by Curry, Edna
The Canton Funeral Home was a handsome, brick building with beautiful landscaping and flowers in oblong brick planters beside the entrance.
I parked in the already crowded, blacktopped parking lot beside Jerry’s red convertible that he always loaned to Mom when she visited. The vehicle was empty, so evidently Kate hadn’t waited for me and gone inside, even though I knew I was only a minute or two behind her. But that was Kate. As Uncle Henry used to say, “Kate is for Kate.” And she’d never change.
I pulled open the mortuary’s heavy glass door and stepped onto the plush carpet. Soft music played as a small crowd of people gathered in the lobby, speaking in low tones. I took my turn signing the guestbook, then followed them as everyone moved down the hallway into a large, softly lit viewing room.
Dozens of flower arrangements and plants surrounded the casket at the other end of the large room, their heavy scents along with everyone’s perfume giving the room a cloying sweetness. Sofas and upholstered chairs circled the rest of the room.
People stood around, talking, waiting their turn to speak to the bereaved family. I saw Sam, Clara’s mother, Helen, and Clara’s brother, John, along with several other people I didn’t know.
Helen and John kept their distance from Sam, as though they wanted to make it plain to people that they blamed him for Clara’s death. It was rather odd to see Helen trying to take over the occasion, obviously playing hostess, when technically Sam was the host of this gathering, since he paid the bills. But Sam seemed to be too numb to care about Helen’s actions.
I tried to unobtrusively figure out who was there and why.
I know most of the townspeople. My mother and her friends stood to one side, obviously discussing the situation and giving their opinions as to what had really happened at Clara’s house that morning. For once, I wished I were on better terms with my mother, to hear what each of Clara’s friends had to say about it. Maybe Kate would tell me later out of pride. I could hope.
I followed the line as people viewed the body, then moved on to listen unobtrusively to various conversations. It was actually easier than it sounds because there were so many people, I could stand with my back to the ones I wanted to hear and they would assume I was with the next group and ignore me.
From various overheard conversations, I learned quite a few of the people there worked at Sam’s factory. Some business associates had come to pay their respects, as well. Someone mentioned the factory would close at noon tomorrow to allow workers to attend Clara’s funeral. Someone else made a pleased comment that they wouldn’t lose any pay because of the funeral.
However, everyone was not pleased. I heard several people blame Sam for her death and toss him nasty looks. About the same number insisted some intruder must have killed Clara.
Still, others were sure it was suicide. I heard one woman state in a low voice.
“It would be like Clara to set it up so everyone would blame Sam. She was sure he ran around on her, you know.”
“That wasn’t true, though. Clara was just a suspicious wife,” another woman insisted. How did she know, I wondered. Or did she?
I tried to ease around so that I could tell who said those things, but the crowd was constantly moving and I couldn’t be sure. At least one person agreed with Sam’s assistant, Sandra, that he’d been faithful to Clara, contrary to the general belief that he was a womanizer. I wondered where the truth lay. Did it matter, now? Only if it was the motive for Clara’s death, I realized.
I moved closer to those greeting Helen and John. Since I’d given my condolences to both Helen and Sam in person over the past couple of days, I didn’t join the line to talk to them again. Everyone seemed to be saying the usual so-sorry things and I wasn’t learning anything new, so I started to move on, but then, I froze as John evidently answered someone’s question. His voice dripped with bitterness.
“Yeah, Sam will probably get the factory now. Not that it’s fair, you know. Grampa gave it to Mom and Dad after he started it from scratch, so it should come back to our family and be mine and Mom’s, not Clara’s husband. He wasn’t related to my Grampa.”
“Didn’t Clara have a will?” another voice asked.
I edged sideways, glancing over to see who John was talking to, but didn’t recognize the other young man. He resembled John, though, so I figured he must be a relative, and since he was near John’s age, maybe a cousin?
I kept my gaze on someone near enough so I could keep John in my peripheral vision. I saw him shrug.
“We haven’t found one yet.”
“Maybe her lawyer has it.”
“Yeah, maybe. I guess we’ll find out after the funeral tomorrow.”
I edged over to Kate, After I’d made small talk with her friends for a few minutes, the other ladies joined the line to talk to Helen, leaving Kate and I alone for a moment. I took the opportunity to ask her if she knew the young man talking to John.
“He’s one of the cousins from St. Paul. I can never remember their names,” Kate said with a frown. “Why?”
“Just wondering.”
I eyed my mother speculatively. Women often confide their problems to each other. Had Clara talked to my mother and her friends about personal things?
“John seems to think he should inherit from Clara instead of her husband.”
Kate laughed. “John has a warped sense of entitlement about everything. He thinks the world owes him a living. And so far, he seems to be getting away with it.”
Interesting attitude.
“I see.” I glanced at John again, but he’d moved on, now standing by Clara’s casket. I got the impression he wasn’t very sad about her death. “Why is John on disability?” I asked. “He doesn’t look or act disabled.”
Mom shrugged as if it didn’t matter. “I think he’s mentally or learning disabled in some way. Helen said so once, but I don’t remember the details. He stays out of sight in the basement apartment, most of the time. Helen mentioned that he loves computer games, even plays them on line with other people.”
I frowned. Nothing John had said indicated he was mentally slow, but what did I know about such things? I was sure some doctor had made the judgment. It had nothing to do with my case.
“There’s Tina,” Kate said, waving at her friend. “I must go talk to her. I’ll see you before I go back to Florida, won’t I?”
“Sure, I’ll be at the funeral tomorrow. When are you going home?”
“The day after tomorrow.”
“Do you need a ride to the airport?”
I mentally kicked myself for making the offer. Was I still trying to buy my mother’s love? I didn’t have time to waste half a day driving to the Twin Cities airport and back.
Kate shook her head. “No, thanks. Elaine will drive me. She wants to go shopping at the mall anyway.”
“Oh. Okay.” I should be glad. Still, I resented the fact that Kate depended on Elaine more and treated her better than she did me, her own daughter. But what could I do about it?
I watched Kate hurry off to talk to Tina and then moved back into the crowd to see what else I might learn.
* * * *
A few blocks away, Harry Alders, Minneapolis Private Investigator, sat in his car in the Canton drive-in’s rear parking lot, waiting for his contact to appear. A wooden fence closed off the rear area. Crushed rock covered the ground and a couple of picnic tables for eating outdoors sat on the grassy area near the fence.
The shop was closed, everything around him dark. He shivered. The night air was cold, letting him know winter wasn’t far away. He didn’t want to leave his car running so he’d have heat either, because someone might notice a running motor and wonder what he was doing there.
The streetlight at the corner wasn’t working. This hick town probably doesn’t have enough money in their budget for light bulbs.
He’d heard about Clara’s death on the news this morning. Tough luck. He hated like hell to lose a client. She’d only made one payment on th
e job she’d hired him to do. Well, there was no way to collect from her, now. They’d dealt in cash and she’d insisted on having no records. He hadn’t minded. A little under-the-radar money was always welcome. Unless something went very wrong, like it had this time. This time, he should have had a contract that he could have presented to her estate to get paid. Too late now.
He’d been around long enough to know how to work the angles. His dad had always had a saying for everything. Like, ‘there’s more than one way to skin a cat’, or ‘when someone hands you a lemon, make lemonade’.
Clara had told him her suspicions and given him some names to check out. If this guy showed up, he’d know Clara had guessed right and there was enough hanky-panky going on somewhere in the factory to guarantee someone would pay him to keep quiet about it. Then he’d get a lot more than his original fee.
Ah, yes, here he was. A dark figure with a knitted stocking cap mask pulled down over his head appeared beside his car. He hadn’t heard a car. The guy must have walked from the other side of the fence. Through the mask’s eye-holes he could see a bit of white skin around brown eyes. The man peered at him through his car window.
“Are you Alders?”
“Yeah. Get in.”
“No, way. You get out. We can talk on that bench over there.”
Harry hesitated. He eyed the guy, deciding he could handle him, then got out of his car. He checked for the gun in his coat pocket. The guy was taller than he was, but he had a back-up plan.
They sat on the bench.
“Clara told me what was going on.”
The guy braved a nervous laugh.
“So what? Clara’s dead. You can’t prove nothin’.”
Harry’s mouth split in a secretive smile. “Here’s the deal. I’ll keep quiet as long as I get a cut of your take, okay? Otherwise, I tell the cops what I know.”
“Huh. Who’d believe you?”
“Why wouldn’t they? At the very least, the IRS will look into it. And since Clara’s dead, now a murder investigation could get tied into it as well.”
“All right, all right. Just let me know where to drop off the money.”
“I’ll take the thousand we agreed upon now, to show your good faith. Then we can meet here again, say, same time, same place on the first of each month?”
The stocking cap dipped in a quick nod. The man pulled out an envelope from inside his jacket, then handed it over.
Harry took it, then walked quickly back to his car, steeling himself against the urge to look back.
The man watched him drive away. He pulled off the stocking cap, an angry scowl twisting his face.
Then he got into his car and followed Harry.
* * * *
Back at Clara’s wake, I saw a red-haired young woman sitting on a sofa nearby. I grabbed the empty spot next to her.
“Oh, it feels good to get off my feet for a bit. Hi. I’m Lacey Summers.”
“Janine Paine.” Her mouth twisted in a small smile as she nodded, but kept her eyes on several men.
I turned to see who she was interested in and saw Sam talking to some men I was pretty sure worked in his factory. It wasn’t surprising his employees had come to Clara’s visitation.
I frowned as Janine said her name, trying to remember why it sounded so familiar. Then it came to me. “You live in the apartment above Agnes, next door to Sam?”
She turned to stare at me in surprise, her face turning red. “Yeah, what of it?”
“I talked to Agnes yesterday and she told me you lived there. I stopped by your apartment, too.”
Janine frowned. “Why were you at my place?”
“I’m a private eye, investigating Clara’s death. I just wanted to stop by and ask if you’d heard anything the morning Clara died,” I said, wondering why she was being so belligerent.
My antenna went up. Usually when someone gets belligerent under questioning, they have something to hide.
She sent me a sassy glance, crossed her long slim legs and shook her head.
“No, I didn’t see or hear anything unusual. I just got up and went to work that morning, same as always. I don’t watch the neighbors every minute like Agnes does. I have better things to do with my time.”
“You don’t like your landlady?”
“I like my apartment just fine. I just don’t like the way that old biddy watches everybody. I mean, she leaves me no privacy, you know?”
“Oh.” I said, wondering why she didn’t find another apartment if she disliked Agnes so much. There were other places to live in town, after all.
Janine turned back to watching the crowd, as though to say the interview was over. She obviously couldn’t or wouldn’t say anything more.
I glanced at Sam, he didn’t seem to be very aware of what was going on around him.
With a murmured, “Excuse me,” Janine got up and went over to talk to some women standing near Sam.
After a few minutes, I saw her talking earnestly to Sam, her hand on his arm. He looked embarrassed. Then someone else stopped to talk to Sam and she turned away. Sam looked relieved. I remembered she worked at his factory and wondered if she was more than an employee. I didn’t want to think so, but everyone seemed to think he’d slept around on Clara. I didn’t care if he had, unless his actions affected the outcome of this case.
This was so complicated. How was I supposed to know the truth? Did it matter to my case if he was faithful or not?
Now Janine had moved to the side of the room, talking to a tall, thin man. I knew I’d seen him before, then remembered he’d been at the last Chamber of Commerce Christmas party. Wade Burcell. Carter’s controller, but a local basketball star in days gone by.
Obviously, Janine knew him from work, since they were both Sam’s employees. She was smiling and chatting animatedly, but Wade wasn’t. He looked uncomfortable. I wondered why.
Then Paul’s mother, Nora, stopped to talk to me for a few minutes. Nora is one of my favorite people; I always enjoy visiting with her.
When I looked for Janine and Wade again, both had disappeared. Had they left together? Or separately?
An hour later, tired of the crowd, I headed outside. Deputy Tom was having a cigarette on the sidewalk.
“What’s new, Tom?” I asked, not really expecting an answer.
Tom knew Ben and I were friends and he seemed threatened by that fact. He lifted a shoulder.
“We found Sam’s ‘lost’ car keys.”
“Oh? Where were they?”
“In the bushes under Clara’s window. Probably where he threw them so he’d have an excuse to use her car.”
I frowned. “Did you check them for fingerprints?”
He smirked. “They were wiped clean except for one print we haven’t matched up yet. Does that sound like they were dropped there accidentally?”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“Right. So, Sam probably dropped them there on purpose after starting his car.”
“I don’t get it, Tom. What’s your problem with him using her car?”
Tom lifted a hand in explanation. “Well, you know, so he could leave his car running.”
I raised an eyebrow. “If he’d taken his car and left hers running, she’d still be dead, right?”
His mouth gaped. I was sure he’d never thought of that.
“I guess. But her car’s nicer, and he just wanted it.”
I smothered a laugh. “He would inherit her car anyway, no matter which one he took that morning, right?”
An uncomfortable look spread across his face and I knew he hadn’t thought of that, either. Tom wasn’t the brightest bulb on the Christmas tree.
“I guess,” he muttered, looking away.
“And, if they were his keys, his prints would naturally be on them, so why would he wipe off his fingerprints?”
Tom gulped. “Beats me. People do funny things.”
“It doesn’t make sense to me. More than likely, someone else wiped off their prints. Besides,
Sam says he didn’t do it. His car wasn’t running when he left for work.”
Tom grinned and looked at me as though I were stupid.
“Of course he’d say that. He’s not going to admit to killing her, is he?”
I countered, “You might want to consider that he’s telling the truth. You do want to know the truth, don’t you?”
“Well, sure. But Lacey, this is an open and shut case. It’s just obvious what happened. He left her in bed sleeping, started his car and drove off, leaving it running to fill the house with the carbon monoxide he knew would kill her. Any fool can see that.”
He lifted his nose to give me a superior look.
“Well, this fool doesn’t see it that way,” I snapped.
“Naturally you’d see it his way.”
“And what do you mean by that?”
“You’re a woman. He’s a ladies’ man. All the women love Sam.”
Before I could think of a suitably snotty retort, his pager buzzed. He gave me a dirty look and turned away. He pulled it out and glanced at the number, then pulled out his cell phone.
“I’ve got to go,” he said over his shoulder as he hurried to his car.
He got in, slammed the door, then placed the phone to his ear. Plainly, he didn’t want me to overhear his call.
“Fine with me, Buddy,” I groused to myself, then stalked off to my own car.
It was obvious I had my work cut out for me. If Tom felt Sam was guilty, you could bet Sheriff Ben did too. Tom was probably quoting Ben. He usually did. Tom wasn’t known for having independent opinions.
Chapter 7
As I drove back into Landers, I glanced at my gas gauge. I was almost out of gas. My favorite station was closed, so against my better judgment, I stopped at Jerry’s. Maybe I’d get lucky and my nasty stepbrother wouldn’t be on duty. No such luck. I saw him at the till as I put in as little gas as I thought I’d need for the next couple of days rather than filling up. No need to give him any more of my money than necessary.