Casket Case Read Free

I asked Mrs. Dawkins.
    “Sure,” she answered. “I’m going in myself to get dressed. I know I won’t be able to sleep any more tonight, and it’s cooler out of the water than it was in the tub. I don’t want to catch ammonia.”
    I did a quick double take at the woman’s fear of catching “ammonia” in the June heat of the southern coast, then returned to the rooster kitchen of baked goods and vitamins to dial my friend Jane’s number.
    “What do you mean calling me before sunrise?” she demanded. “Roxanne’s on the other line.”
    “Dr. Melvin died. I’m taking him to Charleston. By the time I get there, deliver him, and have breakfast, I won’t have to wait too long for Victoria’s Secret to open. I’m going shopping.”
    “What about the funeral home?”
    “Otis and Odell are already scheduled to open this morning. We don’t have any clients right now, and the mortuary phone is forwarded to my cell. I’m not due in until four this afternoon.” Mental note : Go by my apartment and pick up the cell phone before leaving town.
    “Roxanne will speed up. Can I go?”
    “If you’ll behave.”
    “I’ll try.”

Chapter Two

    Dalmation! I’d gone by my apartment, taken my Great Dane dog, Big Boy, out for his morning business, and showered. I changed from the black dress I’d worn to the Dawkins house into fresh jeans and a tank top with an inflated bra, then climbed in the hearse and headed toward my friend Jane’s. Why can’t I remember to call the hearse by its proper name—the funeral coach?
    Almost to Jane’s, I thought about the cell phone. After checking for any calls I’d missed while gone, I’d used my landline phone to call the mortuary number and leave a message for the Middletons. I’d explained about Dr. Melvin’s death and that I was taking him to Charleston for a postmortem exam. That had been efficient. Leaving the cell phone on the coffee table again hadn’t been. I needed the telephone with me until Otis and Odell opened the mortuary and transferred calls back to the business line. I was fortunate that another call hadn’t come in while I was at the Dawkins house, not even realizing the business calls were going to the cell phone in my apartment with nobody there to answer. The mortuary telephone was supposed to be answered immediately twenty-four/seven. That was one of Middleton’s rules.
    I finally reached Jane’s apartment after detouring back by my place for the cell phone and rubbing behind the ears of my joyful dog, who was happy to see me, but mad when I left again. No telling what Big Boy would do while I was gone. That dog throws temper tantrums like a five-year-old child.
    Jane was standing at the top of the steep stairway up to her garage apartment. Usually, she would have started down when I turned into the drive. Born blind, Jane recognizes the sounds of her friends’ cars, but since I was driving the funeral coach, she wasn’t sure it was me until I called out to her.
    “Hey, Jane, come on down,” I yelled.
    “Oh, that is you, Callie. I wasn’t sure since you’re not driving the Mustang,” Jane said as she walked toward me. I got out, stepped around, and opened the door for her. As usual, Jane wore vintage sixties clothing—a crinkly lavender dress with a low neckline. She’d inherited her mother’s hippie wardrobe after her mom’s death following our senior year of high school. Somehow, the clothes appeared current on her with her long, straight red hair hanging down to her waist. She wore a wide-brimmed hat with a clutch of purple violets at the band and new sunglasses with deep lavender lenses.
    When I was back in the driver’s seat and we were both buckled in, Jane asked, “Are we in the hearse?”
    I didn’t even bother to correct her that we call it a funeral coach. Just mumbled an affirmative, “Uh-huh.”
    “Is Dr. Melvin in the back?” she asked as I pulled onto the highway.
    “Yes,” I said.
    “I don’t smell