“Did you catch the name of the funeral home?”
“Wilkens-Billings Funeral Home.”
“And how did you learn that?”
“Detective skills. Observe and remember.”
“But how do you know that the Wilkens-Billings Funeral Home is the one where they are taking the body?”
“Only one in town.”
13
The Wilkens-Billings Funeral Home was a renovated mammoth old antebellum Southern mansion on Main Street just before entering what might be considered the business district of Riley Corners. Four gargantuan white columns lined the front of the house and supported a second story veranda that had been screened in to protect from flying varmints and the like in this North Carolina setting. One can only imagine that in the summertime evenings an elaborate array of flies, mosquitoes, and gnats could easily gather and feast on any humans who might want to sit and enjoy the perched view of greater Riley Corners. Since someone had gone to the trouble of screening in the porch, clever detective that I am deduced that the balcony was used, or had been used in former days. However, it did beg the question as to what occasion would dictate sitting on the second story veranda of the singular funeral home in Riley Corners. The one thing that crossed my mind was a summertime death of a local dignitary with an overflowing crowd causing such usage of the balcony veranda. That notion quickly dissipated since no more than ten people could manage to be out there at any one time. Perhaps the staff used it to survey the potential clients of the community.
Matching white metal porch furniture consisting of four chairs and a table anchored both sides of the entry level front door of the old home. Nothing could be less welcoming than hard seats on the front side of a funeral home. I had difficulty imagining groups of people sipping lemonade and chatting away in these furnishings. I do reserve the right to be wrong about that.
Upon entering the building, we were dwarfed by the massive hallway that ran straight ahead from our vantage. I was thinking that the hallway was long enough to permit a couple of bowling alley lanes. On either side of us were larger-than-necessary doorways with some opened and others closed. At the end of the long hallway was a desk. I could only assume that it was a reception desk. We moved down the corridor in that direction with the dark stained wooden floors squeaking beneath us.
A middle-aged woman greeted us with a fake smile, sugary voice, and cordial words.
“Welcome to the Wilkens-Billings Funeral Home. How may I assist you?” the woman who once upon a time had been a brunette said to us. She was attempting to become a blond but had some distance to go for that to happen. Her smile seemed to be a permanent fixture.
“We would like to speak with the funeral director,” I said.
“Do you have an appointment?”
“Not unless you give us one.”
“Well, let me call back and see if Mr. Billings is available to talk with you. May I tell him your name?”
“Clancy Evans.”
She searched a black book she had open in front of her. Whatever she was looking for, she did not find.
“I can’t seem to find any notation of ‘Evans’ in my book. What is the family name?”
“Are you asking me if we are here to see the remains of a member of my family who has recently died?”
“Yes, ma’am. That is precisely what I need to know.”
“We’re not here as a family to see the remains of our dearly departed.”
“Oh, I am sorry. My mistake.”
“No problem. We simply want to speak with the funeral director or the head mortician.”
“Let me call Mr. Billings.”
She picked up the receiver, pushed a button on the phone and waited for someone to answer.
“Mr. Billings, there’s a couple here wishing to speak with you.”
She listened while Mr. Billings spoke.
“No, sir. They are not.”
More listening.
“Yes, sir. I will tell them.”
She hung up the receiver and continued smiling at us.
“Mr. Billings said that he will be right down. You can wait over there,” she said and pointed at some chairs against the wall under a staircase.
We didn’t wait long. A short, gray-haired trim gentleman approached us after a few minutes. I was busy working on my fixed smile and had barely accomplished the feat for a moment or so when his approach interrupted my facial distortions.
Rosey and I stood to meet him.
“I’m Walker Billings, the Funeral Director here at Wilkens-Billings Funeral Home,” he said as he extended his right hand to Rosey first and then to me. His handshake was firm without being aggressive. He had a benign smile that seemed to be cordial, but short on genuineness. I think the smile was a permanent fixture for him as well. Could have been a requisite to work in this place.
“I’m Clancy Evans and this is my friend Roosevelt Washington.”
“We can go into my office and talk,” he said kindly. He had a better smile than the wanna-be blond at the desk, but nothing to write home about.
We followed Walker Billings into what turned out to be his office across the hallway. I imagined that once upon a time his office had been a bedroom in this antebellum mansion, or maybe just a large room where the rich Southern family gathered to do whatever it was that rich Southern families gathered to do in rooms like this. I estimated the room to be something like twenty feet square. Walker Billings had a desk in the center of the room underneath the chandelier. Compared to the size of his office, the desk was hugely deficient in adapting to its environs.
Walker Billings gestured to the couch that was directly in front of his desk. We sat down. Walker sat down in the chair behind his desk. We were now at least twenty feet away from him with a mammoth piece of furniture separating us. I also observed that Rosey and I were looking up at Walker Billings. Our uncomfortable couch was a good bit lower than his cushiony high-back leather chair. Physical and emotional distance. And they say there is no class distinction these days.
“Now, how may I help you folks?” he said in a friendlier than necessary voice.
“We would like to see the remains of Bishop Tanner,” I said.
“Oh, my goodness. Mr. Tanner’s remains will not be ready until tomorrow. I think they just brought his body in a few moments ago.”
“We would like to see him before you embalm him,” I said.
“You’re joking, right?” he chuckled a little at that thought.
“No. Straight up. No kidding around,” Rosey said.
“I can’t allow you to see the body of Mr. Tanner. That’s against the law. Why on earth would you request such a thing? You’re not family of Mr. Tanner.”
“No, no family relationship at all. I was speaking with Mr. Tanner this morning at the nursing home and had an appointment with him this afternoon. Just wanted to see if there were any signs of a struggle or any marks on his body.”
“Are you policemen?” Walker asked. He had actually lost his fixed smile and his voice had assumed more a tone of annoyance after our request.
“I’m a private detective,” I said. “I have an ongoing investigation and I think Mr. Tanner had some information that could have been helpful.”
“Well, I am sorry about all of that. But, the truth is I could not permit you to see the corpse once it is in my care. And Mr. Tanner was an uncle to our sheriff, and if I am not mistaken, Sheriff Tanner was called to the nursing home after Bishop died. Surely our Sheriff would have seen some signs of foul play when he was called in.”
“One would have hoped so,” I said. “Well, tell me this. Could you go in and look at the body of Bishop Tanner and then come back and tell us if you see anything suspicious, like, say, a head injury or bruises on his body...you know, stuff like that.”
“Let me make this clear to you both. Bishop Tanner was an old man in his late seventies. He had weak knees and fell more than once during his life. Bruises and scars would not be uncommo
n on an elderly man’s body given his inability to maneuver as he once did. That being said, I have to say that you are quite impertinent to come in here and ask to see the remains of someone you are not related to and don’t even know. Your presence here is even casting dispersions upon our local authorities. I’m going to ask you both to leave now and I shall report this to Sheriff Tanner.”
He stood up and leaned one hand on the desk while pointing to the door with his other. His position reminded me of a drawing from one of Dr. Seuss’ books. I couldn’t remember the exact book but the image was comical enough to cause me to smile.
“Is something funny to you?” Billings said to me as I turned to leave his office.
“As a matter of fact, it is. But I’m too busy casting dispersions at present to explain it. I’ll get back to you on the funny stuff later.”
14
Rosey parked the Jag at the far end of the church’s parking lot. The space partially concealed any vehicle which might park there because of the shrubs that surrounded it on three sides. Someone had created a small, private garden spot at the back of the church property fitted with stepping stones and cement bench. The statue of St. Francis created some ambience for meditation and serenity. There was even a little plaque that memorialized the place to the late Billy Bob Carpenter by his dedicated and loving wife, Mary Elizabeth. That’s what I read on the plaque.
“You knew that Billings would never allow you to see that body,” Rosey said.
“Of course. No reputable mortician would have.”
“So why go there and upset Walker Billings?”
“I was hoping that he would alert Sheriff Tanner to our query and inference.”
“You think there was ‘foul play’ in Bishop Tanner’s demise?”
“You tell me. Did you sense that there was anything wrong with the man this morning?”
“No, but people die suddenly, especially people with some age on them.”
“True enough, but we’re again working with coincidences here, and you know what I think of them.”
“So you were just bluffing.”
“Bingo. Still, my concerns might cause Sheriff Tanner to at least have a look-see.”
“And we’re hiding out here next to the church house in case we need to declare sanctuary?” Rosey said.
“Hey, that’s an idea; but no, we’re here to talk with Josh Ainsley, the pastor of this church. We’re also here to make sure that Maxine Shelton gets word to Sheriff Tanner.”
“And Maxine Shelton is who?”
“The secretary, office manager, and receptionist for the Riley Corners Baptist Church.”
“Many hats.”
“She has more. I suspect that she and Roscoe have a thing going.”
“The church secretary and the sheriff? Tsk, tsk.”
“Why do you want Sheriff Tanner to know our whereabouts? I figure he’ll ask us to leave town forthwith, or lock us up.”
“We want to be here long enough for Tanner to confront us. I simply need a name or two.”
“We looking for something specific?”
“Someone to verify the dead man’s tale.”
We entered the educational wing of the church house and stood in front of Maxine’s desk. She was on the phone of course, and we waited for her to finish her business. She had her back to us so she was unaware of our approach. We waited in silence.
Maxine giggled into the receiver.
Rosey looked at me and shrugged. I shrugged back.
“You naughty boy. So, tonight then, after prayer meeting?” Maxine said and giggled again.
Love makes humans do strange things.
“I can’t wait. I better go. The preacher might get suspicious if we tie up the phone too long,” she said.
She giggled once more. Her giggling was having an adverse effect upon my stomach.
“Don’t talk like that. Okay. Bye.”
She turned around briskly in her swivel chair and was about to put the receiver back into its slot on the phone when she realized that Rosey and I were standing at the edge of her desk.
She gasped and forgetting that the receiver was in her hand, excitedly put it in the middle of her chest where it clanged against her multiple necklaces. After taking a deep breath, she returned the handset to its cradle. She released her deep breath in an effort to gain some composure.
“You scared the beejeebers out of me. I didn’t hear you come in. How are you…. Miss Evans, I believe?”
“Good seeing you again, Maxine.”
“And your friend?” she sighed, releasing another deep breath. She was still in search of some control, but it was not happening for her.
“Roosevelt Washington,” Rosey extended his hand to shake with her. “Pleasure to meet you, Maxine.”
She took his hand cautiously and allowed him to shake their hands. Maxine withdrew her fingers from his grasp quickly and picked up some papers on the desk. She nervously aligned the papers as if they needed to be aligned as her gaze quickly diverted away from eye contact with us. Her eye movement was rapid as she quickly examined her stapler, her pen holder, the several paper clips randomly strewn around the desktop, and the almost empty coffee cup resting close to the telephone. My astute detective skills informed me that she was having some difficulty with composing herself. No doubt she was wondering how long we had been standing there listening to her private conversation and the incessant giggling.
“Well, then, how may I help you folks?” her voice was still shaky.
“We would like to speak with Josh Ainsley,” I said looking directly at her.
“Let me see if he can speak with you. Wait here while I check, please.”
She walked over to the door that posted a sign which read ‘PASTOR.’ She knocked gently. A voice from inside responded to her knock. She opened the door and entered the study closing the door behind her. Standard practice, no doubt. A few seconds later she opened the door, closed it behind her, walked over to her desk and stood behind it, making sure that she had a large object between her and us. Her breathing was still measured.
“I’m sorry. He said to tell you that he is busy at the moment and that he is not able to see you.”
Rosey and I exchanged glances.
“How about later this afternoon?” I said.
Maxine looked around for something on her desk. She finally spotted a small, black notebook that resembled a calendar partially buried under the papers she had straightened moments earlier. She opened it, found the day, and then informed us that his schedule was full.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow is his day off,” she said. “I’m sorry. Perhaps if you could call back next week. Maybe I could schedule an appointment for you then.”
“Why not look at next week and schedule it now?” I said. I was practicing the fixed smile I had recently picked up at the funeral home.
“I like to go over the week with Reverend Ainsley on Mondays before we schedule appointments. He has lots of visitation and meetings and stuff like that to add to his weekly calendar. It would be best if you would call us, say, Monday afternoon.”
I was still trying to smile. It was hurting my face.
“Why not go back in and ask Reverend Ainsley if he could see us next week some time?”
“He doesn’t want to be disturbed again,” Maxine said.
I stopped smiling. The pain in my facial muscles went away.
“Rosey, help Maxine look up a possible date next week for an appointment,” I said as Rosey moved to the back of Maxine’s desk. I moved towards the door marked ‘PASTOR.’
“Hey, you can’t go in there,” Maxine said as she started to move towards the door that led to Reverend Ainsley’s inner sanctum.
Rosey moved in front of her to block her path. As he did, he gingerly took the scheduling calendar from her with his right hand while using his left hand to guide her back to her desk chair. She moved willingly.
“Well, I never in my life…,”
Maxine said but didn’t finish her thought. Surprised and a little frightened, I would imagine.
I entered Josh’s study and closed the door. He looked up from his desk with what I appeared to be a mixture of shock and outright terror.
“I can’t see you, Clancy.”
“Sure you can. I’m right here. Just look.”
“You know what I mean. You need to leave.”
“I need a name or two.”
“I can’t talk with you.”
“What do mean?”
“I have been warned about talking with you. You have to go.”
“Threatened?”
“You have to go now, Clancy. This is too dangerous for me. And for you. I don’t think the people who warned me are joking when they tell me to leave this thing alone.”
“What thing are you referring to?”
Josh started to say something, but stopped, no doubt thinking that he should not say what he was about to say.
“I’ve said too much. Please go,” Josh finally said.
“Give me a name of someone who was a friend to Bishop Tanner.”
“You need to leave town and forget about this whole thing. I was wrong to bring you here. I made a mistake. I hope you will forgive me. There is nothing here for you to investigate.”
“Josh, you need to hear me clearly on this. First, something is not right here and I mean to find out what it is. Second, I don’t take kindly to threats. Never have. Might be a character flaw. Oh, I guess the third thing is...I need a name.”
“I can’t help you. Please go.”
He moved from his desk to the door and then opened it. Maxine was sitting in her chair behind her desk but she was facing Rosey. Rosey was leaning against the wall behind her desk facing Maxine. He was smiling. Maxine was not. Her expression indicated that she did not know what to make of this handsome black man keeping her from what she thought was her job.
I walked out of his office. I could appreciate the fact that someone has scared him more than a little.
“He threatened me,” Maxine said to Josh behind us as we turned to walk down the corridor and leave the church building.
Mercy Killing Page 6