Corpse on the Cob

by Sue Ann Jaffarian

  While I was contemplating the ups and downs of having a new family, especially one with a murder in the midst of it, a woman with dark red, curly hair worn in a ponytail walked over to our table. Her curvy figure was dressed in denim shorts and a red, white, and blue striped tee shirt. In her hands were two large beverage to-go cups, each with a lid and straw. She looked me up and down with curiosity bordering on rudeness before turning to Clark.

  “This the fabled dead sister?” She jerked her head in my direction.

  “Fabled,” Clark said, “but hardly dead, as you can see.”

  “Does everyone in town know about me?” I asked.

  “Not yet, but give it time.” Clark indicated the woman. “This is Cathy Morgan, Grady’s live-in.”

  “Fiancée,” Cathy corrected.

  I extended a hand to her. “Odelia Grey. Nice to meet you, Cathy.”

  Cathy Morgan put down one of the drinks and took my offered hand, shaking it quickly. It was damp and cold from holding the cup. “At least, Clark, she has some manners. Maybe she can teach you some while she’s here.”

  “Don’t you have green beans or corn or some such shit to sell?”

  “Just came in for a Coke, asshole.”

  The two sneered at each other before Cathy turned to me. “I should probably thank you.”

  “Me? What for?”

  “That boy in the corn maze was my son, Troy. He was with my dipshit sister-in-law. Troy told me how his Aunt Tara fell to pieces and some lady stepped in and calmed her down. Said you had him waving a flag for help. That’s the way to handle kids, keep them busy. You must have some of your own.”

  I shook my head. “No, no kids. It just seemed like the thing to do.”

  “Troy remembers the flag waving and helping more than seeing a dead body. As a mother, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate that.” She gave Clark the evil eye. “Of course, the police are doing their damnedest to encourage him to remember everything in detail.”

  Clark sighed. “Questioning witnesses is part of the process, Cathy. You know that.”

  She kept her narrowed eyes on Clark. “So what’s up with the old lady? I always thought Grace was capable of killing.”

  Clark glared back at her. “I’m pretty sure my mother had nothing to do with the murder. Just like your boy, she was in the maze having fun.”

  “Who are you kidding, Clark Littlejohn? That old bat never had any fun in her life—and she resents anyone who does.”

  Just as Cathy was about to say something more, a burly man dressed in dirty jeans and a sweaty tee shirt entered the porch area and headed straight for our table. His face was lined and burnished by the sun, and topped off by a mop of thick reddish brown hair. He seemed oblivious to the stares he received from the other patrons.

  “What in the hell are you doing?” he asked, though I wasn’t sure at first who he was addressing until Cathy turned on him.

  “I’m just getting a couple of Cokes, Clem. Simmer down.”

  Clem. Must be Clement Brown, I thought, unless Clem was a common name in these parts.

  “You can’t leave that boy to attend the stand by himself, Cathy, especially today with all those news bastards hanging around. Where’s your head?”

  “It was just for a few minutes. He’ll be fine.”

  “Don’t you think he’s been through enough today?”

  It was then that Clem turned his attention to us. “Chief,” he said by way of greeting to Clark.

  “Hey, Clem. This is Odelia Grey.” Clark indicated me by raising his coffee cup in my direction. “She’s my and Grady’s half sister.”

  “Half sister?”

  Cathy nudged the farmer with her shoulder. “I’ll tell you about it back at the stand.”

  As the two started to take their leave, Cathy turned back around. “Gee, Clark, too bad there’s no death penalty in Massachusetts. I’d love to see Grace’s saggy old ass fry. Zzzzzzzzzzt!”

  “Don’t mind her,” Clark said to me after Cathy and Clem left. “She and Mom don’t get along very well. Mom doesn’t think she’s good enough for Grady.”

  “Didn’t seem like you like her any better.”

  “I don’t. Cathy’s the only sister of the Brown boys. That was Clem. Tara, who you met in the corn maze, is his wife. Cathy runs the vegetable stand for the family. She’s just as mean and hateful as her brothers.”

  “At least she was given a normal name.”

  Clark laughed. “Her real name’s Chastity. She changed it to Catherine as soon as she was old enough to file the papers. Her own chastity had been long gone by then. Was married to a guy from south Boston named Les Morgan. Came back here with her boy when Les disappeared with a waitress from Atlantic City.” Clark stopped long enough to slurp some coffee. “Been tied up with Grady almost a year now. ’Course, she shacked up with a couple of others first, but Grady says he doesn’t care. Says he’s in love. Trust me, he’s not the smart one in the family.”

  Greg was right, it was like a soap opera.

  Clark’s cell phone rang. It had rung twice before during our conversation. Both times he had told the caller he’d call them back. This time when he glanced at the display, he excused himself and went over to a corner of the porch where no one was seated. A few minutes later, he came back to our table.

  “Someone wants to talk to you,” he said, holding the phone out to me.

  “Me?” Immediately, I thought it must be my mother. I steeled myself for the conversation I’d dreaded for thirty-four years.

  “Hello,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady and firm.

  “Damn it, Odelia, what in the hell have you gotten yourself into now?”

  “Dev?”

  Detective Devin Frye of the Newport Beach Police was on the phone. And not my phone, but the phone of Police Chief Clark Littlejohn, my surprise big brother. Dev Frye is a close friend of mine and Greg’s. The three of us met during the investigation of the murder of my friend Sophie London several years ago, and, for a while, both Dev and Greg vied for my heart. Dev also seems to think it’s his job to protect me, and it drives him nuts that I stumble upon murders and murderers from time to time. Greg doesn’t like it any better, but he’s learning to roll with it, so to speak. And since we’ve been married, Greg’s been known to stick his nose where it doesn’t belong, right along with mine. This drives Dev doubly nuts, yet he’s been unable to stop it.

  “How did you find me, Dev? And what are you doing, calling me on this phone?”

  “I didn’t call you, Odelia. I was returning a call to Chief Littlejohn. Imagine my surprise when I find out it’s about you and a murder in Massachusetts. Taking your nosiness national now, are you?”

  Clark threw a couple of bucks on the table as a tip and motioned for me to follow him outside. The Blue Lobster was getting crowded, and the whole world did not need to hear this conversation.

  “You know,” Dev continued, “right before I called the chief back, Greg called me. He’s worried sick. Wanted me to check out Littlejohn, see if he’s a good guy or not. Then, on the other hand, I have this Chief Littlejohn calling me from Massachusetts, checking up on you and asking about all those investigations you’ve been involved with.”

  I twitched my nose as I stood between my rental car and Clark’s car. “How would he know about those? Am I in some police database or something like that?”

  “No, Odelia, you’re not. According to him, he Googled you and read up on news reports involving you and those crimes.”

  I looked over at Clark. “He Googled me?” Clark turned away and pretended to check out a small child juggling a double-dip cone. “I’m on Google?”

  “Jesus, Odelia, are you the only person in the world who has never Googled yourself? Of course you’re on Google. Every time a newspaper or news agency wrote something about those murders and mentioned you, it ended up somewhere on Google.” Dev took a deep breath. “The chief called the station here to ask about you. Of course, they turned
the call over to me, since everyone knows I’m your cop o’ choice.”

  Dev hadn’t raised his voice to me. He didn’t need to. The sarcasm, highlighted by his naturally deep and rocky tone, was enough to let me know he was frustrated.

  Just as he was about to say more, and I dreaded him saying more, the call waiting on Clark’s phone chimed.

  “Dev, there’s another call coming in on Clark’s phone. Gotta go.”

  Before I handed the phone to Clark, I heard Dev cram in, “I’ll call you on yours in fifteen minutes. Be there.” It was definitely an order.

  Clark took his phone and answered the call. “What’s going on?” he said without saying hello. While he listened to his caller, I fished around in my tote bag for my own phone. After asking a few more questions, Clark finished his call and came to my side.

  “You have plans for later on?”

  “Not really. I came here to see my mother. It was the only thing on my agenda.”

  “Then meet me in front of Three Rivers Community Hospital around eight thirty, and you might get your chance.”

  “Tonight? Is that such a good idea, after everything that’s happened today?”

  “That was Grady on the phone. He’s at the hospital now. They gave Mom a sedative earlier, but she’s starting to come out of it. I’m calling her lawyer and going over there now. The CPAC folks will be anxious to question her again and see if resting loosened her tongue any.” He holstered his phone and got out his car keys. “I think it best we test the waters before springing you on her, but why don’t you plan on being there at half past eight? If I think it’s not a good idea or if morning would be best, I’ll call you.”

  “Three Rivers Community Hospital, right?”

  “Yes, just ask someone, or plug it into your GPS.”

  He started to head for the driver’s side of his vehicle. Halfway there, he turned and came back. He held out his right hand to me. “For whatever it’s worth, Odelia, I’m glad we finally met.”

  I took his hand. I didn’t shake it but gave it a warm squeeze, accompanied by a smile. “By the way, what did Dev Frye tell you about me?”

  “He said, should I get the urge to lock you up, I shouldn’t hesitate.”

  Dev Frye’s call came in a bit later than he said it would. I had just pulled into the driveway of the bed-and-breakfast and was turning off the engine.

  “Hi,” I said into the earpiece.

  “You still with Chief Littlejohn?”

  “No, but I’m supposed to meet him later tonight at the hospital. That’s where my mother is right now.”

  “Greg said he’s your brother. That true?”

  After getting out of the car and locking it, I headed towards the back yard of the B & B, where there was a lovely sitting area for guests under the shade of a large tree. While I settled myself into a comfortable cushioned chair, I filled Dev in on what had happened since this morning.

  “So Greg asked you to check out the chief? What did you find out?”

  “That’s why it took me a bit longer to call you back. Found out Clark Littlejohn used to be in the Boston PD. An old buddy of mine retired from the force there and went to live in Las Cruces, New Mexico. I put in a call to him.”

  “And?”

  “Hard to say. Littlejohn received a couple of commendations during his years in Boston, but his last few years were pretty rocky.”

  “He was a dirty cop?”

  “Some rumors, but nothing charged or proven. Mostly, he was a drunk, made some bad decisions. According to my buddy, Littlejohn’s marriage went on the rocks at the same time. He said Littlejohn was well liked by his fellow officers and was overall a very good cop. Made detective right before it all started falling apart for him.”

  “He mentioned something at dinner that he used to smoke and drink, but he didn’t specify that the drinking was anything more than casual. My mother was an alcoholic. Clark said she’s been sober now for about twenty-five years.”

  “It’s not unusual for alcoholism to run in a family.”

  “Hard to tell over one meal, but Clark struck me as basically a decent guy. A bit gruff and melancholy, but then his mother was just found crouching over a dead man. Not good for the chief of police.”

  “Your mother, too.”

  “Thanks for reminding me. And don’t you even think of making a crack about it being genetic.”

  “Who, me? I’d never say something like that.” Dev’s deep chuckle resonated over the phone line like a low growl from a friendly dog.

  “Bullshit.”

  Dev laughed louder.

  “Should I be concerned about Clark?”

  “From what I’ve learned, he sounds like a good guy with some former bad habits. But play it safe and keep your guard up, and get your ass on the first plane home tomorrow.”

  “I’m staying until Monday. It’s just two days away, Dev. I want to spend some time with my mother just in case they send her to prison.” The sound of Cathy’s cheerful Zzzzzzzzzzt! filled my audio memory like an annoying glitch on a soundtrack. I shuddered.

  “Just let those CPAC guys do their job and stay out of their way. You can wait on the sidelines with the Littlejohns.”

  My nose twitched like Peter Rabbit’s. “Did you tell Clark to lock me up if he got the urge?”

  “No, I told him you were a pain in the ass. That he should lock you up now and save himself grief later.”

  After ending my call with Dev, I called Greg and brought him up to date. Greg underlined Dev’s advice to lay low and get the hell out of Dodge as soon as possible. Before giving him a wet phone kiss, I promised to call after my visit to the hospital.

  I had a bit of time to kill before I made my way to the hospital, so I stayed under the tree and pulled a paperback book from my tote. But evening was setting in and so were the bugs, forcing me to head inside and settle in a comfy chair in the parlor.

  One of the reasons I carry such a big bag is because I lug so much junk around with me—things like a small bottle of water and a book. Recently, the firm assigned me a BlackBerry. Mike Steele had been trying to saddle me with one for two years, but until now I had successfully fended him off. I never thought I needed one. After all, I always have my cell phone with me. It was Greg who finally convinced me to say yes to the BlackBerry, touting its convenience. So now, besides all the other stuff in my bag, I had a new thingamabob to carry. I spotted the BlackBerry, pulled it out, and turned it on. It promptly loaded up both my work and personal e-mails. Putting the book aside, I dutifully read the work-related e-mails I’d received since I was last in the office on Thursday. Most of them were from Steele, asking questions and giving me tasks to do when I returned to work on Tuesday. I answered a couple of the questions and received a reply back almost immediately. Steele must be working, either from home or at the office. Or maybe he was just checking his e-mail at the same time I was. It didn’t surprise me. He’s one of the people for whom the term CrackBerry fits.

  Steele’s e-mail asked if I was still out of town and had I met my mother yet. I replied: Yes and Yes.

  Fast back was the question: Happy or disappointed? Mike Steele could type faster with his thumbs than anyone I knew.

  I wondered what to tell Steele. Finally, I punched in: It’s kind of complicated.

  This time I didn’t get a reply. This time the BlackBerry in my hand rang. I thought about leaving it on the chair under a pillow and going upstairs to my room. I could also shut off the contraption and not turn it on again until I reached California. The problem with that was he’d just call my cell phone, and that I did need to keep on in case Greg or Clark called. With a big sigh, I answered the BlackBerry.

  “Okay, Grey, what’s up?” my boss in California said as soon as I answered.

  “Nothing’s up, Steele.”

  “Whenever you say something’s complicated, it’s usually code for disaster on the horizon.”

  “It is not,” I snapped. “It’s just that my mother wa
s shocked to see me.”

  “Did you call first?”

  “No, I did not.” My voice strained to hold back the building annoyance. “I wanted to surprise her.”

  “Is that a smart thing to do with a woman that age?”

  I paused just long enough to decide what to say and how to phrase it to keep him off my back. “Here’s the thing, Steele.”

  “Uh-oh. There’s another one of your catastrophe-lurking catch phrases.”

  “It is not.”

  “Tell me what’s going on, or I’ll call Greg and find out from him.”

  “I’m not a five-year-old, Steele.”

  “Then stop acting like one, and tell me what’s happening. You’ve pretty much given away all your tells.”

  “Tells?”

  “You know, Grey, as in poker. You couldn’t bluff your way out of a Burger King.”

  I sighed. “Well, in my defense, it wasn’t my fault.”

  “Oh, shit!” he yelled. “Don’t tell me someone’s dead!”

  By the time I filled Steele in and worked my way through his hysterics and demands that I get my big behind on a plane back to California ASAP, I was exhausted, mentally and physically, and the heavy, greasy food I’d consumed earlier wasn’t helping any. The last thing I wanted to do was to go to that hospital and face my mother. I just wasn’t up to it. I also wasn’t up to another call from California. All that was missing was a call from Zee and Seth Washington, but, thankfully, there was a good chance that they didn’t know about my latest crime calamity. They’d left California Thursday for an Alaskan cruise.

  What I really wanted was to crawl in bed.

  While I was contemplating calling Clark and begging off from meeting him at the hospital tonight, Ollie and Abby came down the stairs. They appeared to be arguing, but as they got closer I realized it was teasing. I waved to them. They waved back and bounced over to where I sat like a couple of energetic puppies.

  “We took this great hike today,” Abby said. After today’s events, it was good to see her full of excitement. “Felt good to do something so physical after this morning. Now we’re off to get some dinner. Want to join us?”