Murder is on the Clock

by Fran Rizer

  “Yes, I guess so,” I conceded, “but we follow the standard procedures for blood.”

  “Are you familiar with PEP?” Dr. Donald asked. “Personally, I’m not feeling much pep right now.”

  “This PEP refers to ‘Post Exposure Prophylaxis.’ We give preventative medications after an HIV or suspected HIV exposure. I want to keep you here a day or so and begin that treatment.”

  “Dalmation!” I spit out my mildest kindergarten cuss word. “The man I bit works here. If anyone knows how to avoid exposure, it should be hospital employees.”

  “The blood you were exposed to came from a friend of mine that I wouldn’t think would live a sketchy lifestyle, but healthcare workers are at risk of needle-stick accidents on the job. What Sheriff Harmon has told me definitely indicates that he’s not the man I thought he was.”

  “But doesn’t it take three months to get the results of the test?”

  “No, we’ll have your results tomorrow morning. We’ll want to retest monthly for a while, but since our employees are tested regularly, we should be able to obtain Luke’s previous test results as well as today’s tests. I just want you here for a day or so. Some people have side effects with the medication I’ll put you on. I want you here so we can watch for that.”

  “Does everyone have to stay overnight?”

  “Now, Callie, I’m the doctor, and I don’t want to take any chances. You’re not only my patient, you’re a dear friend.”

  “How long do I have to take this PEP?”

  “Since I’m your doctor, how long depends on me. It’s a balancing act—the side effects versus the probability that Robinson’s blood is contaminated. Trust me, Callie. I’ll never take any chances with your health.”

  “Trust you?” I frowned. “That’s the problem you and I have always had. I can’t trust you.”

  Dr. Donald had the good grace to look embarrassed. “I’ve doctored you through several medical mishaps and you’ve trusted me. I assure you that I will not only carefully evaluate the need for PEP, I’ll be cautious in determining when to stop it. I’ll need you to sign authorization, and I strongly advise you to do it.”

  “I’ll think about it.” I looked at Brandy. Her body position and expression both showed extreme discomfort. “Now, you and Wayne, get out of here so Mrs. Counts and I can finish up.”

  Sometimes the answer to, “How are you, Callie?” is, “Better than I have a right to be.” I’d been tied up by a murderer, probably come close to being raped, and possibly been exposed to contaminated blood. I could hardly believe my good luck when I was admitted. My room number was 313--right across the hall from Loose Lucy. I hoped I could get to her before she learned that Luke had been arrested.

  As soon as the hospital personnel had me settled in and left me alone, I tiptoed across the hall, holding the back flaps on my hospital thingie closed so I didn’t show my behind—literally. I’m prone to show it by my behavior sometimes, but I don’t bare my tush physically. I peeked in Loose Lucy’s room. She was sound asleep and snoring. I went back to my own room.

  Frankie answered when I phoned Daddy’s house. He told me that the sheriff had called and told them what happened. “Pa’s feeling better, but Ellen is waiting on him hand and foot insisting he needs to rest. Jim, Eric, and I are coming up to see you. Do you want anything?”

  I almost asked him to go by my apartment and pick up some nightgowns and a robe. Then I remembered I’d been wearing a tee because I hadn’t done the laundry.

  “Let me speak to her,” I heard someone say.

  Expecting it to be one of my brothers, I was surprised to hear Eric.

  “Callie, we’re going to stop and pick up a few things you may need. Do you know of anything special we might not think of?”

  “Not really. The admission packet has a comb, soap, deodorant, skin cream, tooth brush, tooth paste, and mouthwash.”

  “Glad you told me that. I was thinking of all those things.”

  After that conversation, I called Rizzie at her house. Jane was there spending the night. “Are you sure you don’t need anything tonight?” Rizzie asked.

  “No, The Boys wanted to bring stuff but I’ve got everything I need here.”

  “Well, Jane keeps getting those creepy phone calls. I want her to stay with Tyrone and me until you go home.”

  “Thanks, Rizzie. I don’t want her back in her apartment alone. Are the calls any different?”

  “She says the man keeps saying he knows she’s Roxanne and will see her soon. She’s handling it better than I would,”

  “You didn’t know Jane before she calmed down, Rizzie. She had a wild streak while I lived in Columbia. She’s no shrinking violet. I’ve got an idea that she’d do quite well defending herself.”

  “We’ll be up to see you tomorrow morning.”

  I was tired and wished Jim would wait, too.

  After we disconnected, I thought about telling Rizzie that Jane could handle anything and realized how ridiculous that statement had been. I’ve taken courses in self-defense and grew up fighting, sometimes with one of my brothers.

  Jim , Frankie, and Eric woke me up when they arrived bearing gifts. Jim had a bouquet of mixed flowers. “These are from me,” he said and placed the vase on my bedside table.

  Eric held out a box wrapped in shiny pink paper and said, “This is from me.”

  I’m still a little girl when it comes to presents. I tore into the package and squealed with delight at a beautiful royal blue satin gown and matching robe.

  “Where did you find a store open this time of night?” I asked.

  Eric grinned. “You may notice it’s not a top label. That’s because the only store that was open all night isn’t very chic.”

  Wally World—I thought it, but I didn’t say it. I couldn’t have been happier if it had come from Saks Fifth Avenue.

  “And the goodies are from me,” Frankie said and set a basket filled with candy and Moon Pies on the bed beside me.

  I hope no one misunderstands. I’m not in the habit of checking out my brothers’ pants, but when we were little, John would sometimes bring us candy bars in his pockets. Frankie’s jeans looked like he had a chocolate bar in there. I pointed at it.

  “Callie!” Frankie said. “What are you doing?” He stepped back so quickly that he almost fell.

  I answered, “To paraphrase Mae West in that old movie Daddy used to watch on tape—have you got something in your pocket?’ I know it’s not that you’re glad to see me because I’m your sister.”

  Eric laughed, then coughed so much that Jim began pounding him on his back.

  Frankie slapped his hand over whatever made his pants poke out and said, “Pa’s right. You need to act more like a lady. I don’t have anything in my pocket and that was a crude thing to say. You’re getting as bad as Mike.”

  Eric quit coughing, and Jim grabbed Frankie from behind and reached into his pocket.

  “Why’re you lying, Frankie? What’s this, more candy?” Jim pulled out a plastic device about the size and shape of a harmonica or a Snickers bar. He held it up and I grabbed for it.

  “Settle down, Callie. It’s not candy,” Jim said, but he handed the object to me.

  Frankie jumped toward me and snatched for it as though he expected us to tangle like we used to fight over toys when we were little. Jim stepped between us, and Frankie moved back, looking miserable.

  “FOOL YOUR FRIENDS,” the printing on it read. Then it explained how this “easy to operate inexpensive device” could “electronically disguise your voice.”

  “How could you?” I screamed. “No wonder the stalker knows Roxanne’s real identity and calls me by name. You’re Jane’s stalker.”

  “I love her,” Frankie said.

  “You love her so much that you’ve scared both of us almost to death!” I was too upset to catch my breath.

  “Is that the truth?” Jim asked. “Jane was crying when she told us about those calls on our drive from Charleston
. Why? Why, Frankie?”

  “I love her. I want to marry her and I don’t like her being Roxanne on the phone. I decided to protect her and convince her to quit by showing her what it could lead to.”

  “Well, you have a decision to make now,” I said. “Are you going to tell Jane and the sheriff or am I?”

  With promises from Jim that he would see that Frankie told Jane and the sheriff immediately and Daddy when he was better, they left. Eric was the last one to go. He patted my hand and said, “It’ll all be okay.”

  I didn’t believe him, but he was right. This story does have a happy ending.

  Epilogue

  “Time changes everything,” according to an old country song Daddy sings when the family pulls out guitars, fiddles, and my banjo on holidays. Miss Ellen is now Mrs. Parrish. They married in a quiet ceremony with only family present and spent a few days in the mountains for their honeymoon. Jim and Eric call from New York frequently and say they may marry someday also.

  J.T. Patel and I broke up, not with a whimper but a bang— the loud, explosive, crashing kind of bang. He thinks I act like “a little girl who needs to grow up” because some things are too important to me (i.e. having a date for Daddy’s wedding and seeing my “boyfriend” more often than every few months). I lost my temper and used every kindergarten cuss word I know.

  I’m not back to really dating. I went out with Dr. Donald a few times in the first couple of months after I was in the hospital, but that didn’t work. If I wanted to see a juggler, I’d go to the circus.

  The sheriff has been hanging out with me a lot, being supportive and keeping my mind off those medical tests until everything came back definitely negative.

  I haven’t seen Wayne in several days because he’s working a big case that is keeping him busy. The T. S. Eliot poem Ty was studying jumps into my mind – not with a bang but with a whimper. The poem is written about the end of the world, but it could have been about most of my romances. I laugh because there’s been no banging, or, as Stephanie Plum would say, no boinking in a long time. I crack up at the idea that once again, my story ends without a bang.

  How can I go out with a bang anyway when, by definition, cozy mysteries have no blatant profanity and any sex takes place behind closed doors?

  My mind jumps to Mike’s version of the old Jimmy Dickens song, “Take an old cold tater and wait.” Mike sings it, “Take an old cold shower and wait.” I laugh at the thought, put Big Boy out into the fenced backyard, and follow Mike’s advice.

  I’m turning off the water when the doorbell rings—over and over again. Only someone in my family would ring that way, so I wrap a fluffy towel tight around me and go to the front door.

  “Who is it?” I call.

  “Wayne.”

  “What do you want?”

  “I want to see you and talk to you.”

  “I’ll unlock the door. You wait a minute before you

  come in. I’m going for my robe. I’m not dressed.” “Callie!”

  “What?”

  “I’ve told you before not to ever tell a man on the other

  side of your door that you’re not dressed. Anybody but me would probably break the door down, and the way I feel right now, I can’t promise I won’t knock it off the hinges myself.”

  I laugh, unlock the dead bolt, and run back to my bedroom for the royal blue robe Eric bought me. When I return to the living room, Wayne is sitting on the couch.

  I ask, “Anything special you want to talk about?” and slide in beside him.

  “Mainly just wanted to see if you’re all right. I haven’t seen you for a few days.” He draws in a deep breath. “You went through a lot.”

  “It all turned out okay. You solved two murder cases. Bill and Molly seem to be working things out. Jane and Frankie have decided to go to counseling since she’s not pressing stalking charges against him. I’m rid of another worthless relationship because J. T. thinks I’m a little girl.”

  “I don’t think of you as a little girl, and I’m glad you didn’t get back with Dr. Walters.”

  “Dr. Donald is a great guy, but not for a boyfriend. Some men are born womanizers and aren’t meant to settle down. He’s one of them.”

  “I wanted to tell you that, but I couldn’t decide which was worse—letting you take the chance with him or making you mad by criticizing him.”

  He shifts positions so we’re face-to-face. “Callie,” he says, “sooner or later, you’ll have to learn to trust a man again. Not all of us are like your ex and Dr. Walters.”

  “I know that,” I say, “but it’s hard.”

  “For men, too.” He leans closer and slips his arm around my shoulders. I know Wayne wants to kiss me, and the warmth I feel in my lady parts tells me I want the same thing. I tilt my face toward him and feel his fingertips caress my cheek while our mouths touch and explore. The first kiss is slow and tender, but the next one is hot and deep. When our lips part, he says, “I’ve watched and waited. This was destined to happen sooner or later since I saw you when you first moved back after your divorce. I love you, Callie.”

  “Now is later,” I say and kiss him again. At first, he kisses back, but then he stops and stands, gently wrapping his arms around me and pulling me up and tight against him.

  “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Wayne asks softly.

  “Probably,” I answer.

  “That’s not good enough,” he says. “If the answer is no, I’ll leave.”

  I laugh. “I thought you were going to say you’d arrest me if I said no.”

  His turn to laugh. “You’re a wanted woman. What you see can and will be held against you, but only if you say yes.”

  I take his hand and lead him into my room. He slips his arms around me and kisses me again. I feel his response.

  In a low, awestruck voice, the sheriff asks, “What do you want me to do now?”

  I say, “You can close the door.”

  Bits and Bites

  By Frankie Parrish

  I am genuinely embarrassed and ashamed of my actions in this book, but Callie didn’t kill me for what I did or for sticking some recipes at the back of her Christmas book. Here I am again with more from the kitchens of Gullah chef Rizzie Profit and Southern cook Pa Parrish.

  Chicken Perlou aka Chicken Bog aka Yard Bird ‘n’ Rice According to Rizzie, the fancy name for this is Chicken Perlou (pronounced pearl-oh), but she uses that title for rice flavored with chicken broth and a few finely chopped vegetables. Chicken Bog is what she calls the robust dish with whole pieces or chunks of chicken she serves at Gastric Gullah Grill. Rizzie’s grandmother, the late Maum, called it Yard Bird ‘n’ Rice.

  In the old days, this recipe would have started: First, go out to the backyard and pick out a chicken. Be sure not to choose a rooster or an especially good egg-layer. Snatch that yard bird up by its neck and give it a few twists to wring its neck. When it’s dead, hang it on the clothesline by its feet and cut its head off. Let the blood drain out and then pluck the feathers. Wash the bird’s body clean and cut it up before beginning to cook.

  Most home chefs today would rather buy a chicken or go vegetarian than kill the bird. You can buy a young fryer-sized chicken or a roasting hen if you prefer. If using a roaster, be sure to stew the chicken until tender.

  Ingredients 1 chicken cut into eight pieces or 1½ to 2 pounds chicken, both white and dark meat*

  ¼ pound chopped fat back or bacon 1 pound sausage in casing, cut into ½-inch slices**

  1 cup finely diced onion

  1 cup finely diced celery

  Salt and pepper to taste

  1 cup long-grain rice

  Directions Brown fat back (or bacon) and sausage over medium heat. Add onion and celery and cook until onion is caramelized. Reduce heat to low. Lay salted and peppered chicken on top, skin side up. Cover and cook until chicken is tender (as much as an hour or an hour and half). Strain broth from pot. At home, Rizzie leaves the chicken in original pieces
with the bones in. At Gastric Gullah Grill, she debones the chicken and removes the skin. Set chicken aside. Measure the strained broth and add water or broth if necessary to make two cups. Bring the broth to a beginning boil and add rice. Stir in chicken, sausage, onion, and celery. Cover and cook on low until rice is tender (about twenty minutes). Add salt and pepper to taste. Set out the hot sauce when serving.

  *Rizzie does not recommend boneless, skinless chicken breasts for this recipe.

  **The kind of sausage will affect the taste. Rizzie likes to use onion sausage though some cooks use kielbasa or Cajun.

  Rizzie’s Stuffed Peppers Almost all kinds of peppers grow well in coastal South Carolina with its hot, humid weather. In this colorful recipe, bell peppers are more than just chopped in the holy trinity of cooking (onions, celery, and bell peppers). They are the star along with the Gullah staple—rice.

  Ingredients 4 bell peppers*

  1 pound bulk sausage ½ cup diced onion ¼ cup diced celery ¼ cup uncooked long-grain rice ¼ cup tomato juice

  ½ teaspoon minced garlic ½ teaspoon salt

  ½ teaspoon black pepper

  Directions Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Carefully cut a circle around the stem of each bell pepper. Pull the stem out with whatever seeds come with it. Cut the top off each pepper and set it aside. Remove remaining seeds from body of the pepper and wash inside and out as well as the tops. Combine sausage, onion, celery, rice, and tomato juice in bowl and mix thoroughly. Divide mixture among the peppers, stuffing them evenly. Place in a small covered baking dish with ½ inch water in the bottom. Set the tops on each pepper.** Cover the baking dish and bake an hour and a half or until the meat and rice are done.

  *Many people make stuffed peppers using all green peppers, but Rizzie uses one red, one orange, one green, and one yellow. **Of course, the “caps” made with the bell pepper tops can be coordinated with each one matching the bottom of the pepper, but Rizzie mixes them up. She puts the yellow top on the red pepper, the green top on the orange pepper, the orange top on the yellow pepper, and the red top on the green pepper.