Casket Case Read Free Page A

anything.”
    “You shouldn’t. He’s fresh, clean, and enclosed.”
    “What kind of casket is he in?” Jane shows interest in my work, but the truth is that my job is as repugnant to Jane as hers is to me. She calls herself a “conversationalist,” but to call a spade a flipping shovel, Jane is a telephone sex operator. She works nights on a 900 line as Roxanne. I don’t criticize this because it pays well and keeps her self-sufficient without relying on anyone for transportation.
    Buh-leeve me, I know who would be driving her to and from work if she had to go out to a job. Being Roxanne at night works because Jane was always a late-night person anyway and frequently talks until dawn.
    “He’s not in a casket,” I said.
    Jane’s nose crumpled into a disgusted wrinkle. “He’s just lying back there?”
    “No, he’s in a zippered body bag. You can’t see him.”
    Jane howled with laughter. “I couldn’t see him anyway.”
    When Jane and I first became friends, I was very self-conscious about using words related to sight. After a while, I realized that it didn’t matter to her. Her standard good-bye is, “See ya later.”
    “Did you say Dr. Melvin drowned?” Jane asked.
    “We don’t know for sure. His wife found him dead in their new hot tub. The coroner wants an autopsy to see if he drowned or died from a heart attack or stroke.” I paused. “Betcha didn’t know he has a young new wife. She’s got red hair like you.”
    “I didn’t know she has red hair, but I knew he married a young woman he met over the Internet after he retired.” Jane just amazes me. She would let me think she stays in her apartment and sleeps except when she talks to me or is on the phone as Roxanne, but she’s always a day ahead of me on gossip.
    “The Internet?” I asked.
    “Yep, he met her in a chat room and decided she’s the perfect woman for him regardless of the almost fifty years between them. According to what I heard, she grew up in a poor rural part of Georgia and has never had much. When she came to visit, she thought the Dawkins house was like a mansion.”
    “Did you know Dr. Melvin liked to bake?” I said.
    “He doesn’t, guess I should say didn’t , really like to bake. He wanted to win the Southern Belle Flour Baking Contest. The grand prize is half a million dollars. I’ve thought about sending in one of my recipes.”
    “You should. You’re a great cook!” My mind shifted back to Dr. Melvin. “So he needed money?” I asked.
    “I think he was comfortable, but he wanted to be able to do more for his bride.”
    “Do you think she might have drowned him?”
    “Oh, Callie, why do you always think that way? Stick to reading your mysteries. His new wife probably killed him, but I doubt she drowned him.” Jane giggled. She didn’t have to say what she was thinking. We’ve been friends so long that a lot of the time we know each other’s thoughts. To be polite about it, she was insinuating that Roselle “loved” him to death.
    After riding silently for about fifteen minutes, Jane asked, “Can we have breakfast on the way? I didn’t have supper, and I’m starving.”
    “I don’t think it’s a good idea to eat before we deliver Dr. Melvin to MUSC.”
    “To what?”
    “The Medical University of South Carolina, where the autopsies for Jade County are performed.”
    “Oh, I should have remembered that, but why can’t we eat first?”
    “We need to get Dr. Melvin into refrigeration as soon as possible because he hasn’t been embalmed.” Besides, I thought, it seems disrespectful to leave Dr. Melvin in the parking lot while we eat. What if someone stole him out of the funeral coach?
    Jane didn’t answer. She was pouting. I could tell because she sat up straight and pressed her lips together. Her silence was probably because she hates to think about body preparation and the other aspects of the mortuary business just as much as I hate to think of her sitting up all night talking dirty