Dead In Bed Read online

  “Who else has keys to your car?”

  “Nobody, but me and Clara, but I couldn’t find mine this morning. I must have lost them.”

  He’d lost his keys? What a coincidence. My stomach knotted. Was he pulling my leg claiming to be innocent? Was this a convenient ruse?

  “When did you last have them?”

  He got up, pacing, then stopped at the window to stare at the lake. His brow dipped in concentration.

  “I drove home yesterday afternoon, so I had to have had them then. I must have laid them down somewhere in the house.”

  I rolled my office chair around to watch him and Scamp’s eyes followed him, too.

  “But if they were in your house, someone would have to have been in your house to find them?”

  “Oh, yeah. I suppose.” He turned back to me, a puzzled expression on his face. “Then how could someone else have them?”

  “That’s what we need to figure out. Did you have any visitors since you came home last night?”

  “No. Oh wait, yes. Clara’s mother and brother, John, stopped by for a little while right after supper. Helen dropped off some addresses for some church project she and Clara are—were going to work on together. Clara and I spent the rest of the evening alone. We watched TV awhile, then she went to bed early, saying she felt a migraine coming on.”

  “Does she take medication for migraines?”

  He came back and sat in the chair across from my desk again.

  “Yeah, she has some pills. They usually help but make her sleepy. She took one, then said she was tired and going to bed. That was our last evening together.”

  He bent his head, his hands between his knees, drawing a deep breath, appearing to fight tears again.

  I waited a moment for him to regain control. “Clara worked at the factory, too?”

  “Yes. But she only came in for a few hours each day. She liked to oversee things, especially the personnel. Like, keep her hand in. She’d walk through the factory, talking to everyone, keeping up with their lives, being friendly. She liked to know who was working there and how they were doing. I do most of the day to day management stuff.”

  “I see.”

  He looked directly at me, then leaned forward, his hands between his knees, his gaze down at his shoes. A confused expression crossed his face as he muttered to himself, “Why would someone do this? My Clara is gone. What am I going to do without her?”

  I gave him a moment to recover his composure. “Who would want Clara dead, Sam?”

  His head popped up, his voice holding an indignant squawk. “Nobody!”

  “You don’t have any enemies?”

  His lips pushed out in a tight circle. “Well, Clara’s had to fire a few people over the years, so not everybody loves us. That’s the problem with being the owner of a business. Nothing’s ever perfect. But no one would kill her over losing their job! Our jobs aren’t that highly sought after. They’re just factory work, for cripe’s sakes! Most positions don’t even need special training, just the on-the-job training we do ourselves.”

  He stared at his shoes again, his thoughts far away.

  I decided I had gotten all I could for now. I switched off the recorder, stood, holding out my hand to him. “I’ll do what I can, Sam.”

  “Eh? Oh, yeah. Thanks.” He rose, then shook my hand.

  “Can I get a list of people you’ve had to fire in the last year or so? Just to check them out.”

  “Oh, sure. Sandra, my assistant can give you those. Here’s the office number. Call her.” He pulled a business card from his pocket and handed it to me. “Just find out who did this.”

  “I’ll try. Keep in touch. I’ll walk you out,” I said, leading the way up the stairs to the front door.

  He got into a silver Mercedes I assumed was Clara’s car, since he’d said he was driving it.

  Out of habit, I memorized the license number and watched him drive off down the graveled lane. A leaden weight settled in my midsection.

  I’d gotten involved in another murder case. Sheriff Ben would be furious with me. Had I made a big mistake? I turned to gaze down the hill to the lake.

  My office is on the lower floor of my house which sits just yards from the water. It’s built into the hillside, so the level my office is on is underground, under half of the house, but not on this end where the hillside dropped toward the beach. Thus it’s two stories high facing the lake. I loved being able to stand at the window in my office, watching the waves on the lake and people fishing and waterskiing in summer.

  Trees, now mostly bare for the coming winter, except the evergreens lining the banks; hid the numerous other well-maintained homes circling the lake. Most of their owners were rich bugs living in the Twin Cities. They only came out to the lake on weekends through the summer. Some didn’t come at all during the winter. Some of the houses were already closed for the season. But I liked it quiet and peaceful.

  I’d inherited this house from my Uncle Henry who’d had an antique store in Landers for many years. I’d loved that crotchety old man and had lived with him off and on after my mother, Kate, had married a rich jerk I couldn’t stand. Kate and Carl had moved to Florida. I’d stayed with Uncle Henry on weekends and vacations throughout my college years and while I’d first worked for a PI firm in Minneapolis.

  Then, Uncle Henry had been murdered. Solving that case had gotten me started doing investigations on my own. He’d left me his antique store, and the money from selling it had paid off all my college loans, helping me start up my business and buy the little red Chevrolet I drove. At first, people had been wary of trusting a woman PI with their personal problems, but now, they were beginning to accept me. I’d invested everything I had into this business. I had to make a go of it.

  I watched the waves lap at the shoreline, wondering how much of what Sam had said was true. Many clients lied to me for one reason or another. It was time to start checking everything out. However, a little scuttlebutt from the local gossip mavens would give me leads on where to look for answers.

  I knew who would have the skinny on Sam—my friend Marion Sanderson, who owned the local dress shop. She knew everything there was to know about everyone who lived around there.

  Walking back inside, I called Marion for a lunch date. She agreed to meet me in an hour.

  I used that time to get on the internet, searching out everything I could find on Sam and his wife. He was just over fifty years old and ran Carter Manufacturing, a local factory that produced a myriad of small parts for various manufacturing companies. Apparently, they were quite successful and employed over a hundred people on a regular basis. They had a reputation as a good company to work for, and both Sam and Clara’s late father seemed to have done well. Maybe their factory jobs weren’t especially sought after, but the management jobs must pay well.

  The car he’d been driving was registered to Clara just as he’d said. I could find no police records or even traffic tickets for either of them. In other words, they were disgustingly clean.

  I called Sandra, Sam’s assistant, asking for the list of people he or Clara had fired lately. At first, Sandra was reluctant to give out that info, but then, Sam had apparently walked into the office. I could hear her voice going all soft and friendly as she talked to him. Finally, she came back on the line, promising to look them up and email them to me.

  I thanked her, then hung up. Would she do it?

  She impressed me as a stubborn woman who did things her own way. It sounded as if she liked Sam just fine, but had she liked Clara?

  Chapter 2

  I ran a brush through my short hair, put on lipstick and a red blouse to freshen my usual jeans outfit, then drove into town. Landers is the little Minnesota town where I was born and raised. It has one main street with only a few businesses still running. The rest of the businesses I remembered from my school days had closed a few years ago when several big chain stores moved into the mall outside Canton, which is the county seat a few miles wes
t.

  I met Marion in the dining room of the Flame Restaurant, which was also the local coffee shop hangout. Marion and I have been best friends since high school.

  She was tall and very thin, and always had a wide, friendly smile. Her long hair was midnight black and her lipstick and nail polish were always scarlet. It suited her snow-white skin. She was graced with many friends and excellent taste, so her dress shop was very successful. The exclusive clothes she carried were usually out of my price range, even with her best friend’s discount, though I occasionally splurged. I usually wore casual stuff like jeans and running shoes.

  We ordered our usual lunch—grilled chicken salad.

  “Did you hear about Clara Carter?” I asked.

  I wanted to bring the conversation around to Clara’s death without explaining that Sam was my client. She might guess, eventually, since nothing is ever secret for long in a small town, but I didn’t want to break Sam’s client confidentiality by telling her.

  “I heard.” Marion nodded. “It’s so sad. Clara and her mother, Helen, were mainstays on every committee around town. Every time anyone needed someone to head a charity drive, we’d call them and one or the other was willing. Clara will really be missed.”

  “Oh.”

  Unlike me, Marion was involved in all that stuff. I belonged to the Chamber of Commerce and went to an occasional meeting or dinner, but I really didn’t keep up with all of their committees or get involved in their various projects. I was having enough trouble just getting my own little business off the ground.

  The waitress arrived, placing our salads in front of us, then retreating again.

  “Did Sam and Clara have children?” I realized I’d forgotten to ask Sam that. I speared a slice of chicken and ate it.

  “No,” Marion said. “They never did. I think Clara wanted some, but it never happened.”

  “Tell me about them,” I encouraged. I needed a feel for what I was getting into.

  Marion flipped back her long, dark hair with a red-tipped hand, then picked up her coffee.

  “There’s not much to tell, Lacey. They were a pretty typical couple. They both worked at their factory, though I think she only worked there part time. Clara was quiet. She was always working at her church, on funerals or something there with her mother. Helen seemed to keep her under her thumb, I think. She’s a bossy one.”

  “I see,” I murmured, remembering that Helen had had a key to their house so she could walk in any time. “Did she often invade their privacy? And did that cause problems between them?”

  “I don’t know,” Marion said with a shrug. “I worked on various things with Clara. She was always soft-spoken and friendly. I don’t think I ever heard her say a mean thing about anyone.”

  “A saint?” I snorted.

  “No, I didn’t mean that. I hear she had a temper in private. Helen and Jacob Henderson started that factory with his brother George after they inherited some money from her parents, you know. Then Jacob bought out George. When he was ready to retire, he trained Sam to run it, but Clara worked there, too. Jacob left half to his daughter and half to his wife, Helen.”

  “Hmm.” I ate more of my salad.

  “Clara worked there a lot more after her dad died. Then, a couple of years ago, she and Sam bought her mother’s share. They say after that, Clara ran the office, making most of the big decisions for the factory.”

  “Sam didn’t mind giving over control to Clara?”

  “Who knows?”

  I decided that was another thing to try to find out. “So Sam was co-owner, but worked only as the manager?”

  He’d said so, but I hadn’t really believed it. Maybe I’d been wrong?

  “Right. Except not now, he isn’t.”

  “No? Why not?”

  Marion smirked. I couldn’t remember ever seeing her face hold quite that expression before—sort of a cross between amusement and disgust.

  “With Clara dead and no kids, I’m sure Sam is now the sole owner. Good motive, eh?”

  “Good Lord!” I swallowed some water. No wonder Sheriff Ben considered him the main suspect. As well as the fact statistics show most murders are committed by people close to the victim.

  “And then there’s the fact of his philandering,” Marion added.

  I stopped, a forkful of salad halfway to my mouth. Dismay curling into a knot in my stomach. He hadn’t mentioned that, of course. Clients never tell me the bad stuff. I had to find them out on my own.

  “He cheated on Clara?”

  “All the time, with a long list of women. You don’t keep up with the local society gossip, do you?”

  “No,” I said, wondering if I should start doing so for my business’ sake. The thought made me want to gag. “Tell me about it.”

  “It’s the usual story. She and her mom were busy with church and committee things all the time. He’d work late or go somewhere on his own. People saw him with various women over the years. I can give you a list of names, but all I really know is gossip. No facts, of course.”

  “Thanks. That will help.”

  Marion glanced at me sharply, setting down her cup. Her wide red mouth parted, her smile revealing perfect white teeth. “Aha. I knew it! Sam has hired you to help him. No wonder you’re suddenly interested in gossip.”

  Heat crept up my face. Too late, I realized. I’d given myself away. “I can’t really say.”

  “No need.” Marion’s laugh was triumphant. She dearly loved knowing something others didn’t. “I can guess.”

  “Did Clara know about Sam seeing other women?”

  “Probably. She fired more than one employee he liked, they say. But she stayed because she loved him.”

  “It’s hard to believe he cheated. Sam seemed so broken up over her death, I thought he was a devoted husband,” I muttered, half to myself.

  “I think he did love her, in spite of his straying,” Marion said. “Some people do have weird relationships, you know.”

  “I suppose.”

  Marion eyed me. “You don’t sound too sure. How’s your romance with Paul coming? Is he coming this way again soon?”

  My stomach fluttered as I busied myself drinking my coffee. She was referring to my trucker fiancé, Paul Menns. He still had his apartment in Canton, but only kept his stuff there. He usually slept at my house when he was in town. Marion was right. I missed him.

  “I’m not sure. He’s been busy this week, running a reefer from California to Chicago.”

  “Reefer?”

  “A refrigerated trailer. It has a big refrigeration unit on it to keep the fruit and veggies he’s hauling from spoiling.”

  “You don’t sound too happy about it.”

  I don’t like to talk about my love life, even to my best friend, so I made a wry face. “I don’t like the tight schedules Paul keeps on that run, that’s all. I like the ones where he can take a detour and stop in Minnesota for a long weekend with me once in a while.”

  Marion nodded. “I don’t blame you. If I had a hunk like Paul for a fiancé, I’d want him to warm my bed pretty often, too.”

  “Oh, you!” I tossed her a sassy look, then picked up the bill. “I’d better get back to work.”

  “Have another cheating husband to keep an eye on?”

  “I’m not telling,” I said digging out money for the bill and tip.

  I didn’t tell Marion I planned to stop by the Sheriff’s office before heading out to Clara’s house. Should talk to the neighbors, too.

  “Let me know what’s happening,” Marion said slyly.

  I frowned at her. “If I hear any good gossip, I’ll let you know,” I said, rising. “But you always hear stuff at the dress shop long before I do.”

  “Not always.”

  I slipped on my jacket and then picked up my purse. “See you later, Marion.”

  She got up, putting on her coat too. “Wait. I’ll walk out with you. I’m dying for a cig.”

  As soon as we reached the sidewalk
, she sank onto the outside bench the Flame provided for their smoking customers, and lit a cigarette. She closed her eyes, the perfect oval of her face relaxing in pleasure as she drew in a long mouthful of smoke. She leaned her head back against the wall of the building, her eyes opening just enough to dare me to object. Though I did object, I envied her finding so much enjoyment in such a simple way.

  “That’s a bad habit, Marion,” I scolded half-heartedly. I did it so often it had become a ritual. I said it—she ignored it. “Thank goodness I never started.”

  “I know.” Her too thin face twisted in a grimace. “I’m really trying to quit, I promise.”

  I waved goodbye, shaking my head and headed for my car.

  * * * *

  I drove over to Canton and parked outside the nice brick building housing the sheriff’s office. Ben’s car was there, so I assumed he was too. I hoped he didn’t have anyone in his office at the moment.

  Ben and I go way back. I first met him as a scared teen when my father died. He had been so sympathetic and kind to me. I got to know him pretty well years later when I worked on solving Uncle Henry’s murder. So now, we occasionally exchanged info and friendly chatter and advice. He liked to think I needed protecting and that he was smarter than I was. I, of course, didn’t agree with him.

  I walked through the outer office, waving to Deputy Tom, who frowned at me. Tom didn’t believe in fraternizing with the competition, as he called me. Ha. Nothing I did kept anyone from paying his salary. The county paid him by the month, whether there was any need for him or not; and not is often the case in a small town. So why should he resent me collecting a fee for working for a client? It was a mystery.

  Ben’s door stood open. He leaned back in his chair with his size twelve cowboy boots up on his desk as he talked on the phone. When he saw me, he frowned, but waved me in as he kept talking.

  I sat, watching him rub his large, crooked nose. He tended to do that when he was nervous or frustrated. I’m not sure if it still ached from being broken in the past or if he rubbed it out of habit now.

  He’s a tall, angular, middle-aged man with sparse brown hair and sharp brown eyes. He never said much, especially when he felt stumped.