Murder is on the Clock

by Fran Rizer

  Robinson. Until a few days ago, she was living with Josh

  Wingate, the man Callie and Tyrone found murdered this

  morning on Dunbar Road. Wayne said all he wanted was

  to ask Bill a few questions because when she left Wingate’s

  place, she moved into his and Molly’s house. Bill wasn’t

  under arrest or anything and he certainly wasn’t restrained

  in any way.”

  “And?” Mike asked.

  “Your brother convinced Wayne he had to take a leak.

  They stopped at George’s Store and while Wayne bought

  them Cokes at the counter, Bill went out the bathroom

  window. Wayne has no choice but to put out an APB on

  Bill, but he’s hoping the family can find him and convince

  him to come in for questioning.”

  Daddy looked as miserable as I’d ever seen him. “Do

  you want to come?” he asked Mike, but there was no need

  for the question. Mike was out of his seat and standing at

  the door by then. Once again, I was looking at Daddy with

  five other men, but it didn’t give me a good feeling. Daddy stood on a different chair to make another

  announcement. “The Parrish men are leaving to take care

  of a family matter. Please stay and enjoy your dessert.

  Socialize as long as you like, and I hope to see all of you

  tomorrow at the wedding.” He looked at Miss Ellen who

  stood beside him, looking confused and worried. “Ellen,

  my soon-to-be wife, will remain here as your hostess.” He

  leaned over, kissed Miss Ellen on the cheek, and led his

  sons out behind the sheriff. Miss Ellen burst into tears. Jane was out of her chair and used her cane to reach Miss

  Ellen before I did. They embraced and Miss Ellen insisted

  Jane take the seat Daddy had been in. Several of the older

  ladies gathered around Miss Ellen and tried to comfort

  her, assuring her “everything will be all right” and telling

  her how delicious the rehearsal dinner had been. All I could think of was that The Boys were going to

  search for Bill, but I was left behind—just as I’d been so

  many times when I was a little girl. I had to do something.

  I couldn’t imagine what had made Bill run away from

  Sheriff Harmon. He’d known Wayne his whole life. If all he’d done was give Loose Lucy a place to hide from her

  abusive boyfriend, why did he think he had to escape? “What’s going on?” Odell asked at our table.

  I ignored the question and said, “I need a favor. Did you

  and Otis ride together in your Buick?”

  “Sure did.”

  “I want Otis to take me to Daddy’s house in the funeral

  coach to get my car. Odell, if you will, take Miss Ellen and

  Jane home in your car when this is over.”

  “No problem.” Odell looked toward Jane and Miss

  Ellen. “But first, I’m going to hit Rizzie up for another

  serving of dessert.”

  8:00P.M.

  I looked at the clock, it was way after eight I knew where to go, and it wasn’t too late All the way from Gastric Gullah to the home-place, I tried to talk Otis into removing his sunglasses. He refused and attempted to talk me into letting him drive me where I wanted to go instead of my taking my car. My turn to refuse.

  Jane, my brothers, and a lot of other people insist that I attract murdered bodies. It’s true that I have had more than my share of encounters with dead people. Well, my job puts me in their presence almost daily, but I do seem to find more homicide victims than one person should. Now I just wished living people attracted me in some way so I could find Bill and learn what was going on. I was sure that other people were searching around George’s Store where Bill had escaped. I had another idea.

  Knowing Otis as well as I did, I knew that if I jumped out of the funeral coach and into my car, he would follow me. Instead, I thanked him and let him walk me to Daddy’s front door. I didn’t need to look for a hidden key under the welcome mat. Daddy refused to lock his doors. He said, “If I’m home and someone tries to break in, I’ll deal with ‘em. If I’m not home, I don’t want anybody bustin’ up my doors or locks to get in. If a thief wants in, he’ll get in.”

  “Lock everything up tight, Callie,” Otis said and left. I stood behind the window, peeking through a tiny slit in the blinds, watching the tail lights of the funeral coach fade into the distance of the long driveway.

  A quick trip to the restroom where, for a wonder, the toilet seat was down. My entire childhood I’d grown up forgetting and splashing my fanny into the cold water more times than I cared to remember. Then I realized that even with all the men there working that day, Daddy had probably insisted they remember to put the seat down because Miss Ellen was there.

  Visiting hours at the county hospital ended at nine p.m., but I’d learned from experience that if I knew where I was going and looked confident, nobody would stop me. I called information on my cell and got the room number for Lucy.

  “Would that be Lucille Robinson?” the clerk asked. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Room 314.”

  I parked on row two under the first big light near the ER

  and headed toward the entrance. Then I remembered that the medical center didn’t like cell phones used inside. I went back to the car and locked my phone in the glove compartment.

  No one paid any attention to me as I walked in as though I owned the place and rode the elevator to the third floor. Signs with arrows pointed the way to “Rooms 301 - 320.”

  Loose Lucy was watching television when I went in. She was one hot mess with bruises on her face, an IV in one arm, and one leg elevated in a different kind of blow-up cast.

  “What are you doing here?” Lucy’s voice was a combination of loathing and curiosity.

  I sat down in the visitor’s chair beside her hospital bed and answered her question with one of my own: “Do you know who I am?” I asked.

  “Of course. You’re Callie, Bill’s sister who always told him to stay away from me.”

  “He was engaged.”

  “He wasn’t married though.”

  “He is now.”

  “A married man can have friends,” Lucy pronounced with an attitude.

  “Not sleeping in his house.”

  “He did me a favor and let me hide out there after Josh beat me up.” She hacked and spit whatever came up into a tissue. “Bill never touched me the whole time. We’re friends, but not friends with benefits since he got married.” She coughed again and couldn’t seem to stop. I stood, picked up the water bottle from the bedside table, and held the straw to her lips. After a few sips, she seemed better.

  “Callie, there’s no love lost between you and me, but I’m hurting something awful. My whole body is bruised and my leg is bad. It’s going to take an operation to put in something the doctor called pins and a rod, and they can’t put a real cast on until the swelling goes down and they do the surgery. Why are you here? What do you want?”

  “Do you need me to call the nurse?” I asked because she did look like she was in severe pain.

  “No, I want you to answer my questions,” Loose Lucy’s attitude was worse than ever.

  “I came to ask you if the sheriff has been here? Do you know that your boyfriend Josh Wingate was killed this morning? Do you have any idea why Bill would run away because Harmon wants to talk to him?”

  “Run away?”

  “Bill is missing. He took off after Sheriff Harmon told him the John Doe body was your boyfriend and that he wanted to question him.”

  Either Loose Lucy was a great actress or this was news to her. “I knew,” she said, “that the body found murdered was Josh. The cops told me when they came to ask me where I was this morning.”

  I
realized someone would have questioned her, but I didn’t suspect Loose Lucy of killing the man—couldn’t picture her being able to hog-tie that big man against his will.

  “Did they ask you anything about Bill?”

  “Wanted to know what time I saw him this morning. I told them he came up after his wife drove off. I was upset. I’d heard on the radio about a dead man on Dunbar Road, and I was scared it was someone I knew.”

  “Were you afraid it was Josh?”

  “Yes,” she said, but the look on her face told me she was lying. My brothers taught me to play poker and about tells. I learned all about how different people give away what they’re thinking or doing. Like Frankie used to scratch his ear when he lied. Lucy pinched her lips together and looked over my shoulder. “Do you have any idea where Bill might be?” I asked.

  “No idea at all.” She squeezed her lips tight and looked over me again. “I haven’t seen him since they put me in the ambulance. I expected him to come see how I am. After all, I wouldn’t have fallen if he hadn’t insisted I climb out. His wife hadn’t been in that upstairs room since I got there. I don’t know why I couldn’t hide just like I’d been doing.”

  The nurse came in and told me visiting hours were over and it was time for her to give Loose Lucy a sleeping pill. The interruption relieved me because I had no idea how to answer the injured woman why my brother made her climb out the window.

  On the way down in the elevator, I thought about everything we’d said. The only time Lucy had appeared to be lying was when she said she thought the dead man might be Josh when she heard about the John Doe on the radio and when I asked if she had any idea where Bill might be. Who else did she think the victim was? Where was Bill?

  I exited the hospital through the emergency entrance and headed down row two to the first big light. When I reached the space where I’d parked, it was empty.

  Okay, I said a few choice words that weren’t kindergarten cussing. The Mustang had been legally parked, so it shouldn’t have been towed. Maybe I was so upset about Bill that I’d forgotten where I left my car. Systematically, I walked each row of that parking lot. No blue Mustang.

  Reaching into my pocket for my cell phone, I remembered I’d left it locked in the car.

  I returned to the ER. That’s one of the few places in St. Mary that still has pay phones. Since almost everyone carries a cell these days, there are no more phone booths on our streets and hardly any inside buildings.

  I debated only a moment deciding whether to call 911 or the other number. Sheriff Harmon complained frequently about people who used 911 for non-emergencies. It didn’t take long for me to determine that someone stealing my car should count as an emergency. Besides, the quicker I reported it, the better chance it would be found.

  “Nine, one, one. What’s your emergency?”

  “This is Callie Parrish,” I began.

  Before I got any further, the dispatcher said, “Don’t tell me you’ve found another body.”

  “No.” I’ve never especially wanted to be famous, but if I ever became well-known, I didn’t want it to be as a corpsewhisperer. “I’m calling to report that my car has been stolen.”

  “Where was the car parked?”

  “In the parking lot right outside the county hospital emergency room.”

  “Have you been making your payments on time? Maybe it was towed for repossession.”

  “No, it wasn’t towed. It was parked in a legal space and it’s not financed. The Mustang was part of the settlement when I got divorced. I own it free and clear.” I didn’t bother to add that Donnie, my ex-husband, is now a car collector, but at the time of our divorce, that car was his pride and joy. After he did what he did that made me divorce him, I wanted to take what he loved most, and I did. The judge awarded me his vintage Mustang.

  When I’ve told people about that in the past, they always want to know what Donnie did. I’m not comfortable discussing it though it wasn’t what Stephanie Plum’s ex did with that Joyce woman, and no, Donnie never hit me.

  Anyway, I didn’t go into all those details, just gave him the description of my blue 1966 Mustang convertible and the license tag number.

  “Normally, I’d tell you to stay on the phone until a deputy arrives, but we’re short-handed right now, so it may take a while for someone to get there. Just wait.”

  “Okay,” I answered and ended the call.

  Unfortunately, I thought I knew why the sheriff’s department didn’t have anyone to send out immediately for a stolen car report. They were all out looking for a fugitive—my brother Bill. Hoping he would tell me that Bill had turned himself into Sheriff Harmon for questioning, I called Daddy’s cell.

  His “hello” sounded rushed and angry, but when I said, “Daddy,” I heard a gigantic sigh of relief.

  “Callie?” The surprise in his voice was overwhelmed by panic when he demanded, “Where are you?”

  “I’m at the hospital emergency room. I need someone to come get me.”

  “How did you get there?”

  “I drove here.”

  “Drove what?”

  “My car, the Mustang.”

  “Calamine, how bad are you hurt?”

  “I’m not hurt at all. I’m mad. Someone stole my car. I parked it here and when I came out, it was gone. Have you found Bill yet?”

  “I’m standing here looking at your car right now. When Wayne called and said a deputy found the Mustang smashed into a tree in the woods behind the Halsey place, we stopped trying to find Bill and started looking for you.”

  “Who was driving my car?”

  “We don’t know. There’s no one in the car, but there’s some blood on the seat and the door. Everyone’s searching for you. We were afraid you’d been hurt in the crash, maybe had another concussion, and might be wandering through these woods not knowing who or where you were.”

  “I’m fine. Just worried about Bill and mad about the car. Please send someone to get me. I’ll be standing right outside the emergency room door.”

  “Cala . . . “ I’m as known for hanging up on people as I am for finding bodies, but that was the first time I’d ever done it to my father.

  On my way back to the door, I saw an old friend coming in: Dr. Donald Walters. I first met him when Bobby Saxon’s killer Nick tried to murder me. Later we’d dated, and off and on, we’ve dated since then. We definitely have strong chemistry, but Dr. Donald is a womanizer. It didn’t matter how many times he assured me that he had changed, inevitably, something would happen to show me he was the same old hound dog.

  “Hi, Callie. Are you coming or going?” he said and smiled with those sparkling blue eyes and bright white teeth. Usually if I ran into him at the hospital, he was wearing scrubs or a white medical jacket. This time, he had on a gray suit, white shirt, and black necktie. I have to confess that Dr. Donald looked as scrumptious as he had the first time I’d seen him.

  “Trying to go,” I answered. “Someone stole my car from the parking lot.”

  “Your Mustang?”

  “That’s the only car I have or should I say had?”

  “Do you need a ride somewhere? I stopped by to see a patient, but I’ll be glad to take you wherever you want if you’ll wait a few minutes.”

  “No, thanks, Donald. My daddy is sending someone for me.”

  “Tomorrow’s his wedding, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, how’d you know that?”

  “Callie, I’ve treated just about everyone in your family in the past few years. Your father invited me.” He paused and gave me a curious look. “Is that Florida boyfriend of yours up here for the wedding?”

  “J. T.’s driving up. He’s promised to be here before daylight.”

  Dr. Donald flashed me a teasing smile. “Why does he have to promise? Does he have a track record of not always showing up when he should?”

  That was an embarrassing question for me because there had been several times when J. T. hadn’t been able to make it to South Caro
lina when I wanted to see him. In fact, we hadn’t seen each other in months. “You know he owns two restaurants in Florida and has food concessions that he tours with at state fairs,” I defended. “He’s a busy man, but he’ll be here tomorrow morning. I’ll introduce you at the wedding.”

  Dr. Donald grinned, but I didn’t hear his response because a man in scrubs and a name tag that read “Luke Robinson, Surgical Assistant” approached us, calling, “Dr. Walters, how’s Lucy?”

  “She’s stabilized and the orthopedic doctor saw her a few hours ago. He’ll operate to put in the pins and stabilize the leg with a cast as soon as the swelling makes it possible.”

  “Thanks, Doc. I’m going to pop in and see her before my shift starts.”

  As the surgical assistant walked to the elevator, I asked, “Donald, is he talking about Lucy Robinson?”

  “You know I can’t discuss a patient with you, Callie, but yes, he’s talking about Lucy. That’s her twin brother— Luke—fraternal, of course.”

  “Do you know what happened to Lucy?” I asked.

  “She was injured in a fall. That’s all I can tell you.”

  I didn’t bother to tell Donald that I knew a whole lot more about it than that. I saw it happen. When he turned to leave, he smiled at me. “Let me know when you get tired of the carnie, and I’ll take you to dinner.”

  9:00 P.M.

  I looked at the clock, it was nine forty-eight Even a minute more was too long to wait Patience is a virtue, but I wasn’t feeling very virtuous waiting for someone to pick me up from the hospital. With Dr. Donald headed upstairs to check on Loose Lucy, I couldn’t stand still, so I paced back and forth in front of the door. When anyone tried to come in, I moved.

  At last, a familiar car pulled up to the curb. I don’t really know who I’d expected to come for me. Daddy had sounded like they were frantic thinking I’d wrecked my car and was wandering around in the woods. I assumed that now he would get back to searching for Bill, but I still thought Daddy would send one of my brothers. I didn’t care which one he sent. At this point, I’d probably ride with Jane.

  Instead, my ride was Otis driving his personal Lexus and still wearing his sunglasses.