Murder is on the Clock

by Fran Rizer

  “No, the wedding is at Miss Ellen’s church,” I said. “I agree that it’s better that they’re getting married at Christ Lutheran and not Crossroads.“

  I detoured so that we drove up in front of Crossroads Church. The name is perfect because the little white clapboard building sits at the intersection of Shives and Thompson Roads. The fenced graveyard is behind the church and is about the size of a football field. I parked right in front of the double-wide gate. Jane had her mobility cane with her, but I suggested I guide her because there were so many obstacles. In addition to the markers, which were upright, not flat like in perpetual care cemeteries, many of the families had their plots marked off with bricks, iron fences, or short border materials used in landscaping.

  Jim didn’t hesitate. He walked straight toward a section on the south side. It looked about the size that would contain six graves, and it was marked off with a white fence barely six inches tall. White gravel covered the enclosed area, and on each corner of the section a miniature pink azalea was in bloom. The bushes weren’t in urns like those on the porch of the mortuary. They were planted in the ground.

  Jim had hurried up to the enclosure, but he stopped and froze like a statue when he reached it. I saw a tear trickle down his cheek. Eric patted his shoulder.

  “I should have come home before now.” Jim draped his arm around Eric’s shoulders. “I should have come and talked to her before.”

  Personally, I didn’t put much truck into that business of going to the graveyard to talk to dead relatives. My work had convinced me that the essence of a person—the soul or memory or personality, whatever it’s called—leaves at the time of death. When I work with hair and makeup dressing the deceased, it’s all for the loved ones left behind. The deceased person isn’t in that physical body anymore, and that person will not be in the grave or in the bag of cremains.

  I’d attended a funeral at Crossroads as part of my work for Middleton’s Mortuary, but I couldn’t remember Daddy ever bringing me here to visit my mother’s grave. I’d never asked where my mother was buried and I didn’t remember ever being told.

  The marker was a white marble angel mounted on a pink granite foundation. Engraved in the base was “Willene Sybil Baker Parrish, Beloved wife of John Clyde Parrish; beloved mother of John Baker Parrish, James David Parrish, Michael Richard Parrish, William Everett Parrish, Franklin Charles Parrish, and Calamine Lotion Parrish.”

  Not for the first time, I wished my mother had lived long enough after my birth to name me.

  Jim turned to me. “Would you and Jane mind going back to the hearse? I’d like some private time with Mom.”

  Jane and I turned to leave. Eric stepped away with us, but Jim called him back. “You stay here, Eric. I want to introduce you to Mom.”

  As I held the hearse door open for Jane, a new red Ford 150 truck drove up behind us. It took a few minutes for me to process Daddy was the driver. I was surprised when he got out.

  “I don’t have to ask what you’re doing here,” he said. “That boy insisted we walk back there every Sunday after you were born. That wasn’t good, so I changed churches.”

  “Did you come looking for us?” I slid onto the driver’s seat of the funeral coach. Daddy closed the door for me.

  “No, I was hoping to get here before you kids did. I wanted a few minutes here by myself.” He turned back toward his truck.

  I pressed the button to roll down my window. “Don’t leave. Wait here. Don’t you want to see Jim?”

  “I’m not leaving.” He reached into the truck and brought out a bouquet of pink roses.

  “I guess Tyrone got the van and the flowers from Dunbar Road,” I said.

  “Yeah, but Ellen says those flowers won’t do. They’re all wilted. I picked these up at the Publix on the way over here.” He grinned and looked up the incline toward Jim and Eric. “Did you see those azaleas I planted? If I’d thought about it, I could have named you ‘Azalea’ instead of ‘Calamine’.”

  “Don’t even think about that,” Jane protested. “I’d much rather have a best friend named Callie than one named Azalea or Daffodil or some other flower.”

  “I wouldn’t have named her Daffodil,” Daddy objected. “They’re yellow. I wanted a feminine name—something pink.”

  I looked out the windshield and saw Jim and Eric headed our way. They looked like any two guys. I hoped Jim didn’t introduce Eric to Daddy as his “partner.” There would be time for that later.

  Daddy and Jim embraced and Daddy shook hands with Eric. Daddy headed toward my mother’s grave. I was glad when Jim and Eric got in the backseat and buckled their seat belts. All I wanted was to get to Miss Ellen’s church, Christ Lutheran, for the rehearsal. Not that it would make any difference. The rehearsal wouldn’t begin without Daddy.

  6:00 P.M.

  I looked at the clock, it was half past six How did the sheriff get into this mix? “Your father seemed glad to see you.” Eric spoke softly, but I heard him talking to Jim in the backseat.

  “I never doubted he would,” Jim answered.

  “Then why’d you stay away so long?” I couldn’t help dipping into their conversation.

  “Don’t nag me. I’m here. Just let it go at that.”

  The rest of the drive to Christ Lutheran was quiet except for Jane asking, “Where are we? I was supposed to go to the grill and help Rizzie.”

  “Sorry,” I said, “the day didn’t turn out quite like we’d expected.”

  When we pulled up in front, a group of men stood on the steps directly in front of the red door, but there wasn’t a woman in sight. Did the women leave because Bill doesn’t know how to act like a married man? I wondered. Has Miss Ellen decided “like father, like son” and cancelled the wedding?

  Pastor Russ looked confused, but the others recognized who was in the funeral coach and about fell over each other getting down the steps. They yanked open the back door and grabbed Jim out, whooping and hollering while they pounded him on the back. No one seemed to notice Eric as he followed them like he’d followed Jim at the airport. For the first time since I was eight years old, I saw all five of my brothers together. I confess: it gave me a soft, warm, fuzzy feeling.

  “What are they doing? What’s all that yelling?” Jane asked.

  “Just welcoming home the prodigal son. Let’s go inside and look for the bride.”

  We found Miss Ellen and Molly in the preacher’s office. Miss Ellen’s eyes sparkled and she looked ecstatically happy.

  Molly didn’t have that shine, but she wasn’t crying or fuming either. “Can I assume that we’re ready to begin?” she asked.

  “Daddy should be here soon. What do we need to do before he arrives?”

  “Nothing really. This is going to be very simple, pretty, and dignified,” Molly said in a serious voice befitting the director of the ceremony.

  “Do you hear them acting like little boys out there?” I asked. “I hope you can get more dignity into that crowd than I ever could. Is the organist here?”

  “Who’s playing?” Miss Ellen asked.

  “Dottie Jones,” Molly answered. “She’s very reliable. Probably just running a few minutes late. Who’s singing?” She turned toward Miss Ellen.

  “Your dad said he’d take care of that.” Miss Ellen couldn’t stop smiling. “He said he’d take care of replacing the flowers that were ruined in the van this morning, too.”

  “Do you know who the body was that you and Tyrone found?” Molly asked.

  “The last I heard he hasn’t been identified. I’m sure Jed Amick would have checked his pockets for a wallet, but he was listed as a John Doe on the transport papers when I dropped him off at the Medical Examiner’s in Charleston.”

  “Callie!” Jane interrupted. “Watch your wording. We did not drop him off.”

  “We know what you mean,” Molly said.

  When the men came inside, both Daddy and Dottie Jones were with them. Jane took a seat at the front of the church when Molly w
ent into her wedding director mode while avoiding looking at or speaking to Bill. It didn’t take long to work out that Daddy, Pastor Russ, and John, who was best man, would step out from the side doors of the chancel and take their places at the altar five minutes before noon after about thirty minutes of organ music while Frankie, Mike, and Bill served as ushers and seated the guests.

  A solo would be followed by the maid of honor processing to the altar. After me, Miss Ellen would be escorted down the aisle to the altar by Jim. I kept my mouth shut, but I knew that in the original plans, Bill was supposed to escort the bride. Had he been demoted by the wedding director because of his Man Cave activities?

  “Where’s the soloist?” Miss Ellen looked around.

  “It’s a surprise performance. He’ll be here tomorrow. Don’t worry about that.” Daddy had that about-to-pop look he always had when he tried to keep a secret.

  “But this is the rehearsal.” Molly looked a bit exasperated. I’m sure she’d had more than enough of the Parrish men that day.

  “I told you that it’s a surprise. I’ll take care of it.” Daddy’s tone left no room for further questioning. “Ms. Jones knows what songs will be used and will meet the soloist here tomorrow morning to rehearse in private. I’ve made all the arrangements.”

  Dottie Jones smiled and nodded.

  We were practicing how to process without slipping into that old step-hitch way they used to walk in weddings when Wayne Harmon came through the narthex and into the nave of the church.

  “I need to see Bill.” This was the sheriff speaking, not our friend Wayne.

  “Take him.” That was the first time Molly had even glanced at Bill since we’d arrived, and from the look on her face, he should appreciate that.

  Bill didn’t say anything, just followed Sheriff Harmon to the narthex.

  Daddy spread his arms in a welcoming gesture. “Then let’s all head over to the Gastric Gullah Grill for dinner. I don’t know what we’re eating because Rizzie wouldn’t tell me the menu,” he said.

  When we left the church, John insisted Jim and Eric ride with him, so Mike wound up in the backseat of the funeral coach. The sheriff’s car was gone, and I didn’t see Bill anywhere.

  7:00 P.M.

  I looked at the clock, it was seven-thirty Mike sat in back, singing something dirty “Stop it, Mike,” I scolded.

  “Oh, lighten up, Callie,” Jane defended him, but he quit

  singing.

  When we approached the Gastric Gullah parking lot, I

  noticed Rizzie’s van parked on the side, but no Mustang.

  “Do you know where my car is?” I asked Mike.

  “At Pa’s house,” he answered.

  Odell Middleton’s Buick was parked beside the van. I

  wasn’t surprised to see it there because I knew Daddy and

  Miss Ellen had invited guests who weren’t in the wedding

  to the rehearsal dinner.

  Mike insisted on escorting Jane and me into the

  restaurant, one on each arm. I gasped as we entered. Immediately, Jane said, “What is it, Callie? Is something

  wrong? Why did you catch your breath like that?” “Nothing’s bad. It’s good,” I answered. “The grill is

  beautiful. Rizzie’s turned the room into a wonderland.” “What do you mean?” Jane asked.

  “The overhead lights are off. The whole place is lit by

  candlelight and little white Christmas lights. The ceiling is

  covered with white helium-filled balloons. Rizzie’s floral

  arrangements were ruined. The balloon bouquets

  everywhere are a great substitute.”

  “It sounds beautiful,” Jane said. “Who’s here?” “Everyone who was at the church except Bill. Tyrone

  and Rizzie, of course, and a few other friends.” I looked

  across the room. “Otis is back. He and Odell are headed

  our way,” I added and laughed.

  “What’s funny?” Jane asked.

  “Otis is wearing sunglasses. He must think whatever

  procedure he had this time has turned him into a movie

  star.”

  “Maybe he has something wrong with his eyes,” Jane

  said, “something like pink eye.”

  “Maybe,” I answered doubtfully.

  “If Otis and Odell are both here, can we trade the hearse

  for the Mustang?” Jane said.

  “It’s at Pa’s,” Mike interrupted.

  “I’m sure Otis will drive the funeral coach back to the

  funeral home,” I assured Jane, “and we can hitch a ride to

  Daddy’s to pick up my car.”

  That discussion ended when Odell and Otis reached us.

  “Glad to see you’re home,” I said to Otis.

  “Wouldn’t miss this,” Otis said.

  “What’s with the shades?” I asked.

  Otis didn’t respond.

  “Tell her,” Odell insisted.

  “A little irritation around my eyes,” Otis murmered. “Let me see,” I said, but before Otis could reply, Daddy

  stood on a chair and began making an announcement. Now, Gastric Gullah Grill is not really big. Maximum

  occupancy is probably forty or fifty, but Daddy bellowed

  like he was on a baseball field, trying to be heard from one

  base to another.

  “Welcome everyone here to help Ellen and me celebrate

  getting married tomorrow. We appreciate you sharing our

  happiness. I can’t tell you what’s for dinner because Rizzie

  says it’s a surprise, so just find yourselves seats and the

  food will be out soon.”

  He climbed down from the chair and took Miss Ellen’s

  hand. They sat in two chairs at the front of the dining area.

  Bunches of balloons were tied to the backs of their seats. Jane and I sat down, and Otis and Odell chose chairs

  across from us. Odell kept looking at Otis and grinning.

  Otis squirmed a lot.

  “Who’s on duty?” I asked because though we always

  forward calls to one of our cell phones when the mortuary

  is closed, it wasn’t even eight o’clock and we’re usually

  open until nine.

  “Closed at seven tonight,” Odell said.

  My eyes must have bugged out. That was the first time

  Middleton’s had closed early since I started working there

  several years ago.

  “What about Mrs. Greene?” I asked. “Some member of

  her family might come by.”

  “Her daughter-in-law brought clothes to us this

  afternoon, and I’ve already taken care of makeup and clothing, but I told the family she wouldn’t be ready until

  tomorrow,” Odell answered.

  That made sense but it was surprising. Since I’d begun

  working at Middleton’s, I’d always done the cosmetizing

  and dressing, but, of course, since both Otis and Odell

  were licensed morticians, they were fully qualified to do

  handle my responsibilities as well as their own.

  Rizzie invited Pastor Russ to return thanks before the

  food was served. I was starving and glad he kept it short.

  As soon as we all said, “Amen,” Tyrone began delivering

  small plates to everyone. I was happy to see crab cakes

  because Rizzie’s are the best I’ve ever eaten. I fully

  expected a Gullah meal, but the dinner plates that

  followed the crab cake appetizers weren’t Gullah, Geechee,

  nor Lowcountry.

  There are very few beef dishes in Gullah cuisine. Rizzie

  had explained that to me a long time ago. When the

  Africans were brought to the sea islands, beef was

  expensive to raise. Only rich folks could afford to keep

  cows or
buy beef. The Gullahs made their foods from

  animals they could catch from the ocean or hunt on the

  land—rabbits, birds, squirrels and an occasional deer or

  possum. Typical to Gullah foods were also the peanuts

  and sweet potatoes that were staples in the African diet at

  that time.

  Not a person there would have been disappointed in one

  of Rizzie’s Gullah seafood or “yard bird” meals, but she’d

  chosen beef—prime rib with au jus and a delicious

  horseradish sauce. I wasn’t sure if the side dish was

  authentically Gullah or one of Rizzie’s creations. It was

  like a square of dressing similar to what Daddy prepares

  for Thanksgiving except that the main starch was sweet potato. I don’t think it had any cornbread in it, but there were lots of peanuts. The men joked about all the raw oysters in the seafood salad with julienned vegetables she

  served after the entree.

  The serving staff were placing individual dishes of

  Huguenot Torte, an apple and pecan dessert topped with

  whipped cream, in front of each person when the door

  opened, and Wayne Harmon came in. I expected to see

  Bill with him, but the sheriff was alone. He went directly

  to Daddy and whispered something to him.

  Daddy motioned Wayne back toward the kitchen. I

  could see them standing in the doorway in an earnest

  conversation, but I couldn’t hear anything. After a few

  minutes, Miss Ellen walked over to them. Whatever was

  being said shocked Miss Ellen because astonishment swept

  over her face.

  Rizzie offered Sheriff Harmon dinner, but he shook his

  head no and went to the door. He stood there silently

  while Daddy moved around the room, stopping by each of

  his sons and whispering something. Whatever he said

  caused Frankie and John to go stand with the sheriff. The

  same thing with Jim and Eric. When Daddy reached Mike,

  I could hear what he whispered.

  “Wayne wanted to talk to Bill because that woman that

  fell out of Bill’s Man Cave and broke her leg is Lucille