Fran Rizer - Callie Parrish 06 - A Corpse Under the Christmas Tree (13 page)

I believe in the Bible, and I was brought up attending Sunday School and church every weekend. I don’t believe I could do my job at Middleton’s and be around so many people who’ve passed away if I didn’t believe in an afterlife and that the people I cosmetize are just shells that I work on to present good memories to their loved ones until they see them again. That said, I confess that I don’t go to church as often as I should. Daddy scolds me about that, but I just can’t get back in the habit. He also thinks I should be teaching Sunday School, but I was tired of teaching before I changed occupations from kindergarten teacher to mortuary cosmetician.

Big Boy had eaten better that morning. I’m aware I’m not supposed to feed him people food, and most times I don’t except for his banana MoonPies, but I’d cooked grits and scrambled eggs right after I got out of bed. On the farm, Daddy never let us feed the animals eggs because he claimed a dog that ate eggs would get into the chicken coop. Personally, I don’t think my dog is smart enough to make the connection between scrambled eggs with cheese grits and a raw egg in the hen house. He’d eaten better, but now he lay on his rug like he was exhausted.

After the television channel discontinued
Six Feet Under,
I bought every season on DVDs from the Target store. I figured Jane had been Roxanne all night and would sleep late, so I snuggled up in a blanket on the couch and started watching my favorite episode. I’ve seen those shows so many times that I know every spoken word, but a knock on my back door irritated me. I looked down at my old flannel nightgown and called through the door, “Who is it?”

“Wayne Harmon.”

“Hold on. I’m not dressed yet. Let me get a robe.”

I was back in just a few minutes and opened the door.

“Don’t you
ever
tell a man at your door that you’re not clothed,” he scolded.

“But the door was locked, and it was
you
,” I argued.

“Doesn’t matter if the door’s closed. Some men would knock your door down to get to a nude woman.”

“I wasn’t naked. I had on my gown, just not a robe. Besides, it was
you
!”

“And I would never hurt you, but it’s not a good idea to say that even to men you know.” He looked down at Big Boy. “What’s wrong with your dog?”

“He doesn’t feel good. He goes back to the vet Tuesday, but I’m going to call her. I was drinking a Diet Coke. Want me to make a pot of coffee?”

“No, I’ve had plenty of caffeine already this morning. How was your date?”

“He’s nice, and no, I didn’t even kiss him goodnight.” I didn’t bother to tell him I’d been tempted, but Dean Robinson hadn’t even tried for first base.

“Want to ride back over to Amber Buchanan’s house with me?”

“Why?”

“I’ve got a warrant now for a thorough search, and I thought you might take a look around with me—see if you spot anything unusual from your feminine point of view.”

I laughed. “I didn’t see anything unusual before except that she’s a danged sight better housekeeper than I am and she must have more Christmas decorations than Wally’s World.”

“Need to talk to you about something else, too. I’ll tell you about it on the way. I’ve got Jane’s cookie tin in my car. I’ll run it over there while you get dressed.”

“Just leave it here. She worked late last night and is probably still asleep.”

• • •

“You’re going to
deputize
me?” I couldn’t have been more shocked.

“I want you to go inside with me on this warrant, and to keep it legal, you need to be deputized. I don’t do this every day, but I’ve done it before for special services for the department. I’ll do it when we get to Amber Buchanan’s apartment.

Being deputized was an exciting idea, but it really didn’t amount to much. It’s not like I’d have a uniform or anything. We stood on Amber’s porch. Wayne asked me a few questions, and then told me I was now a temporary deputy with the Jade County Sheriff’s Department.

“Do I get a badge?” I asked.

“I assumed you’d want one, but you have to give it back when you’re no longer a legal deputy.” He handed me a shiny Jade County badge. I pushed my jacket aside and pinned it to my shirt.

I grinned. “I just wanted to have one, even if it’s only for a day. Will you take my picture with my cell phone?”

“Give me your telephone.”

I took it out of my bra and handed it to him. Wayne rubbed the phone and smiled. “It’s very warm.”

I ignored him, held my jacket aside, and smiled for my picture wearing a badge. He handed back the phone and I checked the photo. I liked it. Might even use it on next year’s Christmas card. This year’s card was of Big Boy standing with me, front paws on my shoulders.

“If you agree, you’ll be a deputy for more than just one day.” Wayne unlocked the door and held it open for me.

“What do you want me to do?”

He handed me a pair of latex gloves from his pocket. “We’re looking for anything that seems odd because something unusual in here could be associated with her homicide. You’re a fine amateur sleuth, and I want a female vision on this.”

We began in the bedroom, and I felt guilty looking through Amber Buchanan’s personal belongings. One thing for sure—she didn’t shop at Victoria’s Secret. Her undergarments were what I’d expect to find in an old lady’s drawers. I don’t mean drawers like underpants. I’m talking about the storage areas of her dresser. No bikinis or thongs, and even the word “panties” was too feminine and racy for her belongings.

I was carefully refolding clothing as I put it back, but Wayne said, “You don’t have to do that. People expect things to get messed up when their places are searched.”

“It seems disrespectful, especially with her being dead.”

“I’ll finish in here. You begin the kitchen.”

Amber Buchanan’s kitchen was decorated for Christmas with garlands suspended from the ceiling and several live poinsettias on countertops. Tiny wreaths on each cabinet door. A bouquet of mistletoe and ribbons hung from the overhead light fixture. Figurines of a kissing Mr. and Mrs. Santa Claus and a holly-shaped spoon rest on the stove top. A miniature Christmas tree centered the table. Not a ceramic one like Jane’s, Amber’s was made of artificial greenery and decorated with miniature red bows. At some time, Amber or someone close to her must have been into ceramics though because little ceramic Christmas doo-dads were everywhere.

Opening the cabinets, I found that her cooking utensils were as orderly as the rest of her home. Every knife, fork, and spoon was in the correct compartment of her flatware drawer. I gave up on that at my place long ago and threw my divided holder away. I just dump everything into the drawer and pick through them when I want something.

I didn’t see anything unusual among the tidy stacks of dishes or pots either. Wayne came in and watched me peeking in the cabinets and refrigerator.

“Nothing here,” I told him as I opened more cabinet doors with boxes lined up neatly. Some had been opened, but the tops were sealed back with masking tape.

“You won’t know that until you sift through whatever’s in those boxes. Does she have ice trays in the freezer?”

“She has an ice maker.” I opened the top refrigerator door and pointed.

“I didn’t ask that. I questioned whether she has ice trays. Lots of people hide things in them, then fill them with water, thinking the police won’t have enough sense to defrost the ice cubes.”

“No ice trays.”

“Now I want you to find her colander or strainer and sift that pancake mix and anything else that’s been opened.”

“Can I throw away the mix after I sift it?”

“No, sift it into a container and when you finish, put it back in the box or bag it came in. Check anything that’s not in a sealed can even if it doesn’t appear to have been opened. It’s doubtful, but as sure as we throw anything away, the pathology report will come back showing some kind of poison and I’ll want to have everything here analyzed.”

I looked inside another cabinet filled with stacked canned goods as well as more boxes and bags carefully lined up side by side and asked, “Are you going to help me?”

“Not right now. I had her car towed in, but it puzzles me why she had it parked in the driveway when she has a garage. I’m going to check out that garage. I’ll be back in here soon.”

Sometimes I’m more than curious. I’m downright nosy, but sifting dry goods through colanders and then pouring the contents back into their original containers fast became boring. It also became untidy with tiny spills of cornmeal, cake mix, and coffee spattered on the table where I’d begun working. They clung to the Christmas tree centerpiece like a dusting of snow. Using a funnel I’d found among Amber Buchanan’s pots and pans helped get the goods back into their containers, but I still made a mess

Duh!
I moved the entire operation to the kitchen sink which made cleanliness much easier.
Why didn’t I think of that when I started?
After I completed each bag or box, I used the spray attachment to wash away my spills.

“Having fun?” Wayne asked when he returned.

“Not really. This is too much like cooking.”

He laughed. “I saw why the car was parked in the drive. She used the garage for storage with lots of boxes neatly stacked and labeled. About a dozen empty storage bins are marked “Christmas.”

I waved my arm around to encompass the entire kitchen. “She has more Christmas decorations in this one room than Jane and I have in both of our apartments combined.”

“It’s that way all over. She even has a Christmas tree in the bathroom. I don’t mean something ceramic or artificial on the countertop, she’s got a live tree decorated in there. I barely had room to stand.”

My turn to laugh. “Don’t tell me you contaminated the scene.”

“No comment to that silly suggestion. Are you finished?”

“Everything except those canisters.” I pointed to four ceramic reindeer of varying sizes lined up from big to small across the back of the counter beside three tall clear-glass cylinders.”

“What are you going to do with them?”

“Empty and sift just like you told me. The reindeer are Christmas canisters. We’ll have to see if she filled them or just put them out for decoration.”

The smallest reindeer was full of tea bags. No problem. Emptied them on the countertop, looked through to be sure there was nothing hidden, then gathered them up and stuffed them back in. A delicious aroma of cinnamon and nutmeg floated up to my face when I opened the second. Some blend of Christmas coffee. I wished I could brew a pot right then, but Wayne would never have agreed to that. I sifted the coffee out, then funneled it back. Third and fourth reindeer were full of sugar and flour. Nothing else.

The only thing left was the set of three tall glass cylinder canisters with clamp lids. Since the glass was clear, I could see what each contained—grits, rice, and little dry elbow macaroni. Same old routine with the rice. The macaroni wouldn’t go through the strainer, so I poured it into a large bowl and went through it with my fingers.

When I poured the grits into the colander, I heard a clinking sound. “Wayne,” I called. I poked my fingers around in the grits that hadn’t gone through the tiny openings, and then I screamed, “Come here!”

I held up a miniature plastic bag. No more than an inch and a half square and sealed with tape as well as the zipping mechanism, the transparent sack gave me a good view of what was in it—rings! Either diamonds and emeralds or cubic zirconium and fakes.

Wayne took the little container from me with a pair of tweezers.

“Are we going to open it?” I asked, eager for a better look.

“No,” the sheriff said and dropped the tiny bag into an evidence envelope. “Forensics will dust and examine the outside before it’s opened.” He grinned. “You took me at my word that we wouldn’t be leaving this place as immaculate as we found it.”

“I tried to be as neat as possible. Are we doing anything else?”

“No, I’m ready to go. Amber’s husband, Randy Buchanan, is incarcerated for armed robbery of a jewelry store. He swore in court that he’d given her some rings from the robbery, but she testified he was lying. I’ve considered that one of Randy’s friends or enemies murdered Amber because she wouldn’t tell where the rings were. You can figure from what we did to this place searching it that no one’s been in here rummaging through Amber’s belongings and left it as neat as we found it. Of course, someone could have questioned her about the jewelry and killed her accidentally. That might have scared the perp too much to search the house. ”

As we got into Wayne’s cruiser, I asked, “Am I finished being a deputy?”

“Nope. Naomi Spires is in Safe Sister. Last week, her husband Norman Spires, got into a confrontation with Amber Buchanan. He became combative, shoved Amber, and she pressed charges for assault. He’s out on bail, but we can’t find him. I sent a female deputy in to talk to Mrs. Spires, but the woman won’t say a word. She’s scared to talk to law enforcement.”

“What does that have to do with me?”

“You know all about makeup and you’re always poking your nose into places it doesn’t belong. I want you to make yourself up to look like somebody trounced you. Black eyes, bruises—you’ll know how to do it. We’re admitting you to Safe Sister and you’ll be Naomi Spires’s roommate. Your assignment is to get her to talk. We want to know where her husband might be and if she thinks he might have killed Amber Buchanan.”