by Kitty Margo
Purse seines also kill millions of tuna—intelligent animals who are just as capable of feeling pain as dolphins.
If they are still alive when they reach the deck of the boat at the end of their terrifying journey to the surface, they are disemboweled, most have their gills slit and bleed out or are tossed onto ice to slowly freeze or suffocate to death—a horribly cruel and painful death for coldblooded animals, who can take a very long time to freeze or suffocate to death. Scientists estimate that fish endure up to 15 minutes of excruciating pain before they lose consciousness.
Damn, I wish I hadn’t read that.
When we pulled up in front of the funeral home we saw people lined out the door, down the steps, and all the way to the street. The length of the line usually says a lot about how well a person was thought of. I had already told Maggie that we would have to fight a crowd tonight, because Rusty was a friend to everyone and always willing to extend a helping hand to those in need.
As we were getting out of the car the extreme heat hit me like a hot blanket thrown over my head. “It’s too hot to wait in this line.” Looking up past at least 100 people, I added, “We will have at least an hour wait, Maggie, maybe two.”
“It looks like it’s moving fairly fast though,” she lied through her teeth. Hell would freeze over before she abandoned a funeral home line.
“And just look at this ridiculous outfit you have me in. I have never been so ashamed to step out of a car in all my born days. I look like I should be on a commercial for an assisted living facility. I have never worn a navy blue below the knee skirt in all my life. Why have beautiful legs if you are going to keep them covered. And this blouse! With lace trim! Seriously? It looks like I’m wearing a sleeveless pajama top.” She gave me a look that would have clabbered milk. “I look like I am at least 90 years old.”
“You absolutely do not. Why, it’s the best I have ever seen you look, and I must say you look pretty darn good for a woman pushing fifty five. Why, the people who know us are going to fall over dead right beside poor Rusty when they see the change in you.”
“I don’t doubt that for a minute,” I snapped. “Hell, I like to fell over dead myself when I looked in the mirror.”
“Like you have anything to complain about. Chartreuse, Irene? You chose chartreuse capris for me, and this God awful rainbow colored shirt to match. I swear the designer had to be tripping on acid when he decided on this mishmash of colors and patterns. Why, I look like I’m headed to a hippie festival wearing a freaking shower curtain on my back! And you chose this for me to wear to a funeral home! I will be nothing short of a laughing stock by the time I get through this line.”
“Must you carry on about every little thing? For once you actually look your age instead of thirty years older than you are. Just enjoy the new you and quit whining about it.”
“Ha! New me, my ass! I intend to burn this outfit as soon as I get home.”
“You better not. I can wear it on the cruise.”
“You always did enjoy being a spectacle,” she mumbled.
“Excuse me?”
“I said it’s hot as hell.” She was lying and we both knew it.
After ten minutes of perspiring heavily, I had to bring out Scarlett. “Maggie, honey, you know I can’t take all this heat. Be a dear, sugah, and run up front and grab me one of Rusty’s pamphlets to fan with.”
She glared at me, obviously fighting hard to control her errant tongue.
Wiping my forehead dramatically, I simpered, “I don’t know why funeral homes quit carrying those cute little cardboard fans like they used to.”
She finally capitulated and handed me her purse to hold while she walked up the sidewalk, stopping to talk to everybody she passed. Heavenly days. The dew would be falling by the time she got back.
Maggie finally returned with the pamphlet. “You know, I have often wondered why they don’t still give out fans too. At one time they had stacks of them and would come out and hand them to you when you had to wait in long lines like this. I remember back in the day when churches didn’t have air conditioning and funeral homes would practically fight over who was going to supply them with fans. They loved having free advertisement right there amongst the hymnals.”
“But you know Beech Taylor doesn’t need to advertise. Why, when he finishes making up a corpse, they all look 20 years younger than they did while they were living. And if you die with some vicious liver disease he can bring back your natural color, almost as if you had been Cloroxed from the inside. I have been begging him for years to do my makeup as a practice run. I just want to see how good he is going to make me look when I die.”
“Maggie Moore! I know you didn’t ask a funeral director to put your makeup on. What has gotten into you?
“Irene, have you ever viewed a body inside this funeral home that looked bad?”
“Well, no. Only the ones that were born so ugly that no amount of makeup was going to fix.”
“That’s true,” Maggie agreed. “And there have been more than a few of those over the years.”
I glanced toward the front of the line that seemed to be at a standstill. “I wonder how many lollygaggers are just milling around talking and not progressing the line at all?”
“Probably over half of them, hogging all the air conditioning and not wanting to come back outside in this sweltering heat.” Then she propped her hands on her ample hips and looked me up and down. “Irene, I swanee, you look so well put together in that skirt set. You need to let me pick out more outfits for you. Those pearls look pretty too; you should wear them to the funeral tomorrow. I wish I could find you some white gloves.”
“White gloves!” The fact aside that I would never wear them, who needs gloves in this heat? “Don’t tell me you expect me to start dressing like our mama’s dressed for church back in the 50’s. I will not do it! You better believe that when I get out of this monkey suit I will never ever make another bet with you!” Then I remembered something I had been trying to remember for days. “They quit making those white gloves for a reason, so you just leave them where they belong. In history! But if you have an old pair lying around, I need them.”
Maggie’s jaw dropped to her chest. “What on earth do you need white gloves for?”
“I read an article on how to make your hands look young.” I knew this would grab her attention. She spends a small fortune on anti aging creams and lotions.”
“How?” she asked eagerly.
“It said to smear Vaseline on your hands and then put those white gloves on. You sleep in them and after a couple days your hands will look 20 years younger.”
Her gaze dropped to her hands. “I’m going to try it this very night.”
“Good,” I mumbled under my breath. “If you get your gloves stained with grease you won’t show up at a funeral wearing them.”
“I heard that,” she huffed. “It’s just like you to not appreciate fine quality apparel.”
I leaned over to Maggie and whispered, “Is that the Baucom twins Lucy and Suzy in front of us?”
“I believe it is.”
We both leaned forward and didn’t utter a word as we eavesdropped on their conversation.
Chapter Eight
Maggie
Lucy said to her sister, “Suzy would you just look at how broad Sylvia Whittington’s ass has gotten since high school? Why, it sticks out so far we could sit a dinner plate on it and enjoy a meal in this very line.”
“I’m not eating dinner that has been sitting on Sylvia Whittington’s ass. She probably has a Depends on anyway. You know her kidneys and liver are shot after all the alcohol her and that fool boyfriend of hers have consumed over the years. I heard he is one of those conspiracy theorists and believes the government is out to get him. He hoards food and stockpiles ammo waiting for the feds to round his family up and take them to a concentration camp.”
Peering around Sylvia’s ass, Lucy elbowed Suzy and said, “Well, would you just look up yonde
r at Linda Pearson’s hair? It has been fried, died and laid aside so many times that if you held her head close to a fire it would go up in flames.”
“Oh, honey, just take a gander at George Ingram’s comb over. You remember he had a head full of the prettiest black hair you ever did see in school and the bluest eyes. Now his part is right above his left ear. His hair is an inch long in back and a foot long in the front.”
Suzy punched Lucy in the ribs and added, “And just look at Sharon Hatley. You know I don’t like to talk about people, but if she has the skin on her face pulled back any tighter her chin hairs are going to be sprouting out of her nose.”
Lucy nodded her head in agreement. “Just look at her eyes. The Oriental look must be in this year.”
“Evidently. And look at Mary Jo Phillips. Why is she wearing those long ass sleeves on a day when the temperature is flirting with 100 degrees?”
“Sugar, you know she had gastric bypass surgery and was left with enough sagging skin to fill up the burn center’s skin bank in Chapel Hill.”
“Talking about skin.” Lucy motioned with a surreptitious nod of her head. “Look at those arms on Martha Livingston, all that flapping skin. She looks like she could fly if she caught the wind just right.”
“And look up there at Steve Owens just a flapping his gums with two teeth in his head, and both of them rotten.”
~*~
Irene and I glanced at everyone they were talking about and secretly agreed with a few of their hateful comments. Suzy and Lucy had simmered down to talking about one of Suzy’s daughter in laws, that she had just soon slap as look at, so we stopped straining our ears to hear their conversation and looked with longing toward the door to the inside.
“Thank you Lord for air conditioners,” Irene said in anticipation. “I have never felt so wilted in my life.
Wilted? The girl has always believed herself to be a reincarnated Southern Belle.
Just then Lucy Baucom turned around and saw us standing behind her. “Maggie! Irene! How in the world are you?” Before we could answer, Suzy felt the need to hug me and rub her heavily perspiring body all over me. I had to work hard to stifle a groan.
“Maggie Moore, honey, I was never so shocked in all my born days to hear that a headless body had been discovered in your back yard,” Suzy gushed. “Why nothing like this has ever happened before in Pine View and, of course, it had to happen to you.”
Lucy laughed and winked. “That poor girl must have really pissed you off to make you mad enough to chop off her head.”
The tips of Irene’s ears were beginning to turn pink when she crossed her arms over her chest and said with a touch of steel in her voice, “You don’t really believe that do you, girls?”
They laughed a trilling sound, both of them knowing better than to mess with Irene when her dander was up. “No, of course not. We were only teasing. Everyone knows that Maggie is as gentle as a lamb.” She looked at Irene as if to say while you on the other hand.
“Good,” Irene said without cracking a smile. “I wouldn’t want to hear any such stupid gossip about my best friend making the rounds, because you know me. I just couldn’t rest until I tracked down who had started such a vicious rumor and... got even.”
“Oh,” they said in unison, “we wouldn’t dare repeat any gossip about Maggie, Irene. You know us better than that.”
Sure I did. Anything with a pulse was gist for the Baucom Twin’s rumor mill.
“It’s just terrible about poor Rusty, isn’t it?” Maggie said, trying to soothe ruffled feathers. “Had he been sick?”
Lucy lowered her voice to just above a whisper. “I heard he was tomcatting around with Shelly Fisher, a girl half his age. Supposedly, they were playing strip poker in the bedroom when he fell over dead.” If you ever want to know the juicy gossip in Pine View just ask one of the Baucom twins. “Girls, you are not going to believe this, but Shelly panicked and called 911, totally forgetting that her husband was on duty that night.” She grinned from ear to ear. “He showed up at his own door to find a dead man in his bed.”
“Poor Rusty,” Irene said, straining her neck to look for the floozy. “Is Shelly here tonight?”
No, girl,” Suzy whispered. “I heard her husband sent her packing back to her mama at Myrtle Beach.”
As she said that we finally made in to the door of the parlor and I wanted to cry it was so cool. Pulling several tissues from a box on a table, I commenced to mopping sweat off my forehead and upper lip. By the time I finished we were in front of the coffin and Irene said, “Rusty has a smile on his face. Beech sure did a good...”
That’s all I remember. Before the words were out of her mouth, I was stretched out on the floor.
Irene was steady fanning me when I started to come around. “Stay back everyone, give her some air.” She leaned over and whispered in my ear, “Thank God you listened to me and wore capris or your granny panties would be on full display now.”
Hearing a popping sound, I looked up to see Beech breaking the top on a little plastic tube of ammonia. He waved it under my nose and I swatted at it like it was a pesky fly. After a few minutes I was able to get up and move to a chair, my eyes glued to the coffin.
“What is it, Maggie?” Irene asked. “What do you see?”
Looking around to make sure no one was listening to what I was about to say, I whispered, “Irene, Rusty sat up in that coffin just as pretty as you please and spoke to me.”
“Oh Lord, you poor thing. You must have gotten too hot waiting in line in the blazing sun.” She picked up a magazine and proceeded to fan me. “What did he say?”
“He said, ‘What’s up, Maggie?’”
“What’s up? Is that all?”
“That’s all I remember.” First Earl, my deceased husband, and now Rusty. Oh, Lord. I had a whole passel of dead folk after me. “What did I ever do to have him coming back from the grave to see me?
“Technically, Rusty isn’t in the grave yet, Maggie.”
“You know what I mean. Let’s go home. My head is still throbbing from bouncing on the floor. I probably need a cat scan, but I am not going to the hospital and sit in that ER all night waiting to be seen and catch some dreaded disease. Besides somebody will ask me why I fainted and I would have to lie. You know I don’t like to lie.”
Oh, Lord, you did bump your head,” Irene mumbled.
“Excuse me?”
“I said thank the Good Lord that you are not dead.”
“Anyway, Irene, did you get a chance to speak to the family? How is Rusty’s wife taking it?”
Irene shrugged her shoulders. “I didn’t get a chance to talk to anybody. I was too busy fanning you.”
“Well, we have to go and speak to them.”
“You will be observing funeral protocol on your death bed,” Irene complained, loudly. “I’ll call his wife and mother over here. Then I am taking you home and putting a cold compress on your head. A blow to the head could be serious for a woman your age.”
I cut my eyes at her. “My age? Of course you remember that you are five months older than me?”
Irene hurried off, obviously hoping that if she ignored the dreaded truth it would go away.
After speaking with the family, Beech followed us to the car wringing his hands. “Are you sure you don’t need me to take you to the hospital, Maggie?”
“No, I will be fine. Thank you, Beech. It was just a little bump on the head.”
He winked, then leaned over to whisper, “If you find any more dead bodies, give me a call, Maggie.”
“Hopefully there won’t be anymore, but if I do you will be the first person I call.”
“Good. Then I guess I need to get back to work.” He patted my shoulder then turned to go back inside. “Call me if you need anything at all, Maggie.”
Irene turned her head to the side and whispered like I had suddenly been afflicted with hearing loss, “I’m going to stay with her tonight just to be on the safe side. This is one of
two little bumps she has suffered in the last couple of days.”
“You will do no such thing!” Irene buckled me in like a two year old and then rushed around to the driver’s seat like I couldn’t be alone for two seconds.
Oh, Lord! “Not again!” I squeezed my eyes shut and laid my head back on the seat. “Sweet Jesus, here comes Rusty loping down the sideway just as spry as if he was 30 years younger than us.”
“What?” Irene cried, all in a dither. “You cannot be serious.”
Rusty ducked his head in my window. “Maggie, I’m glad I caught you before you left.”
Why could I see him when no one else could? I had to be hallucinating, or either I was going, or had already gone, crazy.
“Hey, Rusty.” I laughed. “I’m not going to lie. You scared the crap out of my back there.”
“I know.” He lowered his eyes shyly. “I felt bad, so I came to apologize.”
He was dead, yet felt the need to apologize for scaring me? What a sweet man. “That’s okay. It was just a shock to my system when you sat straight up in that coffin like you did.”
“I probably should have considered what your reaction would be, but it seemed like such a perfect opportunity to get you back.” He threw his head back and laughed uproariously. “But you have to admit it was pretty funny.”
Yeah, a riot. “Get me back?” Oh, hell, a ghost with a vendetta. Just what I needed.
“I had to get you back for that joke you played on me in high school.”
“Really?” What joke?
“Yep. Don’t you remember back when we were about 16 and I was president and you were secretary of Future Farmers of America?”
“Yes, I remember.”
“You rigged up a fake body behind Old Lady Upchurch’s tombstone and had it jump out at me. You had dry ice in a bowl, there was fog swirling all around me, and you even had an 8 track tape player blasting out eerie noises. I ran so fast I fell and broke my arm trying to get out of that cemetery.” His eyes took on a maniacal glint. “You remember, Maggie. I missed an entire football season while the rest of the team went on to win the state championship. So, I thought you would enjoy a good joke in return.”