by Curry, Edna
Maybe she hadn’t thought of it getting messed up, I scolded myself. Cut the poor woman some slack, even if something about her bugs you. Clara’s brother, John, sat beside Helen, dressed in a white shirt, tie and a navy blue cardigan rather than a suit jacket. His black hair was still long, but today, it was clean and neatly tied back with an elastic band.
Everyone stood for a hymn. Halfway through the first verse, Kate poked me. “You’re not singing,” she whispered.
When I sent her the look, she shrugged, then continued singing. She knew I couldn’t carry a tune, so why should I try? That wasn’t my reason for being there, anyway. I needed to look for clues as to what was really going on in this little burg.
* * * *
Near the back of the church, Wade Burcell sat stiffly erect, determined to endure the service without shedding a tear. The time for tears was long past. He’d shed enough of them for Clara after their high school graduation party when they’d broken up. He’d known for months before that, of course, that she was going to that ritzy girls’ school out east. But somehow, he’d thought they’d carry on their romance long distance.
That night Clara had made it plain she didn’t want that. She wanted to enjoy a lot of friendships, as she’d put it, with new, exciting people. Not be tied down to a small town hick like him, she’d meant. That had been that, as far as the two of them having any kind of relationship. He’d kept track of her through the local grapevine as she was rumored to be dating this guy or that.
He’d swallowed his pride and gone on to the University of Minnesota, gotten his degree in business, and married then divorced. However, he’d never forgotten his first love.
When Clara’s dad had advertised for a controller for their factory, he’d applied, gotten the job and had come back to Landers. He knew she was still single and had even entertained some hope they’d get back together. Stupid dream. He’d tortured himself for nothing.
He fought back the tears that threatened. No one must know. He’d never given anyone even a hint that he’d still cared about her. He’d stayed in the background, just watching as Jacob hired Sam while Clara fell in love and married him. God, how that news had hurt him! He’d thought seriously of leaving Landers then. But he’d survived and stayed on, hoping she’d get tired of Sam and divorce him, then give him a second chance.
Wade glared at the back of Sam’s head. Sam was the one who should be dead, not sweet Clara. Then maybe they’d have reconnected. Now it was too late. But what was done, was done.
* * * *
John Henderson squirmed next to his mother, running a finger under his too tight shirt collar. Helen had made him wear a tie, saying he had to show respect for his sister. Ha. Why should he? Clara had been the one to get all the goodies out of life. She’d gone out east to college, had a ritzy wedding, drove a silver Mercedes.
What had he gotten out of life? Poor grades in school cause he never had Clara’s smarts, couldn’t keep a job and ended up living in his mother’s basement on a lousy little monthly disability check, and he only had an old wreck of a car to drive..
So why should he be sorry she was dead? His mother was always over at Clara’s planning some charity thing or other or off at some meeting doing who knows what for the needy. Wasn’t he needy, too? Why didn’t she pay more attention to him?
Maybe now, without Clara to do stuff with, his mother would stay home and cook for him more often. He loved her oatmeal raisin cookies, but she hadn’t made them in ages.
* * * *
“Lacey, pay attention,” Kate whispered.
I sat up and nodded. Glancing around the sanctuary, I recognized a lot of the mourners. Of course, since Landers had only a little over a thousand residents, I knew most of them, at least by sight. Most of the people I’d interviewed so far were there. I remembered that the factory was closed for the funeral, so everyone who wanted to attend, could do so.
The service seemed to last forever. The same pastor I’d seen at Helen’s house gave a long sermon. A number of people praised Clara’s work in the community. It was clear she was highly regarded by many.
I glanced around the assembled mourners as yet another person sang Clara’s praises. I recognized several from the factory, Janine and her uncle Gus, Bill Jones and Sandra. I couldn’t remember a lot of the names. I was surprised to see Clara’s neighbors, Mr. Jackson, Agnes and Minnie sitting together. None had sounded friendly toward the others. Yet there they were, side by side, whispering and acting friendly. I sometimes wondered if I knew anything about people at all.
After the service, we all went to the cemetery. Thank goodness, the rain had stopped and the committal service was short. Then we went back to the church basement for a lunch. Kate seemed to know all of the church ladies serving it. I was happy to have her mingle to talk to her friends, so I could concentrate on the people around me.
I grabbed a plate of cake and a cup of coffee, then took a seat at another table near enough to Sam to see and hear people who came up to him without actually being at his table or seeming to listen. Mother waved me over to sit with her and Marion, so I gave up the idea and dropped into a chair beside my friend. Marion was beautifully coiffed and primped as usual. Brilliant crimson nail polish on her fingernails brightened her very chic black dress. As usual, I tried not to feel inadequate around Marion. Her sense of fashion was far superior to mine. Or should I say, mine is non-existent. Mother encouraged our friendship. I think she still hoped some of Marion’s fashion sense would rub off on me. Ha. Fat chance.
When Mother went to refill a pot of coffee at the large urn by the serving table, I asked Marion, “How did you end up sitting with Mom?”
Marion grinned. “I thought I’d glean some info about some of Clara’s charity ladies. Kate knows most of them pretty well.”
“And did you find out anything interesting?” I helped myself to a brownie from the plate on the table.
“Not yet,” Marion said. “Except that Clara and Jena Bobson apparently had words last week.”
“Jena?” I wracked my brain, then remembered the heavyset woman at the Chamber Dinner. “Ah, yes. Large woman in a blue paisley dress. She’s the wife of Pete, the tall heavy guy who was talking about going deer hunting with Sam?”
Marion nodded. “That’s the pair.”
“Did you find out what they disagreed about?”
“Not really. Though I hear it had something to do with a mutual supplier for their factories.”
“Hmm,” I said. I remembered Sam saying Clara had had words with their accountant last week, too. Was there a connection? Maybe a question of billing or overpayment? Non-payment of a bill? Was Carter Manufacturing in financial trouble? Could they be having problems paying bills?
I spied Paul’s mother, Nora Munson, heading toward me through the crowded basement. I pulled out a chair to welcome her. Nora was one of Landers’ society matrons and when I’d first met her a year ago, I’d been wary and in awe of her. But after I’d gotten to know her better, I learned she was a nice person, through and through. Paul had only discovered his birth mother last year. I’d been instrumental in bringing them together when I’d solved the murder of Paul’s brother, so I knew Nora liked me for that, at least.
I liked both of the Munsons and always enjoyed a visit. This wasn’t the best time or place since I was trying to learn what I could about Clara, but no way would I let Nora feel unwelcome. I’d make up for lost time later. On second thought, Nora was well acquainted with the people who worked in our Industrial Park. Maybe she could shed some light on Clara’s life.
I watched Nora stop to talk to Sandra for a minute, then Bill Jones, so yes, Nora knew at least some of the employees at Carter Manufacturing.
Finally, Nora squeezed between the last set of tables to reach me. I stood, giving her a hug as we said hello. She slid into the chair I’d saved for her. Several others at my table got up to say their goodbyes to Clara’s family and left. I was relieved to have this end of the room to
ourselves.
“It was a nice turnout for Clara, wasn’t it?” Nora said, accepting the cup of coffee I’d poured for her.
I nodded. “Clara kept busy in the community with her mother, I gather, so she knew a lot of people.”
Nora agreed, casting a glance at where Helen sat holding court at the head table. The crowd of well-wishers was thinning out and Helen was saying goodbye to the pastor and his wife.
Nora helped herself to a fudge-frosted brownie and bit into it, humming her pleasure as she chewed.
I reached out, taking a second one for myself. I can never get too much chocolate.
“I hear you’re looking into Clara’s death,” Nora said, eyeing me.
I raised an eyebrow, then chewed my lip in consternation. Was that already public knowledge? I hadn’t divulged my client’s name, though often times clients make no secret of their identity, or people guess because of my questions. But then, Sam had said he was instructing his employees to cooperate and answer my questions, so maybe they’d spread the word.
“Where did you hear that?” I asked cautiously.
She laughed. “I talked to Paul this morning. Don’t worry. I didn’t tell anyone, though I don’t think it’s a secret anymore. I just heard Sandra telling Jena you were looking into it, so I’m afraid the word is out.”
I felt a surge of relief. “If Sam’s employees are spreading the word, I don’t have to worry about it. But I don’t want the news to come from me if he didn’t want it known around town.”
She smiled at me. “I told Clara she should have hired you in the first place, but she insisted on this guy from Minneapolis. She said he had a great reputation.”
I stared at her in surprise. “You knew Clara hired a PI?”
A red blush sped up her cheeks. “Yes. I had lunch with her after a committee meeting a couple of weeks ago and she told me she’d hired this guy. I told her she should have hired you—that you were really good at finding out stuff, but she said she wanted someone out of town so no one here would know.”
I frowned, then poured us both more coffee. “If she didn’t want anyone to know, why did she tell you?”
Nora smiled. “Clara and I have told each other everything for years. She knew I wouldn’t tell anyone. And now it doesn’t matter, of course.”
Maybe it still did. “Did she say who she’d hired? Or why she hired him? What she wanted to find out?”
Nora shook her head, sipping her coffee. “No. She didn’t say why she needed one. I respected her privacy and didn’t ask. Maybe I should have, in light of what’s happened.”
“That’s for sure. You know he was probably the guy who was run off the road last night, don’t you?”
Nora nodded. “I heard that.”
“Ah, yes, our efficient grapevine. I just wish I knew why she hired Harry.”
“Yes,” Nora agreed. “That’s what Ben said when I told him about it.”
“Ben questioned you? Why?”
I could see no reason Nora would be on his list.
Nora patted her perfectly done hair. “Probably because he knew Clara and I were good friends. He wondered if I thought she was depressed enough to commit suicide.”
I raised an eyebrow, surprised Ben had even considered that possibility. Nothing he’d said to either Sam or me had suggested he had. “Was she?”
“No. Clara wasn’t in the least bit depressed. I’m sure she didn’t commit suicide.”
Relief that she agreed warmed me. “I agree. Can you think of any reason anyone would want her dead?”
“Only the women who think they’d have a chance with her husband if she was out of the way,” Nora said with a wry little smile.
I swallowed. Kate hadn’t liked that possibility at all when I’d suggested it at Elaine’s house last night. I was surprised to hear Nora voice the same thought.
“You don’t seriously think any woman would kill Clara just to have a chance to marry Sam?”
“Who knows? Where money and power are concerned, I’ve learned anything is possible. And there’s a long history of bad feelings at Carter Manufacturing.”
“Bad feelings?” I asked.
“Some things happened many years ago. I’ll tell you about them sometime.”
I suddenly wanted to talk to her, too. “How about lunch tomorrow?”
Nora smiled, obviously pleased. “That would be nice. How about the Top of the Hill around noon?”
“That sounds fine. Sam asked me to come to his house at nine tomorrow morning to attend the reading of the will, but that should be over with in plenty of time.”
“Oh.” She looked disconcerted. “Whatever does he want you there for?”
I shrugged. “He thought it might give me some lead to who killed Clara. Who knows? It might.”
“I see.” She rose. “I’d better go. It looks like everyone’s leaving. Are you ready to go, too?”
I glanced at my watch, surprised to see it was almost five, and stood. “I’ll walk out with you.”
We went out through the now almost empty basement. I saw the women of the church talking quietly in the kitchen as they washed dishes. A couple of them threw me a suspicious glance as I passed by. My stomach tightened. I imagined them thinking I was trying to help a murderer go free. Were they right? They probably knew Sam and Clara much better than I did.
At her car, I gave Nora a hug. “My car’s over there. I’ll see you tomorrow, Nora.”
“Be careful.”
“Now you sound like Ben,” I said giving her a nervous look.
Her usually serene face held a worried expression. “I’m sorry, but I don’t like you getting involved in this,” she said, shuddering. “I have a bad feeling about it. Goodbye, Lacey.”
Chapter 9
Back in my office, I resumed my search for information about the remaining people I needed to interview.
I tried Janet Simpson again. This time, she answered and allowed me to come see her. I drove out to her farmhouse about twenty-miles away. She lived down a rutted dirt lane. Trees surrounded the ramshackle house. The woods seemed to come right up to her door.
There was no bell, so I knocked on the torn screen door. A large mutt began barking noisily, then a short, heavyset woman in a brightly flowered, cotton housedress came to the door. I hadn’t seen anyone wear a dress like that since my grandmother was alive. Or the little white apron she wore, either.
“Janet Simpson?” I asked, trying to be heard over the barking.
“Yeah. You the PI Sam hired?”
“That’s right. Could I talk to you for a minute?”
“Okay. Shush, Rover. Go outside.” She let the dog out and me in.
The dog sniffed my hand, then took off for a run. I scooted inside before it could return.
The house was surprisingly clean and neat, considering the impression I’d gotten from the outside. I followed her to an old-fashioned but clean kitchen that smelled deliciously like chocolate chips and took the chair she indicated at the wooden table.
She’d evidently been baking cookies and now put a plate of the fresh goodies on the table and poured us coffee in pretty, rose decorated china cups.
She sat opposite me, picking up her cup. “Sam’s in big trouble, isn’t he?”
“I’m afraid so. Sheriff Ben thinks he killed Clara.”
“Yeah, that’s what I’ve been hearing. Not likely to be true, though.” She shook her head, her gray-streaked black hair swinging. I doubted she’d ever spent money in a beauty parlor. Probably cut it herself or maybe her husband did. I pulled myself back to our conversation.
“That’s what I need to prove.”
“So how can I help? What do you want to know?”
“You live here alone?”
“No, I have a ten year old son. He’s in school.”
Ah. She didn’t mention a husband, so that explained why money was tight and the place looked in disrepair.
“Clara fired you recently?”
“Yeah, so what? She fired a lot of people. Big turnover there, except for the bosses, I guess.”
“Could you tell me why?” I drank my coffee and ate one of her delicious cookies. Mmm. Heavenly.
Janet sighed. “Clara fired me ‘cause I have a big mouth and never learn to keep it shut at the right time, that’s all.”
“Oh? These are delicious.”
“Thanks. It doesn’t matter what I said.”
Her face said she was embarrassed enough and didn’t want to air her dirty laundry.
“I see.”
I didn’t need to know the details. Her attitude was only embarrassment. I didn’t think it could lead to the kind of rage needed to kill someone.
“I apologized, but she fired me anyway. No problem, I got another job in just a couple of weeks.”
“That’s good. Can you think of any reason anyone would want to harm Clara?”
“No. She had her ways, but she was a good woman. Sam is a good guy, too.”
I thanked her, left my card and went back to my office.
All I could find on the third woman Clara had fired, Theresa, was that she’d left for California a couple of weeks ago. There was no indication she’d been in Minnesota when Clara was killed, so I crossed her off the list.
When I researched the fourth woman Clara had fired, Cassie Nelson, I got a lot of info, but couldn’t tell what was relevant. There were too many Nelsons in the area.
I tried calling her again, using the phone number from Sandra’s list, with the same result, no answer. Maybe she didn’t have an answering machine. Maybe she’d heard about Clara and didn’t answer on purpose? So, I decided to take a chance on finding her at home.
I drove to the address on Sandra’s list. The old white frame apartment house sat on a busy street. The stale smell of cigarette smoke and fried onions met my nose as I walked into the dingy lobby. Dark green threadbare carpeting which badly needed a shampooing covered the hallway. None of the mailboxes along the wall had Cassie’s name on them. The first door on my left had a sheet of paper taped to it with Office handwritten on it with a black felt-tip pen. You’d think an apartment owner could at least print up a decent sign for his door.