Casket Case (22 page)

Otis was setting up tables in the back of the room for the caterer, who was new to me. I saw her bringing in boxes and boxes, stacking them on the floor in front of the tables. This lady was barely five feet tall and not over a hundred pounds max. Her auburn hair was wrapped and pinned up on the back of her head in a way that made my bun at the nape of my neck look anemic.

“Callie,” Otis called. I walked over to them.

“This is Phyllis Counts with Counts Cookies and Catering. She’ll be setting up refreshments for the Dawkins family.” He turned to the petite lady and said, “Mrs. Counts, this is Callie Parrish. She can assist you in any way you wish.”

“I’ll take you up on that,” she said, and her voice was twice as big as her body. Not loud, just commanding, yet still feminine. “I hired a couple of teenagers to assist me, and they haven’t shown up. I do all my baking myself, but I could use some help setting up.”

“What should I do first?” I asked. “Is there more to bring in?”

“Oh, yes, there’s a lot more.”

I followed her out to her van. The lettering, “Counts Cookies and Catering,” was surrounded with so many drawings of cookies that the vehicle looked polka-dotted. We hauled boxes inside for what seemed like forever, but probably wasn’t over fifteen minutes.

Mrs. Counts spread the tables with pale green cloths, then began arranging silver and cut-glass trays on them. I helped. When she opened the first box that actually contained food, I almost passed out. The cookies smelled better than anything I’ve ever eaten. I realized I hadn’t had lunch. The woman looked at me.

“Would you like a sample?” she asked.

“Definitely, but they all look so good, I don’t know which to try.”

She held a tray out to me with cookies rolled in confectioners’ sugar. “Try this,” she said. “These are my son’s favorite.”

It was the best cookie I’d ever put into my mouth. I reached for another one. The kind, but authoritative, voice said, “Not now. Later. And if there are any left over, I’ll give you some to take home.” She laughed. “And I won’t charge the Dawkins family for what I give you either.”

By the time Otis had the silver urn of coffee made, Mrs. Counts and I had the tables spread with gorgeous trays of cookies, immaculately arranged in concentric circles. Otis looked over everything approvingly and set up the silver punch bowl set. Mrs. Counts filled it with a beverage just slightly darker green than the pale cloths.

Odell arrived just as we finished putting the empty boxes out of the way in the kitchen area. He smiled at the display of food and reached for a cookie. “Oh, no,” Mrs. Counts said, “not until one o’clock.” I took Odell into the kitchen and snitched a cookie for him from a backup box that was there.

Roselle Dawkins showed up just before one o’clock with a whole gaggle of relatives from Georgia. Funerals in their part of Georgia must still be formal occasions. All the men wore suits, and the women were in brown, navy, and black. Roselle wore a simple black crepe dress that reached her ankles. A black hat with a veil, black gloves, black stockings, and black patent leather shoes completed her ensemble. Only the white tissues clutched in her hand varied from her black monochrome. I’d bet that if the Kmart sold black Kleenex, Roselle would have been carrying them.

The salon was packed. Daddy, Jane, and The Boys were already wandering around speaking to folks. Almost everyone had known Dr. Melvin. He’d filled their prescriptions and recommended over-the-counter remedies for those who couldn’t afford doctors, for many years.

Levi Pinckney was circulating, too. I noticed that Tattoo Girl seemed to stay close to him, moving wherever he was. George Carter stood beside Pearl White. She had changed the tennis balls on her walker to pink and wore a bright hot pink sundress that didn’t do a whole lot for her upper arms. Pearl wasn’t overweight, but buh-leeve me, time and gravity have their effect on even the slimmest old arms.

Mrs. Counts and I kept busy replacing almost empty trays with freshly filled ones from the kitchen. Good grief! I wanted two o’clock to hurry and arrive so the people would go into the chapel before they ate all the cookies. Standing by Mrs. Counts, I asked her, “Have you heard about the Southern Belle Baking Contest? You should enter some of your cookie recipes.”

“Afraid I can’t do that,” she said. “I didn’t create my cookies. I gathered the best recipes I could find and adjusted them to my taste. I think that contest is for original items.” I didn’t see why she couldn’t enter them if she’d changed some ingredients, but I kept my mouth shut. For a change.

Finally, at two o’clock, Otis and Odell ushered Roselle and her family, along with Melvin’s cousin, Pearl, and her fiancé, George, into the chapel. The others would follow them before Otis or Odell closed and locked the casket. Then the morticians would roll the bier into the chapel for the service.

“Who’s that?” asked Mrs. Counts and motioned toward the family at the front of the crowd moving toward the chapel.

“The young red-haired woman with the black veil is the widow. I don’t know a lot of the people with her. They’re her relatives from Georgia.”

“No, I mean the older lady with the walker. The one wearing the pink dress.”

“That’s Pearl White. The man with her is George Carter.”

“I’ve never heard of a George Carter, but I’ve seen that man before.”

Since no food would be served after the funeral service, I began bringing boxes from the kitchen to help Mrs. Counts pack up. Sure enough, she filled a box with assorted cookies for me to take home, then stuck on a gummed seal that had her company’s name, address, and phone number on it. I was putting the box on my desk when I heard Mrs. Counts demand, “Aren’t you going to speak to me, Sean?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” George Carter’s voice was irate, but an angry whisper, not so loud as Mrs. Counts’s had been. The talking was coming from the hall outside the public restrooms. I could hear singing in the chapel.

“Don’t pretend you don’t know me. Listen, bub, your name is Sean, and you know it.” She reached up, grabbed his lapel, and tugged his head down to her level. He pulled from her, but she held on, clutching his coat.

“Or at least, that’s one of the names you go by,” she scolded.

George Carter snatched his lapel from her grip and went back into the chapel, peeking over his shoulder to see if the tiny woman was following him.

“What was that about?” I asked.

“I could be wrong, but I doubt it. Last Christmas, I went to a family reunion in Summerville. My aunt Edna, who’s in her seventies, was there with her new boyfriend. She introduced him as Sean somebody. Her kids were at their wits’ end because she planned to marry him.”

My eyes bugged and my heart fell to the pit of my stomach. “Tell me more,” I said.

“Her daughter told me Edna met this man on the Internet and invited him to her house. It’s a gorgeous place with a swimming pool, and her husband had left her a bundle of money. The first thing Sean told Edna was that she needed a privacy fence around that pool. Her son was afraid Sean planned to marry her and drown her like it was an accident.”

“Did she marry him?”

“No, before New Year’s Day, he was out of the picture, and nobody’s mentioned him since then. But that man with the woman with the walker is the person I met in Summerville a year ago as Sean.”

“Do you know his last name?”

“No, but I’ll call one of Edna’s children. They’ll probably remember.”

Mrs. Counts gave me a little shoulder hug. “Thanks for your help. I’ll call here when I find out Sean’s last name.”

“Thank you for the cookies, and I’ll recommend you for refreshments.”

The little woman walked away, and I wondered if her memory was half as good as her cookies.

“Ashes
to ashes, dust to dust.”

The graveside service ended with the immediate family shaking dirt on the casket from a silver shaker that looked like a great big fancy saltshaker. Personally, I prefer when the bereaved simply pick up a clod of earth and drop it on the casket, but Otis pushes people to use the shaker. He ordered it from a funeral catalog.

Other than that silver shaker, the service had been simple. Dr. Melvin’s instructions had been followed, and they’d been very suitable for someone as beloved as he had been.

I’d ridden to the cemetery with Frank and Jane and told them that I had a date and would be home whenever I got there. During the brief service, I’d also noticed that Tattoo Girl, or Denise to be more polite, hadn’t come to the cemetery.

Levi spoke to Roselle, then headed toward me.

“Are you ready?” Levi asked when he reached me.

“Just a minute,” I said. “I want to speak to Roselle.” I joined the line and moved slowly toward the widow. Levi stood beside me.

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” I said when we stood in front of Dr. Melvin’s wife-turned-widow. I still wondered about his death. The sheriff hadn’t shared any more information about the autopsy and toxicology reports.

“Thank you,” Roselle said. “I’m sorry if I was rude to you that night. I was really upset. I was so happy with Mel. I can’t imagine my life without him now.” She was shaking. “I’m so upset. My heart’s just pounding.” She looked at Levi. “Are you coming back to the house tonight?”

“Not unless you need me,” Levi said, and I found myself hoping she wouldn’t say she needed him.

“No, Mama and everyone else are planning to stay until tomorrow.”

“Okay, I’ll see you later.”

In only a few moments, we were driving away from the cemetery in Levi’s Cruiser. “You look really good to have been in that wreck,” he said, as he pulled out onto the highway.

“It’s makeup,” I said. “You don’t want to see me without it.”

“Oh, I bet I’d love to see you with no makeup and your hair all loose and wild.”

I shuddered at the thought. “Why?”

“Because it would mean we’d given in to the chemistry I feel between us.”

Not knowing how to respond to that, I asked, “May I?” and reached out to the radio controls. He nodded yes, and I pushed the power button. The radio was set on the jazz station—nice, easy instrumentals. I leaned back and rested for a few minutes. Then I remembered.

“Dalmation!”
I said.

“What’s that?” he said.

“Kindergarten cussing. I used to teach five-year-olds.”

“What’s got you using profanity, even if it is a dog, not an earthen barrier or a mother horse.”

“Mother horse?”

“Also called a dam; a father horse is called a sire.”

“How do you know that?”

“I have horses. They’re stabled in Aiken where my dad and I used to play polo.”

“What’s got me kindergarten-cussing?” I said. “Mrs. Counts gave me a tray of cookies. I left them in my brother’s Jeep when we rode to the cemetery, and I’ll bet he and Jane eat them all before I get home.”

“Are you saying that you want to go home for cookies instead of going out to dinner with me?” His tone was serious, but his face smiled.

“No, I’m just hoping they don’t eat them all. Did you try them? The ones rolled in confectioners’ sugar were the best cookies I’ve ever had.”

“I didn’t taste them because Roselle’s husband left a ton of baked goods in their kitchen. I don’t think I want any more homemade cookies, cakes, pies, or bread for a long time. She said he was trying to develop a recipe for a contest.”

“Yes, the Southern Belle Baking Contest.”

“Well, he’d baked a lot of good things, but Roselle has no idea what he did with his recipes.”

My antennae went up. Could someone have killed Dr. Melvin for a recipe? I didn’t think so.

“Do you have anything special you’d like to eat?” Levi asked.

“Not really.”

“I’ve found this little place that has great food. It’s fairly new and they specialize in Gullah dishes. Do you like Gullah food?”

“Sure do,” I answered, thinking I knew where we were headed.

Before long, Levi pulled into the parking lot at Rizzie’s Gastric Gullah. He walked around to open the door for me. “The lady who runs this place is totally amazing,” he said.

“I know,” I answered.

“You mean you’ve been here before?”

“Rizzie Profit is a friend of mine.”

“Good. I called her on my cell from the cemetery to be sure she’s open, and she’s promised a special meal.”

The screened door slapped closed behind us as Rizzie called out a Gullah greeting. Suddenly, she stopped the Gullah and said, “I can’t believe it. Levi said he’d met someone extraordinary and wanted a special meal. I never dreamed it was you, Callie.”

“You don’t think I’m worth a special meal?” I snapped. Ex-cuuze me. I knew I was being rude, but I felt tired and irritable.