Casket Case

by Fran Rizer

  Roselle and her family kept staring at me. When they started to leave, Roselle went to the register and paid. She turned and came over to our booth.

  “Hi, Ms. Parrish, I heard about your accident, but your injuries weren’t as obvious yesterday. I guess it took some time for the bruises to surface.”

  Makeup. I should at least have tried to cover the discoloration on my face with my own cosmetics before going into a public place.

  “I think it looks even worse than it feels,” I said.

  “I sure hope so.” She looked around at her relatives standing in a group at the door. “My folks are heading back to Georgia this morning, and I figured it’d be easier to treat them to breakfast here than try to cook for this crowd at Mel’s house.”

  A look of dismay crossed her face. “You know, Mel and I’d planned to go to Georgia so Mel could meet my family, but we hadn’t gotten there yet. Most of these people never even had the chance to meet him, much less get to know what a sweetheart he was. Even with all these people in the house last night, I just missed him so much.”

  A tear glistened in her eye, and she wiped it away with the back of her hand. “I just wanted to thank you and to tell you I’m glad you weren’t killed in that wreck. From what I heard, you were lucky.”

  “Thank you,” I said, thinking, Yeah, I’m sure lucky that someone tried to kill me, destroyed the Middletons’ family car, then came back and trashed my home.

  “You take care now, and do what the doctors tell you to,” Roselle added. “My Gran-Mee-Maw had this medicine. I think it was called nitrogen, and the doctor told her to put it under her tongue whenever her heart hurt. She didn’t pay him any attention. She wound up dying because of her heart because she had vagina and didn’t do what the doctor said.”

  When Roselle and her family left, Odell slowed his eating enough to ask me, “Did she say what I heard?”

  “Yes, she meant angina. I’ve heard her mix up words before. The night Dr. Melvin died, she went to get a warmer wrap so she wouldn’t catch ‘ammonia.’ She must have meant pneumonia.”

  “Let’s talk about you instead of the Dawkins family. How do you feel? You don’t have to work today, you know.”

  “I’d rather be at work than stay home.” I told him about the night before—about the apartment and my fear that someone had been outside my house, not about my time with Levi—and it did me good to talk about it.

  “Wish you’d called me if you were scared. I could have come over and stayed with you or taken you to your dad’s house. Sometimes you don’t make the wisest choices, Callie. I worry about you.”

  “Callie,” a familiar voice said.

  The voice repeated, “Callie.” I looked up to those deep, molten eyes and dark hair. Levi stood beside our booth.

  “Excuse me,” Odell said, standing. “I’m gonna get some pancakes for dessert.”

  “May I join you?” Levi asked.

  “Sure.” I slid over and let him sit beside me.

  He motioned to the waitress. When she came, he told her he’d like a cup of coffee, but nothing to eat.

  “I wouldn’t want to hurt your feelings,” he said, “but that makeup you were wearing yesterday should be marketed. It hid a lot of damage.”

  I laughed. “It is marketed. For use on corpses.”

  “Oh.” He accepted his coffee from the server and took a sip.

  “I came by to tell Roselle’s family good-bye. They don’t much like me. In fact, I overheard one of them encouraging Roselle to try to break my father’s will. If she’s his side child, and I believe she is, they think she should have some of what I inherited.”

  “How do you feel about that?” I pushed my plate to the edge of the table so the waitress would know to take it away.

  “Like most people, part of me is selfish and would like to keep it all. I could justify to myself that my father must have wanted me to have everything or he would have made some other provisions in his will.” He drained his cup and refilled it from the carafe on the table.

  “On the other hand,” he continued, “I can understand why she would feel entitled. Of course, her husband wasn’t hurting for money. She’s a lot better off now than the rest of her family, from what I heard.”

  “I won’t ever have to worry about that. All Daddy has is the farm and the equipment to run it.” I laughed. “I’ve got five brothers. It wouldn’t be a whole lot if everything was sold and divided, but we wouldn’t do that anyway because usually at least one of them is living at the home place.”

  “What about all those musical instruments your family played at your birthday party?”

  That’s when it hit me! I didn’t even check to see if my banjos were safe after the intrusion last night. I’d glanced in the closet and seen both cases, but I hadn’t opened them to make sure the instruments were there. I turned my attention back to the conversation.

  “Daddy had a banjo that he claims is worth more than his house, but he gave it to me for my birthday,” I said. “The other instruments my brothers play are their own.

  They wouldn’t be a part of Daddy’s estate.” I shuddered. “Let’s talk about something else. I’m sorry you lost your dad and I don’t even want to think about something happening to mine.”

  Odell returned with a plate piled high with pancakes, strawberries, and whipped cream. He’d hardly had time to set the plate on the table when his cell phone chirped.

  It was impossible not to overhear what he said. “Yes, she’s with me. Unh-hunh. We’ll come right now.” He stood and took his wallet from his pocket. I opened my purse.

  “No, I’ll treat, but we have to go straight to the mortuary.”

  “Who died?” I asked.

  “It’s not that. Something else.” He shot a look of remorse at his plate and went to the cash register.

  “Sorry,” I said to Levi, “gotta go.”

  “May I take you to dinner again?”

  “I don’t know. There’s a lot going on right now with Jane moving in with me.”

  “We have great chemistry,” he said.

  “I know,” I answered. “I don’t believe I’m ready for chemistry in my life.”

  “We can go out as friends, and . . .”

  Levi didn’t have time to say any more. Odell had finished with the cashier and gestured toward me to follow him.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  The trip from Shoney’s to the funeral home was silent and uneventful. Odell seemed to be concentrating. I couldn’t imagine what had happened that would upset him enough to leave that plate of pancakes and strawberries untouched.

  Otis met us at the back door. He looked shocked at my face, though he’d seen it before makeup yesterday. He led me back to my office.

  “What’s going on?” I said.

  “Mrs. Counts called here and asked for you. I told her you’d be in later, but she refused to leave a number. Said she has to talk to you and that it’s a matter of your health, maybe even your life. She’s supposed to call you back.” He looked at his wristwatch. “Should be soon now.”

  “I don’t know anything about that woman except she makes great cookies. Why would she want to talk to me?” I said.

  The phone rang before anyone responded.

  “Middleton’s Mortuary. Callie Parrish. How may I help you?” I pushed the button for speakerphone so Otis and Odell could listen.

  “Oh, Callie, I’m so glad I reached you. This is Phyllis Counts.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I remember you.”

  “I talked to my aunt Edna’s son. He said he hired a private investigator to check out the man Edna was seeing. The man’s name was Sean Gunderson. He’d been married seven times, divorced once, and widowed six times.”

  She’d been talking so fast that she had to breathe loud and deep before saying, “All of those wives died by accident not very long after marrying him and making wills leaving everything to Gunderson and him leaving everything to her. Of course, it didn’t matter that he’
d willed all his possessions to his wives because they never survived him.”

  “And you think the man we know as George Carter is actually Sean Gunderson?”

  “I don’t think it. I know it.” She coughed. “I believe he changed his name after the investigator unearthed all this and reported it to Aunt Edna’s family. According to the detective, law enforcement has been suspicious of him several times and places, but there’s never been enough evidence to prove anything.” She coughed again. I wondered if she had a summer cold.

  “My cousin said he threatened Sean, accused him of what the report said,” Mrs. Counts said. “He told Sean to stay away from Edna or he’d be sorry. The next day Sean was gone. Can you believe Edna still says she loves him even after her son told her all about him?”

  “Well, George is very charming.”

  “Oh, yeah, he’s had a lot of practice. He charmed those wives right into their graves.”

  “I really appreciate your calling me,” I said. “That explains why I couldn’t locate any information about Pearl’s Georgie.” I said the name just the way Pearl said it.

  “Oh, I could have called to tell you this stuff later, but I’m worried. Concerned enough that I’m leaving Beaufort. I had to talk to you this morning before I go because you could be in danger.”

  Could be?

  “Leaving? Where are you going?” I said.

  “I’m not going to tell you where I’ll be,” Mrs. Counts said. “Last night, someone broke into my home and destroyed almost everything I own. I think it could have been Sean Gunderson.”

  She gasped. “Thank goodness I’d gone to a church ladies’ meeting and wasn’t here. When I came in and found the mess, I called the police, but I doubt they’ll find him. I fully believe this man I know as Sean and you know as George has killed his wives and wouldn’t hesitate to kill me. You were there when I confronted him. I wanted to warn you.”

  “But do you have somewhere safe to go?”

  “Yes.” She chuckled. “I spent the night at Sister Care. I’ve worked as a volunteer there. I know how to disappear.”

  “I wish you luck,” I said. “Will you be in touch?”

  “Yes, I’ll call you occasionally. I want to know what happens and when it’s safe to come home. You really need to warn the woman with the walker, but if she’s like Edna, she won’t believe you.” She paused.

  “There’s something else I need to tell you,” Mrs. Counts said. “I saw Sean Gunderson going into the Beaufort Best Bed and Breakfast. I called there and got the room number for George Carter. I talked to that Pearl White woman and told her everything I’ve told you, but she didn’t believe me. That’s why I think you need to talk to her. Warn her.”

  “You were right to tell her, whether she believes you or not.”

  “That’s not all, though.” She sighed. “Callie, I was afraid to tell her who I was.” Another longer, louder sigh. “I told her I was you.”

  A click. She’d disconnected the line.

  Odell let loose a string of cusswords that were way beyond kindergarten cussing, positively graduate level.

  Otis said, “I didn’t like that man the first time I saw him. You need to call Wayne Harmon and tell him what that woman told you.”

  “I should have asked how to contact her cousin and the investigator he hired,” I said.

  “Call her house,” Odell growled.

  I found her telephone information on the Counts catering invoice and called, but a recording informed me that this was no longer a working number. Otis rang the sheriff’s office, where he was told that Sheriff Harmon wasn’t available, but he could speak with a deputy. Otis left word for the sheriff to contact the mortuary.

  Odell gave me a quizzical look.

  “Doofus, bring some coffee for all of us to my office. We need to talk.” I followed Odell and sat down opposite him. Otis was right behind us with three mugs of coffee on a tray. He dispensed cups, then sat down beside me. Each person’s java was sweetened and lightened perfectly to that individual’s taste. He and Jane are the only two people I know who can consistently do that for me.

  “We all heard what Mrs. Counts said, and we need to get that news to Harmon as soon as possible. What you don’t know, Otis, is that someone trashed Callie’s apartment last night.”

  They both frowned at me before Odell continued, “We need to be taking better care of our cosmetitian or we might be stuck with painting and powdering clients ourselves again.”

  Otis turned toward me with a look of astonishment on his face. “You stayed home alone after someone invaded your home?”

  There were no good words to explain, so I just nodded.

  “What would you have done if he’d come back?” Otis said.

  “Doofus, she’da shot him,” Odell rasped.

  “What I think we need to . . .” Otis didn’t finish. His words were interrupted by “Old Rugged Cross.”

  It only takes one of us to go to the foyer when a hymn or gospel song signals the door has been opened, but all three of us walked to the front.

  “Speak of the devil,” Odell mumbled.

  “Hello, Sheriff Harmon,” Otis said.

  “Man! I am so glad to see you,” I gushed.

  “Come on back to the consulting room.” Otis waved his arm to encompass all of us.

  “I was headed over here when I got the message from dispatch to call you,” the sheriff said as we all sat around the conference table. He pulled a small notebook from his shirt pocket.

  “You talk first, then,” I said. “Why were you headed over here?”

  “The autopsy report on Dorcas Lucas doesn’t look like an accident. It’s the same thing I thought at the scene. There was too much blood, and the spatter patterns weren’t consistent with a fall, even down those steep steps. It appears to be BFT.”

  “What’s that?” Otis said.

  “Blunt force trauma. Someone beat her over the head with a weapon, perhaps even a two-by-four. They found wood splinters in her head wounds, and the injuries are the correct size and shape for a board that size.”

  “Couldn’t that be from the wooden steps or banisters?” I asked.

  “Nope, newer wood than the stairway.” He smiled. “But I have some good news for you, Callie. I spoke with your dad this morning. He’s picking up two tires and rims for your car. I’m releasing your Mustang, but we’ll need to keep the two front tires. You drove onto the blood at the foot of the steps. There’s no blood on the car except there, so you’ll get your car back, but we’re keeping the two front wheels. Your father is sending Bill and Mike to have the new tires installed and pick up your car. They should have it here before the end of the day.”

  The sheriff grinned like he’d done something wonderful.

  I exploded.

  “How dare you call Daddy about my car? In case you haven’t noticed, I am an adult! Don’t tell me if the Mustang belonged to Otis, you would have called a parent to see about the tires,” I screeched.

  “Couldn’t call my parents,” Otis muttered. “They’re both dead.”

  “Shut up, Doofus,” Odell growled.

  “Well, maybe what I mean is that if Otis owned the car, you wouldn’t have called Odell to take care of it. You’d call the owner and treat him like an adult, instead of treating me like a little girl!”

  “I’m not quite sure I understood that first sentence,” the sheriff said. “I thought you’d be glad to get the car back, and after last night, I didn’t want to stress you more by making you deal with the tires.”

  “Yeah,” Odell mumbled, “he was thinking about you, Callie. You might try being grateful instead of angry.”

  “Yes,” Harmon mumbled. “I thought I’d make you happy. Even thought you were probably calling me to complain about the Mustang.”

  “I called to tell you what Mrs. Counts said.”

  “Who’s Mrs. Counts?”

  “The cookie lady.” I paused. “I need to be excused. Otis and Odell both listen
ed to her on speakerphone. Let them tell you about it.”

  I went to the restroom and almost jumped out of my skin. The face staring at me was hideous. Even evil. At second glance, I realized I was looking at my own reflection in the mirror. A bump had risen on my forehead. The bruises on the rest of my face were changing from blackish blue to purple to hideous brownish yellow, with different spots in various stages. The discoloration around my eyes remained dark violet while the bags beneath them were black.

  No way. No way did I want to see anyone or have anyone see me again looking like that. I slipped from the restroom to my workroom and began working the magic of mortuary makeup.

  “Callie! Callie!” Sheriff Harmon’s voice sounded high and stressed.

  “I’m in here,” I called.

  Otis, Odell, and the sheriff piled into my workroom.

  “You scared us,” Otis said. “We were afraid you’d run off.”

  “Or someone had snatched you,” growled Odell.

  Sheriff Harmon looked at me with a puzzled expression. “You changed yourself that much with makeup?”

  “Not regular makeup from the drugstore. This is professional makeup we use here at work.”

  “Amazing.” He shuffled back and forth on his feet for a moment. “Are you finished?”

  “Not quite.”

  “That is just unbelievable. I do want to talk to you some more, but perhaps Otis and Odell can round us up some more coffee while you complete what you’re doing. We’ll wait for you in Odell’s office.”

  I rapidly smoothed out the cosmetics on my face. My reflection in the mirror was gratifying. I looked normal except for the slightly swollen knot on my forehead. Dealing with that on a corpse, I could have used a needle to draw out fluid and reduce the swelling. Instead, I contoured with concealers, both lighter and darker than my natural complexion, to trick the eye into not seeing the lump on my noggin.

  When I returned to Odell’s office, I found the three men sitting around, drinking coffee and talking.

  “Well?” I said.

  “Have a seat.” Odell.