Casket Case (6 page)

As I handed Rizzie the money, I asked, “How’s your grandmother?”

“Oh, Maum’s about the same. Sometimes I worry that brother Tyrone and I spend so much time working here that Maum’s left alone in the house too much.”

“I’ll stop by and see her sometime. Take some red polish and give her a manicure.”

Rizzie laughed. “That would be great, but now she’s been watching television, and she wants to try some other color, maybe metallic blue.”

“We haven’t used that at the mortuary yet, so I don’t have any in my manicure kit, but I’ll pick some up and try it on your grandmother’s nails.”

I guided Jane back to the car. Rizzie followed us out. “Here,” she said and put another small bag on the floor behind the driver’s seat. “Can’t have a picnic without watermelon.” She laughed and said, “Ef oonah yent hab hawss fuh ride—ride pawnee.” I laughed, too. Rizzie had been around enough to know my brothers call my Mustang a pony. She’d said, “If you don’t have a horse to ride, ride a pony.”

It’s
impossible to carry on a conversation riding down the highway in a convertible with the top down. We headed down Highway 21 and cut over to the entrance to Hunting Island after a few minutes.

From the parking lot, we headed to the beach area, though from the smell of our food, I don’t think it would have taken much to talk both of us into eating in the car.

I carried the bag full of hot hush puppies, packets of Tabasco sauce, and succulent-smelling shrimp po’boys as well as the smaller bag with the melon. Jane brought our beach towel, and we each held a giant soda, Coke for me and Dr Pepper for Jane. The damp sand oozed through our toes as we walked barefoot to the edge of the waves.

Even sitting on the towel, water from the sand quickly wet our derrieres. Jane’s through the shorts she wore with a halter top. Mine all the way through my black work dress skirt tucked around my knees as well as my padded panties. The sky and water merged a rich medium blue, blurring the horizon. An occasional wispy white cloud floated above us, and the waves broke out in the ocean like white foam. I’ve seen pictures of beaches with beige, even dark brown sand. The sand here was the palest possible cream—almost pure white.

Both Jane and I have decent manners, but when it’s just the two of us, we don’t always use them. “Callie,” Jane said as she chewed a mouthful of shrimp, “you understand everything Rizzie says in Gullah. Why don’t you ever answer her in Gullah?”

I took a big swallow of Coke, then said, “I understand it better than I can speak it. Rizzie wouldn’t care if I mispronounced something, and the tourists wouldn’t know the difference, but some of the Gullah customers might think I was making fun of them.”

I chewed a delicious, oniony hush puppy—crispy on the outside, fluffy and tender on the inside.

“What about Dr. Melvin? Has the funeral been set yet? If you have to work at the service, do you think one of your brothers might take me?” Jane piled her questions one on top of the other, not giving me time to respond to one before she asked the next.

“I’ll be sure you get to his memorial, but I don’t know when it will be. Depends on when the autopsy is completed.”

“What do you think killed him?”

“Probably had a stroke or heart attack in the Jacuzzi.”

“The way you attract murder, I’m surprised you still don’t think that young wife of his killed him for his insurance money.” Jane grinned.

I confess that I probably blushed. Jane couldn’t see it, but she sensed my embarrassment. “Oh, I’m sorry, Callie,” she said. “I don’t mean you
attract
murder. I just meant you’ve gotten involved in several of them lately.”

“Let me tell you this,” I said. “If I ever have anything to do with another homicide, I’ll be a basket case, for sure.”

Jane laughed. “A basket case or a casket case?”

“Probably a casket case. Otis and Odell will be laying me out in one of our finest models.” Even in the June heat, I shivered when I said that. I had once been locked in a casket, and it wasn’t a pretty memory.

Apparently, Jane had the same thought and the same reaction. “Don’t even joke about that, Callie. You’re giving me the heebie jeebies.”

“Tell me about it. I don’t want to work on any more murder victims, nor get involved with their killers.”

Several minutes passed. We didn’t talk, just enjoyed the food. I hoped Rizzie’s restaurant became a smashing success because I could eat her cooking forever. Seagulls flew above us. I love to watch them. They seem to flap their wings more slowly than most birds when they fly.

“Want some watermelon?” I asked as I pulled the green sphere from the plastic bag.

“Not yet.”

“Jane,” I said. I folded my trash and stuffed it back into the plastic Piggly Wiggly bag. “Let’s talk about
you.
I know we usually spend time together at your place, but you’ve been to my apartment. The one next door is the exact floor plan in reverse, a mirror image. It hasn’t been rented in a good while because it needs repairs, but I don’t think there are any major problems. Could you look at it tomorrow if I can set it up with my landlady?”

“Sure.” Jane giggled. “I’ll be happy to go tomorrow, and you can tell the landlady that renovations for appearance aren’t important to me. I just want a safe place with all the appliances working.” She broke into a belly laugh, and added, “Especially the stove. I’m going to learn to cook as well as Rizzie.”

Now, Jane is no slack in the kitchen. She’s a far better cook than I will ever be and gives Rizzie a run for her money. They just cook different styles. Jane leans toward Italian and occasionally Mexican.

“I assure you, Jane, if you move in next door to me, you’ll have two ranges to cook on, because I don’t ever use mine!”

I stuffed our trash bag under the towel, then put the watermelon and shoes on the corners to keep the towel from blowing away. We took a walk along the edge of the water, letting the waves wash up over our toes. I felt like I could stay forever.

“I need to get home and see how my benne wafers turned out since they cooled,” Jane said. “Besides, I have to take a short nap before I start work.”

On the way back to our belongings, loud seagull squawking drew my attention again. Just as I looked up at the sky, I heard a sound I knew too well. The
crack
of a rifle shot. Both Jane and I jerked toward our left as a bleeding seagull landed about twenty feet away from us. I’d followed the falling bird visually. Jane must have been able to hear the thud when the bird hit the sand.

“Isn’t it against the law to hunt here?” she said.

“Not only is it against the law to hunt at this park, it’s illegal to shoot seagulls even during bird season.” I know these things because Daddy and my brothers all hunt, and I used to go with them.

Jane and I hurried toward the towel. We had both sat down to put on our shoes when the sound cut through the air again, with a simultaneous
splash!
Our watermelon exploded into pieces, splattering both of us with wet, red mush and scratching us with broken pieces of hard rind. I grabbed my shoes and snatched Jane’s wrist with my other hand. She already had her sandals on.

“Is someone shooting at
us
?” she squealed as we ran to the parking lot and jumped into the car.

“I don’t know. We’re just getting out of here!” I yelled as I cranked the car, threw it in gear, and took off.

We weren’t even out of the state park before it happened.

It
stopped. Dead still. The Mustang died smack in the middle of the road. The car had never given me a minute’s trouble except for regular maintenance like oil changes and occasional new tires. Now it just sat there.

The pony wouldn’t budge at all. Jane and I still had the jitters from the watermelon exploding all over us. The dead seagull upset me, but when the sniper hit the melon, the thought slid across my mind that the shot might have been directed at us, not necessarily to kill us, but to scare us. I wanted out of there right then.

I slammed my fists against the steering wheel and said, “Shhhh . . . oooot!”
Shame on me for what I almost said.

“Call a tow truck,” Jane suggested.

Buh-leeve me, I couldn’t afford a wrecker. I rang Daddy’s house on my cell phone. Since three of my five older brothers move in and out of the home place frequently, I guessed right—one of them answered.

“Hello.”

“Hey, this is Callie.”

“I know who you are. After all, you
are
my sister.

What’sa matter? You sound upset. Did you find another homicide victim?”

Among my problems was the fact that he’d recognized me, since I’m the only sister, but I wasn’t sure if the voice belonged to Bill or Frank. I took a guess.

“Bill, my car won’t start! It stopped right in the middle of the road!”

“Do you want me to tell Bill when I hear from him?”

“Okay, Frank. I’m sorry. You two sound alike. Where’s Bill?”

“Said he was meeting Molly. I think they’ve gone to register for wedding gifts.”

“Where’d they go?”

“Probably Wally World.” He laughed, then roared like his smarty-pants answer was hysterical because he was more sophisticated, less redneck than Bill. If Frank ever remarries, he’ll register someplace classy—like Target. At his first wedding reception, he insisted on potato chips with French onion dip.

“Can you come get us?” I asked.

“Where are you and who’s with you?”

“Jane’s with me, and we’re at Hunting Island State Park.”

“That’s where you two used to go when you cut classes in high school.”

So much for my big secret.

“Well,” I began, expecting him to say, “A well is a hole in the ground.” He said nothing. “Can you come pick us up?”

“What are you going to do about the car?” Frank asked.

“I was hoping you could get it to run,” I said.

“I’ll drive Pa’s truck, so I can tow the pony if we have to,” he suggested.

“Where’s Daddy?”

“He went fishing down at the pond. It’ll take me about half an hour to get to Hunting Island. No need for you and Jane to sit out there in a hot car. Go back to the beach. I’ll find you.”

“Oh, no,” I said, “we’re not going back to the beach. Someone’s shooting a gun down there.”

“Did you see the shooter?”

“No, but he was shooting seagulls and then he shot my melon.”

“He did
what
?”

“He shot our watermelon.”

“That’s what I thought you said.” He chuckled. “Well, just sit in the car or by the road until I get there.” He laughed even louder. “Did you call the law on the shooter?”

“No, but I will in a few minutes. I don’t know what to do about the car.”

“Just sit in the car. I’ll take care of it when I get there.”

“But Frank, the car is stopped in the center of the road.”

“You were driving down the middle?”

“No, you know what I mean. It’s in the driving lane.”

“Put it in neutral, then you and Jane push it over to the shoulder. Lean in and steer with your right hand. You’ve seen me do it.” I must have been more upset than I realized. I should’ve thought of doing that. Frank should not have had to give directions. At various times in my life, I’d seen Daddy and each of my brothers have to push cars and trucks because of dead batteries or other problems.

“Okay,” I agreed, then thought about the possibility that the shooter might have disabled my car. I’d read about men who would do that so a woman would be at their mercy when they stopped to “help.” “Frank, we’re going to the pier. Come get us from there. We’ll see you in half an hour or so.” When I explained to Jane, she agreed that leaving the car and waiting for Frank somewhere crowded with other people sounded like a good idea.

Jane and I managed to push the car over to the edge of the road and walked back to the pier. I called the Jade County Sheriff’s Department and reported the dead seagull and exploded watermelon. The dispatcher informed me that Hunting Island wasn’t in Jade County, but he’d relay the report to the proper authorities. Jane and I strolled out over the water and talked with some folks who were fishing. Nothing was biting.