Fran Rizer - Callie Parrish 05 - Mother Hubbard Has a Corpse in the Cupboard (22 page)

Dr. Graham appeared very self-assured, but after a few minutes, he began to squirm. A little while longer, and he propped his cane against the wall and reached inside his jacket. I wasn’t surprised when he brought out a silver flask. He unscrewed the lid, tipped the flask to his mouth, and then held it away from his face, staring at it. He placed the flask back to his lips. As he moved it down, his hand trembled, and he dropped the flask on the chair seat. I saw a little spill of amber liquid.

Appalled, he glared at it, and then screwed the top back on the flask and returned it to his inside coat pocket. He leaned over and examined the discoloration on the upholstery. Using a handkerchief from his pocket, he rubbed the stain vigorously while looking around to see if anyone were watching. Wiping it hadn’t made the spot disappear. I could still see it from where I stood.

I made it a point to appear totally involved with adjusting each stem in the floral arrangement. Dr. Graham’s anxious look changed to relief when he spotted a mauve throw pillow on the chair across from him. He stepped across the hall, grabbed the pillow, and carefully positioned it to cover the spot on his chair. Picking up his cane, he moved to the opposite chair.

Dr. Graham was barely seated when the front door opened to the notes of “Peace in the Valley.” Tyrone entered beside Rizzie. He handed me an oval-shaped sweetgrass basket with an intricate handle and said, “Rizzie told me to choose a basket for you. Will this one do?”

“It’s beautiful. Thank you,” I said.

Several people I didn’t know followed Rizzie and Tyrone in. Nowadays, most of the Gullah people dress just like everyone else, but, for this occasion, a lot of them wore African garb like Rizzie wears sometimes for Gastric Gullah’s special catered events and other Gullahs wear on the roadside during tourist season in St. Mary when they sell their handmade baskets. The men who weren’t wearing dashiki shirts had on modern suits but had added scarves and kufi caps, either knitted, made of Kente cloth, or embroidered. The women wore beautiful traditional print long dresses or skirts with fancy blouses.

“Tyrone and I want to go in first,” Rizzie informed me and waved her arm at the folks behind her. “Our friends here will come in after we have a few minutes alone with Maum.”

“Teresa?” Dr. Graham stood and walked toward Rizzie. He didn’t use his walking stick. Must have been window dressing.

“Yes. Do I know you?” Teresa’s expression questioned. She extended her hand as though expecting a handshake. Instead, Dr. Graham put his arms around her and tried to pull her into a tight embrace. Rizzie didn’t pull away, but she didn’t hug him back either. No smashing of the hooters against this stranger.

“I’m your uncle, Dr. Walter Marshall Graham.”

“I don’t know any Grahams.”

“I changed my name when I left the island. Your grandmother was my sister, a lot older, more than twenty years.” He actually had the audacity to look offended. “You were just a little girl the last time I went on Surcie to see my sister and her family.”

“Wally?” Rizzie asked incredulously. “Wally? You’re Maum’s brother Wally? She thought you must have died when she never heard from you. She used to cry when she talked about you.”

“I always meant to come back so she could see how well I’ve done in the outside world. I earned a doctorate and teach English on the college level.” I guess that explained why he didn’t have a Gullah accent. Must have taken a lot of work.

He spread his arms wide, delicately, as though he might perform a pirouette. “I’m the gentleman I always wanted to be.” He patted his inside coat pocket as if assuring himself the flask was there. “I came as soon as I saw Haddie Maude died. I read the
St. Mary News
every morning on the Internet.”

“She’s been really sick. You would have thrilled her if you’d come to see her.”

“I was so busy becoming successful that I just never made it.” Pretentious pride oozed out of him. He turned toward Tyrone. “And who is this young man?”

“Ty is your nephew. Maum was raising him like she did me.”

“Since I’m here now, I’ll go over your plans for her rites. If she had insurance, there’s no reason to bury Haddie Maude out on Surcie. I’m sure there’s somewhere nicer here in town.” He’d gotten rid of not just the Gullah accent; he didn’t even sound Southern though he made such an effort to project that Southern gentleman image. More refined, but the same controlling tone that Jane complained about with Frankie.

“Didn’t I read that she’d been working at some business? Gastric Gullah I believe it said.” He chuckled. “I admit I could never have imagined Haddie Maude leaving Surcie Island, but I don’t see why you’d take her back there. I’d like you to give her a nice funeral here in town.”

Rizzie was speechless, but Tyrone wasn’t.

“Uncle or not, you don’t have anything to say about Maum’s funeral. We still live in the house on Surcie Island. Maum wanted to be buried beside Paw Paw, and that’s where she’ll be. Right now, Rizzie and I are going in to see her.” He stepped around Dr. Graham and toward Slumber Room A.

“I want to see her, too, but
this girl
wouldn’t let me see my own sister.”

“Just wait right here. You can come in with the others in a few minutes,” Rizzie answered.

“I’m her next of kin.”

“No, Ty and I are all of her kin. Everyone else has either died or run away like you did.”

“Follow me,” I said and led Rizzie and Tyrone to Maum’s casket. Dr. Graham remained in the hall with the others.

“She looks perfect,” Rizzie said. “You can call them in.” She gestured toward the door.

I led the whole crowd into Slumber Room A where they
oo’ed
and
ah’ed
at the beautiful lady in the red dress with bright red polish on her fingernails. I get really irritated at people who say, “She looks just like she’s sleeping.” There’s no way that I can work that magic, but in this case, it was true. Maum looked like she might sit up and ask for another blanket any minute.

Dr. Graham made a big production of his feelings—talking to the body as though he’d just returned from a few days away. Rizzie held herself together well until they were about ready to leave, and then she burst into tears.

“I should have bought her that dress long ago,” she sobbed.

“She wouldn’t have worn it,” Tyrone said. “She wanted it for this.” He put his arm around Rizzie and kissed her on the cheek. And to think this was the kid the sheriff wanted to question about a murder!

• • •

Returning a loved one’s body to the house for visitation used to be standard in the South; now it’s only done occasionally. Whenever the family wants the body placed in the home for visitation, a representative of Middleton’s stays with the decedent. Both Otis and Odell offered to spend the night at the Profit home, but I planned to be there the whole time anyway, so I volunteered to represent Middleton’s as well as myself. I also asked that I not be paid for the time and that Rizzie not be charged for my attendance.

With my little overnight bag; Maum’s basket full of manicure tools, hand cream, cuticle remover, and several shades of red polish; and a bouquet of red roses beside me, I rode in the front of the hearse with Odell to take Maum home for the last time. Yes, we played the CD player, and not hymns, but he would turn it off when we were near the house.

“What’s with the guy in the white suit?’ Odell asked.

“He’s Maum’s long lost brother who showed up wanting to take over everything.”

“I don’t think I’d try to take over
anything
from Rizzie or Tyrone Profit. They’re strong people,” Odell said. Mentally, I agreed with Odell that the Profits were normally resilient, but Maum’s illness and death had knocked a big hole into their strength reserves.

Silence is rare between me and Odell, and my escape into my own world of thought must have bothered him. “Did Otis tell you that we’re getting the man who died at the fairgrounds until he’s identified?” Odell asked.

“No, will I be working on him?”

“Not until he’s either released to his family or sent to a potter’s field.”

I’d never been to a potter’s field burial where they put poor people who either have no relatives or their family won’t claim them. Odell’s continued words brought me back from my thoughts. “For now,” he said, “we’ll be keeping him in the cooler.”

“Not going to embalm him like Spaghetti?” I asked.

“What do you know about Spaghetti?” he asked.

“Otis told me about him, and then I researched him on the Internet,” I said.

“Okay, tell me what you know about him.”

I grinned. I hadn’t just casually looked it up. The story had fascinated me, and I’d known a lot about it from reading many articles about it.

“Spaghetti was the nickname for an Italian carnival worker who died during a fight in Laurinburg, North Carolina, in 1911,” I said.

“Exactly right,” Odell said. “Do you know the rest of the story?”

“Yes, his father came and gave McDougald Funeral Home ten dollars for embalming with a promise to come back and pay for a funeral. He never came back and McDougald kept the body there and let people look at it until an Italian man had Spaghetti buried.”

“How much time did the body stay at the funeral home?”

“Sixty-one years. From 1911 to 1972.”

“You are one smart lady,” Odell said. “You should let Otis and me send you to mortuary school in Greenwood. We like your work, and one of these days, Doofus and I won’t be wanting to go in and embalm all the decedents. You know neither of us has children either.” He laughed and added, “At least, not any that we know of.”

I shuddered. “I’ve said before, I don’t even want to watch a prep, much less do it myself.”

“Think about it.” Odell paused. “What do you know about ‘The Alton Mummy’?”

“Never heard of it.”

“It’s a lot like Spaghetti’s story, but this man’s nickname was ‘Deaf Bill.’ He was a hard-of-hearing fisherman who had a drinking problem and liked to get inebriated and preach on the Missouri and Illinois riverbanks. He was friendly with a Mr. Bauer, who owned a funeral home in Madison, Missouri.”

“What happened?”

“Deaf Bill’s drinking had him going down-hill and Mr. Bauer helped him get into the poor farm.”

“What’s a poor farm?”

“It’s like what they used to call poor houses, and I guess the poor houses and poor farms were society’s way to deal with homelessness way back when.” Odell harrumphed, which is a sound he makes frequently. “If you go down to the Clark Creek Bridge, you’ll see that St. Mary has a few homeless people these days.”

“The sheriff said there are some problems that St. Mary has now that we didn’t have before. Is that what he’s talking about?”

“I don’t know.” He frowned, and I guessed that he was a little irritated that I’d changed the subject.

“What happened after Deaf Bill went to the poor farm?” I urged.

“Deaf Bill’s condition had gotten so bad that he couldn’t support himself fishing, so he went to the poor farm, and he died there. Bauer took the body and decided to hold it until he could locate Deaf Bill’s family. That was in 1915 and they didn’t bury the man until 1996, eighty-one years later.”

“Wow!” I couldn’t say the word I wanted to without breaking my vow not to curse, and I’d been slipping and using some non-kindergarten-cussing lately. When I taught school, I collected “Little Johnny” teacher jokes. Otis and Odell were too respectful to tell jokes about funeral homes, but they both seemed to have hundreds of anecdotes to tell me when we rode any distance.

We crossed the bridge onto the island, and Odell turned off the CD player. I thought about a horrible time a few years back when Jane was kidnapped from Happy Jack’s Campground on Surcie Island, but we turned away from that part of the island and traveled the dirt road to the house. Rizzie had been watching for us because when we drove up, she came out followed by a lot of people.

It’s customary to go into the house and check out where the casket is to be, so I did that. Rizzie had cleared a perfect spot right near where Maum always liked to sit in her rocking chair. She’d also tied a red ribbon from arm to arm of the rocker to keep anyone from sitting in her grandmother’s chair. I slipped the roses onto the seat behind the ribbon. I remembered Maum telling us many times that she wanted her rocking chair placed on her grave.

With the mechanics of the hearse and the church truck (Funeraleze for a collapsible aluminum bier on wheels used to move the coffin to and from the hearse and sometimes used as a bier by attaching a skirt around it), Odell and I wouldn’t have had any trouble carrying the casket in, but as soon as we were ready to roll, nine men and Tyrone stepped forward and stood with the casket—four men on each side, Tyrone at the head, and an elderly man at the foot. I noticed Dr. Graham didn’t offer to help. The carriers took hold of the casket and had no trouble carrying Maum up the steps. Odell rolled the bier in, and the carriers set the casket on it. When he’d locked the casket onto the bier and opened the lid, I stepped forward to double-check that everything was okay inside the coffin.

I work at a mortuary.

I deal with dead people all the time.

I am a professional.