Murder is on the Clock

by Fran Rizer

  “I’m on the way. There have been some delays.”

  “Yes, I heard that you found another dead man.”

  “Actually, this time, Ty Profit found him.”

  “Tyrone was supposed to be taking the flowers back to Gastric Gullah Grill. Why were you together?”

  “Because we were both on Dunbar Road and ran into each other.”

  “Ran into each other? Did you collide head-on?”

  “No, he stopped to help me move a plastic bag off the road. There was a corpse in it.”

  “Don’t say ‘corpse,’ Callie. You know we don’t use that term. Say ‘the deceased’ or ‘the decedent’.”

  “I wouldn’t say it to anyone but you. I’m on my way to work now.”

  “Well, don’t waste any time getting here. Your brother Frankie showed up in jeans and a T-shirt, said you sent him to answer the phone. That would be fine if someone else was here to go to the door, but you know I don’t want anyone dressed in jeans representing us if someone comes in. That’s why we require you to wear dark dresses and men who work here to wear suits. It’s part of the dignity we want people to expect from Middleton’s. Please tell me you’re dressed appropriately.”

  “Black dress, hair in a bun, and low heels,” I assured him. “Is Frankie going to answer the phone until I get there?”

  “No. I sent him home. If all I needed was for the telephone to be answered, I could have forwarded calls to my cell. I know you’re all excited about the wedding, but if you don’t want to find yourself cutting hair down at the Clip ‘n’ Curl, you’d better get here fast. I have to pick up Mrs. Greene from Shady Rest, and I’ll have to transport the body you found on Dunbar Road to Charleston for the postmortem exam. Get here as fast as you can.” A dial tone replaced his voice.

  I definitely didn’t want to wind up back working at the beauty parlor. I’d tried that for a while when I moved back to St. Mary after my divorce. The never-ending gossip and women who thought I could turn them into movie stars with a haircut drove me crazy. Then I found out that the S. C. Cosmetology License I’d earned in high school voc ed before going to the university qualified me to work as a mortuary cosmetician.

  Odell knew the thought of going back to the beauty parlor would get me going, and he was right. “Hurry up, Bill, but don’t speed. You’re in enough trouble already without a speeding ticket.”

  I called Rizzie to tell her where Ty was and what had happened. Her reaction was, “I’m glad you called. He won’t think to let me know what’s going on, especially if he’s abandoned the van with all those flowers wilting inside it. My centerpieces for the rehearsal dinner are in there, too.”

  The last call was to Daddy. “Calamine Parrish, where are you, and do you know what’s happened to Mike and Molly? I sent them for you and they haven’t come back. You kids promised to help Ellen and me. We’ve got to meet Jim at the airport in Charleston at five o’clock, and there’s way too much to do here.”

  “What if I meet Jim at the airport?” I didn’t add that I’d drive the hearse to deliver the murder victim at the same time. Surely the coroner would release the deceased by four o’clock, and I knew Odell would be glad for me to volunteer to make the trip.

  “Can you do that? It would sure help me and Ellen.”

  “Consider it done, and I’ll bring Jim directly to the church for the rehearsal.”

  When the call was over, Bill gave me the biggest ohpoor-me look I’d ever seen. “I don’t guess he said anything about me, did he?” I shook my head no, and he added, “As soon as Molly gets there, she’ll tell Miss Ellen what happened. That woman will tell Pa, and then my ass is grass.”

  “Why do you say ‘that woman’ like that?” There was no resemblance between Miss Ellen, whom he was calling “that woman” and Loose Lucy, whom I called “that woman.”

  “Because I’m not so sure Pa should be marrying her.”

  “Why? Our mother’s been dead since I was born and you were a little kid. I think he deserves some happiness.”

  “Sometimes I dream about our mom. Any widower who waits over thirty years to remarry has to have either been totally stricken by his wife’s death or else marriage isn’t really for him.”

  “Because you can’t act like a married man doesn’t mean Daddy won’t be happy with Miss Ellen. She’s really nice.”

  “Molly is a really nice person, too. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I should never have let Lucy inside the house, but I swear to you, Callie, I did not cheat on Molly.”

  “Bill, you don’t have a lot of validity with me where that woman is concerned. Are you completely positive you’re not addicted to her? That happens, you know. I think I was slightly addicted to Donnie before I married him.” I had to laugh. “Living with him was like going to rehab. It cured me.”

  We rode silently to Middleton’s which always has a calming effect on me. The parking lot is surrounded by the same kind of huge oak trees with branches draped in Spanish moss as Dunbar Road is. The building itself looks like an old two-story Southern mansion with a veranda across the front that wraps around both sides. I once heard someone say the white rocking chairs on the porch reminded them of the Cracker Barrel Restaurant. When I told Otis about it, he laughed and said, “That’s where I bought them.”

  For several years, I’d kept clay pots of live flowers on the porch in front of the duplex apartments where Jane and I live. I got the idea from the huge urns by the front door of Middleton’s which Otis always planted with seasonal flowers. Since spring had already sprung, Otis had planted miniature purple azaleas.

  “Park in the back,” I told Bill, “in my reserved spot.” “Why? I’d rather park out front.”

  “Because that’s where I’m supposed to park.”

  “Since when do you always do what you’re supposed to do?”

  He stopped the car, turned it off, and handed me the keys.

  “What are you doing now?” I asked.

  “Letting my bossy sister drive my car to her parking spot.”

  “Why?”

  “I want to hear the music.” I watched him walk to the front door. Instrumental versions of hymns and gospel music play when the front door opens at the funeral home, but not the employee entrance in the back. The loading dock and storage building at the rear destroy the illusion of an old southern mansion, but business is business. I drove around back and parked.

  Odell met me as “God’s Other World” with its beautiful violin solo filled the building. Thank heaven for small favors. Though I was furious with Bill, I knew he was upset, too. Definitely more upset than me. He’d probably just ruined his life, lost his wife, and made it entirely probable that he’d be looking for a job instead of spending his days feeding and playing with dogs and in his Man Cave. I was glad that when he’d opened the front door, his favorite inspirational melody had played.

  “I’m out of here,” Odell said to me, and then stopped and stared at Bill who was headed toward us from the front hall. “What’s wrong with you?” he asked Bill.

  I answered him, “Bill’s upset. He’s not staying.”

  “What did he mean?” Bill asked after Odell left. “You look rough, really bad,” I said.

  Bill looked down at the khakis and brown knit shirt he wore. “I showered. I’m clean.”

  “Not your clothes. Your face. You look like you were hit by a truck, and I don’t mean a pickup.”

  “I feel like I would if that happened. I may be over at your apartment begging to sleep on your couch later. I won’t be surprised if Molly puts me out, and with John, Jim, Mike, and Frankie at Pa’s, it’s going to get crowded.”

  “You should have thought about that when you let that woman in. Why was she there if not to fool around with you?”

  “Please don’t tell anyone, but she’s been up in my Man Cave several days. You know I liked Lucy a lot at one time. She showed up crying one night last week while Molly had gone to pick up a stud dog. Lucy said she was in big trouble
and scared her boyfriend was going to hurt her bad. I let her stay there, but I promise you, there’s been nothing between us. I was late heading over to Pa’s because when I took some breakfast up to her, she was hysterical and started screaming. If Lucy had done that while Molly was home, she would have heard her. I spent the morning trying to convince Lucy she had to find somewhere else to hide out.”

  I couldn’t help it. I know I’m grown now, but sometimes instinct overpowers maturity. I rolled my eyes. Bill ignored it instead of scolding me for behaving like a twelve-year-old as he usually did when I resorted to such childish reactions.

  “When I heard Molly at the door, all I could think about was getting Lucy out of there,” he continued.

  “Why couldn’t Molly get the door open?”

  “Besides the dead bolt locks, we have those swinging bar latches like they have in hotel rooms on the front door. We don’t usually set them except at night. Molly would have gone out through the garage this morning and not unlocked them. I don’t know why she didn’t use the keypad and come through the garage into the house.”

  “She was upset, not thinking because she was so worried that you’d had a heart attack.” I glared at him for a moment. “You had no business letting that woman stay at your house.”

  “Would you please stop calling her ‘that woman’? Her name is Lucy.”

  “Bill, I don’t think I’d go there.”

  “You’re right. Is there anything you want me to do before I head back to Pa’s?”

  “No, I’m hungry, but I’ll find something here. Odell has probably made coffee already. I’ll be fine.”

  Bill turned to go, and the slump of his shoulders looked like a ninety-year-old man. I reached out and touched him. He turned and grabbed me. His chest heaved, and tears that I knew were real dampened my shoulders as he held on to me. After several minutes, he stepped back, wiped his face on his shirt sleeve, and turned away.

  My family has gradually grown more openly affectionate than we were while growing up. For the first time ever, I told Bill, “I love you, brother.”

  “Me, too,” he whispered and hurried out. I watched him walk to his car, looking like the weight of the world was on his shoulders, not just one tiny woman he called wife.

  3:00 P.M.

  I looked at the clock, it was five after three Storm clouds gathered as far as I could see Whether Bill was telling the truth about cheating on Molly or not, that woman climbing out of Bill’s Man Cave would probably be the end of their marriage. Sitting at my desk, the sadness I felt for Bill and Molly overwhelmed my happiness for Daddy and Miss Ellen.

  My philosophy on life paraphrases what Abraham Lincoln said: Most of us are about as happy as we make up our minds to be. When I’m miserable, I try not to wallow. I take action by doing something, even the smallest thing, to bring me pleasure. I decided putting an end to my hunger pangs would make me feel better. There are usually drinks and food at Middleton’s. I went to our mini-kitchen for coffee.

  When there are no bereaved family members at Middleton’s, we drink coffee and hot tea from mugs with our names written on them with Sharpie markers. Coffee during planning sessions is poured from a silver coffee service into Wedgwood cups that are Middleton family heirlooms. I picked up my mug, then put it down and checked out the fridge.

  Half of an egg salad sandwich was all I found. I’d brought it to work a few days earlier, but it was refrigerated in a ziplock bag, so it should be safe to eat. My bottom desk drawer supplied my favorite dessert—the inevitable Moon Pie. I put the sandwich and pastry on a small Wedgwood plate and poured my coffee into a cup that was worth more than all my dishes, pots, and pans together. Instead of eating at my desk, I used a silver tray to carry everything to the Rose Room, our smallest conference room for sessions to plan funeral services.

  Being alone in a funeral home would be upsetting to my best friends. Jane and Rizzie would freak out. I thought about the question lots of people ask when they first meet me. “Why would you rather work in a funeral home than teach school?” I always answer that I quit teaching kindergarten because I was tired of five-year-olds who wouldn’t sit still, be quiet, or take their naps. My clients at Middleton’s don’t jump around, don’t talk, and don’t have to tee tee every five minutes. Most of the time the questioner laughs or at least smiles.

  Looking around the Rose Room, I realized another reason is that I enjoy being in a beautiful environment. Teachers work to create attractive learning climates, but no classroom could ever compare to Middleton’s Mortuary. The rooms are gorgeous with plush carpet and walls papered with floral prints above pristine white chair rails. Crystal chandeliers twinkle in the halls, consultation areas, and slumber rooms which are the spaces used for viewings and visitations. Furniture is highly polished mahogany, and the overstuffed chairs invite people to sit comfortably.

  The Rose Room is my favorite. It may be because the wallpaper and paintings feature roses in all shades of pink, a color that has been significant in my life.

  I grew up in an ugly house that was as sufficient as a three-bedroom house could be for a widowed man with six kids. Being the only female, I had my own room, but it was never decorated with frills or pink and white gingham like I saw when I visited other little girls. Don’t get me wrong. Daddy tried. He just didn’t understand young females.

  I’ve been told that when my mother died the same day I was born, my dad went all to pieces and got drunk, really drunk. He and his wife had named five sons. Daddy had expected the new baby to be a boy. When he had to fill out papers and name me, he tried to think feminine, but he was either still half hammered or had an awful hangover. He thought pink, and named me Calamine Lotion Parrish. Thank heaven, he’s the only person who ever calls me Calamine. I guess he would have called me Pepto if he’d thought of stomach problems before skin rashes. The pinkness of Calamine Lotion was about as feminine as Daddy got, and I grew up treated like another one of The Boys.

  Sitting at the round Queen Anne mahogany table with its gorgeous curved legs, the beauty of my surroundings brought a bit of peace to my mind, and I was feeling better when Odell summoned me.

  “Callie, where are you?”

  I heard him, picked up the silver platter, and headed

  toward the rear of the building.

  After setting the tray on the counter beside the coffee pot,

  I followed Odell’s voice to the back door. “I was having a

  late lunch,” I told him as I watched him bring the gurney

  with a body bag into the building.

  “You weren’t in your office. I know; I looked,” he

  answered.

  “I went up front to the consultation room, wanted to be

  sure I heard if someone came in.”

  “You’d hear the music anywhere in the building if the

  door opened.”

  I didn’t bother to respond. I’ve finally learned that

  sometimes it’s better just to keep my mouth shut. “I’m taking Mrs. Greene to prep right away. Her family

  was waiting for me at the nursing home and authorized it.

  They’ll be in tomorrow at ten to make arrangements.” Even if a service has been pre-planned, permission for

  embalming is required from the next-of-kin at the time of

  death. That’s not South Carolina law, just Middleton’s

  policy. I remembered Otis explaining it to me when I first

  began working at the funeral home.

  “Some folks think the law requires embalming, but the

  deceased can be buried or cremated without it so long as

  there’s no public viewing. Pre-planned selection of caskets

  and cemeteries can be adjusted, but there’s no way to unembalm a body, so we require permission at the time of

  death.”

  “Callie, did you hear me?” I must have shown that I

  wasn’t paying attention because Odell sounded irritated. “Did you say pl
anning at ten tomorrow? Do you know if

  Otis will be back? You know the wedding is at noon,” I

  said, remembering the twins prefer two people on the

  premises during planning sessions.

  “Don’t worry about it. I gave you the day off, and I’ll

  take care of everything. My problem is that I know you’re

  eager to get out of here today. I’ve got to pick up the John

  Doe you found on Dunbar Road in about an hour and

  transport him straight to Charleston for the postmortem.” “If the coroner releases the body by four o’clock, I can

  carry the decedent to Charleston when I go to pick up my

  brother Jim at the airport. His plane lands at five.” Odell frowned when I said “body,” but he ignored it.

  “That might be tight, but it should work. The sheriff told

  me to be on standby. He says they’ll wrap up everything

  there a little before four. You’ll have to transport in the

  funeral coach because the van is at the garage for repairs.

  I’ll be in the prep room, but I’ll catch the phone and listen

  for anyone who comes in.” I watched him roll the gurney

  down the hall.

  I went to my desk and called Daddy. He was livid.

  “What the dickens happened at Bill’s house?”

  “Didn’t Molly tell you?” I asked.

  “She’s in my bedroom, sobbing hysterically. Ellen went

  in there to see what was wrong, and now I hear Ellen

  crying, too, and they won’t let me in.”

  Daddy and Miss Ellen had planned a simple, but formal,

  church wedding with an afternoon reception at my dad’s

  house. Everyone knew Daddy would barbecue a pig, and

  Miss Ellen was fine with that, but she’d watched some

  television show about four weddings and wanted what

  she called a cocktail hour first. Not that any cocktails would be served. Beer would be available during the barbecue, but it would be limited. Alcohol had led to a

  fiasco at Bill and Molly’s wedding.

  Miss Ellen’s idea was that guests would hang out in the