Murder is on the Clock

by Fran Rizer

  “What about your Florida fellow? Is he here yet?”

  I shook my head no, trying to think of something to say, but I didn’t get a chance.

  Loose Lucy asked Dr. Donald, “Will this operation hurt much?” It was a legitimate question though I’ve never heard of being cut and not having any pain after it. That’s the real main reason I won’t have breast augmentation surgery. I don’t want to hurt and I don’t want scars no matter how firm and fully packed the surgery might leave me.

  Lucy’s question was about her leg, but her expression screamed, “Why are you talking to her? I’m supposed to be the center of attention.” Of course, she had no way of knowing that Dr. Donald and I had dated several years previously and occasionally since then. He was handsome and kind, but he was also a womanizer, and I’m not willing to share. Come to think of it, I think Lucy is a man-nizer. They might make a good pair.

  “Callie, would you mind stepping out for a few minutes? Ms. Robinson is scheduled for surgery on her leg this afternoon, and I’d like to check her out.”

  I’ll bet you would, I thought as I stepped into the hall.

  Standing by the door, I heard Lucy’s little squeal. “Oh, that’s cold, Dr. Walters.” I could picture his stethoscope on her chest and Loose Lucy giving a little wiggle that made everything jiggle.

  Good grief, girl! I told myself. You and Dr. Donald were over before you hardly began. Why are you jealous of him now? For the two of them to hook up might be the best thing for Bill— if he ever comes home.

  “You again?” The voice snatched me from my thoughts. “Didn’t I just meet you in the ER last night?” As before, Luke Robinson wore scrubs.

  “Yes, you did. You’re Loo . . . Lucy’s brother, aren’t you?” Thank heaven I caught myself. He wouldn’t like my nickname for his sister.

  “And you’re Callie Parrish.”

  “Yes. I came by to see how Lucy’s doing this morning. Dr. Walters is in there with her now.”

  “After I met you last night, I kept thinking there was

  something different about you. I saw you at a funeral at

  Middleton’s last year and someone told me you’re Bill

  Parrish’s sister. You look different.”

  “It’s the hair.” I smiled. “I change color as often as some

  women change their . . . “ I realized that my brothers’

  teasing about my hair and underwear wasn’t exactly what

  I should say to a man I hardly knew, but he laughed. “How’s Bill doing?” he asked.

  I didn’t know how much he knew. St. Mary is a small

  town. Did everyone know that Bill had climbed out the

  bathroom window at George’s Store and run from being

  questioned by the sheriff about a homicide, the murder of

  Luke’s sister’s boyfriend?

  The door to Room 314 opened, and Dr. Donald waving

  us inside saved me from having to answer Luke’s

  question. Luke and I joined Dr. Donald at Lucy’s bedside.

  Luke leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “Will you

  be in the operating room with me?” she asked him. “No, but they’ll keep me posted and I’ll see you in

  Recovery as soon as you wake up.”

  Determined to wait out the medical people and ask Lucy

  what I wanted to know, I sat down again in the chair.

  Luke left first claiming he had to go on duty. Dr. Donald

  patted Lucy’s hand and told her the surgeon and

  anesthesiologist would be in to see her before she went

  down to be prepped for her surgery.

  I couldn’t help smiling. “Prepped” has so many usages.

  At the funeral home, it essentially means cleansing and

  embalming the body. At Rizzie’s, it means washing and

  chopping food items. I had no idea exactly what they had

  to do to prep Lucy to operate on her leg, but I was glad it

  was her, not me.

  When Dr. Donald left, I stood up and moved closer to

  Lucy. I leaned over and asked in a soft voice, “Why did

  you tell Sheriff Harmon that Bill was gone away from the

  house during the time that Josh was killed?”

  “What?” Lucy shot me a hateful look.

  “You heard me. Why’d you try to incriminate my

  brother in your boyfriend’s murder?”

  “I don’t know what you mean. Leave me alone. They’re

  going to operate on my leg. I’m scared. Just leave me

  alone.”

  I had a lot more questions to ask, but a nurse came in,

  and I left.

  2:00 P.M.

  I looked at the clock, it was right at two I’d skipped lunch but I knew what to do Not eager to catch up with my entire family and have to explain where I’d been, I decided to stop by Miss Ellen’s and eat early. Maybe I could get out of there before everyone else arrived.

  I knew what the three women had cooked as soon as I walked up to the door. There was a wonderful smell of cumin, garlic, and cilantro. Apparently Miss Ellen and Jane had let Molly plan their menu. Miss Ellen generally prepared classic Southern food while Jane specialized in lasagna and other Italian dishes. Molly was the only one of the three who frequently cooked Mexican.

  When I rang the doorbell, my brother Mike answered. Jane stood behind him. “Who is it, Mike?” she asked. “Callie.”

  “Good! I was afraid it was that creep who keeps calling

  me.” She smiled and held up her mobility cane. “You know the end of this is metal. I was ready to whap him.” “No hitting, Jane,” I said, remembering when Jane was a whole lot wilder than she’d become in recent years. Not that I’d blame her for wanting to smack her stalker.

  “What are you doing here so early?” I asked Mike. “I thought you’d be sleeping or out looking for Bill.”

  “I’m not wasting more time searching for Bill without some kind of clue or lead. He’s been gone long enough to be in Mexico or Canada by now.” I wasn’t quite sure of that if Bill was on that old moped, but I let it go because it’s not worth the effort to argue with Mike.

  “Are you helping cook or hanging out?” I asked him as we went to Miss Ellen’s kitchen.

  “Mike has been entertaining us,” Miss Ellen said and motioned to a guitar propped against the wall.

  “Or making us crazy,” Molly added with a grin.

  “It sure smells good in here.” I gave an exaggerated sniff.

  “Chicken Mo-lay. She drew out the lay part. It’s not ready yet. I’ll get out the bean dip and salsa. You can snack on that if you’re hungry.” Jane stepped to the refrigerator and removed a bright orange Fiesta bowl divided into two sections—one filled with dip, the other with homemade tomato-peach salsa. She took off the plastic wrap, set the bowl on the table, and poured tortilla chips into a napkin-lined basket beside it.

  Mike picked up his guitar. He played “Will the Circle Be Unbroken” and then the opening guitar riff to Garth Brooks’ “Friends in Low Places.”

  Blame it all on my roots

  I showed up in boots,

  And ate all the refried beans Though I tried to be nice

  And left some red rice

  The beans blew holes in my jeans

  He slid from that into his version of the chorus: Now I’ve got pains in low places Bringing frowns to everyone’s faces I’ve . . .

  “That’s enough of that, Mike,” Molly shook her finger at him. “There are no fifth graders here to appreciate your bathroom humor.” The big smile on her face showed she was teasing, but the scowl on his made it obvious that Mike didn’t like being corrected.

  “Well, maybe I should do some Willie Nelson.” Mike strummed the opening to “You Were Always on My Mind,” and said, “This one goes out to Molly from Bill, wherever he is.”

  Maybe I did something

  That I probably should not have And m
aybe I didn’t think about it For as long as I could have

  If I made you really mad at me Molly, I’m sorry I was blind You were sometimes on my mind You were sometimes on my mind

  Mike’s never been known for his couth, but this was pushing the limit. I expected tiny Molly to hit him with something. Instead, she burst into tears. Miss Ellen reached out and hugged her. I just stared at Mike in shock. The doorbell rang and Jane headed for it swinging her mobility cane.

  The silence in the kitchen was finally broken when Mike apologized, “Molly, I regret that. I meant to be funny, not to upset my favorite sister-in-law.”

  Before Molly responded, Jane and Tyrone came into the room. “What are you sorry about?” Ty asked.

  “I made up a song that wasn’t funny,” Mike answered.

  “Let me play one,” Ty said. Mike handed him the guitar. Instead of actual notes, he began with lightly knocking on the guitar body creating a percussion sound.

  It took a minute for me to recognize the opening Tyrone sang:

  Ohhhhh, Ahhhhhh I hear someone sayin’ Ohhhhh, Ahhhhhh Ohhhhh, Ahhhhhh

  At first I thought Tyrone was going to try to do Ray Charles’ “What’d I Say?” on guitar. I didn’t think it would work because that is definitely a piano tune. I was wrong. He wasn’t going for Ray Charles, but for Sam Cooke’s “Chain Gang.”

  Well don’t you know

  That’s the sound of the men Working on the gang bang That’s the sound of the men Working on the gang bang All day long they’re sayin’ Ohhhhhhh, Ahhhhhhh Ohhhhhhh, Ahhhhhh

  Miss Ellen looked up and said, “Young man, I don’t think that’s quite appropriate to sing in front of ladies.”

  “I learned it from Mike.”

  “That’s a good enough reason not to sing it in public,” Molly said.

  “Go look in the bookcase in the living room and bring us the red dictionary,” Miss Ellen told Ty.

  Mike zipped his guitar back into the case and took it out of the kitchen. Molly and Jane continued dicing tomatoes and onions for pico de gallo. Miss Ellen and I sat at the kitchen table. When Ty came back with the dictionary, she told him to have a seat beside her.

  “Now,” she said, “look up the word ‘gang bang’ and read the definition out loud.”

  “It won’t be in there,” Tyrone protested. “That’s two words.”

  “Bet you’ll find it,” Miss Ellen upheld her request. “Try it with a hyphen.”

  Everyone’s attention turned to the teenager as he sought the term in the dictionary. When he found it, he put his finger on it and thrust the book toward Miss Ellen.

  “No,” she said, “you read it aloud.”

  “Gang-bang: a series of acts of often forcible sexual intercourse engaged in by several persons successively with one passive partner.” Tyrone’s eyes remained glued to the page. He didn’t look up at anyone.

  “Now,” the elderly lady said, “do you think that’s funny or appropriate to sing about?”

  “No, ma’am. I didn’t know you’d know what it meant. I thought ‘bang’ was like ‘boink,’ just teenage slang.”

  “That’s the problem with young people,” Miss Ellen said. “First, they think nobody knows what they’re talking about, and sometimes we don’t, but we usually do. Second, they think they invented sex.”

  Mike said, “Tyrone, I apologize for teaching you that song.” Then, in an obvious effort to change the subject, he asked, “Did you come to eat? I don’t think the ladies are ready to serve dinner yet.”

  “No, sir. Rizzie sent me to bring the leftover Huguenot Tortes from last night. I’ve got ‘em out in the van.”

  “Well, let’s go get them. I’m starving and I need a dessert to follow this bean dip.”

  “You know, there are other definitions for ‘bang’,” Tyrone wanted to get the last word in. “Last year we studied a poem that ended with Not with a bang, but with a whimper.” Knowing Miss Ellen was a retired high school English teacher, Tyrone was obviously trying to get back on her good side.

  “Do you remember what that poem is about?” Miss Ellen asked.

  “Not really. Mainly just that line.”

  “It’s from ‘Hollow Men’ by T. S. Eliot. It was written about the end of the world, but after the atomic bomb was developed, critics said the line should have been Not with a whimper, but with a bang. In that case, ‘bang’ means ‘a loud, sudden, explosive noise.’ ”

  Tyrone looked at Miss Ellen with increased respect. “Remind me not to ever play Scrabble with you,” he said.

  “Do you play Scrabble?” Molly asked him.

  “Sometimes Rizzie and I play after we close the grill.”

  “Maybe we can get up a family game night sometime,” Molly said.

  “But I’m not in your family.” Tyrone’s bright eyes faded. “There’s only two of us in my family—Rizzie and me.”

  “Oh, I think you and Rizzie are as much part of this family as I am,” Molly replied.

  “Definitely!” Mike said, “and . . . “

  Jane’s cell phone ring tone sounded. She answered, “Hello.”

  I knew who was calling before she said another word. The expression on her face displayed disgust. I reached out and tried to take the phone from her, but Jane wouldn’t let it go. “Listen, you creep,” she screamed into the receiver. “I’ve told the sheriff about you and if this doesn’t stop, you’ll be arrested.” She hesitated and then disconnected.

  When Jane’s phone rang again, I snatched it and answered, “Stop calling this number!”

  “Hello again, Roxanne,” came the distorted voice. “You don’t know me, but I know you, and I’m fantasizing about knowing you even better.”

  “This isn’t Roxanne,” I said.

  “Oh, it’s Callie.”

  “How do you know my voice?” I asked. “You must be someone who knows me as well as Roxanne.”

  “And Jane,” he said, giggled, “see you both soon,” and the line went dead

  I stood there looking at Jane’s phone in my hand, waiting for it to ring again. Instead, Bob Seger sang out from my pocket, “I love that old time rock ‘n’ roll.” I pulled my cell out and answered it, “What now?”

  “Oh, you’re still angry,” came J. T. Patel’s smooth voice—the one that had always sounded like soft caramel tasted to me. “I’m calling to let you know I’m sorry I missed your father’s wedding. I’ve just been too busy, but it looks like I might be able to come up to see you next weekend.”

  “The wedding has been postponed.” I tried to keep the ice out of my tone, but it would have frozen hot, salty tears into icicles.

  “Then I’ll try extra hard for next Saturday.”

  “We don’t know when they’ll get married, so there’s no need to make any extra effort.”

  “From your voice, I think maybe I’d better get up there to straighten things out.”

  “I’ll let you know if next weekend will be convenient.” I replied and then ended the silence on the line with a soft, “Goodbye, J. T.”

  “What’s wrong?” Miss Ellen asked. “That sounded like a real ‘goodbye’ to me. I thought he was going to be the one for you.”

  “When I’m with him, it’s wonderful, but he’s too busy for me too often.”

  “Well, he’s got those businesses to run,” Mike said. “He’ll be a good provider.”

  “I support myself. I’m not looking for a provider. I want someone I can count on to be with me when it’s important.”

  “I could understand if someone had died, but it was a wedding, for Pete’s sake.” Mike didn’t get my side at all.

  “If I’m in a serious relationship, I want someone I can count on when it’s important to me,” I attempted to explain.

  Tyrone and Mike exchanged the male equivalent of eye rolls.

  I glanced at the kitchen clock on the wall. “I’ll be back later,” I said. “Jane, will you call Sheriff Harmon about that most recent call or do you want me to?”


  “You do it,” she said.

  3:00 P.M.

  I looked at the clock, it was just past three When Otis told me a very strange story Don’t get me wrong. I love every member of my family, but sometimes they get on my last nerve. Mike is good as gold in a lot of ways. He’d have my back and come to my rescue anytime I needed him, but his constant off-color humor irritated me. So far as J. T. Patel was concerned, I was beginning to think settling for him would be a big blunder. Maybe I would decide he’d be a mistake I wouldn’t make after all. Good grief! I believe I’d already decided.

  What to do next? I had no idea. I definitely wanted to see Loose Lucy again as soon as she was brought from Recovery to her room. Sometimes people are more open when they’re half-asleep. If I could get to her before she was totally awake from the anesthetic, she might tell me more than she had before, but I had no way of even knowing when she’d gone to surgery.

  I needed to talk to Wayne about Jane’s telephone stalker, and I wanted to talk with Daddy to see if Bill had reached out to anyone else. With far too little sleep, I didn’t believe I was thinking clearly. If I had been, I would have used Miss Ellen’s bathroom before I left her house. I decided to swing by Middleton’s for a restroom break and another cup of coffee. I’d go in the back door and avoid seeing anyone who might be there making plans for Betty Jo Caldwell or Josh Wingate.

  That thought didn’t seem important when I arrived at the funeral home. There were no private cars in the parking lot. I pulled around to the rear and went in through the back anyway.

  The first person I saw was Otis—still wearing his sunglasses. “Hello, Mr. Movie Star,” I told him.

  “My eyes hurt without the shades,” he said.

  “Have you called your ophthalmologist?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Were Mrs. Caldwell and Philp Anderson here long?” I questioned.

  “Not really. I’ve already casketed Miss Caldwell. They selected a Gatesville 1440—the twenty-gauge white with silver hardware, including caps and handles.”

  “What color interior?” I asked.

  “Pale pink pleated crepe to contrast with the white wedding dress.”

  “We must have had it in stock if you’ve already casketed.”