The empty hall was a welcome sight when I eased out of the office, my purse tucked at my side. I had made it part-way down the corridor when an office door swung open, and a man stepped out, hesitating when he spotted me. I swallowed the scream that’d risen in my throat, and gave him a friendly nod. Not daring to speak, I escaped down the hall, imagining his eyes burning a hole through my back.
Something clattered behind me, but I kept on going, not slowing down until I’d burst through the lobby door into the warm, night air. Exhausted, and shaking with adrenaline overload, I drove home and collapsed into bed fully clothed. The last thought I pictured before falling dead asleep were my hands nailing Scarlett’s coffin lid down good and tight and chunking her into the deepest part of Whiskey Creek.
Chapter Twenty
A Green Funeral
Sunday morning dawned bright and early. My cell phone rang. The bedside clock read 7:48.
“Hello.”
“Are you awake?”
Yawning, I answered, “What’s up, Billie Jo? I thought we decided to skip church since we have Scarlett’s funeral later.”
“We did. Roddy and I are going to breakfast. Do you want to join us? Deena’s tagging along.”
“You guys go on ahead without me. I want to run over to Carla’s before Scarlett’s funeral.”
“Oh, I forgot. Deena and I were supposed to go with you. We can do breakfast another time.”
I swung my feet to the floor and padded down the hallway to the living room for a quick look see out the window. “Don’t worry about me.” My gaze swept the street for the blue sedan. All clear. The drape dropped back into place. “Why don’t we meet up at the salon around three? We’ll ride to the funeral together.”
“And what are you going to do in the meantime?”
Thinking about my failed attempt to read the flash drive last night, and the potential danger attached to it, I said, “I’ve a few errands to run this morning. Talking to Carla and Frank Moody is one of them.” As much as I wanted to know what was on the flash drive, I realized the sooner it was out of my possession and into Bradford’s, the safer I would feel.
“Okay, but be careful. We’ll see you at the salon around three.”
After clicking off, I fixed a light breakfast and settled down to read the morning newspaper. Tango watched from the top of the refrigerator. Afterward, I puttered around the house straightening the clutter and doing deep housework that never seemed to get done during the busy work week.
At eleven, I showered and changed. Knowing today would be a long, hot day I dressed for comfort in a black cotton-lace sleeveless dress and matching pumps. With my hair piled high off my neck, I grabbed my keys, put the top down on the Mustang, and headed for Carla’s house west of town.
Two vehicles were parked in the driveway of her single-story ranch house. I recognized Carla’s red Honda and figured the blue pickup must be Frank’s. I parked behind the Honda, walked up to the front porch, and rang the doorbell. As I waited for someone to come to the door, I looked around at my surroundings. Large pecan trees shaded the front yard, but the grass needed mowing, and the flower beds needed weeding. The house had a rundown appearance and was in desperate need of a fresh coat of paint.
Just when I was wondering if I should leave, the door swung open and Carla stood there, her eyes red and puffy, her face drawn into a tight frown.
“What are you doing here?”
“You asked me to help you. That’s why I’m here. I have some questions for you and Frank.”
She hesitated before inviting me in with a gesture. “I was talking with my mother on the phone when you rang the doorbell. I’m so worried about her. I can’t help but cry when we talk. The kids are in the backyard, and Frank is in the den watching a race.”
“I hope he’ll be open to talking with me.” I followed her through the house to the back den, a nice space with a blue flowered sofa with large, colorful pillows. Family pictures lined the beige walls, threatening to take over the confined space.
A young, handsome, dark-haired man clicked off the blaring TV, and climbed to his feet from the recliner. Clad in jeans and a white T-shirt, Frank Moody reached out a hand when Carla introduced us and explained why I had dropped by.
“Thank you for agreeing to speak with me. If I’m to help Carla, I need to hear your side of the story.” I shook his hand and sat down on the sofa opposite the recliner. Carla joined me on the sofa.
He resumed his seat on the recliner. “I don’t see how I can help, but I’ll do what I can. Carla and I are ready to put this behind us. She’s agreed to marriage counseling.”
“We have to try. For the kids,” she said, confirming his statement.
“So this affair with Scarlett was a one-time deal?” I asked him.
His eyes narrowed. “I’ve gone over this with the police. I had nothing to do with Scarlett’s death. Neither did Carla.”
“Robert Burns said you were stalking Scarlett.”
“That was a mistake. I’ve learned my lesson.”
“He told me you asked Carla for a divorce just before Scarlett died. He said you wanted to marry Scarlett, but she rejected you.”
Red-faced, he jumped up and prowled the den, his hands clasped behind his back. “Are you here to completely destroy our chances of reconciliation? It’s none of your business.”
Carla eyed her pacing husband. “I think it’s time you told her the truth.”
He ground to a halt, facing us. “I lied about the affair. Me and Carla were having problems. Scarlett found me dead drunk at Cooter’s one night. I made a pass at her. She took pity and let me crash on her sofa for the night. The next morning, she fed me breakfast and listened to my sorry story. She told me to go home and work it out. But I didn’t listen. She tried to let me down easy, but I refused to back off and acted the fool. I hate being rejected, so I lied about the affair.”
“That was the last time you had contact with her?” I asked.
He dragged his fingers through his hair. “No. We met Friday morning down at Joggers Pond. I begged her to give me a chance. I even promised to give up drinking, but she wanted no part of it. She had a man in her life. She said I loved Carla, not her. She understood because she’d ridden the same roller-coaster after her parents died. That’s when she confessed to being a recovering alcoholic.”
That’s a new revelation.
“And then what happened?”
“I followed her advice and went to an AA meeting.”
“You didn’t try to contact her after that?”
He shook his head. “No, I realized she was right. All the time it was Carla I was missing, wanting. Scarlett may have come off as a haughty, uncaring bitch, but deep down inside, she was a good person. I wouldn’t be here today with my family if it weren’t for her.”
Becky had expressed the same opinion. Frank held out a hand to his wife. “Sorry you had to hear it again.”
Carla rose from the sofa and went into his arms. “If we’re going to make it, I have to hear the bad parts. And we are going to make it. I’m not going anywhere, and neither are you.” She turned to me. “Are those all the questions you have?”
“I have one for you, Carla. Why did you lie to me and the police about the twenty minutes you said you left the mask on Scarlett’s face? In the lab, it took thirty minutes for the mask to dry to the rubbery hardness it was on Scarlett’s face.”
“I must’ve lost track of time a bit while I was on the phone with my mother. God, I was so mixed up and confused that day that I don’t remember much.”
“So you weren’t trying to cover up your own mistake?”
“No. But I did make a mistake. I allowed my personal problems to interfere with my job. I wasn’t even aware of my mental state until the doctors diagnosed me. All I could focus on was my failing marriage and my dying mother. I’m sorry I caused so much trouble for your family.”
A door slammed and the sound of running feet and giggling kids burst i
nto the den. Two young children—an older boy I judged to be about seven and a girl around five or six—ran up to their parents.
“Tag, you’re it,” the boy cried, tapping his younger sibling on the arm.
The girl squealed with delight and chased her brother around the den. Frank reached out, hauling his laughing daughter to his side to swing her up into his arms. The boy grabbed his father’s leg with both arms and looked up at him with adoration.
I smiled at the picture, knowing this young family would be okay with time and counseling. “I believe it’s time for you and your family to get back to enjoying your Sunday,” I said, hugging Carla and following her to the front door.
“Thanks for helping me. Your family has done so much. I can’t thank you enough.”
With my head near to bursting with the surprising revelations, I said goodbye and headed back into town—my next stop was Dixieland Salon. The empty parking lot told me I had the place to myself when I pulled around to the back. In case of rain, I put the top up on the convertible and let myself in through the back door. In Deena’s office, I booted up the computer and slipped in the thumb-drive. I tried the password again. The computer flashed the same message I’d received at home—the thumb-drive required special software and a password.
I tried rousing Scarlett, but she wasn’t answering my call. Discouraged and stumped with my lack of computer skills, I abandoned Deena’s office for the kitchen and poured a glass of Coke. Then I grabbed the phone book off the counter, opening to the yellow pages. I found the computer consultant listings and punched in the first number. They were closed. I tried each of the others, but they were all closed. Now what?
****
Not too long after, Billie Jo showed up, wanting me to cut and style her hair. Since we had some time to kill, I agreed. I shampooed and cut her short, blonde hair into wispy layers throughout, and blow-dried it into a cute pixie style. She wanted to reciprocate the favor. Having more time to burn, I consented, although I wasn’t confidant of her skills being a barber with limited experience with ladies’ hairstyles, but she was my sister, after all.
Loosening my hair out of its clasp, she let the thick, heavy waves tumble through her hands to settle at my waist. She picked up a hairbrush.
“How did your meeting go with the Moodys? Find out anything new?”
“Actually, quite a lot,” I said. “Frank insists he never had an affair with Scarlett. Not for a lack of trying on his part, but she wanted no part of it. She had a man in her life and wasn’t interested in another. She confessed to being a recovering alcoholic. How the gossip mavens allowed that juicy tidbit to escape notice, I’ll never know.”
She started brushing the tangles out of my hair. “How about an updo?”
“I don’t care what you do as long as it’s off my neck,” I said, relaxing under the strong pull of the hairbrush.
“And Carla? What was her explanation for the time discrepancy with the mask?”
“She said she lost track of time when she was talking with her mother. Blamed it on confusion. It could be true.”
Billie Jo picked up the curling iron and began curling my hair. “So do you still suspect them of doing Scarlett in?”
“Naw, not so much. I’m inclined to believe their stories. Neither one strikes me as a killer.” I paused as another question came to mind. “Hey, tell me how you really feel about Daddy’s resurrection.”
“Well, I was certainly shocked and hurt, when the truth came out. But after all the trouble lately, I’m just glad he’s alive. Does that make sense?”
“I feel the same way. But Scarlett’s death has had a profound influence on me. Now I know for sure that my imaginary friends weren’t a figment of my imagination. That’s a good thing.”
“Is she still hanging around the salon?”
“I haven’t seen her today. She’s probably getting ready for her funeral.”
Billie Jo grabbed for a stack of bobby pins on the counter. “Speaking of Scarlett, I forgot to tell you Deena called, and she’s gonna meet us at the funeral home.”
I glanced at my watch. 2:45. “We’d better get a move on. It’s getting late.”
Billie Jo reached for a can of hairspray. “I’m done.”
“Not too much spray.”
It’s a good thing my sister rarely applied hairspray because the way she waved the can around my head, there wouldn’t be an ozone layer when she finished. The can finally fizzled out, and I looked open-mouthed at my reflection in the mirror.
“Well?” Billie Jo asked expectantly, her face openly proud of her accomplishment.
I hesitated, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. “You did a great job,” I said, not wanting to hurt her feelings, and I reached up to pat down the small curls sprouting from my head like antlers, then gathered up my purse and followed her out to the back parking lot.
“I’ll meet you there,” I said as Billie Jo climbed into her Charger.
She waved from her car. “Don’t put the top down on your car. The wind will mess your hair.”
With my new updo, I had to duck my head to get my hair inside the vehicle and for a split second, I contemplated putting the top down anyway. The wind couldn’t do any more damage than the convertible top pressing against my curls.
The ride to the funeral home took less than ten minutes, and as I stepped inside the cool lobby, the soft, gentle strains of soothing music washed over me. Billie Jo waited by the memorial book. I signed the book and ignored the strange looks thrown my way as we mingled with the crowd and finally found Deena talking with a group from our church. She did a double take when she spotted us and excused herself. Together, we found a couple of empty seats in front and sat down.
Deena touched my hair and whispered, “Having a bad hair day?”
I batted her hand. “Be quiet. The service is about to start.”
“It’s such a shame about Scarlett’s beautiful face. That’s why it’s a closed casket, you know. I bet they couldn’t fix it,” Billie Jo whispered.
“Shhh. Have you no respect for the dead?” Deena whispered back.
Billie Jo tapped me on the knee. “What’s up with the strange casket?”
“It’s a green funeral,” Deena said. “Scarlett’s casket is made of one hundred percent bio-degradable cardboard.” She waved a paper in front of us. “It’s all explained here in this handout.”
“Poor Scarlett, her cousin is burying her in an oversized shoe box,” Billie Jo remarked in a low voice. “Roddy and I are going to have a serious talk tonight. I plan on staying high and dry when I bite the dust.”
I looked away from my sisters to the coffin surrounded and blanketed in flowers and greenery, sitting a few feet from where we sat. “She’s not gone,” I whispered, apparently the only one who could see or sense her.
Crap. Scarlett's here. Not exactly the time for a chat. I’d have to wait until after the funeral. Hopefully, she’d clear up the password mix-up. I plucked a tissue from my purse. The scent of so many flowers made me a little nauseated. And the fumes from the hairspray didn’t help. Scarlett glared at me from her flowery perch.
What was eating her? I was the one with reason to be steamed. Last night’s wasted trip to the station hadn’t brought results, and frankly, I was getting pretty damn tired of chasing my tail.
“Where’s Mama?” Billie Jo wanted to know.
I sneezed. “She said she would meet us here.” I sniffed into the tissue.
“Maybe she’s in back with the others,” Deena suggested.
“I wonder where the cousin is,” I said from behind my damp tissue. “Do you think that wispy-haired redhead could be her?”
Deena perked up at this. “Whose cousin?”
Billie Jo leaned over me. Deena met her halfway. “Scarlett’s,” she said.
“Shhh.” A man turned around, giving us an angry stare before his wife leaned over and whispered in his ear. He turned back around to soothe her after shushing us one last time.
<
br /> “Do you hear me, Jolene?” Scarlett’s angry voice sent warning chills down my spine. My bad feeling intensified. I had to tread carefully. Bradford usually kept a close eye on me, not to mention the creepy Grant. Surely, they were both here somewhere. And now would be the time to hand over the pilfered thumb-drive stashed in my purse. The police would have computer experts with special software. With my head cocked around, I surveyed the group of mourners, but I didn’t spot Bradford in the crowd.
Finally, a man with a guitar stepped up to the front. A young woman joined him, and the lone strains of a melody flowed over the crowd. Deena shot me an expression of pure disbelief as the woman sang the simple lyrics of an old bluegrass gospel hymn—inappropriate for the successful professional woman I knew Scarlett to be. A quick glance at the coffin confirmed my evaluation—the deceased glowed ruby red with rage.
I held my breath as the song died, and an older black man, microphone in hand, launched into another bad song choice. Billie Jo speared me in the ribs. “Never seen a coffin bought from The Casket Store. Isn’t this the strangest funeral you’ve ever attended?”
Not taking my eyes from the aforementioned, I whispered, “Yes, appears so.” I wanted to tell her that if the black cloud gathering over the casket was any indication, the fun was about to begin.
Deena leaned over. “Scarlett must be turning over in her eco-friendly coffin.”
“You might say that,” I said as the deceased climbed off her cardboard burial box in a slow, smoldering manner. The urge to get up and move back a couple of rows washed over me. My butt, however, remained glued to the chair.
As the song closed, a minister gave a short sermon on the delights of heaven. He finished his talk assuring the listeners they need not mourn Scarlett’s departure, for she was at this very moment strolling the golden streets with her loving family who had gone on before her.
I rolled my eyes at the subject of his sermon, for she was at this very moment shouting curses at the redhead in the front row—probably the cousin who’d arranged the cardboard coffin and the dreadfully depressing music. Without warning, the woman wailed, cutting through the minister’s words, bringing the funeral to a dead stand still. I could see by the satisfied smile on the deceased’s face that she was very pleased to have gotten her message across to her unfortunate next-of-kin.
Dixieland Dead Page 19