TheCart Before the Corpse (20 page)

Wednesday evening

Merry

Peggy dropped by the apartment about five with a bottle of good sherry and a plate of room-temperature Brie and crackers “Thought we might have a drink on your patio since the weather’s so nice,” she said. “We’re supposed to have rain the next two days.”

Perfect weather for an outdoor funeral.

“Have you lined up the pallbearers yet?” she asked after she’d handed me a glass of sherry and settled herself in the chaise longue.

“I can’t think of a soul except Jacob Yoder. Do we really have to have pallbearers for a graveside service?”

“Don’t see why. They usually follow the coffin from the church to the hearse. The funeral home will have it all set up at the graveside before we get there.”

I closed my eyes. “I’ll call Mr. Straley first thing tomorrow morning and nix the pallbearers.”

“What are you wearing?” Peggy asked.

I sat up and stared at her with my mouth open.

“Uh-oh,” she said.

I had brought no skirts, just jeans and one good pair of gray slacks. Somehow muddy paddock boots didn’t seem quite the thing to wear at a funeral. Since I’d come from a horse show, I didn’t even have a pair of pantyhose, and I certainly didn’t have a pair of black pumps with me.

“Tomorrow morning, we’ll go to Bigelow,” Peggy said. “We should be able to find you a decent black dress and some inexpensive black shoes.”

Some women, no, a
lot
of women enjoy shopping. I am not one of them. I have charge accounts at four on-line tack shops. What I can’t buy from Dover or Stateline, I buy from Meador or Dressage Extensions. I shop online from Land’s End or L. L. Bean. I did have a couple of decent black dresses, but they were hanging in my closet in Kentucky. Even if I could trust the super of my townhouse complex to find the right dress, I didn’t even have time for FedEx Overnight. I didn’t have a single friend in Lexington I could call on. Nobody except my condo manager had a spare key.

“I can’t keep imposing on you like this,” I said.

“So you’ll know where to shop and how to find the stores by yourself?” she said. “You’re not imposing. Call this my payback to Hiram for not finding him before some maniac killed him.”

“If you’d walked in on it, your daughter and I might be planning a funeral for two parents instead of one.”

“Marilee would be very angry at me if I got myself killed,” Peggy said. So far as I could tell, she was dead serious, no pun intended.

*

April is not the best time to find a plain black daytime dress, but we managed at the third specialty shop. It cost more than I would have liked, but it would do later for exhibitors’ parties. I also found a pair of inexpensive black pumps that didn’t have five-inch heels. How on earth can women walk in those things? I tried on a couple of pairs and nearly fell flat on my nose. The little Chinese ladies with their bound feet couldn’t have been much more uncomfortable.

I bought three pairs of black pantyhose at the same store. I’d be bound to snag a run in one when I put them on. The second pair would get me to the funeral, then I’d snag them. I’d keep the third pair in my handbag to change into before the reception. If I ran true to form, I’d have to toss all three pairs into the trash the minute I walked in the apartment door. Pantyhose and I do not get along.

I sincerely hoped the black dress wouldn’t see any more funerals in the near future. We stopped by the funeral home to make certain that Hiram’s body had arrived from the morgue, to give Mr. Straley the items we had selected for his burial. His eyebrows went up almost to his receding hairline when I handed him Hiram’s carriage whip and top hat.

“I was under the impression that you wished a closed coffin, Mrs. Abbott,” he said. He took the hat, but merely stared at the whip.

“That’s right, but I don’t want him to spend eternity underdressed.”

“He will be wearing the suit you selected.”

“Hiram needs his top hat and his whip. Be glad I didn’t bring his brown driving gloves and his top boots.”

“Oh, I am,” he breathed. “Would you like to inspect the viewing room, Mrs. Abbott? Your father is already in place, but of course we will make the, ah, adjustments you have requested. I hope you approve of the casket. It’s not too late to upgrade, you know.”

I didn’t even want to think of what this mid-range coffin and the lead-lined vault would cost. Seeing it and knowing that Hiram was in it was the last thing I wanted, but I felt as though I had to.

I was surprised there were several flower arrangements around the room. Avoiding looking at the big brown oblong box that sat in the corner, I checked the cards from the arrangements.

“Should I send flowers?” I asked Peggy.

She shook her head. “Here’s one from Ida.”

Beautiful roses. A wonderful dark red that was nearly blue. Not at all funerally. I appreciated that.

“The garden club sent spring flowers. Well, they would, wouldn’t they?” Peggy said.

“Peggy, you sent flowers?” I asked. I showed her the card. “You’ve done so much already. He did love yellow roses.”

Peggy sniffled. “I know. He really was a sweet man, you know.”

Sure he was, to his clients and his women.

*

As we walked back toward the foyer, Mr. Straley said, “The funeral ladies will be here at ten tomorrow morning to set up for the reception after the interment.”

“Funeral ladies?” I asked.

“Oh, yes. The same group of ladies has done all our in-house receptions for many years. Since you will not be having a sit down luncheon buffet, they will provide assorted hors d’oeuvres, deviled eggs, finger sandwiches, desserts, coffee, tea, and fruit punch. Since you did not stipulate, we decided not to offer wine, but we can, of course, include white or red or both. There’s still time to make arrangements.”

Behind him, Peggy shook her head and mouthed, “No wine.”

“So long as the fruit punch isn’t that nasty stuff with lime sherbet,” I said.

“Certainly not,” Mr. huffed. “The punch will be light and not too sweet.”

“And not pink,” Peggy said.

He glanced at her. “Very well. Not pink. Nor green, it would seem. Would pale yellow be acceptable?”

I could just see the funeral ladies ladling out cups of urine-colored punch. “I’m happy with pink,” I said. “So long as it’s pale pink.” Cups of blood didn’t seem appropriate either.

“We will open the room for viewing at six this evening if that is convenient,” he said. “We generally close at ten, but arrangements can be made to stay open longer if you prefer.”

“God no!” I caught my breath. With luck nobody would show up this evening. Then I’d have only four hours alone to commune with my father’s casket in the corner. Could I possibly sneak a book in? Otherwise, what would I do? Any chat would be one-sided and not to be overheard by Mr. Straley or his minions.

“She means four hours will be ample,” Peggy said.

“Of course. Now, I’ll have one of my assistants drive you up to show you the plot you selected on the site map for your father’s eternal resting place. It lies at the top of a gentle rise. The view, especially at this time of the year when the azaleas are in bloom, is quite lovely.”

“I’m sure he’ll enjoy it.” I mentally kicked Chuckles in the crotch and hoped he’d double over in pain.

Mr. Straley knew darned well he was being got, but he was really, really good at this. He never cracked a smile. “If you prefer, we can return to my office and I can give you the virtual video tour.”

Chuckles was recovering fast. I didn’t dare look at Peggy.

“Thank you,” she said, “That won’t be necessary.” She grabbed my arm and began to pull me toward the front door.

“You have to know where the service is being held.” I could hear an edge of desperation creeping into his voice.

“We’ll follow the hearse,” she said as we bolted.

We dove into her car and spun rubber getting out of the parking lot. I was afraid to turn around for fear Mr. Straley was trotting behind us demanding that we take the virtual tour.

Suddenly I didn’t feel like laughing. “I can’t do this,” I said.

“Of course you can. I’ll be there.”

“Can I bring a deck of cards so we can play gin rummy if nobody shows up?”

“They’ll show up all right. Mossy Creek goes in big for visiting before, during and after funerals, and there’ll be a bunch of Bigelow folks as well, some of whom may never have met Hiram.”

“Why would they come?”

“There’s a cadre that attends all the funerals. Mostly widow ladies with nothing better to do. And, I’m afraid, the combination of his international reputation and being murdered has put Hiram on the local map.”

“Tell me we won’t have television cameras?”

“Probably not, but you promised the
Mossy Creek Gazette
an interview.”

“Do I have to wear that dress tonight? If so, I better stop for some more pantyhose.”

“Slacks will be fine.”

“What gets me is that there’s more to-do about Hiram now that he’s dead then there was when he was alive. I am running around like a chicken with my head cut off scandalizing Mr. Straley with Hiram’s hat and whip.”

“It’s your job.”

“No, my job is to decide what I’m going to do with the farm and the equipment and the horses and Jacob Yoder and get back some semblance of my life before all this happened. I want to remember Hiram alive, not continue to deal with Hiram’s death.”

My cell phone rang. I jumped. I almost always do. I don’t wear one of those Men from Mars things behind my ear, but I can’t ever leave a telephone unanswered, even when I’m certain from the number that it’s a magazine subscription salesman. In this case I recognized Dick Fitzgibbons’s number.

“Got your goodies,” he said. “Two big filing cabinets, one filled with paperwork and log books. On cursory examination, they seem out of date. You know old stuff.”

“So I’m still missing Hiram’s current stuff. The only thing I can think of is a storage locker down here and maybe a lock box, but what on earth would he have that should go in a lockbox?”

“How about deeds? Ownership papers on the horses and the carriages? Insurance documents. A copy of his will.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’ll have to wait to go hunting for a lock box or storage locker locally until I have death certificates to present.”

“You didn’t let me finish about the filing cabinets. The other is stuffed with silver bowls and platters black with tarnish. Want me to get a couple of my boys to polish them up for you so you can auction them off on eBay? Some of the early things are Sterling. Might fetch a pretty penny.”

“EBay is a wicked good idea,” I said.

Peggy glanced over at me and lifted her eyebrows.

“Tell you later,” I whispered. “Dick, can you hang on to them for a while? The viewing’s tonight, the funeral and the reception at the funeral home, afterwards, is tomorrow.”

“Episcopal funeral ladies or plain old ecumenical ones?”

“You know about funeral ladies?”

“Indeed, yes. I know a great deal about funeral ladies.”

I could have kicked myself. His wife of forty some-odd years had died five years ago. What he’d gone through before her death and afterwards made my deal with Hiram seem like a walker in this case a carriage ride in the park.

“Want me to drive up to hold your hand?” he asked.

“Not necessary. I’d love to see you when I come over to get Hiram’s stuff, but that may be a couple of weeks. I have to get Yoder to finish cleaning up the vis-à-vis and then make certain he’s available to drive it and Heinzie around Mossy Creek on Easter Sunday afternoon.”

“Have you decided what to do with Don Qui while you’re in town?”

“Not yet.”

“If you get desperate,” he said, “call me. I wouldn’t mind driving ole Heinzie around your village. He’s a good guy.”

Peggy drove me out to Hiram’s, although I told her she should drop me at the apartment so that I could pick up my truck and save her gas. “I’d rather come with you,” she said. “I really don’t like your being alone with Jacob Yoder out there, and it’s not simply because he’s a jail bird. There’s something of the toad about him.”

“With some rat and weasel genes tossed in for good measure. Geoff must have checked his alibi by now. If it’s full of holes, he is the perfect choice for First Murderer.”

Chapter 23

Wednesday

Geoff

“Miss Sallie Sue Jones swears that she and Jacob Yoder spent Friday night, all day Saturday, and most of Sunday together in her apartment in Bigelow.” Geoff sat in the straight chair on front of Amos’s desk and arranged the perfect creases in his slacks, then shrugged and propped his calves across heels on the rim of the metal wastebasket.

“You believe her?” Amos asked.

“From what she says, she and Yoder were both drunk as skunks. The woman lives in a sty a pig would turn up his nose at, but I don’t believe Jacob could have driven out to Hiram’s, killed him and driven back without Miss Sallie Sue being aware that he was gone a bit longer than necessary for a liquor store run.”

“Even in the middle of the night? Was she covering for him?”

Geoff shook his head. “Doesn’t look like it. Couple of other weekend juking lushes swear his truck never left from in front of her apartment building, and her car’s in the shop. Perennially, from all accounts. Not much in the way of public transportation out to Lackland’s area.” He sighed. “A real pity.” He pulled his gold Parker pen out of his breast pocket and began idly working it over and under the fingers of his left hand, gambler fashion. “Guy’s a real prince. I’m going out to talk to him again this afternoon to find out precisely why Lackland hired him right out of jail.”

Amos stood and casually kicked the wastebasket from under Geoff’s feet. “Come on, ole buddy. Time to make the rounds to protect and serve.”

“Protect from what and serve whom?”

“In both cases the good citizens of Mossy Creek. You’d be surprised what shenanigans they can get up to if I’m not around to remind them I’m around. I like to police by walking and riding around. You can come along, then I might be persuaded to buy you a cheap lunch.”