by Curry, Edna
Jan nodded. “I need to take this to Sheriff Casey.”
“Definitely. I’ll go with you. I don’t want anything to happen to you or the evidence before the sheriff gets it.”
***
They got into Kyle’s truck, drove into town without incident, and strode into the sheriff’s office. A deputy sat at the front office. When they asked to see the sheriff and said it was in regard to the old murder cases, she buzzed him on the intercom and announced them.
“Send them right on in,” Casey said.
Casey sat at his large, messy desk, but rose to shake hands. “Have a seat. What have you got for me?”
“I found this in Esther’s recipe book,” Jan said. She opened the grocery bag she’d hidden the book in and laid it on the sheriff’s desk, opening it to the page where Esther had written about Nancy’s murder.
“It’s in my aunt’s handwriting,” she said. “And I’m sure she wrote it in her recipe notebook because she was quite sure Horace would never think to look there. He didn’t ever use a recipe, barely cooked at all.”
Casey frowned, reading Esther’s letter. Then he took it to his copy machine and made several copies of the pages, handing one back to Jan. Putting a copy into a drawer, he said, “We picked up Alex last night. The dogs followed his scent from the gas can, through the woods to his farm and we brought him in, so he’s in my cell here now, but he wouldn’t say anything. Let’s see what he has to say about this. Maybe seeing Esther’s words will make him talk.”
He buzzed the deputy. “Bring Alex in here. With cuffs.”
“She also says she planned to commit suicide,” Jan said. “So that’s how she could write the date of her own death in their family Bible.”
Casey nodded. “Yeah. And that explains why she died so suddenly when no one thought she’d had heart trouble.”
She sighed. “And we were right to think she died of a broken heart.”
Jan rose to leave, but Casey held up his hand. “Not sure if it’s proper or not, but I’d like you both to hear what Alex says about this. I’ll tape it, too. He pressed a button as the deputy appeared at the door with Alex. She closed the door and leaned against it, watching them.
Alex glared at them and the sheriff, but dropped down into the chair Casey indicated. His wide face held bruises the deputy had given him the night before when he’d resisted arrest. “I’ll get you for false arrest, Casey,” he blustered. “I ain’t saying nothing.”
“Fine,” Casey said. “I want you to read this.”
“Read what?”
“Esther wrote this interesting story about the night Nancy disappeared.”
Alex paled under the purple bruises. “What did she say? She didn’t see nothing.”
“No? What was there for her to not see, Alex?” Casey asked.
“Nothing. She was just a hysterical woman. Always objecting to our church stuff and the time and money Horace gave to it. Never even came to the services. She hated anything we did, so she’d make up anything to get back at us for the money Horace gave us.”
“Read this,” Casey repeated, shoving the book across his desk, closer to him.
Alex leaned over the desk, looked down at the book and read, going paler by the minute. When he got to his name, he shouted, “It’s a lie! I didn’t have nothing to do with killing them. Horace did it. He just came to me for help afterward. Said he caught them in the act in the barn and killed the man. He was one of those transients who were building the silo. Horace couldn’t stand the idea that his only daughter would go against his teachings. After all his sermons about staying pure until marriage, she goes and sins with this tramp! She deserved to die.”
“So you knew about the murder, but didn’t report it?” Casey asked.
“What could I do? They were already dead. Horace was our church’s main supporter. He even mortgaged his farm to keep the church going. We couldn’t lose him over something like that, not when their sin caused it in the first place.” He sank back into the wooden chair with a heavy sigh, shaking his head. Tears rolled down his bruised cheeks and he sniffed and raised a shoulder, trying to wipe his nose. With his hands cuffed behind his back, he couldn’t succeed.
“So you helped bury them in the silo pit?” Casey asked.
Alex jerked his head in a nod. “The foundation was all in and they were about to pour the cement floor the next day, so we figured no one would ever find them under there. Then this nut—” he glared at Kyle, “had to get the bright idea of taking out the silo and digging in a swimming pool. Bring out all those city people.”
“So you knew when they removed the silo, they’d find the bodies and so you tried to stop his project with your dirty tricks?” Casey asked.
Alex dropped his head on his chest and nodded.
Casey pointed at the tape recorder and said, “I’ll have this typed up and you can sign it, okay?”
Alex nodded again.
Casey glanced at the deputy. “Take him back to his cell for now.”
Alex raised his big head and looked at Casey. “What’ll you charge me with?”
Casey sent him a disgusted glare. “I haven’t decided, yet. Everything I can make stick, that’s for sure. Arson and attempted murder in the house fire, since Kyle and Jan were inside the house and you knew it.”
Alex swallowed hard, but obeyed the deputy as she urged him up, and rose to leave. “And for burying the bodies?”
“The statute of limitations has probably run out on that. I’ll check on it.”
“Thanks, Casey.” A now very docile man, Alex followed the deputy.
“Well, that should put an end to the shenanigans out at the farm,” Casey told Kyle as the deputy closed the door. “You should be able to finish your project in peace.”
“I hope so. Thanks for your help. ”Kyle rose and shook his hand.
***
As they drove back to his house, Jan’s mind circled with dread. She knew she must say goodbye and begin her drive back to Chicago. Her job here was done. She had no reason to stay. Except she didn’t want to leave. Not any more. She swallowed back tears and stared out the truck window at the passing landscape. Summer had made all the fields green with growing crops. Rows of corn a foot tall gave way to green alfalfa laid out in windrows, ready for the baler to pick it up and bale it for winter feed for the beef cattle now grazing beside a wandering creek.
Kyle eyed Jan. She’d been almost silent since they’d left the sheriff’s office. He turned into the driveway of his house and parked.
“I have to get to work,” he said. “I’ll see you tonight, okay?”
Jan turned to him, her eyes brimming with tears. She reached up and brushed them away, managing a smile. “No, Kyle. I’m going to start back to Chicago this morning.”
His mouth dropped open. “But…”
She gave him a sad smile. “There’s no reason for me to stay, now that the house has burned. Sheriff Casey and Mom will arrange for Nancy’s cremation.”
He reached for her and took her in his arms. He kissed her thoroughly, then leaned back to look in her eyes. “Doesn’t that mean anything to you, Jan?”
“Of course. I-I don’t make love with every man I meet.” Her voice broke over the words. “I’ll miss you terribly.”
“Don’t go, Jan.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, stay here. You can teach school here as well as in Chicago, can’t you?”
“I suppose I could. I’d have to take the state boards for my Minnesota Teacher’s Certificate, but…what are you saying, Kyle?”
He ran a frustrated, work-roughened hand through his dark curls and shifted on the truck seat. “I’m not good at words like you are, Jan. But…well, I love you. I can’t stand the idea of you going back to Chicago. I know my house isn’t finished yet, but it’s livable and we can finish it together. Stay here and be my wife, will you?”
Jan smiled through her tears. “Are you sure, Kyle?”
His gaz
e held hers with certainty. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. Say yes.”
“Yes, Kyle. I love you, too.” She leaned forward and kissed him again.
“Thank God.” Kyle wrapped his arms around her and held her close.
“Now I really do have to get to work. I’ll see you tonight. Call your mom and start making wedding plans, okay?”
“Okay.”
The End.
###
About the author:
Edna Curry lives in MN and often sets her novels there among the lakes, evergreens and river valleys. She especially enjoys the Dalles area of the St. Croix Valley, gateway to the Wild River, which draws many tourists who give her story ideas. Besides non-fiction articles, she writes mystery, romance and romantic suspense novels.
Edna is married and is a member of the Romance Writers of America and four of its chapters: Midwest Fiction Writers, KOD, WISRWA and Northern Lights Writers.
Circle of Shadows (half of Deadly Duos #1) was a finalist in RWA's prestigious Golden Heart Contest.
Visit her webpage at http://www.ednacurry.com
Recent or upcoming books:
2010 My Sister’s Keeper by Edna Curry
4/2010 Secret Daddy by Edna Curry Whiskey Creek Press
8/2010 Best Friends by Edna Curry reprint
10/2010 Bear Trap by Edna Curry reprint
2/2011 Double Trouble by Edna Curry reprint
5/2011 Dead in Bed by Edna Curry Whiskey Creek Press
10/2011 Never Love a Logger by Edna Curry Whiskey Creek Press
2011 I’ll Always Find You by Edna Curry Whiskey Creek Press-Torrid
8/2012 Meet Me, Darling by Edna Curry Melange Books
2012 Traveling Bug by Edna Curry (reprint)
1/2012 The Lilliput Bar Mystery by Edna Curry
Hard Hat Man by Edna Curry
Seven Short Stories by Edna Curry
Never Love a Logger by Edna Curry
Never Love a Logger by Edna Curry
Publisher: Whiskey Creek Press
Genre: Historical
Length: Full Length (329 pgs)
Heat Level: sensual
Rating: 4 books
Reviewed by Aloe
A historical romance set against the background of the largest log jam ever that occurred in 1886 on the St. Croix River at Taylors Falls, MN. It depicts life in the logging days with lots of detail about the lives of people during that time.
What happens when a rough and ready logger who wants no responsibility and thinks he doesn’t deserve a second chance at love falls for an attractive lady with a ready made family?
Will and Carrie think there is no chance for them to have a family of their own. Each has reasons to avoid love and entanglements. Will is burned out on responsibility after helping his widowed mother raise his siblings after his wife and infant son died. Carrie thinks no man will want her and her brother. She promised her father she’d raise her brother. While she’s attracted to Will, duty comes first.
She’s a young woman raising her younger brother and he’s a widower who owns a logging company. She’s attracted to him, but her Aunt warns her that loggers just love ‘em and then leave ‘em…
Ms. Curry does a very nice job of describing logging life back in 1886 on the St. Croix River. I grew up in the state of Washington and visited a lot of logging camps and exhibits. It made it easy for me to visualize the saws they used and the pikes for moving the logs. My father-in-law still had his spiked boots. Life was different then. Everything was done by manpower or with horses. The author’s description of the life and times of the loggers and how they impacted towns is very accurate and authentic.
Carrie is aware that at 21 she’s turning into an old maid. But she hasn’t found the man who makes her blood race faster and besides, who’s going to take her as a wife when she has her young brother, Tom, to care for? All Will wants to do is get away in the woods and forget about how life was and what he lost.
The author takes two wounded beings and starts their relationship with a near collision outside the tavern. Will gets knocked out of the tavern and almost falls on Carrie. From there, Ms. Curry takes them on the slow dance of courtship. It’s fraught with potholes. They are both working and haven’t much time together. Other people are vying for their attention. Then there is Carrie’s Aunt’s warning ringing in her head. And he will go home and will only return for the fall logging again. What hope is there?
This author entertains you with a good solid story that keeps you reading as you wait to see what happens next in the fragile relationship between the two main characters. It’s a very good historical romance that I enjoyed reading. Why not get a copy and see what you think?
***
Dead Man’s Image
By Edna Curry
Lacey Summer’s Mystery #2
Copyright 2001 by Edna Curry
________________________________________
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
This is a work of fiction. All names in this story are fictitious and any resemblance to 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 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.
***________________________________________
Sample of:
Dead Man’s Image
By Edna Curry
Chapter 1
Paul Menns entered the crowded truck stop for a bite to eat and coffee. A delicious mixture of food aromas met his nose, and the warmth of the cafe felt wonderful after working outdoors in the chilly spring air. He sat down at the counter, wrapped his long legs around the base of the stool and placed his order.
Picking up the Minneapolis Star-Tribune from the end of the counter, he scanned the headlines, then turned to the Metro section. For a long, confused moment, Paul thought he was looking at his reflection. That looks like me. What is my picture doing in the paper? Then he read the caption through bleary eyes and realized it was a computer image, not a photo. It was someone the police were looking for --a sketch made from an eyewitness's description of a murder suspect. What the hell?
Reading further, Paul discovered a body had been found upriver. The unidentified dead man was white, about thirty-five, six feet tall, a hundred and ninety pounds, brown eyes and hair, and had no ID, scars or tattoos. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and he reached up to rub them. Jeez, the description of the dead guy sounds even more like me. This is weird.
A creepy feeling slid up his back and he wondered if others in the room would notice how much he looked like the guy in the paper. He didn't like this at all. The waitress set his plate of toast in front of him and refilled his coffee cup. Now he imagined she was looking at him strangely. Or was he the one who was acting strange?
He pulled his cap down farther over his eyes and stared at the picture as he downed the toast without tasting it. The more he looked at the paper, the more sure he became that the sketch was a picture of him. The cops thought he was a murderer! Who in the hell was he supposed to have killed? And who was this woman who had described him? Did he know her? He gulped the rest of his coffee and pushed his cup away.
His first instinct was to go to the sheriff's office and tell the sheriff he was nuts, that he hadn't killed anyone, so there couldn't be any evidence against him.
On the other hand, the sheriff had this eyewi
tness. If she stuck to her story, he'd end up in jail for a while. He couldn't be off the road very long or his trucking business would be ruined.
He wondered how he could find out who the dead guy was. Getting an idea, he paid his bill and went out to the pay phone in the café entrance. After finding the police department's number, he dialed it, then looked in the newspaper again for the name in the article's byline.
When a woman answered, he said, "This is Johnson, again, from the Tribune. Have you identified yesterday's murder victim yet?"
"Yes, sir, we have. It's Paul Menns, of Canton, Minnesota."
Paul almost dropped the phone. He swallowed, and tried to keep his voice even. He couldn't have heard her correctly. "Can you spell that name for me, please?"
She did, and he closed his eyes against the welling shock and disbelief. Good Grief, I'm supposed to be dead! He brought himself back to attention when the woman said impatiently, "Will there be anything else, sir?"
He thought fast, then stammered, "Uh, yes. Was that a positive ID? I mean, uh, who identified the body?"
"A Mrs. Anderson called first thing this morning. She's the manager of the apartment house where Mr. Menns lived in Canton. She claims to have known him well."
"Thanks." Paul hung up with trembling fingers. His own landlady had identified that body as his. How could that be? He hardly ever saw Mrs. Anderson, of course, but surely she knew him well enough to know this other guy wasn't him. She must have seen the sketch in the paper and come forward. Hadn't she seen him in her building just a couple hours ago? Or heard his truck when he drove away? This is so mixed up. How can I be the murderer and the dead guy, too?
Paul felt a headache coming on as he tried to sort it all out. He needed help with this. And he certainly couldn't go to the cops. He didn't trust those guys at all. They'd probably believe the damn birdwatcher lady instead of him.
