by Fran Rizer
Dalmation!
I’d rushed to get to work early and dress Mr. Taylor. As sometimes happens, the picture his wife left for me wasn’t recent. The man looked about eighty, and the picture was of someone in his thirties. Mr. Taylor’s hair, what there was of it, was snow white. The man in the picture had a head full of dark brown. Mr. Taylor had changed considerably, either from age or illness.
Denise hadn’t said a thing about Mrs. Taylor wanting her husband’s hair colored and I couldn’t find a note about it. I called the widow.
"Good morning, Mrs. Taylor, this is Callie Parrish at Middleton’s Mortuary," I began.
"How can you say ‘good morning’ to me the day after my husband died? Is this the same person I talked to yesterday?"
"Yes, ma’am, I did speak with you yesterday."
"That other girl, the one I gave the clothes to, is a lot nicer than you are. What do you want?" Before I could say a word, she rattled on, "You’d better not be calling to tell me I won’t be able to see my Evan when I come in at ten. I’ve already invited everyone to the wake at my house tonight, and I want to be sure he looks right before you bring him out to the house."
"No, ma’am. Everything should be on schedule. In the photo, Mr. Taylor’s hair is darker. Do you want it tinted to match the picture?"
"Of course not! Just comb it the same way and use the makeup to make him look as much like the picture as possible. I’ve got to go now. I’ll be in at ten o’clock, and I expect to talk to Mr. Middleton, not one of you girls!"
"Yes, ma’am." I disconnected the phone and got busy. By the time I’d finished the cosmetology part of my job, Odell was there and helped me dress Mr. Taylor. We couldn’t casket him (Funeralese for positioning a body in the coffin) until Mrs. Taylor arrived and picked out the one she wanted.
My job includes handling obituaries, both e-mailing them to newspapers and posting them on our Internet announcements, but I couldn’t do that either until plans were made. I pulled a new book from my desk—Darkside of the Planet by David Lee Jones. I knew David when I lived in Columbia before I moved back to St. Mary. Excited that his first book was published, I’d ordered it from Amazon.com and was eager to revisit my old friend through his writing. I settled in to read until Odell and Mrs. Taylor completed the plans.
When the phone rang, I answered like I always do: "Middleton’s Mortuary, Callie Parrish speaking. How may I help you?"
"Look at the caller ID, Callie. It’s me, Jane." I’ve told her hundreds of times that the proper pronoun is "I" as in "It is I," but Jane thinks "me" sounds better.
"Sorry about that. So you’re up now?" I asked.
"Yes, I worked late last night. Roxanne was on the phone in my room when you came in. Did I keep you awake?"
"Not at all. You know that soft, whispery voice of Roxanne’s doesn’t come through the walls."
"Good. I told Frank that I’m going to do my job the nights he’s not here until we work things out. Do you think that’s all right?"
"Jane, when have you ever needed my permission to do anything?"
"I’m just asking your opinion."
"It won’t make any difference. You’ll do whatever you want anyway. That’s one of the things I like about you."
"Okay, I’m going to take that as a ‘yes, it’s okay’ answer. Do you have to work all day?"
"Probably. Why?"
"I want to go shopping and buy something new to wear to that shower tomorrow."
"If I can get off work, I’ll call you, but, Jane, you have lots of nice clothes."
"Yeah, I’ll wear something I have if you can’t get off early. I just want to look extra nice."
"Sure. I’ll call and let you know. If we don’t get to shop, I’ll help you go through your closet tonight and pick out something smashing."
"Thanks." I heard her sniffle. Jane’s not a person who cries easily, but by the time we’d disconnected, she was sobbing.
I was sitting at my desk reading David’s book, when the door opened. Odell stood behind a scrawny, wrinkled lady with the brightest hair I’d ever seen. Obviously, this was not a Clairol or Redken dye job. None of the top brands make anything so brassy orange. She’d either colored it with Kool Aid or bought the dye from a dollar store. No, not a dollar store, a nickel or dime store.
"Well, would you look at that? Just what I would have expected. She’s hiding and reading instead of doing her job." Her harsh tone matched her hair.
"Now, Mrs. Taylor, Callie works very hard here, and we’re aware that she reads between chores." Odell.
"Well, I’d fire her!" Mrs. Taylor.
"Are you pleased with Mr. Taylor’s appearance?" Me. Trying to be nice.
"He looks dead." Mrs. Taylor again.
"Here. These are the papers." Odell handed me the forms. "Let’s get the obituary posted online and out to the newspapers. I’ve listed the ones Mrs. Taylor wants to receive notification." Odell. Nudging Mrs. Taylor back into the hall.
I put the book in a drawer and composed the obituary on the computer. I posted it online at the Middleton’s website, then e-mailed it to the newspapers. I heard "Jesus Loves Me" on the sound system and assumed Mrs. Taylor had left, so I went to the entry to talk to Odell. Mrs. Taylor stood with him, and Mrs. Joyner had joined them.
"Hello, Mrs. Joyner," I said.
"So she does get off her behind sometimes," Mrs. Taylor sniped.
Mrs. Joyner gave Mrs. Taylor a surprised look. "I do hope it’s all right with you. The sheriff called and wanted to drive to Hilton Head for me to look at some photographs. I told him I’d meet him here because I’d really like to see Harry again. I understand he’s back from Charleston."
"Yes, ma’am," I said in the nicest, most courteous tone possible. "Would you like to see Mr. Joyner now?"
"Yes, before the sheriff arrives."
"Follow me," I said and led Mrs. Joyner down the hall.
"One o’clock," I heard Mrs. Taylor tell Odell. "One o’clock sharp!"
As Mrs. Joyner and I went to the cooler area, she asked, "Do you know what these photographs are about?"
I knew. What I didn’t know was whether I was supposed to tell her. "I think," I said, "they’re photographs of a man from Hilton Head. The sheriff wants to ask if you know this man or ever saw him with your husband."
"Why?"
"I’m not sure."
She didn’t say anything else until I pulled Mr. Joyner from the refrigerated unit. His burial clothes had been removed and he was back in a body bag. I only opened the top so she could see his face.
Mrs. Joyner reached out and touched his cheek. "You know, I confess that when I first met Harry, I was very impressed with his money, but that changed. I learned to love him. He was a kind man." She stroked his face again. "Can you open the zipper all the way?" she asked.
"Not right now. Mr. Middleton has to dress him again."
"Oh, I understand."
I slid the drawer back into the cooler and Mrs. Joyner and I turned to leave the room.
"Mrs. Joyner?" the sheriff said as he met us in the hall. "I really appreciate your agreeing to this." He turned toward me. "Callie, may we use the front consulting room or is someone scheduled to be in there?"
"Help yourself. The room’s available."
"May Callie come with us?" Mrs. Joyner asked.
"If that would make you more comfortable," Sheriff Harmon answered.
This was my first experience with a lineup, live or photo. I’d read about them in books, but I’d never been involved. When we were seated, the sheriff spread four prints on the table. I was surprised. Then I remembered this wasn’t a lineup to choose one person from a group. The pictures were all the same person—the John Doe from the Jaguar. It was obvious that nothing had been done to take away the look of death. I don’t know exactly how to say this, but he looked deader than he had in his car. I wished that I’d had the chance to cosmetize him before the pictures were made.
"Is he . . ." Mrs. Joyner began
.
"Yes, he is," the sheriff said, "but we need to know if he’s someone you and your husband associated with in Hilton Head. His name, if possible."
"I’m sorry, but I’ve never seen this gentleman before."
"Are you positive?"
"Absolutely, completely," Mrs. Joyner said, but her right eye twitched. I wondered if this could be a "tell" that she was lying like gamblers look for "tells" when someone is bluffing.
No telling, I thought when the sheriff and Mrs. Joyner left.
Chapter Fifteen
"Ohhhhhhhhhh, I’m so glad you called me. I’ve been so hot thinking about you."
Big Boy jumped against me with his paws on my shoulders and licked my face the minute I stepped into the apartment. The words weren’t coming from my dog. They were the breathy sweet purr of Jane’s Roxanne voice. Jane had left her bedroom door open. As soon as she saw me, she walked over and closed it, still cooing into the telephone. Roxanne’s 900 number is a separate line, but Jane seldom signs on to work so early in the evening. My guess was either she was running short of money or she was mad at Frankie. Probably both.
I pushed Big Boy down into a lying position and rubbed his belly with my toe. "Do you want me to cook?" I whispered when I opened her door slightly and peeked in. She batted her hand at me to go away.
After I changed from my black dress to jeans and a tee, I poked around in the cabinets to see what we had that might be simple and not require much effort or cooking skill. I was careful not to move anything. Jane’s a good cook, but she depends on location for identification. That’s why she always puts the groceries away. Her memory absolutely amazes me. I unload the bags and call out the name of each can or container as I hand it to her. She can put something in the cabinet and know what it is months later from remembering its position.
Jane could surely have created something fantastic out of a can or two, but I didn’t see anything I wanted to try to prepare. I grabbed a Moon Pie and Diet Coke and sat down on the couch to watch television. Big Boy cuddled up beside me and I knew I should have made him move to the floor, but I appreciated his affection and fed him bites of my Moon Pie. There wasn’t much on TV, and I wished I’d brought Darkside of the Planet home with me from work.
When the house phone rang, I answered, "Middle-ton’s Mortuary, Callie Parrish speaking. How may I help you?" without thinking.
Odell laughed. "You may show up at work early tomorrow and handle things for me. Otis is doing better, but the doctors have scheduled a conference with me at one o’clock, which is the same time Mrs. Taylor wants Mr. Taylor carried to the house. She’s having a home visitation tomorrow afternoon and a wake tomorrow night."
"Who’s going to take him over there?" Usually, for a situation like this, Otis or Odell went with Jake or one of the other part-timers. When I came to work at Middletons, I thought several people would be needed to move a casketed body, but two men can do it. First, we have equipment that helps, and second, both Otis and Odell are very strong. I’m not going to say they’ve built muscles from handling bodies their entire lives, but that could be why.
"The only part-timer available is Jake, so he’ll be going with you and staying throughout the night to represent Middleton’s. I would have asked you to do that, but I know you’ve got that shower for your brother tomorrow and won’t want to be up all the night before."
"I don’t know if Jake and I can carry a casket into the house by ourselves. I’m not as strong as you or Otis."
"Of course not. I called your brother Frank and he’s going to work part-time tomorrow to help you and Jake. Denise will be in at noon to take over the office."
"Did you tell Frankie to wear a suit?"
"I’d think Frank would know that, but, just to be sure, I told him. Keep track of his time and he’ll be paid like any other part-timer. He says he’d like all the work he can get to help out with his wedding."
"You said Otis is better?"
"Yep, the doc tells me he can move out of ICU tomorrow if he continues to improve."
"I’m sure glad."
"Aren’t we all?"
"Is Darlene still there?" I confess I’m nosey at times.
"She’s here and says she’s going to stay until Otis is well. Maybe even hang around and help out when he first goes home."
"Do you think they might get back together?" I found it hard to imagine Otis with a wife.
"No. I think Doofus has better sense than that. Darlene is a good woman, but she drove my brother crazy when they were married."
I didn’t want to talk about that, so I said, "I’ll be in at eight in the morning."
"Fine, and, Callie . . ."
"Yes."
"Try to get along with Mrs. Taylor. I know she seems difficult, but we must always remember that our services are for people at the worst times of their lives. I want your most professional appearance and courtesy."
"You’ll have it. Will you call me after the conference with the doctors and let me know what they say?"
"You know I will."
"I’ll take care of everything, Odell," I said and ended the call.
"What do you want to do for supper?" I asked Jane when she came out of her room.
"I can cook or we can go out. I wish the sub shop hadn’t closed. I could really go for one of those meatball subs."
"There’s nowhere in town to get that now. Do you want to ride to Beaufort?"
"No, let’s just go to Rizzie’s place."
Gastric Gullah isn’t too far from our apartment and traditional food of the Low Country sounded good. With many apologies to Big Boy that he couldn’t go, Jane and I hopped into the Mustang and headed for the best shrimp, oysters, and one-pot rice dishes in town.
Usually Rizzie greets me in the Gullah language. Growing up in the Low Country, I understand most of what she says. Tonight, she just called out, "Hey, I just made something brand new. It’s got a lot of good food in it. Wanna try it?"
"Sure," I said. "Bring us two plates and one Diet Coke and one Dr Pepper."
"Gonna be bowls, not plates. It’s got rice, but it’s a little soupy."
"Fine. Just bring spoons," Jane said.
We’d hardly sat down when Jane whispered to me, "Can I talk about something private with you?"
"You know you can," I answered and looked up to see Rizzie standing by the table with two large bowls of a delicious smelling stew. Jane sensed her presence and stopped talking until Rizzie had gone back behind the counter.
"Wait just a second," I said. "She’s headed back over with the drinks."
Rizzie set the glasses and a black cast iron skillet of cornbread on the table. We dug in, and Jane stopped talking. When we finished, I asked her, "What did you want to talk about?"
"Oh, nothing," she said in that way that means, "I’ve got a lot to say, but I’ve changed my mind about telling you what it is."
When we left, I drove around for a while, hoping Jane would open up about what was bothering her. She didn’t say anything and went straight to her room when we got home. The slight sounds through the wall sounded like Jane might not have anything to say, but Roxanne talked all night.
Chapter Sixteen
"Where were you and Jane last night?" Frankie demanded over "Blessed Assurance." He stood at the entrance to the mortuary wearing a black suit and looking too handsome to be my brother. I wondered if he’d bought the new clothes for his wedding. He had to rent a tux to usher for Bill and Molly, but Jane had already specified that, for her wedding, the men would wear dark suits they could wear again. As her only attendant, I was free to pick out my own dress. She didn’t even care what color.
"What do you mean?" I asked and brushed a speck of lint off Frankie’s shoulder.
"I mean I called Jane over and over, then went by the apartment and saw your car was gone. What were you two doing?"
"We were eating. Went over to Gastric Gullah. She’d fixed this stuff I’ve never eaten before, some kind of soupy shrimp and fis
h bog with okra and rice—scrumptious. You should try it if you’re ever in there when she’s made it."
"I don’t think I need you to tell me what to eat at Rizzie’s. Everything she cooks is fantastic. I do need you to tell me what my fiancée is doing. Callie, if she’s sneaking around on me, I want to know. I think she’s back working nights, too." He followed me to my office at the end of the hall. Denise sat my desk. I pulled open the side drawer and retrieved my purse. "I’ll be back as soon as possible," I told Denise, then turned to Frankie as we left.
"Has she started acting Roxanne when you’re at our place?" I asked. She’d never wanted me to listen in to her 900 calls.
"I’m not talking about when I’m there."
"Well, Jane’s SSI isn’t enough to support her. She needs to work somewhere, and that job pays well and doesn’t require any transportation. The hours are flexible. It’s got a lot of perks. Besides, she’s already agreed to quit after you’re married."
"I want her to stop now!"
"Frankie, that’s between the two of you, but I can tell you this: Jane’s not as happy as she was. She’s moody and irritable most of the time. Is that coming from you or somewhere else?"
"I don’t know. I love her, but I can’t seem to make her happy."
"Do you mean . . ."
"No, I’m not talking about physical. She’s seems withdrawn a lot."
"If I find out anything, I’ll let you know. Right now, you can go to the loading dock and help Jake get Mr. Taylor into the hearse. I mean funeral coach. I have to load the van. Mrs. Taylor has requested that the most impressive floral arrangements be brought to the house. Then we’ll deliver the remainder to the church tomorrow."
Odell had already given Jake directions, so we decided he and Frankie would lead and I’d follow in the van. When Jake turned through the gate to Magnolia Mobile Manor, I just about wet my panties. The Taylors lived in a trailer! Ex-scuuze me. Only rednecks call them trailers. The Taylor’s lived in a mobile home. But trailer or mobile home, I didn’t think we could get Mr. Taylor’s casket through the door.