by Fran Rizer
What should I do? I didn’t want to continue walking with Ned Shives, but I didn’t want him to see me go into the place where a body had been found on the porch. Some people are creepy. Otis and Odell have told me about disturbed people who have bizarre attraction to the deceased, and I’ve read enough mysteries and watched enough on television to know that some weirdos have peculiar interests in crimes and death, even collect mementos associated with them.
As I considered how to get myself away from the man without letting him know my connection with where Amber Buchanan’s body was found, Wayne’s Jade County Sheriff’s Department cruiser drove past us in the opposite direction and pulled over to a stop. The sheriff stepped out of his car and walked toward us. Ned said, “Nice to meet you, Callie. I’ll see you later,” and continued walking. Big Boy lay down and rolled over for Wayne to scratch his belly. I noticed that smudges of blood had seeped through the dog’s bandage.
“Who’s your friend?” Wayne asked as he gently rubbed Big Boy’s abdomen, making it a point to avoid the bandaged area.
“Some character who wanted to know if I could tell him where Amber Buchanan’s body was found.”
Big Boy stood, turned around, and began walking toward my apartment.
“Is that all you know about him?” Wayne asked and followed Big Boy.
“If you want to know more, call Rick Higgins,” I offered. “I saw that man in Rizzie’s restaurant yesterday and overheard him tell the waitress that he’d been hired by a pig farmer who was going to dinner and a bluegrass jam.”
“I assume Rick is what you call Pork Chop.”
“Yes, I like him a lot, and I don’t want to make fun of him by calling him Pork Chop.”
“Did you know Pork Chop himself is who started that nickname?”
“No, I figured it had to do with his appetite and raising pigs.”
“Pork Chop was named for his alcoholic uncle Richard. When Pork Chop’s daddy was injured in a farm accident, he became addicted to prescription painkillers. His brother Richard had been in the Army and would go to the VA doctors and get free prescription narcotics. He sold them to Pork Chop’s father at ridiculous street prices, and Mr. Higgins wound up losing over half of their farm acreage. I understand that when Richard died, Pork Chop went to the funeral and claims he wanted to laugh when he looked in the casket. Pork Chop Higgins is a kindhearted man, but I’ve heard him say the only person he’s ever hated was his uncle Richard. He chose to be called Pork Chop rather than by the name his father gave him.”
“Whew! I had no idea! I thought I was showing him respect by not calling him Pork Chop.”
“Trust me. He’d rather be called Pork Chop.”
“That explains why when Billy Wayne and Misty wanted to name their baby after Pork Chop, he told them to use his middle name, Edward. You might want to call Pork Chop and ask him about the man he hired yesterday morning before he went to Daddy’s. He’ll know more about him than I do.”
“I will. You didn’t tell him Amber Buchanan’s body was left on your porch, did you?”
“No. I didn’t want him questioning me about finding the body.”
“Did you tell him your name?”
“Yes.”
“I wish you hadn’t. Your name was in the newspaper article about Amber’s death.”
Dalmation and a hundred and one dalmations!
The sheriff drove away. Big Boy and I went indoors immediately.
• • •
Decisions. Decisions. Should I call Big Boy’s usual vet, the one who removed his tumor, or should I call Dr. Kirk at the animal emergency clinic? I finally decided to call Dr. Kirk rather than call our regular veterinarian and have to explain everything that had happened since she released Big Boy. It wasn’t that I doubted her professionally. She’s well qualified and highly respected. She’d taken care of my dog since he was a puppy, but she wasn’t the one who’d be most up-to-date with what might be happening.
Dr. Kirk said, “The infection that developed would cause some seepage of blood, but that should clear up with the antibiotics we gave your dog in his IV and the pills you’re to give him each day. Watch the bandage and if it becomes bloody instead of just showing some seepage, bring the dog back to me.”
In a way, I wished I’d gone by Rizzie’s and picked up something to eat or called Daddy and invited myself to get a plate of leftovers, but I didn’t want to leave Big Boy when he might begin bleeding again nor on the first day he was home from the doggie hospital. I filled Big Boy’s dish with his preferred Kibbles ‘n Bits, picked out his favorite red pieces, and placed them at the top of the bowl. For myself, I warmed a can of chicken noodle soup I found in the back of the cabinet.
Not finding a book I wanted to read again at the moment, I put my TV table between the couch and the television—where better?—sat on the sofa and pressed the power button on my remote control.
The program was a crime show about a man who’d committed a murder, moved, and created a whole new life under a new name. He married, though not divorced from the wife in his previous life, and even had another family. What caught my attention were the names. The man’s moniker in his new life was very similar to his original name. The commentator noted that this is frequently true. Criminals will change their names, but not their initials.
I remembered a show I saw long ago about a woman who’d scammed people out of money and savings in not just many states, but also several countries. Every pseudonym had the same initials.
Like that feeling I’d had when walking Big Boy with that man by my side whistling “Winter Wonderland,” something tickled my mind. The feeling was similar to when I try to remember the name of a person or a movie and it’s “right on the tip of my tongue,” but eludes my brain. Taking a clue from my Sue Grafton books where Kinsey Millhone sometimes writes out her facts in search of clues, I moved to my computer and keyed in:
Ned Shives is same initials as Norman Spires
Wants to see where Amber Buchanan’s body was found
May have known who I was before approaching me
Seemed shifty
Appeared to be lying
Should have been working for Pork Chop
Criminals frequently return to the scenes of their crimes
Whistles
My brain slid into gear as I wrote the last word. Whistles? Someone mentioned whistling to me not long before. Click, click, click. My brain jumped into fourth gear. I sprang up and exclaimed Shih tzu! Big Boy came running. First and last notes: Ned Shives whistles. N. S. Same initials as Norman Spires. Who’d mentioned whistling? Naomi Spires. She’d said Norman whistled all the time and that he whistled beautifully.
I couldn’t stand still as I pulled my cell phone from my bra and speed-dialed Wayne Harmon. I almost tripped over Big Boy as I paced around the room waiting for the sheriff to answer.
Finally, I heard the words: “Callie, do you need me?”
“No!” My voice squeaked far louder than I meant for it to. “You need me. I think that the man who came to check out where Amber Buchanan was found is Norman Spires.”
“Why?”
“Because the name he gave me has the same initials and he whistled like Naomi Spires told me Norman does. Also, sometimes criminals return to the scene of their crime.”
“Your porch was a secondary scene. The site where Amber Buchanan was killed is the primary scene and that wasn’t at your place.”
“I still think he was back here to revisit where he dumped her body. He saw me, and wanted to pick me for information.”
“What else?”
“Female intuition.”
“I told Odell that I’d be glad to bring the sliders and drinks to Middleton’s. I know they’ve served catered refreshments there before, but he said Mrs. Corley wants a drive-through because she read about something like that in one of those tabloids they sell at the grocery store.” Rizzie was busy draping cloth over a long table in front of Gee Three while Tyrone brought
out equipment and coolers.
A detour by the grill on the way to work to be sure Otis and Odell had completed the arrangements with Rizzie had seemed like a good idea, but it proved to be totally unnecessary. They were setting up before nine a.m., and the projected arrival of the funeral procession was at eleven forty-five a.m.
“I’m leaving Tyrone and some employees here to take care of business until I get back. I want to speak to Mrs. Corley before the service, so I’ll be over there as soon as I change clothes.” Rizzie and I both looked down at the jeans and Gee Three sweatshirt she wore—definitely not suitable for a visitation or funeral, though in these parts, sometimes people show up dressed even less appropriately.
“Okay, I’ll see you there,” I answered and turned to go back to the Mustang.
“Wait, how’s Big Boy?”
“He seemed fine this morning. I took him for a walk and left him home watching TV.”
“Doing what?”
“He likes television, so I leave it on for him now when I go off. He likes the animal channel with the sound turned down.” I waved goodbye to the Profits and took off for Middleton’s.
• • •
Otis and Odell were both in the chapel when I arrived. Identical twins or not, it’s hard to believe they once looked so much alike that people could only tell them apart by the fact that one always wore black suits and the other always wore midnight blue.
Several part-timers were carrying floral tributes from the florists’ receiving room to the chapel. If everyone who’d sent flowers showed up for the service, the chapel would be full, and we might have to set folding chairs in the aisles.
My mind bounced back to the first time I’d seen Patsy Corley when her father, June Bug Corley, was buried. Patsy’s mother had insisted on very specific clothing and grooming for her deceased husband, allowed the family to see June Bug, and then had him cremated with no memorial service. Everyone in town had known June Bug, who ran a nightclub where several generations had partied. Maybe the wreaths, baskets, and pot plants were from people who’d known Patsy’s father and would have sent memorials to his service if there had been one. Then again, Patsy had worked in the club and probably knew most of the folks her daddy had known.
By ten o’clock, Middleton’s was packed with locals. I caught a glimpse of Rizzie across the room. She’d changed into a long black outfit that I’d love to have for work and even though I think of black as work clothes, her dress was such a knock-out that I would have worn it on a dinner date—if Dean called again or Patel showed up in town.
I watched Rizzie go through the receiving line and give Mrs. Corley and all her kinfolk hugs. I’m sure Patsy’s brothers enjoyed Rizzie’s tight embraces because they squeezed back, smashing her more than ample bosom.
Eager to talk to Wayne Harmon when I saw him come in, I made a beeline over to his side of the room and intercepted him.
“Did you arrest Norman Spires?” I asked.
“No, we have nothing to arrest him for yet.”
“What? Don’t you think he killed Amber Buchanan?”
“I believe he did, but there’s no direct evidence until I can question him and hope I get him to confess.”
“You didn’t even interrogate him?” I’m not sure if my expression was more surprise or outrage.
“No, because he left Pork Chop’s yesterday morning. Said the smells of pig farming didn’t suit him or his sinuses. I showed Pork Chop a mug shot though, and you were right. The man hired as Ned Shives is Norman Spires. I want you to look at it, too, and confirm this is the man who was snooping over on Oak Street.” The sheriff pulled out his wallet and unfolded a piece of paper. He handed it over, and I immediately recognized the photo as the man who’d walked part of the way ’round the block with me.
“What happens now?” I asked.
“I attend this funeral and then go back to work. Detective Robinson is investigating some possibilities, but I knew both Patsy and Snake. I’m here out of respect for the Corleys.” He looked at his watch. “Can you slip out of here for a few minutes?”
“I’m working, but if you only need a few minutes, I suppose anyone who misses me will assume I’ve gone to the ladies’ room. What do you want?”
“I want to take a look at Amber Buchanan’s body. Isn’t it here until I find out who can legally claim her?”
• • •
Standing beside Amber Buchanan’s corpse on the stretcher we’d pulled from the drawer-like compartment of what we call the cooler, I was again impressed with the work that the Middletons and I do. When I’d opened the body bag, I immediately remembered that Ms. Buchanan’s body hadn’t been prepped. Her skin was not the pinkish flesh tone I was used to working on after embalming fluid not only stopped deterioration but also tinted skin to a more natural flesh tone than the dark shades of death. Her eyes and mouth were both slightly open. Before I work on restoring beauty to loved ones, Otis or Odell secure eyelids closed and the lips into a slight smile.
Don’t get me wrong. Amber Buchanan was not the horror that movies and television choose to show dead people. She just looked like most bodies did when I’d gone on pickup calls for Middleton’s.
“Can you tip her head back a little bit?” the sheriff asked.
“Let me glove up first.” I pulled on a pair of gloves from the dispenser on the wall and gently angled Ms. Buchanan’s head. Wayne leaned in close, but not quite near enough to touch her.
“What do these look like to you?” he asked and pointed to darker spots of skin on the obvious strangulation marks around the neck. “The autopsy report states there are contusions or discolorations in a regular configuration on the ligature pattern around her neck. What do you think?”
“What I see doesn’t involve all those long words.” I leaned closer and almost bumped heads with the sheriff. “I see Christmas lights.”
“What?”
“It looks to me like she was strangled with a string of Christmas lights—not those tiny ones most people use on inside trees, but the slightly larger bulbs some folks use outside. Look.” I pointed to the spots. “They’re about four inches apart and go all the way around. If the lights had been on for a while, the bulbs would have made those marks. A contusion is another word for a bruise, but those look like slight burns to me.”
Wayne eyes lit up. “I believe you’re right, and if you are, we know where the primary murder scene is, and we’ve walked all over it.”
“Her front porch?” I asked.
“You’ve got it. She wasn’t taken from her house and killed. She was murdered right there on her porch. That’s why one end of the string of lights over the door was hanging loose.”
“That explains why someone who kept her house so neat inside would have left those candy canes scattered all over.”
“Zip it up.” For just a moment I thought Wayne was being rude and telling me to hush, but he motioned toward the body bag. “Let’s get back to the visitation. I’ll call Detective Robinson and tell him what we think. He’ll take care of a closer examination of that porch.”
Wayne received an emergency call and didn’t go back into the chapel, but I did. Everything went well until Snake Rodgers’s brother Gordon walked in.
Could have heard a pin drop? A deaf man could have heard a tear drop fall in that silence. With a determined manner, head held high, Gordon Rodgers moved through the crowd to the pulpit at the front behind the casket. He picked up the microphone and flipped the switch to turn it on.
I’ve been to weddings and funerals where fights erupt. It’s always tragic for something like that to happen at what should be a solemn affair, but it wouldn’t be the first time. I saw that Otis, Odell, and the part-timers all began moving quietly toward the podium.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the voice rang out loud and clear. “For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Gordon Rodgers. Until a few days ago, my brother lived with Patsy Corley here, God rest her soul.” He gestured toward the casket. “I�
�ve heard rumors around this town that the Rodgers and the Corleys are going to have a feud like the Hatfields and McCoys or that one of my brothers is going to challenge one of Patsy’s brothers to a duel.” He stopped and looked around, as close to eye to eye as was possible in that crowded room.
“Well, I’m here to tell you that’s not what the Rodgers family wants. None of us could understand why my brother and Patsy stayed together, but they must have cared about each other, no matter how much they fussed and yelled all the time. Everybody knew the two of them were a catastrophe waiting to happen. If Patsy hadn’t pulled the trigger, sooner or later, my brother would have done it. Now two families are grieving about losing kinfolks they loved. Two mothers mourning the loss of their children. My mama is out in the car. She wants to come in and pay her respects to Mrs. Corley and the Corley family, but I told her I’d better check first to see if it would be all right.”
Mrs. Corley rose from the chair she’d been sitting in and walked to the podium. She was a tiny woman but strong and determined. Dalmation! I hoped she wasn’t going up there to slap Gordon Rodgers. No need to fear. She reached up and put her arms around Gordon in a motherly hug. Then she took the microphone from him, held it to her mouth, and said, “You go out there and tell your mama to come on in. This tragedy is enough of a disaster for both our families without any hate starting up.”
Applause broke out. The pastor stepped forward and called for blessings on everyone who was there.
Mrs. Corley looked down and then added, “I know it’s about time for the service, but I’d like to wait a few minutes for Mrs. Rodgers to come in and set beside me. We’ll share our grief over losing our children.”
