Dead In Bed

by Curry, Edna

  I took him down to my office and played the message for him.

  He frowned. “Lacey, I wish you’d just stay out of this.”

  “Why, Ben?”

  “It’s getting dangerous. I think there’s more to this than just Clara’s death.”

  “No, really?” I grinned, glad I’d convinced him of that, at least. Now maybe he’d look beyond Sam.

  “Don’t get smart with me, girl! I’ll look into the tire slashing, but I hope I don’t have to look into anything worse because you’re in over your head.”

  “Yes, Daddy,” I said cheekily.

  Ben scowled at me again. “You know your daddy was my good friend. If he was still alive, he’d smack your ass for not listening to me,” he told me, and made a copy of the message on his own small recorder.

  “I’ve got to get back. We had a fatal accident on the other side of the lake last night.”

  “Oh? What happened?” So that’s what Tom’s call had probably been about last night.

  “Looks like somebody forced a guy’s car off the road and over the cliff into the lake.”

  I gasped. “Anyone we know get hurt?”

  “No. The driver was killed, and apparently alone. From Minneapolis.”

  I frowned. “Did anyone see it happen?”

  “Not that we know of yet. But tire tracks and fresh scrape marks on the car show it was sideswiped.”

  “How awful.”

  “You didn’t hear anything last night? Sound carries pretty well across the lake sometimes.”

  “Yes, it does. But no, I didn’t hear anything. What time did it happen?”

  “Around seven-thirty or so.”

  “Oh. I think I was still at Clara’s wake when it happened, then. I was talking to Tom as I was leaving when he received an urgent call.”

  “That was probably it,” Ben agreed. “Funny thing though.” He narrowed his eyes at me. “The guy was a PI, like you.”

  My pulse sped up. What was going on here? I raised an eyebrow. “What was his name? I know some of the guys in the business.”

  “Harry Alders.”

  I shook my head. “No, I don’t know him.”

  But I had a pretty good idea he was the PI Clara had met. Did Ben know about that? I chewed my lip, debating whether to tell him. I noticed Ben rubbing the side of his nose, watching me. I tried to look innocent.

  “There’s one funny thing.” Ben said. “The last call Harry made on his cell phone was to Carter Manufacturing.”

  Oh, oh. That couldn’t be a coincidence. My heart pounded. “To Clara?”

  “Don’t know yet. But I’m trying to trace the call,” he said as he headed for the door. “Don’t worry, I will.” He turned back and glared at me. “Why did you say, Clara and not Sam? After all, that call was made after Clara was dead.”

  I debated what to say, then gave in. “Did you know Clara had hired a PI? I’m pretty sure this guy was the one she hired.”

  “No. What makes you think she did that? Did Sam tell you?”

  “No, Sam says he didn’t know about it. I saw a note about meeting ‘H in W B’ on Clara’s calendar. And Paul told me he saw her with a man in a restaurant there last Wednesday.”

  “Hmm. Thanks. I’ll look into that.”

  “You’re welcome. Thanks for coming out,” I said as he headed outside.

  I called my garage for a tow. He promised me a loaner while he replaced my tires. Unfortunately, he didn’t have any new tires the right size for my car on hand, so he had to order them from the Twin Cities.

  I called my insurance agent, who hears from me too often. He warned me I was in danger of being put on his high-risk list, which would cost me a higher premium.

  I told him if he did, I’d have to check into rates with other companies. After humming a while, he relented and said he’d give me one more chance not to cost his company so much money. Seems I’ve had too many claims in the past couple of years. Being a PI can be somewhat risky at times.

  I caught a ride back to town in the tow truck, then picked up the loaner. All they had was a beat up brown Ford Taurus, but at this point, I had no choice.

  As long as I could get where I needed to go, it would have to do.

  Chapter 8

  Next, I stopped at Marion’s dress shop for a new black dress to wear to the funeral. I knew I’d better not show up in the old one I’d been wearing for the past half dozen funerals or Kate would have my head. My mother still has a lot of influence over me, even though we don’t get along.

  Marion, as usual, said, “I have just the thing for you.” She brought out a simple black dress I was sure I could wear for lots of occasions. I tried it on—it fit perfectly, even though I’d been neglecting my exercise routine the past week or so. Best of all, the price wasn’t over the moon, as a lot of her merchandise tended to be. Marion caters to the high-end crowd in the area, but her stuff is top quality, so nobody seems to mind the high prices.

  “I’ll take it,” I said as I changed back into my regular jeans.

  “Great, I’ll wrap it up. Do you have time for a break?”

  “Sure,” I said, even though I’d already had my quota of caffeine for the morning with Ben. I always had time for a talk with Marion. We’ve been friends forever. Besides, she knows everyone, so she nearly always has valuable information I need. If I can come up with the right questions to ask, that is.

  Marion left her assistant in charge of the store while we went for coffee at the Flame.

  We sat in the dining room, which was quiet at the moment. I told Marion about this morning’s vandalism and the voice mail threat, too. She had a lot of common sense, besides knowing everything that went on in the area. What one customer doesn’t tell her as they’re trying on clothes, the other one does.

  She tapped her long red fingernail nervously against the knobby glass candleholder on the table.

  “Why do they put a candle on the table and then not light it? I don’t like this vandalism, Lacey,” she said, a worried look on her face. “What if he’d killed Scamp? Or attacked you?”

  “I don’t like it, either,” I admitted with a wry grin. “I’m pretty good at defending myself, but I’m not overly fond of fighting.”

  “Why don’t you give up the PI work and get into a nice safe job like retail?” Marion asked.

  “With what? I don’t have any money,” I said.

  “I could start up a second store and let you run it until you could buy it,” she offered.

  I tried to picture myself handing dresses or undergarments to women in dressing rooms, or standing at an ironing board pressing wrinkled clothes so that they looked nice when I put them out on display racks. The idea made me shudder.

  ”I don’t think so, Marion,” I said. “It’s just not me.”

  “I suppose not.” She eyed my grungy jeans and sweatshirt. “You always were a tomboy. You’d rather be out in the thick of things, wouldn’t you?”

  “Yeah.” I sipped my coffee, debating on keeping confidences versus bending the rules a bit and getting the info I needed. Getting info from Marion won. “Do you have any idea why Clara would have hired a PI? Or who?”

  Her dark brows dipped.

  “Clara hired a PI? How do you know that?”

  “It was in her list of appointments. And Paul said he saw her meet a man in White Bear last Wednesday.”

  “Hmm. Was it a romantic meeting? She didn’t like Sam’s philandering, you know. Maybe she decided to retaliate in kind. Like, tit for tat?”

  I shook my head.

  “No, Paul doesn’t think so. Neither do Sam or Helen.”

  Marion’s clear bell of laughter pealed.

  “Well, Sam has a big ego. Of course he wouldn’t want to think Clara was seeing anyone else.”

  “Any chance you’re wrong about Sam seeing other women, Marion?”

  She pulled out a cigarette and glanced around, then put it back in the pack when a waitress glared at her. She sighed and considered
the question.

  “I never actually saw him with anyone else myself, Lacey. But where there’s a lot of smoke, there’s usually fire, isn’t there?”

  I knew everyone in a small town kept close tabs on everyone else, and usually the consensus came pretty close to the truth. But not always. “What if Sam really was faithful? People could be wrong about him, you know.”

  She shrugged, tucking her cigarettes back into her purse. “True. Does he claim he was faithful?”

  “No, I don’t want to ask and he hasn’t actually said, but…”

  Marion wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Well, he’d hardly admit it. He wouldn’t want anyone to think badly of him, would he? Especially now.”

  “True.”

  “You’ll figure it out. I’d better get back to work before Bella fires me.”

  I laughed at her banter. Bella might be her employee, but she did indeed act like the boss half of the time. Marion allowed it because they’d been together for a long time. We paid our bills and left.

  Clara’s funeral wasn’t until one o’clock, so I decided I had enough time for another interview or two. I drove over to the Carter factory and got a pass from Sandra. She didn’t like giving it to me, but Sam had left permission for me to talk to his employees, so she didn’t have a choice. She said she would be my escort. She stuck to me as if I was going to run off with their company secrets. As though I knew one widget from another, or cared how they were made.

  I clipped on the visitor badge and followed her as we wandered around the large, noisy building.

  People sat or stood at long rows of benches, bent over noisy machines. They seemed intent on what they were doing and only gave us a curious glance as we walked through the various sections of the building.

  At a desk at one end of the main room, Sandra introduced me to a big, heavy man, Bill Jones, who she said was the production chief. He merely grunted a greeting, then scowled at me. I decided he must weigh in at over three-hundred-pounds. He claimed not to know about any problems and wasn’t inclined to answer my questions.

  I shivered as we walked on. I wouldn’t want to meet him in a dark alley at night. I didn’t understand most of what was going on. Sandra didn’t volunteer to tell me what they were doing in various rooms, but she did introduce me to some of the supervisors. Not that I’d be able to remember all their names, anyway.

  One large older man caught my attention, maybe because his brown eyes regarded me so suspiciously. Sandra introduced him as Gus Henderson, the man in charge of the warehouse and shipping operations. He shook my hand and merely grunted a hello.

  “Gus is one of our long-time employees,” Sandra said.

  I frowned. “Your last name is the same as Henderson Manufacturing?”

  “Yes. I’m Jacob’s nephew,” Gus said as though daring me to make something of that fact.

  I didn’t reply. Nepotism is common in small towns, so what was the big deal?

  Sandra explained, “Gus has been here from the beginning, when his dad, George Henderson and Clara’s dad, Jacob started up the factory. They called it Henderson Manufacturing then. Later, Jacob bought George out.”

  “Yeah, when George got too sick to work anymore,” Gus said, bitterness in his voice.

  “Ms. Summers doesn’t need to know all that, Gus.”

  He nodded, flushing at her comment, but I couldn’t tell whether it was from anger or embarrassment.

  We moved on. Maybe it was because Sandra was escorting me, but most of the employees immediately stopped their work, turning to talk to me. Actually, I wasn’t sure what information I was looking for. Neither did anyone else, it seemed.

  Our last stop was back in the office area where Sandra introduced me to Wade Burcell, their controller. As we entered his cluttered office, he rose to shake my hand. He was a tall, thin man with sandy-brown hair behind a receding hairline. His sky blue eyes regarded me warily.

  “Wade is a genius with math and computers. He heads our accounting department.” Sandra sent him a brilliant smile. He didn’t return it.

  He answered my questions readily enough, but seemed more than a little nervous. Was that normal for him or did he have something to hide? “Did anything unusual happen here at the office the day before Clara died?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t think so. I didn’t even talk to her that day. I was busy doing quarterly reports.”

  “I understand there was a problem with some report?”

  Wade nodded. “That was a couple of days earlier. Some figures didn’t jive at all. We’re still looking into it.”

  “But you don’t think that had anything to do with her death?”

  He appeared genuinely shocked. “I don’t see how. We’ll figure out the problem.”

  “Clara wasn’t particularly upset?”

  His mouth twisted as he bit his lip. “Clara would never kill herself over a financial problem, if that’s what you’re asking. She would fight it until the cows came home. Clara wasn’t a coward or a quitter.”

  “I see,” I said.

  Sandra looked upset at my questions. I debated asking her to leave me alone with Wade, but she’d stuck to me like glue throughout the tour. I wished I’d been able to talk to Wade alone, but a guided tour was all Sam had agreed to and Sandra didn’t seem inclined to leave me now.

  “It’s a very sad thing for all of us. It won’t be the same around here without her,” Wade continued.

  Sandra looked embarrassed. “Of course. We’ll miss her. But Sam will handle things just fine.” She glanced at me. “Anything else?”

  I shook my head, said goodbye to Wade, thanked Sandra for the tour and left the plant. Although I’d talked to a dozen people, I really hadn’t learned anything new, though I did have a better picture of the people Clara had known and worked with. My theory of this job is that every little piece of info helped me fill in the pieces of the puzzle until at last I could see the whole picture.

  I felt like I was spinning my wheels. How were the threatening messages and slashing my tires connected to Clara’s death? The only connection I could see was Sam’s decision to hire me. How did that threaten anyone?

  Maybe I was close to discovering something? But what, and about whom? Nothing made sense and now I had a headache on top of everything else.

  As I got into my loaner car, my cell phone rang. I opened it to answer and it said ‘low battery, your phone is shutting down’. Damn it! I’d forgotten to charge it last night. I tossed it onto the passenger seat, then drove home. Maybe whoever had called had left a message on my office phone.

  Besides, it was almost noon and I needed to get some lunch and change before the funeral. I’d hardly known Clara, so I felt funny going to her funeral, but knowing who went and listening to people talk might give me some information. Kate would expect me to accompany her anyway, so I could attend as a dutiful daughter.

  * * * *

  I checked on Scamp first thing, but she seemed to be okay after last night’s drugging. She went for her usual run along the lake, then happily ate her treat. Her food dish was empty, so she’d eaten what I’d given her. Thank goodness. I’d really hate to lose a second dog because of my job. It had taken me quite a while to get over losing her namesake, Henry’s Scamp. I shuddered at the memory, then gave my Scamp an extra hug before hurrying inside to plug in my cell phone and heat up a frozen entrée for lunch.

  While my meal heated, I went down to my office to check for messages. The first was from my mother. Kate would meet me at the church fifteen-minutes before the funeral. She reminded me to wear a dark dress. I rolled my eyes. Mothers!

  The next message was from Sam, reminding me he wanted me to attend the meeting with the lawyer at nine tomorrow morning at his house.

  The next message was another disguised voice one. I shivered as I listened to it: “Clara’s death was suicide. If you try to prove otherwise, you’ll be sorry. Keep your nose out of this. Next time, you’ll get the knife instead of your tires.”<
br />
  Who was this guy? Why was he afraid of my investigation? Obviously, he must have something to hide. Something that I was getting close to. If only I knew what it was. However, I didn’t have time to worry about it now.

  I dashed back upstairs, ate my lunch and changed into my dress and pumps. I brushed my hair into some semblance of order, thankful for the short, sassy cut that fell into place almost on its own. A quick touch up to my makeup and I was ready.

  I let Scamp out for another quick run. Mindful of the nasty voicemail, I double-checked the locks on all the doors and windows before leaving, wishing I could afford an alarm system.

  It was misting rain as I arrived at the church. I was thankful for my short haircut and hoped my hair would look okay in spite of being damp. Of course, I hadn’t paid attention to the weather and had left my umbrella at home. I seem to have a knack for doing stuff like that. I parked on a side street and hurried inside.

  Kate was waiting in the vestibule of the old brick church, talking to a couple of other women. I could hear the organ music already playing as I greeted the women. Kate frowned at me, but said a quick goodbye to her companions and hurried me into the sanctuary.

  “You’re late and wet,” Kate scolded in a whisper as I followed her to a pew.

  “Duh. It’s raining,” I returned, earning a reprimanding look and frown. I tried not to react, glancing around the church.

  We sat only a couple of pews behind Helen and Sam and their families. I wished we’d sat farther back, but the church was already getting crowded and I knew there was no chance of Kate moving once she’d chosen a spot. At least I had a good view of most of the family members.

  Sam wore a dark suit with a white shirt and tie, but somehow managed to look harried and disheveled anyway. His head hung downward and he seemed unaware of the people around him, lost in his own thoughts, perhaps.

  Helen was as perfectly turned out as usual, her black hair professionally coiffed. Not even her daughter’s death seemed to change that. Upon looking closer, however, I saw her lipstick was smeared and the handkerchief she raised to her eyes was smudged with mascara. When she turned to acknowledge someone across the aisle, I saw that the mascara under her eye was smeared as well. She should have left it off on an occasion like this.