by Curry, Edna
“He thinks it's wonderful, too,” Jake laughed. “He even wants to keep that flimsy, antique furniture your folks accumulated, and those ugly gilt-edged pictures on the walls! Says they add atmosphere for the tourists who'll take pictures from that old veranda of the valley with those rock formations you're so proud of.”
Kerry swallowed the nausea she felt at the idea of the lovely rooms being cut up into many small bedrooms and bathrooms. A hotel indeed!
She snapped, “I told you I have no intention of selling it. You can't. It's not yours to sell.”
“Yet...,” he sneered.
Bitter bile rose in Kerry's throat, but she fought it back. The effort made her weary and thirsty. “It never will be, I'll see to that! I don't feel well enough to discuss it, Jake. Could you ask Sally to bring me my tea now?” Kerry struggled to keep her voice low and even, as she saw the violently angry expression on his face. She wanted her tea, but she also wanted to remind him of the presence of their maid in the house.
Jake turned and flung at her, “I'll send your blasted tea, woman. Maybe I should put some arsenic in it? The doctor would just write it off to your cancer, now wouldn't he?” He laughed loudly as he went down the stairs.
Anger burned in her, anger at herself for getting into this situation.
How could she have been blind and lonely enough to marry this cruel excuse for a man? A phrase from her childhood echoed through her mind, “Handsome is as handsome does.”
The worst of it was, he was right. He could hurry her death to clinch his deal with the developer and no one would even do an autopsy. In a way, she would welcome a quick and merciful end to the suffering she was enduring. No more nausea, no more needles.
Kerry stared unseeingly out of her bedroom window.
No, she mustn't. Not before she settled the matter of this house. Not before she made her dream come true.
She had conceived the idea long ago, while grieving for her daughter, her lovely, talented artist. How Janie had loved her painting, and how many times she had drawn this very scene...their beautiful, peaceful river valley. Her best and largest painting of it hung above the big fieldstone fireplace in the dining room downstairs. Janie had gone to art school inspired at least in part by the large store of antique art and other treasures that her family had collected in this house. Kerry was sure they and Don, too, would have approved of her plan to preserve it all.
Where was Sally with her tea? Her mouth felt like it was lined with cotton, and her body screamed for a painkiller.
Through the trees below her window she could see the roof of the new double garage which held the red sports car Jake had now damaged. Inside it also was the old white convertible which Don had given her years ago.
The heavy, luxury car was now considered a gas-guzzler, but she had always loved the solid, comfortable feel of the car, the power of the big motor. The last time she'd driven it was when she'd driven herself into Minneapolis for her intravenous chemotherapy session. She made a wry face. Don would never have allowed that if he had been alive. She remembered the loving care he'd showered on her whenever she'd been ill.
But Jake was different. He found waiting for her at the hospital much too time consuming and boring. So faithful Sally usually accompanied her instead.
But that day Sally'd had her own family problems. No one else was available, and since Kerry was stronger then, she had decided to drive herself. Afterward she'd been so nauseous that she had stayed overnight in a motel.
She'd called Jake to tell him and the office girl said he and his secretary had left for the day. Her giggle had said much more. It wasn't the first time Kerry had suspected him of straying; it had just been the last straw.
So then, armed with a true picture of Jake's character, and knowing she was running out of time, she'd made her decision.
The next morning she had gone to the State Historical Society and arranged for her home with all its treasures to be preserved, and kept out of Jake's clutches.
Then she'd stopped to see her lawyer, Mr. Lannet, and dictated the new will which he'd promised to bring today for her to sign. If only Jake would hurry up and leave before the lawyer got here.
“Your tea, Miss,” Sally said beside her. She pulled the mobile bed table close and poured the tea.
“Has Jake left?” Kerry asked, drinking it gratefully.
“Not yet, Miss. He went out to the garage, though. Company's coming. I'll go let them in.”
Kerry watched nervously as she saw Mr. Lannet's black car round the sharp bend along the cliff below and start the climb to her house. Would Jake suspect why he was here?
The last time she'd driven that hill was on her way home from the hospital and she'd lost her brakes on the last mile. Scared stiff, she'd managed to slow the big car to a crawl up the steep hill to the house, gotten it into the garage and stopped it with the hand brake.
Before she'd even caught her breath, Jake had been there yelling at her for not letting him know she hadn't been coming home the night before.
In the ensuing battle, she hadn't told him about the brakes. Nor had she gotten them fixed. Since she'd taken a turn for the worse and was too ill to drive, there was no hurry about it.
Now she could hear Sally and her guest coming up the stairs. And Jake's angry voice.
As they came into the room, Jake shouted, “You won't get away with it! I have rights, too! Sign all you want, but I'll break the will! You're not in your right mind when you're dying!”
“Oh! Can he do that?” gasped Sally, to whom Kerry had confided her plans days ago.
“Well,” the lawyer hedged, looking embarrassed. “One never knows what a judge may decide.”
Kerry stared at him. Would her plan fail after all?
Jake looked triumphantly from one silent face to the other, then growled at Kerry, “Give me your car keys. I'm late already. That poor excuse for a loaner the garage gave me won't start.”
“But the brakes need fixing,” Kerry objected.
“What a crock! You'll say anything to keep me from driving your precious Caddy, won't you?”
“That’s not true. The brakes felt soft the last time I drove it. I meant to get them fixed.”
“Liar!” He grabbed her purse from her closet shelf, dug out the key ring. Throwing them an angry scowl, he ran noisily down the stairs.
Mr. Lannet sighed. “It would be better if we could get him to agree to this and sign a quit-claim deed. I'll draw one up, and perhaps, after he cools off, you can get him to sign it.”
“Yes, do that.” Kerry signed the new will and watched Sally and her housekeeper witness it. “I'm sure it'll all work out.”
They left.
She watched the winding road below her window until she saw Jake in her white convertible. He was driving much too fast as always. Now he tried vainly to round the sharp bend. Her beloved convertible was only a white blur in the sunshine as it sailed over the cliff to the silver ribbon of river far below.
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 by Edna Curry:
My Sister’s Keeper
Secret Daddy Whiskey Creek Press
Best Friends
Bear Trap
Double Trouble
Flight to Love
Circle of Shadows
Traveling Bug
&
nbsp; Never Love a Logger Whiskey Creek Press
I’ll Always Find You Whiskey Creek Press-Torrid
Meet Me, Darling Melange Books
The Lilliput Bar Mystery
Mystery Series:
Yesterday’s Shadow A Lacey Summers’ PI Mystery #1
Dead Man’s Image A Lacey Summers’ PI Mystery #2
Dead in Bed A Lacey Summers’ PI Mystery #3 Whiskey Creek Press
Coming Soon: The Eccentric Lady A Lacey Summer’s PI Mystery #4
***
http://preview.tinyurl.com/3vmf4ue
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?
http://www.ednacurry.com
***
Dead Man’s Image
By Edna Curry
Lacey Summers 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 express written permission of the author, except for short excerpts for reviews.
Excerpt:
Chapter One
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 eyewitness. 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.
He picked up the phon
e book again and looked up private investigators. Not much choice. The yellow pages covered several small towns in the area, but listed only one private investigator.
***
Standing at the window of her home office, sipping hot coffee, Lacey stared out over the Minnesota lake surrounded by tall evergreens. Sunshine sparkled off the blue water and a breeze stirred up enough waves to slap the shore. They made her little fishing boat bounce where she'd tied it at her dock. Living here in the woods a few miles from town isolated her, but she loved it.
The phone rang and she went quickly back to her desk. She steeled herself not to pick it up on the first ring, not wanting to appear too anxious. “Summers' Investigations.”
“Let me talk to the investigator.”
“Speaking.” Why did people always assume she was only the receptionist?
“You are? A woman investigator?” The deep voice at the other end of the line registered surprise and dismay.
Great, she finally got a possible client and he was a male chauvinist. She reminded herself that she hadn't had any cases except snooping on a couple of cheating husbands for weeks. She was broke and needed the business. That was the trouble with working in a small town like Landers. They were great to live in, but the money wasn't always so hot.
Trying her best to keep the irritation out of her voice, she said, “That's right. I'm Lacey Summers, a licensed private investigator. How can I help you?”
“I'm Paul Menns. I want to hire you to investigate something for me.”