by Fran Rizer
I stepped closer to the bed and touched Frankie’s fingertips. IV lines ran from both hands to bags hanging on poles beside the bed. Another line ran into his neck. "Frankie?" I whispered. There was no response. "Frankie?" Just a bit louder.
"Honey, he’s knocked out too deeply to hear you," Donald said, and though I wanted my brother to know I was there, I was pleased that Donald had called me "Honey." Maybe he was still interested. Not that I had any intention of a serious relationship with Dr. Donald Walters. I knew from the past that he was a player, but my recent dating life had been nonexistent. Then I scolded myself mentally for thinking about romance at such a critical time.
"Can Bill and Mike come in?" I asked.
"I’ll bring them, but only for a moment." Donald reached for my hand and led me back to the waiting room.
I heard her before I saw her.
Jane wailed, "Oh, Frankie, my Frankie." She and Odell stepped off the elevator with Jane whacking her mobility cane back and forth and pulling away from Odell as though she could find her way around this strange place without guidance.
"Hush, Jane!" I said in a tone much harsher than I should have. "Frankie’s asleep and the other sick people here don’t need to hear you howling like that."
Odell gently pushed Jane toward me and said, "You take her." I touched Jane on the arm, and Odell stepped back into the elevator and closed the doors.
"If you get quiet and be patient, Dr. Donald will let you see Frankie," I told Jane.
We both knew that her "seeing" Frankie meant to be in his presence and touch him.
One by one, Jane, Bill, and Mike went to see Frankie. I thought I should go with them when Dr. Donald escorted Jane in, but he told me she’d probably be better without me. The sheriff didn’t come out with any of them. I wondered if he was that upset. Did he know something that Donald wasn’t telling us?
"Okay, now you people need to decide which waiting room you’re going to sit in and let the nurses take care of your father and brother until the next visiting hour," Dr. Donald told us as we all settled back in the Medical ICU waiting room.
"I think we should split up," I said. "Some of us wait here and the rest at Coronary. Just in case there’s a change in either of them. They’ll come out and tell us, won’t they?" I turned toward Donald.
"I’m staying here near Frank," Jane insisted before Donald could answer.
"Yes, the staff will try to keep you posted on any changes, and I’ll check on both of them as often as I can. I’ve got to go now. It’s time for me to make rounds. I’ll see all of you later." He walked away.
Bill and Mike decided to wait for John in the Coronary ICU waiting room and leave Jane and me here outside Frankie’s unit. As they stepped onto the elevator, a Jade County uniformed deputy stepped out. Fast Eddie Blake! What in tarnation was he doing here?
I don’t know, I promise I don’t know if it was intentional or not, but Mike and Deputy Blake bumped into each other. Not hard. Not much. Just a little bump!
"Watch it!" Blake snapped.
"Watch it yourself!" Mike answered in the same tone. "Whatcha going to do? Put me in jail for accidentally bumping into an . . ." I won’t repeat what Mike called the deputy.
"I could arrest you for assaulting an officer," Blake said. Too loud. Everyone in the area looked at him.
"I doubt it with all these witnesses," Mike sniped.
The deputy didn’t get a chance to respond because Sheriff Harmon rushed through the Intensive Care doors with fire in his eyes.
"I thought I recognized the idiots who yell in hospitals where critically ill people are trying to rest and get better." His face grimaced into anger. "What’s going on?"
"This deputy here arrested me Saturday night and put me in jail for no good reason at all," Mike explained.
"He bumped me. That’s assaulting an officer," Blake tried to talk over him.
"If you’re not lying on the floor, bleeding, or bruised, forget it!" Harmon said to Blake, then turned to Mike. "You’ll have a chance to explain everything about Saturday night to the judge. Right now, you need to go down to wait with Bill." He turned toward the deputy and scowled. "You’re here because I called you, Officer Blake."
"Yeah, I thought you were letting me use your fishing cabin on the lake for my days off. Now you’ve called me in. What am I supposed to do, Sir?"
"I’m putting a chair right outside Frank Parrish’s room. You are to sit in it and make sure no one who’s not authorized goes in. I’ve also requested that no one is to see him alone. Whenever nurses, doctors, or visitors go in, it’s to be in pairs, and don’t forget—no visitors except immediate family." He motioned toward Blake and said, "Come with me."
Either Mike or Bill pressed the button to close the doors to the elevator and they disappeared. Jane and I waited. When Sheriff Harmon came back, he sat beside me.
"What’s going on?" I asked.
"The two surviving perps of the Buckley armored car robbery in 1980, Johnny Johnson and Noah Gordon, have died within twenty-four hours of each other, apparently murdered. Toxicology’s not back, but it appears that both of them were poisoned. We don’t know what kind, but we’re pretty sure of that. The docs think your brother’s been poisoned, too. I don’t know what the connection might be, but on the chance that there’s some relationship, I’m having Frank guarded until I have more answers."
"You think Frankie was poisoned intentionally?" Jane asked.
"I don’t know, but I’m not taking any chances."
"But what kind of association could Frankie have with two old men from Hilton Head who turn out to have robbed an armored car years ago?" I said.
"I have no idea," the sheriff said, "but Frank could have seen or heard something that relates to the homicides. He may not even be aware of what it was, but it might be enough for the murderer to try to get rid of him." The sheriff glanced toward the elevator and repeated, "I’m not taking any chances." He paused. "I’ve gotta go now."
I grasped the sleeve of his shirt. "Isn’t there anyone else you could assign to guard Frankie?"
"Blake came to us highly recommended. I think he has some problems adjusting to the difference in a big city police force and a small town sheriff’s department, but I’m the sheriff, and I believe he’s the best man for the job."
Sheriff Harmon didn’t even say goodbye. He just stepped into the elevator, closed the doors, and left Jane and me sitting there in shock.
Chapter Twenty-Four
As upset as Jane was about Frankie, she went to sleep sitting in the waiting room. I couldn’t sleep, but I couldn’t concentrate either. I tried reading magazines, then tried watching television, gave up and just watched the other people. Some of them slept, some cried, and others almost seemed to be in trances. A volunteer kept asking us if we’d like coffee. She was a middle-aged lady with a very pleasant manner, but the only thing I wanted was for my daddy, my brother, and my boss to all get well and go home.
I stared at the elevator doors and eventually, it paid off. My brother John showed up. He’s my only openly affectionate brother and he gave me a big bear hug. "Pretty rough day, isn’t it?" he asked.
"Awful," I said. "You know Otis is here, too. Had pneumonia, but he’s doing better."
"What’s this about Frank being poisoned? Have they told you what it was? Do they think it was an accident? I can’t see Frank poisoning himself, and I don’t know any reason someone would try to kill him."
"Your guess is as good as mine." I sat down and glanced at the large round clock on the wall, just like the ones on classroom walls. "It’s almost time for visiting. You can go in this time. Jane and I have already been. Don’t be upset by the deputy. Sheriff Harmon’s being careful."
"So Wayne must think the poison might have been given to Frank intentionally."
"I guess so, but the deputy is the biggest jerk I’ve ever seen. Just wait ’til you meet him."
"I definitely don’t look forward to that."
Jane groaned and turned her head the other way. Her mouth flopped open and I thought I should close it for her, but when I attempted to push her lower jaw up, she tried to bite me, so I decided to leave her looking stupid.
Sheriff Harmon arrived just before visiting time. He and John had been friends since childhood. While they chatted, I pretended to look at a magazine and eavesdropped. Jane and I call that "dipping," and sometimes we come up with something good. I heard John suggest various poisons to the sheriff. "Strychnine?" John said.
"Nope, strychnine is used in books because it’s dramatic, but Frank’s symptoms didn’t include the contortions of the spine and some of the other ugliness that goes with strychnine."
"Arsenic?"
"Not likely. No point in trying to guess anyway, John. They’ll let us know when it’s identified. Just be glad your father found him when he did. Whatever it was, the convulsions were pretty bad. At least, he hadn’t been like that long. Mr. Parrish left for the apartment not long after Frank headed there. He said Frank was fine at the house. I impounded your brother’s truck. Forensics folks are going over it. I’d hoped to find something he’d eaten in the truck, but no luck there."
"What’s wrong with this deputy you’ve got sitting with him? Callie talks like she hates him."
"There’s nothing wrong with him. He’s just over-enthusiastic. He came highly recommended, but he doesn’t have that laid-back Southern attitude. I’ve got other personnel working on the case, too."
"Mike told me that Callie found another body outside the bookstore. What’s that about?"
"There was a car parked in front of the store. Callie noticed the man in it. Turned out he was dead. An elderly man that we’ve just identified as an FBI most wanted from an armored car robbery in 1980. Three men shot a guard during that robbery in New Jersey. They were Johnny Johnson, Noah Gordon, and Leon McDonald. A man called Harold Joyner died in the Beaufort Hospital of a gastroenteritis infection. Turns out he’s Johnny Johnson. The man your sister found appears to be the partner Noah Gordon. Both of them have been autopsied and seem to have been poisoned. Toxicology’s not back yet to identify the kind or source."
"Any info on the third man?"
"The third thief was Leon McDonald. He was caught and sentenced to life for the death of the guard. Less than a year later, he was beaten to death in prison."
"Is that all you know about him?"
"He never ratted the others out. Went to his grave silent about his partners."
John looked down at his watch just as the volunteer announced, "Visitors have a total of ten minutes. No more than two persons at a time per patient."
As John and the sheriff headed for the doors, I said, "Please come out in time to let Jane and me go back there for a few minutes."
Our next visit was exactly like the one before except that Fast Eddie Blake’s eyes shifted from glaring at me to staring at Jane’s boobs. I guess he was ticked off to be there instead of at the lake fishing.
The days and nights after that blurred into each other. We alternated between seeing Daddy and Frankie with a couple of detours by Otis’s room. Otis improved enough to go home. His ex-wife went with him.
Getting better took longer for Daddy and Frankie. When Jane and I went home for showers during the two hours between even visitation hours, the apartment showed signs of having been searched. Sheriff Harmon confirmed that they had removed several things as possible poisons, including a can of bug spray, a gallon of antifreeze, and some cleaning supplies.
After Frankie was dismissed from the hospital, life began getting back pretty much to normal. My loved ones were out of the hospital with Frankie being cared for at the apartment by Jane and Daddy back to bossing everyone around at his house. When I called to tell Odell I’d be returning the next day, he said Otis would be coming in, too.
I climbed into the Mustang, careful not to close the door on the skirt of my black dress. Headed back to work for the first time since I returned from the car show, I almost felt happy to be going to work. FBI and local law enforcement had finally released Harry Joyner, AKA Johnny Johnson, to Mrs. Joyner for burial. When I’d talked to Odell the night before, he’d told me my morning duty would be to ride with Mrs. Joyner to Taylor’s Cemetery. We were to leave the funeral home at eleven A.M. for the interment. Once again, Mrs. Joyner didn’t want any gas guzzling limos nor a funeral coach. The woven basket casket was being carried to the cemetery in a fuel-efficient vehicle owned by one of Mrs. Joyner’s friends.
Chapter Twenty-Five
I didn’t say anything because I couldn’t say anything. I’d opened the door to my office and found Otis’s ex-wife Darlene sitting behind my desk. That wasn’t especially shocking because Denise always sits there while she catches the phone for me when I’m out. What left me speechless was that a cardboard box on the floor held all my personal things from the top of the desk as well as the drawers. Two books from the back of the bottom drawer topped the pile of my belongings. The surface of the desk had been completely rearranged.
"Otis wants to see you the minute you arrive," Darlene said in that Mae West voice.
"Where is he?" Buh-leeve me. I wanted to talk to him.
"He said he’d be in the prep room." She glanced down at the box, pointed, and added, "Take that with you."
"Where do you want me to put it?" I realized the minute the words escaped my mouth that I’d left myself open for a crude reply, but Darlene let that opportunity pass.
"It’s all personal. You can put it in your car."
Did this mean Otis wanted to see me to fire me?
I backed out of my office, or maybe I should say Darlene’s office, dragging the box with me, and headed for the prep room. Did we have a new decedent? Was Otis feeling strong enough to do the embalming? I’d temporarily forgotten that Otis spends half his time in the prep area in his tanning bed, which is where I found him when I entered.
Otis looked surprised to see me. He pulled on a robe and said, "I didn’t expect you so early. Let’s sit down and talk." He looked around and seemed to realize that the prep room isn’t exactly set up for conversation. "Tell you what. Get two cups of coffee and meet me in the front consulting room. I’ll get dressed and see you in a few minutes."
Middleton’s policy is that coffee is served in Wedgwood cups from a silver service up front, but we each have a personal mug for the back. I took the box to the front and left it on the table in the consulting room. In the kitchen, I filled two mugs with coffee. I usually put both cream and sweetener in mine, but I was in the mood to rough it. I took the coffee to the front, put the cups on the round table, sat in an overstuffed velvet chair, and waited. My stomach chose to do flips. Nausea flooded over me. When I get scared, I barf, but I wasn’t fearful of Otis. Why’d I feel this way?
No, I wasn’t frightened of Otis, but I was afraid of losing my job through no fault of my own. I felt useful working at the mortuary. I did a good service—making people look good for their loved ones, creating beautiful memories. I didn’t want to go back to teaching kindergarten where I dealt with little people who wouldn’t be quiet, wouldn’t be still and had to tee tee every five minutes. I didn’t want to go back to working in a beauty parlor where I listened to gossip and complaints about husbands all day. I wanted to keep my job at Middleton’s.
"Callie," Otis called my name in his most comforting Undertaking 101 voice. "I know that finding Darlene in your office must have surprised you. She insisted on staying with me until I’m fully recovered and wants to do her old job while she’s here." He motioned toward the box of my belongings. "I didn’t expect her to do this."
"Are you firing me?" I’ve never been accused of being particularly tactful, and I wanted to know my position—if any.
"No, I’m not firing you. I’m just asking you to be patient. Dealing with Darlene was never easy, and I’m not up to it now physically or mentally. I’m back at work today to get away from her and she insisted on coming in with me. That’s why I was
in the prep room."
"If she gets on your nerves, why were you asking for her when you were so sick?" I took a sip of coffee and thought Darlene must have made it. The brew was strong enough to walk, or in Darlene’s case, chase someone away from a job that person loved.
"I don’t know. I guess when a person’s really ill, having someone you used to love seems comforting." He sipped his coffee, grimaced, looked at the mugs with a questioning expression, and asked, "Where’s the Wedgwood? Has someone broken some pieces?"
"Oh, no. I just thought we’d use the mugs since it’s just you and me."
I never found out what Otis’s answer to that was because "Just As I Am" played on the sound system. I put my mug on the table and stepped into the hall. Mrs. Joyner stood there. She wore a brown dress with rust-colored flowers printed on it and a bright orange shawl. For some reason, I expected her to have on some kind of hippy-type sandals, but she wore low-heeled brown pumps.
"Good morning, Miss Parrish," she said. "Mr. Mid-dleton is putting Harry into my friend’s minivan, so we’re ready. I’m parked out front."
I hadn’t seen Odell since my arrival, but since Otis had been with me, Odell had to be the "Mr. Middleton" who was assisting with Mr. Joyner.
Happy to have an excuse not to hear a long tale about Otis’s marriage to Darlene, I followed Mrs. Joyner out to her hybrid car. "Buckle up," she said the minute I’d closed the car door.
Sheriff Harmon had asked me to talk to her about her husband. "Once again," I said, "I’m so sorry for your loss."
"It was a shock. I have to confess that I’m growing used to being alone, but I’m still in shock to find out Harry wasn’t really Harold Joyner. The man I knew and loved wasn’t at all the person the sheriff talked about. I just can’t imagine Harry being a thief. It’s very hard to think about living fifteen years with a man whose whole life was a lie."