by Fran Rizer
"Come on to the office and I’ll give you the info for Mrs. Joyner." As we went down the hall, I said, "I think I remember reading about that robbery. It was in New York, right?"
"You’re probably thinking about the Brinks robbery. That’s completely different." Harmon held the door for me to enter the office. I may be a modern young lady, but I still like those courtesies. "Brinks was the name of the armored car company. That happened in New York state a year or so after the Buckley robbery."
The Joyner folder lay on my desk. I copied Grace’s phone numbers and address onto a Post-It for the sheriff. He pulled his little notebook from his pocket and transferred the information to it. "I can’t keep up with those tiny scraps of paper," he complained.
Well, ex-cuuze me! I thought it but didn’t say it. One time the sheriff told me that if he ever heard me say "excuse me" or "whatever" again, he’d spank me. Of course, he was over at the house eating my dad’s catfish stew when he said it, so I don’t think it was official.
"What about this Johnny Johnson?" I asked.
"I gotta go," he said.
Following him to the front door, I bombarded him with more questions. He stopped and said, "Three men robbed an armored car at a mall in Buckley, New Jersey, so Buckley refers to the location, not the armored car company. They didn’t go in blasting like the Brinks robbery, but before it was over, a guard was taken from the scene and later shot dead. The police captured one of the robbers, but the other two got away with several million dollars, which was way more in the early eighties than it is now."
"Was Johnny Johnson caught or did he get away?"
"They captured Leon McDonald, but he was killed by another prisoner before he even went to trial. Johnson and the other suspect, Noah Gordon, disappeared along with the money. I’m thinking Johnny Johnson moved down here and started over with a new name, and from what you’re saying, a new wife. He left his second wife and three kids in New Jersey."
"I’ve never heard about that case," I said.
"It was pretty big news at the time, but the Brinks robbery was so much bigger that almost anytime an armored car robbery is mentioned, people think of it. Of course, here in South Carolina, we think of the armored car heist in Richland County in 2007. Those guys got almost ten million dollars."
"I remember," I said.
Harmon was pulling the door closed behind him when he said, "Don’t let them bury that body until I tell you it’s okay."
"Well, if you’re going to talk to Mrs. Joyner, you tell her we can’t bury her husband. She’s already bought the tree. She delivered it yesterday while I’d gone to pick up the casket. It’s in a big pot on the loading dock."
"Tree?"
"She’s planting a crape myrtle in his memory as part of the ceremony."
"Keep that corpse right where it is until I’m back." He closed the door, and I returned to my office. I’d looked up "armored car robberies" on the Internet before he was out of our parking lot. Apparently, they weren’t as rare as I’d thought because there were tons of entries. Well, not a ton, but a lot of them on the screen. Sure enough, there were more entries about the Brinks heist on October 20, 1981, in Nanuet, New York, than any other.
"Just a Closer Walk with Thee" tore me away from the computer just as I’d gotten the price for Mrs. Joyner’s bracelet. Mrs. Joyner stood in the front hall with a dry-cleaner bag over one arm and a bouquet of wild flowers tied with raffia in her other hand.
"I want these on top of the casket," she said and handed me the flowers. "Did you see the tree?" she asked.
"Odell told me about it and I took a look. It’s beautiful!" She followed me to the kitchen where I put the flowers into a vase of water.
"It’s a white crape myrtle. I thought that would be a good choice because they grow well here, but they’re not wild. There are some really pretty pinks, but I think white’s better for a man." She wiped a tear from her eye. "I’ve brought clothes for Harry to be buried in. I don’t believe in displaying dead people, but I don’t want him laid to rest in pajamas either." She handed me the hanger.
"I’ll dress him," I said.
"You’ll dress him? Harry was kind of modest. I think he’d prefer a man to change his clothes."
"Dressing the deceased is my job, but I’m sure Odell will be happy to take care of it." I cleared my throat. "By the way, Sheriff Harmon wants to talk to you. Do you have your cell phone with you?"
"Right here," she said and held up an iPhone.
"Arms of an Angel" played loudly. The sound startled her, but she flipped the phone open and answered, "Hello."
Shameless. Garth Brooks used to sing about that, and it’s the best word to describe my standing there eavesdropping. I knew I should take the clothes she’d brought and step away to give her some privacy. I knew it, but . . . I didn’t do it.
"Yes, this is Grace Joyner. Who’d you say you are? . . . Well, you see my husband died, and the funeral is this afternoon. Couldn’t I talk to you in a few days when all of this is over? . . . You’ll come here to the mortuary to speak to me? If you insist, then I’ll wait." She closed the phone.
Grace Joyner’s expression was complete confusion. "That was the sheriff. Like you said, he wants to talk to me. Says he’s coming over here."
"Yes, ma’am. Would you like to sit in the conference room while you wait?"
"What I’d really like to do is see my husband."
I don’t know exactly how long refrigeration delays decomposition, but there’d been no signs of deterioration when Sheriff Harmon and I looked at Mr. Joyner only a short while earlier. I assumed it would be all right with Odell for her to see him.
"There’s been no body preparation," I said.
"Not supposed to be," she said.
I led the way to the cooler. She bit her lip when I pulled out Mr. Joyner’s tray and unzipped the body bag off his face. I knew it wasn’t the first time she’d seen him dead because Jake had told me Mrs. Joyner was still in the hospital room when he went for the pickup. A few more silent tears trickled down her cheeks as she moved closer and reached out her hand. I tensed, ready to stop her if she went berserk and grabbed the body.
Buh-leeve me. We’d had loved ones try to climb into the casket with the deceased. There’s no telling what she might have tried. No problem. She stroked the side of his face several times, turned her back, and walked out. I zipped the bag and slid the body back in the cooler before I joined her in the hall.
"Let’s go to the conference room," I suggested. "Would you like a cup of coffee or tea while we wait on the sheriff?"
"Yes, coffee would be nice."
I left her sitting in a big green overstuffed chair while I made coffee. She looked even smaller in such a large seat. Knowing Sheriff Harmon would want some, I set out three Wedgwood cups and saucers along with the coffee service. I placed the silver tray on the conference table just as "Blessed Assurance" played. I stuck my head into the hall and motioned to Sheriff Harmon.
He joined us and put a small recorder on the table beside the coffee service, pushed the button, and went into official law enforcement mode.
"Mrs. Joyner, I’m Wayne Harmon, Sheriff of Jade County. Do you agree to talk to me of your own free will?"
"Of course, but are you arresting me for something?"
"No, ma’am. I’m not arresting you."
"Then why the Miranda?" she asked.
"I’m not reading you the Miranda. Some questions have come up about your husband, and I’m hoping you can help answer them. I just like to have agreement on tape anytime I record questioning."
"I’ll tell you anything you want, but I have to warn you that Harry was almost paranoid about keeping his business private. I may not know everything you ask."
"Mrs. Joyner, did Harry ever go by another name?"
"Not that I know of. I met him when I was waiting tables at the golf club. He introduced himself as Harold Joyner."
"Middle name?"
"Harold was the mi
ddle name. His first name was John."
"John Harold Joyner?"
"That’s right."
"When did you marry him?"
"Legally, we’re not married unless it’s by those South Carolina Common Law rules, which I’ve heard have been changed. He gave me these rings on a cruise, but we never made it legal." She waggled her left hand at him to be sure he saw those multi-karat diamonds.
"I understand the services are scheduled for this afternoon," Harmon continued.
"That’s right. I don’t believe in all the pomp and circumstance and displaying dead people. Harry will have an eco-friendly graveside burial with just a few friends I’ve invited. Then we’re planting a tree in his memory."
I’m not proud of what crossed my mind. Would they plant the tree above his head like a grave marker or in the middle of the plot? I shook my head slightly. Like that would clear away the unwanted visions of trees growing out of Mr. Joyner’s various body parts. I remembered an old movie and several short stories where killers planted flowers over their victims in the back yard.
"I’m going to be totally upfront with you," the sheriff said to Mrs. Joyner. "We have reason to believe that Harry Joyner may be a long missing man named Johnny Johnson. Did he ever mention that name to you?"
"No."
"Did Mr. Joyner work?"
"I assumed he’d retired before I met him. We traveled a lot, mainly in the continental United States and on short cruises. Come to think of it, we never went anywhere that required a passport. I’d been married four times before Harry and I got together. I was happy with him. He always paid the bills, and he gave me a very liberal monthly allowance."
"If you don’t have access to his funds, how will you pay for his services?" the sheriff asked.
"And what about his hospital bill?" I interrupted before Mrs. Joyner could answer. Every time I go to the hospital, they want my insurance card before they treat me. The sheriff glared at me—a look that made me realize he’d forgotten I was there and that I should’ve kept my mouth shut.
"We paid a large cash deposit when Harry went into the hospital. I paid the balance before I left when he died. I don’t have any insurance papers or his social security number, but I do have funds to pay for his services." She gave me a reassuring look.
"What about his driver’s license?" Sheriff Harmon asked.
"He didn’t have one. He didn’t like to drive. When I met him, he traveled by cab. After we got together, I was always our chauffeur when we went anywhere."
"Mrs. Joyner, it sounds as though your husband probably is Johnny Johnson. I’m afraid you’re going to have to postpone his funeral."
The little woman bristled. "I’ve already called people and invited them—our friends from the club as well as Harry’s golfing buddies." She almost spat out the words.
"I have no intention of changing the burial plans. You can’t arrest him. He’s dead."
"No, I can’t arrest him, but Callie told me you’re not having him embalmed. I’m glad of that."
"Why?"
"Because if the FBI wants to examine the body, it needs to be refrigerated until they arrive, but not embalmed. They’ll probably want an autopsy, and it’s best to do that before embalming. I’ve contacted them, and I understand they’re sending a couple of agents down."
"I’m telling you they’d better get here fast, because I’m burying Harry this afternoon."
"Mrs. Joyner, if you won’t cooperate, I’ll have to take legal steps."
"I don’t see what legal moves you can make. You can’t arrest me. I’ve done nothing wrong. You can’t arrest Harry. He’s dead."
"I’ll be back shortly," Harmon said, turned on his heel, and left.
Grace Joyner said. "Just proceed with everything. You got the casket, didn’t you?"
"Yes, ma’am. Would you like to see it?"
The wicker coffin was sitting on a bier in my workroom. I led her to it, and she exclaimed with joy that it was, "Perfect. Absolutely perfect!"
That woman inspected the basket casket like it was a piece of fine furniture she was buying. She ran her hands over the outside and the inside. She liked the fact it had a pillow, which I thought was kind of strange. To me, the purpose of a pillow in a casket was to help me position the deceased’s head properly. Most bereaved people seem to think it looks more comfortable. But why would a pillow be important if she didn’t want anyone to see him? If all she wanted was for the body to decompose as rapidly as possible?
Mrs. Joyner lifted the casket by the side and peeked under it. There were two small wooden runners attached to the bottom. "What are those for?" she asked.
"They were already installed when I picked the coffin up," I said. "The supplier said their purpose is to help the casket slide easily into the crematorium. I know you aren’t planning on cremation, but we left them on."
"Oh," she said. Her eyes darted around nervously. "I’m going now," she said. "I’ll be back at one o’clock. Please have Harry dressed in the clothes I brought. He’s not to be shown to any of the guests, but I’d like to see him one more time before you seal the casket to carry it to the resting place."
Seal the casket? There’s no seal on a woven casket. It looked to me like there were several little rattan straps that looped together when it was closed, but it certainly didn’t seal.
Personally, I have to fight back a smile every time anyone mentions sealing a casket anyway. What people consider sealed does keep out moisture and insects for a while, but no casket seals totally airtight. Decomposition produces gases that would blow the container to pieces if provisions weren’t made for them to escape. Otis had explained that to me right after I came to work at Middleton’s.
With nothing else needing to be done, I went back and set out the clothes for Mr. Joyner. I’d expected the garment bag to hold a suit, but these were Hilton Head retirees. Grace Joyner had brought him an expensive pair of khakis and a green golf shirt with Hilton Head Dunes embroidered over the chest pocket. The shirt was like the one worn by the dead man in the Jaguar with the snake. I wondered if they had ever golfed together.
Chapter Eight
Dark bags under his eyes and worry lines on his forehead. Odell came in through the rear employees’ door, so no music announced his arrival. He looked worse than I’d ever seen him. I hesitated, but then asked, "How’s Otis?"
"Not good. Not good at all. I thought pneumonia was easy to cure these days, but the doctor says Otis is touch and go. He didn’t respond to the first meds they tried.
"Now they’ve changed the antibiotic and got him on IV’s as well as oxygen."
"I’m so sorry, Odell. If you want to stay at the hospital, I’ll call in some of the part-timers. We can handle the Joyner service without you or Otis." I paused, then added, "That is, if the sheriff lets us have it."
"I might take you up on that." His whole demeanor turned melancholy. "You know Otis was always the healthier twin," he continued. "Maybe because of the difference in our life styles. It just doesn’t seem real to see Doofus lying up there looking so sick in that hospital bed. That doctor friend of yours came by. Said someone in the ER told him Otis was there. He said to tell you hello and that he’s not the primary physician for Otis, but he’ll check on him."
"He’ll do it, too. Dr. Don’s a womanizer, but he’s a good doctor."
"Now, Callie. There’s a little bit of dawg in a lotta men, but if I remember correctly, you only dated him a few times. That’s not really enough to expect commitment."
This was a discussion I didn’t want to have, so I told Odell that Mrs. Joyner wanted him to dress her husband instead of me. After Odell had the body clothed, I began putting Mr. Joyner’s socks on him. Sure enough, his wife had brought tennis shoes. No golf shoes with non-biodegradable spikes. Probably the only reason she wasn’t burying him with a golf club was because it wouldn’t decay back to the earth.
When we’d finished, Odell slid Mr. Joyner back into his drawer and then wheeled the bie
r with the basket casket into the area right outside the cooling slots. We’d casket him right before the service.
Odell said, "I’m going by and pick up some things Otis needs from his place. I’ll take them to the hospital and either call you or come back by time for lunch." I’ve never seen him as dejected as he appeared as he left.
The phone rang. I answered, for some reason expecting it to be Mrs. Joyner, but the caller was Molly, my brother Bill’s fiancée.
"I just talked to the lady at the Beautiful Brides Boutique, and she says you’re the only one of my attendants who hasn’t been by to have her dress fitted. When are you going?" Molly sounded distressed and fussy. "Will you please go over there at lunch time?"
"Things are kinda tight here. Otis is in the hospital and we have an early afternoon funeral. I’ll go tomorrow."
"Please don’t forget." I heard tears in her voice. So far both of the soon-to-be-brides engaged to my brothers had called and cried at me. Maybe finding the "right" man wasn’t all it’s cracked up to be.
"I’ll go tomorrow, I promise. Is there anything else I can do for you?"
"Yes, there is. I want to know if you know why your brother bought a purple truck right before our wedding. That’s going to look awful in the going away photos. First, he does that, then all of a sudden he says Jane wants her and Frank to have a double wedding with Bill and me. The wedding is almost here. Do you have any idea what’s going on?"
"I knew he was planning to buy a new truck, but I didn’t know it was purple. You could rent a fancy car for the pictures when you leave the reception. Depending on how busy we are, Bill could even talk to Odell and see if he could borrow a vehicle from Middleton’s for that night."
"I’m not using a hearse at my wedding!!"
"I didn’t mean a hearse, but if you don’t want anything from the funeral home, you can borrow my Mustang. That would be sporty."
"Not going to ride off in an old Mustang either!"
Ex-cuuze me. It’s a vintage car, but I didn’t have time to discuss that with her. "From what I heard about it, that double wedding business isn’t Jane’s idea." I said. "Why don’t you just say ‘no’ and have it over with? That way you and Jane will both be happy."