Leftover Dead (18 page)

“I know how you feel,” he said. “I’m so curious, and nervous, too, I guess. To think we might find someone there who knew her.”

They ended up stopping briefly in Mendenhall for a quick bite to eat. Jack spotted a sandwich shop just off Highway 49, and they ordered their food to go.

Something over an hour later they were approaching Hattiesburg. Jack said, “Honey, can you grab my jacket out of the back seat? I stuck the directions in my pocket, and I forgot to get them out when we stopped for lunch.”

Wanda Nell twisted around in her seat and reached back for the jacket. She felt in the pocket and pulled out the folded papers.

Facing forward again, she opened the papers and scanned them. The top page had a map of their route from Tullahoma to Hattiesburg, with directions right to the funeral home.

“You got all this off the Internet?” Wanda Nell asked.

“I know, pretty amazing, isn’t it?” Jack smiled. “Will you read the directions out to me?”

Wanda Nell did as he asked, and she helped him look for the appropriate turns and street signs. In another fifteen minutes they pulled up in front of Duckworth-Howell Funeral Home. Jack parked the car in front of an impressive, old three-story house with a broad porch across the front and along one side.

“I wonder if anybody lives there,” Wanda Nell said. “As big as that place is, it looks like somebody could.”

They sat staring at the house for a moment longer. “Guess we might as well go in,” Jack said. “Come on.”

He got out of the car, went around to Wanda Nell’s door, and held it open while she stepped onto the sidewalk. He tucked her hand around his arm as they headed up the walk to the porch, up the steps to the front door. Jack pulled open the screen door and twisted the knob on the main door. Wanda Nell pushed it open, and they stepped inside the funeral home.

The air inside was chilly, and there was a pervasive smell of flowers. Wanda Nell wasn’t very fond of funeral homes. They brought back the sad memories of her parents’ deaths, and that of her ex-husband, Bobby Ray.

She and Jack glanced around the foyer. Ahead of them a grand staircase led to the second floor. On either side were doors with signs over them, and just ahead of them, near the stairs, stood a lectern with a book on it. Jack stepped forward to glance at it, and as he did, one of the doors to their right opened. A man in a dark suit walked toward them.

“Good afternoon,” he said, his voice quiet. “I’m Delbert Duckworth. How can I help you? Are you here for the Ferris viewing?” He extended his hand to Jack.

Jack shook the proffered hand. “No, we’re not. Actually, we were hoping to talk to Mr. Howell. It’s a personal matter.”

Duckworth frowned. “I’m afraid that’s going to be rather difficult,” he said. “Mr. Howell is in Chicago on business at the moment, and he won’t be back until sometime next week.”

Wanda Nell and Jack exchanged glances of dismay.

Seeing the expressions on their faces, Mr. Duckworth said, “I’m surely sorry he’s not here. Are you sure it’s not something I can help you with?”

Wanda Nell turned her head to look at him again. She judged him to be in his mid-to-late fifties. He surely ought to be able to remember someone from three decades ago. She left it to Jack to decide, though.

“You might be able to,” Jack said. “Would you mind if I asked you how long you’ve been here?”

Duckworth smiled. “Not at all. This is a family business. Or I guess I should say, a two-family business. My father owned it, and his father before him. Same thing on the Howell side. The first two owners were brothers-in-law, way back when.”

“So you’ve been part of it all your life,” Wanda Nell said.

“Yes, ma’am, I surely have. Started working here as a teenager, and I don’t want to tell you how long ago that was.” He laughed. “Probably before you were even born, ma’am.”

Wanda Nell smiled. “Thank you.” She glanced at Jack.

He grimaced slightly but turned a bland face to Duckworth. “Sounds like you ought to be able to help us, then. We’re looking for the family of a young woman from Hattiesburg, who left here about thirty-one years ago.”

Duckworth frowned. “Sorry, but I’m not sure I follow you. How is she connected with Mr. Howell?”

“We’re not entirely sure she is,” Jack said. “But her name was Jenna Rae Howell.” He watched the man’s face for any sign of recognition. There didn’t seem to be any.

“My partner, Mr. Howell, doesn’t have any children,” he said, still frowning. “In fact, he’s never married. You’ve got the wrong Howell.”

“Yes, I can see that,” Jack said, the disappointment obvious in his voice.

Duckworth thought a moment, his brow wrinkled. Then his face cleared. “But I know who you need to talk to. The man you want to talk to is my partner’s uncle, Mr. Parnell Howell.”

“Did he have a daughter?” Wanda Nell asked.

“Yes, ma’am, he did. And as I recall, her name was Jenna Rae. She was a very pretty girl. She used to come with her daddy here to the parlor and help him.” He shook his head. “I haven’t thought about her in a long, long time. I’d pretty much forgotten her until you mentioned her.”

“What did Mr. Howell do here?” Wanda Nell asked. For Jenna Rae’s sake, she hoped he wasn’t a mortician.

“He was our janitor until he retired, about seven years ago.” Duckworth had an odd look on his face. “Once upon a time, he was one of the partners in the business. I shouldn’t be telling you this, but his brother, my partner’s father, had to buy him out. They kept him on, though. He couldn’t hold down a job anywhere else.” He mimed lifting a glass repeatedly to his mouth, and Wanda Nell and Jack nodded to show they understood.

“Do you know where we can find him?” Jack asked. “We surely would like to talk to him about his daughter.”

“We have his address on file. He still gets a pension from us. If you’ll wait just a moment, I’ll get you that information.”

“We’re getting closer,” Wanda Nell said, her voice low.

“Let’s just hope he’s in decent enough shape to talk to us. It doesn’t sound like he ever got over his drinking problem.”

Duckworth came back, holding an index card. He proffered it to Jack and gave them directions on how to find the place.

When Jack thanked him, he said, “You’re welcome. I reckon Mr. Howell will be glad to have some news of his daughter. I hope she’s doing fine.”

When neither Jack nor Wanda Nell responded to that, he went on, “Now that I’ve thought about it, I remember her running off. It was right after her mama died, and I guess she didn’t want to stay with her daddy.” He shook his head. “Can’t say that I blamed her for that.”

“So her mother died before Jenna Rae left town?” Jack said.

“Yes. I don’t remember the exact timing now, it’s been so long ago. Must be thirty years or more.” He shook his head. “Where does the time go? Anyway, it wasn’t too long after Miz Howell passed away that the girl just up and ran off.”

“We sure do appreciate your help, Mr. Duckworth,” Jack said. He offered his hand.

Duckworth shook it. “You’re mighty welcome, and if there’s anything I can ever do for you, just give us a call.” He pulled a card from his inside jacket pocket and handed it to Jack.

“Thank you,” Wanda Nell said, smiling. “We sure will.” Jack held the door open, and she walked outside. For a moment she welcomed the heat. The air inside the funeral home had chilled her.

Jack tucked Duckworth’s business card into his pocket. “You never know,” he said. “I might need to talk to him again at some point.” He laughed. “But I bet you he sells a lot of really expensive caskets.”

“I’m sure he does,” Wanda Nell said.

Inside the car, the air conditioner blasting, Jack repeated the directions Duckworth had given them. When he was satisfied he had them down, he put the car in gear and drove off.

Duckworth’s directions proved to be accurate, and they found the street about twenty minutes later. The neighborhood was shabby, the houses rundown, and many of the lawns brown with neglect. Jack pulled the car in front of the house that matched the number the funeral director had given them. He put the car in Park but left the engine running.

He and Wanda Nell gazed at the house. It was a small, one-story frame house. The front porch sagged, and the paint was almost gone, the boards weathered to a dull gray. There were no flower beds and only two old trees, neither of which appeared very healthy. There was an air of neglect about the place, a lack of care that had existed for a very long time.

“How awful,” Wanda Nell said. “I hope it wasn’t this way when Jenna Rae lived here.”

“If it was, it’s no wonder she ran off when her mother died.” Jack shut the car off and opened his door. “We shouldn’t put this off any longer.” He got out and shut his door.

Wanda Nell opened her door and stepped out before Jack reached her. She took his arm as they made their way along the broken walk to the dilapidated porch.

“Watch your step, honey,” Jack said, navigating the rotting steps with care. “It’s a wonder somebody hasn’t broken a leg, or worse, on these things.”

Gingerly Wanda Nell followed her husband up the steps. The porch was little better, but at least the area in front of the door appeared stable. Jack rapped on the door and waited.

When there was no response after about thirty seconds, he rapped again, harder this time.

He was just about to knock again when they could hear the sounds of shuffling feet approaching the door. Jack stepped back a pace.

The door swung open, and Wanda Nell had to stifle a gasp of shock at the sight of the man standing before them. What little hair he had left stood out at odd angles from his scalp, and didn’t look very clean. His clothes had obviously been slept in for more than a few days, and the odor emanating from him made Wanda Nell’s eyes water. It was all she could do not to clap a hand over her nose and mouth. She stole a glance at Jack and could see that he was similarly affected.

“Mr. Howell?” Jack asked, his voice strained.

Bleary eyes regarded them. Wanda Nell thought he was over eighty, but years of drinking had taken such a toll on him, he might be more than a decade younger.

The man continued to stare at them.

“Mr. Howell,” Jack said, raising his voice slightly, “we’d like to talk to you.”

“Ain’t got no money to buy anything,” Howell replied, his voice rusty, as if from disuse. He shuffled back a couple of steps and started to close the door. “Get the hell off my porch.”

Jack stuck his foot in the door, and Wanda Nell was glad he was wearing his boots. Howell shoved the door hard.

Jack winced, but he didn’t move his foot. “We’re not trying to sell you anything, Mr. Howell. We want to talk to you about something else, something personal.”

Howell paused, his hand still on the door. Trying to focus on them again, he said, “This ain’t about my food stamps again, is it? I done tole y’all I ain’t using ‘em to buy anything to drink.” His voice had taken on an unpleasant whine.

“No, it’s not about your food stamps,” Jack said. “It’s not about anything to do with them, I promise you.”

“Then what the hell is it?” Howell’s anger gave his voice strength. “I ain’t got time to stand here in the dad-blamed door all day.”

“We came to talk to you about Jenna Rae,” Wanda Nell said.

Howell regarded them in stony silence for a moment. “Who the hell is she?”

Wanda Nell wasn’t taken in. She had seen the flash of recognition in those bloodshot eyes. “Your daughter, Jenna Rae,” she said, her voice kind but firm. “We want to talk to you about her.”

“Ain’t got nothing to say.” Howell tried once again to shut the door, but Jack held firm, and Howell gave up after a moment.

“It’s important,” Jack said. “We don’t want to bother you, Mr. Howell. But this is something very important. May we come in and talk to you?”

Without a word, Howell turned and walked away, his feet in worn slippers rubbing against the floor. Jack shrugged and held the door for Wanda Nell.

Not sure she really wanted to go inside this particular house, Wanda Nell hesitated for a moment.

“I know,” Jack said. “It’s going to be awful. But we’ve got to talk to him.”

“I know.” Wanda Nell stepped inside, and the smell took her breath away for a moment. Then, trying to breathe shallowly through her mouth, she followed in the direction Howell had taken. Jack came behind her.

The house was hot, the air stifling and laden with unpleasant smells. Wanda Nell did her best not to identify them, but she knew one of them was stale urine. They found Howell sitting in an old recliner, his feet up, sipping from a beer can. Nearby stood an old box fan, whirring gently, providing a slight breeze.

Wanda Nell figured they were in the living room, but it looked more like a garbage dump. There were piles of newspapers, many of them yellowed with age, all over the room. Beer cans littered the floor, and Wanda Nell didn’t even want to acknowledge the bugs she saw scuttling out of their way. She followed Jack to a ratty old sofa. He pushed some of the piles of paper out of the way, leaving a few for them to sit on.

Wanda Nell sat down, taking care to keep the newspaper under her. It might be dusty and smelly, but she figured it was better to have that against her clothes than whatever was on the fabric of the couch.

Howell continued to drink his beer as if they weren’t in the room with him.

“Mr. Howell,” Jack said, “we really need to talk to you about your daughter. Can you hear me?” He raised his voice.

Howell grunted. He didn’t look at them.

“When Jenna Rae ran off,” Jack said, “she ended up in a place called Tullahoma, up north of here, in Tullahoma County. Do you know where that is?” He waited a moment for a response, but Howell continued to ignore him.

Wanda Nell could tell her husband was getting exasperated, but to his credit, he didn’t make it obvious. “Jenna Rae came to Tullahoma, and she was there for about three days.” Jack paused. “We know she was adopted, Mr. Howell. And someone who knew her in Tullahoma told us she came there to find her biological father.”