Foolish Undertaking: A Buryin' Barry Mystery (Buryin' Barry Series Book 3)

by Mark de Castrique

  Kevin saluted and closed the window. “Now there’s a guy who sleeps in his uniform.”

  “How long would he last in Boston?”

  “On the street? Probably a minute and a half.”

  “Well, I know he can keep a secret if he thinks it’s privileged information. And with the mayor on his way, we might get some help for these people.”

  Kevin parked the jeep in front of the garage. We found Tommy Lee talking to a crime lab technician outside the embalming room. He gave us a nod, said a few final words to the techie, and walked over. “Quite a party out front.”

  “Reece says the mayor’s on his way.”

  Tommy Lee laughed. “I told Archie Junior that Daniel Boone had arrived at the funeral home and he telephoned the mayor before I could.”

  Kevin gave Tommy Lee a quizzical look. “What’s the deal about Daniel Boone?”

  “Barry’s idea.”

  I told Kevin the story, realizing the Yankee would think we were all a bunch of yahoos.

  Kevin gazed into the distance. “Not a bad idea. The Irish in Boston love wakes and cemeteries. Gram would drag us to funerals for people we didn’t know just because she thought someone from our family should be there. When she passed, her procession moved unimpeded from Murphy’s Funeral Parlor to the graveyard. My fellow officers from Dorchester closed off the streets.” He shrugged. “Not for me. For Gram. She’d attended at least one family funeral for each of them.” He looked back toward the front yard. “And that’s the kind of community the Yards have.”

  I turned to Tommy Lee. “Is there someone I should talk to?”

  “There’s a preacher. I guess he’s a preacher. He’s with a Lutheran congregation in Charlotte.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Earl Hucksley. I told him the schedule had changed. He saw you had a break-in, but he doesn’t know about the body.”

  “Maybe I should wait a bit. See what the mayor says.”

  Tommy Lee bent down and broke off a stem of straw grass growing next to Uncle Wayne’s crushed petunias. He stuck the stem in his mouth like a toothpick. “Yeah. That’s what I’d do. Mind if I sit in on your conversation with the mayor?”

  “No. You got any ideas, speak up.”

  Tommy Lee chewed on the grass and said nothing.

  “They find anything in there?” Kevin nodded toward the embalming room.

  “A few things. A smear of blood for one.”

  “Mine?” I asked.

  “Possibly, but they don’t think so. It’s on the back of the doorknob to the storage closet. There also seems to be a residue of powder.”

  “Talc?” Kevin asked.

  “We’ll have to wait for the lab report.”

  “Latex gloves.” Kevin stared into the empty embalming room. “The guy came prepared to leave no prints.” He turned to me. “I’d say your dog nipped him as he got tossed in the closet.”

  I felt a sense of pride that Democrat had tried to defend me.

  Tommy Lee kept chewing on the stem. “Not enough blood that we should be looking for a suspect with a missing hand, but enough that we could pull a DNA match if we have to.”

  “Yeah, but you’ve got to have a suspect to match,” I said.

  “We’ll get there. I have to rule people out first. Who goes in that room besides you and your uncle Wayne?”

  “Occasionally Mom will sweep the floor. She doesn’t handle the supplies. And Freddy Mott assists us.” I knew where the sheriff was headed. “Are you talking prints?”

  “Yeah. Kevin’s right, the guy probably wore latex gloves. But we don’t know for sure.”

  The Sheriff’s Department already had my prints on file. Mom, Uncle Wayne, and Freddy would have to be inked. My uncle would see it as one step away from a mug shot. “Can you do them here?”

  Tommy Lee nodded. “I’ll tell Reece to go easy. You’ll need to get Wayne and Freddy by later.”

  “Find anything else?” Kevin asked.

  “Not sure. There’s something caught on the nails of the threshold and porch. The old wood has spit the heads up a bit and traces of black rubber are on them.”

  Kevin looked at me. “You slide anything in and out of that room?”

  “No. Deliveries come on a rolling gurney.”

  “Maybe he dragged Y’Grok’s body on a mat,” Kevin said.

  “Maybe,” agreed Tommy Lee. “Or maybe he came with his own hearse and body bag. At this point anything’s possible.”

  “Sheriff. The mayor’s here.” Reece Hutchins made the announcement as he rounded the corner of the funeral home. Behind him walked Mayor Sammy Whitlock and Archie Junior.

  Archie’s eyes were wide and he glanced back over his shoulder at the crowd on the front lawn.

  The mayor wore a yellow sport coat over an open-neck, tangerine shirt and lime slacks. He looked like a squat glass of rainbow sherbet. Whitlock had been mayor for the past six years and carried the officiousness of the mostly symbolic office with him at all times. He went straight for Tommy Lee.

  Although the morning air was cool, he pulled a handkerchief from his hip pocket and wiped the perspiration off his bald head. “What happened? These people try to break in?”

  “No,” Tommy Lee said. “They’re here for Y’Grok Eban. We’re investigating a burglary that happened during the night.”

  The mayor nodded, and then saw my damaged forehead. “Good gracious, Barry. Did you fall down the stairs?”

  “I danced a little tango with our unwanted guest.”

  “Good for you. Bet he got the worse end of the deal. Get a description?”

  Tommy Lee jumped in. “Too dark. But we’ve got some things to go on. Even a big city detective.” He introduced Kevin.

  “And this Montagnard saved your life too?” Mayor Whitlock asked.

  “More than once,” Kevin said.

  “Must have been quite a fellow, pulling in so many people from so far away.” The mayor stared at Archie Junior, signaling for him to pick up the cue.

  “Oh, yeah, and people will want to pay proper respects in a proper cemetery.”

  “I can’t promise anything.” I rubbed the knot on my head. For some reason the pain had gotten worse. “I haven’t talked to his son yet.”

  Archie’s face flushed. “Well, why’d you bring us down here then?”

  I looked toward the front yard. “For those people. To give your Honor the chance to welcome them to Gainesboro. And I’ll be glad to carry that message to Y’Grok’s son as well.” I turned back to the mayor. “And Senator Millen, General Weathers, and Franklin Talbert. They’ll probably want to meet you.”

  Sammy Whitlock’s jaw dropped. “The movie star?”

  “You haven’t heard? Y’Grok’s son is delaying the service till Thursday. That is if we can do something to help his fellow Montagnards till then.” I looked beyond the mayor to a circle of kids playing some version of Duck Duck Goose. “Otherwise, I guess Y’Suom will want to go ahead this afternoon.”

  “He can’t do that.” Archie looked from me to Tommy Lee.

  The sheriff shrugged. “I reckon he can do anything he wants. Not against the law to bury your daddy.”

  “It’s not even against the law in Massachusetts,” Kevin said.

  “Surely we can do something.” The mayor appealed to each of us, his pudgy hands raised prayerfully to his chest.

  “You’re the mayor,” I said. “You could mobilize support. That’s what the general and senator would do.”

  My statement had the desired effect. Mayor Whitlock’s eyes lost focus. I knew he was searching for a way to stand shoulder to shoulder between a general and senator—for a photograph of course.

  “And a movie star is impressed with someone who acts decisively,” Kevin added.

  The mayor reached a decision. “It’s not these people’s fault that the service has to be delayed. And it’s important to have General Weathers and Franklin Talbert able to attend if they’re coming halfway round the w
orld.”

  “Yes,” Archie echoed.

  We stood in awkward silence. The mayor had no clue how to act decisively.

  I broke the silence with a suggestion. “You could make an appeal to the town churches. Mobilize a casserole brigade.”

  Kevin picked up on the idea. “Do you have a discretionary fund? Maybe get some motels to give or discount some rooms that you could supplement.”

  “Spend money?” The mayor looked horrified.

  “Yes,” Kevin said. “I thought you were a politician.”

  “I have an idea.” Tommy Lee hooked his thumbs in his belt and waited for our full attention. “Why not let them use Carson Park? It’s city property with picnic shelters, and there’s a safe area for the kids to play. You could sanction that, Mayor.”

  “We could feed them through the churches,” I added. “But what about sleeping? It’s chilly at night and could rain.”

  Tommy Lee smiled. “No problem. The VFW post is adjacent to the park. There’s enough space in the activity room and we keep a supply of cots and mats for emergency shelter needs.”

  “Who would authorize that?” asked the Mayor.

  “I’ll poll the board,” Tommy Lee said. “Who’d want to tell General Weathers we refused the Montagnards and those Rolling Thunder vets traveling with them?”

  “That’s a good plan. Who do I tell?” The mayor saw the successful parade forming and wanted to be leading it.

  “Barry’s going to talk to the Lutheran Family Services social worker.” Tommy Lee had the mayor hooked. “You can make the official offer.”

  “I’m ready.” The mayor rocked back and forth on his white buck shoes. “Just say the word.”

  “All right.” Tommy Lee nodded to Reece. “Stay with the lab boys. And let Kevin ask any questions he wants.”

  As we walked across the front lawn, the sheriff whispered, “Barry, we might need Y’Suom at the park sometime this afternoon. The senator too. I’m sure not all of these people can stay till Thursday and they’ll want to pay their respects. If they’re away from the funeral home, then the absence of the body won’t be questioned.”

  “Maybe the minister can make a few remarks. Do you have a PA at the VFW?”

  “If the bingo callers haven’t worn it out. Now there’s an idea for you. A funeral service followed by bingo. Winner gets the flowers.”

  A little girl squealed with delight as she slid down the sliding board into the arms of her father. He set the bundle of energy on the ground and she sped off to the swings, her thick black hair bouncing with each stride.

  A mix of laughter and foreign syllables filled the warm air. Under the picnic shelters, women began setting out food for lunch. The Montagnards had traveled with enough supplies to get them through the day. Those families choosing to remain would be served by the Gainesboro Interfaith Coalition, an association of the town’s churches and synagogue that cooperated on community issues.

  I sat on a park bench beneath a stately white pine because the hardwoods had yet to develop enough foliage to provide shade. Although the spring equinox had occurred only a few weeks ago, the sun’s direct rays made my wool shirt hot and itchy. The ache in my head added to my misery and I scanned the parking lot for the person I needed to see before I could return to the funeral home for a rest.

  “Waiting on a bus?” Melissa Bigham stood behind me. Her impish grin vanished as she saw my stitched forehead. “Barry?”

  “Sit down. You shouldn’t sneak up on an old guy like me.”

  Melissa was in her late twenties, a crackerjack reporter with too much talent to be biding her time on Gainesboro’s small daily. She had the lithe body of a dancer, the freshly scrubbed face of the girl next door, and a carefree attitude that used to be called perky. In a journalist, those traits were a dangerous combination that let her ask hard questions of people who thought she was cute and didn’t recognize her killer instincts until too late. I wanted to talk to her because I knew she was one person I couldn’t fool.

  “I’m all right. Where’d you park?”

  “In the VFW lot. I got wind of the request to shelter the Montagnards and thought I’d check it out. Picked up your voicemail from my cell phone.”

  I shifted on the bench so I could look directly at her. She had yet to bring out her notepad. “I need you to trust me for a little while.”

  “Oh, shit,” she muttered. “A delayed funeral, a battered undertaker, and an off-the-record request. What are you into this time?”

  Melissa had been my ally on two previous occasions that had given her national bylines. She stayed in Gainesboro for the mountain lifestyle, but, like any good reporter, she couldn’t resist the inside track on a major story.

  “The scary part is I don’t know, and I can’t bring you into my confidence if you have any qualms about sitting on the information until I say okay.”

  “And if the information leaks elsewhere?”

  I shrugged. “Then the rules change, but I’d still want you to clear how much you need to make public.”

  She laughed. “Come on, Barry, you’re killing me. How much is much? Should we meet in an underground parking garage?”

  “Maybe,” I said flatly. “Maybe we should. Somebody plays rough.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “You talking to anyone else?”

  “No. It’s you or nobody.” I paused for a second. “Of course, when the story breaks, it’ll be every man for himself.”

  It took her all of two seconds to weigh the pros and cons. “I’m in. Tell it the way you want.”

  I began the story I’d rehearsed in my mind. “Last night we had a break-in at the funeral home. That’s on the Sheriff Department’s overnight sheet. What we’ve withheld, and this is putting Tommy Lee in an awkward position, is that Y’Grok Eban’s body was stolen.”

  “Stolen?” Melissa’s hand made a sudden move for the purse beside her, an involuntary reaction for her notepad. She caught herself and stopped. “So this delay on the funeral isn’t for the convenience of General Weathers and Franklin Talbert?”

  “No. We’re buying time. We think a single intruder took the body. He knocked me unconscious and whisked it away. We don’t know why.”

  “Why the cover-up?”

  “I wouldn’t call it a cover-up. The theft might be some political publicity stunt. If so, we don’t want to give them what they want. Or it could be something entirely different.”

  “Senator Millen knows this?”

  “Yes, he’s particularly sensitive to the political implications for the Montagnard and Vietnamese issue. We’d just like to be on firmer ground before accusations are made.”

  Melissa bit her lower lip and thought a moment. “Who else knows?”

  “I had to tell Y’Grok’s son. He gave us permission to delay the service. General Weathers’ advance man knows. We’ll tell Talbert when he flies in tomorrow afternoon.”

  “What happens if you don’t find the body?”

  “Then we’ll have to go public. Tommy Lee’s doing everything he can, and Senator Millen and General Weathers’ aide have offered extra resources. But Thursday’s as long as we dare delay. I hope maybe the general and even Talbert might have some ideas as to who would do this and why.”

  She looked at me suspiciously. “Why are you telling me?”

  “Because you’re smart. I’d rather have you know than digging around. And like it or not, I’m in this mess up to my neck. The body was under my care. Whatever’s going on, I want to know. Tommy Lee’s got his resources and you’ve got yours. Tommy Lee has certain rules he has to follow. You, on the other hand, are a reporter.” I stopped and smiled. “You don’t follow any rules.”

  Melissa reached over and playfully put her hand on my arm. “Thank you. That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

  I saw more than sunlight in her eyes and felt a little nervous.

  “What can I do?” she asked.

  I looked around the park. A makeshift stage was be
ing set up at the far end. Senator Millen, Y’Suom, and the Charlotte minister, Earl Hucksley, would be making remarks at two. “There seems to be another dimension here. Some undercurrent among the people who knew Y’Grok the best.”

  “Undercurrent?”

  “I don’t know. Something I feel but can’t see. Maybe you could look into the backgrounds of some of our esteemed guests, particularly how they relate to Y’Grok and each other.”

  “Anything else?”

  I decided it was worth a shot. “And a military operation in Vietnam called Raven.”

  “Barry, where are we headed?” Her playful tone was gone. “In the movies that’s the kind of request that always gets people shot.”

  “I know.”

  Chapter Seven

  Mom had a bowl of chicken noodle soup waiting for me back at the funeral home. The lunch guaranteed to cure all ills.

  The lab team had gone, taking the yellow tape and the fingerprints of Mom, Uncle Wayne, and Freddy Mott with them. I sat at the kitchen table, spooning up a soup refill under the watchful eye of my uncle. He nursed a cup of coffee while my mother puttered at the sink.

  “Is there going to be enough food for them?” Mom asked.

  “The mayor said First Methodist and Grace Lutheran will cover tonight, Clearview Baptist and Memorial Presbyterian are set for tomorrow, and St. Anne’s and Temple Beth El will provide lunch on Thursday and a meal after the memorial service.”

  “Who’s going to provide the body if we ain’t got one?” Uncle Wayne said. “That’s what I want to know.”

  “Tommy Lee’s doing everything he can,” I snapped. “That’s all you need to know.”

  Uncle Wayne paled. I heard Mom gasp behind me. Even Democrat looked up from where he lay in the corner.

  I dropped my spoon in the bowl. “I’m sorry. I’m—”

  “You don’t need to apologize.” Uncle Wayne stood up from the table. “Should have kept my fool tongue quiet. You’re the one who got his head stove in.”

  Mom laid her hand on my shoulder. “Why don’t you rest? It’s almost two.”

  “And don’t worry about the petunias,” Wayne added. “I’m going for another flat.”