Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star, There's A Body In The Car (Callie Parrish Mysteries)

by Fran Rizer

  "I really want to finish here," I said. "Unless you’re just going to say ‘hello,’ why don’t you wait in the dining room. Have something to eat and I’ll be out before long."

  "That works," Chuck said.

  When Maum and I were done, I joined Chuck at the counter, where he was having a beer. "Let’s move to a booth," he said.

  Rizzie brought me a Diet Coke, and I leaned against the padded back of the seat.

  "How’d you do at the show?" I asked.

  "Didn’t win first, but I placed. That ex-husband of yours is a jerk, did ya know that?"

  "Why do you think I divorced him?"

  "Why did you divorce him?"

  "I don’t want to talk about it. What made you know he’s a jerk?"

  "First, he got disqualified for having kit parts on a car he registered as completely authentic. Second, he told me to tell you that if your father needed an excellent cardiologist, you could have him called in. He’d even give you a discount!"

  "What’s wrong with that?"

  "The dip stick should have come by here to check on your dad before he headed back to Columbia. After all, Uncle is his ex-father-in-law."

  "Daddy never liked Donnie and Donnie didn’t like him much either. So far as coming by to check on him, Daddy has an excellent doctor and is already home. He’s doing fine, but he’s going to have to make some healthy life changes."

  "Do you think he’s well enough for me to go by to see him?"

  "Definitely. He’d love to see you. Actually, I’m off for the afternoon. Why don’t you follow me over there?"

  "I’d follow you to the ends of the earth."

  "You are one sweet-talking man, even if you are my cousin."

  "And you’re one little Sweet Britches, even if you are my cousin."

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  "It’s not gonna happen," Bill said emphatically, but his expression was miserable and apologetic. "I’ve talked myself blue in the face, and Molly insists there’s no way to postpone the wedding."

  "I’m stronger every day," Daddy said. "I told you not to even consider changing the date."

  Chuck and I stood at the open door to my father’s house and listened to Daddy and Bill. Daddy looked up from where he lay on the couch and waved us in.

  "Just what I need—to see my favorite daughter and my favorite nephew." That wasn’t saying a whole lot since Chuck and I are his only daughter and nephew. Now if he’d named a favorite son, it would have been a different matter.

  "Want something to drink?" I asked them all—Daddy, Bill, and Chuck. They accepted. I handed Chuck and Bill beers from Daddy’s drink fridge, which is against the back wall of the living room, and then asked, "Daddy, what are you drinking?"

  "I’ll take a beer, too," he said.

  "No, he won’t!" Bill jumped up and went to the refrigerator. "He’s drinking decaffeinated tea. Anytime you’re over here, his tea is in this pitcher, and this is his glass." Bill held up a squatty pitcher, poured a glassful from it and brought it over to Daddy. He handed me an ice cold Diet Coke.

  Daddy grumbled but took a long swallow from his glass. "You might as well know the routine," Bill said. "Nothing fried, white meats with very rarely lean red meat, mainly fruits and vegetables, and don’t add salt to anything—no alcohol or caffeine either."

  "Might as well die," Daddy.

  "Next time you might," Bill.

  "Seems like you’re feeling well enough to be ornery with your kids," Chuck said.

  "Are you bed-ridden?" he added.

  "No," Daddy said, "just supposed to take a rest after I eat. Then I have to take a walk, supposed to walk twice every day like running this farm isn’t exercise enough."

  "Well, if your rest time’s up, let’s take a walk," Chuck said.

  They invited me to join them, but I declined. While Daddy made a stop in the restroom, I asked Bill, "What’s this about delaying the wedding? Molly caught you up to something? Been hanging around cemeteries again?"

  "No, I want to wait because of Pa. I’m afraid that with Frank over at yours and Jane’s place and me moving in with Molly, he won’t take care of himself. He’ll go back to eating fried steak and gravy before I’m back from my honeymoon."

  "I’ll come by more often when you’re not here. Didn’t the doctor say it would be okay for him to stay alone?"

  "Yes, but I’m . . ." Bill stopped talking when Daddy came back into the living room.

  "Don’t stop on my account," Daddy said. "I know you were talking about me."

  "They were talking about how much we all love you," Chuck said. Bill’s eyes widened. We all know we love each other, but Bill’s never been demonstrative toward me or Daddy.

  When the men left, I went to Bill’s computer in his room. I Googled the Buckley, New Jersey, Armored Car Robbery in 1980.

  I printed out the news release for July 3, 1980:

  Authorities in New Jersey have announced an arrest in one of the most unusual heists in U.S. history, but said that two fugitives remain on the loose.

  The Ames County, N.J. sheriff’s department alleges that Leon D. McDonald was involved in the June 30 robbery of an Armored car near Buckley which netted five million—more than half of the eight million the Northern Armored Car Services truck was carrying at the time.

  Sheriff James Whitaker said law enforcement recovered less than $250,000 of the stolen money.

  Leon McDonald has been charged with armed robbery, kidnapping, and aggravated assault and battery. He also faces a charge of conspiracy to commit burglary. He has refused to negotiate with law enforcement on any kind of deal to assist in locating the two men who were with him.

  Additional suspects, John (Johnny) Johnson and Noah F. Gordon, have not been apprehended.

  The Ames County sheriff is working on the investigation with the FBI and the New Jersey Law Enforcement Division.

  That was interesting, but not nearly so much as the two photos. No doubt that the missing armored car robbers had recently been in Middleton’s Mortuary. Passage of time and living wealthy had turned each of the men from rough-looking outlaws to elderly gentlemen, but I recognized Mr. Joyner and the Jaguar John Doe. Wonder how much of the loot they still had after so many years?

  I called Wayne to tell him I wanted to show the article to him, but the dispatcher said the sheriff was out. He offered to ask Sheriff Harmon to call me as soon as the office heard from him.

  Daddy lay down on the couch again when the men returned from their walk. Bill invited Chuck and me for dinner. After a few weak excuses that he needed to head on back to Florida, Daddy and Bill persuaded Chuck to stay.

  "Won’t be anything fit to eat," Daddy complained. "All I get around here now is chicken and fish. I keep telling Bill to fry us up some pork chops. After all, the TV says it’s ‘the other white meat.’"

  Bill cooked while Daddy, Chuck, and I played cards. After an hour or so, I tried to call the sheriff again, but dispatch said they still hadn’t heard anything from him.

  Daddy had no cause to complain about the food. Bill served us grilled salmon, wild rice, and green beans for dinner with fresh fruit for dessert.

  Chuck chowed down with doubles on just about everything, then excused himself to head home with promises to come back to see us "real soon." Bill hemmed and hawed around and finally asked me if I wanted to spend the night.

  "No, I’ll head on out of here if you two are ready for bed," I said. Then I looked carefully at my brother’s face. He wasn’t being polite inviting me to stay. He wanted me to spend the night.

  "On second thought, I don’t have anything pushing. I think I’ll just hang around and watch television with Daddy," I said.

  "In that case, I’m going to see Molly," Bill said. "See you in the morning."

  "Have a good time," Daddy told him.

  And I’ll bet he did.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  "Last time you had breakfast here, I cooked you grits and eggs and onion sausage and buttermilk
biscuits with homemade preserves, so what is this nonsense you put in front of me?" Daddy sat at the kitchen table in his bathrobe and slippers. I’d gotten up early, showered, and dressed before I started cooking.

  "Daddy, that’s a perfectly good, healthy breakfast. Oatmeal and an egg white veggie omelet."

  "If this is an omelet, where’s the cheese? And ham or bacon?" Daddy took the fork and prodded at the food like a kid picking at a doodle bug.

  "No wonder Bill doesn’t want to leave you alone," I scolded. "You’re behaving like a child. We just want to keep you alive. You’re going to have to cooperate with us and eat what you’re supposed to no matter who’s with you. Isn’t that what you’d tell me or one of The Boys if we’d had a heart attack?"

  "I guess so if you put it that way," Daddy said, and began eating the omelet. He’d started on the oatmeal when the telephone rang. He grabbed it and barked, "Hello."

  "Well, it’s my danged phone. Who’d you expect to answer it?" Daddy continued and handed the receiver to me. "It’s Bill and he needs to talk to you. Probably wants to know what you let me eat for breakfast. I don’t see why he called my line to talk to you. He could have called your cell." He chuckled. "That is, if you remembered it."

  "Hi Bill," I said, "He had oatmeal and an egg white omelet for breakfast. No, I didn’t put bacon in it."

  "That’s good, but it’s not what I called about," my brother said. "Turn your television to the local news."

  "Hold on a minute," I answered.

  "Just hang up and watch," Bill said.

  "The press conference with Jade County Sheriff Wayne Harmon scheduled for yesterday’s late night news and postponed until this morning’s report is being can-celled." The news commentator cleared his throat, then continued, "Sheriff Harmon had called the conference to discuss the discovery that two men who died in Jade County have been identified as ‘wanted’ by the FBI for an armored car robbery in 1980. Sheriff Harmon’s office reports that they have not been in contact with him since mid-day yesterday."

  "What in Hades is that all about?" Daddy spluttered. "It’s not like Wayne to schedule something and not show up."

  The phone rang again. I answered this time. Bill said, "If you’ve already fed Pa, I’m going to ride over to Wayne’s house and make sure he’s not injured."

  "Call me back and let us know what’s going on," I said and disconnected the telephone.

  "I’m going to get my shower and put on some regular clothes in case we have to go out," Daddy said. "Where’s Mike?"

  "He’s either still in bed or didn’t come home last night." I answered.

  "No telling," Daddy said and got up.

  "Do you need help?" I asked.

  "I don’t need you to shower me!" he snapped, got up, and headed for the bathroom. I cleaned up the dishes and sat down to watch for more news. The Today show was on and there was plenty of news, most of it depressing. None, however, was as disturbing to me as our local news had been.

  "Get up, Calamine. I wanna go by Wayne’s house and make sure he isn’t there. Then we need to travel the routes he may have taken. He could have run off the road somewhere and the car’s hidden in a gulley. It’s not part of Wayne Harmon to neglect his duties like not showing up for a press conference, especially one he called himself." Daddy looked better than he had since his heart attack. He’d lost that apathetic expression he’d been wearing when the only thing he talked or thought about was what his next meal would be.

  We were closing the front door behind us when Daddy said, "Calamine, get a Thermos out the cabinet and pour me up some of that decaffeinated tea to take with me. I got to get something else, too." I headed back to the kitchen.

  I arrived at the Mustang in Daddy’s driveway with a large Thermos of tea and two cans of cold Diet Coke. Daddy was sitting in the car with an old Colt .38 Police Special and a box of ammo on his lap. He said, "Unlock the glove compartment, so I can put these in it." I flipped it open for him, and we headed for Wayne Harmon’s house.

  My stomach turned a few flips and I felt like hurling when we arrived on the block where the sheriff lived. I could hardly see the front of his beige brick ranch-style home because cars were parked up and down the street as well as all over his lawn—police cars with blue lights flashing, unmarked law enforcement, news vans, and private vehicles like my brother Bill’s bright purple truck. Fear filled me. They must have found Wayne. Was he hurt or was he dead?

  As soon as I parked, Daddy got out and almost ran toward the house. One thing we knew for sure. Wayne hadn’t run off the road. Both his sheriff’s car and his personal Subaru were parked in the driveway. Bill saw Daddy, headed him off, and stopped him before I caught up with them.

  "What’s happening?" Daddy gasped, very out-of-breath. "How’s Wayne?"

  "We don’t know. Wayne’s not here. Apparently everyone had the same thought. You know—maybe our sheriff’s ‘fallen and can’t get up.’" He chuckled and I popped him on the arm.

  "It’s not funny!" I snapped.

  "Well, it’s a relief that he’s not in there injured or murdered."

  "Murdered?"

  "Any law man faces the risk that someone he’s sent to jail will get out and come back to get even."

  "We’re not even going to think about that," Daddy said.

  Some folks were bustling around while others stood still and ogled the front door. It opened and Fast Eddie Blake stepped out. He walked directly to us and asked, "How’s Frank? I’m surprised Sheriff Harmon didn’t put surveillance on him when the hospital dismissed him."

  "He’s improving," Bill said. "The main trouble he has now is some neurological problems. His hands and feet tingle like they’re asleep. The doctors say that’s good because it’s more likely to improve than if they were completely numb."

  "Good." Blake’s face took on a smarmy look. "These people are wasting their time. The sheriff isn’t here even though both of his cars are. He’s been going out with that FBI woman. I tried to tell them he probably thinks he’s that governor. You know the one who just took off a week or so for some South American delight without telling anyone where he was going."

  "That’s not something Wayne would do," Daddy said.

  "There’s nothing we can do here," Bill interrupted. He obviously didn’t want to let Daddy get started with the smart-alecky deputy. He turned toward me. "I’ll take Pa back to our house and you might want to go home and check on Jane. I talked to Frank a while ago, and he said she’s sick as a dog."

  Daddy argued that there ought to be something else we could do, but when he couldn’t name a suggestion, he agreed to go home with Bill.

  I was on the way to Jane’s and my apartment when I remembered Daddy had left the gun in the car. I thought I was within the law to have it locked in the glove compartment, but after all that hullabaloo when Jane and I went to pick up the basket casket, I figured I’d take it back to Daddy as soon as possible.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  The sound of a woman throwing up is unpleasant at best. I know this for a fact since I barf anytime I’m frightened. Jane added to the retching sound by moaning and groaning both before and after each episode. She also screamed, "Get out of here. Don’t look at me like this!" every time Frankie opened the bathroom door. The scene was so bad that Big Boy hid behind the couch.

  "But, honey, I just want to wipe your face with this wet cloth," Frankie said and waved a dripping wash cloth in the air. He turned and saw me. "Callie’s here," he said. "Can she come in and help you?"

  "I don’t need any help. I want to be left alone until this is over." She kicked at the door and Frankie pulled it closed.

  "How long has she been like this?" I asked, crowding behind him.

  "Since she woke up. Should I take her to the ER?" My brother looked terrified.

  "No, it’s probably a virus. If it doesn’t end soon, we can call the doctor for something to stop it."

  "I keep thinking maybe she’s been exposed to whatever poisoned
me. My first sign I was sick was nausea, violent nausea."

  "I hadn’t thought of that. Maybe we should call someone."

  "Who? Does she have a regular doctor?"

  "I don’t think so. I’ll call Dr. Donald."

  "I’ll make some coffee."

  Miracles never cease. Donald wasn’t on duty, but when I called his private cell phone, he answered immediately. I explained what was happening, and he said, "So long as you promise to never, ever tell anyone I did this, I’ll run by, but don’t describe it as a house call. Doctors don’t make those anymore." He paused. "Where does Jane live?"

  "In the other side of the duplex I lived in when you came over here."

  "I’m not too far away. Be there soon, and I’ll bring something to help the nausea."

  I sat on the couch sipping my java until Jane began yelling that the smell of the coffee was making her feel worse. Frankie poured his cup down the sink. I really wanted that coffee, so I took Big Boy to the front porch with me, sat on the step, and drank my brew while I waited for Donald.

  The first time I ever saw Dr. Donald Walters, even before we dated, was in the hospital emergency room when I had a concussion. I remember thinking how fine he looked. Later, after I learned how many women he dated, I decided he was too good looking for me. I don’t want a man who’s chased by every female he meets and generally lets each one catch him.

  Today, Donald looked great. I would have known he was off even if he hadn’t told me. He had on jeans and a tan T-shirt. Muscles rippled, and his blue eyes sparkled. I would have known he was a doctor, too. He was carrying a little black bag like they do on television.

  Frankie explained the situation to Donald. "She’s been doing this off and on for several weeks." He didn’t have to explain what "this" was. We could hear Jane heaving even though the bathroom door was closed. "I’m afraid that she’s been exposed to whatever put me in the hospital."