Death of the Pickle King

by Marlene Chabot

  “That’s not good,” I said.

  Anita sipped the Pepsi. “You’re telling me.”

  Having run out of topics to chat about for the moment, I was pleased when the waitress suddenly appeared and handed us our meals.

  By the time quarter to six rolled around we left 3 Squares bundled up in our winter paraphernalia fully fueled for the night, prepared to drive to Bromley’s Funeral Home next, a mere six blocks away.

  When we eventually reconnected in the mortuary parking lot, Anita swiftly inquired whether I thought Butch was here yet. “I don’t know,” I replied, not bothering to glance around the mortuary’s parking lot to seek out his car like one normally does when meeting up with a friend or family member; it would’ve been a waste of time. But Anita didn’t realize that. So I kindly reminded her we hadn’t seen what car Butch drove to the plant. “Remember, he parked outside of the plant’s gates the other day.”

  “That’s right,” she said. “He parked on Oakwood somewhere. No reason to stand out here freezing then. Let’s go inside, thaw out, and see who’s come for the viewing.”

  Eager to get in a building that should be well-heated, I hastily agreed with Anita. So the two of us walked briskly up the shoveled path to Bromley’s main doors, brushed off the snow that had accumulated on our outerwear the best we could, and then entered the mid-sized mortuary where we found a tastefully decorated gathering area or lobby to be extremely subdued. No people were present however, only ornate vases overflowing with highly-scented flowers filled the huge space.

  Ready to move on, Anita peeked in the first room to our left, shook her damp cornrow styled hair, and shrugged. “Funny, I don’t recognize a living soul in there, Mary.”

  Most people say they feel uncomfortable in a mortuary’s somber surroundings, including myself, so I attempted to lighten the mood. “You shouldn’t. Only God can see souls, Anita.”

  She tucked her lips in. “Girl, you know I mean people like you and me.”

  I nodded. “You’re looking in the wrong chapel. That’s Chapel 1,” I said and steered her to the sign-in book for Chapel 3 where we could easily find out if anyone from Hickleman’s had arrived yet.

  Anita studied the open book resting on the podium before signing it. “Butch is here,” she whispered. Then she stepped back and made room for me.

  I moved up, quickly added my name to the book, and then followed Anita into the chapel to find Butch.

  We’d barely entered the viewing room assigned to Paul Mason when a tall slender woman, early fifties, wearing a black dress and heels, with cinnamon colored shoulder-length hair greeted us. “Hello, I’m Gloria Mason, Paul’s wife. Thank you for coming.

  Anita hurriedly explained who we were. Then both of us offered our deepest sympathy and continued into the already packed chapel.

  Trying to remain close to Anita was impossible. She got swallowed up in the crowd like one does upon leaving the Guthrie Theater or a sporting event. One minute she was there and the next gone.

  Not really seeing anyone else I knew, I thought about returning to the gathering area until the chapel cleared a bit. Thankfully, I didn’t have to choose that option. A female I didn’t recognize loudly hailed Anita, just as a movie screen unfurled next to them at the front of the chapel and began sharing photos of Paul Mason throughout his life.

  Curious to see how much fifty-five year-old Paul had changed over the years, I viewed the screen for several seconds before picking up my feet and choosing the path of least resistance to Anita.

  When I finally caught up to her, the woman she’d been talking to vanished into the crowd, never to be seen again by me.

  “There you are, Mary,” Anita said. “I thought maybe you’d left.”

  “You needn’t have worried. I told you I’d stick by you tonight and I meant it.”

  Anita flapped her hand. “Sorry, I get nervous when things don’t go the way I planned. Have you found Butch yet?”

  I shook my head. “No.” I stood on my tiptoes to get a decent view of the men near Paul’s casket, hoping to spot Butch among them. If he was here, he certainly wasn’t visible to me. Eventually my toes got tired of holding me up and after I resumed what I considered a normal stance I considered the possibility that he may have stepped out for a smoke.

  “Well, did you find him?”

  “Afraid not.”

  “Do you think he backed out?” Anita asked as she unzipped her jacket.

  “I hope not.”

  “You never know. I’ve seen plenty at viewings one wouldn’t expect,” she said.

  “Like what?”

  “Well, I’ve watched people come in, sign the book, not speak to anyone, and then leave. Hey, maybe Butch got cold feet.”

  “Nah. He doesn’t come across as that type of person.” I raised my heels one more time and looked from one side of the room to the other. “You know, Anita, after meeting Paul’s wife Gloria, I can’t imagine him fooling around on her.”

  “Me neither.”

  As I continued to search for someone resembling Butch, a person tapped my shoulder. It wasn’t a heavy, firm one like a man’s, but soft like a woman’s. Knowing I’d better not ignore whoever it was, especially if they were from the plant, I relaxed my feet and turned around. “Zoe!”

  ~46~

  “What are you doing here?” I asked. All it takes is one ounce of Aunt Zoe’s blabbering and its good-bye pickle job, good-bye case, good-bye extra income.

  Even though my aunt’s presence made me seethe inwardly, I had to admit she had the good sense at least to react as if we weren’t roommates or related in anyway. “Why, Mary, what an odd place for us to run into one another. It’s been ages since I last saw you.”

  As much as I wanted to ignore her I couldn’t, not with Anita almost hitched to my hip. “It certainly has been,” I cordially replied and then turned to Anita and explained about Zoe. “She used to live in my apartment complex.”

  “Ah, nice to meet you, Zoe,” Anita said, offering a hand to her. “Are you a relative or friend of Paul’s family?”

  Aunt Zoe cast her eyes downward as if reflecting upon the kind words she should share concerning her connection to the departed. “Actually, neither. Butch Bailey, an apartment neighbor of mine, asked me to accompany him tonight. He’s having a hard time accepting the death of his old boss and didn’t want to drive out here alone.”

  “Why, Zoe, that’s so thoughtful of you” I said. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

  Anita remained riveted to where she stood not saying a word. She didn’t need to. The blank look registered on her face said it all. She was clueless to the comment I just expressed. Having been in her shoes many times, I felt compelled to fill her in. “When Zoe lived where I do, she always went out of her way to help residents in need.”

  Anita released a smile. “Good for you. My Baptist minister is always saying we need to be more concerned about the downtrodden around us.”

  Zoe blushed. “I can’t take credit for what I do. That’s my mother’s doing. ‘Live by the Golden Rule,’ she forever drummed into our little heads. Even though I miss her, I’m glad she’s passed on. She’d be upset to see how today’s society is so lacking in that philosophy.”

  Anita’s brief smile disappeared. She nervously rocked her body from side to side. “Zoe, you did say you came with Butch?”

  Zoe nodded. “That’s right.”

  “So where did you leave him?” Anita quizzed. “Mary and I have been waiting to talk to him.”

  Aunt Zoe motioned towards the door. “Right after he viewed Mr. Mason’s body, he told me he needed to use the restroom. He should be back any second. Oh, I see him. He’s standing in the doorway.” She arched her hand over her head and waved.

  Being five foot eleven, Butch easily spotted her and weaved his way towards us. “So you two ladies made it. I wondered if you were here yet. Did you view the body?” He didn’t wait for a reply. His eyes had settled on the huge screen. “Well, look
at that. Paul hasn’t left us after all. The guy’s up there bigger than life. He was kind of a handsome dude; every strand of hair always in place just like it is tonight. No wonder women were drawn to him like bees to nectar. I suppose he still had plenty of them buzzing around him before he got the life knocked out of him, huh?”

  “I wouldn’t know,” I said, “I haven’t worked at the plant that long.”

  Anita squeezed between Aunt Zoe and me. “Where have you been, Butch?” she asked, sounding irritated. “We’ve been looking for you for at least fifteen minutes.” The sudden change in her mood made me wonder if it was Butch she was actually upset with or having to remain in a funeral home any longer than necessary.

  He leaned on the empty folding chair in front of him and grinned. “I’ve been busy schmoozing with a few pals from the plant who stuck by me after I got arrested the first time.”

  “Were you able to weasel anything out of them concerning the plant?” I asked, hoping to blow the case wide open within the next couple of days.

  Butch loosened his grip on the chair and relaxed. “Like what?”

  With his arms now dangling at his sides, Anita took advantage of them. She yanked on a sleeve of Butch’s leather jacket and pulled him down close to her height. “Like who might have hated Paul enough to knock him off for instance?”

  “Nah. All those guys wanted to talk about was Chip’s accident.”

  “Did I hear someone mention Chip’s accident,” a reedy voice asked, coming from a slight distance away.

  “Butch, scram,” I said. “Whatever you do don’t let Sharon see you.”

  Instead of taking my advice seriously, Butch simply turned his back on us and pretended to be chatting with people not from the plant.

  Sharon left the tiny group of employees she’d been conversing with and strolled over to where we were. She was cloaked in a long royal-blue coat which added a tinge of color to her pale complexion tonight. “Gal’s, I don’t think we should be discussing Chip at the viewing. We’re here tonight to share our memories of Paul.”

  At that precise moment, Butch spun around to face Sharon.

  Shocked at seeing him, her jaw almost came unhinged. She pressed a hand to her bare neck. “What... What are you doing here? I thought they had you behind bars by now.”

  “Apparently not. Someone believed in me enough to pay my bail,” Butch said, sharing a broad smile. “Aren’t I the lucky guy?”

  Sharon ignored him. “If... if you’ll excuse me, ladies,” she stammered, “I need to speak with Paul’s wife. I haven’t had a chance to offer my condolences yet.”

  If the head of Hickleman’s HR was searching for attention tonight, she got it in spades. Her bright colored coat caught everyone’s eyes as she whisked past them to find Gloria Mason.

  “Tsk. Tsk,” Aunt Zoe uttered. “Somebody isn’t happy Butch is here. By the way, did anyone notice Sharon’s coat?”

  “Why?” I asked. “The coat’s no big deal. It’s just a different style than I’m used to seeing in my neck of the woods.”

  Anita pinched the rough edges of her jacket. “Mine too.”

  “I bet you liked it though?” Aunt Zoe’s question was directed at me.

  “Well, maybe a little.”

  She beamed. “It’s okay to admit it, Mary. Most women would look good in a coat like that. Unfortunately, it’s a pricey one. My personal income couldn’t touch it. The Canada Goose PBI Expedition coat Sharon is wearing was listed in the current Neiman Marcus catalog for over a thousand dollars.”

  Butch blew air through his crooked smoked-stained teeth, creating a subdued whistle.

  Anita bent her head and stared at her jacket. “Apparently I’ve been working on the wrong floor at the plant all these years. How else do you explain Sharon’s ability to purchase an expensive coat like the one on her back?”

  Not waiting for a reply she proceeded to process more thoughts aloud on the subject, her head continuing to bob as she did so. “Okay, sure, she’s a single woman, she doesn’t have anyone else to share her dough with like me but still, Don Hickleman was never noted for being generous with the payroll.”

  Several thoughts sprung to mind, but I’d keep them under wraps for a while longer. “Maybe Sharon’s been squirreling away money for years or a relative left her a huge inheritance. Either is plausible,” I said.

  I expected a rebuttal from Anita, but none came.

  Since I figured there was nothing more to gain remaining here at the mortuary and I was becoming more uncomfortable the longer I stayed, I decided to slip away. “I’m going home,” I announced.

  Anita had been in a fairly decent mood when dissing Sharon, but now that she realized I was departing, she grimaced like she’d eaten a mud pie. “You can’t go yet, Mary,” she scolded. “You promised to hang out here with me.”

  “I did. We’re done. You can go home any time.”

  She crossed her arms. “But I didn’t view Paul’s body yet. And aren’t you going to share what you learned tonight?”

  “Not here,” I whispered in her ear. “We’ll talk privately tomorrow.” I turned to Butch. “Well, you definitely stirred the pot like we hoped. I wish you all the best. Maybe someday soon you’ll be able to work at the plant again.”

  He nodded. “I sure hope so,” and then his eyes drifted to something more interesting, not Paul’s photos flashing by on the screen again but rather a person standing at the entrance of the chapel where we’d all be heading soon. “I don’t believe my eyes. Can it be Miss Roseanne Harsh in the flesh? I hope she didn’t come here to create trouble for Paul’s grieving widow. You never know what she’ll say or do.”

  Anita unzipped her jacket again. “I think I’ll stay a while longer,” she announced. “Roseanne needs watching and I really should view Paul’s body.”

  “Smart move,” I said. “While you’re at it, find out if Roseanne’s dropping off a load of cucumbers tomorrow.” Swiping a cucumber from Roseanne’s delivery truck is just what this gal needs to narrow the list of suspects even more.

  ~47~

  I ran into Margaret as I stepped off the elevator on our floor at the Foley. She wasn’t her perky self. The additional creases that lined her narrow furrowed forehead made me wonder if health issues were to blame. Hopefully it’s nothing serious.

  “Mary, it’s about time you got home,” she said, clasping and unclasping her gnarled hands. “Do you know where Zoe is? She mentioned going to a mortuary with Butch but she’s not back yet.”

  “Yes. She was with me and Butch at Bromley Funeral Home. They should be back any minute. Why are you asking about her?”

  Margaret bowed her head, focusing her olive-green eyes on the hall carpet instead of me. “Mr. Edward’s, our caretaker, and two officers of the law were standing outside your apartment door about a half an hour ago.”

  Oh, boy. My roommate must’ve instigated the visit. “What did Aunt Zoe do?” I asked, drumming my fingers on my coat. Did she leave a burner on and forget to remove a pan of cooked food from it?”

  Her shoulders drooped. “I don’t think so, dear. The hallway would still be reeking of smoke and I’d be coughing up a storm. I do remember that after Mr. Edward’s knocked on your door and no one answered one of the policemen, I think the older one, said it was extremely important to get ahold of Mary Malone.”

  My back stiffened. “Me?” I pressed my hands against my cold cheeks. “Oh, my, God. Something happened to my dad.” I whipped my phone out of my purse and checked for messages. “No calls from anyone in the family,” I said aloud, “and my phone still has plenty of energy.”

  I inhaled deeply to clear my head and then analyzed the situation. If my father had ended up back in the hospital, a member of my immediate family would’ve called and left a message. “I can’t figure out why the police showed up here, Margaret. It doesn’t make sense. Even if something serious happened to another family member, they wouldn’t have tried to locate me. The spouses are always notified f
irst. So what else did they want?”

  “I’ve no idea. They didn’t say much. But since they came to see you I presumed it had to do with Zoe,” She pulled out a hankie from a pocket sewed to her butcher-style apron and wiped the tears away that had settled in her hollow cheeks. “I’d heard the weather man on TV report that the roads were icy, so I thought Zoe might’ve been in a car accident.”

  I clutched the elderly woman’s thin shoulder. “There’s no need for tears. I know the police officers visit couldn’t have been about my aunt. When I left the mortuary in Maple Grove thirty minutes ago, she and Butch were still there.”

  “They were?” She returned the hankie to the pocket it had been in and relaxed her shoulders.

  “Ah, huh.” Seeing there was no further need for my comforting hand to be resting on her shoulder, I dropped it to my side. “I suppose the police cleared out once they realized I wasn’t home.”

  “No, but I certainly expected them to.”

  I pressed a finger to my lips. “What reason would there be for them to linger longer than necessary?”

  “I heard the police tell Mr. Edward’s they’d like to leave a couple messages for you since he had a master key for the apartments.”

  I shoved my hand in a coat pocket, dug out my apartment key, and stuck it in the keyhole. “You said ‘notes,’ Margaret. Did Mr. Edward’s say if the two policemen came together?”

  She shook her head. “I never spoke with him. Once he stuck the notes in your apartment, he and the policemen hopped on the elevator.”

  I turned the key in the lock, but didn’t step into my apartment quite yet. With two unexpected messages from policemen awaiting me, I wanted someone to lean on if need be when I read them. “Margaret, would you mind joining me for a couple minutes? I’m concerned how I’ll react to the messages.”

  “I’d be happy to, dear. And when you finish with them, I’d like you to explain why Zoe went off to a funeral home with Butch, and what you were doing there as well. Last night, right before you fell asleep you tried to tell me something, but I didn’t understand a word. It sounded like gibberish.”