Casket Case (24 page)

“Big Boy! Big Boy!” I shouted frantically and ran to the bathroom, hoping that Jane and Frank had locked the dog in there before leaving. I looked in the bedroom, dreading finding Jane or the dog injured or—let’s be truthful—dead. There were no signs of life or death in the apartment. Just trashed furniture and clothes. The closets and drawers had been emptied and everything thrown all over the floor.

In books, villains sometimes leave messages written in lipstick on mirrors. I always thought that was kind of hokey, but now it happened for real.

“Callie, I know what you’re doing” was lettered across the mirror above my dresser.

After searching the closets and under the beds, I called Sheriff Harmon and put on a pot of coffee. Like caffeine would calm me down. I knew the sheriff would ask what was missing, first thing, but I didn’t feel like looking. He’d want to see the place like I’d found it anyway, and I couldn’t know if anything had been stolen until things were back in order.

“Whew! Looks like that storm turned into a hurricane and went through here,” the sheriff said when I opened the door for him. “Do you have any idea who might have done this?”

“No idea at all, but there have been some strange happenings lately.”

“What kind of events?”

“I think I hear someone at the windows, but when I look, no one is there.”

“Which windows? The bathroom?”

“No, generally it’s a side window. By the bedroom.”

“Could be a Peeping Tom, but they generally try to watch women shower.”

“I haven’t noticed it when I’ve showered, but the curtains overlap on the bathroom window. It would be hard to see in there.”
I’d better check my bedroom drapes. Big Boy was barking at the window when I changed clothes. Had someone been outside, looking in at me? I’d thought there
might be a squirrel outside. Maybe it was a rat instead. A human rat.

“What’s missing?” Sheriff Harmon stared all around the room, as though he could see beneath the clutter.

“I don’t know. I haven’t moved anything since I came in except I made a pot of coffee. Do you want a cup?”

“Sure, since you’ve already touched the pot, I might as well.” His gaze darted around the room again. “If you have any disposable cups, use them.”

Personally, I felt that if the intruder had bothered the cups in my kitchen cabinet, they would be broken and scattered across the floor like everything else. That’s what I thought, but I was too tired to argue, and my pain medicine had worn off. I didn’t complain, just poured two cups of coffee and handed him one before loading mine with sugar and cream. I confess. I was upset, needed comfort. I put four spoons of sugar into my cup.

“I see that your electronics are here,” he said. “Television, DVD player. What about your computer?”

“I don’t have a computer.” I didn’t bother to explain that my dog kept eating up my savings.

“What about your guns?”

Should have checked them first thing,
I thought. If burglary was the intruder’s intent, guns don’t even have to go to pawn shops. They can be sold on the street.

“Let’s go see,” I answered and led him to my bedroom. I opened the drawer of the bedside table and pulled out the .38.

“This one’s here,” I said and put the weapon back. Sheriff Harmon knew all about my firearms. I once shot an intruder with the revolver. In the knee. Didn’t kill him or I’d probably never have seen that one again. Sheriff Harmon is quick to impound evidence.
Like my Mustang.

Opening the closet door, I stretched to the highest shelf and pulled down the double-barreled shotgun and rifle my daddy lent me. Daddy keeps all weapons in a gun safe, and I’d thought about buying one, but I kept thinking I’d give all three or at least the shotgun and rifle back to him.

“How about Jane?” the sheriff asked as I stood on tiptoe to return the guns to their place at the back of the shelf.

“I hope that Frank took her and Big Boy off.”

Sheriff Harmon sat down and flipped open his cell phone. “First, let’s call your dad’s house and see if Frank is there.”

That’s when I realized there was a possibility that whoever had trashed the house had taken Jane and my dog. Jane had been kidnapped once before. The thought of her being at the mercy of some psycho again made me tremble.

“Hey, Bill,” Sheriff Harmon said into the telephone, “I’m trying to locate Frank to see if Jane Baker is with him. Is he home right now?”

The sheriff listened silently.

“Okay, well, there’s been a little problem here at Callie’s apartment. We just wanted to make sure everyone’s okay. No, Callie isn’t hurt. Just a bit upset, that’s all.” He put his hand over the receiver. “Frank took Jane and Big Boy over to your dad’s for supper, and they’re watching television. Do you want them to come back here or do you want me to take you over there?”

“Neither. Tell them to spend the night. I’ll be fine.”

Sheriff Harmon frowned at me, but told them to stay at Dad’s. He’d call back if we needed them.

I sat and drank coffee while the deputies photographed the apartment and bagged some items like the lipstick tube on the dresser. It appeared to be the color that was used to write the message. They fingerprinted a lot of surfaces, leaving fine black dust for me to clean up after they left.

When everyone had gone except the sheriff, he insisted that I let him take me over to Daddy’s. I refused, and he couldn’t legally make me.

After several more tries, he finally gave up and went to the door. “Okay, but call me if you hear anything or even if you just get the heebie-jeebies. I’ll be right here.”

As I closed the door behind him, the sheriff said, “Now be sure this door is locked.” Is there
anyone
in my life who thinks I have enough sense to lock my doors without being told what to do?

Two
hours later, most of the clutter was reorganized. Belongings were back in the proper drawers and cabinets except for what was broken. The glass-topped coffee table and end tables were a lost cause. It would probably be as expensive to replace their tops as to buy new ones.

Just looking at the broken furniture and knickknacks made me jittery. I gathered the smaller items and shattered glass into trash bags and took them to the Herbie Curby at the side of the building. Then I dragged the wooden and wrought-iron parts of my tables out the front door to cart them around there, too.

I heard what sounded like a cat or other small animal rummaging around in the shrubbery at the rear.

Dropping the armful of furniture pieces, I picked up a wooden table leg and ran around to the back of the house, eager to chase away the raccoon or whatever was there. I didn’t stop to think that it might not be a four-legged animal.

What if the noise was from a big two-legged creature? I pictured him bolting from my backyard as I turned and took off around to the front door. I slammed the door behind me and locked the deadbolt without anyone telling me what to do.

If I’d had a car, I would have jumped in it and driven away. I hadn’t really seen whatever made the noise out back. I wasn’t even sure that I’d heard anything, but what if it had been a person? What if he came back? I went into the bedroom and took my .38 from the bedside table.

I looked in the closet. Both my shotgun and rifle were on the top shelf where I’d put them back while the sheriff was there. To think I’d considered taking them back to my daddy. No, sirree. The way I felt right then, I wanted a loaded piece in every room.

Strange that someone tossed the apartment and didn’t seem to have stolen anything, not even guns, which could easily be sold on the street. Nothing appeared to be missing. Was I overlooking what had been taken or had the place been ransacked looking for something I didn’t have? Or was all this just to frighten me? Or to scare Jane, since she lived with me for the time being?

With the shotgun on the floor beside the bed, the rifle on the other side, and the .38 on top of the bedside table, I tried to go to sleep. Wide awake, I read, but my mind kept wandering to who might have been here. I kept
thinking
I heard something. I got up and walked through the apartment with the shotgun in one hand and revolver in the other. The next three times I checked out the door and windows, I left the revolver by the bed. I’d realized it would take both hands to fire the shotgun, but the scattered pellets were more likely to hit someone than a bullet from the .38 with my hands shaking like they were.

When my alarm clock chimed eight o’clock, I got out of bed without a minute’s sleep all night. I was glad Big Boy had spent the night at Daddy’s. I would have been scared to take him outside for his morning walk.

I set a cup of last night’s coffee in the microwave to heat and went to shower. The night before, I’d removed the makeup but had been too scared to shower. Afraid the noise of the splashing water might cover the sound of someone creeping around or breaking into the apartment.

After blow-drying my hair and finishing my coffee, I called the funeral home.

“Middleton’s Mortuary. Odell Middleton speaking. How may I help you?”

“Odell, I want to come to work, but I don’t have a way.”

“Otis is here and I’m going to Shoney’s for breakfast. I’ll swing by and pick you up. Have you eaten?”

“Not yet.”

“Good, you can have breakfast with me. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

Since I was dressed and had cleaned up the apartment the night before, I tried to read. Neither my eyes nor my mind would focus. I dropped the book onto the floor where my coffee table had been before last night.

My apartment had always suited me, felt like home. No more. My eyes darted around as though I’d never been there before. I kept thinking I heard something outside. Maybe a branch brushing against a window. Then I thought I heard someone in the apartment with me. I went into the spare room and looked at the books stacked everywhere. No one could possibly walk around in that room.

The kitchen and living room are visible from each other. I opened both bedroom doors and the bathroom door. By sitting at exactly the right place on the couch, it was possible to see every room in the apartment from one position. Maybe I’d start sleeping on the couch and let Jane have my room if she agreed to keep all the interior doors open when we were home.

Too much. Too much. Dr. Melvin dead with no known cause. Ms. Lucas murdered on Jane’s steps. My one dependable brother about to abandon his wife and family. My best friend dating my brother. The good Lord only knew what that could turn into. I wanted them both to be happy, but if that relationship soured, I’d be torn between the two of them.

All of that was bad enough, but worst of all was that someone had tried to kill me, had been peeping in my windows, and had gone through everything I owned. Was it all being done by the same someone? It had to be.

To top it off, Jane and Frank had taken my cookies and
someone
had gone into my car and stolen Jane’s thongs. Sure, I’d told myself a possum or squirrel had taken them, but that was ridiculous. A small animal might have carried off one or two pair, but not that whole pile.

Someone. Someone. Someone. Someone was out to get me.

The thought made me so frightened that by the time Odell arrived, I was nauseated.

Shoney’s
clientele looked like a rerun from Dr. Melvin’s funeral the day before. Roselle and several tables of the people who’d been introduced as her relatives from Georgia filled half of the dining area. Odell and I sat in a booth toward the rear of the restaurant.

The line for the breakfast buffet was l-o-n-g, but I knew Odell would be willing to wait. We both ordered the bar.

My nausea had subsided, and I fixed myself a plate that looked like a typical southern breakfast—grits, scrambled eggs, a biscuit, and a small slice of country ham. Odell brought two plates back to the table from his first trip. One plate was filled with grits and eggs topped with sausage gravy; the other, several biscuits and servings of every meat on the bar. Bacon, sausage links, sausage patties, country ham, chicken nuggets, and fried fatback. I’m sure he was disappointed that barbecue wasn’t available for breakfast.