Dead In Bed

by Curry, Edna

  Chapter 3

  Wade Burcell, company comptroller, sat alone at a corner table in the Carter Manufacturing lunchroom. He’d chosen this time and place to meet because most of the employees had finished lunch and gone back to work. The news of Clara’s death had sizzled through the company grapevine like a wildfire this morning. It made him sick to think of it.

  Once, back in high school, he’d dreamed of a happy future with Clara, but she’d scotched his hopes, choosing instead to go off to that classy Eastern college. He’d left for college, too, of course, and gone on to work in Minneapolis. After they’d both returned, he’d hoped to renew their romance, but Clara had refused. He’d kept a tiny bit of hope alive, even after she’d married Sam, hoping it wouldn’t work out and she’d return to him. Now she was dead and that little flame of hope was gone.

  His stomach clenched with worry. He needed to talk to Gus Henderson, the factory-shipping supervisor, to see what he knew of what was happening. He might know how Clara’s death would affect them, the factory and their jobs.

  Gus strode in carrying his brown paper lunch sack. He glanced around, pouring himself a cup of coffee from the urn on the sideboard, then coming to sit with Wade.

  “Did you hear about Clara?” Wade asked, trying to keep his voice from cracking.

  Gus glanced around the room to be sure they couldn’t be overheard. “You bet I heard. Damn it, what the hell were you thinking?”

  Wade felt the color drain from his face. “What do you mean, what was I thinking? Me? You think I had something to do with it? I didn’t do anything!”

  “You didn’t? But if you didn’t….” Gus frowned, then chewed his sandwich. “The carbon monoxide poisoning seemed like something you’d think of. And I heard you had an argument with her the other day.”

  “That’s crazy! I wouldn’t hurt Clara. I still loved her, even if she chose Sam and made it clear she didn’t want me,” Wade sputtered.

  “Yeah, I know.” Gus’ face flushed beet red.

  “I thought you did it. You mean you don’t know who killed her either?”

  Gus gulped his coffee. He opened his lunch bag, his movements jerky with temper as he took out a ham and cheese sandwich. “Hell, no! I wouldn’t do that. Can’t you see this really complicates things for us? Who knows what’ll happen with the factory now? Or what Sam will do if he’s the new boss?”

  Wade frowned and nodded. “That’s for sure. But if we didn’t do it, who did?”

  Gus shrugged. “Maybe she committed suicide. Or maybe Sam did her in himself. I hear Sheriff Ben thinks so.”

  Wade chewed his lip, tension and worry hammering his midsection. “That doesn’t sound like something either of them would do.”

  “I know.” Gus bit into his sandwich, his face morose.

  “Why would you think I’d do something like that?” Wade asked, his tone plaintive.

  “Well, you always were sweet on Clara. You dated her for quite a while before Sam came to town.”

  “Sure, but…”Gus rubbed at the tension in the back of his neck with a large hand.

  “I thought maybe you were taking a bit of revenge, you know?”

  Fury twisted inside Wade. “If I wanted some revenge I’d take it out on Sam, not Clara. The way he cheated on her, that bastard deserved it. Not sweet Clara.” His voice broke, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

  With an uncomfortable grimace, Gus grabbed his empty Styrofoam cup and stood. “Hey, I’m sorry. Forget I said it. Just lie low, okay?”

  “Yeah, sure,” Wade said.

  “Maybe this’ll all turn out okay. I need more coffee. Want another cup?” At Wade’s nod, Gus picked up his cup and turned. He raised his head and swore. “Don’t say any more. Here comes Janine.”

  “Oh, crap. I don’t want to talk to her now.” Wade wrapped up the rest of his lunch, stuffing it back in the paper bag. “Forget the coffee. I’ll finish this in my office. See you later.”

  “Sorry,” Gus said with a groan. “I think she’s sweet on you. I might have known she’d follow me here.”

  Janine waved from across the room. “Hey, there, guys. I’ll just grab some coffee and join you. Looks like we have the whole lunchroom to ourselves.”

  Wade gave Janine a crooked smile. “Hi, Janine. How are you? Sorry I can’t stay. Sam’s taking a few days off, because of Clara, you know, so I’m extra busy now. I’ve got to get back to work.” He hurried off.

  Gus refilled his coffee cup, then sat down to finish lunch with his now pouting niece. She sat across from him at the table with her coffee, watching Wade walk out, a frustrated look of longing on her pretty, young face.

  “Where’s your lunch?” Gus asked.

  Janine glared at him.

  “Back at my desk. I just stopped for a cup of coffee to go with it.”

  “Because Wade was here?” At her frown Gus held up his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay.”

  She was smitten with the handsome accountant. She’d throw a fit if he told her Wade wasn’t interested, and he needed her in a good mood in his shipping department or they wouldn’t get any work done. She’d have to figure out how Wade felt on her own. But he had to try to soften the blow a bit, didn’t he?

  “Wade’s still in love with Clara, you know. He has been since high school.”

  Janine sent him a wry smile over her coffee cup. “Yeah, I know, Uncle Gus.”

  She knew? And was still chasing him? What was wrong with young people today? “That won’t change anytime soon, you know.”

  Janine lifted a careless shoulder. “Clara’s dead now. That will make all the difference, once Wade gets over the shock of it. You’ll see. He’ll come around in time.”

  “Janine, I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

  Janine stood. “I’m a big girl, Uncle Gus. I can take care of myself. I have to get back to my desk or I won’t have enough time left to eat before my lunch hour is over.”

  Gus watched her go, thinking things were getting way too complicated. He shook his head and went back to eating his lunch.

  * * * *

  I went back to my house, let Scamp out for a run, then made some coffee and carried it down to my office. I had two voice messages.

  The first was from Marion. “Lacey, remember the Chamber of Commerce dinner at seven tonight. See you there.”

  Then I heard the deep, sexy voice of my fiancé, Paul. “I should be at your house by ten or so, Honey. I’ll bring a bottle of wine.” Yes! I wouldn’t have to sleep alone tonight.

  I checked email, answered the few messages that required my immediate attention on active cases and then started a file on the Carter case.

  I wanted to get everything down while it was still fresh in my mind. Sometimes inputting everything I learned during interviews showed me a point or two I hadn’t noticed at the time I had done the questioning.

  Sam’s protest when I’d said he and Clara were important members of the local society struck me as odd. Granted he was upset and not thinking clearly, but his comments did make me wonder if he carried more than a little resentment of his wife’s position. He sounded like a hen-pecked husband. Being one didn’t necessarily mean he didn’t love his wife, of course, but was he one? If so, had he resented it?

  I added it to the list of questions in my notebook. Already I had these questions: Where were Sam’s keys? Who had Clara fired lately? I thought a moment, then added, How much could I believe of what nosy Agnes had said?

  It was after five, so I dashed upstairs to shower and slip into a silky blue pantsuit for the Chamber of Commerce dinner. Good thing my hair fell neatly into place with minimum care because I seldom had time to fuss with it.

  And there was no telling who I might have to impress tonight, or who might drop some interesting tidbit. After all, Clara’s death was sure to be the hot topic of conversation. Most of Clara’s business associates would be there tonight. Some of them were sure to know something that could possibly help me, if they would tell me. If only I cou
ld figure out who to ask what.

  I needed to talk to Paul’s mother, Nora. She and her husband Carl knew the Carters well because their factories were neighbors in the Canton Industrial Park. They wouldn’t be at the dinner tonight because they’d had business in the Twin Cities earlier in the day.

  I put on my usual minimum of makeup, picked up my purse and left for the party.

  * * * *

  The dinner was in an elegant, private dining room off to the side of the main restaurant. Brass fixtures gleamed against dark wood. A brightly lit, large crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling above tables set with china on snowy white tablecloths. Red napkins matching the color of the heavy damask draperies peeked out of each water goblet.

  About two dozen well-dressed people stood chatting in small groups, with cocktails in their hands. My outfit didn’t compare with the satin and diamonds surrounding me. But I wasn’t here to make a fashion statement to my fellow Chamber members, I was here to work.

  While I owned my own business just as most of the people did, mine was a one-employee-out-of-my-house concern, so it wasn’t exactly on par with the businesses of most of the people there. Uniformed servers wove through the crowd with trays of drinks. One took my order, then hurried back to the bar in the next room to fill it.

  Off to one side I noticed Joyce Baxter, the local reporter who covered various town meetings. She also wrote a gossip column, which I tried not to read, but usually did. Occasionally, she even got something right in it. She was a large woman and tonight she wore a bright scarlet dress, so she would be easy to keep track of, to avoid.

  I joined a small group including my friend Marion, who was, as usual, a lovely walking advertisement for her dress shop. Tonight she wore a slim, red number, cut low at the neckline and slit up the skirt. It showed a lot of her long legs and ample breasts. As I expected, the group’s discussion centered on Clara’s death.

  “Gorgeous dress, Marion,” I said.

  “Thanks. Is there anything new, Lacey?” Marion asked.

  I shook my head. “You know as much as I do.”

  “Oh, there’s Melissa Jones. I have to tell her I got her order in today.”

  Marion moved off into the crowd. The waitress swung by, handing me my glass of white wine as I moved to join the next little group.

  “I’m sure Sam won’t be here tonight,” Jena Bobson, another factory owner, said sympathetically. “The poor man must be devastated. He doted on Clara, you know.”

  “Oh, he did?” I murmured, hoping she’d elaborate. I knew the Dobson and Carter factories were in the same block of Canton’s Industrial park, so they would be well acquainted with each other. “Were you and the Carters good friends, then?”

  “Very good friends,” Jena said, sniffing.

  The tight, black taffeta dress she wore made her look even heavier than she was. She put up a chubby hand to wipe away a tear, making a smear of coal black mascara run down from the corner of her eye.

  “Clara and I worked on some of the same committees, you know. And my Pete and Sam go deer hunting together every fall, isn’t that right, Pete?”

  Pete nodded, flushing. He held a beer, chewing his lip as she talked. He was a tall man, frowning at his wife’s disclosures.

  She paid no attention. “Pete built them a great deer stand they leave up in the woods year around. Clara and I would go out for dinner every night when the men were off hunting.” She wiped away a tear, then sipped her Martini. “I’m really going to miss her.”

  “I’m sure you will,” I said.

  “There, there, honey. It’ll be okay,” her husband said, patting her arm. “I’m sure you’ll find some of the other wives to spend time with while I’m up north.”

  Jena cast him a dirty look. “It won’t be the same without Clara,” she insisted.

  I nodded, thankful to see Marion waving me over to her. I excused myself, then moved through the crowd over to Marion who introduced me to a tall, athletic looking woman in a conservatively styled, blue business suit.

  “This is Sam’s assistant, Sandra Mekkins,” Marion said. “Lacey Summers is our lady PI,” she told Sandra.

  Sandra’s sharp blue gaze swept over me, scrutinizing me from the blonde streaks in my hair to my navy pumps. “Hello, Ms. Summers. I talked to you on the phone earlier today, didn’t I?”

  “Yes.”

  “Sam said he’d hired you to figure out what happened,” Sandra said.

  Her tone clearly said she didn’t think I was at all capable of doing it.

  I supposed Sam had to explain why he wanted his employees to talk to me, but most of my clients didn’t want anyone to know they’d hired a PI. But then, most of them were trying to catch a cheating spouse, which wasn’t quite the same as trying to find out who’d killed your spouse.

  “I’d like to talk to you as soon as you have a little free time.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Sure. But I’m pretty busy, most days. And I’m sure we’ll be even busier without Clara there.”

  “I see. Maybe on your lunch break tomorrow?” I asked, not willing to let her off the hook with the excuse of being too busy. Sam had said he’d told his employees to cooperate with me. I wondered if they’d all be as reluctant to do so as Sandra.

  “Uh, sure, lunch tomorrow would be okay, if you want.”

  “I’ve seen you at the Flame, sometimes. Could we meet there?” I pressed.

  She nodded reluctantly. “I suppose I could be at the Flame at noon.” She turned to talk to someone else.

  Satisfied with that response from Sandra for now, I followed Marion as she moved on to another group. A waitress announced dinner, causing everyone to find a place at the tables.

  Throughout the evening, talk seemed to center around Clara. Even the dinner speeches included a tribute to her memory and all of the contributions she’d made to the Chamber’s programs.

  I had about given up on learning anything new, when I got lucky as I took care of business in a bathroom stall. I heard the bathroom door open.

  “Do you suppose Sam offed Clara so he could inherit the factory?” a woman’s voice asked.

  I sucked in a surprised breath and waited. Evidently, the women were at the sinks not realizing anyone else was in the bathroom. I straightened my clothes, ready to move out where I could see who was talking, then thought better of it.

  “Who knows? I wonder who he’s sleeping with these days? He never stays with one very long, you know,” the second woman said.

  “True. Whoever it is will most likely be disappointed if she’s planning on getting some of that money, don’t you think?”

  “That’s my take on it. Anyway, maybe the factory will go back to her mother. Clara’s father bought it with their family money,” the second woman said. “I think it was Clara’s grandmother who left money to them. And Clara and her mother were always pretty close.”

  “I know. But I think I heard that Clara and Sam bought her mother’s shares of the factory, so she was out of the picture.”

  “Oh, really? I never heard that. She could still have left it to her mother, though. I suppose it will depend on Clara’s will. If she made one, of course.”

  Woman number one sounded doubtful.

  “True. She was only in her late forties and not many people that young make a will. I sure don’t have one.”

  “Neither do I. Maybe we should, though.”

  “Yeah.”

  Hmmm. Good point. I made a mental note to check on whether Clara had written a will. I wished I could see who was talking, but I knew they’d stop if I left the stall and let them know I was there. I didn’t recognize their voices.

  I was about to move to the sink area anyway, when I heard the door open and close. Hurriedly, I unlocked the stall door and zipped out, but the restroom was empty. I opened the door to the restaurant area and stepped out, but there were so many people standing around talking again as they sipped after dinner drinks, it was impossible to tell which ones might hav
e been in the restroom. Damn.

  I went back into the restroom to wash my hands and fix my make-up, then I went back to the party and hung around awhile, listening to various chamber members talk, hoping to recognize their voices. Nada.

  I glanced at my watch; it was getting late. Paul was supposed to be home around ten and I didn’t want to miss any time with him. It had been too long since my man had warmed my bed.

  I said goodnight to a half dozen people as I moved to the front of the restaurant, paid my bill and headed for my car.

  * * * *

  When I got home, I was disappointed to see no sign of Paul’s car. He always discreetly parked his truck in the large parking lot at his apartment house in Canton, then drove his car to my house.

  A car was less noticeable by the lake, and I appreciated his concern for local gossip. There really wasn’t room for a semi on the narrow road to my house, anyway, let alone room to turn a rig around and get back out to the main road again.

  I tried Paul’s cell phone, but only got his voice mail. He must have turned it off.

  Scamp met me at the door demanding a run. Since we’re so isolated by the lakeshore surrounded by woods, I didn’t need to walk her on a leash, I could just let her outside for a run. She always came back. Scamp is really Scamp number two, since the first Scamp, who could have been her double, was Uncle Henry’s dog, and had been shot by the same mean man who had killed Uncle Henry.

  I missed Scamp so much I had found a look-a-like pup except it was female. I named her Scamp, too, and she’s been a wonderful companion.

  I got comfortable in black satin pajamas with a matching gold satin robe, made some decaf, then sat down at my computer. I might as well get a bit of work done while I waited for Paul. I added everything I could think of that I’d learned to the case file, then tried Paul’s cell phone again with no luck.

  Frustrated, I went back to my computer to kill time. I did some more research on Clara’s family and background but couldn’t concentrate. I was running out of energy.