What Are You Wearing to Die?

by Patricia Sprinkle

  Next thing we knew she was waving airplane tickets around, boasting about the great bargains she’d gotten on clothes, and reading travel books from the library over her lunch hour. You’d have thought she was heading to China.

  Of course, I was so green with envy that somebody could have stuck me in a pot and sold me. I’d been trying to get Joe Riddley to take me somewhere exciting for years, and the idea that stick-in-the-mud Hubert was going instead galled me no end.

  They left on an incredible Thursday. The landscape was a symphony of gold, brown, and green. The sky was clear and blue. Daffodils were up and fattening for blossom. Hellebores were creating a show of cream and mauve bells. The breeze held only a slight reminder of winter. Robins were thick on the ground.

  Evelyn looked downright pretty in a new tailored green suit. Phyllis had persuaded her to get a short haircut that tamed her unruly locks and flattered her face, and had used a color on it that brought out the tawny color of her eyes. If I hadn’t known better, the way she was glowing, I’d have thought the woman was going on her honeymoon.

  With its usual winter capriciousness, the temperature plunged overnight from the midseventies to forty. A drizzle descended. My breath rose like smoke, and a damp chill assaulted my face when I stepped out Friday morning to get the paper. I paused to take a deep breath of the daphnes I’d planted by the walk, for the clusters of tiny pink trumpets were sending out an odor so sweet it was cloying. I wished I could dilute it and spread it all over town. Birds called back and forth, gossiping about the rain and the temperature, while moisture fell from the trees in a constant drip, drip, drip.

  The mercury continued to plummet. By noon, the thermometer outside our window read thirty-three. “You reckon the roads will ice?” I asked Joe Riddley as we prepared to go home for our midday dinner.

  “This is as cold as it’s supposed to get.” He shrugged into a parka, wrapped a scarf around his neck, and pulled gloves from his pocket. His joints stiffened if he didn’t bundle up.

  “We won’t do any business this afternoon,” I predicted.

  When we came back from dinner, we saw a swarm of taxidermists buzzing around the community center, but sure enough, our store was as dull as an abandoned hive. Around three, I looked up and grumbled, “Anybody with a lick of sense is holed up by the fire with a good book.”

  Joe Riddley put down his catalog. “You wanna mosey down and look at the convention exhibits?”

  “Are we allowed?”

  “Trevor said the exhibits are open to the public. He offered to show us around.”

  “He decided to go after all?”

  “I understand that both he and Robin have entered pieces in competition.”

  I reached for my pocketbook. “So why are we hanging around here?”

  “Thank you very much,” Bo squawked from the curtain rod.

  “Not you, buddy.” Joe Riddley stroked the scarlet breast with one forefinger. “I’d be afraid somebody might decide to stuff and mount you.” He lifted the macaw and set him on his desk, then littered the surface with nuts and seeds from a tin in his bottom drawer.

  I couldn’t help remembering what Evelyn had said about how Trevor looked at her dogs. “Not you, either,” I told Lulu, who was already at the door. “Stay.”

  She gave a yip of disappointment, but returned to her pillow.

  It seemed odd to see folks wandering around the exhibit hall in coats, but one thing the architect hadn’t put into the center was a coatroom, since we so seldom wear coats. Some folks carried them over their arms, while others—like me—wore them and sweltered. I saw several women in fur and fake fur. I hoped they wouldn’t get confused with the exhibits.

  Having seen Trevor’s shop, I thought I was prepared for a taxidermy convention, but I had no idea of the incredible things people could do to bring dead animals to life. At first I was put off by all that killing, but one earnest woman assured me, “A large percentage of the animals were killed for meat, and most of the others were struck down by disease or automobiles.” I chose to believe her.

  The largest space at the community center—the big room we used for things like the Golf Club dance—was filled with entries in various categories of competition: birds, fish, game heads, and complete animals in habitat tableaux. We saw a wolf that looked so real I expected him to leap at me any minute, and a hawk that surely would swoop after a rabbit when the sun went down. Heads of elk, deer, longhorn sheep, and even one African gazelle stared down from the walls. The most amazing exhibit to me was a mother bear with her cub. I heard that both had been found dead in the woods. They would spend the next several decades behind a silk bush, poking around a plastic log after artificial bugs.

  Trevor seemed to know everybody there. He was constantly having to stop and greet somebody, answer a question about the conference schedule, or assure them that he’d be repeating his workshop the next morning. Only people who knew him well would know he was subdued.

  During one of those conversations, Joe Riddley and I spoke to Selena and Maynard, who were also browsing the exhibits. “Heard from your daddy?” I asked.

  Maynard grinned. “Nope, and don’t expect to. That old dog!”

  We ran into Gusta, too, with Otis at her elbow. When she stepped aside to examine a scene depicting two ducks, I asked him privately, “Any idea yet what you all are going to do?”

  “I’m waiting on the Lord, Judge. All I can do is wait on the Lord.”

  I reminded the Lord that Otis didn’t have many earthly years left to wait.

  Trevor took his time in leading us around to Robin’s fox with the rabbit, and the fawn he’d mounted for Starr, in its glass case. Both sported first-place ribbons. When I commented on that, he jerked his head toward the fish display across the exhibit hall. “Didn’t do so well with Farrell’s bass, though. I entered the dang thing to get him off my back, but it only took a third. I was a bit off my stride when I painted it.”

  “You were preoccupied that day with showing me around.”

  “And other things.” He rested his hand on the glass case. “I’m glad I decided to show this, though. I think Starr would have liked for folks to see it. She loved fawns.”

  I was glad to hear him getting to the place where he could speak her name naturally. That was definite progress.

  Now that I thought about it, in the past several weeks, Trevor had seemed more at peace than he had since her death. Maybe Farrell had been right, for once. Maybe entering the competitions had been what Trevor needed to take his mind off his grief.

  Entering the competition had not helped Wylie forget his grievance, however. He stormed up as we were looking at Robin’s fox and snapped, “They didn’t give me a thing on my buck.”

  Trevor nodded. “I noticed that. One of the judges mentioned that the antlers were a trifle askew.”

  I looked in the direction where they were both looking—at a buck hanging on an exhibit panel. Its antlers were jaunty, like it’d been out drinking with its buddies all night—or maybe that was Wylie, before he attached them back to the head.

  “It’s as good as the rest of them,” Wylie protested. His eye lit on Robin’s fox and its first-place ribbon. “It’s certainly as good as that fox. I don’t see what’s so wonderful about that thing. Looks like something you’d put in a kid’s room, doesn’t it?”

  He was asking me. I personally wouldn’t put a stuffed animal in a child’s room, but I couldn’t think of a tactful way to say so in that crowd.

  Joe Riddley rescued me. He clapped Wylie on the back and said, “You’ve just started, son. Nobody wins a prize their first year in the business. Give yourself time. Next year you may get a first.”

  “Well, I don’t see what all the fuss is over Robin. She’s not so all-fired great.” But Wylie seemed a bit mollified as he wandered off in search of new ears for his complaints. Joe Riddley has always been good at smoothing folks down.

  Trevor watched Wylie go with a frown of disgust. “He could be
a fine taxidermist if he’d complain less about Robin’s work and concentrate on his own, but he won’t take instruction, gets touchy if you criticize a thing he does—he thinks he knows it all.”

  I’d seen that brand of arrogance before. My mama used to say, “Nobody is as stupid as somebody who won’t say ‘I don’t know.’” I have found it’s true in almost every realm of life.

  “Where’s Bradley this weekend?” Joe Riddley asked Trevor.

  “Ridd and Martha offered to keep him for me both nights and tomorrow, so I can socialize a bit, and Robin took him and the girls over to Atlanta today, to see the aquarium. She only agreed to register for the convention and enter her fox if I wouldn’t make her come. Crowds spook her.”

  “From the crowds we were in the only time we went to the aquarium, she’s likely to come home more spooked than if she’d come to the convention,” I informed him.

  He laughed. “Could be.”

  Somebody else called his name and motioned for him to come over and join them.

  “Go ahead,” Joe Riddley urged. “If it’s all right, we’ll look around a little more.”

  “Stay as long as you like.” With a farewell wave, Trevor strode through the crowd. Soon he was in the middle of a group of men who were laughing and carrying on. I was glad to see him joining in.

  Joe Riddley wanted to amble around the adjacent room, where the manufacturing exhibitors were. I peered in and saw it was full of knives, animal forms, eyes, and other paraphernalia used by taxidermists in their work. “I think I’ll go back and make one last trip around the exhibits,” I told him. “Just to be sure I’ve seen them all.”

  As I got back to Robin’s fox, a couple stood beside it in deep discussion. They looked younger than we were, but more life-worn. She was thin, with a lined face and anxious eyes. He was tall and gaunt, stoop-shouldered and gray, as if he carried a lot of burdens.

  The woman’s voice was low but hysterical. “Look at the eyes!”

  “Now, Mother.” The man put his hand on her arm, and she gave a quick, guilty look around the hall.

  “Can you see a sign of a seam?” she demanded in a lower voice.

  The man bent down to peer at the fox’s back. “Nope. It’s good work, I’ll give you that. But before you get excited, let’s see what we can find out.”

  I stepped up. “May I help you?” It seemed the hospitable thing to say.

  “We are wondering about the man who entered this fox, Robin Parker,” the man told me. “It’s a fine job of taxidermy.” He was trying to sound casual, but his voice wobbled. “Do you happen to know if he’s from Georgia?”

  “Robin is a woman,” I informed him. “She lives and works right here in Hopemore.”

  They exchanged a look that might have spoken volumes if I’d known the language.

  “Do you know her?” The woman eyes were fired up like those of a horse that knows it has to wait but is eager to bolt out of a gate. “We sure would like to meet her. She did a fine job on this.”

  “We’d be interested in buying, if she’d like to sell,” the man added.

  “I do know her, but she’s not here today. That’s her boss over there, the tall man with the—” I almost said “brown beard,” but quickly amended it to “gray beard. He entered the fawn.”

  They threw the fawn a quick, polite look, but it was the fox that had their full attention. The woman’s hand reached out to stroke it, but pulled back before she touched the fur. She was strung so tight, she almost strummed. The man put a hand on her shoulder. “Let’s go talk to him, Mother.” They made their way through the crowd.

  They had scarcely left when a man stopped by the fox and bent down to get a better look. What I saw best was penny-bright curls. When he stood, he gave me a startled look. I’m sure mine was equally startled. Why was that young soldier still in the area? Was he expecting to find his wife at a taxidermy convention? Or was he genuinely interested in taxidermy? He seemed pretty knowledgeable about the fox. “You know who did this?” he asked forcefully, examining its back and tail.

  “A local taxidermist. She’s good, isn’t she?”

  He bent down and examined the fox again. “She sure is. This thing is mighty near perfect. You know where I could find her? I’d like to talk to her about buying it.”

  “You may have to stand in line. The couple over there”—I nodded toward them—“are asking her boss the same thing this very minute.”

  “Then I’d better get over there.” He threaded his way through the crowd.

  I had no idea whether Robin would sell the fox, but she’d never struck me as the sentimental type, and if I were a taxidermist, I’d be glad to sell to folks who got that excited over my work. I didn’t know how much something a tableau like the fox and rabbit would bring, either, but if two bids were being offered, the price could go up. I hoped so. A single mom could generally use every penny she could get.

  I had seen enough dead animals. I headed to the next room to find Joe Riddley. He was examining with great interest what might have looked like a polar bear if I hadn’t known it was simply a bear form. “You thinking of ordering one of those?” I asked, staking my claim to the arm he used to reach for his wallet.

  “Thought I’d give it to you for your birthday. We could put it in the front yard to entertain the neighbors.”

  “As is, or are you planning on getting him covered with brown bear fur?”

  “I kinda like him like he is. Besides, it’s tricky, getting hold of bear fur without riling the bear.”

  “Maybe we ought to comparison shop before we make a final decision on my present. We might find something I’d like even better, like diamond earrings or a cruise to Hong Kong.”

  He shook off my hand and reached for his wallet. “You wanting me to buy this thing right here and now? If not, don’t start talking about cruises and diamonds.”

  “How about if I start talking about supper?” I pulled him toward the door. “We don’t want to miss the buffet.”

  The Hopemore Country Club had a seafood buffet every Friday night, and we made a point of eating light at noon to save room for it. Our son Walker, the club’s president that year, swore that a major topic at every board meeting was how much money they lost each week on Joe Riddley’s capacity for seafood and my own for dessert. We didn’t let him slow us down.

  As we headed toward our car, I saw the young soldier hurrying out of the building, his color high and his strides long. Was he trying to beat the couple to Robin, to buy her fox? If so, he’d better hurry. They were already backing out of the parking lot.

  17

  Of what happened that dreadful evening, I have no firsthand knowledge. Here is how I reconstruct events from later conversations and the Hopemore Statesman:

  Robin Parker and the children got back from Atlanta around six thirty, and she dropped Bradley off at Ridd’s. She and the girls ate at Hardee’s, and she took them home. She found a note on her door that would change her life.

  She called her brother and left him a message to come keep her children; then she got the girls ready for bed and told them Uncle Billy would be there soon. She dressed, paying special attention to her clothes, and left sometime after eight.

  Trevor Knight had been invited by friends to join them for dinner, but he had an out-of-town appointment late that afternoon. He suggested he drop by his friends’ room after he got back and they could go out for drinks. Bridges were icy, so he drove slower than usual. Around nine, he pulled into the motel parking lot.

  As he got out of his car, he saw Dan and Kaye Poynter, the couple who had earlier been asking about Robin Parker’s fox. “We never expected to see our breath in central Georgia,” Kaye said as a greeting.

  They moseyed together toward the right-hand motel elevator.

  “Every place in town was packed, so we drove out to the Candlelight Inn by the river,” Kaye continued. “It’s real nice, and the food was delicious.”

  “It is a nice place,” Trevor ag
reed. “Did you ever find Robin, to ask if she’ll sell her fox?”

  Dan answered as he took Kaye’s elbow to help her up the curb. “No. We went by her house on our way to dinner, but there was nobody home.”

  “She was probably late getting back from Atlanta, and most likely took the girls out to eat afterwards. She’s not much on cooking after a long day.”

  “We thought we’d go freshen up a bit, and try again.” Kaye’s voice grew anxious. “You don’t think it’s too late, do you?”

  Trevor checked his watch. “My guess is she’s getting the girls to bed around now. Shall I call her and see—and tell her to expect you?” He pulled out his cell phone, but Kaye put out a hand to stop him.

  “Don’t bother. We’ll drive out that way in a few minutes and see if she has any lights on. If not, we’ll check again tomorrow.”

  At the elevator, Trevor stepped back to let them go first. Dan motioned for him to go ahead of them, but Trevor insisted. They were guests in town. Dan pressed the button and the door opened.

  Inside, a woman lay on the floor, her head bent at an unnatural angle. She wore a brown mink coat. A mass of curls covered her face.

  Dan and Trevor both stepped forward, but Dan reached her first. He dropped to his knees to check for a pulse. “He works with our local emergency management team,” Kaye said, her eyes anxious. “He knows CPR.”

  The woman’s coat hung open, revealing a red dress and a stunning figure. Trevor did not recognize her, but he could not see her face.

  Dan looked up at the others. “She’s dead.” He climbed unsteadily to his feet and stepped back, his face pale.

  Kaye darted into the elevator and brushed the hair back from the woman’s face and neck. Blue eyes stared unseeing at the elevator ceiling. Before Trevor could remonstrate that they must not touch anything, she had flung herself across the soft fur coat. “It’s Bobbie! Oh, Dan, it’s Bobbie! Look at her neck! And that’s the coat…”

  Dan gave a moan, clutched at his chest, and crumpled to the pavement. Kaye fainted across the dead woman’s torso.