Murder is on the Clock

by Fran Rizer

  Praise for the Callie Parrish Mysteries ”Fran Rizer’s Callie Parrish and St. Mary, S. C., are as Southern as fried chicken and sweet tea—and just as delightful.”

  ____Walter Edgar, Walter Edgar’s Journal, SCETV Radio

  “Callie Parrish is a hoot! I laughed so hard I dropped my book in the bathtub.”

  ___Gwen Hunter, Author of the Rhea Lynch, M. D.,

  Suspense Mysteries, the Delande Saga, and more. Also creator and writer of the Jane Yellowrock Urban Fantasy Series as Faith Hunter.

  “What a wonderfully realized set of characters in an authentic and welcoming sense of place. Callie is wonderful! It’s such fun following her and moving as well.”

  ___David Dean, Author of The Thirteenth Child and

  The Purple Robe “A lively sleuth who manages to make funeral homes funny.”

  ___Maggie Sefton, Author of the Molly Malone

  “

  Mysteries and the Kelly Flynn Knitting Series

  Praise for KUDZU RIVER—A Novel of Abuse, Murder, and Retribution “A cast full of lovable Southern characters (with a sprinkle of quirky) whose lives are thrown into turmoil by a psychotic, hell-bent on killing teachers.” ___Richard D. Laudenslager, Author of Wounded

  “ . . . complex, compelling, and intriguing at every turn . . . a thoroughly realized thriller . . . This is a writer at the peak of her craft and deserves reading. You will be rewarded.”

  ___David Dean, Author of The Thirteenth Child and

  The Purple Robe “An electrifying departure from the usual cozyesque fare from Fran Rizer . . . Buy it, read it, (beware) and be dazzled.

  ___David Smoak

  “ . . . deep and keeps you guessing . . . I couldn’t put it down.”

  ___Kathy Huggins

  “Can books keep you on the edge of your seat? This one did—all the way through. I’ve read thousands of books. This is one of the best.”

  ___Watson Brown

  IN APPRECIATION Special thanks to two friends and colleagues, David Smoak and

  Richard D. Laudenslager.

  David designed the cover of this book, KUDZU RIVER, and A Corpse Under the Christmas Tree. Richard, author of the soon-to-be-released Wounded, is my first reader and adviser.

  iii

  ODYSSEY SOUTH This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  First Print Edition November 2015

  Copyright © 2015 by Fran Rizer All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information contact

  OdysseySouthPublishing.com

  To bring Fran Rizer to your event for an interview, reading, signing, or book talk, contact her directly at franrizer@gmail.com or through FranRizer.com

  Cover design by David Smoak Graphic Design

  Odyssey South Publishing and logo are trademarks of Odyssey South Publishing. ISBN-13:978-0692540336 ISBN-10:0692540334 HICKORY,

  DICKORY,

  DOCK

  MURDER IS ON THE CLOCK

  A

  CALLIE

  PARRISH MYSTERY

  FRAN RIZER

  ODYSSEY SOUTH

  Friday 1:00 P.M.

  I looked at the clock, it was ten after one Finding dead bodies wasn’t my kind of fun Dogs may be man’s best friend, but sometimes a blow-up bra is a gal’s best friend. I’m not talking about blow-up like some terrorist’s bomb. I suppose the better word is inflatable, but not even an inflatable bra would help me in the dress I tried on at Belle’s Beautiful Brides. I felt like crying as I stood staring at myself in the dressing-room mirror. Why would a bride over sixty years old select a lime-green dress with a neckline that plunged dang near to my belly button for her one and only attendant and future stepdaughter?

  “Perhaps a push-up bra . . . ” the saleslady suggested. “Gotta have something to push for that to work.” My flip tone wasn’t fair to her. It wasn’t her fault I had no bosom. When I was a teenager, Daddy used to say, “In our family, the Good Lord gave the men big brains and the women big boobs, but He gave Calamine some of each, which is why she didn’t get a whole lot of either.”

  For several years, I’ve solved the flat-as-a-pancake situation by wearing inflatable bras. The problem was that this gown was cut so low that the cup showed above the fabric of the dress.

  The clerk’s expression was sympathetic. “If not a pushup, we have pads that are worn below the breasts and will lift them also.”

  In no mood for any more helpful suggestions, I shoved the bodice of the dress down to my waist, snatched my bra off, and threw it across the fitting room. It landed with the cups upward like two little side-by-side mountains on the floor. Thank heaven the inflation didn’t spring a leak.

  “See this?” I pointed to the place on my chest where ta tas should have been. “I’ve got nothing to push up.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry.” The very well-endowed clerk shot me an even more pitying look.

  “You don’t have to feel sorry for me. It’s not your fault that during puberty, I only budded, never blossomed.” I tried to sound nice, but I felt like stomping my foot in childish anger.

  The saleslady glanced over at the bra on the floor. I glared at her, and then pulled that green monstrosity off over my head. I carefully put it on the clothes hanger and handed it to her. No way did I want to have to pay for that fiasco.

  “Are you the consultant who met with the bride?” I asked.

  “Yes, I did. Is she your mother?”

  “No, after the wedding, she’ll be my stepmother. She’s marrying my father.” I sheepishly picked up the bra from the floor and put it on.

  “She seems nice.”

  “Miss Ellen is really sweet, but I don’t understand why she chose a dress this color with such a low neckline.” I motioned toward the lime-green fabric.

  “Well, your future stepmother ordered that color special because she thought it would look good on her maid of honor, but she said you had red hair.” The sales clerk smoothed the skirt of the dress and stared at my work hairdo—a sedate chestnut brown bun resting on the nape of my neck.

  I laughed. “I did have red hair until a month ago. Got tired of it and tinted it back to brown. Is the wedding dress cut to Miss Ellen’s navel as well, or am I the only one she wants to go down the aisle half-naked?”

  The saleslady giggled. “Oh, I can’t tell you what she said about that.”

  I’m not above bribes or threats. “Come on. If you don’t repeat it, I’ll have to tell the manager you made fun of my shape.”

  “I didn’t do that.”

  “You and I know that, but your boss doesn’t.”

  “Well, your soon-to-be stepmother said you have a cute figure and she wanted a really sexy dress so you could find a husband, too.”

  I quickly put on my demure black dress before the clerk noticed that the perky junk in my trunk came from the padding in my fanny panties. Bob Seger provided me with an escape from the situation by screaming “I like that old time rock ‘n’ roll” from my cell phone.

  “Callie Parrish here,” I answered. “What can I do for you?”

  “You can get yourself over here to work. Right now, you’re over an hour late and I have a removal waiting.” That gruff, scolding tone came from Odell Middleton, one of my bosses at Middleton’s Mortuary. “Where are you?”

  “I’m at Belle’s Beautiful Brides trying on my maid-ofhonor dress for the wedding.”

  “Shouldn’t you have tried it on before now? The wedding’s tomorrow, isn’t it?”

  “Yes to both questions, and the d
ress doesn’t work on me. I need to stay at Belle’s long enough to get Miss Ellen over here to choose something off the rack.”

  Odell harrumphed. It’s a sound he makes when he’s aggravated. “That new part-timer is home sick and Otis is out of town. You’re late and the Greene family is at Shady Pines Rest Home waiting for us to pick up their loved one. I need you here now.” He paused, and then complained some more, “And the flower room is overflowing. Did you authorize Branham’s Blossoms to deliver all the wedding flowers here?”

  Dalmation! My favorite kindergarten cuss word exploded in my mind. I’d planned to be at work before the florist arrived. “Yes, they were going to charge extra to deliver the wedding arrangements just because Dad’s house and the church are both out of the town limits. Rizzie will send someone to pick up the floral pieces from you today, and we’ll keep them in her cold storage at the grill until tomorrow.” My apologetic tone would have had better effect on Otis, who was a more gentle soul than his brother Odell.

  “Just get here as soon as you can.” Odell disconnected.

  I realized that calling Miss Ellen and waiting for her to come to Belle’s to pick out another dress could cost me my job, so the saleslady and I selected a more modest sample gown in pale teal. I tried it on and then made the dreaded call to my future stepmother.

  “Miss Ellen, this is Callie.”

  “I recognize your voice. Please don’t tell me you’re not going to try on your dress until tomorrow morning. I’m a nervous wreck today. You’ll be on time for the rehearsal tonight, won’t you?”

  “No problem about the rehearsal, but I’m at Belle’s Beautiful Brides right this very minute. The maid-of-honor dress doesn’t fit me.”

  “Oh no, that’s why I’ve been trying to get you over there to try it on since it was shipped in almost a month ago.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. What I called about is that the saleslady and I found a gown in stock that fits perfectly. Is it okay if I just buy that one for the wedding?”

  “I don’t suppose we have any choice.” I heard tears behind Miss Ellen’s voice and tried to fight down the guilty feeling I had for making her sad on the day before her wedding.

  “The teal gown is beautiful and a perfect fit. I know you’ll love it, and the yellow bouquet you ordered to go with the green dress should work fine with this color. I just wanted to check with you. Sorry I can’t wear the dress you picked, but I’ll bring this one to the rehearsal tonight so you can see it.”

  “All right, I’ll see you then, Callie. In addition to all the preparations we need to do today, your dad and I have to go to Charleston to pick up your brother Jim. Is it true he hasn’t been home in years?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I was happy Jim was coming for the wedding, too. It seemed like forever since I’d seen him, and in fact, it had been over twenty years.

  A part of me wanted to call Jane and tell her about that awful green dress. It would have looked great on Jane if she were the wedding attendant. She has naturally red hair, and she has more than enough bosom for both of us.

  I have two best friends—Jane Baker and Rizzie Profit. I don’t call them BFFs or best friends forever because if there’s one thing people learn working in a funeral parlor like I do, it’s that nothing in life is forever.

  Rizzie is a drop-dead gorgeous woman who owns Gastric Gullah Grill. Although Odell expected me to come right to work when I finished at Belle’s, I decided to stop by the restaurant and pick up lunch to go—two plates— one to stave off my own hunger and the other to soothe Odell about my being late.

  “Good afternoon, Callie.” Rizzie greeted me from behind the counter when I stepped through the front door of the restaurant. “Glad to see you. I’m only doing sandwiches and chicken bog today.” She put ice into a glass as she asked, “Do you want sweet tea?”

  “Actually, I want two orders of the bog and two large iced teas to go. I’m running late to work, and your food will take the edge off Odell’s irritation with me.”

  “Otis isn’t there to run interference for you?” She poured the ice from the glass into a Styrofoam cup and filled it from a tea pitcher.

  “No, he’s out of town. I think he probably went to Charleston to have another face peel. His skin isn’t looking so good these days. I swear that man thinks about hardly anything except his looks.”

  “Does he still spend all his spare time in the tanning bed he put in the embalming room?” She filled another cup with tea and snapped lids on both of them.

  “Don’t say ‘embalming room.’ We call it the prep area.”

  “Oh, come on, Callie. You don’t have to use those euphemisms around me.” She began dipping chicken bog into two lidded food trays. “Will Otis be back for the wedding? I can’t imagine him not being there.”

  “He’s been gone a week but he’s due back this afternoon. When he has a peel, he usually stays out of town until the redness goes away.” I laughed. My bosses, Otis and Odell Middleton are identical twins. I guess I should say they were identical twins. Otis is a vegetarian who stays trim and tanned. Odell is addicted to barbecue and is forty pounds heavier than his twin. When Otis got hair plugs, Odell began shaving his balding head. Their personalities are as much alike as their appearances are now.

  “Odell called and said the wedding flowers have been delivered to the funeral home,” Rizzie said. “He told me you assured him they would be moved to my cooler. Sounded irritated.“

  “He didn’t sound upset with you, did he?” I asked. For what it’s worth, my personal opinion is that Odell has a crush on Rizzie but won’t ask her out because of the twenty-year age difference.

  “Irritated with you. OdelI is never annoyed with me.” She grinned. “I sent Ty to pick up the flowers. I told him not to waste any time, but you know how teenagers are. I need him to help me get ready for the rehearsal dinner tonight. I’ll be prepping food all afternoon. I’m putting up a sign telling everyone that I’m closing at three o’clock today.”

  “Why so early? The rehearsal isn’t until six. We won’t be here until seven at the earliest.”

  “I want everything to be especially nice for your family. That’s why my only lunch special entrée today is chicken bog. I’ve already begun prepping for tonight.”

  I had to laugh. “If you need more space, come on into town. I’ll let you use our prep room.”

  Rizzie didn’t smile. “You should be ashamed to say that.”

  “It’s like cop humor. If you don’t laugh sometimes in my business, you’ll cry, but you know we’re always respectful about the decedents. I take my work seriously and do my best to create beautiful memory pictures of every loved one that I cosmetize.”

  “Spare me that lecture one more time. I’m not as squeamish about your work as Jane is, but I couldn’t do it and I don’t want to hear about it.” Rizzie put the food trays into a plastic bag and set the cups into a cardboard holder.

  I picked up the bag and the drink carrier. “I’ll see you tonight. Tell Ty ‘hello’ for me.”

  In the Mustang, I strapped the food and drinks into the passenger side with the seat belt and decided to take the back way into town. I love the old live oak trees arching across Dunbar Road with Spanish moss dripping from the branches like gossamer veiling. It looks exactly like the postcards advertising South Carolina’s Lowcountry. I sang along with my radio and enjoyed the scenery as I drove up a small incline called Dunbar Hill, but I was barely over the top when I screeched to a stop.

  Shih tzu! I shouted my sharpest kindergarten cuss word. “Why don’t people throw their garbage out where it belongs?” A large black trash bag in the middle of the road blocked my way.

  Since I hadn’t seen any other cars after I left Rizzie’s, I didn’t bother to pull over—just stopped, got out, and walked to the sack. I planned to put it in my car and toss it in the Dumpster behind the funeral home.

  When I reached the big piece of black plastic, I noticed it was sturdier and larger than a standard leaf
container, probably made for industrial disposal. I grabbed it with both hands and tugged. It didn’t budge. I pulled harder.

  A loud squeal of brakes jerked my attention back toward my car. Behind it, Rizzie’s teenaged brother Tyrone frantically braked the Gastric Gullah Grill van and swerved to the side of the road. Thank heaven he managed to keep from hitting my Mustang.

  “What’s wrong with your car?” he asked as he jumped out.

  “Nothing. Come help me put this trash in the trunk.”

  With both of us tugging, we managed to get the bag to the side of the road. “This is awful heavy,” Ty said. “Let’s see what’s inside.”

  I didn’t say a word because even though the bag was closed tight, the shape and the way it flopped when we moved it had aroused suspicion in my mind.

  Ty pulled out his pocketknife and cut a short slash into the plastic. Thank heaven I wasn’t hit by the odor I’d begun to fear.

  “Whew!” Ty said. “What you reckon this is?”

  “I don’t know,” I answered. “Cut the plastic some more.”

  Ty slipped the knife into the hole and drew the tip of the blade down the length of the black plastic. My stomach jumped up into my throat. Ty puked in the roadside bushes. The body hadn’t been dismembered. The man lay on his side, and I could see his long blond ponytail. I didn’t recognize his face. He was hog-tied with his hands bound to his feet, which were pulled up behind his back. One end of the rope looped around his neck.

  I’d seen this before when I was a little girl and my brother Bill hog-tied Frankie. Daddy had thrown a hissy fit when he found his youngest son hog-tied and left in the cornfield. I remembered Bill shaking and crying when Daddy yelled at him, “This isn’t something you do playing. If you tie somebody up with the rope around his neck, the only way he can relieve the tension is to keep his neck, back, and legs bent. If Frankie had gotten tired and straightened out, he would have strangled to death. Is that what you wanted to do, Bill? Kill your baby brother?”

  My mind leaped back to the present. “Ty, does Rizzie still have those orange cones in the van?”