Disrobed for Death

by Sylvia Rochester

Debbie and Sheila giggled and waved goodbye as they walked out the front door.

  Susan nodded in response to A. K. “After what happened with Terrance, I think Wesley could use a little TLC. I’m picking up gumbo from Tilly’s for our supper.”

  Susan walked to the rear of the boutique to turn back the register, and A. K. began to dim the lights. They both turned when the roar of an engine caught their attention. Headlights flashed into the store, and Gary’s truck came to a squealing halt at the front door.

  “Oh, boy, here he comes,” Susan said. “Play it cool. We know nothing about nothing.”

  Gary stomped into the boutique ahead of a whoosh of cold air. Judging from his opened jacket and beet red face, one might assume it was hot outside.

  Before he could say anything, A. K. took control of the conversation. “Hello, handsome. I sure had a good time last night.”

  “Uh, me too, at least until I got home,” he grumbled.

  “You sound upset. What happened?” Susan asked.

  “Someone broke into my house. I couldn’t tell how they had gained entry, but they did, and they stole something important.”

  A. K. gasped. “What?”

  Gary’s eyes narrowed, and he leered at A. K. and then Susan. “Like I said, something important.”

  “Did you call the police?” Susan asked.

  “Not yet.” He glared at Susan. “Mind telling me where you went last night?”

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “I find it odd that I meet up with you two, and that very night my place is robbed.”

  “Are you accusing us? I think you’d better leave, or I’m going to call the cops.”

  Susan didn’t think Gary’s face could have turned any redder, but she was wrong.

  He drew his mouth into a pucker until his lower lip protruded like a petulant child, and he whipped his head around so fast his stringy hair slapped him in the eyes. “No need for you to do that. I’m leaving. I have more digging to do. This isn’t over yet!”

  Susan assumed the remark about digging was a figure of speech, and that he was referring to finding the money. But what if he wasn’t? A chill coursed through her body. She’d had enough of graveyards recently.

  Gary hit the front door like a bulldozer in high gear, his mouth spewing curse words with every step. The profanity stopped only when he climbed into the cab and slammed the door. Seconds later, his truck barreled down the highway.

  “Whew! Glad that’s over,” A. K. said.

  “Maybe it isn’t. I don’t think he’s going to give up that easy.”

  On the way home, Susan placed an order with Tonya for the gumbo. She arrived at her apartment and pulled into her regular parking spot. Before getting out of the car, she made sure there was no one lurking about her place and kept looking for any sign of danger all the way to her front door.

  Once inside, she took a bath then changed into a pair of camel colored slacks and a black satin blouse. The warm water and clean clothes revitalized her. After picking up her order, she drove to Wesley’s, arriving promptly at eight o’clock.

  “Hope you have the table set. I’m starving,” she said when he opened the door.

  He took the food from her and carried it into the kitchen. “Man, it smells good. I have the table set. Pull up a chair.”

  Susan dropped her purse on a side table and removed her suede jacket. Wesley’s mood had changed. He didn’t seemed as down as he did earlier. “How was the wake?”

  “Terrible, at first, but then the guys started talking about all the good times we had. That helped. It made me feel as if Terrance was there beside us, telling us that he was okay.”

  If you only knew. Having witnessed a wake from the perspective of the deceased, Susan had no doubt his spirit was there.

  In the center of the table was a glass with bright fuchsia azalea blooms. He followed her gaze to colorful flowers. “Mom bought that variety from Dogwood Nursery in Franklinton. It blooms three times a year.”

  “They’re beautiful.”

  “Here you go,” he said, serving the rice in the bowls then ladling the gumbo over it. He also sliced the French bread and brought it to the table in a bread basket. “Help yourself to the margarine and salt. If you need anything else, holler. Oh, I forgot to pour the tea.”

  “Here, let me.” Susan filled their glasses with ice and grabbed the pitcher from the counter. “Okay, that should do it.”

  Wesley reached across the table and took Susan’s hand. With a half-bent head, he gave thanks. “I’d ask that you comfort Melanie and her family in her time of need. I ask a blessing for this meal and for bringing a special friend back into my life. Amen.”

  A knot formed in Susan’s throat. “Amen.”

  “I’m anxious to get back to work, but the sheriff insists that I take the rest of the week off. I also have to talk with a shrink.”

  “That might be best. We all need help at one time or another.”

  “The funeral is set for ten o’clock tomorrow. I thought I’d pick you up about nine, if that’s all right with you.”

  “I’d like that.”

  “So, tell me how your day went. Did you work on the fundraiser?”

  For the next hour, Susan told him about her plans and how the community had supported her shop. Well, everyone except Myrtle.

  “What do you plan to do with your down time?”

  “Maybe I’ll get my back porch repaired.”

  The evening ended with Wesley in better spirits, and Susan was glad for that. She kissed him at the front door and told him she’d be ready in the morning.

  Wednesday, gray clouds hung low over Palmetto, and a cold fog swirled in the misty air. An all-day rain was forecast. Such dreary conditions would only add to the misery of placing a loved one in the ground. Wesley, dressed in uniform, escorted Susan to his Tundra.

  “I have to ride with the pallbearers to the graveside. Are you okay with driving my vehicle?”

  “If it’s automatic, I shouldn’t have any problems.” Susan leaned against the passenger door and studied the man in uniform next to her. His long-sleeve, Khaki shirt was wrinkle-free, starched and ironed to perfection. A navy tie and slacks complimented the tan shirt. “Won’t you be cold without a coat?”

  “I layered under my shirt. Our dress uniforms don’t include a jacket or coat. Guess we’re supposed to be impervious to the cold. Maybe it’s a macho thing, but I’m inclined to think it’s the budget.” He grinned. Just as quickly, his face turned somber. “Damn! I hate this.”

  “I know you do.”

  “Terrance was the brother I never had.”

  Susan nodded. She knew that nothing she said would be enough. Wesley was working through his loss even as he spoke.

  “I keep going back to that night.” He glanced at Susan then stared at the road ahead. “I was the senior officer. I should never have let him go first.”

  “Neither of you had any idea the trailer would explode. And what if you had taken the lead? We’d be burying you right now. Is that what you’d prefer?”

  He reached across and grabbed her hand. “I…I want us to have our chance together, but it’s not fair that Terrance had to die. His life was just beginning. He’ll never see his children grow, marry, and have children of their own. And what will become of Melanie. How and when will she ever get over losing him? Sometimes, life stinks.”

  “We never know what fate awaits us. In the meantime, we need to make the most of what we have. I think both of us came back home for the same reason, to give us that second chance. Poor Melanie, I don’t know what to say to her. Sorry just isn’t enough. I hope she can find peace through her children and family.”

  Wesley pulled into the church’s parking lot and helped Susan from the truck. Taking her arm, he escorted her down the aisle toward the pulpit where the coffin sat covered with a blanket of flowers. To the side was a colored photograph of Terrence. “That’s her daughter beside Melanie. Her name is Felic
ia. She’s about five, and the boy is Andrew, eight. He has his daddy’s eyes.”

  When they approached, Felicia reached up and tugged on Melanie’s sleeve. “Mommy, I want to go home.”

  “So do I, honey,” Melanie whispered, but not low enough that Susan didn’t hear. Melanie put her arm around her son’s shoulder and pulled him close. “You okay?”

  Andrew’s lips were drawn tight, and his eyes mere slits. He answered with a sharp nod. If he thought his half-closed eyes would hold back his tears, he was mistaken. Lowering his head, he rubbed a wet cheek with the back of his hand.

  The late Detective Oliver’s wife seemed the picture of composure but Susan imagined Melanie was staying strong for her children. Like her daughter, Felicia, Susan believed Melanie would rather be any place but standing beside her deceased husband. Mother and daughter had the same light brown hair and blue eyes. But Melanie’s best attempt at makeup couldn’t hide the tale-tale signs of little sleep and hours of crying. Deep shadows marked her otherwise lovely face. About five-foot four, Melanie was considerably shorter than Susan, and not much taller than her son.

  Susan glanced at the photograph of Terrence, and then to Andrew. He was the image of his father. Both had coal back hair and dark eyes.

  “Oh, Wesley,” Melanie said, obviously glad to see him.

  He wrapped his arms around her and closed his eyes. “It’s going to be okay. I’m here for you and always will be.” Stepping back, he glanced at Susan. “Melanie, this is Susan Griffin. I wish you two had met earlier.”

  A handshake seemed out of the question. Susan hugged Melanie. “I’m so very sorry.”

  A trembling Melanie responded. “The mayor told me what you plan to do. I can’t thank you enough.”

  “Your husband was a wonderful man. Everyone in the community and Hammond wants to help. It’s the least they can do.”

  “I see that someone else wants to talk with you,” Wesley said. “Susan, we should say hello to members of Terrance’s family, then I’ll see you to your seat. I’ll have to join the pallbearers.”

  The service was short and sad. Terrence’s brother gave a eulogy, and Terrence’s long-time pastor read from the scriptures. The choice of hymns, Amazing Grace and How Great Thou Art, left Susan in tears. Dabbing her eyes, she made her way out of the church and pulled Wesley’s truck into the line of awaiting cars.

  The funeral procession wound its way through the countryside to a distant cemetery. Melanie and her two children rode together in the family car. The pallbearers followed in a separate limousine. Susan didn’t like driving alone in Wesley’s truck. She hated that she could not be with him to console him.

  At the graveside, a gentle rain began to fall. Susan always believed it was the angels crying. While Susan’s heart ached for Melanie, it was the children that caused her to sob. The youngest clung to the casket, wanting to keep her daddy near, while the boy stood erect beside his mother, his face stoic. Wesley stepped forward and whispered something to the child, who took Wesley’s hand and returned to her mother.

  At the conclusion of the service, the pallbearers each placed a white rose atop the casket and offered their condolences to the widow. Then the crowd dispersed. Wesley joined Susan, led her to his truck, and helped her into the passenger seat. For a while, neither said anything.

  When they neared Palmetto, Wesley spoke. “Do you mind if I take you home. I really need to be alone.”

  “Of course not, just know that I’m as close as the phone if you need me.”

  Chapter 13

  After Wesley drove away, she climbed into her car and headed for the boutique. It was mid-afternoon, and she felt sure they could use her help.

  Ramona pulled alongside her and exited her car with a stack of papers. “I have the flyers, and several ladies have agreed to help distribute them in the Hammond area.” From Ramona’s car, smiling faces and waving arms greeted Susan.

  “Wonderful.”

  “Here’s a packet for you. I know your employees will want to cover Palmetto.”

  “We’ll get right on it. I sure hope our efforts will be a big success for Melanie’s sake.”

  “Well, we’ve got lots of places to cover and little time, so I’m out of here. I’ll stop by tomorrow during the sale.”

  “Hey, boss,” Debbie said when Susan entered the store. “What do you think? I have tables set up for refreshments inside, and those by the door will go outside. Let’s hope the weather cooperates. We marked all the sale items with big red tags. That didn’t leave us much merchandise.” Debbie laughed.

  “Everything looks great. I’m lucky to have such great employees.”

  A. K. crossed to the front of the store and put her arm around Susan. “So, how was the funeral?”

  “Heart wrenching.” Susan kept hold of A. K.’s arm and ushered her to the rear of the store. “Did Gary show up again?” she asked, keeping her voice low.

  “No, but you can bet he’s on the prowl, looking for his money. I got the impression he hobnobbed with some shady characters.”

  “He’s on to us for sure. I’ve never done anything like I did the other night, and when Gary showed up yesterday, I found it hard to look him in the eye. I kept imagining my forehead was a neon sign that flashed guilty in vivid colors. He’s not going to leave us alone, so make sure you stay alert.” Susan glanced around the store. “Everything looks in order. I’m going to let Debbie and Sheila off so they can distribute these flyers.” She plopped the packet on the counter.

  A. K. opened one end of the packet and pulled out a few. “Hey, they look great.”

  “Thanks to you.” Susan turned and shouted to Sheila and Debbie. “We have the flyers. Think you can cover most of Palmetto this afternoon? A. K. and I will hit the north end after closing. Be sure to post them everywhere—the drug store, hardware store, beauty shop, movie theatre, you name it. You can also staple them to telephone poles.”

  “Gotcha, boss,” Sheila said. “We’ll make sure everyone in Palmetto knows about the sale.”

  “You’re going to need tape. There’s plenty in the supply room and don’t forget to remind your model friends to get here before we open so they can pick out an outfit.”

  “They’re riding with me,” Debbie said, “so that won’t be a problem.”

  Susan handed her the bulk of the flyers. “Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  After making a last-minute pass through the boutique, Susan went over a checklist to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything. “I’d better make one last call to the caterer.” She punched in their number.

  “Hi, this is Susan at the Bawdy Boutique. Is everything set for tomorrow?” She nodded a yes to A. K. “Great. I’ll be here to let you in.”

  “The order you were expecting arrived while you were at the funeral. I unpacked it and hung up the dresses. The other outfits are on racks in the storage room. How do you want to divvy up the flyers?” A. K. asked.

  Susan gave half to A. K., along with a roll of tape. She stuck the rest of them in a tote for herself. “You cover the strip mall, and I’ll hit the apartment complexes.”

  By the time Susan finished with her rounds, every car in the parking lot of both apartment complexes had a flyer under their windshield wiper. Thank goodness the rain had stopped, but the clouds remained, cloaking the surroundings in a blanket of cold misery. Shivering, she climbed into her car and cranked up the heater.

  A little way down the highway, the lights at Tilly’s looked too inviting to pass up, and she made one more stop. A hot meal sounded good. The wait shouldn’t be long, as there were only a few cars parked out front. She took a seat at a table and Tonya approached.

  “Do you mind posting this?” Susan asked, handing her one of the remaining flyers.

  Tonya glanced at the paper. “Sure thing. I heard about your sale.” She set a basket of assorted crackers and a saucer of butter on the table. “Looks like you could use something to warm your bones.”

  Susan briskly r
ubbed her arms. “A bowl of hot gumbo will work.”

  “That won’t take but a minute. What do you want to drink?”

  “Water and lemon.”

  Tonya disappeared into the kitchen, and Susan started in on the crackers. To her surprise, the front door opened and Jack Evans entered. He went straight to the counter.

  “Hey, Tonya,” he called. “You have my order ready?”

  A muffled voice answered. “Be out in a minute. Have a seat.”

  Did she dare try to get through to him, maybe evoke an inkling of their previous meeting? On some psychic plane, his subconscious had to hold the memories. A smile crossed his face as he gazed in her direction.

  “Hi, there, Ms. Griffin. How have you been?” he asked, walking toward her table.

  “Fine, Doctor Evans. Please, have a seat.”

  He pulled out a chair. “I won’t be long. I’m just here to pick up an order.”

  Beneath his jacket, he wore green scrubs, and the stubble on his face had gone well past the proverbial five-o’clock shadow. Not that it distracted from his looks. His tousled hair and disarming smile made him a definite chick magnet…just not her magnet. She was drawn to Wesley, and it looked like no one was going to come between them.

  “Long shift?” she asked.

  “Too long—forty-eight hours straight—I’m looking forward to catching up on my sleep.”

  His relaxed manner, along with the sound of his voice and the sparkle in those cobalt blue eyes, swept her back to their meeting in the funeral home. She wanted to grab his hand and ask if he didn’t feel something…anything. But she knew the answer.

  Maybe when it was all over, and Jack was safe, she’d tell him how so many had come together to protect him. Because they believed her story, they were able to prevent his murder.

  “Here you go, missy,” Tonya said, placing the steaming bowl of gumbo on the table. “Doc, your order’s on the counter.”

  “Nice seeing you again,” Jack said, getting up and following Tonya. Before leaving, he turned to Susan. “I still intend to call your friend as soon as I get a chance.”