Dead Men Don't Lye: The Soapmaking Mysteries, #1

Chapter 1

As I looked down at the corpse sprawled on the back steps of my family’s soap shop and boutique, I knew in an instant there wasn’t a cleanser made anywhere in the world strong enough to get rid of the acid stains and burns on Jerry Sanger’s face. Believe me, if there had been, I would have known about it. My name’s Benjamin Perkins, and along with a family sporting a larger population than some small countries, I run Where There’s Soap. We specialize in soap in all its many incarnations. We’ve got it all, from small production runs in back to the sales boutique storefront filled with products our entire family creates. We give group and individual lessons in the art of soapmaking in our classroom, a handsome source of income for the business. In addition to all that, we sell kits, supplies, and everything else a hobbyist soapmaker could possibly want.

At one time the family business had actually been a full-scale soap factory, started by my great-grandfather Martin—a man I remembered most for the peppermint smell that always clung to his clothes—but over the years we’ve scaled back our main production line to focus on individual customers up front, too. Our family’s a nice blend, with each member having their own area of expertise. What’s mine? Besides filling in wherever I’m needed, it’s up to me to fix whatever goes wrong, and believe me, with the family and the business, I am never bored.

As I studied the body on the steps, I thought about how my sister Louisa was going to react. She’d been dating Jerry lately, and it was going to be an ugly scene when she found out he was dead. I’d have to deal with her later, though. At the moment, I tried to think if there was anything I could do besides call the police. I’d always felt like some kind of big, clumsy oaf next to Jerry—he was seven inches shorter than my six feet, and he weighed a good thirty pounds less than my 180. He had been a cocky little bantam of a man, and if I was being honest, I’d have to admit that I never really cared for him.

Even though Jerry was long past any help I could give him, I leaned down and checked for a pulse anyway, being careful not to get any of the alkali on my hands. The lye’s identification was unmistakable from its odor, though I doubted that had been what killed him. The weird cant of his neck was enough to explain how he’d probably died. Whether the splashes of lye had come before or after his demise was the coroner’s business, not mine. Before the lye, Jerry had been a handsome fellow, a little too attractive for his own good, in my opinion. He was especially proud of his hair. While mine was plain brown with whispers of gray coming in at the temples, I’d long suspected that Jerry’s was a shade of chestnut that had to come from a bottle or a stylist.

None of that really mattered now, and I found myself regretting the verbal jabs I’d taken at him in the past. Someone had killed him, doused him in lye, and then had the nerve to dump the body on our back doorstep. The fact that Jerry was more than just the supplier who brought us the liquids and scents we used for soapmaking—including the liquid he was currently soaked in—just made matters worse. I’d warned my sister about him but, as always, Louisa had chosen to ignore my excellent advice. At least most of the rest of my six siblings listened to me. Occasionally. When it suited them.

I had just confirmed that that particular relationship wouldn’t be going any further when I heard a gasp behind me. Don’t let it be Louisa, I said under my breath as I started to turn around.

It wasn’t Louisa. It was infinitely worse. My mother stood in the doorway with the saddest look in her eyes I’d ever seen. As slim as my sister Cindy, Mom’s hair had been frosted platinum for so long that no one remembered its original color.

I know you two didn’t get along, but did you have to kill him, Benjamin?

That was classic Mom, prone to exaggeration and one of the best conclusion-jumpers around. Come on, Mom, you know better than that. I just found him like this two minutes ago.

My mother fanned herself with her apron, a habit of hers that signified she was really stressed out. Well, she had every right to be. I caught a glimpse of the nice print dress underneath. Mom was a big fan of aprons, and for Christmas one year as a gag, all seven of us—her kids ranging from Cindy at eighteen all the way up to me at thirty-three—bought her the exact same apron. We’d been expecting laughter; instead, she dutifully rotated the aprons at work, one for each day of the week, after carefully stitching each donor’s name on the tag. At the rate she was wearing them, the aprons would outlive us all.

Her frown intensified as she stared down at the body.

Give me some credit, Benjamin; I know you didn’t kill Mr. Sanger. She looked away from the body, then added, Your sister must not see this.

See what? Louisa asked from behind her. She had always been plain-looking, her hair never as shiny as Kate’s nor her figure as petite as Cindy’s. On top of all that, she’d been the only girl to inherit the Perkins nose, and while it looked all right on Jeff and Grandpa, it hadn’t done her any favors. She’d overcompensated with a sarcastic wit that could snap with the best of them, and I’d always admired her for her intelligence and strength of will.

Take her inside, Mom, I said forcefully, trying to block my sister’s view of the body.

Louisa spotted her late beau despite my efforts. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting, but her initial reaction surprised me, and I’ve known her all her life. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t thinking about doing something just like that myself, she said. The callousness of her words suddenly struck her, then she started to cry. Oh, Mamma.

As Louisa buried her head into our mother’s shoulder, I said, I thought you two were still dating.

Louisa explained through her tears. We were, until I found out he had at least two other girlfriends on his route, and that’s just in this part of North Carolina.

When did this happen? I asked.

I got an anonymous telephone call early this morning from one of the other women. She didn’t have the courage to leave her name, but there was no doubt in my mind she was telling the truth. He actually told me I was the only one in his heart. She buried her face in Mom’s shoulder again.

I reached for my cell phone, and Mom asked, Benjamin, who are you calling at a time like this?

I’m dialing 911, I said. We have to tell the police

Mom nodded. Of course, you’re right. It’s the proper thing to do. Benjamin, you deal with them when they come.

Though my mother had seniority in the company and acted as our CEO, she usually left the sticky situations for me to handle. Those duties—along with occasionally teaching classes up front and helping the guys out on the production line—managed to keep me hopping all the time. Dad had done the same thing before me, but he’d been killed five years ago when a delivery truck had run him down in our own alley. I was the oldest child, the next in the line of seniority, and I had inherited his headaches dealing with the family’s problems. Grandpa was mostly retired, handling advertising when he wasn’t off traveling somewhere, while Mom made the executive decisions. My sisters ran the storefront, and my brothers handled the factory end of it; I had somehow been pegged as the family and business troubleshooter. Whenever there was a problem with any part of the business or the Perkins clan, it ended up squarely in my lap. With as many lives as that description touched, I was always putting a fire out somewhere.

Before I dialed the second one of the emergency number, I hung up and dialed another number from memory. When the desk sergeant answered, I asked for Molly Wilkes, a girl I’d dated off and on since high school. She had shocked us all upon graduation by going into the police academy, and she’d become a darned good cop along the way. Luckily she was at her desk.

Hi, Molly, it’s Ben.

She hesitated on the other end of the line. Ben? Nope, doesn’t ring any bells. I was supposed to have dinner with an old boyfriend named Ben, but he stood me up last week. I’m really sorry, but I don’t know anybody by that name anymore.

Come on, I already apologized for that. I had a flat tire and my cell phone battery was dead, so I couldn’t call you, I said.

A likely story.

Listen Molly, I’ve got some trouble at Where There’s Soap, and I need your help.

The banter ended abruptly. What’s going on?

One of my suppliers is dead on my back steps.

Heart attack? she asked.

Not unless he died of fright when somebody threw liquid lye on him and gave him a shove off the landing. I thought about how the body lay, the staged look of it. You know what? I’m starting to think he wasn’t killed here after all. I took a deep breath and tried to stop rambling. It’s not pretty.

Don’t touch anything. I’ll be right there.

I hung up, and then turned to the women at the top of the stairs. Mom, why don’t you take Louisa inside? She’d probably like to be with Cindy and Kate. My sisters had a support group that rivaled any in the world.

Mom nodded, then said, Aren’t you coming in, too?

No, I’m going to wait out here for Molly.

Mom nodded, then crossed herself as she glanced at the corpse again before leading Louisa back into the shop.

I stayed put to keep Jerry company. It had been the start of a beautiful summer day like we sometimes enjoyed in our part of North Carolina—not too hot, yet with the sun shining brightly and the birds in full voice—but it was cold and overcast in my soul. I didn’t need Molly to tell me how this was going to look to the police. Mom had been right in the spirit of her first statement; the supplier and I hadn’t gotten along very well. While I’d never suspected he’d been three-timing my sister, there had been something just a little too smooth about the man since he’d taken over our route. The two of us had words about his sloppy work habits the week before, and I’d said some things I would have liked to take back, but it was too late for that now. So who would kill him? Louisa didn’t even cross my mind as a suspect. She’d once taken a D in science class in high school, refusing to cut open a frog on moral principles, and I couldn’t see my sister—no matter how scorned she was— killing Jerry, regardless of her blunt admission that she’d been ready to murder him herself.

Molly drove up three minutes later, her lights and siren mute. That was one good thing about living in a small town like Harper’s Landing. No one was ever that far away. She was being thoughtful with her silent approach, no doubt realizing that the shop didn’t need that kind of publicity, and acknowledging that a fuss wasn’t going to do Jerry a bit of good. When she got out of the squad car, I noticed that Molly’s long lustrous black hair was pulled back into a tight bun to make her look more professional, but not even the standard-issue uniform could disguise her ample curves. Though Molly constantly complained about wanting to lose fifteen pounds, she had always looked great to me; I was never a big fan of bony women. What drew me to her most though was the constant glint in her brown eyes, a spark that always danced in the light. Molly and I were friends who sometimes dated, an odd relationship we’d worked out over the years. It left us free to see other people whenever we wanted, but also provided some stability in our lives, a safe port for each of us. Mom still had delusions that someday we’d both wake up and realize we were in love, no matter how much Molly and I protested to the contrary.

Molly nodded once to me, leaned down to check the body for a pulse, then obviously came to the same conclusion I had. Did you touch anything? she asked.

Just his neck when I was looking for a pulse myself. I didn’t change the angle of his head, though. He was like that when I found him. Be careful, that lye is caustic.

You use lye in your shop, don’t you?

It’s tough to make soap without it, I said. Jerry supplied our liquid and pellet lye, along with a ton of other things we use here.

Educate me, Ben. It’s an acid, I know that much.

I shook my head. Actually, it’s an alkali. It’s not only that, it’s a poison, too. Lye can be really nasty stuff.

And it’s in soap? Wonderful.

I shook my head. It’s not actually in the soap, it’s an intermediate, and if you use it correctly, it’s entirely consumed by the oils and fats as you’re processing. The stuff is cheap, it’s convenient, and if you’re careful, it’s safe enough.

Somebody wasn’t all that concerned about being careful with it here, were they? she said. Molly pointed to my shoes. You’ve been up and down these steps, haven’t you?

Just the ones above, I said. I had to see if he was still alive, didn’t I?

She nodded. Okay. The forensics team is right behind me. To prove her words, a van drove up and parked behind her cruiser. Molly said, Why don’t you go back inside? I’ll be there in a few minutes to talk to you.

There’s something urgent we need to discuss. Molly, it’s important. I had to tell her about my sister’s relationship with the victim before she heard it from someone else.

Let me get them started, then I’ll be in soon. I promise.

I went back inside to find my entire family waiting for me. It was a grand inquisition that few suitors had been able to face over the years, though Bob and Kate had somehow found spouses willing to put up with all of us. Neither of their partners had expressed any desire to join the family business though, a decision Mom had heartily approved. I couldn’t blame them; I’d been born into the family, and I sometimes found the Perkins clan a little too much to take myself.

They all started talking at once, pelting me with more questions than I could possibly answer. I ignored them all and looked around the building, waiting for everyone to calm down long enough to let me speak. We were in the back where the production line was. There were no fancy faux finishes on the walls here, though the space did share the same heavily patinaed floor that the boutique section had. The wood had been there as long as the building, and I loved the character it brought to the place. I could see through the open connecting door that the lights of the shop were on, and I wondered if the front door was still locked. There were shelves stocked with soaps that ranged from the simplest to the most complex offerings possible, and I caught a glimpse of the crafters section, brimming with supplies, molds, and accessories.

It was pretty obvious they weren’t going to shut up on their own. I held up my hands and they finally quieted. "Here’s how things stand right now. Jerry Sanger is dead. It looks like whoever did it broke his neck and splashed him with lye. That’s all I know. Molly will be in as soon as she can.

I should have known that wouldn’t satisfy any of them. Cindy and Kate were on either side of Louisa, offering more than just moral support. It appeared that the two of them were holding her up. All three of my brothers—Jim, Bob, and Jeff—were standing at the windows watching the techs work up the crime scene. Jim, the second son and third child, said, It looks like somebody beat us to it. That guy got just what he deserved. He was quite a bit huskier than I was, more solid and stronger as well, my ‘little’ brother in name only.

At his pronouncement, Louisa started crying again, and my other sisters led her back to our break room.

Mom shot Jim a frown before joining them.

Bob patted Jim’s shoulder. Nice going, Bro. You missed your calling; you should have joined the diplomatic corps. Bob was the style rebel of our crew, his hair grown long and pulled back into a pony tail. His wife Jessica was constantly trying to get him to cut it, but my otherwise easygoing brother had flatly refused. He considered himself the artist of the family, and he wasn’t about to change his appearance.

Are you trying to tell me you weren’t thinking the same thing?

Jeff, my youngest brother, said, Come on guys, we need to stick together on this. Ben, what do you think? Jeff had a slight frame and unfortunately was starting to lose his hair. He was the dreamer of our clan, the positive spirit who constantly sought to buoy the rest of us.

I think we should let Molly handle it. She’s not going to suspect Louisa. She’s known her all her life.

Jim said, You’re dreaming. We all know she had every reason to do it.

Bob said, Hey, whose side are you on, anyway?

Jim started for the door. I’m on the family’s side, where else would I be? I’m going to see what’s going on for myself.

This had the potential to get ugly fast. One of my roles since the others had come along was to act as peacemaker, no matter how conflicted I felt myself. I put a hand on my brother Jim’s chest. If he really wanted to get past me, I wasn’t sure I could stop him. Guys, let’s take it easy, okay? We need to let Molly do her job. Jim started to protest, but I cut him off. I don’t care what any of us think; we’ve got to present a united front here. Quiet down, here comes Molly.

She’d circled the building and came in the front door, then offered her greeting to my brothers. Molly Wilkes had been a part of my life for so long she was an honorary member of the family. Can I talk to you alone, Ben?

Why can’t we stay? Jim asked.

Bob took his arm. Because we’ve got a problem with the line, and I can’t fix it without your bumbling help.

Jeff said, Come on guys, let’s go. We’ll leave you two alone. His gaze lingered on Molly. It was obvious my baby brother still had a crush on her, but he felt like she was out of his league, so he’d never asked her out. It didn’t keep him from pining away for her, though.

After they were gone, Molly said, I’ve got to be honest with you, Ben, this doesn’t look good.

What are you talking about? You can’t possibly think one of us had anything to do with this.

She shrugged. "Ben, I’ve known Louisa almost as long as I’ve known you. It’s no secret she was dating the victim, I saw them together at Falling River last weekend having dinner. Ordinarily I’d say there was no way she could have done this, but your sister’s had a tendency to overreact in the past