Fran Rizer - Callie Parrish 05 - Mother Hubbard Has a Corpse in the Cupboard (17 page)

Frankie exploded, probably as much out of embarrassment as pain. I hadn’t hit him hard, but I knew I was totally in the wrong to hit him at all. We weren’t little kids anymore. Adults shouldn’t go around slapping each other. Well, actually, neither should children, but it’s more forgivable if it’s not grown-ups. I had to confess, Frankie’s explosion was in general, not directly aimed at me. “What’s this all about?” he screeched.

“She’s not herself. Let it be,” Jane tried to intervene. “And if you touch her, we’re finished.”

“I’m not going to do anything to her, but I’m not taking her home either. Come on, we’re leaving.” Frankie grabbed Jane by the arm, and they walked toward the parking lot—quickly.

PMS. That’s my explanation for what happened next, and I’m sticking to it, though I doubt that had anything to do with my actions. People falsely accuse PMS all the time, so I might as well do it, too. I burst into tears that turned to loud, gut-wrenching sobs. Patel reached out and took my hand.

“Come on, I’ll take you home.”

“Is there room for both of us in that little tiny car you drive?” I tried to joke, but the words got lost in the crying.

• • •

Big Boy was excited to see me in the middle of the day and just as happy to make a new friend. He licked Patel’s hands over and over and couldn’t get enough of him.

“He really likes you,” I said after inviting Patel to have a seat on my tan-colored suede couch that Big Boy knows perfectly well is off-limits to him.

All the way from the hospital to my apartment, I’d apologized to Patel for the Parrish family showing our behinds in front of him.

“My turn to apologize,” Patel said. “When the man where you work answered your cell phone and said you’d been hurt and taken to the hospital by ambulance, I rushed out of Mother Hubbard’s without washing up. I probably smell like a great big corndog.”

I laughed. Couldn’t help saying, “Better a corndog than a horndog.”

Big Boy presented his leash to Patel, who scratched his ears and asked, “Does he want to go out? If you want, I’ll take him for a walk while you get a shower.”

When I came back into the living room almost an hour later, Patel and Big Boy were watching television while the man fed the dog tiny pieces of banana MoonPie.

“I hope it’s okay to let him eat this. He kept going to that cabinet and when I looked in, the only foods in there were MoonPies, and I didn’t think you’d let him eat chocolate, so I got him one of these.”

“They’re for him.” I noticed the smile on Patel’s face and was happy that I’d taken the time to actually “do” my hair and makeup as well as dressing in another of my black work dresses.

“Would you mind taking me to Middleton’s to pick up my car?” I asked.

“Not at all. Are you taking the rest of the day off? You probably should.”

“That will depend on what Otis and Odell need. I definitely want to go to Healing Heart Medical Center and check on my friend and her grandmother.”

Shih tzu!
I thought it, didn’t say it. “What time is it?”

“Almost five.”

“I was supposed to pick up Tyrone at the school at three-thirty. May I use your telephone?”

He handed me his cell, and I dialed Rizzie’s number.

She answered with, “Who is this?”

“It’s Callie. My phone’s at work and I’ve done something awful.”

“Yeah, I heard that you’ve had quite a day. Busted your boob and hit your brother after trying to block three trespassers at work.”

“All that and a bag of chips. I forgot about picking Tyrone up from school. Have you heard from him?”

“Otis picked him up and brought him over. He told us about the break-in at Middleton’s. I think Ty’s developed an attachment for you. He got all upset about you being hurt, and I was glad that he called a friend to pick him up from here. They’re going to the arcade and Ty’s spending the night with him, so you won’t have to take Ty to school tomorrow either.”

“I don’t mind watching out for Tyrone, but he does need to see his friends. We have to remember he’s a kid. I’ve got a ride back to work to get my car. If Otis and Odell don’t need me, I’ll come see you. If I have to stay there, I’ll call you.”

“Don’t forget workmen’s compensation. You were hurt on the job. Otis said Harmon wants to talk to you again, too.” She laughed. “Better hope Frankie doesn’t want to charge you with assault.”

“Did Otis tell you about that? How did he know about me slapping Frankie?”

“He didn’t. Jane called and told me. She said the man from the fair showed up at the hospital, too. Is he still with you?”

I ignored her question and asked one of my own. “Is Jane mad at me?”

“No, she thinks it’s funny, said she’d felt like hitting him a few times herself.

Chapter between 12 and 14

Anyone who’s read a Callie Parrish Mystery knows I’ve never written a thirteenth chapter. I’m not superstitious, but I, Calamine Lotion Parrish, have not and will not write a Chapter Thirteen. This started with my first book when I thought about buildings with no thirteenth floor and why that might be.

When I was a child and went to Charleston or Columbia with Daddy, we rode in elevators. He always let me press the button for the floor we needed. I didn’t realize there was no floor called the thirteenth. I thought they just left out the number between twelve and fourteen. I believed the thirteenth floor existed, but it must have been a place of secrets. That fascination with hidden doings behind closed doors and the slight fear those thoughts triggered probably account for my enjoying horror stories along with the mysteries I’ve loved since my first
Encyclopedia Brown
and
Trixie Belden
books.

This time, I have a really good reason for refusing to write a Chapter Thirteen. I just finished reading
The Thirteenth Child
by David Dean. I’m telling you: When I got to the last fifty pages of that book, I wet my panties. I’m not kidding. Problem was where I was reading. In bed. I was snuggled all cozy under the blankets reading when my bladder protested being full of Diet Coke, and I was too scared to get up and go to the bathroom by myself.

All one hundred and forty pounds of my full-grown dog Big Boy slept like a puppy on the rug beside the bed, but by the time I woke him up to go with me, it was too late. Of course, then I had to go to the bathroom for a shower, to the kitchen to put the wet things in the clothes washer, and to the linen closet for dry sheets. By the time we did all that, Big Boy had to go potty, so I took him outside. He thought we’d go for a walk, too, but I only let him hide behind the oak tree to do his girl-dog squat like he always does. Made him come right back inside. I felt a little guilty about refusing to walk him, so I gave Big Boy a banana MoonPie.

I’m not telling anyone why David Dean chose
The Thirteenth Child
as the title of the book. Let ’em read it, and find out for themselves. I will say it was a good decision, and I’m going to read it again. I might read it in the bathtub so that I won’t have so far to go if it scares the—oops! I’d better not go there.

14

“You understand that your grandmother will have to go to a rehab center for a few weeks, right?”

Rizzie nodded at Dr. Sparrow. He had arrived shortly after I did, and I could see that she didn’t like the way he stood way across the room while he talked to her. He’d come into the room and never once looked at Maum even though she was awake. He didn’t speak to her either. Just stood away from them, talked
at
Rizzie, and seemed in a hurry to leave.

“The social worker will give you a brochure describing local rehabilitation centers. She’ll work it all out with you and arrange an ambulance to take the patient there, probably tomorrow, no later than the next day.” He stepped toward the door. I didn’t like the way he never called Maum by name, referred to her as “your grandmother” and “the patient.”

“Excuse me, I have a question about Maum’s stitches,” Rizzie said and moved toward him.

“Save it for later. I’m in a hurry.” He closed the door behind him.

“What do you want to know about her stitches?” I asked Rizzie.

“When do the stitches come out? Do we bring Maum back here?”

Cajones, chutzpah—whatever you call it, since Maum’s accident, I had more of it at five feet, four inches than Rizzie had at almost five, eleven. I followed the bird to the nurses’ station where he was chatting with a blonde who looked like her hooters might burst through the buttons on her uniform at any minute.

“Ex-scuuze me,” I said. “Before you rushed out to chat with Blondie here, my friend wanted to know when Mrs. Profit’s stitches will come out.”

The doctor didn’t look happy to be confronted, but he didn’t tell me he was too busy to answer. “Ten days,” he said. “My policy is ten days before the bandage is removed to look at the incision and remove the stitches.”

I know I was out of line, but then, today seemed to be my day to be offensive, as I’d shown by slapping my brother. In for a dime, in for a dollar, so I continued. “That seems like a long time.”

“And where did you earn your medical degree?” sarcasm dripped from Sparrow. “Infection is always a danger with surgery, and I wait ten days before opening the bandage in order to keep the incision site sterile.”

“And will we need to bring Mrs. Profit back to the hospital or to your office to have the stitches out?”

“Neither. The rehab center will have someone on the premises to remove stitches.”

His expression clearly showed that I’d irritated him and he’d had enough of me. He walked quickly to the elevator without a goodbye and left.

An hour or so later, a sweet-faced lady came into Maum’s room. “Hello, is this Mrs. Profit?” she asked and smiled toward the bed.

“Yes, ma’am.” Rizzie has good manners.

“I’m Natasha Marchant, the social worker. I’ve brought you a list of places that Mrs. Profit can go for her rehab.” She handed a manila envelope to Rizzie. “Some descriptions and brochures are included in the packet. Look them over. Visit some. If you have any questions, call me. I’ve put a check by the ones your insurance will cover. When you decide which one you want to use, call me, and I’ll see if there’s a bed available.”

She patted Maum on the arm and smiled again. “I hope you feel better soon, Mrs. Profit.”

Maum moaned and grimaced as Ms. Marchant left. Rizzie pressed the button on the morphine pump, and soon Maum was asleep. Rizzie and I sat at the little table and began looking at the list.

“Listen to this,” Rizzie laughed and pointed toward one of the brochures. “This one has in-house movies, weekly live entertainment, and a gourmet restaurant, but it isn’t checked on our list.”

“Peaceful Pines has a check,” I commented. “A friend’s aunt was there. The family seemed pleased with it, and it’s near Gastric Gullah.”

“Doesn’t matter if it’s near the restaurant. I’m not going back to work until Maum is at home.”

“Why don’t I stay here with Maum and you ride over and take a look at Peaceful Pines?” I suggested. “I’d want to see the place before I committed to Daddy or one of my brothers going there.”

“Even Frankie?” Rizzie teased.

“Even Frankie.”

“I don’t want to leave Maum. You go look at it. Should we call for an appointment?”

“I’ve been told that it’s better to just show up unannounced.”

“What if we choose Peaceful Pines and they don’t have an opening?”

“Then we look somewhere else.”

“You’re right, Callie. It’s just that Maum’s so weak and feels so bad that I don’t understand putting her out of the hospital only two or three days after surgery.”

“It’s the times, Rizzie. That’s how it works these days.”

I handed Rizzie the keys to the Mustang and settled into the recliner to watch television while Maum slept her morphine-induced sleep and Rizzie visited Peaceful Pines.

When she returned, Rizzie called Ms. Marchant’s office and left a message on her machine.

Less than an hour later, a tall, slim gentleman wearing khakis and a brown striped shirt arrived. “I’m Bret Johnson. Ms. Marchant tells me that you’ve selected Peaceful Pines Health and Rehab for Mrs. Profit’s rehabilitation. We do have a bed available for your grandmother, and I’m here to answer any questions you may have.”

“When are visiting hours?” I asked. I’ve been in and out of a lot of nursing homes for body pick-ups, and any place that restricts when a patient can see their friends and relatives is suspect in my book.

“Twenty-four, seven. We encourage visitors at all times. You will be welcome to come in whenever you like, to sit in on rehab sessions, and guests may eat meals along with the patients. Of course, there’s a charge for food, but it’s reasonable. We take good care of our clients, and relatives don’t need to spend the night with them, but if you want to stay, we provide a cot in the room. There’s no extra charge for that. Do you have any more questions?”