Fran Rizer - Callie Parrish 05 - Mother Hubbard Has a Corpse in the Cupboard (6 page)

“Dalmation!”
I exclaimed. “What the dickens happened?”

“I don’t know. The policeman said he didn’t have to write a report because no other car was involved and we were in a parking lot. The pole wasn’t damaged when we hit it, but I don’t know if the flames will hurt it or not.”

“The fire didn’t start when you wrecked?”

“No. It began after the officer left. I was over here with Ty when we heard a boom and it ignited.”

Tyrone tapped Rizzie on her arm, and said, “Somebody ran by the van just before the fire.”

Rizzie nor I paid much attention to him.

“Just be glad neither you nor Tyrone were in there.” I patted Rizzie on her shoulder, right above where Tyrone had touched her, using that casual contact thing we do at the funeral home. If I hadn’t sworn off swearing when I taught kindergarten, I’d swear it really does work.

All of a sudden, Rizzie burst into laughter. “Guess what, Callie. Things have been slow at the restaurant, and my vehicle insurance lapsed last week.”

The words that came out of my mouth weren’t at all related to my usual silly exclamatory words which I call kindergarten cussing. I’ve been slipping lately and using words that don’t fit into my self-imposed method of profanity. Gotta get back to
Dalmation!
and
Shih tzu!

Rizzie continued laughing.

“What’s so funny?” I asked. Was my Gullah friend having a meltdown?

“I’m laughing with joy. I renewed the insurance yesterday, and we got hospitalization for the restaurant employees last month, including Maum. Without that, I’d be up that well-known stream—the one you’d probably call ‘Ca Ca Creek.’”

“See? It could be worse,” I consoled.

“It sure could. They might not have been able to revive Maum when she was unresponsive. They have some special kind of medicine that reverses the effect of narcotics.”

I went back to my Mustang and got the box of MoonPies. I sat on the curb beside Rizzie and Tyrone, eating MoonPies while we watched the firemen put out the flames. When they’d finished, one of them who went to high school with Jane and me walked over. A big man, well over six feet tall and full-bearded, he pulled a cigar from his pocket, cut the end of it off, and then fired it up.

“Callie Parrish, who do you think you are—Stephanie Plum?” He said to me. “I’ve heard about your finding bodies all over. Are you gonna start blowing up and burning vehicles now?”

“I had nothing to do with this.” I motioned toward Rizzie and asked the man. “Do you know Rizzie Profit here?” I was hoping I didn’t have to do intros because I couldn’t remember the guy’s name.

“Sure do,” he answered. “Gastric Gullah, best food in town.”

“Thanks, Dixon,” Rizzie mumbled, and then asked, “How do you know about Stephanie Plum? You don’t strike me as someone who reads those books.”

“My wife reads ’em when we travel, and she reads the funny parts out loud to me.”

I promise, I tried not to say it, but I couldn’t resist. “Are you telling us that cars and vans exploding and burning are funny to a fireman?”

“No, but Stephanie Plum’s reaction to them and those two men of hers are hilarious. You should hear my wife read that stuff!”

The man, whose name was Dixon according to Rizzie, stood around talking until the other workers finished rolling up the hoses and getting everything ready to leave. A deputy that I didn’t know filled out some papers with Rizzie.

“Do you want us to wait for you?” I asked.

“No, just take Tyrone home. When I finish dealing with this, I’m going back in and sit with Maum. Can you get him to school tomorrow morning?”

“He’s not going to get much sleep.”

“Maum would want him in school.”

“What time and where?”

“Seven-thirty. St. Mary High School.”

“You don’t go to school on the island?” I asked Tyrone.

“No, ma’am. They closed the Surcie Island School. We ride buses into St. Mary.”

“I guess we need to go to your house for his books,” I told Rizzie.

“Nope,” Tyrone said, “they were in the van.”

“What about your iPad?” Rizzie asked. St. Mary schools had issued iPads to every student, but most of the teachers still used books and paper work as well.

“I left it in my locker.”

“Good,” Rizzie breathed in relief. “I don’t want to have to pay for it, but didn’t we decide you wouldn’t leave it at school? If someone breaks into your locker and steals your iPad, I’ll have to reimburse the school for it.”

“I forgot, but I think it’s good I didn’t remember it because it would have been in the fire with my book bag.”

“We’ll stay at my apartment tonight,” I said to Rizzie before the iPad discussion could erupt into a real argument. They were both pretty uptight. “We’ll call you in the morning and check on Maum. Then I’ll drop Tyrone off, go do whatever Odell needs at eight in the morning, then scoot over here. Want me to bring you some breakfast?”

“Since when do you cook breakfast?”

“I don’t, but McDonald’s does. I’ll need to stop to get breakfast for Tyrone and me anyway.”

“Okay. Bring me a bacon, egg, and cheese biscuit.”

“Will do.”

“I don’t think I can go to school tomorrow,” Tyrone said. “I worked in the kitchen all afternoon in these clothes. I can’t go to school like this.”

“No problem,” I answered. “When we get home, we’ll wash them.”

“I’m not taking my clothes off at your house with nothing to put on.” If it’s possible to be defensive and offensive at the same time, he was both.

Okay, I wanted to tell him I’d lend him a nightgown, but I didn’t have the heart to tease him after the evening he’d had. “First off, I’ve got five brothers. I’ve seen teenaged boys in their underwear before. Second, all we have to do is let you get under the covers before you take your clothes off and hand them to me to wash for you.”

“I want to stay with Maum,” the teenager protested.

“Rizzie will call us if there’s any change during the night, won’t you, Rizzie?” I assured him.

“Of course.”

“Are there any more of those MoonPies?” That boy ate as much as Jane did.

“Nope, but I have a few of the banana ones at my place.”

Rizzie cut Tyrone a look—not a teacher stare, but a big-sister expression.

“Now, don’t give Callie any trouble,” she told him.

“I won’t.” He looked at Rizzie, then stepped over to her and hugged her. “I’m sorry I let Maum get hurt,” he said.

“You heard the doctor. It wasn’t your fault. Go on with Callie and get some rest, even if it’s only a couple of hours. I want you in school tomorrow. There may be other days when it’s more important for you to miss classes.”

We all knew what Rizzie meant, but I tried to soften the thought. “Yes, when Maum has her surgery and when she comes home.”

After we reached my apartment, I told Tyrone I’d walk Big Boy while he showered. When we got back, a small spark beside the small oak tree in the front yard caught my attention. I turned to walk over there, but the light went out. I’d thought it might be the glow from a cigarette, but it must have been my imagination or a lightning bug, so we went on inside.

Tyrone watched television while I showered, and then I made him take my room, and I slept on the couch listening for the washing machine to cut off so I could put his clothes in the dryer.

Rizzie didn’t call during the night.

5

T’was morning at McDonald’s

And all over the place

Everyone was busy

Happily stuffing their face

Tyrone in his kerchief

And I in my cap…

Just kidding. Those few years I taught kindergarten sometimes shoot nursery rhymes and kiddie poems through my head. Tyrone had on his clothes I’d washed the night before, and I wore one of my standard black work dresses with sheer black stockings and black medium low leather pumps. I’d finished my sausage biscuit and was on my third cup of coffee while Tyrone was still working on his second McGriddle combo.

This time James Brown blasted from my purse instead of my bra. My cell phone was in there because I remembered that, at fourteen, boys were either embarrassed by boobs or would get excited if I pulled my phone from my bra. Too bad I hadn’t thought to change the ringtone. Better remember to do that before going to the mortuary.

The caller was Rizzie. She asked for Tyrone. He took the phone, listened for a minute or so, then handed the telephone back to me.

“Maum slept most of the night and is resting comfortably.” Rizzie sounded exhausted. “They changed her pain medicine and it’s not knocking her out, but it does keep her a little groggy.”

I explained that I would be there as soon as I finished whatever I had to do at work. “Good, and, Callie,” she added, “please write a note explaining why Ty doesn’t have his books. Tell the school I’ll pay to replace them.”

Good grief! I’m good at writing obituaries, but I’d never written a note to a high school before.
Get a grip, Callie
, I thought.
You used to be a teacher, and even kindergarten kids brought notes from home sometimes.

After Tyrone and I both told Rizzie goodbye, I asked him, “Do you have a pen and paper?”

The kid looked at me like I was cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs.

“I need something to write a note to your teacher,” I said.

“I’m in high school. I have an instructor for each subject.”

“Okay, we’ll make it to your homeroom teacher.”

“Fine, but my notebook was in the van with my books.”

“We’ll stop at the drugstore and buy you a composition book, some pencils, and a pen.” I felt like we were playing the “yeah-but” game, with Tyrone having a negative answer for every one of my suggestions. “What should I say on the note?”

“Don’t worry about that. Maum has always let me write my own notes. She just signs them. I’ll write it and you can sign it.”

When we were in the Mustang headed toward the CVS, Tyrone asked, “Will you buy me some gum, too?”

“Do they let students chew gum at school?” I asked.

“Not if they catch you, but I want it for after school.”

“Okay, and I’ll stop at the ATM and get you some lunch money on the way.

• • •

Sure enough, the kid produced a beautifully written note to his homeroom teacher.

Dear Mr. Adams,

Mrs. Profit, Tyrone Profit’s grandmother, who usually signs Tyrone Profit’s excuses, is in the hospital. I am signing this for his older sister who is at the hospital with Mrs. Profit. Tyrone’s books and school supplies were burned accidentally last night. Please notify us how much we need to pay for them.

He drew a signature line at the bottom then printed my name and cell number beneath it.

I signed “Rizzie Profit by Callie Parrish.”

To be honest, and I try to be, even after growing up with all those brothers, a teenaged boy makes me nervous. I don’t understand them these days. I was happy to drop him off at the school and promise to pick him up when it was over or before then if his grandmother’s condition changed.

I always get a comfortable feeling when I approach Middleton’s Mortuary. This morning was especially touching. Sunshine glistened off the windows of the building, which is a beautiful classic two-story white house with a wrap-around verandah on the front and both sides. White rocking chairs like at the Cracker Barrel and clay pots full of seasonal flowers create a pleasant ambiance. When my bosses, Otis and Odell, were little boys, they lived upstairs with their parents and played hide and seek among the stored coffins.

My assigned parking spot is in the back, between the loading dock and the new storage building. We still kept caskets on the second floor of the house until a few months ago. There’s a small forklift that would raise the casket from the downstairs loading dock to the second floor. Once the casket was upstairs and situated, matching carpet disguised the opening where items were unloaded. The mechanism had developed some kinks. My bosses, Otis and Odell, solved the problem with a new storage building out back, but they’d saved most of the huge live oaks dripping with Spanish moss around the lot, and I like the pleasant plunking sound of acorns falling on the ragtop of my Mustang.

I was barely through the back entrance when I heard an instrumental version of “It Is No Secret” signal that the front door was open. I caught up with Otis as we reached the front door.

“This will be Miss Nila Gorman,” Otis said. “Her twin sister, Miss Nina Gorman, is the deceased. Visitation is tonight, six ’til eight. Services tomorrow at the Lutheran church at one o’clock.”

“Couldn’t she have left clothing with you?” I grumbled. “I really wanted to go check on Maum and Rizzie.”