Casket Case

by Fran Rizer

  They followed me into our nicest conference room and sat side by side in two of the overstuffed green velvet chairs surrounding the antique table.

  “Please pardon me,” I said, “I’ll call Mr. Middleton.”

  “Can’t you help us with the plans?” Levi asked. “You work here, don’t you?”

  The smart-aleck side of me wanted to say, “No, I just drive the funeral coach around and always dress in black because I think it’s a good color for me.” Instead, I said, “I work here, but making arrangements isn’t part of my job. That’s usually handled by one of the Middletons.”

  I stepped out of the room and saw Otis headed down the hall. “Dr. Melvin’s widow and her brother are here,” I said. He joined them as I stood at the door and asked, “Could I bring anyone coffee or bottled water?”

  Odell got this idea that if we offered bottles of water instead of soft drinks, we wouldn’t need to stock a variety. Personally, I thought if we served water, it could be tap on ice in a glass. Even less expensive than bottles. Irrelevant at the moment. Roselle and Levi both agreed coffee would be fine.

  When I returned with the silver coffee service, planning sheets and contracts were spread across the table. As I served the coffee, I took a good look at Levi Pinckney. The South isn’t nearly so inbred as Jerry Springer would have folks believe, so tell me why I was jealous of Roselle Dawkins.

  Levi said they were siblings, but he’d also said they hadn’t known each other very long. I thought about one of my brothers being concerned enough to move to a strange town to watch out for me if we’d only known each other a few months. My brothers are protective, but they’ve known me my whole life.

  My blue eyes turned green again, and I wondered if Levi’s interest in Roselle was anything other than brotherly. That brought a quick consideration of brother-sister romance, and I gagged while fighting down the urge to upchuck all over the papers Otis had on the table for Roselle.

  “Mel gave me this not long after we married,” she said and handed a large manila envelope to Otis. She turned toward me. “Callie, this coffee is good,” she said, “but could I have some water, too? I need to take some pills.”

  Otis looked through the papers in the envelope, smiled, and said, “There won’t be any problem. Your husband has left you well provided for with insurance naming you the beneficiary and his will making you his sole heir. All I’ll need is for you to sign papers giving Middleton’s an assignment against the policy.”

  I went for the water while Otis continued examining the papers. When I returned and handed the bottle to Roselle, Otis was saying, “Here are suggestions for Melvin’s funeral. It’s not written in such a way that it legally binds you, but as a letter telling what he’d like.”

  Roselle unscrewed the cap from the bottle of water and set it on the table. She removed a small bottle from her purse and poured almost a handful of capsules and pills into the palm of her hand. She tipped the whole lot of meds into her mouth and chased them down with about half of the water. Then she looked at the paper Otis offered.

  “May I see that?” Roselle reached out and accidentally spilled her coffee. I dabbed it up with some of the napkins on the silver tray. Though we use mugs and paper towels in our offices, Otis insists on cloth napkins and Wedgwood china for the bereaved. Silver coffee service and real china, but he gives people water in plastic bottles. Go figure.

  “What are all those pills you’re taking?” Levi asked.

  “Just Mel’s vitamins and nutritional supplements. He had them all counted out by days, and I figure I need extra strength going through all this.” Roselle’s face crumpled, and tears flowed from her eyes, but after a minute or so, her mouth curved into a smile. “Mel’s done it all for me. Just follow his directions there, a wooden coffin, the church and cemetery he names. All we have to do is set the date and time.”

  “We can’t do that until Mr. Dawkins comes back from Charleston,” Otis said, “but we’ll call you as soon as we hear something.”

  Roselle turned to Levi and said, “See? I told you I could handle this without your help. Mel took care of everything. He’s taking care of me. Why, I’ll even have enough money left from the insurance to buy a condom to lease out.”

  Otis raised his eyebrows at me. Levi squirmed and said, “Yes, you may be able to buy a condominium for rental property.” He shot me a look that was half embarrassed and half amused.

  “I told you Mel would take care of me. He really loved me.”

  Levi squirmed in his chair again and mumbled, “Well, you never know. I’m just trying to act like I think a big brother should.” He patted her hand. “I’m really glad you found me.”

  Otis and I walked Roselle and Levi toward the front door after she’d signed everywhere Otis pointed to on the papers. When we reached the door to Slumber Room A, Roselle turned to Otis. “Would it be all right for me to see the little girl?” she asked.

  “I don’t see any harm in that,” Otis said and led her to the casket.

  Levi and I stayed in the entry hall. “Did you find the right house last night?” I asked.

  “Exactly where the lady said it was.”

  “How long have you been delivering for this sub place?”

  “I’m not the delivery boy. I’m learning the business and since there was no one to deliver that sub, I did it myself.” I really liked his Charleston accent.

  “What will you be doing after you learn the business?”

  “I worked as a butcher in Charleston in my dad’s meatpacking business, but I’d rather do something that’s more people-oriented. When Dad died, I sold his company and I’m exploring what I want to do. I may open my own sub shop, so I’m getting the feel of it at Nate’s.”

  “Where is Nate’s?”

  “Here in town. It’s over on Pine Street. Why don’t you come by this evening?”

  “You won’t be there, will you? I’d imagine you’ll be with Roselle.”

  He looked down. “Can’t you tell she doesn’t want me around? I’m taking her shopping and to the bank, but I’ll be going in to work at six. Her mom and family will be up from Georgia before then. Come on by Nate’s. I’ll treat you to dinner.”

  Thank heaven Roselle and Otis joined us and saved me from having to answer. A dinner invitation at a sub shop while my “date” worked the counter wasn’t the best offer I’ve ever had—but I’ve had worse.

  “What a Friend We Have in Jesus” sounded as Roselle and her brother left. I went to my office and called Jane to see when she wanted to see the apartment next to mine. She suggested I pick her up about dinnertime and get something to eat after looking at the apartment.

  “Sure,” I answered. “There’s a new sub shop in town. We’ll go there.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “Sorry,” Odell said to me when he came back near midday. “I should have told you to take lunch early.” He thrust a paper bag at me. “Otis and I are taking Mr. Johnson to the church for the funeral, and I need you to hold down the fort. I brought you a sandwich. We’ll be back before the little girl’s visitation.”

  “Sure.” I opened the bag. I should have known even before I smelled the aroma. Barbecue. Sometimes I think that’s the only kind of sandwich Odell knows.

  “By the way, if you get a pickup,” Odell continued, “call Jake and send him. We’re taking the new funeral coach, but the keys to the other one are on the rack where they belong.” This was a direct attack on me since I’ve been known not to return things to their proper place. Not to put lots of things back correctly, including mixing up the garlic powder and the cinnamon during the short time that I lived with Jane when I returned from Columbia after my divorce. Does anyone eat garlic toast for breakfast? Jane didn’t much care for it.

  There were no calls during the afternoon, and Angie’s family didn’t come by. I spent my time on the computer, updating our web page and Internet memorials. When I finished, I read Gwen Hunter’s Sleep Softly until the Middletons returned.


  “It stinks” was the first thing Jane said when we opened the door to the apartment next to mine. She wrinkled her nose like Samantha on the television reruns, but the smell didn’t magically disappear.

  “Of course,” I said. “It’s been empty a couple of years. We can take care of that.” Thank heaven she couldn’t see it. My apartment is very seventies, with avocado green shag carpet and matching appliances. That’s bad enough, but it looked twenty years newer than this. Mine had been re-modeled, and this one was still decorated like it was when the building was constructed in the forties or fifties.

  “Okay,” I said as I guided Jane through the rooms. “The front door opens into the living room. You know how my kitchen is on the right. Yours is on the left. You can see it from the door.”

  Outdated wallpaper everywhere. Worn, scratched hardwood floors except in the kitchen, which someone had tried to modernize with peel-and-press tiles that curled at the edges. I have butcher-block Formica on my counters and lust for the beautiful granite countertops I see at Lowe’s and Home Depot. The counters here were topped with black linoleum marked by numerous cuts and gouges.

  “Two bedrooms at the back with a bathroom in between, just like mine.” I guided Jane to the bathroom. Whoever had stuck tiles in the kitchen had apparently used the leftovers around the commode until they ran out, leaving the rest of the broken, cracked ceramic tile showing everywhere else. I didn’t bother describing that to Jane.

  “What do you think?” she asked.

  “I think you should take it, and if I were you, I’d rent it as is and get the cheaper rent.”

  “Sounds good to me if we can get rid of the musty smell.”

  “Tell you what,” I said, “I’ll talk to Frank about the odor, and I’ll bet he’ll take care of it for you.”

  “I hope so. That woman’s been back sneaking around my place, and she still won’t answer when I talk to her. Mrs. White came by with George Carter, who she calls her fiancé, and giggled like an eleven-year-old. She said the closing has been delayed, but she still wants me to move as soon as possible.” Jane paused. “She even offered to refund my last month’s rent and my deposit to help me relocate faster.”

  “I’ve never heard of anybody doing that.”

  “She’s good people. Can you tell the landlady here that I’ll take it as is and ask how much deposit she needs?”

  “Let’s go next door, and I’ll call her from my place.”

  “Hi, Callie and Jane” was the first thing I heard when Jane and I walked from the piece-of-caca truck into Nate’s Sports and Subs. The place reminded me of some of the sports bars my ex had taken me to in Columbia. Various sports games played on several large-screen televisions on each wall. Football helmets, baseball gloves, and other athletic equipment were displayed every place that room permitted.

  The voice was masculine, but it wasn’t that Charleston drawl Levi Pinckney spoke. I glanced over and saw Sheriff Wayne Harmon sitting at the counter, or in the case of Nate’s, I thought it might properly be called a bar.

  The sheriff was eating a foot-long sub that looked as though some of everything available was on it. Guess law enforcement officials have to eat something besides doughnuts sometime.

  “May I talk with you two ladies?” Harmon didn’t wait for an answer. He moved his plate and cup to a booth and motioned for us to sit across from him. I noticed that he chose a booth that was relatively secluded, not near anyone else.

  I nudged Jane into the seat and looked around for a server. Oh, okay, I admit it. I was searching for Levi.

  A girl, looked late teens but probably somewhere in her twenties, approached us. She had lots of tattoos that I could see, and I’d bet a month’s wages that she had many more beneath her jeans and tank top. “What would you like to drink?” she asked.

  “I want a draft beer,” Jane answered.

  Any other time, I would have wanted a beer with her, but since we were sitting with the sheriff, I asked for a Coke. He’d know I was driving, and though one beer certainly wouldn’t put me over the alcohol limit, I make it a policy not to drink and drive. Wayne Harmon had been friends with my daddy and brothers so long, he’d probably give me a lecture if I drank in front of him anyway.

  Sometimes Jane asks me to read the menu to her when we go somewhere new. This time, she didn’t. When the server returned with our drinks, Jane said, “Do you have meatball subs?”

  “Sure do,” Miss Tattoo replied.

  “That’s what I want,” Jane said.

  “What’s the sheriff eating?” I asked and motioned toward Harmon’s sandwich.

  “It’s a deluxe,” he answered for her. “Some of everything, including all kinds of peppers.”

  “I’ll take one just like his, with extra jalapeños, please.”

  Miss Tattoo went behind the counter.

  “Callie,” Sheriff Harmon said, “I wanted to ask you about Melvin Dawkins.”

  I took a swallow of Coke and asked, “What do you want to know?”

  “Exactly what was the situation when you arrived?”

  “Same as when you got there.”

  “Where was the body?”

  “He was floating in the hot tub.”

  “Did you touch him?”

  “No, I could tell he was dead.”

  “Did you see his wife move him in any way?”

  “No, but she did ask me if I thought we should take him out before I called you. I told her we couldn’t touch anything. When her brother got there, he felt for a pulse, but the body wasn’t actually moved. Left Dr. Melvin floating facedown in the tub with the pumps on.”

  “Callie, are you lying to me?” The sheriff used his authoritative tone.

  “No, why do you ask that?”

  “You’re looking all over this place except at me. Why can’t you look me in the eye? Are you fudging on the truth?”

  Jane laughed. “She’s looking for a man. She told me we were meeting some hot guy here, and from the sound of her voice, it wasn’t you.”

  Harmon smiled. “Is it someone who might not want to join you if he sees me sitting here? Someone who might not want to sit at a table with the county sheriff?”

  “No, actually Dr. Melvin’s brother-in-law asked me to meet him here.”

  “Levi Pinckney?” Sheriff Harmon asked just as our tattooed lady returned with subs for Jane and me.

  “Levi’s not working tonight,” she said as she placed the wrapped sandwiches in front of us. “He called in, said his sister needed him. Her husband died, you know?”

  “Yes,” I said, “we know.”

  The girl picked up Jane’s empty mug and headed toward the counter. “Don’t refill that,” I called. “Bring her a Dr Pepper.”

  “Why?” Jane asked.

  “Because if I can’t have a beer, you can’t either.”

  Sheriff Harmon continued chewing. Jane took a big bite. I didn’t really feel like eating. I had this great big sub in front of me, large enough to feed two of my brothers, and I wasn’t even hungry. I sipped my cola, then rewrapped the sandwich.

  “Not hungry?” Harmon asked.

  “No, not really. Why are you asking about Dr. Melvin? Is he back yet? Have you heard from the postmortem?”

  Harmon motioned toward his mouth and kept chewing. I knew he meant for me to wait. He swallowed, then said, “The autopsy’s complete, but we’re waiting for the toxicology results. It will take another couple of weeks or so for those. There was no water in his lungs, so he didn’t drown. No signs that he’d been hit or anything either, and his heart looked pretty good, too. No scar tissue. In other words, the autopsy didn’t show cause of death, so we’re hoping the chemical tests on fluids from the body will answer our questions.”

  “Are you testing for poisons?”

  “Doing a basic metallic scan, but there’s no reason to test for things like arsenic. Those poisons display symptoms that Melvin Dawkins didn’t have.”

  Jane wiped her lips and finge
rs with her napkin. “That’s about the best sub I ever ate,” she said.

  “I’ll have to try the meatballs sometime,” Harmon said. “Everything I’ve had here has been good.” He looked around. There were a few customers, but the place was far from crowded. “So you came to see Levi Pinckney,” he continued. “Why?”

  “He said he’s working here and suggested I try it sometime. I just thought he might be here.”

  “That’s not what you told me!” Jane protested. “You told me we were meeting him here.”

  Good grief. Embarrass me anytime, Jane. Tell the sheriff I got stood up tonight. I thought those words. Thank heaven I didn’t say them aloud.

  “Well, if you think of anything else about the night Dawkins died, let me know.” Sheriff Harmon stood, slapped a couple of dollars on the table for a tip, and started toward the door. Then he turned back. “Callie,” he said, “I heard that Mullet Man came to Middleton’s today.”

  “Mullet Man? I don’t know anyone called Mullet Man,” I said.

  “Dennis Sharpe. Try to avoid him, Callie. He’s extremely weird.”

  “I kinda thought so,” I said, thinking about his interest in freeze-drying dead people.

  After he’d left, Miss Tattoo reappeared at our table. “Want that beer now?” she asked me.

  “No, not even a refill on the Coke. I’d like the check now.”

  “Sure.” She handed me the ticket.

  “Do I pay you or at the register?” I said.

  “I’ll take it.”

  “No change,” I said when I handed her the money.

  She started toward the register at the counter, then turned back to me. “That Levi is a real hottie, isn’t he?”

  I nodded, so Jane wouldn’t know my answer, picked up my sub, and led Jane out of the sub shop.

  “Are you angry with me for some reason?” she asked when I closed the car door behind her.

  “Nope, just weary, that’s all.”

  I was tired, but I had a swarm of other feelings, too. Disappointment that I hadn’t seen Levi was one of them. Curiosity was another. Was Dr. Melvin’s death due to natural causes or not? Why hadn’t the autopsy shown a physical cause, the expected heart attack or stroke? I promise I don’t seek out murders. Why did they seem to follow me?