Fran Rizer - Callie Parrish 05 - Mother Hubbard Has a Corpse in the Cupboard (9 page)

He slammed his door shut, shoved his burger back into the bag, and sat sulking all the way to the hospital. When I stopped at the entrance, he jumped out, banged the door closed, and left the bag on the seat.

I hit the horn and held it. He couldn’t ignore the loud blaring behind him. When he opened the door to see what I wanted, I handed him the McDonald’s bag.

“I don’t want it now!” he snapped.

“I don’t care,” I snapped back. “That other burger is for your sister. You take it to her.”

“She’s not my sister; she’s my cousin.” Defiant and angry.

“Well, take it to your cousin before I ram it up your …” Oops, I was forgetting my kindergarten cussing and somehow I didn’t think “tush” or “booty” would have the desired effect, so I didn’t say anything more. He stalked off, and I thanked my lucky stars that when I taught school, my students had been five-year-olds, not teenagers.

Surprisingly, I hadn’t spoken to Jane all day even though she’s my BFF and we usually talk several times a day. I hit her number on my cell phone as I headed back to Middleton’s.

“This is Roxanne,” came that husky, slow drawl she uses on her business line. “I’m soooo glad you called. I …”

“Jane,” I laughed, “you’re not working. You’re on your own telephone, and this is Callie.”

“I know. I thought Frankie was on the phone, and I was trying to get a rise out of him.” She paused. “I haven’t seen you all day. How’s Rizzie’s grandmamma?”

When I first met Jane, I tried to avoid sight references, but she refers to seeing people and uses sight words all the time. With no comment about the fact that Roxanne wouldn’t get Jane’s usual rise out of Frankie since he hated her fantasy actress personality, I answered, “They’re going to operate on her when her heart is beating more regularly. How are you today? Still puking?”

“You don’t have to say it like that. It sounds so crude.”

“Well, are you?”

“Yes, but not as bad as yesterday.”

“How much have you eaten today?”

“Oh, I had breakfast and lunch. Haven’t had dinner yet.”

I laughed. “It’s too early for dinner. Did you eat everything in sight this morning?”

Jane laughed louder than I had. “Now, what is ever in sight for me?” She paused, but not long enough for me to think of a come-back, and then added, “But don’t ever think I have to see it, to eat it.”

“Seriously,” I answered, “I think some of the throwing up is because you’re overeating.”

“I’m hungry. I may be eating for two.”

“Then it’s time for you to see a doctor and get those vitamins and all that other stuff pregnant women need.”

“I will. I’m just not ready.”

“There’s no ready to it. If you’re getting a baby bump, you need to see a doctor.”

She did what she always does when she doesn’t like what I say. She changed the subject.

“When will you be home?”

“I’ll be home before too late unless Rizzie needs me. Tyrone spent the night at my place last night, and I’ll probably have him there tonight, too, if he stops acting like a jerk. I can’t believe that sweet little boy we’ve known for two years has turned so yucky.”

“Take it easy on him, Callie. He’s worried that his grandmother will die. You don’t remember losing your mom, and I don’t remember my daddy leaving, but I do remember Mommy dying. I still cry about it sometimes, and I’d already finished high school when I lost her. Tyrone’s a lot younger, and he’s reacting to being afraid and to feeling guilty that she fell while he was there without Rizzie.”

“Jane, you’re right.” It’s not always easy for me to admit being wrong, but I knew Jane was dead-on about this. “I should have thought of all that myself. I’m afraid I was pretty rough with him.”

“Did you forget to kindergarten cuss?”

“Afraid I did,” I answered.

“He’ll get over it. Have you heard from Dr. Donald?” she asked.

“When he calls, I’ll tell you,” I answered, then corrected myself, “I should say
if
.” He hadn’t called for a couple of weeks after seeing me almost daily for a while. I’d begun telling her about dinner and dancing last night with Patel when call waiting beeped in.

I glanced at the phone and told Jane, “Gotta go.”

“Hello, this is Callie Parrish,” I answered without thinking. Kind of ridiculous to identify myself when someone calls me on my own cell phone.

“I’m glad. I’d hate to think the gorgeous lady I dined and danced with last night gave me a fake phone number.”

“Not me. I never lie.”
Liar, liar, pants on fire.

“I’ve got to hang around the fairgrounds tonight. Could I talk you into that corndog you thought I was inviting you for last night?”

“I really wish I could, but I’ll be baby-sitting.” I explained about Maum and my being responsible for Tyrone.

“You can bring him with you. I’ll give him passes to ride everything he wants, see all the shows, and eat everything offered at Mother Hubbard’s. He can even have a friend meet him out here, if he doesn’t want to hang with us. Most teenagers don’t want to do the fair with two adults.”

“I really don’t think so. We’ll probably stay at the hospital pretty late, hoping the heart doctors will okay Maum’s surgery.”

“If you change your mind, call and let me know. You’ve got my number on your cell now, right?”

“Yes.” His invitation sounded like fun, and I liked the fact that he was willing to include Tyrone, but it didn’t seem right to go have fun at the fair while Rizzie and Maum were at the hospital.

• • •

She was drunk. That’s the only word for it. Miss Nila Gorman was drunk as a skunk. That’s a ridiculous statement. I’ve never seen a skunk drink. Better would be, “Drunk as a punk.” I’ve seen a few drunk punks in my time, especially back when I was in college. I don’t see how the old lady didn’t pass out before she got that inebriated. A hot mess with hair sticking out in all directions and makeup smeared on her face, she staggered through the front door of Middleton’s to the recorded melody of “The Old Rugged Cross” and spotted the beautiful pink casket in Slumber Room A. Her slurred words rang out over the music.

“Oh, Nina,” she sobbed, “why couldn’t I have gone first? Why did you leave me? I can’t go on. I just can’t go on.” She reached the casket before I caught up with her, and I barely managed to keep her from grabbing her sister.

“Come now, Miss Gorman,” I said in Odell’s Undertaker 101 tone. “Let’s go back here and get you all fixed up.”

“She looks so pretty,” Miss Nila mumbled.

“Yes, she does, and you look just like her,” I agreed as I led her back to my office. I’d decided I would have to do Miss Nila’s hair and makeup there where I’d already put her clothes and the supplies I’d need. I’m not supposed to take anyone into my work room, but I wished I could lay her out on the table and let her sleep it off. I nudged Miss Nila to sit down in my office chair.

Now, I know as well as anyone else that coffee doesn’t really sober people, but I hoped it would at least help. I left her sitting there while I went to the kitchen. Forget about the dainty Wedewood china with silver coffee service on a tray. I poured a cup of black coffee into a mug and got out of the kitchen just in time to see Miss Nila Gorman staggering back toward Slumber Room A with a set of car keys dangling from her right hand.

“I’m taking you home, Nina. Gonna take you home with me,” she cried.

I couldn’t let her drive away in her condition, and I certainly couldn’t let her take her deceased sister out of the casket in any condition.

“Miss Gorman,” I said as I caught up with her, “don’t you want to come with me and let me do your hair and help you dress up just like your sister?” I set the coffee mug on a table and lifted the car keys from her hand. I gently took hold of the elderly lady. It would be just my luck for her to fall and hurt herself on my watch.

“No!” She was adamant. “I want to take Nina home and forget all about this place.”

“Now, you know Miss Nina’s friends and relatives are coming in a few hours to show their respect for Miss Nina. We need to get you prettied up.”

“Oh, that’s right. Show respect for my sister. Where’s the beauty parlor? I’ve gotta get ready.”

I led her back to my office and once more nudged her into the chair. She sat still, closed her eyes, and soon began snoring as I curled her hair on tiny rollers and misted it with super hold hair spray. I let it set while I manicured her nails and then tweezed the wiry white stray hairs from her eyebrows. Buh-leeve me. If I can tweeze someone’s brows and not wake that person up, she’s not sleeping. She’s either passed out or dead. I leaned over and listened. I could hear her breathing. Her sleeping didn’t bother me. I’m used to working on people who stay quiet and still.

At a quarter ’til six, I awoke Miss Gorman (Nila, not Nina) and coerced her into drinking two cups of coffee. I still didn’t believe it would sober her up, but I hoped the caffeine might help her look more alive than her sister. I helped Miss Nila into her dress and accessories and silently marveled at how clear-headed she seemed. But then, I had an idea that Miss Nila had lots of practice sobering up or at least pretending to since I now remembered that she’d been tipsy at my brother’s wedding shower.

“Amazing Grace” announced the first arrivals at the visitation. Less than thirty minutes after it began, Otis came in.

“Good job, Callie,” he said. “They look just alike.”

I didn’t know if that meant they both looked dead like Miss Nina or they both looked alive like Miss Nila, so I just thanked him for the compliment.

Otis smiled and added, “You can leave now, and I’ll see you in the morning.”

He didn’t have to tell me twice. I called Jane and told her I was headed to the hospital to check on Maum. “Do you need anything?”

“Nope,” she answered. “I’m thinking about cooking dinner, and I expect you and Tyrone to eat
here
when you leave the hospital, not at your dad’s.”

“Why would I eat at Daddy’s?”

“I was supposed to tell you that John showed up this morning, so your daddy’s cooking stew and playing music tonight. I told Frankie I’d rather stay home. I’m still not feeling good.”

“Then just send Frankie to Daddy’s. Why cook?”

“Because I want to, and that should be reason enough. I’m tired of people telling me what to do.”

Jane’s mention of food made me think Rizzie was probably hungry, so I decided to stop somewhere and pick up something for her.

• • •

Big black letters across the top of the
St. Mary News
in the newspaper dispenser at the Waffle House asked, “DO YOU KNOW THIS MAN?” I didn’t recognize the face, but I’d seen him before.

I dropped the necessary quarters into the coin slot, took out a newspaper, and read it while the cook prepared a pecan waffle to go. Rizzie loves waffles, and the Waffle House serves them, hot and freshly cooked, any time day or night.

Folks look different when they’re dead, but the man in the picture was deceased when I first saw him. The reason his face wasn’t familiar to me was because he’d been lying face-down at Mother Hubbard’s Beer Garden. The article told a lot that I already knew—when and where the body was found and that he’d been wearing a Middleton’s Midway jacket.

Thank heaven the paper didn’t say I was the one who found him. Sometimes I get more publicity than the Middletons or I want when I do something like finding a dead body or shooting someone. What I didn’t already know was that the medical examiner who’d performed the autopsy in Charleston said the decedent was between eighteen and twenty-three and had died of a gunshot wound in his back. He’d had no identification on him, and so far, law enforcement hadn’t located anyone who recognized him.

When the server gave me the bag with Rizzie’s waffle in its Styrofoam tray, I wished I’d ordered one for me, too. I hadn’t because I planned to either stop and eat after I picked up Tyrone or go to a drive-through on the way home. I put the bag on the back seat, hoping that would lessen the cake-like aroma and make me less tempted to go back and buy a waffle for myself before I reached Healing Heart Medical Center.

When James Brown started singing, I told myself aloud, “Change that
today!
” Though I expected the call to be from Rizzie, Jane, or Daddy, the voice on the line was Sheriff Wayne Harmon. I put my cell on speaker phone in case he asked me if I was driving while we talked.

“Callie, we have a problem that I need to tell Rizzie about, but I want to discuss it with you before I talk to her. How’s her grandmother?”

“Still waiting to have the hip replacement surgery. What do you want to talk to Rizzie about?”

“Her van. It seems that it didn’t catch fire because of damage to the engine. One of the firemen who put it out called and suggested I have it checked further. Said the more he thought about it, he figures it was arson.”

“Arson? Rizzie said she and Tyrone were sitting on the curb waiting for a tow truck when flames shot out.”

“I know, but when the fire marshall went to the garage and checked the van, he found evidence that someone threw a Molotov cocktail on the front seat.”