Fran Rizer - Callie Parrish 05 - Mother Hubbard Has a Corpse in the Cupboard (25 page)

“Are you carrying a gun today?”

“No.”

“Enough said. Let’s tell Jane to be extra careful. I’m glad Frankie is with her,” he told me.

“Frankie’s not with her,” I said. “She found out she’s not pregnant, and she wanted to be alone. She sent him home to Daddy’s house.”

“Maybe she’ll let you stay with her. Let’s talk to her about being cautious.” He parked the car and walked up to Jane’s porch with me.

We knocked. No answer. We knocked again. No answer. Wayne pounded the door with his left fist and yelled, “Jade County Sheriff’s Department. Open up!”

Jane’s voice asked, “Who is it with the sheriff’s department? I need your name.”

“It’s Wayne Harmon.”

“And I’m with him,” I said, knowing she’d recognize my voice.

A crack appeared between the door and the frame, and Jane’s face peeked out. Well, it appeared. She can’t peek.

“We came to advise you to be especially careful about opening your door,” Wayne said, “but it seems you already are. Would you consider spending the night with Callie? I’d feel better about you two girls if neither of you is alone.”

“
Girls?”
Jane shrieked. “We’re both full grown women, and we can take care of ourselves.”

“Can we come in?” I asked.

“Not unless the sheriff says I have to let you in,” she answered. “I’m working, trying to earn enough to pay my bills.”

• • •

At midnight, when I turned off my television, I didn’t hear Jane weeping next door. I heard her purring. Actually, Roxanne was the one making that sound. I put a pillow over my head and went to sleep with Big Boy lying on the bedside rug.

“I Feel Good,” James Brown awoke me.

“Hello,” I probably said it with a question mark at the end. It was three o’clock in the morning.

“Callie, get dressed. I’m coming to pick you up.” The sheriff sounded all business.

“What is it?” I panicked. “Has Daddy had another heart attack?”

“No, and I’m trying to keep him from having one.”

“Where are we going?” I asked as I pulled on a pair of jeans and a shirt.

“We’re going to Jade County Hospital, and I’ll tell you about it in the car.”

I knew Wayne had worked all day. What had him still out so late at night? I tugged on socks and shoes.

The doorbell rang, and I ran into the living room and opened the door.

“What if it hadn’t been me?” Wayne’s look matched his worried tone of voice. “You didn’t even ask who was there.”

“You said you were coming.” I tried to justify my actions, but I knew I’d goofed.

“That doesn’t mean someone else couldn’t have been standing on your porch.”

Just then, Jane’s door opened and she stepped out. “What’s going on?”

“You’re not pregnant?” Wayne questioned.

“No, what’s that got to do with anything?” Jane asked.

“I came for Callie to take her to the hospital, but since it’s Frank, you may as well come, too.”

“Frankie? What’s happened?” I screamed while Jane yelled, “What’s wrong?”

“He’s been shot.”

“Is he dead?” I demanded, thinking of the young man at Mother Hubbard’s Beer Garden and Dr. Sparrow.

“He’s not dead. They’re cleaning out the wound. He did something stupid and it earned him a trip to the ER, a tetanus shot, some pain meds both there and later for home, and what’s going to be one heck of a sore place when the anesthetic wears off. The surgeon says he’ll need to stay at the hospital a few days, but I think he needs a relative there when he wakes up in recovery. Mike and I don’t think your father is well enough to handle this tonight. I’m taking you to the hospital so Mike can go back to the house. Your daddy can see his dumb son tomorrow. Probably figures Frank went back to your house, Jane.”

Wayne opened the door of his cruiser for Jane and me and then got in the car himself and headed off, I assumed toward the hospital, but I was too upset to notice.

“The hospital has to notify my department any time someone comes in with a gunshot wound. The dispatcher called me at home because he knew I’m longtime friends with the Parrish family.”

“What happened?”

“It was a freak accident, but it wouldn’t have happened if he’d been sober.” Wayne frowned. “You know that old car your dad has down by the lake?”

“Sure. I keep telling him that if they can’t repair the car, he needs to have it hauled away. Nothing trashier than old junk cars in people’s yards, and I consider by the lake a part of Daddy’s yard.”

The sheriff continued. “Well, Frank went drinking tonight. Somebody in the bar told him that a .45 would crack an engine block. Since he had access to a .45 and an engine block, Frank went to the lake and shot one with your daddy’s 1911. It didn’t crack the block, but it came back and hit him in the groin.”

“In the
groin?”
I couldn’t help wondering if Jane’s reaction was out of fear for his condition or fear of what damage the shot might do to his future chances of fatherhood.

“Don’t worry.” Wayne smirked an embarrassed grin. “The surgeon says his package is safe, but he’s going to have to stay a few days. Mike was with him and took him to the hospital, but I’m sending him home to take care of your father.”

“You mean the bullet ricocheted back at Frankie?”

“Sure did. A ricocheted bullet isn’t as rare as some people think. The determining factors are the angle of impact and the nature of the surface it hits. A bullet can ricochet off water if it hits the water at the right minor angle, kind of like skipping stones across the pond. The problem is that a ricocheted bullet will commonly tumble in its path through the air and sometimes makes an entrance wound that’s larger and more irregular because the bullet is deformed and has a significant amount of energy.”

“I don’t care about all that.” Jane shook visibly. “How is Frankie going to be?”

“The doctor says he’ll be okay.”

• • •

We arrived at the hospital before Frankie went to recovery. The three of us sat around in the waiting room drinking coffee from a machine.

“Danged fool! I oughta beat his butt, and I just might when he gets better.” I knew that voice before I saw him. Daddy. He and Mike sat down with us.

“Thought we were going to tell him about this tomorrow,” Wayne said to Mike.

“Pa reads me like a book.” Mike shrugged his shoulders. “He knew something was wrong when I went in the house. He’s always been able to do that to me. I never got away with anything growing up.”

• • •

I’ll say this for Frankie. When he woke up in recovery, he took it like a man. Both Daddy and the sheriff read him the riot act for stupidity and he made no effort to defend himself against their tirades. Jane didn’t have much to say. I couldn’t tell if, like me, she was just glad he was okay or if she were too mad to speak to him. For his part, Frankie apologized to everyone for doing something so foolish and making us all spend the night at the hospital instead of in our beds sleeping.

When I finally got home, I called Otis and told him I needed the day off. I seldom do that, but he did something he’s never done before. He said, “No, I need you here today. Sleep a few hours, then come on in.”

22

“Why me?” Okay, I confess. I grumbled. Otis and Odell stood there, glaring at me. Neither of them can stand whining. They both knew I’d spent most of the night at the hospital with my stupid brother before going home with my BFF to spend hours assuring her that Frankie’s getting shot wasn’t her fault. They knew all that, but they’re both believers in strong work ethics and meeting responsibilities.

“Because it’s your job,” Odell growled and pointed to the sheet-covered corpse on my work table. Like I didn’t know a body lay there.

“It’s your responsibility.” Otis tried to soften his brother’s impact.

“I know Dr. Sparrow didn’t kill Maum, but I never liked him, and I don’t want to cosmetize him.” My tone turned from complaining to pleading. “Are you going to fire me if I refuse?”

“We won’t dismiss you for not cosmetizing Dr. Sparrow, but we might find someone who’s more willing to do the work she’s told to do around here,” Odell grumbled. “It’s your job, and neither Otis nor I would do as good a job hiding that bullet hole in his face as you will.”

I remembered when I’d been scared that Otis’s ex-wife was going to take over my job because I really didn’t want to go back to teaching kindergarten. Besides, I’d let my certification expire and would need a graduate college course for recertification. I wanted to work in a beauty shop even less than I wanted to cosmetize Dr. Sparrow. One thing I did know for sure. Regardless of how I felt about the man, if I had to prepare him for his visitation, I would do absolutely the best job possible. I take pride in my work.

“Well, Callie,” Otis said, “are you a professional or not?”

“I’ll do it,” I managed to say in a civil tone without rolling my eyes.

“Call me when you’re ready to dress him, and I’ll come help you,” Odell said, and they both left me alone with the only doctor I’ve ever despised. That’s a lie! My ex-husband was a doctor, and most of the time I despised him, too. I acknowledge that I’m not automatically in awe of doctors or lawyers. Like everybody else, there are good ones and bad ones.

Not much to do except makeup. Dr. Sparrow’s hygiene and grooming were excellent. He obviously took good care of his hands, probably with professional manicures, because his cuticles were perfectly clipped and his nails were buffed. I guess a surgeon would be conscious of his hands. I wondered what kind of lotion he’d used. The skin was in good condition, especially considering all that hand washing he’d had to do.

The same with his head. His haircut was recent and well-done, and there were no stray hairs that needed clipping in his eyebrows or peeking out of his nose or ears. Mrs. Sparrow had provided a recent photo, but I remembered how his hair had been combed from seeing him at the hospital.

After all that complaining and whining, I was finished in hardly any time and called Otis in. We dressed the doctor in his expensive charcoal gray suit, white shirt, and red and gray striped necktie. When we’d finished, Dr. Sparrow looked for all the world like a politician.

Mrs. Sparrow had selected one of our most luxurious caskets from all the new stock since the warehouse break-in: high gloss finished solid cherry wood half couch with gold hardware and gold trim. The inside was pale blue velvet with an adjustable bed and mattress. Only the best for the bird. When the doctor was casketed, Otis and I wheeled the bier into the hall and down to the slumber rooms. I assumed we were going to A, but Otis said, “No, Mrs. Irvin’s in there until her service this afternoon.” Mrs. Irvin was an elderly lady we’d brought in from Lazy Days Nursing Home.

“I assumed that since Mrs. Sparrow chose a top of the line casket, she’d want Slumber Room A.” It’s a little bigger than B.

“We’ll move Dr. Sparrow after Mrs. Irvin’s funeral. Don’t you think it would be disrespectful to move her before her service just because the doctor’s family bought a more expensive casket?”

That’s why I like working for Otis and Odell. They might argue between themselves sometimes, and Odell calls Otis “Doofus” when no one else is around, but at heart, they’re both thoughtful of others.

We positioned Dr. Sparrow in Slumber Room B, and I returned to my office to call Mrs. Sparrow and let her know she could come see him whenever she liked. It’s SOP for the next of kin to see the body before anyone else is allowed.

“I’ll be there this afternoon. I don’t know what time,” she said. Didn’t sound like she was as eager as a lot of our families are to see their loved ones.

I hadn’t had much reading time lately, so I got a mug of coffee from the kitchen. Back in my office, I pulled the door closed, propped my feet on my desk, and pulled out one of my favorite mysteries with Judith and Renie by Mary Daheim. I can read those books over and over.

Half an hour before time to take Mrs. Irvin to the church, Odell opened my door and peeked in.

“Do you want me to attend Mrs. Irvin’s service?” I asked. “Attend” in Funeraleze means “work” a funeral, but we never refer to our presence there as part of our job.

“No, stay here. You can read your book, but be on the lookout for Mrs. Sparrow.”

“I wasn’t here when she made arrangements. What does she look like?”

“Tall, slim, blonde—arm candy. She looks like a rich doctor’s trophy wife.”

The funeral home is kind of nice when it’s all mine. I know it’s hard to believe anyone could actually enjoy hanging out alone in a mortuary, but I do. The music is soft classical except when the instrumental hymns override it to let us know the front door is open. The temperature is always cool and comfortable. My office isn’t as luxurious as the furniture in the conference and slumber rooms, but it’s far from shabby.

Fully expecting the doctor’s arm candy, I went to the main hall when “It Is No Secret” announced that the door had opened. I about had a heart attack when I saw Dr. Donald Walters standing just inside the front door. He looked just as good as he did the first time I ever saw him, and he moved quickly to where I stood at the back of the hall.