Dead Man's Image

by Curry, Edna

  He spent an anxious hour on the telephone, using his phone card to check up on various employees and whether his loads were being delivered on time. Some answers were reassuring, others frustrating. He had to get back on the road soon, damn it all, or he wouldn't have a business left to go back to.

  His bruised leg still felt stiff and sore, but he could walk on it without trouble. He showered and, having no choice in the matter, reluctantly donned the same clothes he'd worn the day before, then got more ice and sat watching television for a half-hour with an ice pack on his leg. Where the heck was Lacey?

  He glanced at the unmade bed, wishing for the hundredth time she'd stayed to share it with him last night. He'd lain awake for the longest time, reliving their hot kisses. He shifted uncomfortably, getting hard just remembering. They'd come so close to making love. Why had she backed away at the last minute like that?

  She'd said she didn't want to get involved with a client. So, did that mean she'd go out with him after this was all over? Or was that just an excuse, because she really still didn't trust him? Did she still doubt he was telling her the truth?

  His whiskers itched. Deciding he had time to shave and no longer feeling restricted in his movements, he walked down to the convenience store on the corner. The streets were littered with the debris of last night's festival. Beer and pop cans, globs of spilled food, paper popcorn and food boxes lay everywhere.

  Gusts of spring wind blew empty paper bags ahead of him as he headed down the sidewalk. He wondered who was going to have the big job of cleaning up the mess those revelers had left.

  When he returned, Lacey and a tall, slim, young woman stepped out of a car outside his motel where they'd evidently been waiting for him.

  “There you are, Paul,” Lacey said, introducing him to Marion. “I was getting worried.”

  As he shook hands with Marion, she gave him an appreciative, yet distrustful once over. He wondered what Lacey had told her about him to cause that suspicious look in her eyes. “I went to the corner for shaving gear and a roll and coffee,” he said, indicating the bag he carried. “Would you two like to go out for breakfast?”

  Shaking her head Lacey told him, “We had some coffee at Marion's house and she has to get to work. Leave the motel key and let's get going. You can drink your coffee on the way.”

  “I'll get the photo albums and be right with you.”

  He went back to the room to get them. Lacey got in front with Marion, leaving him no choice but to sit in back. He munched his roll and listened to their chatter until they reached Canton, where Marion dropped them at his apartment house.

  After thanking Marion for the ride, Paul said, “Let's go inside. I'll drop these albums off and I want to shave and change clothes.”

  “I hope we don't run into your landlady or Mary Sanders.”

  He shrugged. “It doesn't matter. They'll have to find out the truth sooner or later anyway.”

  As luck would have it, they ran into Mary just inside the door. She stepped out of the elevator with a large basket of laundry as they were about to take it to the second floor.

  The young blonde woman's face blanched as she stared at Paul. Dropping the basket of clothes, she moved closer and touched his face as though unsure if he were real. “Paul?” she squeaked. “I thought you were dead? Mrs. Anderson said she had to identify your body!”

  “Sorry about that, Mary.” Paul covered the hand she'd laid against his cheek with his and said softly. “I'm fine, really. That was my twin brother whose body she identified.”

  Lacey watched the two of them standing so close. They made a handsome pair with Paul's dark head bent so close to her blond one. A surge of jealousy at Paul's tenderness toward the young woman knotted in her stomach. What did they mean to each other? They were both single and lived in the same building. Lacey remembered Mary's blushing face as she'd admitted she could hear his movements in his apartment, even his bed squeaking. Obviously there was some attraction between them.

  Why did she care? She was not getting involved with a client, was she?

  A door opened just down the hall and Mrs. Anderson emerged from the manager's office, barking, “What's all the fuss out here?” A short, plump woman, she strode toward them, then stopped abruptly, put her hand to her mouth and screamed, “Paul? It can't be you. I saw your body at the funeral home myself!”

  After Paul had explained all over again, he and Lacey got on the elevator to go up to his apartment, ignoring Mrs. Anderson's frown.

  As the doors closed, he grinned at Lacey. “Did you see her face? I wish I'd gotten a picture of that.”

  Lacey laughed, then ventured, “You didn't seem to think it was funny to fool Mary.” It was odd how much his answer meant to her. She was not supposed to get involved with a client like this. Where were her scruples?

  His smile faded. “No. I'm sorry if nice people like her are upset by all of this. But there's really nothing I can do except apologize and explain.”

  At his door, Paul let himself in with his key, stepped inside and stopped. His usually neat apartment was a mess, drawers dumped out, books lying on the floor by the bookcase, cushions pulled out of the sofa and chair.

  “Damn it anyway!” He exclaimed. “The cops didn't have to make such a hell of a mess looking for evidence, did they?”

  Following him, Lacey said, slowly, “Paul, I'm not so sure the police did this.”

  “Why not? There's fingerprint powder here,” he said pointing to the coffee table, “and more over there on the bookcase.”

  She shook her head in disagreement. “I'm sure they wouldn't leave such a mess. I think you should call the sheriff's office and report this.”

  “Maybe later,” Paul said, stubbornly. “I'm not missing John's service in order to wait for someone to talk about a possible break-in. I'll shave, change my clothes and be right out.”

  “Whatever you say.”

  He paused and looked at her questioningly. “Do you think this ransacking of my apartment is connected to our little 'accident' last night?”

  “Could be.”

  “But how would he have gotten my address so fast? I didn't come home last night, and haven't even been living here since John's death. So the burglar couldn't have followed me here.”

  Lacey sent him a sharp glance. “The paper published your address when they identified you as the dead man, remember?”

  “Oh yeah. I forgot about that.” With a sheepish grin, he headed for his bathroom.

  When he was ready, they went back outside. The sun was already hot, signaling a beautiful late spring day. They got in Paul's blue Chevrolet Cavalier and drove to Lacey's house so she could also change clothes, then headed for Riverview Cemetery.

  Rows of tall, bushy, Norway Pines lined two sides of the cemetery, shielding it from the highway. When Paul saw no one as he pulled into the driveway, he wondered if they were early after all. Then, he saw the hearse and several cars parked at the far end of the cemetery.

  A half-dozen people were walking toward a casket positioned on a stand among the gravestones. A couple of men stood discreetly back near the hearse, evidently waiting for the service to end before finishing their work.

  Paul parked behind a dark maroon Cadillac, emotions churning inside him. The brother he might have found someday was being buried with the wrong name on his grave. He'd correct that, he vowed, as soon as this mess was cleared up. And see that there was a proper marker for him and that the people who loved John knew where he was buried so they could visit him.

  He and Lacey got out and strolled toward the casket.

  A short, thin man wearing a dark suit held a Bible, patiently waiting for the small crowd to assemble around him before beginning his service.

  Paul was surprised to see that the casket was open and an older lady dressed in black including a veil, stood weeping beside it. Who was she? Why was she crying over ‘him?’ Or did she know it was John? If so, how?

  He exchanged looks with Lacey, w
ho gave him a shrug, appearing as puzzled as he. He edged closer, intending to find out who she was. The woman paid him no attention, keeping her eyes on the body and on the pastor throughout the short service.

  After the service ended the others left, but the lady in black stood there a moment longer, as though reluctant to leave. She took the traditional single red rose from the bouquet on the casket and stood holding it as if unsure what to do next. The pastor stepped forward and spoke to her. She shook his hand, then began walking to the Cadillac.

  Determined that she not get away, Paul cut across to intercept her. Taking off his dark glasses, he stepped quickly into her path, saying, “Excuse me, lady, have we met?”

  She raised her head and looked up at him, then gasped a cry and put her hand to her mouth. “Paul's twin?” she whispered. She pushed back her veil, then reached up with both hands to cup his face, staring into his eyes. “I've waited so long, wished so much to see you….”

  Her expensive clothing and perfume assailed his senses, enveloping him in a cocoon of opulence and security which made him realize she lived in a world very different from his. Several large diamond rings sparkled on her fingers.

  The rose she'd taken from John's casket brushed his cheek, but she seemed to have forgotten she was holding it. Tears streaked her makeup, but she seemed oblivious to that as well.

  Entranced by her emotion, he shook his head. “No. I'm Paul. He's John.” He nodded at the casket.

  “Oh, dear. But the paper said…. Then I've got the name all wrong. Can't have it mixed up…. Pastor Bob…” She dropped her hands and turned to look forlornly across the cemetery after the young, crew-cut pastor who was already getting into his car. “Oh, he's gone….”

  “You can tell them to change it later.” Suddenly Paul knew who she was. A sense of wonder ran over him and he looked at her more closely. “You're my mother, aren't you?” he asked softly. After all these years, he'd actually found her.

  Immediately she turned back to him in a panic. “No one must know! I can't risk it… all these years I've kept it a secret from Hal…”

  “Hal?”

  “My husband.” Her voice rose in panic. “You mustn't tell anyone I was here. Please… promise me.”

  “Of course, if it's important to you. But why…?”

  “No one must know,” she repeated, confusion and fear twisting her face. “I…I must go…”

  “Wait…please wait…”

  Shaking her head, she hurried to the maroon Cadillac, got in, slammed the door and drove away.

  Paul stared after the woman, feeling helpless, then turned to find Lacey standing a little way off, watching him. He went back to her and asked, “Do you know her?”

  She hesitated. “Not her name, but she must belong to the local Chamber of Commerce.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “She was dipping ice cream cones at the chamber's food booth at the festival last night.”

  “Can you find out who she is?”

  Lacey nodded. “Yes. I'll ask Marion. She's a chamber member. Marion will know who she is.”

  “She called me 'Paul's twin.' So she thought it was me in the casket. If she lived so close and knew who I was, why didn't she contact me before now? Why only after I'm supposed to be dead?

  “I can't believe she lives that close to me and I didn't know it. I wonder if she did?”

  Lacey gave him a comforting hug. “I don't know. We can try to find out.”

  They got into Paul's car. As he turned back onto the highway, a black sedan almost hit them as it roared past.

  Paul braked just in time, swearing, “Idiot driver!”

  Lacey squealed and held onto the dashboard.

  The black car followed the Cadillac as it headed back to Landers.

  Paul glanced at her white face and said, “Sorry. That was too close to a repeat of last night's accident.” He drove on at a slower pace. The other cars had already disappeared down the road.

  Suddenly he said, “I've changed my mind about you renting a car. I'm going to need mine. I'll need to move from the cabin back to my apartment, and make some calls to see about tracing some of my work orders. And I need to check on my bank account to make sure they haven't frozen it with all this mix-up. So, it will be easier if we each have a car, okay?”

  “Fine with me. My repair shop rents cars. Drop me there. It's on the corner of Oak and Maple Streets. I need to get an estimate on my car repairs for my insurance company, anyway. I might as well do that, now.”

  “Okay.”

  “Don't forget to report that your apartment was searched. You should check to see if anything is missing, too.”

  “Sure.”

  ***

  Lacey learned that her car would take a couple more days to be repaired. She took care of the details with her insurance company by phone, rented a small white Ford car and returned home. She was hungry, but had barely had time to make herself some coffee, when her doorbell rang.

  She answered it, sipping her coffee, and almost choked when she saw the round-faced, heavy-set man standing there. He was the man who'd stared at her near the ice cream booth at the festival. He stared at her now, just as he had the night before.

  “Lacey Summers? The private investigator?” he asked.

  She nodded, gripping the door for support, unable to produce speech.

  “I'm Hal Munson. I need to hire you.”

  She stared back at the fifty-ish, balding man. He looked less scary in daylight. Just because he'd frightened her last night didn't mean he was dangerous. Get a grip. He's only a client. He said he wants to hire you. Finding her tongue, she stepped back saying, “Come in. My office is down this way.” She headed toward it saying, “I believe I saw you on Main Street last night.”

  “Yes. I don't have much time, I have a meeting with an important client at two o'clock.” He followed her down the carpeted stairs to her office and took the chair she offered, then met her eyes across her desk. “I…ah…I want you to shadow my wife.”

  Oh, no, not another divorce case. I'm so sick of those. “Why?” Lacey asked, eyeing the man, noting the uneasy way he shifted in his chair.

  He flushed and looked away. “I think she's seeing someone else. I hate to admit it, because I'm quite sure that all these years Nora has been faithful to me. In fact, she's been a wonderful wife.”

  Lacey fidgeted. She knew from past experience that a big, 'but, now…'was coming. It always followed that statement.

  He gave a heavy sigh, looked back at her and went on. “But now I'm afraid she's found another man, and is seeing him on the sly, like my mother did.”

  “Why do you think that, Mr. Munson?”

  He glanced away, a guilty expression crossing his wide face. “I have friends, contacts. One of them works where we bank. He told me that my wife drew out a large sum of cash.”

  Lacey raised an eyebrow. Bank employees weren't supposed to discuss things like that, even with friends. But perhaps in a small town, the ‘good old boys’ would break that rule, especially if they thought they were looking out for each other's interests.

  “Maybe your wife needed money for a shopping spree.”

  He shook his head, causing his glasses to slide down his perspiring nose. Reaching up with a shaking hand, he pushed them back into place. “She always uses her credit cards or writes a check to shop. She's never hidden things from me until now. And she's been crying a lot lately, but pretends she's not if I come near.”

  Lacey frowned. “Crying? That doesn't sound like a love affair to me.”

  He lifted a shoulder. “Maybe she had a fight with him. She's acting like she did when we first got married and found out we couldn't have children, you know, weepy all the time, but pretending everything's fine when I ask what's wrong. Something is wrong, I tell you. I've got to find out what it is.” He twisted the expansion band of his gold wristwatch, then released it. “Or who he is. I'll do anything. I'm not giving my Nora up without a
fight.”

  “Okay, okay.” Lacey bit her lip, thinking fast. She didn't want to aggravate the man, or upset him further. Dared she take on another client right now? She was busy enough at the moment with Paul, and didn't need the complication. She hesitated, hoping to calm Mr. Munson down a bit before refusing his request for help.

  Seeming to sense that she was about to refuse him, he reached for his billfold. He drew out several hundred-dollar bills and laid them on her desk.

  Lacey stared at the greenbacks, swallowing hard. She needed the money badly to keep her fledgling business going. Maybe Paul's case would be cleared up soon, or maybe if she worked more hours, she could manage to do both of them. Who needed sleep, anyway?

  Then he took a photo from his billfold and laid it beside the money. “This is Nora, my wife.”

  Lacey's glanced at the photo and she drew a sharp breath. The familiar face seemed to jump out at her. It was the lady who'd been dipping ice cream cones in the street booth the night before, and who'd been at John's funeral this afternoon.

  Now she knew why her face had seemed familiar. Nora resembled John and Paul. They all had similar eyes and wide foreheads. Suddenly she was sure Paul knew this woman was his mother, too. They'd been talking at the cemetery. Maybe that was also why Paul had suddenly decided he needed his car. Before today, he'd stuck to her like glue. Was Paul up to something on his own? Why hadn't she insisted they stay together?

  Her choice was clear. Mr. Munson's request wasn't a new case at all, just another angle on the same one.

  She smiled at him. “All right, I'll look into what your wife has been up to,” she told him in a soothing voice. “Please don't worry. I'm sure it'll turn out to be something perfectly innocent and easily explained.”

  Guilt knotted her stomach when she saw a pathetically hopeful expression light up his face. The fierceness had left his eyes.

  “Tell me about yourself and your wife,” Lacey said, pulling her notebook toward her and picking up her pen.

  “There isn't much to tell,” Hal said. “We live out on Wild Mountain Road in a house we built a few years ago. We're comfortable, financially. We own Munson Manufacturing, in the Industrial Park, out on the highway east of town.”