Casket Case (7 page)

“Hey, Jane,” I heard my brother shout. We met him at the steps to the pier. Frank is the youngest boy, only two years older than I am. He’d not only made it to the beach from Daddy’s house in record time, he must have showered and changed before he came. He wore a spiffy black T-shirt with “Mama Said” printed on the chest in large white letters and “Americana Music” under it in smaller print. His jeans were cleaner than usual.

“Hi, Jane,” he said as though I were invisible. “I saw the Mustang on the way in. I think the best thing is for me to hook it up to Pa’s truck and tow it to the house. For the car to stop like Callie said, it’s probably got a broken belt, and I don’t have a replacement with me.”

Daddy’s truck is a Ford F-350 diesel with a rear seat that he uses for storage. In other words, it stays full of “stuff.” Frank held the door for me to climb in the back, then assisted Jane to the front seat like a gentleman.

Of my five brothers, the only one who is consistently mannerly is my oldest. John is thirteen years older than I am, and he was as socially unacceptable as the others until he married Miriam. She trained him well, and now he’s a sweetheart, living in Atlanta, working for her rich father.

“How have you been, Jane?” Frank asked as we rode.

“Not as well as I’d like,” she said.

“What’s wrong?”

“Pearl White is selling her property. I have to move, and I don’t have the money to hire a moving company, plus it will be difficult to pack my things so that I can put everything where it belongs in the new place. Besides, the woman buying the property is already a real pain and I want out of there as soon as possible.”

“Got any idea where you’ll be moving?” Frank asked. Then, without giving her a chance to respond, he offered, “I’m sure Pa would let you stay with us if you need some place.”

Puh-leeze. Jane’s been my friend for years. She’s been in and out of Daddy’s house thousands of times and knows all my brothers. As a child, she loved coming home with me, but there’s no way she’d ever stay with the Parrish men now that we’re all grown.

“If Jane needs somewhere, she can stay with me,” I said.

“But it was sweet of you to offer, Frank,” Jane cooed, just like a Magnolia Mouth. She leaned over toward him and breathed, “
Ooooh
, you smell
so
good.” At times in the past, I’d wondered if Frank might have a crush on Jane. It sounded like she knew he did. Then again, she may have been practicing her Roxanne on that last sentence.

Anxiety. It struck me like that bullet hit the watermelon. What if some thief had disabled the Mustang to make Jane and me get out of the way, leaving my car to be stolen? That fear didn’t last long.

There was the blue pony, right on the side of the road where Jane and I left it. We stopped in front of it, and Frank had it chained to Pa’s truck in no time. He drove out of the park and back up Highway 21. When he turned, I realized that he was headed to Daddy’s, not to Jane’s or my place.

“Jane needs to go home and get some sleep,” I said.

“I won’t be long, just want to unhook the Mustang and leave it in the yard. Then I’ll drive you girls home.”

The driveway up to Daddy’s house is classic Low Country. Old live oak trees line both sides of the dirt road, and their curved branches create an arch over it. Spanish moss drapes from the branches, veiling the house, which is fortunate because no one wants to see the Parrish house until it’s unavoidable.

At the end of the road is the ugliest house in St. Mary. It’s my home place. The building has dark gray shingles that were on sale, and the trim, including the front porch, is painted black. I grew up thinking I lived in the Addams Family or Munster house.

Through the years, I’ve described the house to Jane, but since she lived most of her childhood at a home for the blind, then spent her teenaged years as an only child with a single mom in an apartment, Jane used to love hanging out at Daddy’s house with all the hustle and bustle of six kids. I think she also loves my daddy, who looks like a sixty-something-year-old Larry the Cable Guy and acts like him, too.

While Frank unhooked the car, Jane and I went inside to use the restroom. Bill was there, sitting at the computer, and he jumped up in surprise when we opened the front door. I wondered if he’d been visiting some sites he didn’t want me to see.

“Thought you’d gone to register wedding gifts,” I said as Jane headed into the bathroom.

“I did. Now I’m back,” he answered.

“Where’s Molly?”

“Took her home. She’s got to take care of her new litter of pups.” Bill’s fiancée bred and sold poodles. My own dog, Big Boy, came from Molly. Someone traded her a Great Dane puppy for a miniature poodle. When Molly couldn’t sell him, she gave him to Bill to give to me. There’d been a time that she threatened to take Big Boy back, but everything was cool now.

Jane came into the living room, and I took her place in the restroom. That Coke had been
enormous
.

“Callie almost caught me printing out the banner,” I heard Bill whisper to Jane. “Do you think she knows anything about it?”

“No,” Jane replied softly, “we’ve been together all afternoon. If she had any idea, she’d have said something.”

I was ready to flush, but I wanted to keep listening. When anyone whispers, it always piques my curiosity. What kind of secret did my friend have with my brothers? Could it have anything to do with my birthday Saturday? Daddy never celebrated the day of my birth because it’s also the day my mother died, but my brothers have been known to buy gifts and even a cake. I waited, snooping, until I heard Frank’s voice and the sound of the front door closing.

“Did you pick out any good tools or fishing equipment?” Frank asked.

“Nah, just dishes and trash cans and shower curtains and towels and bed linens. Not one thing for me.” Bill wasn’t too enthusiastic.

“Why didn’t you insist?”

“Molly’s not totally over being mad about me spending time with Lucy. I’m not doing anything to rock the boat.”

“When’s the wedding?” Jane asked.

“October,” Bill said.

“Where’s Callie?” Frank questioned.

“John,” said Bill.

“Is John here?” Jane questioned.

“No, I mean Callie’s in the john. You know, the bathroom.”

“Oh, the loo.”

I headed out before they started naming all the slang words they could think of for the necessary room.

Bill decided to come along with Frank to take Jane and me home. Frank made him sit in back with me, mumbling something about it being hard for Jane to get in the backseat.

Ex-cuuze me. Jane can climb in and out of any place I can. Frank definitely had a crush on Jane. She couldn’t see the expression on his face when he looked at her, but I did.

When we pulled around Pearl’s house to Jane’s garage apartment in the rear, I looked for the gray Lincoln Town Car. No sign of it. No Ms. Lucas on the premises. No other vehicles. Pearl and her boyfriend weren’t there either.

Frank and Bill walked Jane up the steps to her apartment.

“Come in and taste my benne wafers,” Jane said. We followed her in and each had a cookie.

“You could win with these,” I said and licked the crumbs from my fingers.

“Sure could,” Bill assured Jane.

As we were leaving, just before Jane closed the door behind us, I heard Frank tell her, “When you get ready, I’ll rent a big truck and move you.”

On the way to my place, Bill asked a question I found awkward. “Jane said she has to sleep so she can work all night. She’s a telemarketer, right? What does she sell at night?”

I’d never told Daddy and The Boys exactly what Jane did on the telephone, and I couldn’t think of a thing that made sense.

“Uh, she sells products to people who work at night.”

“If they work at night, how do they answer their home phone, and how does she know who works at night?” Bill said.

I hate to lie, positively hate it, but I mumbled, “The supplier gives her numbers of people to call and she calls them at work.”

It was a flimsy answer, but I didn’t want The Boys to think less of Jane, and I didn’t want them excited about her job either. “The Boys” is a collective name I use for my brothers, with a capital T and capital B. I call them that because I doubt they’ll ever grow up and act like adults, although John has improved considerably since his marriage.

“I think,” Bill said, “that you’re trying to say she doesn’t make cold calls.”

I pretend-coughed to cover up my laugh. “No,” I said, “Jane doesn’t make cold calls.”

My duplex has a common porch across the front with a door into each apartment. I live on the right side. There are two driveways, one on each side of the building. Bill and Frank both came in with me. Big Boy was excited to have three people to pet him, but he was in a hurry to get outside. He brought his leash from the doorknob to me, but Bill clipped it on and took him out.

Frank made himself at home in the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator and brought back two Coronas and a canned Coke. He popped the top off the Coke and handed it to me, set one beer on the coffee table, and opened the other. He took a long pull from it.

“I didn’t see any lemons or limes in the fridge,” he said.

“That’s because I don’t have any.” I drank some Coke from the can. “What if I wanted beer instead of cola?” I asked.

“You don’t need to drink beer,” Frank said, sounding exactly like our father.

There had been five Coronas in the fridge. It was easier to drink the soda and wait to have a beer after they left than to argue with him. I’m over thirty, been married and divorced, but Daddy and The Boys don’t think I’m old enough to drink. If Jane had been with us, he would have brought her a beer, but not me. Good grief! I’m three months older than Jane. Thank heaven I don’t have to live with my daddy and brothers.

Bill brought Big Boy back in, and we sat on the couch, each of us taking turns rubbing his belly and scratching behind his ears. Big Boy’s ears and belly, not Bill’s. I’d known that Great Danes grow big when I got Big Boy as a pup, but my vet says that my dog is one of the largest Great Danes she’s ever seen.

When Bill and Frank finished their Coronas, Frank headed toward the kitchen. I heard the fridge open and called, “Don’t drink any more of my beers unless you plan to go to the store and replace them before you go home.”

“What do you buy them for if not for us?” Bill asked.

“For me and my friends.”

“You don’t need to be drinking beer,” he said.

“Come on, Bill,” Frank said as he headed to the front door. “Let’s go home and fix Callie’s car.” He turned to me. “I’ll call you when I know what’s wrong.” He grinned sheepishly. “I offered to help Jane move. Don’t let her forget, okay?”

I assured him all help would be appreciated and mentally thanked him for reminding me to call my landlady. She readily agreed to show Jane the apartment. I explained that I’d have to see about getting my car back or renting one before I could set a time.

“No problem,” she said. “Why don’t I just drop the keys off to you this evening? You can show it to your friend at your convenience. Call and let me know what she thinks. If she’s willing to take it as is, the rent will be a hundred less a month than yours. If she wants carpet and the walls painted, it will be a hundred dollars a month more than yours.”

The day had been long. I filled my tub with rose-scented bath oil and rummaged through my books until I found a Sherlock Holmes collection. I have many favorite modern mystery writers, but sometimes, I’m just in the mood for classics. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle fills that need. I dropped my clothes on the floor and stepped into the tub. The water was perfect. I slid into the bath until only my face and hands were out of the water. I was barely into the story when the doorbell rang.

Dalmation!
I considered ignoring whoever was there until I realized it was probably my landlady and if she thought I wasn’t home, she might use her key to come in. She might even need to use the bathroom and walk in on me lying naked in the tub reading a book instead of answering the bell. I climbed from the tub and slipped on my terry cloth robe. I had some satin and silk robes when I was married to Donnie, but for comfort, terry cloth is tops.

I tied the sash and opened the front door without peeking through the peephole. Levi Pinckney stood on my porch. Exuding testosterone in all directions, he leaned against the corner column with a box in his hand. “Nate’s Sports and Subs” was printed on the carton.

“Pardon me,” he said in that smooth Charleston accent of his. “I’m looking for 1450 Oak Street, but most of these houses don’t have numbers on them, and I can’t find it.”

“This is 1440 Oak.” I closed the robe more tightly. “Fourteen fifty is on the next block.”

“Oh.” Those dark eyes lit up and sparkled. “I’m sorry I interrupted you.” He backed down the step. “I know it sounds trite, but don’t I know you from somewhere?”

“I saw you early this morning at the Dawkins home. I’m surprised you’re not with Mrs. Dawkins this evening.”

“You’re the girl who brought the hearse, aren’t you?”

“No, I’m the
woman
who drove the
funeral coach
when Mrs. Dawkins called me.”

“Roselle didn’t want me around tonight. I’m working part-time for Nate’s Sports and Subs. The delivery guy didn’t show up, so I’m filling in for him.”

I’m nosy. I promise I try not to be, but bottom line is that I am a nosy and catty female. “Are you Roselle’s ex-husband or boyfriend?” I asked.

He laughed—a full, rich roar. “Not at all. Roselle is my half sister. She found me on the Internet several months ago when our father died, and we were getting to know each other when she got foolish and married an old geezer three times her age after she’d only known him a few weeks.”

“But she virtually accused you of stalking her.”