Fran Rizer - Callie Parrish 06 - A Corpse Under the Christmas Tree

by Fran Rizer

  When we pulled into Hoyt’s Indoor Shooting Range’s parking lot, Frankie and I locked our holsters, guns, and ammunition in the truck and joined a group of people just inside the door. I silently counted them—one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine. I thought they had to have ten. Then I realized that I was number ten. Duh.

  I was surprised to see Walter Corley in the group. I waved at him. He waved back and then stepped over to where Frankie and I stood.

  “Guess you might think it’s a little unusual for me to be here taking this class the day before my sister’s funeral, but I’d signed up before any of that happened. It’s probably a good idea anyway. I keep wondering if Snake’s family is going to come after any of us Corleys since Patsy killed him.”

  “I wouldn’t think so,” I answered. “It’s not like Patsy shot Snake and she’s out dancing and having a good time now. She’s dead, too.”

  “Yeah, it’s hard to believe she’s gone forever. Maw was so afraid we was gonna have to have a closed casket, but you fixed Patsy up fine.”

  “Otis and Odell always do their best.”

  “Her pink suit looked fine, too. Maw let me pick out what Patsy would wear, but, of course, when I picked it, we didn’t know anyone would get to see her.”

  “You did a good job. The outfit’s very pretty on her.”

  The instructor called us into a classroom. I was kind of glad that Walter didn’t sit near Frankie and me. I didn’t want to think about the reconstruction of his sister’s head anymore. In fact, I’d like to think about it less. Classes filled the morning and ended with a written test. As we finished our answer sheets, we dropped them off with the teacher and went back into the lobby where those who’d ordered them picked up box lunches. Some folks had brought their own meals, and I was envious of those with fried chicken when I opened the box and found we had an apple, a bag of baked chips, and a sliced turkey sandwich. I like turkey okay, but we’d just eaten a whole lot of it at Christmas. I wondered if these sandwiches were made out of somebody’s Christmas leftovers.

  The afternoon raced by like Dale Earnhardt on a Nascar track. First, we received our scores on the written test. Only one person had failed and couldn’t continue with the course. Everyone went to their vehicles and returned with weapons. The instructor inspected each gun and ammunition before we were allowed back into the facility. Individual firing evaluations followed range demonstrations and instruction. Both Frankie and I passed. I declined the offer of help with the CWP application. I spend a lot of time at work completing applications for death certificates and filling out insurance forms, and I didn’t really think I cared to spend fifty dollars to actually get a permit anyway.

  I saw Walter Corley across the lot as Frankie and I walked to the van. Walter speed-walked over to me.

  “Callie,” he said, “was Jeff Morgan’s funeral handled by Middleton’s?”

  “Yes, it was last Saturday, the day it snowed.”

  “I don’t read the newspapers much, and I didn’t know about it until yesterday. That’s sad that Jeff and Patsy died so close together.”

  “Were they connected in some way?”

  “Yes, Jeff dated Patsy while he dated Amber Clark. Patsy was heartbroken when she found out she wasn’t the only one he was seeing then.”

  “You know Amber’s dead, too, don’t you?”

  “My sister Penny told me she was found dead on your front porch. Reckon whoever killed her put her there so you’d see that she got to the funeral home?”

  “I don’t know why she was on my porch. So Jeff dated both of them at the same time?”

  “Yes, but I don’t know if Amber knew about Patsy. I doubt my sister even knew Jeff Morgan had died. That business with Jeff was years ago, and, irregardless of how it turned out, Patsy was better off not to get tied up with Jeff Morgan. He drank too much, and me and my sisters and brothers had enough of that from Paw.”

  “I guess so,” I said and cringed at his use of the non-word irregardless.

  I stuck my foot in my mouth big time with my next question. “How did Patsy and Snake get along?” The words were barely out of my mouth before I realized what a ridiculous question that was. She shot the man, killed him. That sure didn’t mean they had a peaceful, loving relationship.

  “They fought all the time. I don’t mean like hitting each other, but fussed and argued about everything. Patsy was always a little round, but she was a pretty woman with a sweet personality. Back when Paw had the club open, Patsy worked there on weekends and met tons of men. She dated a lot of them. I don’t know for sure if she and Snake hooked up back then and got back together after her divorce or ran into each other when she was here visiting and started something new. After they began staying together, I hated to go to family dinners and reunions because no matter where they were, they’d wind up screaming at each other. To be honest wid’ja, I wasn’t surprised one of them murdered the other. I just never figured Patsy would kill him. I thought Snake would get fed up with the hollering and do something to my sister one day. I used to worry about that sometimes.”

  I said what I’ve been trained to say: “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “You people at Middleton’s did a good job. Maw was really afraid there was no way to fix Patsy decent enough to be seen.”

  “We always try. No matter how much somebody talks about closure, there’s no real closure when someone dies a violent death, but Otis and Odell feel strongly that seeing their loved ones looking peaceful helps survivors through the ordeal.” I sounded like a grief brochure. Probably because I’d learned that from one of them.

  Frankie interrupted with, “We’ve gotta go. Pa’s expecting us to eat leftovers from yesterday tonight.”

  Normally, I’d object when one of my brothers intruded when I was talking, but I was glad Frankie’s interruption gave me an excuse to leave Walter. Being with him made me so sad.

  I called the animal ER as we left Hoyt’s and asked about Big Boy.

  “He’s much better. Dr. Kirk said you can pick him up whenever you want.”

  Now it was my turn to plead. “Come on, Frankie, I gave you my day off. Take me to Beaufort to pick up Big Boy. He’ll be more comfortable in this van than in my car.”

  “I told you Pa wants us home by six to eat leftovers before he goes over to Miss Lettie’s house.”

  “Back to Miss Lettie’s?”

  “Yep, back to Miss Lettie’s.”

  “Frankie, that woman’s mentally disturbed, and I don’t understand how she got that way in these few days since her son’s death. I feel sorry for her, but Daddy doesn’t need to get mixed up with Miss Lettie.”

  “Fine, you tell Pa that. He doesn’t listen to me or Mike.”

  We both knew Daddy wouldn’t listen to me either.

  “Speaking of getting involved, has Jane been seeing anyone since we broke up?” I’d known Frankie would ask me that sooner or later.

  “It’s not fair for you to ask me that, and if she was, I don’t know that I’d tell you, but the answer is no. She hasn’t dated anyone since you moved out.” I faked a yawn to show him I wasn’t interested in pursuing that conversation.

  “I didn’t move out. She threw me out.” He blinked several times. Good grief! Was my brother going to burst into tears?

  “Same difference,” I said and yawned even bigger.

  “Is she still working that phone job?” He faked a yawn back at me. I didn’t know what that was supposed to show, maybe to diminish how important that question was to him.

  “She’s still Roxanne.” My big sister impulses took over even though I’m younger than Frankie, and I began to lecture. “You’re living with Daddy and you occasionally pick up day work here and there. Jane can’t do that. Don’t you remember all the times she tried to get work and no one would hire her because she’s blind? Don’t you remember the times she got jobs and lost them because she had problems getting to and from work? Roxanne pays the bills and keeps Jane in the apart
ment, safe and sound.”

  “I worry that some kook she talks to will come looking for her.”

  “She assures me that the Roxanne phone is in the name of the company she works for and can’t be traced to our building. If you’re serious about making up with her, you need to back off about Roxanne until you have a job that will support the two of you.”

  “I understand a phone job has advantages for her, but I’d rather she do surveys or be a telemarketer, something like that.”

  Uncontrollable laughter gushed out of me. “She is a telemarketer,” I protested. “You just don’t like what she’s selling.”

  “Oh, I like what she’s selling all right. I just don’t want her selling what she gives me for free.”

  I wanted to hit him, but he was driving and besides, I’m too old to keep swatting my brothers when they make me mad.

  Instead I screamed, “How dare you insinuate that Jane does anything wrong! Roxanne talks on the telephone. That’s all. What people do while she talks to them is nobody’s business.”

  I’d been so involved in our conversation that I hadn’t been paying a lot of attention to where Frankie had driven until he pulled into Dr. Kirk’s animal ER and let me out at the door.

  “Thanks!” I gushed in a pseudo-Southern magnolia voice, hopped out of the van, and ran inside. There was no one behind the desk, but several people sat in the waiting room, including a man and a little girl with a gigantic, absolutely colossal, light brown dog with wide-set eyes and a wrinkled forehead. Long ropes of slobber dangled from its jowls. I’m nosier than I am shy, so I asked, “What kind of dog is that?”

  “He’s an English Mastiff,” the man said and stroked the huge dog’s back. “He weighs over three hundred pounds and is far from the largest English Mastiff on record.”

  “He’s my dog,” the child said. “His name is Duke. He likes to play. Watch.” She reached into a Dora the Explorer bag beside her and pulled out a fuzzy, stuffed Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer. She held it out toward Duke, almost poked it at him. When she squeezed the toy’s sides, its nose blinked. Duke moved his head closer to her and licked the toy.

  “Miss Parrish, good to see you,” the receptionist said when she came back to her desk. She took a large medicine container from the shelf and handed it to me. “This is an antibiotic the doctor wants you to give the dog one each morning and one at night.” I opened the cap and looked at the capsules. They were humongous.

  “Excuse me,” Frankie said when he stepped inside, “may I use the restroom?”

  “Certainly,” the receptionist said and pointed toward a door behind her desk. She turned back to me. “I’ll get your dog, be right back.”

  She didn’t lie. She returned in no time with Big Boy on a leash. He looked at me and I swear, he grinned. I know some people don’t believe dogs have facial expressions, but mine does. Sometimes he even rolls his eyes.

  Just then, Big Boy saw Duke. He stiffened and barked angrily. If I hadn’t been holding the leash tight enough to restrain him, he would have attacked the larger dog. As I apologized, Big Boy snarled and pulled against the leash, trying to get to Duke. I looked around for Frankie. I wanted to get out of there, but I didn’t know where he’d parked the van.

  “You can bring Duke back now,” the receptionist told the man.

  “I don’t want to see the doctor give Duke a shot,” the little girl said.

  “You can wait for me here then,” the man told her and took the dog through the door.

  I restrained Big Boy close to me and sat down waiting for Frankie to come out of the restroom.

  “I’m sorry my dog acted like that,” I told the child.

  The little girl brought the toy Rudolph around and thrust it at Big Boy just the way she had pushed it toward her own dog.

  Big Boy went bonkers. He screamed. Yes, he did. It wasn’t a bark nor a howl. It was a terrified yelp as my dog tried desperately to climb into my lap. Frankie hooted a long, loud, snorting guffaw. I hadn’t even noticed his return from the restroom. The little girl snickered a high-pitched, joyful giggle. I yanked as much of Big Boy as possible up onto my lap and rubbed his head. The child put the stuffed animal back into her Dora the Explorer bag, but she still laughed softly. Frankie gently lowered Big Boy from my lap and led him outdoors by the leash.

  The past few minutes must have really upset Big Boy because the minute we cleared out of the vet’s office, he squatted like he always did to relieve himself. My dog was over a year old and had never lifted his leg. He always hunkered down like a girl dog.

  I can’t say Big Boy stopped mid-stream because he hadn’t begun yet, just assumed his usual position. He crouched there a moment, then stood, legs fully extended.

  “What’s he doing now?” Frankie demanded.

  I couldn’t answer because it was my turn to laugh, and I couldn’t stop. Big Boy hiked his leg like a boy dog and shot a sizable stream directly onto my brother’s leg.

  Frankie didn’t say a word to me or Big Boy all the way back to St. Mary. He let us out at my apartment without asking to go in or inviting us to eat leftovers at Daddy’s. My brother was not just pissed on, he was pissed off.

  • • •

  Big Boy had learned to lift his leg like a male dog, but other than that, he was back to normal. He brought his leash to me from the front door knob where I’d put it and nudged his nose into the book I was reading.

  “Want a walk?” I asked and clipped the leash to his collar.

  The sky had clouded over between the time we reached home and went for the walk. I’m not much on meteorology and couldn’t tell what kind of clouds they were. I wondered if we were going to get a little more snow or rain. I hoped not. Especially not the following day—the day of Patsy Corley’s funeral. Sure, there’s rain on lots of funerals, and Middleton’s provides big, expensive umbrellas when that happens, but I really hoped the day would be bright and sunny for the services of the girl I now felt guilty for thinking of as Fatsy Patsy a few years back.

  I was hoping we’d be back from our jaunt around the block before the rain or snow began when a tall man approached me. His pulled-up hoodie shadowed his face, and I didn’t recognize him at first.

  “Excuse me,” he said in a low voice, “can you tell me if this is Oak Street?”

  “Yes, I can, and it is.” Big Boy and I continued walking, and the man fell into step with us.

  “Looks like rain.” The man looked up at the sky, and his face became more visible. He was the fellow I’d seen in Gee Three the day before, the one who’d said he was working for a pig farmer whom I’d assumed was Pork Chop.

  “Sure does. Hope it’s not snow again. This whole town grinds to a screeching halt when it snows.” Big Boy had decided to trot, and the man and I began jogging to keep up with the dog.

  “Won’t matter to me. I’m headed out of town anyway, but before I go, I wanted to see where they found that Buchanan woman on Christmas Day. I read about it in the newspaper and want to see where it happened. Do you know which house it is?”

  Coincidence or did this man know I lived where the body had been found? The sheriff tells me that he doesn’t believe in coincidence. I decided to ask a few questions of my own.

  “Yes, it’s in the block behind us, the building with the big Christmas tree on the porch.”

  “Are you going back that way?”

  “We’ll pass it again. I usually walk Big Boy around the block a few times.”

  “Mind if I walk with you?”

  I wanted to say, “Yes, I mind. I don’t like a stranger walking with me uninvited and if Pork Chop hired you and was going to start feeding you today, why aren’t you at work?” That’s what I wanted to say, but the curious part of me thought I might get better answers by not asking those questions directly.

  Catch more flies with honey than a fly swatter. My daddy used to say that, and I guess the bottom line is that I tend to believe the things Daddy told me when I was a little girl.

&nb
sp; “My name’s Callie—Callie Parrish.” I transferred the leash from my right hand to my left and reached out for a handshake.

  “Ned—Ned Shives.” His handshake was firm, too firm, and the squeeze was tight enough to hurt my fingers.

  “Good-looking dog you’ve got.” Ned attempted a smile, but it was more of a smirk, the self-satisfied sneer of a liar. I learned that from watching a body language expert on HLN television. Sometimes liars have a slight leer when they lie. What had the man lied about? Big Boy is not just a good-looking dog. He’s a beautiful animal.

  Before I’d had time to think that through, Big Boy slowed down and stepped off the sidewalk to a grassy area. He squatted. Dalmation! He’s going to tee tee like a girl again. I was wrong. As my students used to say, he had to poop, make a doo-doo. I waited for Big Boy to finish his business, and Ned stopped beside me. As we stood there, Wayne Harmon drove by in a squad car and waved. I raised my hand in reply. Ned turned his head toward me and began talking animatedly about dogs, describing some hound he’d had when he was a boy. As soon as the sheriff had passed, he finished the story and asked, “Did you know that Buchanan woman?”

  “No. I’d never met her, but my brother went to school with her.”

  “Got any idea why someone would want to kill her?”

  “No. I heard she’d had an argument with someone not long before Christmas, but I don’t know any details.” I used my plastic bag to pick up Big Boy’s deposit and drop it into another bag.

  “I understand they’re looking to talk to that man. I believe his name is Norman Spires.” Ned said. “But I don’t see why they assume someone would kill a woman just because he shoved her.”

  “I don’t know.” I didn’t want to confirm or deny anything the man said. Big Boy bounded back to the sidewalk and took off at a brisk pace. We followed him.

  “That’s the problem,” Ned continued. “Any time somebody gets into trouble for one thing, the law wants to blame everything on them.”

  I didn’t answer, which was just as well because the man began whistling. He whistled an intricate, beautiful version of “Winter Wonderland,” as we walked on around the block and arrived in front of my apartment. Something about his whistle nudged my mind, but I didn’t have a real thought about it. It bothered me, but I wasn’t sure why. The man didn’t seem threatening in any way, but a spine-chilling eerie feeling crept over me. It certainly wasn’t caused by his whistling. It was exquisite.