Fran Rizer - Callie Parrish 06 - A Corpse Under the Christmas Tree

by Fran Rizer

  “Yes, he’s dead.”

  Robinson pushed the body’s fake beard over and checked the carotid artery. “I’d like for you to move off the porch so you don’t continue to contaminate the scene.” He gestured toward the steps.

  “I need to go inside. I’m cold, and my friend is probably …”

  No need to continue. At that moment, Jane opened the door and asked, “What’s going on?”

  “One of Harmon’s detectives is here,” I answered. “I’m coming inside with you.”

  “Unless there’s a back door, she needs to come outside,” the detective said. “I’ll be putting crime scene tape around this porch.”

  “Crime scene tape?” Jane screeched, totally losing it like she always does when there’s a corpse involved.

  “She has a back door,” I said and stepped toward Jane.

  “I don’t want either of you in there anyway. Both of you come outside. We’ll need to check the inside of those apartments to be sure that’s not the place of death.” He paused. “And to find out if this person was here on a B & E.”

  “B & E?” Jane questioned.

  “Breaking and entering,” I explained. I read so many mysteries that I know what most of the terms mean. Dalmation! A hundred and one dalmations and shih tzu! I’d realized that Jane and I would be sleeping somewhere else that night—somewhere away from our apartments—because this man would have forensics techs go over the entire building and then probably ban us from our own homes with that yellow tape.

  Courteous but firm, Detective Robinson walked us to his car, opened the rear door and said, “Sit here until I’m ready to take your statements.”

  “We’d rather sit in the Mustang,” I said.

  “No, get in the cruiser.” His authoritative tone left no room for discussion.

  We sat in the back while he sat up front and called for CSI and the coroner. He got out of the car and closed the door.

  “What’s he doing now?” Jane asked.

  “He’s putting crime scene tape all around the front of our porch.”

  “Is it a dead man or woman this time?”

  “I didn’t look close enough to tell. The body’s wearing a white wig, false beard, and Santa Claus suit. No makeup, but the face is kind of feminine-looking.”

  “I hate this, Callie. I just hate it.”

  “I know you do. I’m not exactly fond of finding decedents away from work either.”

  “Won’t they let us back in if they see that no one has been inside while we were gone?”

  Then it hit me. I hadn’t opened my door before I found the dead Santa Claus. Could the Santa have come to our place to rob us and died on the porch after trashing my apartment? The thought of cops searching my home wasn’t pleasant even if there had been no invasion, and I hate cleaning up black fingerprint dust.

  What’s the likelihood Santa was at our place to steal from me or Jane? Not much, I answered myself. Neither Jane nor I have any real valuables—not much real jewelry or silver or anything like that. Even our electronics aren’t the current high-dollar kind. The most expensive thing I own is my Gibson banjo. Thank heaven it’s at Daddy’s.

  “What cha thinking about, Callie?” Jane asked.

  “Just wishing Wayne was here. I’d be a lot more comfortable with him than this new guy.”

  Sometimes hopes do come true, because just then Sheriff Wayne Harmon arrived, hopped out of his car, and went up to Robinson. I watched Wayne nod a few times before he came over, opened the back door of the cruiser, and slid in on the seat beside me.

  “Merry Christmas,” the sheriff said.

  “Yeah, a real good end to the day,” Jane answered. “Callie here found another body.”

  “I know. I assume you met my new detective, Dean Robinson. He’ll be heading up homicide investigations, including this one, but you girls know you can call me any time.”

  Girls! Wayne thinks of me as a child just like my daddy does.

  “How long do we have to sit here?” I asked.

  “We’ll need to get statements, and I’ll want you to look inside both apartments to see if there are signs you’ve been burgled.”

  “I guess then you’ll expect us to go to Daddy’s to spend the night, but John and his family are on the way here. It’ll be awfully crowded if the four of them are there along with Daddy, Mike, and Frankie.” I paused and then asked, “Did you know Jeff Morgan was killed in a car accident?”

  “Yes, I was over at his mom’s home when I heard about this. Miss Lettie is completely shattered. You know Jeff was her only child and his daddy died in Vietnam right before he was born. She went all to pieces when Jeff left St. Mary, moved to Rock Hill, and went to work right over the state line in Charlotte. You can imagine what she’s like right now. Jeff’s body will be brought from Rock Hill to Middleton’s in the morning. When Otis or Odell picks up Santa Claus off the porch to take it to Charleston for the autopsy, I’m going to tell them I think it would be a good idea if you’re there tomorrow when Miss Lettie makes the plans for Jeff’s funeral.”

  “You know I don’t usually sit in on planning sessions unless there’s a question about clothes or hair.”

  The sheriff smiled at me. “I know that, but an elderly lady like Miss Lettie would probably appreciate having a female with her.”

  “So, knowing Daddy’s house will be full, how long will you keep us locked out of our homes? I’ve been in Jane’s apartment, and there didn’t seem to be anything out of place.”

  “How long will depend on whether there’s any evidence inside.” He smiled. “Callie, since you found the victim, did you recognize him?”

  “I moved the beard, and I didn’t recognize the face, but I couldn’t tell if it’s a man or woman. Skin’s discolored and the features are feminine if it’s male, a little coarse if it’s female.”

  “That’s interesting. I just assumed it was a man. I guess because of the Santa Claus suit. Hadn’t thought of Santa being a woman, but we’ll know when the coroner gets here.”

  Jane shivered, and I asked, “Could Robinson turn the heater on in here? It’s cold.”

  Wayne checked out my knitted red dress from shoulder to right above my knees where it ended. “That red looks pretty on you, especially now at Christmas, but you girls should wear coats when you go out in December.” I didn’t say anything about his calling us girls again, but I didn’t like it. Instead, I tried to explain why neither Jane nor I had worn a coat.

  “We went straight to Daddy’s, and then right home. We’ve got heat at his house, our apartments, and in the car.”

  “Think about it, Callie. Your car is a 1966. Yes, it’s a classic, and in great shape, but it could break down, and you two girls would be outside walking.”

  “Why do you call us girls?” He’d aggravated me. “We’re both over thirty.”

  The sheriff laughed. “What do you want me to call you? Ladies? You don’t always act like a lady.”

  “How about women?”

  “How about I tell Robinson to turn on this car and give you women some heat? I’ll send one of my deputies for coffee for everyone.”

  “There’s a tin of homemade Christmas cookies inside my place,” Jane offered.

  “Did you or Callie make them?” Wayne asked and winked at Jane, though she couldn’t see it.

  “Jane did,” I said. Everyone knows that even though Jane can’t see, she’s a far better cook than I am.

  • • •

  Unfortunately, the activities of the next couple hours were old hat to me. I say “unfortunately” because this was not the first time I’ve discovered a corpse. Jane and I were more comfortable since Robinson had started the heater and another deputy brought us coffee and doughnuts. Jane entertained herself singing every Christmas song I’ve ever heard, some of them multiple times. That wasn’t too bad because she does have a nice voice. I amused myself watching the law enforcement officials work the scene—photographs of the Santa as well as every inch of the
porch from all angles. They also walked a grid in the yard, apparently looking for footprints. I doubted they found any because our yard is covered with grass that turned brown after the first frost.

  I couldn’t see as well when the coroner arrived because too many deputies blocked my view, so I was getting not just tired and sleepy, but also bored. I know that sounds bad, but I’ve been through this far too many times both as a part of my job and as an unwilling finder of dead people.

  When the sheriff returned to the car, he said, “Jane, give Callie your back door key. You stay here while Callie and I check out your apartment.” He coughed and I thought, Maybe the sheriff needs a heavier coat himself.

  “Callie, come with me,” he added. “I’m surprised you haven’t been throwing a fit about getting in your place to take your dog out.”

  “Big Boy’s not home. I finally took him to the vet to be neutered, and she found a small tumor in his abdomen. He had surgery day before yesterday, and I can bring him home tomorrow.” I felt silly when a tear formed in my eye. “You have no idea how much I miss him.”

  I followed Wayne to the rear of Jane’s side of the building. He checked her door before we went in, and there was no indication of illegal entry. Jane might have been a neat freak regardless, but because of her blindness, she’s very particular about everything always being in the correct place. Her ceramic Christmas tree stood in the exact center of her round dining table. Jane’s very proud of that tree. It was one of the smaller ones, a little less than a foot tall, but she’d painted and glazed it herself when we went through a crafts period several years back. Not too many visually handicapped people do ceramics, but Jane’s always been amazing, and that tree is quite an accomplishment. I’d helped her with other Christmas decorations—red and green place mats on the table and live poinsettias in each room, but I’d never touched that tree. She always handled it herself. Wayne checked every room and closet. No sign of anything disturbed. On the way out, he picked up the Christmas tin of cookies.

  A totally different picture next door. I’m not the best housekeeper under any circumstances. There are too many other things I love to do, like read a good book or change my hair color or try out a new makeup, whether for my face or for my job cosmetizing at the mortuary. I’d gotten up early that morning, but I hadn’t finished wrapping the gifts for my family, so I’d needed to do that. Then I drank several cups of coffee and ate a MoonPie while reading the latest copy of Mortuary Cosmetology News. I hadn’t finished with it by the time to go, so I’d taken it with me. I’d had to rush to be ready on time.

  I watched Wayne stare at my dirty coffee cup along with dishes from the previous night still on my kitchen table though he didn’t say anything. When the apartment was remodeled after a previous misfortune, I’d made a guest room out of the second bedroom, but it had rapidly filled up again with books and things that I didn’t want to throw away. My bedroom wasn’t as cluttered, but the bed was unmade and my nightgown lay crumpled on the floor.

  “I can’t tell,” Wayne said. “It appears trashed, but then your place usually looks like this.” Wayne Harmon was my older brother John’s best friend when I was a kid, so we’re comfortable with each other. I didn’t take offense at what he said because it was true, although I would have said “cluttered” instead of “trashed.”

  After looking in the places where I hide the little bit of jewelry I own, which consists of some earrings I was able to trade my wedding rings for after my divorce, I found nothing disturbed. I assured the sheriff, “Nobody’s been in here since I left this morning.”

  “Good. I’ll tell Detective Robinson that you and Jane can go in and out your back doors and have use of your apartments. It appears the corpse was dumped on your porch.”

  “Or murdered on it,” I commented.

  “Jed Amick thinks the body has been moved since death. That would make your porch a secondary crime scene, but we won’t know until the complete medical examination in Charleston.” Wayne laughed. “My new homicide man’s already told Jed that since it’s so obvious that Santa’s beyond rescue, the body should be transported with all clothing in place so the pathologist can remove it layer by layer while looking for evidence. Apparently he thought Jed had planned to disrobe Santa, but Jed’s okayed us to call Otis and Odell to pick it up.”

  Amick is our tall, lanky Ichabod Crane of a coroner, which in Jade County is an elected official who isn’t required to have a medical degree. Exams in unexplained or illegal deaths are performed at the medical university about an hour and a half drive away in Charleston, and Middleton’s Mortuary where I work has the contract to transport individuals to and from Charleston. One of my bosses, Otis or Odell Middleton, would pick up Santa from my porch in a funeral coach (Funeraleze for hearse) when the forensics team and Amick okayed moving the body.

  My mind locked in on that exam. Regardless of what Robinson may have assumed, when the person is indisputably deceased, Amick doesn’t unclothe the body at the scene. He didn’t need to be told that clothing would be removed layer by layer and photographed in case there are clues during the postmortem in Charleston. I’m not freaky, but I’d like to see Santa Claus unclothed. Did I really say that? What I mean is I wish that the corpse on my porch could have the Santa suit removed and see if anyone recognized who it was. At least, see if there was any identification on the body or even if it was a man or woman.

  Robinson met Wayne and me on our way back to the cruiser where Jane still waited, and Wayne told him about letting Jane and me use our apartments.

  The detective frowned but replied, “Yes, sir.” He paused for a moment. “I understand that the body will be transported to Charleston for the medical exam. I observed autopsies of my homicide cases in Florida, and I plan to attend this one.”

  “That’s fine. Contact information for the medical center is at the office. They’re usually pretty prompt for me on these things, so you’ll want to check with them tonight or first thing tomorrow to see when it’s scheduled. Ask Middleton to tell them we’ll be sending someone when he delivers the body.”

  “Yes, sir.” Detective Robinson walked back toward the front porch.

  “When did you hire him?” I asked.

  “Only a week ago. He’s heading up the new homicide unit, and this will be his first case for us.”

  “Does St. Mary really need a department just for murder?”

  “Gonna need two of them if you keep finding dead people.” Wayne chuckled. Some folks might be offended that he was joking at a crime scene, but law enforcement is like mortuary science. Without a touch of dark humor at times, the job would be unbearable.

  Jane and I were both happy when we’d finished giving our statements and were okayed to go into our apartments. I knew that the deputies would be busy interviewing neighbors, taking fingerprints, and investigating the scene as long as possible with their bright portable lights.

  “Callie said you brought my tin of Christmas cookies out,” Jane told Wayne. “You can have them.”

  Wayne’s grin spread all across his face.

  At our back doors, I asked Jane, “Do you want to come in and visit for a while?”

  “No, and unless you’re feeling needy, I’d rather you not come in with me. It’s getting late, and Roxanne needs to work tonight.”

  Back inside my own place, I grabbed a box of MoonPies from the cabinet and a Diet Coke from the fridge. The apartment was lonely without Big Boy even though I could hear activity still on the front porch and I knew Jane was next door burning up her Roxanne phone line. I no longer have a landline in my home, so I pulled my cell phone from my bra, curled up on the couch, and took my first bite of MoonPie for the evening while dialing my friend in Orlando. Please note that I spell MoonPie without a space between Moon and Pie. I do that because that’s the usual way the company in Chattanooga does it in their ads, on their website, and on most of their boxes.

  I refer to Patel as my “friend,” but I think he’s turning into a �
�boyfriend.” I met him a couple of months ago when the Jade County Fair was here. His real name is Jetendre Patel, but I call him Patel rather than his nickname of “J.T.” When the fair left town, I was afraid I’d never hear from him again, but we talk almost every night by phone and plan to get together either here or in Florida after New Year’s.

  “Merry Christmas,” his smooth voice answered. “I’ve wanted to call you since I awoke this morning, but I knew you were at your family’s house, and I didn’t want to bother you. Have you had a good day?”

  “It was great but I had a bad evening. I found a body on my porch.”

  When I finished telling him about the dead Santa, he consoled, “What a horrible way to end Christmas day! I wish I was there to comfort you.”

  Now, in the South, “to comfort” has several meanings, including what some folks call “making love,” “bonking,” and “getting laid.” My mind immediately went to my empty love life, and a little comfort that night would have been wonderful, but there were too many miles between us. No, I wasn’t tempted at all to turn the conversation into phone sex. That’s Roxanne, not me.

  By the time Patel and I disconnected, I’d eaten almost a box of MoonPies. Better watch that or I’ll be busting out of my jeans as well as the black dresses I’m required to wear at work.

  Lying in bed, I could hear a murmur through the wall. Roxanne busy working while I tried to read myself to sleep to escape thoughts of why corpses follow me around.

  Lots of magazine articles tell women to wear night bras to keep their ta tas from sagging in old age, but I sleep in only a T-shirt most of the time, so when James Brown woke me the next morning with, “I Feel Good,” his voice didn’t come from my bra, but from the bedside table where my phone was charging.

  “Callie, did I wake you?” inquired Otis Middleton.

  “Not really. I guess you heard there was a body on my porch yesterday.”

  “I was there to pick it up, but the hour was late and I assumed you were probably asleep. I took Santa to Charleston, and they’ll be autopsying this morning.” He paused. “How are you feeling?”