by Joyce Lavene
TOGETHER, PEGGY AND HER FATHER walked into the venerable Charlotte mortuary whose sign boasted being part of the community for over one hundred years. The austere whitewashed brick building was only slightly softened by hundreds of boxwoods surrounding it. These were cut into such tortuous shapes that it pained Peggy’s eyes to look at them.
“What is wrong with those bushes?” her father whispered as they walked into the cool interior.
“Bad pruning. Don’t worry. The Potting Shed didn’t do it.”
“Can I help you?” They were met immediately at the double front door entrance by a young man in a dark blue suit and no-frills white shirt. The interior of the building was as forbidding as the exterior. Muted mauve and gray dominated the walls, which also held displays of awards and certificates. There were huge sprays of pink and white gladioli on every table. But instead of offsetting the feeling of being in a mortuary, they enhanced it.
“We’re interested in finding a coffin.” She smiled and patted her father’s hand.
“Preplanning.” The young man sighed and smiled at the heavens above him. “What a wonderful gift to give your loved ones. What did you have in mind?”
“I want something showy. You know what I mean?” Her father took over the discussion, wrapping his arm around the young man’s thin shoulders and walking toward the tasteful display of coffins they could see in the next room. “None of that plain urn stuff. I want a big, gaudy coffin. The Cadillac. You know what I mean, son? I want to be noticed when I go out.”
He sounded like a Texas oil magnate, but it worked. The young man was so enthralled by the idea of a pricey funeral that he totally missed Peggy slipping out of the cold room. She went quickly past the array of wall sconces and niche urns, still hearing her father’s voice booming in the eerie quiet.
Now that she was here, she almost lost her nerve. How was she going to find Darmus’s coffin? What was she going to say if someone stopped her and asked what she was doing?
“Excuse me.” A young woman stopped her. “Can I help you?”
“Yes,” Peggy answered with more aplomb than she felt. “I’m looking for—for my stepbrother, Darmus Appleby. I flew in from Charleston to see him before the memorial service. My brother, Luther, said he arranged it for me.”
“Oh dear.” The woman glanced at her planner. “I don’t have anything about it.”
“I have something here from Luther, if that would help.”
“I should probably call him.”
“Well that’s part of the problem. Luther is dead now, too.” Peggy’s heart was beating fast. She broke out sobbing for all she was worth. She staged some of it, but some was real. She was crying for Darmus and Luther, for John and her good friend, Park Lamonte. All were men who died too early. Then there was her Aunt Sue and her cousin, Velma, who died in a boating accident last year. Poor, pretty, young Velma.
“I don’t see what harm it can do.” The young woman put away her planner and smiled at Peggy. “Are you all right?”
“Yes. Thanks.” Peggy blew her nose on a delicate lace handkerchief she’d brought specially. Normally, she despised them. Germ carriers.
“I’ll take you back and give you a few minutes with the deceased.”
“Thank you.” Peggy sniffled in her crushed black felt hat and worn black suit. “Thank you so much.”
But when they got to the holding area where the deceased loved ones waited for their memorial services, Darmus’s coffin was sealed.
“I had so wanted to see his face one more time,” Peggy complained. What am I going to do now?
“Oh dear,” the young woman in the dark brocade suit muttered. “I forgot the coffin was sealed. There wasn’t supposed to be a viewing. No one realized you were coming.”
Peggy dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief. “We had a falling out. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t love him.”
“Of course not.” The woman patted her hand. “I can’t do anything about the coffin being sealed. I’m sorry. I can give you a few minutes of private time with him. That’s the best I can do.”
It would have to be enough. “Thank you.” Peggy smiled at her and sat down beside the huge bronze-colored coffin. “I’ll just sit here with him for a while.”
“That’s fine. I’ll come back and check on you.”
“That’s very sweet of you, dear.” Peggy looked around the room as the woman left her. It was filled with coffins and flowers. She concentrated on the flowers and their meanings. Gardenia plants said I love you secretly. Daisy was for loyal love. Gladiolus meant sincerity. Forget-me-not said memories. Cyclamen for good-bye. Even orange daylily for hatred. The freezing air was perfumed by them. She wondered how many people knew what the flowers they sent really meant.
But enough romanticizing flowers. It was always too easy to fall back into the world she loved. She had a job to do, and there was no time to be squeamish. She didn’t anticipate the body being locked in a sealed coffin. It could look suspiciously like another attempt to conceal Darmus’s identity.
Of course, Darmus was badly burned, her logical side argued. It wouldn’t be unheard of to keep the coffin sealed. In any case, she had a sturdy letter opener with a rose top in her pocketbook. It was a gift from the National Gardening Association. She always carried it with her in case she needed to protect herself. She’d never used it, but it seemed a fitting way to break it in.
Carefully, she slid the long, thin blade between the top and bottom of the coffin lid. There appeared to be a silicone gel between them. The letter opener cut through it slowly, but it wasn’t easy. She was making progress when she heard voices coming into the room.
Looking around for a place to hide before they kicked her out, Peggy went for the most sensible opportunity. There were several empty coffins, probably used for display, scattered around the huge, dimly lit room. With only a small moment of squeamish repugnance, she selected a silver coffin, climbed inside, and closed herself in it.
There was enough room for her to lie flat on her back, and that was all. She felt the satin lining around her face, under her hands and neck. It smelled like new material. Her skin crawled at the thought of being closed inside the thing, but she was glad she had done it when she heard the voices in the room around her.
“We’ll have Mr. Austin set up for later today.” It was the voice of the young man who’d been talking to her father. Where is Dad?
“What about that old guy wandering around out there?”
“He’s fine. Trying to pick out the right coffin. I wanted to give him a few minutes to get himself together. He was a little emotional.”
“All right. Don’t give him too long. He’ll be out the door faster than you can count sheep!”
Both men laughed. Then she heard the sound of their footsteps on the marble floor and the door closing. At least she was alone again. Peggy sighed and pushed at the coffin lid.
It wouldn’t budge. A thrill of fear trickled down her spine.
She tried again. Nothing. Some locking mechanism must have moved into place. Or maybe it wasn’t made to be opened from the inside. A panic born of unscientific imagination coursed through her. She wanted to bang her fists against the lid until someone came.
Relax! She forced herself to take deep, even breaths. I’m not buried alive or anything. Not even close to an Edgar Allan Poe story. Think!
Her mind raced and her heart thumped loudly in the muffled silence. She could always scream when someone came back into the room. What if no one comes back for hours? I could always . . .
Cell phone! It was in her pocket. She inched her hand down her side until her fingers touched it. Actually, the coffin was rather spacious. There was plenty of room to move her arms and legs. She could even lift her head a little.
Never mind! Sometimes she wished her brain would be a trifle less analytical.
She brought the cell phone back up to her face. That part was a little tricky, even though the sides weren’t tight against her. The w
hisper of her hand moving against the satin liner made her shiver. But she managed to get the phone up and flip it open. The blue light came on.
The light was haunting in the utter darkness. She had her father’s cell phone on speed dial, but when she pushed the button, there was no response. She tried again. The call went straight to voice mail. The third time, she left him a message. “Dad, I’m trapped in a coffin. Please come into the third room on the right and look for the silver coffin.” The beep sounded to end the message. Peggy finished anyway. “Please hurry.”
She closed the phone, keeping it against her heart. She felt better. If he didn’t answer, she could call 911. She could even call Mangum’s and tell them she was trapped. She could plead a lapse in brain function made her fall over into the coffin. As long as someone came and got her out, she didn’t care!
She heard the door to the room open and close again and then there was a swish-thump noise. Forgetting she didn’t want to get caught, she kicked her feet against the coffin lid and screamed for all she was worth. When the lid finally opened, she popped up like hot toast.
“I thought you were trying to sneak in here and do this, Margaret. You’re making enough noise to wake the dead.” Ranson nodded at the coffins around them. “Excuse the pun, folks.”
She hugged him tightly, and he helped her climb out of the coffin. “I climbed in here to hide, and the lid stuck.”
He examined the inside of the coffin. “Not quite ready yet, huh?”
She shivered. “Not yet, Dad. Thanks.”
“So, did you find out what you came here to find out?”
“Not yet.” She didn’t realize she’d left her purse on the floor by Darmus’s coffin until she noticed the letter opener still jammed in the side of the bronze coffin. It was a miracle no one else noticed. It reminded her that people see what they expect to see. “But I’m not leaving until I do.”
With her father’s help, she continued her grisly task. The letter opener was ruined by the time it went through the silicone sealer from head to foot between the lid and the base of the coffin. She unhinged the latch when she was done and took a deep breath.
Her father put his hand on her shoulder. She smiled at him and nodded. Together, they pushed open the lid on the coffin.
The dead man inside was cleaned up, dressed in a brown suit, and positioned with his hands over his heart. His face and hands were grisly and ruined. Nothing there to use for her purpose. Fortunately, she’d known Darmus a long time. “Let’s lift his trouser leg.”
“What?”
“Darmus had a scar on his right leg. John and I were with him the day he did it. He cut it on some barbed wire climbing into a pasture to steal a horse.”
“A horse?”
“You don’t want to know.” She grimaced. “Anyway, it left a white, sickle-shaped scar on his leg. It wouldn’t have been affected by the fire, and I doubt Darmus or Luther would have thought to do anything to disguise it.”
Together, they lifted the right leg and pulled up the trouser.
“No scar. This isn’t him.” Her face was set in grim lines. “I don’t know who it is. But it’s not Darmus Appleby.”
After closing the coffin, Peggy and her father somehow managed to slip out of the mortuary unseen by the attentive staff. They sat in the truck for a few minutes, facing the stark brick building.
“What now?” her father finally asked.
“I’m not sure. I know I should go to the police. There have been some terrible errors made. But I want to talk to Darmus first. He must be out there somewhere. I still have some time to find him before I have to stop this.”
“How will you find him if he’s hiding?”
She started the truck, her hands shaking on the wheel, and reversed out of the parking lot. “I don’t know. I can’t believe this is happening. What in the world is he thinking?”
“I’d say he isn’t. At least not in his right mind. You say he isn’t a criminal, but I don’t think the police are going to see it that way.”
“I know.”
“Is there something I can do to help you find him?”
“I’m not going to go out and find him.”
He chuckled. “Whatever! I saw the papers when you helped solve those murders. I was mighty proud of you, little girl.”
Despite her age, it still made her smile when he called her that name. Was anyone ever too old to be reminded that there was someone older, someone wiser who was looking over their shoulder? When she was in college it annoyed her, but she’d come to appreciate it as the years passed and younger people seemed to dominate her life. “Thanks, Dad. But I don’t think so. I’ll take you back home. Then I’ll make a few calls. I have to talk to Al.”
“Never mind that. I’m in for the pound! And don’t worry.” He took out a huge pistol from a holster under his lightweight cotton jacket. “I’ll take care of anything that gets out of line.”
“Where did you get that?”
“I carry it for protection. It’s a bad world out there, little girl. Your mother and I live out on a farm alone and travel by ourselves a bit. I wanted to be sure we’d be safe.”
“You have shotguns you hunt with. Why a pistol?”
“Because it’s so handy.” He grinned. “See? You didn’t even know I had it on me.”
“Do you have a permit for that?”
“I do. And I took shooting lessons. I can shoot a fly off a cow’s butt at one hundred yards.”
She wasn’t sure if that was good, but she hoped Paul didn’t find out about it. He wasn’t a big fan of concealed weapons. “All right. But put it away for now. And don’t take it out unless someone threatens our lives. I’m going home to change clothes after I check in at the Potting Shed and then I’ll decide what to do.”
PEGGY DIDN’T PLAN ON EVERYONE wanting to go to the Potting Shed with her. But when she came back downstairs after changing clothes, her mother, and her father were waiting for her. Cousin Melvin and Aunt Mayfield had decided to take naps.
“So this is the Potting Shed!” Peggy’s father looked around at the antique garden furniture and lemon verbena display, then stomped his foot on the hardwood floor. “Good floors.”
“Thanks, Dad. You’ve already met Sam. This is Selena Rogers. She helps me out here at the shop. And this is Keeley Prinz. She works in the field with Sam most of the time. I have two other part-timers who come in when we get really busy.”
“Like now.” Selena shook hands with Peggy’s father. “Nice to meet you. We’re really busy this afternoon, so if you’ll excuse me.”
“Of course!” Ranson looked at the people streaming in and out of the front door. “You’re doing a wonderful business here, Margaret! Congratulations, darlin’.”
“Thanks, Dad.” Peggy glanced at her mother, who was frowning. “Would you like to sit down, Mom?”
“No.” Her mother shook her head. “I’d like to go home now. Or at least back to your place.”
“Somethin’ wrong, sweetheart?” her husband asked.
“Our daughter is running a garden shop after going to school practically all of her life. What could be wrong?”
“Mom!” Peggy whispered, glancing at the people she did business with every day. “Maybe we could talk about this later.”
“That’s fine,” her mother replied. “I’m sure nothing I say is going to change your mind anyway. You always were a stubborn child, Margaret. Always determined to have things your way.”
“Wow! That really surprises me.” Keeley nudged Sam.
“Yeah.” He laughed. “Who would’ve guessed?”
“Don’t the two of you have somewhere to go?” Peggy asked them.
“Yeah,” Sam said. “Let’s get out of here, Keeley. I have plans to be inside sipping lemonade by three.”
“Be careful, you two,” Peggy cautioned. “Be sure to stay hydrated.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Sam nodded his head as he picked up a bag of fertilizer. “Nice to see you again, Mr.
and Mrs. Hughes.”
“Good to see you too, son,” Peggy’s father acknowledged.
“Who’s for coffee this morning?” Emil Balducci and his wife, Sofia, pushed past customers carrying hoes and ceramic pots to get into the Potting Shed. “I have some nice sticky buns, too!”
“Mmm! I love those things!” Peggy’s father put out his hand. “I’m Ranson Hughes, Margaret’s father. This is my wife, Lilla. We’re up here visiting from Charleston.”
Emil put his buns and coffee down on the counter and wiped his hands on his red Kozy Kettle Koffee and Tea Emporium T-shirt. “Good to meet you! Peggy is our best friend. Right, Sofia?”