by Curry, Edna
I knocked, waited, then knocked again. Finally, a young woman with a baby on her hip answered, eyeing me.
“Yeah?”
“I’m looking for Cassie Nelson. Apartment 203?”
“She left a couple of months ago.”
“Do you know where she went?”
The baby whimpered. The woman shrugged. “I heard Minneapolis, but don’t know for sure.”
“Didn’t she leave a forwarding address?”
She made a face. “Not here. Maybe at the post office?”
“Okay, thanks.”
I left, going back to my office. No point in asking the post office. I’d tried that before. My postmaster won’t tell me squat.
However, my computer might. I tried narrowing it down and came up with several possibilities. I tried calling a couple of Cassie’s former coworkers at Carter. I lucked out when I called Louise. She gave me the name of Cassie’s brother in Iowa. When I called him, saying I was a friend from Canton and had lost her new number, Cassie’s brother gave me her new phone number. Bingo! Thank God for trusting family members.
Reverse phone number look-up gave me her address, so I drove into Minneapolis to see her. On the way, my stomach growled, reminding me I’d missed dinner. Those brownies at the funeral and the cookie I’d eaten at Janet’s house had digested long ago. I grabbed a hamburger at a drive through fast food place and ate it on the way. Yeah, I know. My diet is deplorable.
Cassie lived in an older neighborhood of single-family homes that seemed well kept. Their lawns were raked clean of fallen leaves, while fall flowers bloomed in neat beds. Her white frame apartment building was in the middle of the block and she lived on the second floor.
I parked and climbed the worn carpeted stairs, hoping to find her at home. I did.
She peered cautiously through the peephole. When I told her I was investigating Clara’s death for Sam, her dark brown eyes widened in surprise. She opened the door and invited me in to her small, neat apartment. Evidently, she trusted people from Canton who knew the Carters. Ironic, since Canton had probably had more murders in the past few days than her city neighborhood had had in the past year.
Cassie was tall, slim and dark-haired. Pretty enough to attract any man she wanted, I decided. Clara had probably been jealous of this woman, if she’d shown any interest in Sam, or vice-versa.
“This is nicer than where you lived in Canton, isn’t it?” I asked to break the ice.
She grinned, then waved me to a blue sofa.
“Definitely. I lucked out. Want a pop or something?”
“Sure. Whatever you’ve got handy.”
She disappeared into the next room, then came back with two cold cans of cola, handing me one and popping the top of the other. She curled up in a stuffed chair opposite me, taking a swig of her soda and watching me over the top of the can.
“So, Clara’s dead, eh?”
“Yes. You hadn’t heard?”
When she shook her head, I gave her a quick summary of the past couple of days’ events.
“Weird,” she commented. “Who’d want to off Clara? I mean, yeah, she could be snippy, all right. But for somebody to kill her? That’s pretty far out.”
I eyed her.
“Sheriff Ben thinks Sam did it.”
She gaped at me. “Sam? That’s crazy. Sam wouldn’t do anything like that. He’s a real softy.”
I was glad to hear she thought so, too. I hadn’t seen anything to make me think otherwise, but convincing the sheriff was another matter. That was going to take proof of Sam’s innocence or someone else’s guilt. And proof was sure elusive in this case.
“When Clara fired me,” Cassie continued, “Sam even slipped me some money to tide me over until I found another job. ‘Separation pay’ he called it.” She giggled. “Sounds like something you get in a divorce.”
“Why did Clara fire you from Carter Manufacturing?”
Cassie looked away. “She said it was because I wasn’t doing my job, that I was incompetent.”
Something in her tone of voice made my ears perk up. “Oh? What do you think was the real reason?” I asked, expecting her to say Sam liked her too much.
But she kept her eyes on her feet, taking another swig of her pop.
I sipped my own pop and waited, but she didn’t answer.
“Maybe Clara thought Sam was interested in you?” I prompted.
Her gaze swung back to me, a startled look on her face.
“Oh, no, nothing like that. I mean, Sam’s a great guy and all, but he’s way too old for me.”
I frowned. “Then why…”
She stood, her face bearing a closed down expression. “I don’t know anything. Just leave, okay? I didn’t have nothing to do with the illegal stuff, I just did my job, okay? I don’t want to get involved.”
Whoa. What illegal stuff? I hadn’t seen any illegal immigrant workers. So what else could it be? Theft? Fraud?
“Talk to me, Cassie,” I pleaded. “Sam is in trouble, here. He needs your help.”
But she shook her head, her lips pressed together so tight they were white. “I can’t help him and I don’t want to get involved.”
“Are you already involved?”
“No! I just did what I was told, what I was paid to do. Nothing more. Just go!”
She went to the door and opened it.
I didn’t see a choice, so I walked through it.
She slammed it behind me, the dead bolt slapping into place.
So much for that, I thought as I walked back to my car and drove home. But it hadn’t been a totally wasted trip. She’d told me one thing I hadn’t known. Something illegal was going on at Carter Manufacturing.
Chances were good that Clara was killed because she’d found out about it.
* * * *
The next morning the sun was shining, the temperature was in the sixties and only a light breeze rippled the blue surface of the lake as I went with Scamp for our morning run.
It was a beautiful day, but I dreaded it all the same, knowing I had to attend the reading of Clara’s will.
At nine, I sat in a soft, stuffed chair in a back corner of Sam’s living room. A small table had been set up at one end, apparently for the lawyer who hadn’t yet arrived. I felt out of place and unnecessary being there, but Sam had requested my presence. I knew he hoped, as I did, that I’d learn something useful to help his case.
Sheriff Ben came in and nodded to me frowning. “I thought I told you to stay out of this, Lacey.”
“Yes, Ben, you did.”
“Then what are you doing here?”
I smiled calmly. “Sam asked me to come. Any news on Harry Alders’ death?”
“No. And I wouldn’t tell you if there was. I’m trying to protect you for your own good, Lacey.” Ben snorted, then took a chair in the opposite corner of the room.
I sighed. I knew Ben felt a special responsibility for me since he’d been my father’s friend. But I had to succeed, had to prove to my family and the town that I wasn’t a gold-digger as my stepbrother told everyone. I needed to show him and everyone I could earn my own way, make my little business a success. I’d taken Sam’s retainer and I was going to do my darnedest to solve this case.
Sheriff Ben wanted me to play it safe, but I couldn’t learn anything that way. He wanted me to stay out of this case. Why? Only to protect me? Or was he exaggerating the danger because he was still smarting because I’d solved Uncle Henry’s murder when that had been his case?
Had Sam invited Ben? Or had Ben come on his own, also hoping for information that would help his investigation?
Sam sat rigidly in a stuffed chair off to one side.
Helen, dressed in a plain black taffeta dress, brought in a tray of coffee and cookies. Apparently, she felt obligated, or entitled, I wasn’t sure which, to play the hostess in her late daughter’s house. Sam sat silently, watching, allowing her to do it, though I wondered how he felt about it. Somehow, I’d gotten the impression
he didn’t approve. I frowned, shifting in my chair, trying to remember what had given me that idea, but it eluded me.
Helen’s face was puffy, her expression somber. Obviously, she was taking her daughter’s death hard.
John and several other people I didn’t know sat in folding chairs arranged in a ring opposite the sofa, all of which formed a sort of U shape in front of the lawyer’s table.
Loren Bierce, Sam and Clara’s lawyer, came in and took his seat. He was a short, bald man with a very red complexion and was dressed in an ill-fitting, blue pinstriped suit. It made him look chubbier than he was. His round, wire-rimmed glasses slid down his nose as he arranged a folder of papers in front of him.
Helen moved to set a cup of coffee on the table in front of him. He looked up, smiling at her, then asked for a glass of water instead. She nodded and went to get it.
When she’d returned with the water and taken her place, he began talking.
Mr. Bierce’s voice was slightly nasal, but carried well enough for me to understand him from my corner at the back of the room. He introduced himself, in case anyone didn’t know who he was.
“I won’t read all the legal terms. I’ll just explain what Clara had wanted in plain English. I’ll give a copy of the will to anyone named in it or who can show me a legitimate relationship to Clara or a legal interest in its contents.”
I glanced around the room. Helen and her son John sat stiffly in their chairs.
“I’m reluctant to tell you this, but feel most of you need to know. Clara told me she was thinking of changing the contents of her will, but she didn’t say what she wanted to change. She was apparently waiting for the results of some investigation before making up her mind on what needed changing.”
Helen opened her mouth, but the lawyer put up a restraining hand.
“It doesn’t matter now what she planned to change. This is the last will she signed, so it stands. The Sheriff has already asked me if I thought Clara’s death had anything to do with those possible changes to her will. As I told him, I have no idea.”
Loren coughed, drank some water and then picked up the papers in front of him.
“So, this is what Clara’s last will says. She left three life insurance policies. The beneficiary of one is her brother, John, and the second is her mother, Helen. The third is a business policy she left to her husband, Sam. She also left some money to each of the charities that she spent so much of her time helping.
“Other than those bequests, she left all of her money, her interests in other properties and in her home, car and the factory to Sam.”
Helen jumped to her feet. “To Sam!” she said in a dismayed voice. “No. He can’t inherit! He killed her!” Her voice rose to a shout. “The law says you can’t profit from a crime! I know he did it!”
John rose, glared at the lawyer, then put his arm around his mother. She turned to John and hid her face against his shoulder. John patted her back as she sobbed. He coaxed her off to one side of the room, to give her a bit of privacy.
I was surprised to see John acting as the comforter now. He’d seemed so aloof the other times I’d seen him.
Everyone looked at each other, apparently amazed Helen was so furious that Sam had inherited Clara’s share of her home, car and their factory.
Had she expected to get those? I knew John had thought so, but surely Helen knew better? Most couples left their property to each other in their wills, didn’t they? Why should Helen expect Clara to do otherwise?
Sam hadn’t moved through Helen’s outburst. He sat stiff, still in his chair, his face pale and drawn.
The lawyer looked at Sheriff Ben who shrugged.
Loren sighed. “That’s true if he’s convicted. But Sam hasn’t been convicted or even charged as yet.”
When no one else commented, the lawyer rose, gathering up his papers.
“That’s all I have. If any of you want copies of the will or need any other information, give me a call.”
With a frowning glance at the still sobbing Helen, Loren strode out. Sheriff Ben followed. I could see them talking by his car outside.
I waited a moment to see if Sam would come over to talk to me, but he seemed to be in shock, so I moved to stand by him.
“Sam? Are you all right?” He lifted sad eyes to stare at me.
“Helen really believes I killed Clara,” he said hoarsely. “I thought we were a close family. How can she think I could kill anybody?”
Tears welled up in my own eyes. “I’m sorry, Sam. Is there anything I can do?”
He shook his head. He didn’t seem capable of any further coherent thoughts, so I left, too. Any further conversation would have to wait. By the time I got to my car, Ben and the lawyer were driving away.
As I got in my car, Helen and John came out of Sam’s house and got in Helen’s car. They were talking, not paying any attention to me. I’d been surprised that Clara had provided for her brother in her will. Maybe she’d been made to feel some responsibility for her brother’s care? Again, I wondered just what kind of disability he had. He seemed perfectly all right to me. I remembered he’d just come back from a run the morning I’d stopped to talk to Helen, so obviously he was physically able.
Loren had said Clara had mentioned making changes in her will, but hadn’t told him what she wanted changed. She’d been waiting for new information before doing it. She’d probably hired an out of town investigator because she suspected some local people to be involved in whatever she thought was going on.
I wondered if Harry Alders, the Minneapolis PI Clara had hired, had found out what she’d wanted to know, and if he’d told her. I felt sure his death was connected to Clara’s in some way. Had the same person killed them both?
* * * *
I went home, let Scamp out for a run, checked my email and phone messages, then grabbed a cup of coffee. A couple of e-mails needed attention, but I could do those tonight.
I was about to take off to investigate the Minneapolis PI who’d been killed, but remembered I had a lunch date with Nora. She’d promised to tell me about something in Carter Manufacturing’s past.
I spent a half an hour catching up on paperwork on some cases I’d been working on over the past couple of weeks.
I emailed more of the pictures I’d taken of an unfaithful husband and his sweetie almost making love in his car, then heading arm in arm into a hotel room. I got a clear shot of him inside, pulling the curtains closed before the lights went out. Then more shots of them coming out of the motel together and kissing goodbye before getting into separate cars and driving away.
The wife who had hired me should have no trouble getting the best of him in a divorce settlement when she showed his lawyer the pictures. Most of my cases seemed to deal with people at times when they were behaving at less than their best.
I went to meet Nora. A meeting with her should make me feel better.
Nora, Paul’s birth mother, was a wonderful person. I’d met her when I defended Paul against a murder charge a couple of years ago.
I shuddered at the memory of seeing Paul’s identical twin lying in the morgue. Before we’d seen that body with our own eyes and realized the obvious, Paul hadn’t even known he was adopted, let alone that he’d had an identical twin. In addition, during the investigation, I’d found his birth mother and discovered Paul had been the intended murder victim. Luckily, I’d solved that case before they’d had a chance to try again. Then, Paul and I had fallen in love.
I drove to Top of the Hill, the posh restaurant Nora had chosen. Soft music played and white linens covered the tables. The hostess showed me to a table by a window overlooking the lake where Nora was reading a menu. She saw me and waved.
I greeted her, took a chair and picked up a menu, realizing I was starved.
“How’d the meeting go with Clara’s lawyer?” Nora asked.
“Not so hot.” I made a face, then gave her a short summary of the morning’s events, including Helen’s bad opinion of Sam
.
Nora’s brow furrowed. “I’m sorry Helen is being so judgmental. Ben hasn’t even charged Sam as yet, has he?”
I shook my head. “But Ben is getting impatient to solve the case. If he doesn’t find any leads soon he may think the circumstantial evidence he has is enough.”
Nora shook her head. “Ben is a careful man. I don’t think he’ll press charges until he feels he has some solid evidence.”
“Maybe not. I wish I knew more about the people involved. I feel like I’m working in the dark.”
The waitress appeared beside us with a basket of rolls, poured our coffee.
“Have you decided what you’d like?”
I drew my attention back to the menu, then ordered a grilled chicken salad. Nora ordered a seafood salad.
The waitress nodded, then disappeared.
“Perhaps it would help if I tell you a little about the history of Carter Manufacturing.”
“If you think it might have some bearing on the present,” I said doubtfully.
Nora nodded. “Years ago, it was Henderson Manufacturing.”
I buttered a roll and bit into it. Umm. Fresh and delicious. “Yes, I heard that. Gus Henderson still works there.”
“Gus is George Henderson’s son. George and Jacob started the factory together years ago. When George got sick and had to retire, he sold his shares to Jacob, who was an old-fashioned guy, pretty prejudiced against women in business.”
I winced. I know the type.
“Jacob didn’t mind women working on the floor of the factory doing menial work or in the office typing and answering phones as long as men were in charge. He’d never let his wife work in the factory. Helen was strictly a homebody and took care of their social life. Gave parties and did charity work. Still does, of course.”
“Did she mind?”
Nora shrugged.
“I don’t think so. Women were raised differently then, you know. Being a homemaker was what was expected. Helen liked being a society queen.”