the Blackbird Sisters Mysteries

  “Elizabeth Bright writes an engaging and fast read and incorporates interesting information about card making while solving the murders.”

  Armchair Interviews

  The Lighthouse Inn Mysteries by Tim Myers

  Innkeeping With Murder

  Reservations For Murder

  Murder Checks Inn

  Room For Murder

  Booked For Murder

  The Candlemaking Mysteries by Tim Myers

  At Wick’s End

  Snuffed Out

  Death Waxed Over

  A Flicker Of Doubt

  The Soapmaking Mysteries by Tim Myers

  Dead Men Don’t Lye

  A Pour Way To Dye

  A Mold For Murder

  The Cardmaking Mysteries by Tim Myers written as Elizabeth Bright

  Invitation To Murder

  Deadly Greetings

  Murder And Salutations

  Dead Men Don’t Lye

  Copyright © 2006 by Tim Myers.

  All rights reserved.

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Chapter 1

  As I looked down at the corpse sprawled on the back steps of my family’s soap shop and boutique, I knew in an instant there wasn’t a cleanser made anywhere in the world strong enough to get rid of the acid stains and burns on Jerry Sanger’s face. Believe me, if there had been, I would have known about it. My name’s Benjamin Perkins, and along with a family sporting a larger population than some small countries, I run Where There’s Soap. We specialize in soap in all its many incarnations. We’ve got it all, from small production runs in back to the sales boutique storefront filled with products our entire family creates. We give group and individual lessons in the art of soapmaking in our classroom, a handsome source of income for the business. In addition to all that, we sell kits, supplies, and everything else a hobbyist soapmaker could possibly want.

  At one time the family business had actually been a full-scale soap factory, started by my great-grandfather Martin—a man I remembered most for the peppermint smell that always clung to his clothes—but over the years we’ve scaled back our main production line to focus on individual customers up front, too. Our family’s a nice blend, with each member having their own area of expertise. What’s mine? Besides filling in wherever I’m needed, it’s up to me to fix whatever goes wrong, and believe me, with the family and the business, I am never bored.

  As I studied the body on the steps, I thought about how my sister Louisa was going to react. She’d been dating Jerry lately, and it was going to be an ugly scene when she found out he was dead. I’d have to deal with her later, though. At the moment, I tried to think if there was anything I could do besides call the police. I’d always felt like some kind of big, clumsy oaf next to Jerry—he was seven inches shorter than my six feet, and he weighed a good thirty pounds less than my 180. He had been a cocky little bantam of a man, and if I was being honest, I’d have to admit that I never really cared for him.

  Even though Jerry was long past any help I could give him, I leaned down and checked for a pulse anyway, being careful not to get any acid on my hands. The lye’s identification was unmistakable from its odor, though I doubted that had been what killed him. The weird cant of his neck was enough to explain how he’d probably died. Whether the splashes of lye had come before or after his demise was the coroner’s business, not mine. Before the lye, Jerry had been a handsome fellow, a little too attractive for his own good, in my opinion. He was especially proud of his hair. While mine was plain brown with whispers of gray coming in at the temples, I’d long suspected that Jerry’s was a shade of chestnut that had to come from a bottle or a stylist.

  None of that really mattered now, and I found myself regretting the verbal jabs I’d taken at him in the past. Someone had killed him, doused him in lye, and then had the nerve to dump the body on our back doorstep. The fact that Jerry was more than just the supplier who brought us the liquids and scents we used for soapmaking—including the acid he was currently soaked in—just made matters worse. I’d warned my sister about him but, as always, Louisa had chosen to ignore my excellent advice. At least most of the rest of my six siblings listened to me. Occasionally. When it suited them.

  I had just confirmed that that particular relationship wouldn’t be going any further when I heard a gasp behind me. “Don’t let it be Louisa,” I said under my
breath as I started to turn around.

  It wasn’t Louisa. It was infinitely worse. My mother stood in the doorway with the saddest look in her eyes I’d ever seen. As slim as my sister Cindy, her hair had been frosted platinum for so long that no one remembered its original color.

  “I know you two didn’t get along, but did you have to kill him, Benjamin?”

  That was classic Mom, prone to exaggeration and one of the best conclusion-jumpers around. “Come on, Mom, you know better than that. I just found him like this two minutes ago.”

  My mother fanned herself with her apron, a habit of hers that signified she was really stressed out. Well, she had every right to be. I caught a glimpse of the nice print dress underneath. Mom was a big fan of aprons, and for Christmas one year as a gag, all seven of us—her kids ranging from Cindy at eighteen all the way up to me at thirty-three—bought her the exact same apron. We’d been expecting laughter; instead, she dutifully rotated the aprons at work, one for each day of the week, after carefully stitching each donor’s name on the tag. At the rate she was wearing them, the aprons would outlive us all.

  Her frown intensified as she stared down at the body.

  “Give me some credit, Benjamin; I know you didn’t kill Mr. Sanger.” She looked away from the body, then added, “Your sister must not see this.”

  “See what?” Louisa asked from behind her. She had always been plain-looking, her hair never as shiny as Kate’s nor her figure as petite as Cindy’s. On top of all that, she’d been the only girl to inherit the Perkins nose, and while it looked all right on Jeff and Grandpa, it hadn’t done her any favors. She’d overcompensated with a sarcastic wit that could snap with the best of them, and I’d always admired her for her intelligence and strength of will.

  “Take her inside, Mom,” I said forcefully, trying to block my sister’s view of the body.

  Louisa spotted her late beau despite my efforts. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting, but her initial reaction surprised me, and I’ve known her all her life. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t thinking about doing something just like that myself,” she said. The callousness of her words suddenly struck her, then she started to cry. “Oh, Mamma.”

  As Louisa buried her head into our mother’s shoulder, I said, “I thought you two were still dating.”

  Louisa explained through her tears. “We were, until I found out he had at least two other girlfriends on his route, and that’s just in this part of North Carolina “

  “When did this happen?” I asked.

  “I got an anonymous telephone call early this morning from one of the other women. She didn’t have the courage to leave her name, but there was no doubt in my mind she was telling the truth. He actually told me I was the only one in his heart.” She buried her face in Mom’s shoulder again.

  I reached for my cell phone, and Mom asked, “Benjamin, who are you calling at a time like this?”

  “I’m dialing 911,” I said. “We have to tell the police.”

  Mom nodded. “Of course, you’re right. It’s the proper thing to do. Benjamin, you deal with them when they come.”

  Though my mother had seniority in the company and acted as our CEO, she usually left the sticky situations for me to handle. Those duties—along with occasionally teaching classes up front and helping the guys out on the production line—managed to keep me hopping all the time. Dad had done the same thing before me, but he’d been killed five years ago when a delivery truck had run him down in our own alley. I was the oldest child, the next in the line of seniority, and I had inherited his headaches dealing with the family’s problems. Grandpa was mostly retired, handling advertising when he wasn’t off traveling somewhere, while Mom made the executive decisions. My sisters ran the storefront, and my brothers handled the factory end of it; I had somehow been pegged as the family and business troubleshooter. Whenever there was a problem with any part of the business or the Perkins clan, it ended up squarely in my lap. With as many lives as that description touched, I was always putting a fire out somewhere.

  Before I dialed the second “one” of the emergency number, I hung up and dialed another number from memory. When the desk sergeant answered, I asked for Molly Wilkes, a girl I’d dated off and on since high school. She had shocked us all upon graduation by going into the police academy, and she’d become a darned good cop along the way. Luckily she was at her desk.

  “Hi, Molly, it’s Ben.”

  She hesitated on the other end of the line. “Ben? Nope, doesn’t ring any bells. I was supposed to have dinner with an old boyfriend named Ben, but he stood me up last week. I’m really sorry, but I don’t know anybody by that name anymore.”

  “Come on, I already apologized for that. I had a flat tire and my cell phone battery was dead, so I couldn’t call you,” I said.

  “A likely story.”

  “Listen Molly, I’ve got some trouble at Where There’s Soap, and I need your help.”

  The banter ended abruptly. “What’s going on?”

  “One of my suppliers is dead on my back steps.”

  “Heart attack?” she asked.

  “Not unless he died of fright when somebody threw liquid lye on him and gave him a shove off the landing.” I thought about how the body lay, the staged look of it. “You know what? I’m starting to think he wasn’t killed here.” I took a deep breath and tried to stop rambling. “It’s not pretty.”

  “Don’t touch anything. I’ll be right there.”

  I hung up, then turned to the women at the top of the stairs. “Mom, why don’t you take Louisa inside? She’d probably like to be with Cindy and Kate.” My sisters had a support group that rivaled any in the world.

  Mom nodded, then said, “Aren’t you coming in, too?”

  “No, I’m going to wait out here for Molly.”

  Mom nodded, then crossed herself as she glanced at the corpse again before leading Louisa back into the shop.

  I stayed put to keep Jerry company. It had been the start of a beautiful summer day like we sometimes enjoyed in our part of North Carolina—not too hot, yet with the sun shining brightly and the birds in full voice—but it was cold and overcast in my soul. I didn’t need Molly to tell me how this was going to look to the police. Mom had been right in the spirit of her first statement; the supplier and I hadn’t gotten along very well. While I’d never suspected he’d been three-timing my sister, there had been something just a little too smooth about the man since he’d taken over our route. The two of us had words about his sloppy work habits the week before, and I’d said some things I would have liked to take back, but it was too late for that now. So who would kill him? Louisa didn’t even cross my mind as a suspect. She’d once taken a D in science class in high school, refusing to cut open a frog on moral principles, and I couldn’t see my sister—no matter how scorned she was— killing Jerry, regardless of her blunt admission that she’d been ready to murder him herself.

  Molly drove up three minutes later, her lights and siren mute. That was one good thing about living in a small town like Harper’s Landing. No one was ever that far away. She was being thoughtful with her silent approach, no doubt realizing that the shop didn’t need that kind of publicity, and acknowledging that a fuss wasn’t going to do Jerry a bit of good. When she got out of the squad car, I noticed that Molly’s long lustrous black hair was pulled back into a tight bun to make her look more professional, but not even the standard-issue uniform could disguise her ample curves. Though Molly constantly complained about wanting to lose fifteen pounds, she had always looked great to me; I was never a big fan of bony women. What drew me to her most though was the constant glint in her brown eyes, a spark that always danced in the light. Molly and I were friends who sometimes dated, an odd relationship we’d worked out over the years. It left us free to see other people whenever we wanted, but also provided some stability in our lives, a safe port for each of us. Mom still had delusions that someday we’d both wake up and realize we were in love, no matte
r how much Molly and I protested to the contrary.

  Molly nodded once to me, leaned down to check the body for a pulse, then obviously came to the same conclusion I had. “Did you touch anything?” she asked.

  “Just his neck when I was looking for a pulse myself. I didn’t change the angle of his head, though. He was like that when I found him. Be careful, that lye is caustic.”

  “You use lye in your shop, don’t you?”

  “It’s tough to make soap without it,” I said. “Jerry supplied our liquid and pellet lye, along with a ton of other things we use here.”

  “Educate me, Ben. It’s an acid, I know that much.”

  I shook my head. “Actually, it’s an alkali. It’s not only that, it’s a poison, too. Lye can be really nasty stuff.”

  “And it’s in soap? Wonderful.”

  I shook my head. “It’s not actually in the soap, it’s an intermediate, and if you use it correctly, it’s entirely consumed by the oils and fats as you’re processing. The stuff is cheap, it’s convenient, and if you’re careful, it’s safe enough.”

  “Somebody wasn’t all that concerned about being careful with it here, were they?” she said. Molly pointed to my shoes. “You’ve been up and down these steps, haven’t you?”

  “Just the ones above,” I said. “I had to see if he was still alive, didn’t I?”

  She nodded. “Okay. The forensics team is right behind me.” To prove her words, a van drove up and parked behind her cruiser. Molly said, “Why don’t you go back inside? I’ll be there in a few minutes to talk to you.”