Fran Rizer - Callie Parrish 06 - A Corpse Under the Christmas Tree (17 page)

Now I wished my wire was two-way communication though I don’t know how that would be handled technically.
What else would the sheriff and Dean want to know?

“What about guns?” I asked.

“He loves guns,” Naomi answered. “We have several at the house, but he keeps them locked up in the gun safe. See? He loves Betsy. He’s says it’s never too early to be careful about guns around children.”

Wonder if that makes anyone safe when Norman’s the one with the key?
I thought.

A knock at the door interrupted our conversation. “Naomi? Naomi?” The voice was Sylvia’s.

“Come in,” Naomi answered.

“I’m sorry I exploded on you like that. I’m just nervous.”

Naomi stepped toward Sylvia, arms outstretched. I left the room while they exchanged a sisterly hug.

• • •

“With a little more time, I might have learned more,” I said to Dean as he drove me away from the Safe Sister office.

Evelyn had come for me not long after Naomi told me about the hunting lodge. She’d explained that my brother had made arrangements for me to stay with another relative out of town. Dean Robinson had been waiting for me at Safe Sister’s office.

“You got what we needed, and I disagree with Norman Spires’s wife. I think he’s fully capable of murder.”

“Then why didn’t you want me to find out more from Naomi?”

“You’d already got what we wanted.”

“How did you know?” I was puzzled.

“Everything you said, did, or heard was recorded at headquarters because the device on your arm transmitted all sound. We had a deputy listening when she told you about the hunting lodge.”

“Glad I didn’t do anything embarrassing.”

“We had what we needed, and the Middletons have been calling Sheriff Harmon complaining that they need you at work.” Dean’s driving was fast, but safe.

“Somebody must have died,” I commented.

“Two people.”

“Who?”

“Sheriff Harmon said that you’d know these people, but I didn’t until last night. We got a call from a Mrs. Corley that her daughter Patsy had phoned her and said she’d shot her boyfriend and was going to kill herself. Said they’d been fussing for two days over what to buy with their tax refund.”

“Tax refund? People don’t even have their W-2s yet. They couldn’t have already filed taxes.”

“They hadn’t, but they’d worked it out enough to know they were getting a refund, and he wanted to buy some kind of sports equipment, but she wanted to get a new living room couch.”

“That’s nothing to kill someone over.”

“There’s nothing worth killing for,” Dean said.

“So, did you arrest Patsy?” I remembered when Patsy’s daddy, June Bug Corley was killed, and Jane and I’d ridden to Charleston to find a suit and shoes large enough to fit him. Patsy was built like her father, and in my mind, I’d called her Fatsy Patsy. Her sister Penny was tiny like their mother, and I’d thought of her as Skinny Penny.

“No, Mrs. Corley called from Patsy and her boyfriend’s mobile home. She’d got there and the doors were locked, but she had a key. The bathroom door was locked and she could hear Patsy sobbing and screaming. When she tried to talk Patsy into coming out of the bathroom, she heard a gunshot, then silence. That’s when she dialed 911.”

“You said two deaths. Patsy is dead, too?”

“Yes, she put the gun barrel in her mouth and pulled the trigger. It was a gruesome scene and awful for Mrs. Corley. The sheriff said her husband died of a gunshot, too.”

“Yes, he did.” I thought for a few minutes. “Back when I worked with the Corley family when June Bug died …”

“June Bug?” Dean’s questioning expression lifted his eyebrows.

“That’s what everyone called Patsy’s daddy.”

“What about back then?”

“I think Patsy was living in Charleston. She and her sister Penny were visiting their parents when June Bug was killed.”

“Her mother said she’s been living in a trailer with her boyfriend.”

“Please don’t call it a trailer,” I said, “a trailer is something you pull behind your truck to haul more stuff. What people live in are ‘mobile homes.’”

“A trailer is also a brief film that advertises a movie and is usually seen before a movie instead of after it. That reminds me—would you like to see a movie with me sometime?”

“Sure, but I want to know more about Fatsy Pats …” I shook my head in embarrassment. “I mean Patsy Corley. Who was her boyfriend?”

“A man named Eugene Rodgers. He was quite a bit older than she was.”

“Gene Rodgers? Snake Rodgers?”

“Snake?” Dean chuckled. “I’m not sure I want to know how he got that name.”

“It’s not what you think. He grew up with his single mother. When he was about thirteen, she told him to go up into the attic to get something for her. He came scrambling back down hollering, ‘Mama! Mama! There’s a snake up there.’ She sent him back up with a gun full of snake-shot. Gene got so excited that he fired that gun off all over the attic and made a lot of bullet holes through their ceiling. His mama made him spend his own money for spackling and try to patch the holes, but he slipped and fell through the ceiling—right into their kitchen. They used to call him Snake Killer, but it got shortened to Snake before he grew up.”

Dean smiled. “Not what I expected.” He paused. “Of course, it’s an open-and-shut case, not much to investigate, but both bodies have to be autopsied. I’m sure you know the laws on that. The point is that the Middletons
insist
you’re missing too much time from work ‘hanging out’ with the sheriff, and that Mrs. Corley is demanding that she have you there to dress Patsy and to consult with them on planning.”

“She seemed to take a fancy to me back when she planned her husband’s services, which was strange because she insisted on a special oversize casket and had him dressed in clothes like a picture she had of him when he was young. He always went barefooted, and I had to locate shoes that would fit him. We cut off his long hair and shaved the beard so he’d look more like he did when they were young. She approved of everything, then had him cremated.”

“I’m glad to know I’m not the only one who thought she was weird. I tried to get her to sit in the car, but she had her nose in everything. She’d stand in front of the boyfriend’s body and cuss, then she’d go back to that bloody bathroom and cuss at her dead daughter. She wants you there when she goes in to make arrangements tonight at six, and since you’d already gotten the information we wanted from Naomi Spires, Sheriff Harmon told me get you out of Safe Sister. Where do you want to go? Your place or the mortuary?”

“My apartment. I never go to the mortuary unless I’m dressed appropriately, which means a black dress, black stockings, and low-heeled black shoes.” I laughed. “And I’d better remove all these bruises, too. I’ll call Otis and Odell when I get home.”

“Tomorrow’s New Year’s Eve.” Those blue eyes sparkled at me.

“I know.”

“I just wanted to tell you that I’d love to take you out tomorrow night, but the sheriff has everybody on duty, including me, with or without a homicide. Guess I’ll be pulling DUIs unless someone gets killed. Could I take you out for a late New Year’s Eve celebration on my next night off?”

“When’s that?”

“I don’t know yet, but I’ll call you.”

Just my luck. Another man who planned to call me. I hoped his calls wouldn’t be like Patel’s had been lately.

• • •

At five o’clock that evening, I arrived at Middleton’s in black clothes. After scrubbing the makeup away, I’d spent most of my time at home making telephone calls: to Daddy to check on Big Boy (he was fine); to Jane to check on her (she was resting up so Roxanne could talk all night); and to Otis to check on Mrs. Corley (he said she was as eccentric as ever). I’d also called Wayne, and he’d bragged on what a good job I’d done as an undercover agent. That made my chest puff out almost as much as my inflatable bras do; however, he’d insisted on stopping by to pick up the badge and pronounce me no longer a deputy.

Otis met me in the hall before I’d even reached my office.

“I don’t know why Mrs. Corley has to make arrangements today. With New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day, we may not get Patsy’s body back for several days, but she’s adamant she come today and that you be here.” He cut me an inquiring look. “What have you been doing with the sheriff?”

“Just giving him some female ideas about investigations. What do you want me to do?”

“Mrs. Corley is scheduled to come in at six. We don’t have any decedents here right now, so you can catch up on your paperwork.”

“I don’t have any until we talk to Mrs. Corley, and even then, we can’t put funeral plans in the obituary until we get the body back.”

“Until we get Miss Patsy back,” Otis corrected me. Sometimes I slip up and don’t call the decedent by name. He laughed. “I was talking about the paperwork you hide in the bottom drawer of your desk.”

I just smiled. I keep my books and other reading materials in that drawer. That sounded tempting, but instead I offered to make coffee and to heat water in case Mrs. Corley wanted hot tea.

In the kitchenette, I took out the best silver serving pieces and Wedgwood china cups and saucers. The Middletons like to use their mother’s china when serving coffee during a consultation though we each have personal mugs for when we don’t have any of the bereaved with us. I made coffee and set up everything on a silver tray before I headed back to my office. An instrumental version of “He Arose” played softly over our sound system announcing someone at the front door. Sure enough, Mrs. Corley had arrived almost thirty minutes early.

“Why, Callie child, I haven’t seen you since Jimmy Lee died.” Mrs. Corley had looked anorexic the first time I’d seen her, and she was even thinner now. She’d been the only one who called June Bug by his given name, Jimmy Lee, and the only one who called me “Callie child.”

Back when we went to pick up her husband’s body, the first time I saw her she’d been wearing a yellow chenille bathrobe with those pink sponge rollers in her hair and had reminded me of a canary with her little beaked nose and bird-chirpy voice. Today she had on a long-sleeved navy blue dress with white eyelet collar and cuffs. She’d looked old before; now she looked ancient.

“Is anyone meeting you here?” I asked. There were several more children besides Patsy.

“No, I told Penny and the others I wanted to do this my way. Walter, my youngest, drove me here, but I made him stay out in the car.”

“Yes, ma’am. Come into this planning room.” I motioned toward the door and she was seated before Otis joined us. “Would either of you like some coffee or hot tea?” I asked.

“Coffee will be fine,” Otis replied.

“I’d rather have some Coca-Cola on ice if you have it,” Mrs. Corley said in that bird-chirp voice. “I don’t guess you have anything stronger to put in it,” she added. “Since Jimmy Lee’s been gone, I’ve started having a little nip sometimes.”

“No, ma’am,” I answered, “but I’ll be glad to fix you a Coke on ice.”

“Can you stick your head out the door and call Walter in here for me?” she asked.

“Certainly.” I was thankful she’d changed her mind about letting him come inside to assist her with plans, but once again Mrs. Corley surprised me.

Walter grinned when I walked up and told him his mother wanted to see him. A tall, gangly man, Walter had the most pockmarked face I’d ever seen, must have been scars from acne when he was young—an almost terminal case. He followed me into the consultation room and sat in the chair beside his mother. Otis had stepped out, but he returned in less than a minute with a tall glass of iced Coca-Cola which he set in front of Mrs. Corley.

“Boy,” the tiny woman said to her tall son like he was a three-year-old, “I didn’t call you in here to sit down. Bring me that blue and white crocheted carry-all bag off the backseat.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Otis removed two forms from a drawer: a planning sheet and a general price list. “Before we begin your selections, Mrs. Corley, let me get some information from you. He quickly asked some preliminary questions and wrote her answers on the paper. Mrs. Corley wanted write-ups in the St. Mary paper and the Charleston paper. “Patsy lived in Charleston for several years before she met that Snake and moved back here. I want her friends there to know she’s left us.”

She looked up as Walter came back in and handed her the tote bag. She reached in and pulled out a pint bottle of rum. She uncapped it and tipped it over her glass of Coca-Cola, shook the glass a bit though I offered her a spoon, and took a long drink. “You know, I never consumed alcohol when Jimmy Lee was alive. He drank enough for both of us, but I’ve found since then that a little drinky-poo makes me feel better. You don’t mind, do you?”

“No, Mama,” Walter said.

“I wasn’t talking to you, boy. I was speaking to Mr. Middleton and Callie girl here.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You can go back out and get in the car or you can sit here and keep your pie hole shut.”

“Yes, Mama.” That’s the first time I ever heard a woman use the expression “pie hole,” though I’d heard men say it before.