Fran Rizer - Callie Parrish 06 - A Corpse Under the Christmas Tree (19 page)

“No, Daddy, and he was fine when I went to bed.”

“We’re on the way there now. Just stay by him and pet him.”

I’m the first to acknowledge that I don’t always do what my daddy tells me. This was no exception. I went to my room and dressed. I almost pulled on jeans, but I decided I’d better dress for work because time might run short between taking Big Boy to his vet’s office in Beaufort and getting to Middleton’s by noon.

Daddy and my brothers insisted on riding with me in the van to the vet’s office even though I protested that the assistants there could help me. When we arrived, we heard a cacophony of howling, mostly dogs with a few cat screeches included. I just love the word “cacophony.” I’ve used it whenever possible since I learned it in a high school vocabulary class. Two of my other favorite words are “elusive” and “lackadaisical.” Those words are delicious in my mouth.

A sign on the door informed us, “Closed New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day. Call 555-3417 if this is an emergency.” I rang the number and an answering service advised me to go to the emergency vet service across town. I told them that something must be wrong because it sounded like every dog in the boarding section was howling. She informed me, “The boy who comes in to feed the animals has car trouble. He called and said he’ll be there as soon as possible.” Those dogs were hungry. I wished I could get inside and feed them, but if I tried, I’d be sure to wind up in jail for breaking and entering. One thing for sure—I wouldn’t board Big Boy there. I’d continue to leave him with Daddy when I needed dog-sitting. Besides, it’s cheaper.

I was totally frustrated, but Daddy entered the address for the animal ER on his GPS and drove us there while I sat in back and petted my dog.

Frankie and Mike carried Big Boy in with Mike complaining that they should have gurneys for transporting dogs that size. When the receptionist saw Big Boy, she took us right back to an exam room. Big Boy’s vet is a female, but the one who saw my dog at the animal ER was an old man with a bald head on top and a long gray ponytail in back. He poked around Big Boy, took a look at his incision, and announced, “This dog is dehydrated. I’ll want to keep him overnight and give him fluid by IV. Do you have insurance for him?”

My mouth must have dropped open because Daddy handed him a Platinum American Express card and said, “Will this do?”

• • •

“Are you coming for New Year’s Day dinner tomorrow?” Daddy asked on the way back to St. Mary.

“Am I invited?” I asked as though I didn’t know the answer.

“Of course, and bring Jane, too. You girls need some good luck in the coming year, and I’ll be cooking the foods that will bring it to you.”

“Besides,” Frankie interrupted, “you’ll get to see me before I go off to school Thursday.”

“What kind of school?” I asked.

“Not gonna tell you. It’ll be a surprise, but I’ll get my license after that.”

“Is your driver’s license suspended?”

“No, it’s not that. I …”

“It’s not a license; it’s a permit,” Mike butted in.

“Tell me,” I said, but the three men refused to say anything else about this school Frankie was going to attend on Thursday.

By the time we were back in St. Mary, the clock was ticking past twelve. I called Otis and explained I would be there soon.

“Do you want us to drop you off?” Frankie asked.

“If we did that, how would you get back to my place for your truck? Go to my apartment and pick up the truck. I’ll drive the van back to Middleton’s.”

“You need to change clothes,” Mike suggested.

“I’m wearing work clothes,” I answered.

“But they’re covered with dog hair.”

• • •

“Big Boy’s in the hospital,” I told Odell first thing when I walked into work—an hour late, but wearing a clean black dress with no dog hairs on it.

“I thought you brought him home.”

“I did, but he’s got IVs because he’s dehydrated. I don’t understand it. He hasn’t been throwing up or running off and he’s been drinking plenty.”

“Well, I understand why you’re late, but I’ve got something for you to do right way. I showed that Patterson man his wife’s paperwork on the computer and offered to print them out for him, but he’s adamant he must see the actual papers his wife’s first husband signed for the prepaid funeral.”

“You showed him everything about the prepay on the computer? I scanned the full documents into electronic records.”

“He says his lawyer says he has the right to see the actual signed documents. I doubt he even has a lawyer, but I put several boxes of old records in your office for you to search and see if you can find them. I doubt you will. Doofus and I went through them last night.”

“Anything else?” I asked, knowing he was irritated because he only calls Otis “Doofus” when he’s annoyed.

“Mrs. Corley is bringing Miss Patsy’s clothes and wants to talk to you while she’s here. Otis has gone to Charleston to pick up Amber Buchanan.”

“Will you be prepping Mrs. Buchanan when she arrives?”

“Not right away. She’ll go in the cooler until the sheriff locates next-of-kin.” We don’t embalm anyone without permission from the legally responsible person. A lot of people in South Carolina think embalming is required by law, but it’s actually a choice though public viewing is forbidden without it.

Yes, I was tempted, but I didn’t say, “I know that.”

The next several hours bored me—I almost said “to death”—but while we have our dark humor in this business, that’s an expression I don’t use. I was surprised at how many people had prepaid for funeral services way back ten to fifteen years ago. Most of them had already been buried, but I found Emma Lou Riley’s papers filed in the wrong folder. I could say that doesn’t happen with computers, but as everyone knows, errors persist in the computer world, too.

“I found it!” I said to Odell waving the folder in front of him.

He harrumphed, which is a sound he makes frequently. “Must have been in one of the boxes Doofus went through. I’m positive I wouldn’t have missed it.” He took the folder to his office, where I hoped he wouldn’t lose it again.

I’d hardly had time to consider what to do next when the telephone rang.

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

“This is the medical examiner’s office in Charleston. Mr. Middleton just left here with the Buchanan case. I didn’t know then that the pathologist had finished with Miss Corley and Mr. Rodgers. According to my paperwork, they both go back to Middleton’s until the sheriff releases them to next-of-kin for final disposition. I’m sorry I didn’t know until after Mr. Middleton left in the hearse. You might want to stop him and send him back for Corley and Rodgers. He hasn’t been gone long.”

“Thank you very much. I’ll call and send him back.” Good grief! Middleton’s serves as the morgue for Jade County and has the contract to transport bodies for the county, but we’d never before had
three
murder fatalities on the premises at once. Some folks might say we only had two, but I consider suicide a very sad form of homicide also.

Otis didn’t complain at all when I called and asked him if he’d go back and pick up the other two victims. In fact, he said he was only about ten miles out of Charleston and would much rather go back then than have to return once he was all the way to St. Mary.

“Do you have room for three bodies in the hearse?” I asked without thinking.

“You should know by now that it’s called the funeral coach, and of course there’s plenty of room. It’s not like they’re in caskets.”

I apologized and hung up before I made some other
Duh
comment. Usually, Otis is sweet as candy and Odell is a little rough around the edges. Maybe, like me, Otis was feeling lonely at the thought of no date for New Year’s Eve. Or maybe he had gas again. Who knows?

Even without a single client on the premises, I stayed busy all afternoon. Mrs. Corley didn’t bring Patsy’s clothes. Surprisingly, she sent Walter with them. I don’t know if he wadded them up on the way or what, but the hot pink pants suit and pretty pale pink and white flowered blouse were crushed. I took them into my workroom and steamed the wrinkles out. Officially, my title is cosmetician, but I do a little of whatever needs to be done around Middleton’s.

New Year’s Eve—all dressed up and nowhere to go. Well, I was dressed in my usual black and would be planning to wear something else if I had a date for the evening. But I didn’t have any plans. I didn’t even expect to hear from Patel. My feelings about him were swinging like the pendulum in Edgar Allan Poe’s story. Back and forth between anger and worry. If he’d changed his mind about our relationship—well, really just a friendship at that point—the polite thing to do would be to tell me. That thought brought out the angry feelings. But what if something had happened to him? What if he were unable to communicate with me? Just that notion brought tears to my eyes.

I was swabbing my face with a tissue when Odell walked up to me.

“Callie, are you crying?”

“Just allergies,” I lied, hating myself for doing it, but mentally justifying it with the thought that it would make Odell sad to know I was feeling so low that I wept.

“You can go on home. I’m sure you’re going somewhere exciting tonight. I’ll stay here and help Otis.”

“You’re sure you won’t need me?”

“We’ll be fine. You get outta here, and I’ll see you day after tomorrow.”

I put on my coat and headed toward the back door. As it closed, I heard him call, “Happy New Year,” to me.

• • •

Magazines and television shows talk about exercise releasing endorphins that make people feel good. Sometimes I get the same benefit from driving my Mustang. It’s a blue 1966 ragtop and was my ex-husband Donnie’s pride and joy. Since we divorced not long after he finished his medical internship, no alimony was granted because I’d been the main breadwinner and supported him through medical school. The judge thought Donnie should forfeit something though and awarded me the Mustang. My first reaction was pleasure that the court recognized my contribution to Donnie’s future and that my getting it made Donnie furious. After I began driving the car, I understood how Donnie felt about that piece of blue metal. I don’t speed—just drive around—and it makes me feel better, especially this early evening when I drove along Highway 17 and could see the ocean through the rain.

I called Jane before I headed home. “I know Roxanne is probably working tonight, but would you like to go somewhere early and have dinner before Roxanne starts?”

She giggled. She
actually
giggled, and Jane’s not usually a giggler though I am sometimes. I realize that’s a lot of giggling, but a lot of giggling was going on.

“Sorry, but I have a date.”

“Ohhhhhhhhhhhh, who?”

“Your brother Frankie called. He misses me. I miss him. We don’t know if we’re going to renew our relationship or just be friends, but we’re going out together tonight.”

That was a surprise. They’d been engaged and their parting hadn’t been pleasant. Jane and Frankie had pointedly avoided each other when I took her with me to Daddy’s on Christmas day.
 

“Oh,” I said, “Daddy said to remind you that he’s cooking the traditional New Year’s Day dinner tomorrow, and you’re invited.”

“I know. Frankie told me. Listen, I’d love to keep talking, but I’ve got to get ready.” I could hear excitement in her voice, but then, maybe she’d been feeling sorry for herself at the thought of spending New Year’s Eve alone—like me.

I speed-dialed Daddy’s house. Mike answered.

“What are you guys doing tonight?” I asked.

“I’ve got a date and Frankie’s got a date, and you won’t believe this—Pa’s got
two
dates.”

“What? I figured Daddy would be home washing collards and prepping for dinner tomorrow.” That was a poor choice of words. “Prepping” means one thing to a cook, another to a mortuary worker.

“Daddy’s going over to Miss Lettie’s and have dinner with her and Miss Ellen. He and Miss Ellen think it might lift Miss Lettie’s spirits a little.”

It certainly didn’t lift mine. I’d been almost ready to offer to help Daddy clean collards on New Year’s Eve!

With no one, not even Big Boy, to share dinner or New Year’s Eve with me, I decided to pick up a to-go plate from Rizzie. I might be home alone, but I could eat well.

Gee Three was packed, and Tyrone had several extra servers helping him. I assumed Rizzie was in the kitchen. Even Pork Chop Higgins was there drinking a cup of coffee. He sat in his favorite booth—the one with a movable table that could be pushed over to allow him to fit from front to back. It took almost the whole bench seat to accommodate his width. He had on his usual bib overalls over an orange T-shirt. I looked around and saw no other vacant seats, so I squeezed myself into the cramped space across from him.

“Hi, do you mind if I sit with you?” I asked. “Been delivering any babies lately?”

“No to both questions. I’m happy for you to sit with me, and I haven’t delivered a baby since the one you helped me with. Did you know Misty and Billy Wayne named the baby for me?”