Then he looked at me and I saw my Daddy again. His face was transformed into the man who had been there for me from my earliest memory. His eyes cast off the watery clouds of confusion and burned bright and blue and filled with love. “Barry.” No question in his voice this time, but a peaceful certainty. He squeezed my hand.
He was gone.
Chapter Twenty-three
Tommy Lee slept sitting up in his hospital bed, a fresh IV hooked to his arm. He didn’t look nearly as bad as when I’d last seen him standing in Pamela Whittier’s driveway six hours earlier.
He opened his eyes at the sound of my footsteps. “I heard about your dad. Patsy and I are very sorry. He was the best.”
“Yes, he was.” I took the chair nearest Tommy Lee’s bed. “Thanks for being such a stubborn old coot and getting me back here in time.”
He shrugged. “You’d have done the same for me. How’s your mom?”
“I hope she’s getting some sleep. Uncle Wayne took her home. I just spoke to Williams Funeral Directors in Asheville. They’re sending some men over Sunday to help Freddy and Fletcher with the visitation and the Monday morning service at First Methodist. Lester Pace will officiate.”
“Sounds appropriate. You let Williams do everything. This time you and your mom need to let others serve you.”
“But Uncle Wayne and I are going to do the prep. I know it will be tough, but we don’t want to turn that part over to strangers.” A lump formed in my throat. “That’s what Dad would have wanted for his final undertaking.”
“I understand.”
Tommy Lee and I sat quietly for a few minutes. He let me pace the conversation.
“Did Pamela Whittier have anything to say?” I asked.
“We took her down to the department. Reece came to her house as soon as he left the Econo Lodge fire.”
I’d forgotten about that. “Was anybody hurt?”
“Fortunately, no. We think Greene rented a room and then set the blaze. Probably a candle burning down to a more flammable accelerator. The night clerk identified Greene’s picture this morning.”
“Add arson to his other crimes,” I said.
“You think Pamela Whittier’s going to clam up?”
“No. I think we’ll turn her. I bucked Patsy’s demand that I return to the hospital long enough to see the more than one hundred thousand dollars in Whittier’s attaché case. Lindsay came over from Asheville. The feds would have taken the case anyway, so I’d rather bring in someone who’ll let us know what’s going on. Maybe we’ll be credited with more than ‘and other local law enforcement agencies’ when the Bureau brags about its big bust.”
I thought about Pamela Whittier’s bitter comments to me. “I hope you’ll have enough leverage to get Whittier to talk. She’s the one I think got in over her head.”
“Susan didn’t tell you?” Tommy Lee asked.
“Tell me what.”
“The lab report on Crystal Hodges’ blood sample came back with lethal levels of epinephrine. Susan says it’s really synthetic adrenaline.”
“Doc Clark thought that might have been what killed Lincoln.”
Tommy Lee nodded. “An overdose can speed up the heart until it fails. Colorless, it could have been injected into Crystal’s IV bag and gone unnoticed. That’s premeditated murder and I’ve learned Joel Greene was seen in Crystal’s room earlier the day she died. Link Greene and Whittier together with their cell phone records from last night and we have a very strong conspiracy case for murder as well as fraud. I bet Pamela Whittier’s singing her lungs out to Lindsay before the week’s over.”
Fletcher Shaw rose to the occasion. Uncle Wayne and I asked him to help our part-timer Freddy Mott organize my father’s visitation and service using the help offered by Williams Funeral Home. Fletcher had learned from Mom that my father had loved daisies, and a few phone calls to our local florists had insured that everyone ordering flowers was made aware of that preference.
There couldn’t have been a single daisy left in Gainesboro or all of Laurel County. The simple flower was transformed into a sea of white blossoms, bordering our walk and lining the walls of the Slumber Room. The only things outnumbering the daisies were the people who came to offer their condolences.
Visitation started at seven, but cars began arriving at six-thirty. I’d thought on a Sunday night we’d have a respectable but not overwhelming crowd. Sunday night was church night for the Baptists, and as the predominant denomination, they’d be singing and praying in churches and chapels throughout the valley.
I realized I’d thought wrong when the first person to arrive was Preacher Stinnett from Crab Apple Valley Baptist Church.
“We cancelled prayer meeting tonight,” Stinnett said. “This is where we wanted to be. Most of the congregation has had loved ones tended by your dad and I’d probably have been preaching to empty pews.” He gave me a hug.
“You’re welcome to preach on the lawn,” I said.
“I thought about that, but we decided we’d bring lemonade and cookies instead, if that’s all right. Sort of a variation on the feeding of the five thousand.”
Other people had had the same idea, and by the time the visitation was scheduled to begin, several hundred people sat on lawn chairs enjoying the cool, clear evening. They watched the line streaming out our front door and kept the Slumber Room steadily filled.
Uncle Wayne stood near the entrance, but Mom and I withdrew closer to the casket to keep the room from jamming as people spoke with us. We’d dressed Dad in a light-weight blue suit, and although no one truly looks natural lying in a casket, Wayne and I had done Dad proud.
Mom and I tried to keep people moving along, but everyone had a story they needed to share.
Melissa Bigham, the top reporter for the Gainesboro Vista, had just returned earlier in the day from a week’s vacation to Colorado. She offered her sympathies, and as she hugged me, whispered, “I’m never leaving town again. I won’t bother you tomorrow, but Tuesday you’re giving me every detail from Tommy Lee’s shooting to Pamela Whittier’s arrest.”
I’d have been disappointed if Melissa had been any less pushy.
The visitation went an hour and a half beyond schedule. Finally, the last car left and Susan took Mom back to the kitchen for a cup of hot tea. I stood with Uncle Wayne and Fletcher by the casket. Dad looked at peace and I treasured the memory of the light in his eyes and the squeeze of his hand as he’d crossed into the ultimate mystery.
“Tonight was remarkable,” Fletcher said.
“No,” Uncle Wayne said. “Jack Clayton was remarkable. Tonight was simply people understanding that.”
Someone cleared his throat. We turned and saw Tommy Lee standing at the door.
“Sorry to be so late. I stayed away because I knew everybody would want to see my scar.”
“Thank God you’re out of that hospital gown,” I said.
Tommy Lee walked slowly across the room. I looked for a chair, but they’d been cleared out.
“You didn’t have to come,” I said. “We know how you felt about Dad.”
“If you really did, you’d know I couldn’t stay away.”
Fletcher, Uncle Wayne, and I stepped aside and gave Tommy Lee space to pay his respects. He reached in and patted Dad’s chest. “Good bye, old friend. Don’t worry. I’ll be in the lead car.”
I knew what he meant. The Sheriff’s Department provided the escort service for funeral processions and Tommy Lee was going to lead Dad’s final one.
Tommy Lee took a deep breath and faced us. “And don’t you worry. Reece will be driving.”
“How’d you get here?” I asked.
“Patsy. She’s in the kitchen with your mom and Susan. Susan’s pissed that I left the hospital a day early, but what can she do, arrest me?”
“Why don’t you and Tommy Lee sit in the parlor,” Uncle Wayne said. “Fletcher and I’ll finish up here.”
I let Tommy Lee have the armchair with the firmest cushion. On
e that would be easiest to get out of. I sat on the sofa across from him.
“Anything new on the case?” I asked.
“Yes. Whittier fired her Philadelphia lawyer.”
“What’s that mean?”
“It means she’s going to deal. Lindsay said the money, brains, and muscle is probably out of the Philadelphia families. The new generation is all MBAs and the Dugan branch has an affinity for white-collar scams.”
“Dugan? That’s not Italian.”
Tommy Lee laughed. “You’ve been watching too many episodes of the Sopranos. Mergers and acquisitions aren’t limited to corporate America.”
“How’d Whittier get hooked up with them?”
“Little feelers go out. Through some crooked drug and equipment reps. Whittier took a few kickbacks on purchases, and before she knew it, she was swimming with the sharks. Greene was brought in as her executive assistant with the real purpose of squeezing as much out as possible. That’s when things turned nasty for Doug Larson.”
“Greene told me he didn’t like crossing into the OxyContin world.”
Tommy Lee waved his hand at me. “Yeah, and he loved his mother and gave money to orphans.”
“What kind of deal is Lindsay likely to broker?”
“For starters, take the death penalty off the table and then see what Whittier’s information’s worth.”
I thought about all the damage that had been done. “What kind of justice is likely to come for Crystal Hodges?”
“You tell me. Do you think Crystal would rather have Whittier executed or the whole operation that supplied her brother with pills brought down?”
I remembered Crystal’s face at the ATM camera, trying to draw attention to the stolen card of Lucy Kowalski. “She did it, didn’t she? Crystal set things in motion.”
“Yes. And I want to make sure we get every piece of the cancer that’s growing here.”
I knew the way the feds worked. “Lindsay will be anxious to follow the leads to Philly. Unless Uncle Tummy’s cut his own deal.”
Tommy Lee winked at me. “Uncle Tummy’s still in the game. But I need you to play my cards. Susan and Patsy have ganged up on me and I’ve been told I can’t be back on active duty for six weeks. I hope through sheer orneriness to cut it to four.”
“I’ve got a funeral home to run. What’s left to investigate?”
“You’ve got Fletcher to help you here. I’ve seen enough of him to appreciate the kid’s mettle. I want to find the rest of the Artie Lincolns out there. He was setting Crystal up in a nursing home. I doubt if Crystal was the first plant. Greene said he sent out the composite photos to all the healthcare providers. You can be damn sure he didn’t fax them to any place where Lincoln’s face would have been recognized.”
I couldn’t argue with Tommy Lee’s reasoning, but I could argue that I wasn’t the man for the job. “Get a commitment from Lindsay for help from the Bureau. Then you and Reece can follow up on their leads.”
“I’m glad you’re sitting down. Reece was the first one to ask me if you could stay on.”
“What?”
“Reece’s hardheaded, but he’s not stupid. This is the biggest case the department has busted in a long time. Morale has never been higher. Whether you like it or not, Reece and the rest of the officers consider you part of the team.”
I didn’t know what to say. Tommy Lee’s words touched me, but I realized my emotions were running raw. “I need to get through tomorrow. Then I’ll talk with Mom, Uncle Wayne, and Fletcher.”
“Fine,” Tommy Lee said. “Take all the time you need.”
Fletcher and Freddy must have worked during the night because when Freddy drove us in the family limousine to First Methodist Church, all of the daisies had been transported to provide a border along the sidewalk to the entrance of the sanctuary.
As Mom, Uncle Wayne, and I entered from beside the chancel, we found every pew occupied except the front one reserved for our family. The sound of so many people rising to their feet out of respect for us and my father took my breath away.
The service was short and simple. The passages of scripture and the hymns were my father’s favorites, ones he had heard at thousands of funerals he’d conducted over the years. Reverend Pace delivered a eulogy that was structured as a conversation between him and my father, weaving in stories from half a century of serving the mountain people together. At the core, Pace held true to his creed that a funeral isn’t for the adoration of the departed, but for the celebration of what God’s love can do when it works through the hands and heart of His servant.
Tommy Lee and Reece led the long procession to the outskirts of town where the municipal cemetery lay on acres of rolling hills. My great grandfather had been the attorney who handled the legal matters for the cemetery’s creation, and we’d always referred to our plots as “Clayton’s Corner.” The burial tent marked with Clayton and Clayton Funeral Directors stood over the freshly dug grave. The mourners surrounded us so that no matter where I looked, there was the face of a friend.
At the interment, Pace’s remarks were brief and we closed with the Lord’s Prayer. Few people came up to speak with us because most had said their piece the previous night. While Pace and Mom exchanged a few words, I slipped away to walk among the other graves in Clayton’s Corner. Each had a vase of daisies on it. Fletcher Shaw had quite a bit of his grandfather in him.
I touched my hand to each of the simple headstones that were our family’s custom to erect. Mom and I would choose Dad’s in a few days. The marble felt cool in the warm June air. I stopped at the grave of my great-grandfather. Although he hadn’t been a funeral director himself, he’d made it possible for our family to begin our business. He had seen the opportunity because he had seen the need. In that sense, he’d provided as much of a service as my father and grandfather.
To serve. That should be the calling for all of us. That was the message of Reverend Pace’s eulogy. That summed up the life of my father and the reason so many people from town and from the backwoods, coves, and hollers had come to pay their respects. A funeral service was more than an event; it was an act of compassion and of being of service.
To serve. Those words were stitched upon the uniforms of the deputies of Laurel County, part of the motto borrowed from the LAPD. “To Protect and To Serve.”
Maybe it was time I started doing both.
Chapter Twenty-four
“Thank y’all for coming out this evening. It’s good to be back in Gainesboro.” Roscoe Dickens hunched in front of the microphone, fiddle at his side, with the rest of the Dickens family poised for musical action.
In the three months since he’d uttered those same words at the June opening of the Friday Night Street Stomp, Roscoe and his clan probably hadn’t ventured more than forty miles away from Gainesboro. But, technically, they were back, closing out the summer dances on the Friday night of Labor Day weekend.
“I don’t think the banjo picker’s grown an inch.” Susan settled into her folding chair at the edge of the curb.
I studied the boy perched on a stool. The five-string still swallowed his lap. “No, but little Albert Dickens the Fourth picked up a nice tan since we saw him last.”
Main Street bustled with people—from babies in strollers to seniors in wheelchairs. Along the sidewalk, vendors sold apples, the first of the fall harvest to come in.
Susan pointed across the street. “There’s Mayor Whitlock. Of course, he’ll have to make a speech.”
Sammy Whitlock had his mouth wrapped around a caramel-dipped apple on a stick. The gooey coating appeared to be winning.
“We can always hope His Honor can’t get his dentures free.”
My words seemed prophetic as Tommy Lee walked up to the mayor and said something. Whitlock could only nod and point in my direction.
“Guess I’d better sit out this first number,” I told Susan.
As the square dancers thronged onto the street for Roscoe’s training lesson, Tommy L
ee maneuvered through them. He’d been back on full duty only two weeks and still looked gaunt from his ordeal. His uniform hung a little too loose and the weight of his pistol and handcuffs dropped the belt lower on his hips.
Susan got up. “He looks like he needs to talk business. I’ll get us two of those candied apples. They’ll make your lips sweeter.”
“Impossible.”
She stepped up on the sidewalk and disappeared.
Tommy Lee stopped in front of her empty chair. “Did I run Susan off?”
“Yeah. That’s her way of saying you need to sit down. She’s still your doctor.”
He grabbed the armrests and lowered himself, careful not to catch his police belt in the chair’s nylon webbing. “I had a call from Lindsay late this afternoon. More indictments came down.”
“Any of our people?”
“Yes. Two. The manager of the Shady Grove Nursing Home and the pharmacist for the Southern Senior Health Centers. Lindsay wants you to know you’ll be called to testify.”
“At this rate I’ll be making more court appearances than Perry Mason.”
In the two and a half months since the case broke, we’d uncovered a number of people involved in the Medicare fraud. Lincoln’s composite had generated leads where he’d found jobs for nurse’s aides who would short-count pills. Doug Larson had also been the pharmacist for several nursing homes where he delivered prescriptions and got the pills back from inside accomplices. The two most recent indictments were for fraudulent billings of wheelchairs, walkers, and even motorized scooters.
Tommy Lee tucked his legs under the chair as the square dancers swung closer to the curb. “But that wasn’t the main reason Lindsay called. She was most delighted by one of the money trails Whittier provided. They got a link between our western North Carolina operation and the DEA bust in Delray Beach. That filters down to some nice brownie points for Lieutenant Spring because he was the first to cooperate with our initial investigation.”
Final Undertaking: A Buryin' Barry Mystery (Buryin' Barry Series) Page 25
