Dead In Bed

by Curry, Edna

  Dead in Bed

  By Edna Curry

  Dead in Bed

  Book 3 of the Lacey Summers, PI Mystery Series

  By Edna Curry

  Copyright 2011 by Edna Curry

  ________________________________________

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  This is a work of fiction. All events and names in this story are fictitious and any resemblance to any event or any person living or dead is purely coincidental.

  No portion of this book may be reprinted in whole or in part, by printing, faxing, E-mail, copying electronically or by any other means without written permission of the author, except for short excerpts for reviews.

  Smashwords Edition.

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  ***________________________________________

  Credit:

  Cover by Bev Haynes

  This book was formerly published by Whiskey Creek Press.

  Chapter 1

  November 7, Landers, MN.

  “Why do you put up with it? You know Sam’s cheating on you.”

  “Yes, Mama, I know.”

  Clara’s gut clenched with the familiar pain of Sam’s betrayal. He’d been spoiled as a child and was accustomed to having everything his heart desired. Now, as an adult, he couldn’t seem to break the habit.

  “Let’s not talk about it again, okay?” Clara pleaded.

  Helen’s wrinkled lips pursed tightly.

  “If that’s what you want, dear. I just want what’s best for you.”

  “I know, Mama.” Clara reached across her kitchen table, giving her mother’s hand a loving pat. “Want more coffee?”

  “No, we’d better go to our meeting. The other committee members promised to be there promptly this morning.”

  * * * *

  November 10, Landers, MN.

  I sat at my office desk adding up a stack of my bills. My stomach clenched as I punched in the numbers again. No matter how I manipulated the totals, the bottom line came out on the minus side of the ledger. I needed another client soon or my private investigating business was in big trouble.

  I arched my back, stretching my stiff shoulders, then rose, heading for the sideboard for a cup of coffee from the pot I keep going all day. As I took a sip, I walked to my window, gazing at the blue Minnesota Lake lined with evergreens. A gentle breeze dappled the dark surface of the water as sunlight shimmered off of it. Closer to my window, fallen yellow leaves from a nearby maple tree covered the hillside. My small fishing boat gently bounced on the waves, making me yearn for time to fish for some sunfish or walleyes.

  The sound of tires on the crushed rock of my driveway alerted me to a visitor. Since my business is open to the public, I don’t lock my office door. Whoever it was would let themselves in.

  The front door to my house flew open, slamming hard against the wall. I sucked in a quick breath, then spun around toward the violent sound, spilling some of my coffee. “What in the world?”

  Scamp, my golden-lab mix, rose from the rug beside me, barking a warning, the fur on the back of her neck standing up straight.

  My pulse jumped as I looked up the stairs. A scowling, dark-haired man stepped onto the landing. He was neatly dressed in a dark business suit and strode down the steps toward where I stood in my basement office.

  I drew in a sharp breath, and instinctively stepped forward, on my guard against trouble. I kept the desk between me and the tall newcomer. I’d had to defend myself a couple of times in the past and the memory wasn’t pleasant. Better to be safe than sorry.

  My Smith and Wesson lay inside the top desk drawer. As I tried to control my erratic breathing, I inched closer, setting down my coffee, then dropping one hand. I eased the drawer open, ready to grab the weapon if the need arose. My mind quickly ran over my current cases. Had I pissed anyone off lately?

  I eyed the man. On closer inspection, he looked troubled behind that scowl. Did the scowl mean he was worried or angry? Or afraid? Of what? His eyes were red-rimmed like he’d been crying.

  My pulse pounded, I swallowed to ease my dry throat, finally finding my voice. It trembled slightly.

  “Quiet, Scamp. May I help you?”

  “You’re Lacey Summers? Lander’s lady PI?”

  His forehead smoothed but his voice came out in a croak. He ignored the dog and cleared his throat. He stopped on the other side of my desk, swiping his gaze over me speculatively.

  He appeared calmer now, so I relaxed at the question. A potential client? Everyone in this little Minnesota tourist town called me the Lady PI. It’s not exactly a derogatory term. Most of them respect me now that I’ve been in business for a while. Although some still resent me doing what they consider a man’s job, especially the part about carrying a gun. Not that I carry it all the time.

  “Yes, I’m the Private Investigator.”

  “I need to hire you.”

  Now his voice had determination in it as well as fear and nervousness.

  “Oh?” I let out the breath I’d been holding, then waved a hand at the chair on the other side of my desk.

  “Sit down and tell me about your problem.”

  I dropped into my own chair with a sigh of relief as he finally sat. He was less intimidating at eye level.

  Scamp uttered a plaintive woof and settled back onto the rug beside me, watching him.

  The man perched on the edge of the chair. I watched him expectantly across my desk. He had a long, thin face, not as handsome up close as I’d first thought. More rugged than handsome. In fact, now that I’d calmed down a bit, I realized I’d seen him before, though I couldn’t remember where.

  The man just sat there.

  “First, I’d better explain my rates, in case they’re not acceptable to you.”

  He shook his head as I rattled them off. “It doesn’t matter. Whatever they are, I’ll pay them.”

  I lifted a hand, rubbing my jaw as he pulled out a checkbook, then wrote a check for my retainer. Apparently, money was no object. Good to know.

  Still, I felt hesitant, though I wasn’t sure why. “First, tell me what you need me to do. Then I’ll decide if I think I can help.”

  The man lifted a sad gaze to me. “Sheriff Ben thinks I killed my wife. I didn’t, but he’s not looking for any other suspects, so I’m in big trouble. I need you to find out who really killed her.”

  My office chair squeaked as I shifted uneasily, my stomach muscles tightening in warning. I usually stay away from murder cases. They stir up way too many emotions in me after having to investigate my Uncle Henry’s death. “I see. And your name is?”

  “Sam Carter.”

  Oh, oh. Owner of Carter Manufacturing, over in Canton. Now I remembered where I’d seen him. At last year’s Chamber of Commerce Christmas, party. Landers and Canton’s Chambers had combined for a joint party.

  My teeth clenched as I realized this was about the woman found dead in bed this morning, Clara Carter, one of Canton’s society ladies.

  But I really needed the work, so I nodded, taking the check, tucking it into the desk drawer beside my unneeded gun. I hoped I’d be able to help him so I could cash it with a clear conscience.

  “Mr. Carter, I can’t guarantee anything. The most I can promise is to do my best to find the truth.”

  “Call me Sam. Yes, of course, I know you can’t guarantee
to prove my innocence. But I have to try. I need help.”

  His mouth twisted. For a moment, I thought he would cry. I’m not good at dealing with other people’s emotions. Or my own.

  I needed a distraction. “How about some coffee?”

  “Sure.”

  I took my mug with me as I rose; pulling another a cup and saucer from the little cupboard on the wall, thinking a business owner rated a fancier cup than my everyday mug. I poured us each some, then carried it back to my desk, putting his down in front of him.

  “Thanks,” he said, picking up the cup and saucer and taking a swallow.

  I sipped my coffee, pleased he appeared more in control.

  “Sam, let me say, if you think Sheriff Ben considers you the prime suspect in your wife’s death, maybe you’re in the wrong office. You need a criminal attorney.”

  He shifted in his chair, crossing his legs, then uncrossing them again.

  “Yeah, I suppose. I will hire one if he arrests me. But I need to know what really happened, so I need you, too.”

  “All right,” I said. “Let’s start with the details. Give me your full name and address, then tell me exactly what happened.”

  I pulled a fresh steno pad toward me, writing Clara’s death and today’s date, November tenth, on the first page. I’d rather put all of the info into a file on my computer, but I’ve found looking around a monitor as I’m typing inhibits clients from talking freely. So, I took the extra step of handwriting my notes, then typing them in later, which has the advantage of making me take a second look at all the info the client gives to me.

  I took a small tape recorder from my desk drawer, laying it between us.

  “Do you mind if I record this? Sometimes listening to a conversation again later helps me catch something I missed the first time.”

  He shook his head, I punched record on the machine, then looked encouragingly at him.

  Sam drank some more coffee, swallowing audibly.

  “My name is Sam B. Carter. I live at 260 State Street, Canton, MN. When my mother-in-law came over to our house this morning, she found Clara, my wife, dead. I was at work, but Sheriff Ben seems to think I killed her.”

  “I’m sorry. Your wife’s name is Clara Carter and she died of carbon monoxide poisoning?” I asked, writing down the info.

  “Yes.” Sam eyed me sharply. “You’ve already heard, then?”

  I nodded sympathetically. “Yes, I heard about it at the Flame this morning.”

  “Naturally, the gossips at the coffee shop would have the story already.” Sam’s voice was bitter.

  I lifted a shoulder. Honestly, didn’t he know better than to question such a thing? Then I remembered Sam had been raised in the city. Maybe he didn’t really know how a grapevine worked.

  “Landers is a small town, Mr. Carter. Canton’s only a few miles away, and lots of Lander’s folks work for you, so people are naturally interested in whatever happens there. And you and Clara are prominent members of the local business society.”

  He shot me a disbelieving look. “Clara was, you mean. I’m only the factory manager. She was the boss and the one who went to all of the meetings, did all the charity work and had the local family connections.”

  I didn’t want to argue the point. It had nothing to do with the current problem anyway. “I heard the coffee shop version. Why don’t you tell me your side of the story?”

  “Why not? I’ve told it to Sheriff Ben and his deputies half a dozen times already.”

  I smiled at him in what I hoped was an encouraging way. “Can you start at the beginning?”

  “I got up and got ready for work around six as usual this morning. I had some cereal and coffee while I read the paper. Like I always start my day.” He glanced at me as if he thought I should object to that little routine.

  I nodded, playing with the pen in my hand.

  “Clara was still asleep. She sets up the coffee maker the night before as she rarely gets up with me in the morning. I kissed her goodbye before I left at a quarter to seven. I swear she was fine then. She was warm and breathing, I’m sure.”

  “And then?” I prompted.

  “My car has been having brake problems, so the mechanic was supposed to pick it up later today. Clara told me last night she was going to a meeting today with her mother and could ride with her. So, she didn’t mind if I used her car while mine was in the shop. I couldn’t find my ring of keys, so I picked up her set off of the dresser. We both have keys to both cars.”

  He glanced at me.

  I met his gaze, puzzled. Did he think I should find it odd that they both had keys to their cars? Didn’t most couples? I nodded, motioning for him to continue.

  “Then I drove to work and started my day at the office as usual.”

  “Did anyone see you leave your house this morning? Did you see any of your neighbors outside, or wave to anyone?”

  “I didn’t see anyone, and I don’t know if anyone saw me. Agnes Melonn, next door, watches everybody in the neighborhood, so she probably did. She’s a real busybody, you know?”

  “Yes, I’m quite familiar with the type.”

  I mentally put her on my list of people to interview.

  Sam drank the last of his coffee, then set the cup back into its saucer. He tipped the cup a bit, jiggling it back and forth in the saucer. He was staring into space, so I was sure he didn’t even realize he was making the repetitive motion.

  I reached out a hand, stopping the grating sound.

  “May I take your cup, or would you like more coffee?”

  With a start, he stopped the motion, handing the cup to me.

  “No more, thanks.”

  I took our dishes to the sideboard, then returned to my desk.

  “Was anyone at your factory when you arrived?”

  “Sure. My assistant and some of the other employees were at the factory when I got there. They saw me. That’s all I knew until Sheriff Ben called me home, saying my car was running inside the closed garage and Clara was dead because of it.”

  His voice broke over the last couple of words. He dug out a wrinkled handkerchief and blew his nose. I could see a blue embroidered C monogram on one corner of the expensive white cotton. It fit with the gold Rolex watch on his arm and the expensive leather shoes he wore, though he slouched in his chair as though he didn’t care about his appearance at the moment.

  “I’m sorry. That must have been quite a shock to you.” He appeared to still be in shock.

  Sam nodded and sniffed. He shifted uneasily in his chair, blowing his nose again, then shoved the wadded up handkerchief back into his pocket.

  “Good thing Ben sent a deputy to pick me up at work and drive me home. Might not have made it in one piece if I’d had to drive myself.”

  “You said Clara’s mother found her?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Clara was still in bed, then?”

  “Yeah. Clara’s mother, Helen Henderson, comes over for coffee lots of mornings. They like to talk and plan committee stuff they work on together, you know?”

  “Sure. But if Clara was still in bed, wouldn’t the door be locked? You locked it behind you when you left, didn’t you?”

  He frowned. “I’m sure it was. We always lock it at night and nobody else had left. I went out through the garage, so I didn’t unlock it.”

  I lifted my left hand to my mouth, working the skin on the knuckle of my forefinger between my teeth as I tried to picture that scene. “Then how did Helen get in?”

  Sam gave me a crooked, you know how it is, smile. “She has a key, of course. I didn’t think she should have one, but she’s a controlling mother and Clara always gave in to whatever she wanted.”

  “Ah,” I said. Was Helen that kind of mother? If so, did Sam resent it? He sounded like he did, most men would. What man would like having a mother-in-law able to walk in anytime she wanted to?

  I tried to imagine Nora, my fiancé Paul’s mother, having a key to my house—I shuddered
. Even though I really liked Nora, I wouldn’t want to take the chance of her walking in while we were making love. Why had Clara allowed it?

  “Just so I understand the situation here, Sam, both cars were parked in the locked garage overnight?”

  “Yes. Our house has two floors with the double garage, recreation room and laundry on the first floor and the main living area of the house on the second floor. I swear my car wasn’t running when I left.”

  “It seems likely you’d have noticed.”

  His face lit up earnestly. “That’s just it. In a closed garage, a running motor echoes quite a bit. I know I would have heard it, and I didn’t, so I’m sure it wasn’t running. Besides, I’d have smelled the exhaust, too.”

  “Okay.” I nodded agreement, so he’d continue.

  “I used the button by the garage door to open the door behind her car, backed out, then closed it from the remote on the visor inside the car before I drove away. I know I glanced back to make sure it had closed—I always do that.”

  “So the garage would have been locked again after you left? No one could get into the garage without a key?”

  Sam looked startled. I was sure he hadn’t thought of that before now. His brow furrowed as he seemed to be trying to figure it out as he explained.

  “No, no one could get in. When the door closes, it automatically locks. You need to have a remote opener or a key, or be inside the garage to open it with the electric button on the wall.”

  “So you’re saying that someone had to have come into the garage to start your car after you’d left, right?”

  He rubbed his lip with two long fingers. I couldn’t help noticing he had a professional manicure. I noticed because I dearly love getting them myself and can seldom afford them. He also wore a wide gold wedding ring. It looked expensive.

  “I don’t see how else it could have happened, Ms. Summers.”