Fran Rizer - Callie Parrish 05 - Mother Hubbard Has a Corpse in the Cupboard (29 page)

“I don’t believe Mrs. Sparrow killed her husband.” Wayne gave me a surprised look. “I know she’s a cheating liar, and I don’t like her, but I can’t see her as the killer.”

My mind went back to Tyrone shooting stars out of targets at the fair, but, once again, I kept my mouth shut, which made me feel guilty since I don’t usually keep information from Wayne. The teenager was with Rizzie and me the night Maum died. At least, he was until I went home and left Rizzie cleaning while he told us he was going off to see his friends, which turned out to be a lie. The most recent tale was that he’d gone looking for a root doctor. Would the next version be that he’d taken his rifle and gone looking for a bone doctor with a bad bedside manner?

“I just wanted to let you know what’s going on since you’re usually so curious.” Wayne gave me a quizzical look. “You seem awfully distracted this morning.”

“A lot on my mind.” That was true. A tall Indian man was on my mind as well as a teenaged boy I’d grown to love like a brother.

Thank heavens Wayne got a call from his office and left then. I didn’t want to go into detail about all I was thinking.

The rest of the morning was slow, and I was happy when Jane called and asked if I wanted to come over for a sandwich and coffee for lunch. She didn’t mention Frankie, so I didn’t know if he was there or not. I kind of hoped not. I wanted to tell her more about Patel and the feelings he’d stirred up in me. Jane had always declared that the key to anyone’s heart is how the other person makes them feel, not necessarily how they feel. Patel made me feel marvelous. Being with him was exciting, yet comfortable at the same time. The chemistry was right, too, but I wouldn’t be seeing him again.

At home, I dashed into my apartment. I saw the message light blinking on my answering machine, but Otis had cautioned me to take a “reasonable” lunch time today. I took Big Boy out for a bathroom break, then went to Jane’s, Big Boy by my side. He likes to visit Jane because she always gives him a treat and sometimes feeds him table food. I don’t give Big Boy any people food except MoonPies.

Frankie’s truck wasn’t there, so I assumed we’d be able to talk privately at least until he showed up. Jane opened the door the minute I knocked.

“Your brother’s furious. He moved out. Took everything of his and went back to your dad’s. He says it’s for good.” She spoke so fast that her words tumbled over each other.

I couldn’t understand it. Jane wasn’t crying. She’d just calmly told me her engagement to my brother had ended without a tear or much emotion. “Come on in. Let me get Big Boy a doggy bone, and we’ll have coffee while I put the sandwiches together. I made that special chicken salad you like with the sliced grapes and walnuts, but I didn’t make the sandwiches ahead because I don’t want the bread to get soggy.”

Jane loves coffee—all kinds. Today she’d prepared a special blend flavored with cinnamon. It smelled almost as delicious as I knew it would taste. Years ago, when Jane and I decided to “learn” to drink coffee so men would think we acted grown up, I’d been scared she’d burn herself pouring it. Foolish me. Jane’s method is to hold the cup so that the tip of her finger is slightly over the rim. She can sense when the liquid is getting near by the heat. She fixed my coffee and handed it to me—exactly right as always.

“Do you mean it?” I asked Jane in disbelief as I took the first sip. “Frankie’s gone?”

“Yes, I mean it. I thought I was going to do something to make him happy.” Jane dropped four pieces of whole wheat bread into her toaster. She opened her cabinet and took out two brightly colored lunch plates.

“What did you do?”

“I checked into another occupation instead of being Roxanne, the fantasy actress.”

“What occupation?”

“He hates my job. He hates Roxanne, and you know, Callie, a little bit of Roxanne is
me,
but I thought changing professions would make him happy. I called the College of Professional Masseuse and found out I could get a scholarship because of my vision. They would even provide transportation. What does your brother do when I told him the good news?”

The bread popped out of the toaster, and Jane put two slices on each plate.

“I can guess, but what did he say?”

“I can’t tell you exactly because he used a lot of cuss words that aren’t kindergarten cussing.”

“Just leave those out. He doesn’t want you to go back to school?”

“He
forbid
me.”

Now I knew that Jane had put up with a lot more crappola from Frankie than she ever would from anyone else, but she wasn’t exactly the kind of girl—no, woman—who would react well to her man forbidding her to do anything.

“Your brother threw a fit. Went charging around gathering up his belongings and left.” She piled chicken salad into sandwiches, slapped them closed, and handed a plate to me.

I noticed that Frankie had become “your brother” now that their relationship had hit what could be the final skids.

“Why?”

“Because being a masseuse means I’d touch other men.” Jane and I both began eating the best chicken salad sandwiches I’d ever tasted.

“Somehow, his reaction isn’t surprising. My brothers all have a jealous streak.” I spoke while I chewed. I know better, but I did it anyway.

“Well, I hope it doesn’t interfere with you and me and our friendship, but I’m finished with him. You have no idea how much better I feel. My stomach’s not hurting, and I haven’t thrown up since all this happened.”

“Good. Maybe the time isn’t right for you to consider marriage.”

“I’m going to work Roxanne every night and save up enough money to go to Florida. Do you want to go with me?”

“Do you mean
move
to Florida?”

“No, for a vacation. Just a trip for fun.”

The thought of going to Florida, where Patel lived, made me a little sad since I didn’t expect to see him again, but the idea of a vacation with Jane sounded good. “You know, I think I’ll save up for that, too.”

“What’s going on at work?”

She’d changed the subject, so I told her all about Dr. Sparrow’s wife and the insurance sham. I ended with, “The sheriff hasn’t eliminated her as a suspect. After all, we know she’s dishonest because of the lies she told the Middletons, and she was cheating on him before he was killed.” I didn’t tell her that Leon Pearson was killed with the same gun that shot the bird.

“Oh, no, you need to reconsider,” Jane said. “The doctor’s wife doesn’t sound like a murderer to me if she wasn’t going to get rich from it, and she’s certainly not someone who would kill for love. Matter of fact, I’ll bet the only person she’s capable of loving is herself.”

“You may be right, but what about her acting like she did with the tennis pro?”

“As Roxanne, I deal with people who’d kiss a stranger without a second thought, and they don’t really know me nor feel any love for me or who I pretend to be. A kiss doesn’t mean much to a lot of people.”

“Standing beside her husband’s casket?”

“Just shows a lack of good taste and good manners toward her husband, not necessarily love for the man she’s kissing.

We had a great time, just like before my BFF began dating my brother. I hadn’t realized how different our friendship had been while she and Frankie were together.

“I’ve gotta go,” I finally said. “Odell told me to be back by one o’clock.” I stood and started toward the door.

“Don’t leave that big animal here,” Jane said and pointed toward Big Boy lying asleep on the floor by the refrigerator.

I didn’t bother to ask. She’d probably heard him breathing or snoring though I hadn’t. I clipped Big Boy’s leash to his collar and took him next door to my place. As I started to leave, I noticed the message light still blinking and decided it could be important business, so I hit “play” for my messages.

“Callie? J. T. Patel here. I’ll be tied up all day in business meetings today, but please call me tonight. I know what I told you, but I’m having second thoughts. The things about you that make me think of Shea are the characteristics that a woman must have for me to be truly attracted to her. I’ve thought and thought about you, and I don’t want to throw away what we might have. Seeing you wouldn’t be ‘replacing’ Shea. It would be moving on with my life, and that’s not only what she would want me to do, it’s what I want to do. Please think about it and call me.”

I squealed with joy, then I noticed the message light still flashed. I pressed “play message” another time.

“This is J. T. again. I wanted to let you know that if you’re willing to see where our friendship leads, it won’t be just by telephone and Internet. I’m willing to travel back and forth between Florida and St. Mary to see you.” He coughed self-consciously. “Have a good day.”

Have a good day.
My day had just turned to great!

26

Otis and Odell stuck me with finishing up with Robin Sparrow. Guess I should have been grateful that they’d dealt with the lawyer themselves. The cremation was complete, and I was sent to the Sparrow home that afternoon to deliver Dr. Sparrow’s cremains (Funeraleze for the ashes after a cremation) in the bronze urn Mr. Randolph had given to Odell. While there, I was to pick up the folding chairs, register stand, and wreath of white silk roses Odell had delivered before we learned that Robin Sparrow wouldn’t be responsible for the bill.

My mental picture was of a renovated old Southern mansion, but Dr. Sparrow’s house was far different. The building extended longer than the length of a large ranch style home, but it was three stories high. A separate four-car garage stood slightly behind and to the right of the circular driveway. The silk floral arrangement had been taken off the door and lay on the inlaid tile porch floor. When I rang the bell, I heard music inside. Not a hymn like when the door opens at Middleton’s and certainly not like the James Brown song my cell phone plays—just soft jazz.

I expected a uniformed maid to answer the door, but Robin Sparrow herself invited me in, though she didn’t seem especially happy to see me. She grimaced when she saw the bronze and stainless steel urn I held, and she didn’t reach for it. She wore some kind of black robe that might have been part of a negligee ensemble or could have been a hostess gown. Made of satin, it flowed to her slippered feet and was embellished with dark gray pearls and fluffy black feathers at the wrists and hem. I thought the choice of black was more because the outfit was stunning than because she was in mourning. I have to say that black generally looks great on blondes, and Robin Sparrow was no exception.

“Come on in.” She repeated and led me down the long entrance hall. We wound up in a gigantic great room. The focal points were a tremendous multi-tiered crystal chandelier and a beautiful winding staircase from the second floor where a balcony circled the downstairs room. If this had been a historical home, I would have pictured children in their nightgowns and pajamas peeking through the balcony railings watching adults in old fashioned evening gowns and tuxedos dancing and socializing. This wasn’t a historical house. It had obviously been built new, probably for Dr. Sparrow. I wondered if Robin had shared in planning it or if the house came with the doctor when they wed.

Across the room, Mr. Tongue sat on an expensive upholstered couch. He didn’t look especially happy either.

“Just put the doctor on that table.” Robin motioned toward a Chinese carved table with an inlaid marble top. I set the urn on it.

“I saw the floral piece on the porch, and I’ll get it on my way out.” I looked around the room. No folding chairs. “Didn’t Odell bring you some chairs?”

“He delivered them, but we’ve put them in the walk-in pantry near the kitchen. With no funeral or memorial service, none of his friends have come to the house.” Her voice was so sad that I almost felt sorry for her. “That wooden stand with the guest register is in there, too.”

The tennis pro stood and walked over to her. He put his arms around her waist and nuzzled his face against her neck. “You’ll be fine.” His mumbled words barely reached me. “I love you.”

She pulled away, but gently, not in an angry way. “We have company.” She nodded toward me. I remembered their kissing at the funeral home while standing beside her husband’s body. She hadn’t been worried about who saw them back then.

“Have you heard anything more from the sheriff?” That wasn’t a very thoughtful thing to say, but I spoke without thinking. I really wanted to know if she’d heard about the bullets that killed Leon Pearson and Dr. Sparrow coming from the same gun.

“No, nothing.” Her pained expression looked real.

“At least the way the will and pre-nup turned out, nobody can accuse you of killing your husband.” Good grief! My mouth rambled on in overdrive while my brain was in neutral.

“What do you mean?” Robin Sparrow frowned. “Are you suggesting anyone thought I killed Paul? Why, I hate guns. Tell her, Mickey, tell her how I froze when you took me target shooting with that rifle. Besides, everyone knows that teenaged boy killed Paul. It’s all over town that he threatened my husband. The sheriff’s just too much of a wimp to arrest him.”

“Tyrone didn’t kill your husband!”

“How
dare
you defend that kid! He killed Paul, and you know it.” The frown rapidly morphed into anger. “I haven’t been the perfect wife, but I’d never kill anyone, not even a bitch like you. I told you. I can’t even shoot a gun for fun without having a meltdown. I hate guns. When Mickey and I went target shooting that afternoon when the fair was in town, I couldn’t even force myself to fire at a target. I shot straight up in the air.”