Murder is on the Clock

by Fran Rizer

  “That dirty doo-doo head took my Betty Jo away and now he wants to come crying over my baby girl. Probably thinks there’s some insurance he can collect, but there isn’t.” I tamed the mouth I learned growing up in a redneck male-dominated home by creating kindergarten cussing. Apparently, Mrs. Caldwell had her own brand of profanity.

  “I just want to see her. That’s all.” Anderson pulled something from his pocket and held his closed fist out to Mrs. Caldwell. Slowly the fingers opened and revealed a gold band. “It’s the wedding ring I bought her. I want you to bury it with her. You don’t understand that I loved her. I’ve got a good job now, living on the straight and narrow. If we’d stayed in Florida, she’d be alive. She’s dead because we came up here to see you!”

  “She’s dead because someone took a shot at you and killed my girl and her baby.” Mrs. Caldwell crumpled and Odell lowered her into a chair. “I hope they find that guy and fry him!”

  Old Sparky, South Carolina’s electric chair, had been retired for years and replaced by lethal injection, but I’m sure Mrs. Caldwell thought electrocution would be a more suitable death than drug injection for whoever killed her granddaughter. She probably wouldn’t object to a firing squad, hanging, or death by being drawn and quartered, though that could be considered cruel and unusual.

  Philip laughed—the strange, loud cackle of a Halloween witch or someone insane. “Too late for that, too late for that,” he repeated over and over.

  “How do you know that?” Odell asked.

  “Betty Jo’s killer is lying right there, half in and half out of his coffin. Josh Wingate shot at us and that’s his corpse falling out of that coffin.” Philip pointed toward the funeral director’s nightmare on the floor beside the bier. “I’ve known Josh his whole life. He’s who tried to kill us.”

  “What do you mean—tried? If he’s who pulled that trigger, he killed Betty Jo.” Mrs. Caldwell stopped being simply loud and screamed.

  “I recognized him when he pulled around us on I-95.”

  I immediately put two and two together and came up with an answer. Anderson saw Josh Wingate beside them on the highway. Josh was probably shooting at Philip, but he ducked, and Betty Jo took the bullets.

  Mrs. Caldwell stood and beckoned Philip toward her. “Are you sure?” she asked.

  “Yes, positive.”

  “Why’d you tell the police you didn’t recognize the shooter?”

  Panic flashed across Anderson’s face. The same expression I’d seen on five-year-olds I caught lying when I taught school. Then he relaxed. I could almost see the relief when he thought of an answer. “I planned to get even with him myself.” He looked at me.

  “How did he die?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Otis and Odell busied themselves replacing Josh Wingate in the bent casket and lifting it back onto the bier, but Odell turned around and asked, “Did you murder him?”

  “I didn’t even know he was in St. Mary. He was right outside of Charleston when I saw him. How’d he die?”

  “Toxicology reports aren’t in yet, but the autopsy didn’t reveal cause of death.” Otis gave a more complete answer than I had.

  Mrs. Caldwell reached down, picked up her purse, and said, “I want to see Betty Jo now.”

  “Me, too.” Anderson almost whispered.

  I looked at Odell and Otis. “Go ahead,” Otis said.

  “What about him?” I asked Mrs. Caldwell and motioned toward Anderson. “Is it okay with you for him to go in with us?”

  “He can come in if I can bury her wearing that ring,” she said.

  “I bought it for her before we headed back to South Carolina. I want her to have it.”

  I’ve heard the expression “took the starch out of him” my whole life. Now I saw it personified. Philip Anderson looked limp as a rag doll.

  “Well?” I asked Mrs. Caldwell.

  “I guess so,” she said, and they both followed me into Slumber Room A.

  I try not to brag, but Miss Betty Jo Caldwell was my masterpiece. We hadn’t placed her in an expensive casket because it cannot be used or sold once a body has been in it. Instead, she lay in a cremation coffin which is actually a simple, inexpensive rectangular box of thin wood, sometimes covered with cloth. The fabric on this was a light cream. While a lot of actual caskets are used for visitations with just the top half open, the cremation box is full-couch. We could have put it on a foldable stand called a church truck, but it was on a wooden bier with a burgundy colored velvet skirt. Lying there, she looked like Sleeping Beauty in a wedding dress.

  I had pulled the skirt toward the front so that it didn’t bind across Betty Jo’s baby bump. I noticed Mrs. Caldwell staring at it before she quickly turned and went back to the entry hall.

  She returned carrying the bouquet of roses and handed them to me. “Here,” she said, “can you put these in her hands?”

  I assured her that I could. Anderson handed me the ring, and I slipped it on Betty Jo’s finger. I positioned her hands so that the ring showed and she appeared to be holding the bouquet.

  If ever there was a time I feared a loved one would touch the deceased person’s face, this was it, but neither of them reached toward the veil of the fascinator. Otis stood beside Mrs. Caldwell for a few minutes and then asked, “Would you like to complete your selections now?”

  “Yes,” she answered before turning to Anderson and asking, “Do you want to help me choose the casket?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said.

  When the three of them headed for a consultation room, I told Odell, “I’m going to call Enterprise Car Rentals and see if they’ll deliver to me here.”

  “I’ll tell Sheriff Harmon what Anderson just said. Josh Wingate’s homicide is Jade County’s jurisdiction, and if Betty Jo’s boyfriend says Wingate is who shot her, he’s given himself a good-sized motive to have killed Wingate.”

  “Anything else?” I asked.

  “Can I eat some of what you put in the refrigerator?”

  “Help yourself.”

  1:00 P.M.

  I looked at the clock, it was twenty after one I had errands and investigating to be done I really didn’t want to sit with Otis and Mrs. Caldwell while she finished her arrangements for Betty Jo’s service—especially since Philip Anderson would be there. He looked about my age, a few years beyond thirty, which would have made him close to thirty when he took a thirteen-year-old girl away from her home and had her pregnant at fifteen. There was a certain unexplainable attraction about him, but I wished Mrs. Caldwell had beaten him into a bloody mess with her purse.

  After Enterprise assured me they’d deliver a rental within thirty minutes, I stepped outside on the front veranda and sat down in one of the white Cracker Barrel rocking chairs. The rain had stopped and the sun was out. Technically, I wasn’t working that Saturday. I’d been given the day off for Daddy and Miss Ellen’s wedding, so I felt comfortable just hanging out, taking a few minutes to regroup and hope Bill would decide to come back and tell the truth. I hated thinking of him as a fugitive when he hadn’t even been accused of anything.

  Deep in thought about why Loose Lucy would be lying about where Bill had been during the time I was on Dunbar Road discovering Josh Wingate’s body, I didn’t notice Sheriff Harmon driving into Middleton’s parking lot until he’d parked his cruiser and was halfway up the front steps.

  “Are you waiting for me, Callie?” he asked and stopped midway with his right leg lifted to the top step while he supported his weight on his left foot, two steps down.

  “No,” I muttered. I’ve known Wayne Harmon my whole life. He was my older brother John’s best friend while we were growing up, and, to be honest, when I was little, I sometimes thought Wayne was my brother, too. No one had been more surprised than I was when he became a deputy and a few years later was elected sheriff of Jade County.

  After I came home to St. Mary following my divorce in Columbia, I’d been in contact with him frequently in connection
with my work at Middleton’s Mortuary and my unfortunate tendency to find homicide victims.

  That day, sitting in the rocking chair, may have been the first time I’d taken a long, hard look at Wayne in years. Maybe even the first time I’d viewed him as other than another brother. Most of the time, he wore suits, but he had on a uniform. The khaki color complemented his sandy brown hair, tanned skin, and tired blue eyes. The fit of the pants and short-sleeved shirt revealed he wasn’t the scrawny scarecrow of a boy I’d grown up with.

  “Have you heard anything about Bill?” I asked, ignoring his question and looking over his shoulder to avoid being obvious about checking out his biceps.

  “No leads at all except that he’s apparently traveling on that old moped that was in your Pa’s shed.”

  “I wasn’t expecting you,” I said. “I’m waiting for a rental car. Enterprise said they would deliver it, and thought I’d save them having to come inside. The man sounded a little hesitant when I told him to bring it to the funeral home. What are you doing here?”

  “Odell called and told me Betty Jo Caldwell’s boyfriend Philip Anderson says Josh Wingate shot at them and killed the young woman. I understand Anderson is here, and I want to talk to him. He didn’t tell the Charleston PD that he could identify the shooter.”

  “You don’t happen to know what my family is doing now?” I asked.

  ”So far as I know, they’ve gone home to clean up and then start looking again.” He gave me a questioning look. “Callie, I can’t help wondering if you know more about this than you’re sharing. Tell me the truth. Do you know where Bill is?”

  “No, Wayne, I swear I have no idea.”

  He stood there silently for a few seconds. “Don’t lie to me, Callie. You know something you’re not telling.”

  “I only know that Bill thinks Loose Lucy is trying to frame him for Josh Wingate’s death.”

  “Loose Lucy?”

  I laughed self-consciously.“That’s my own personal nickname for Lucy Robinson.”

  “Are you saying Bill and Lucy have been having an affair?”

  “Bill was still seeing her after he and Molly were engaged, but unless something’s gone on since she started hiding out at his house, I don’t think so.”

  “Why did Bill hide an ex-girlfriend in his home with his wife?”

  “He said she came to him begging for help because her boyfriend was abusing her.”

  “And that boyfriend was Josh Wingate, your body in a bag, who is now here at Middleton’s?”

  “It’s a small world, isn’t it?”

  “You’re still holding something back, Callie. What about the man who’s calling Jane? Do you have any idea who that might be?”

  “No, but I can tell you that he’s using an electronic distortion device when he calls.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “He called me during the night and gave me a message for Jane.”

  “And what was it?”

  “He said he’ll see her soon.”

  “And you didn’t think that was important enough to let me know about it?”

  I had no answer for that. I knew I should have communicated that threat to the sheriff, but I’d been so worried about Bill and then so busy dealing with Betty Jo Caldwell that I hadn’t even thought of it.

  “Well, do you have an answer for me?” the sheriff demanded.

  “No,” I said, “I should have, but I didn’t.” I wondered if he realized how upset I was about Bill.

  Wayne came on up on the veranda and patted me on the shoulder. “I understand how stressed you must be, but I want to know if you or Jane hear from him again.” He grimaced. “Not if, but when. I know you think of me as your friend, and I am, which makes me very concerned about these calls both personally and because of my job.”

  “Then you don’t think it’s just a prank?”

  “No, I don’t, and I believe Jane doesn’t need to be left alone until we find out who it is. I’m glad she spent last night with Ellen and I want you to consider staying with Jane when she goes home.”

  “I’d rather Jane stay with me.”

  The sheriff laughed. He knew all about how Jane was a person with a place for everything and everything in its place, but I’m a bit more scattered. That’s why Jane and I didn’t work out as roommates: I’d leave things in the wrong location and make it impossible for her to cook and function as she usually does since she depends on memory to overcome some of the problems of her visual challenges.

  “I’m sure you would, Callie, but I want Jane to have access to the Roxanne landline phone, so she needs to go back to her own place, but not alone. I’ve told her to keep answering the Roxanne line.”

  A red Ford Fusion pulled up in front of Middleton’s and stopped. A young lady lowered the window and called, “Are you Miss Parrish? This is your rental, so I’ll need you to ride back to the office and fill out the paperwork.”

  “Bye, Wayne,” I said and headed down the steps.

  “Let me know if you hear from Bill,” he said, and I had the sneaking feeling that he somehow knew I’d lied about talking to Bill. It’s not always an advantage to be longtime friends with the head of law enforcement in your town.

  With the paperwork completed and in the glove compartment of the Fusion, I drove away from the rental agency thinking I’d go to Miss Ellen’s and see if she and Jane had finished phoning everyone on the guest list or if they needed help. I decided to call Miss Ellen first. “Hello,” she answered.

  “Miss Ellen, this is Callie. Have you finished making the calls or do you need me to come help?”

  “Molly, Jane, and I made quick work out of that. It’s past noon. If we hadn’t finished that a long time ago, we’d have been standing up guests at the church. Do you know if they’ve found Bill yet?”

  “I don’t know about Daddy, but I saw the sheriff less than half an hour ago, and he said they’ve had no sign of him.”

  I heard her repeat what I’d said, probably to Molly. “I’ll let you know if I hear anything,” I said.

  “Molly, Jane, and I are preparing dinner tonight for whoever wants to eat. No set time. They can just come by my place whenever they get hungry. Would you like to help us cook?”

  I laughed, and then apologized explaining I wasn’t laughing at her. “Miss Ellen, all you have to do is ask Molly or Jane about my cooking and you’ll know why I laughed. I’ll come by to eat and see you ladies later.” I could hear Miss Ellen relaying my comment to Molly and Jane. Their response wasn’t just amused giggles, it was big, belly laughs. I told Miss Ellen goodbye and headed where I thought I’d be able to do the most good. It certainly wasn’t in the kitchen.

  “Once bitten, twice shy” as the old saying goes. This time I parked in the regular parking garage instead of the ER parking lot, and I didn’t encounter anyone I knew on the way up to Loose Lucy.

  The door to Room 314 was closed, so I knocked softly.

  “Come in,” came Loose Lucy’s voice, purring very much like I’d heard Jane sound when she was being Roxanne.

  Lucy wore a red silk nightgown with one tiny bow at the low neckline calling attention to her cleavage and big round boobs. She was the personification of boobylicious. Life isn’t always fair. Her hair was brushed smooth and she had on full makeup including eye shadow and liner. Her smile evaporated when she saw me.

  “Oh, it’s you!” she snapped. “What do you want?”

  “I need to talk to you.” I didn’t wait for an invitation to sit, simply pulled the bedside chair closer to her, and sat in it. “Bill is missing. I want the truth. What was going on with you in his house?”

  What I really wanted to know was why she’d lied to Sheriff Harmon about Bill being gone the morning Josh Wingate was apparently killed, but I wanted to build up to that.

  “Absolutely nothing,” Loose Lucy said. “My boyfriend Josh had been acting different lately. He’d never been what you’d call an upstanding citizen, but to give the devil his due, h
e hadn’t ever been abusive to me until recently. He got mad and hit me—not once, but several times. I wanted out of there, but I was afraid to leave. I went to Bill for help.” She grinned and picked at a hangnail on one of those bright red fingertips.

  “Why’d you go to my brother instead of your brother? I think there’s more to it than that.”

  “I swear to you that Bill and I have only been friends since he got married.” She put her finger to her mouth and tugged at the loose skin with her teeth.

  “Friends with benefits?” I asked.

  “No benefits at all. No banging. Not even a casual kiss.” Tugging at the hangnail had produced a drop of blood on her fingertip. She licked it off. I deal with a lot at the funeral home, but her licking her own blood grossed me out. I handed her a tissue.

  “What happened that morning?”

  She gave me a confidential look as though we were teenaged girls sharing secrets. No way would I ever be her friend.

  “I was listening to the radio and heard a breaking news announcement that some dead man had been found on Dunbar Road. They asked for anyone who might identify him to notify Jade County Sheriff’s Department and described him as Caucasian with a long blond pigtail. I knew, just knew it was Josh and I screamed. Bill came running upstairs telling me I had to be quiet. I lost it. I was stomping and screaming and . . . “

  “Good morning, Ms. Robinson.” The familiar carefully modulated, masculine voice coincided with a physician entering—Dr. Donald Walters. In a flash, I realized why Lucy Robinson was decked out in complete makeup and the frilly nightgown. Some people might think my awareness came from female intuition, but it was mainly the openly flirtatious smile on Lucy’s face as she looked at Dr. Donald.

  I also noticed her frown when the doctor grinned at me. “Callie, what’s going on? I had a phone call from Jane saying your father’s wedding has been postponed. I’d hoped to find you there dateless and step into that man from Florida’s shoes.”

  “Bill is out of town, so Daddy and Miss Ellen decided to wait.” I didn’t know how much he’d heard, but I had no intention of spreading any family gossip.