Casket Case

by Fran Rizer

  Didn’t want to remember that black Tahoe aiming at me, trying to kill me. I didn’t want to think about the flashing lights and sirens of the ambulances, fire trucks, and law enforcement vehicles the night before.

  “Tell you what,” Don said. “I’m off right now anyway—why don’t I drive you home? Where do you want to go? Maybe your dad’s? I’m letting you leave the hospital, but I’d really rather you not be alone for a day or so.”

  “I can go to my place. Jane’s staying with me for a few days.”

  “She’s blind.”

  “Yes, but Jane sees more than most sighted people.”

  Chapter Twenty-six

  “I’m never going to marry or have kids because I’m not the nurturing kind.”

  Jane used to say that all the time, but she’d certainly been a tremendous supportive help when I divorced. Now she was overdoing it.

  “Do you want another pillow? Can you reach the remote control? Do you like this program or should I change it? Are you too hot? Do you feel chilled?” A thousand questions, one after the other, then she’d start over and add, “What do you want for lunch? Shall I make some tuna salad? How about homemade beef stew or vegetable soup?”

  “Nothing!” I finally screamed. “I just want to be left alone.”

  Normally, if I’d said those words in that tone, she would have reacted in the same mode. Now she just said, “I’m sorry,” and sounded hurt. Big Boy whimpered from the side of my bed.

  “I’m sorry, too,” I apologized. “It’s not you, Jane. I just feel irritable, and I hurt all over. Why don’t you bring me a glass of water? I’ll take one of those pain pills and try to sleep for a while.”

  I awoke from my nap to Jane’s voice saying that she didn’t need a ride to the hospital. “Okay, Frank,” she said before I heard the telephone disconnect. She came in to check on me and fluffed my pillows—again.

  “The doctor said you need to drink lots of fluids. I’ll get you a Coke.”

  She came back with a tall glass full of iced Coca-Cola. I usually drink soda from a chilled can and will, given no other choice, drink it at room temperature, but my favorite way is over ice. She’d even put a straw in it.

  “You’ve had lots of calls,” she said as she handed me the glass and sat on the edge of the bed. “Frank is coming over, and the sheriff needs to talk to you. I told everyone else to wait a while because the doctor advised you to rest and sleep today.”

  I laughed. “So Frank can come to see you, but no one can come see me?”

  She giggled. “He’s your brother!”

  “Yes, but he’s coming to see you. Don’t go breaking my brother’s heart, Jane.”

  “I think I care as much about him as he does about me.” She smoothed out the rumpled bedcovers beside her. “But what if he wanders away from me like he’s done the others?”

  “Are you worried Frank’s going to hurt you?”

  “Well, I have feelings, too.”

  I grabbed her and gave her a little hug though it hurt like crazy.

  “You always tell me to enjoy the moment. Live for the day. Why don’t you do the same thing?” I said.

  “I’ll try. Anyway, Frank is bringing lunch. I told him sick people need mild, bland food, but no telling what it will be. Knowing men, he’ll bring pizza or tacos.”

  My youngest brother surprised both of us. He brought homemade chicken and rice soup with bits of slivered celery and carrots. He insisted on spoon-feeding me and was slopping soup all over me until I convinced him I could do it myself and explained that I’d fed myself breakfast. Not to hurt his feelings, I refrained from telling him that I thought Jane would spill less on me and she couldn’t even see to aim the spoon.

  Sheriff Harmon showed up before we’d finished eating and ate two bowls of soup. When we’d all finished, Jane and Frank went to the kitchen to do the dishes while the sheriff and I talked.

  “Callie, do you have any idea who might want to hurt you?”

  “No, I haven’t done anything to anyone, and I haven’t been snooping around about Ms. Lucas or her death either.”

  “Well, the Tahoe that hit you was stolen from a textile salesman in Beaufort. We learned that from the tag number the trucker wrote down, but we’ve found the vehicle abandoned now. Forensics is checking it out, but they’ve already told me it appears that whoever took it wore latex gloves. The only fingerprints belong to the salesman and his family.”

  “I don’t know a salesman from Beaufort.”

  “We know the salesman wasn’t driving the Tahoe when you were struck. His alibi is solid. He was at a meeting with a dozen other salespeople.” The sheriff patted my hand. “I want you to let me know if you think of any reason someone would try to k—I mean, hurt you.”

  “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Sure. I don’t promise to answer, but ask away.”

  “Do you know where Ms. Lucas’s car is? I noticed it wasn’t over at Jane’s when we found the body. How’d she get there?”

  “Her car was parked at the motel in Beaufort where she’d been staying. We don’t know how she got to Mrs. White’s property.”

  “Oh,” I murmered. “I just wondered.”

  “Callie,” the sheriff said authoritatively, “don’t go sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong. Let us take care of it.” He cleared his throat. “And be careful, Callie, be careful.”

  I slept most of the rest of the day, ate some more chicken and rice soup, then slept through the night. Frank and Jane teased me about sharing my pain pills with them. The medicine not only eased the pain, it relaxed me. They were joking, but I put the pill bottle under my pillow. I didn’t want to tempt them, and I didn’t want to share or run out of the medicine either.

  Miraculously, the next morning, I felt better, even when I realized that Frank had spent the night at the apartment. Since my spare bedroom has no bed in it, just junk and boxes of mystery books, I assumed that my friend and my brother spent the night together on my couch.

  I showered carefully and almost went into shock when I saw my face in the mirror for the first time. No way would my personal cosmetics cover the black-and-blue bruises on my forehead, cheeks, and neck. Nor the dark purple eyes. I dressed in a black work dress and talked Frank into driving me to the mortuary.

  The shock on Odell’s face when he looked at me as Frank and I walked in was something I’d never seen before. He’s usually not emotionally involved in even the worst scenarios. “We can get along without you today,” he rasped. “Otis picked up Melvin Dawkins yesterday and he’s been prepared, dressed, and casketed. He’s in Slumber Room A already.”

  “I’d really like to stay for a while, if you don’t mind.” Odell grumbled, mumbled, and finally said, “I don’t want you in the front rooms if clients come in.”

  I gave him a puzzled look, then realized he was talking about my face. “I may look like a walking wreck now, but I’ve beautified walking wrecks before.” I thought about it. “Well, I guess not walking. Just give me some time in my workroom.”

  “Okay, call us if you feel weak or anything,” Frank said to me, then turned to Odell. “I’d like to pay my respects to Melvin if he’s ready.”

  I slipped into my workroom and took out my full makeup kit, the heavy-duty stuff I used for really bad cases. It took almost an hour, but when I returned to the hall, there were no signs of bruises or black eyes. My skin did feel a little stiff though. I’d laid it on pretty thick. I wondered if that was how Botox felt.

  Frank and Odell had been joined by Otis in the kitchen area, and they were drinking coffee from the mugs we use in the back.

  “You look great!” Frank said.

  “She’s good at makeup,” Odell said, “the best I’ve ever seen and she hasn’t even been trained in mortuary cosmetics.”

  “Have plans been set for Dr. Melvin?” I asked.

  “Yes,” Otis said. “Visitation is one to two this afternoon and services are here at two in our chapel.”
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  “Where’s Roselle burying him?”

  “That seemed to give her some problems. Since Melvin never had children, he bought only two plots. The new Mrs. Dawkins had the secretary at the cemetery look up who owned the sites beside Melvin’s first wife and bought two more. She’s putting Melvin between his first wife and a plot she swears is for herself. That brother of hers tried to talk her out of it, telling her she’d probably remarry, but she was determined.”

  “Mr. Pinckney,” I suggested.

  “Yep, that’s his name. Mrs. Dawkins says Mel, as she calls him, was the love of her life. Her brother told her you can have more than one love of your life, and she threw a crying hissy fit about how she’d found the right man and wouldn’t ever want another.”

  “Will food be served at the visitation?” I asked.

  “Yes, but it’s just catered cookies and punch. I’ll set up the coffee service,” Odell said. “You look pretty good now, but I really think you should go home and rest another day.”

  “I’d rather stay here. Did one of you post Dr. Melvin’s plans on the web page?”

  “No,” Otis said, “I tried to, but I didn’t have much success. We got everything into the newspapers though.”

  “I’ll update the web page, and then I might spend some time on the Internet,” I said to the Middletons before turning to Frank. “Are you coming to Dr. Melvin’s service?”

  “I’m bringing Jane, and I think Pa will be here with the rest of the family.”

  “Is John here?” I confess I brightened at the thought of seeing my oldest brother.

  “No, I meant Pa and Bill and Mike.”

  That upset me. Normally, John comes to St. Mary when anyone in our family is sick or hurt. He hadn’t come to see me after I’d been in a horrible wreck. That wasn’t like him and probably meant he was still having a hard time with his personal life.

  “I really want to stay here until after the service. You or Daddy can give me a ride home.”

  I left my brother talking to my employers and went to my office. I quickly brought the web page up to date, then began surfing the Internet. I’d never searched for a person online before, but I’d read about it in mystery books. Kinsey Millhone does it all the time.

  My first search was Levi Pinckney. It appeared that everything he’d told me was true. At least, the parts that were documented. His full name was Levi Halsey Pinckney, Jr., son of Levi Halsey Pinckney, Sr., who’d made a bundle in the meatpacking industry.

  Levi had grown up an only child in Charleston, South Carolina, graduated from high school and from the Citadel. Now, that was surprising. A lot of Citadel graduates went into the military. Levi was a Citadel graduate working at a sub shop.

  I didn’t find any evidence that Levi had ever been married or in legal trouble other than a couple of speeding tickets when he was a teenager.

  Usual searches told me nothing about Roselle Dawkins. When I realized that Dawkins was her married name, I got off the Internet long enough to call the Bureau of Vital Statistics. Under normal circumstances, I couldn’t have gotten any info from them, but an old school friend of mine works there.

  Roselle’s full maiden name was Roselle Annalee Farmer; she was twenty-seven years old; and she came from Valdosta, Georgia. Dr. Melvin had been seventy-three, which I already knew from his obituary.

  Back on the Internet, I discovered that Roselle had worked in a small drugstore after graduating from high school. I found no record of her ever having been married before she wed Dr. Melvin.

  I’d just typed in “George Carter” when my door opened. Levi Pinckney stood there. “Hi,” he said. “I heard you were in an accident and I asked Mr. Middleton if I could speak to you. He showed me to your office.”

  My mind went blank. I couldn’t even think to say hello. I just sat there like a zit on a chin.

  “How are you feeling?” Levi asked.

  “Better, much better,” I answered, still clueless as to anything else to say.

  “I’m here for Mel’s services, but I wondered if I could take you to dinner tonight. Kind of make up for the other night when I wasn’t at Nate’s.”

  “What about your sister? Won’t Roselle need you?”

  “Her mom and half brothers and half sisters from Georgia are all here. They don’t seem to like me much, especially her mother. I think they’d all just as soon I stay away tonight. Roselle may need me more when all of them go home.”

  “I can’t meet you at the sub shop. I don’t have a car. One of my brothers was going to give me a ride home.”

  “You’re probably feeling a little weak from that accident. Why don’t we make it an early supper? You can just leave with me after the funeral, and I’ll take you home after dinner.”

  If I’d thought about it, I might have said no, but I didn’t give myself time to consider anything. Jane says “Live for the day,” and that Tahoe had convinced me that there might come a time when there was no tomorrow. I accepted his invitation and told him to look for me at the cemetery. Levi stepped out.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  “Was that someone you wanted to see?” I looked up to see Otis had come in. “I told him where you were, but I had second thoughts about it and came back here to check on you,” he said. “Odell and I think you need to be careful, but we want to watch out for you, too.”

  “It was fine,” I said.

  “Sheriff Harmon suggested that everyone should keep an eye on you. While we were waiting at the hospital, that trucker told Odell and me that someone ran you off the road intentionally, then turned around and came back to hit you over and over.”

  “That’s what happened, and I’m so sorry about the Lincoln.”

  “Forget it, Callie. We’re fully insured and even if we weren’t, you’re more important than a car.” He laughed and added, “You’re even more important than a funeral coach, but I’m glad you weren’t driving the new one.”

  “What about Amos Valentine? You know, the man whose wife called because he’d donated his body to MUSC for scientific research and they called and told her to come pick him up?”

  For some reason, that just seemed so awful to me.

  When I was a student at USC in Columbia, I had a friend who was thrown out of the Waffle House after a football game. There’s rejection and insult; then there’s total rejection and insult. To me, having your body refused to be accepted as a cadaver for medical students to practice on was even more rejecting and insulting than being put out of the Waffle House at three in the morning. Note that the clubs in Columbia close at two in the morning, so the majority of the Waffle House customers were wasted and feeling no pain. In other words, you had to be pretty far gone to be put out.

  “Oh,” Otis answered. “That was a really special case. We picked him up and sent him off for cremation. When the cremains are returned, we’ll take them to her and Odell said to give her one of the display containers that isn’t often selected. We’ll let her pay for the cremation a little along and along.”

  I wondered if my mouth had dropped open in shock. During the years I’d been working for the Middletons, all services provided had to be paid in advance if there wasn’t adequate insurance.

  Wanting a few moments with Dr. Melvin, and, to be truthful, to see if he was cosmetized well since I didn’t do it, I went to Slumber Room A. In the mortuary business, we try to make each person look as good as possible. Dr. Melvin looked at least ten years younger than he had in the hot tub.

  Roselle had selected a tan-colored summer suit, cream shirt, and brown striped tie for her husband. Otis or Odell had combed Dr. Melvin’s hair exactly the way he’d always worn it, and his lips were set in a very, very slight smile. His skin and features looked healthy, but not painted. I couldn’t have done a better job myself.

  Otis was setting up tables in the back of the room for the caterer, who was new to me. I saw her bringing in boxes and boxes, stacking them on the floor in front of the tables. This lady was barely five fe
et tall and not over a hundred pounds max. Her auburn hair was wrapped and pinned up on the back of her head in a way that made my bun at the nape of my neck look anemic.

  “Callie,” Otis called. I walked over to them.

  “This is Phyllis Counts with Counts Cookies and Catering. She’ll be setting up refreshments for the Dawkins family.” He turned to the petite lady and said, “Mrs. Counts, this is Callie Parrish. She can assist you in any way you wish.”

  “I’ll take you up on that,” she said, and her voice was twice as big as her body. Not loud, just commanding, yet still feminine. “I hired a couple of teenagers to assist me, and they haven’t shown up. I do all my baking myself, but I could use some help setting up.”

  “What should I do first?” I asked. “Is there more to bring in?”

  “Oh, yes, there’s a lot more.”

  I followed her out to her van. The lettering, “Counts Cookies and Catering,” was surrounded with so many drawings of cookies that the vehicle looked polka-dotted. We hauled boxes inside for what seemed like forever, but probably wasn’t over fifteen minutes.

  Mrs. Counts spread the tables with pale green cloths, then began arranging silver and cut-glass trays on them. I helped. When she opened the first box that actually contained food, I almost passed out. The cookies smelled better than anything I’ve ever eaten. I realized I hadn’t had lunch. The woman looked at me.

  “Would you like a sample?” she asked.

  “Definitely, but they all look so good, I don’t know which to try.”

  She held a tray out to me with cookies rolled in confectioners’ sugar. “Try this,” she said. “These are my son’s favorite.”

  It was the best cookie I’d ever put into my mouth. I reached for another one. The kind, but authoritative, voice said, “Not now. Later. And if there are any left over, I’ll give you some to take home.” She laughed. “And I won’t charge the Dawkins family for what I give you either.”