Otis shifted positions in his chair. "There shouldn't be any problem with the floral arrangement, but I'm going to have to check on the gold-plated casket. I don't think I've ever seen one of those in our supply catalogs."

  "Can't you check with the funeral home that was in charge of James Brown's services to see where they got it?" Bone asked.

  "Yes, we can do that. I don't remember the name of the mortuary, but Callie can find it on the Internet."

  Puh-leeze. I had a vigil to organize, wanted to search for Jane, and now I'd be driving around to get on someone's computer since ours wasn't available until the sheriff 's investigator finished with it.

  Bone looked over at me and wrinkled his eyes. I wasn't sure if he was making a face at me or flirting.

  Melena put her Dunkin' Donuts to her mouth, frowned, and placed it on the marble-topped table. She glanced over at me. "Don't suppose you've got any coffee here?" she asked.

  Otis and Odell stress to me constantly that I'm always to be polite to the bereaved. This woman had been widowed less than a week ago and she'd volunteered to help plan a vigil for my missing friend. I had no reason to dislike her, but I did. She knew there was coffee in the building. The smell of the high-dollar brand used at Middleton's wafted through the air.

  "I made coffee just before you arrived," Otis said. "I'll get some for everyone." He left the room.

  What kind of deal was this? Making and serving coffee is part of my job. Otis is one of my bosses. The only reason he'd started the pot was because I was late. Why was he serving it? Being nice to me because of Jane? Maybe, but more likely he'd interpreted Melena asking me as an insinuation that refreshments were a woman's work. Odell is like a grizzly bear, but Otis sometimes displays sensitivity. This was one of those times.

  While Otis was gone, Melena took a small notebook from her purse and began making notes. Bone leaned across to me. "You look very different, Callie," he said.

  My job requires that I dress a certain way, the very opposite of the shorts and tees I'd worn at the campground. When they hired me, Otis and Odell specified that I wear black. Nothing else. So far, neither of them has complained that I frequently change my hair color, but regardless of the shade, I wear it the same way to work: swept back into a sedate bun at the nape of my neck. Dignified. I may not act that way, but I try to look dignified at work.

  Before I could respond, Bone added, "I think I like the 'Bluegrass Rules' top and shorts better."

  Ex-cuuze me. What business was it of his and who gave him the right to criticize my appearance? I thought about telling him so and asking him who cared what he thought, but Otis arrived carrying the large silver coffee service with Wedgwood china cups. We drink out of mugs in our offices. Odell and I would welcome disposable cups up front, but Otis likes propriety.

  He poured a serving and handed the first cup and saucer to Melena. She snapped the lid off her large Dunkin' Donuts container and poured the steaming coffee into it. She held it over to Otis and said, "You might as well fill 'er up. I can never get enough coffee. It's not decaf, is it? I don't like unleaded."

  "We only make decaffeinated coffee when it's requested," Otis replied in his smooth undertaker voice. He poured cups for the rest of us before saying to Melena, "I believe you said yesterday that you have a crypt in Adam's Creek where you want Mr. Delgado to be laid to rest. Is that correct?"

  Melena took a long drink before she responded, "Yes, we'll be putting Fred in the Jones family crypt."

  "We'll need keys or for one of you to let us in to see what needs to be done there," I said. "The crypt is locked with four padlocks."

  "How do you know that?" Bone asked.

  "I took a look at it yesterday when I was in Adam's Creek."

  "I didn't know you'd be going over there without permission," Melena snapped.

  "The church cemetery is open to the public, and I wanted to put vigil posters up in Adam's Creek anyway," I answered.

  "Callie said there are some vines and weeds around the structure," Otis said. "I'm sure you'll want that cleaned before the service, and we'll need to see inside also to determine specific needs."

  "I'll go with one of you and let you in tomorrow morning," Bone volunteered, "or I can drop the keys off for you."

  Otis looked down at the papers on the table. "Will you need us to arrange for a pastor and music for the service?" he said.

  "No," Melena said, "I'll take care of that."

  "Are there any other special requests?"

  "Yes, I want the casket moved to the church in a carriage pulled by horses."

  "White horses like James Brown?" Otis asked, still writing.

  "No, black horses like in those films I've seen of the assassinated president. What was his name? Kennedy."

  "Where will the service be?"

  "At the church, but I want the carriage to carry Fred from here to Adam's Creek."

  "That's a long way."

  "It's so classy, though." She popped the top off her cup and held it out to Otis for another refill. "Can he lie in state here?"

  "In state?" I knew I shouldn't have said it before the words were out of my mouth. Otis raised an eyebrow at me.

  "You may certainly have the visitation here," he said. "Mr. Delgado will be arriving this afternoon and should be ready tomorrow morning. Do you know when you want the visitation and service?"

  "I have to give his friends and fans time to travel here, and the vigil is tomorrow night, so I think the visitation day after tomorrow and the service the following day."

  "And you'll be bringing Mr. Delgado's clothing to us later today?"

  "Yes, after lunch."

  Otis smiled and looked up at Melena and Bone. "You realize I won't be able to give you the price until we find the casket and we know what will need to be done at the vault."

  Melena's eyes flashed, and she sat back. "What do you mean give us a price?" Her expression and tone were equally offended.

  "Services must be paid for before the funeral. We accept cash, credit card, or assignment of a valid life insurance policy." I'd heard Otis say this so many times that it was like listening to a recording.

  "But back at the campground, Callie here said that Middleton's would be glad to take care of it," Melena protested. "I didn't know I'd have to pay anything."

  Everyone turned and looked at me. "I meant we'd be glad to serve you, but I never indicated there'd be no charge," I sputtered. "Why would you think our services would be free?"

  "Fred was a star," Melena whined. "I thought you'd do it for the publicity."

  "No, ma'am. We can't do that." I was glad Otis didn't go any further. Little Fiddlin' Fred was pretty well known in bluegrass circles, but Otis isn't a bluegrass fan. I feared he'd say, "I never heard of him 'til we picked up his body." No, Otis wouldn't do that. First, he's too polite. Second, he never says "body." He always refers to the deceased by name.

  "How much do you think it might be?" Bone asked.

  "Can't tell until the casket is selected, and I'll have to arrange the carriage and see what that will cost." He arranged the papers into a neat stack. "How much has to be done at the crypt will be another factor. Will we need to excavate or will the casket be placed aboveground?"

  "There are some family members buried beneath the vault," Bone said. "But there's one coffin already aboveground and a shelf above it." He turned toward his sister. "Melena, it will be cheaper to put the casket on top of the one that's there than to dig another grave beneath the building."

  "That's fine, just fine." Melena stood, picked up her cup, and headed toward the door.

  Bone grabbed Melena's purse and hurried behind her, still talking. "We'll be back with Fred's costume this afternoon. Can you check on the casket and carriage as soon as possible?"

  "Certainly," Otis said.

  Melena turned back toward me. Her tone was icy. "Oh, Callie, I'll be too busy with Fred's arrangements to help you with your vigil."

  Otis and I both walked them to the front door. "My Soul Will Fly Free" played over the sound system as they left.

  "Costume?" Otis asked me when they were gone.

  "He dressed fancy to perform. I'm sure they'll bury him in stage clothes." I coughed, then added, "I didn't indicate our services would be free."

  "I know that. Don't worry about it. Go take care of your vigil arrangements."

  "What about that gold-plated casket?"

  "Odell loves rock and roll, rhythm and blues, and soul music. Everything but classical. He'll probably remember the name of James Brown's mortuary. It was named in the newspapers. I just don't remember which one. Keep your cell phone on. I'll call you later."

  One of my brothers was a big James Brown fan. I couldn't bring myself to sing "I Feel Good" as I left. It was just too inappropriate. But I did a reasonably good job of "Please, Please, Please," even if I did drag it into "Puhleeze, Puh-leeze, Puh-leeze."

  Chapter Twenty three -

  My mind bounced around like a jumping bean as I drove

  toward Beaufort to pick up candles for the vigil. I didn't know how much they'd cost or how many to buy. I hoped my Visa charge account had enough credit available to pay for them. John had offered to pick up the bill, but I'd forgotten to get a check from him.

  Halfway to Beaufort, I realized I hadn't turn my cell phone on. I had it off during the planning session with Bone and Melena. The minute I restored power to the cell, it chirped.

  "Callie Parrish," I answered.

  "Hi, this is Rizzie Profit. Is there any word about your friend?"

  "Nothing."

  "Do you want to come look for her on the island some more? The sheriff has several crews searching, but you and I can still try to find her."

  "I'd like to, but I'll probably be tied up most of the day. I'm getting ready for a vigil for Jane tomorrow night, and Middleton's is handling Little Fiddlin' Fred's services, so they'll be calling me in after he gets here from Charleston."

  "Heard about the vigil on the radio and saw a public service announcement about it on television."

  I grinned to myself. My time on FedEx Kinko's rental computer had been worthwhile.

  "You'll be embalming the fiddler?" Rizzie asked.

  "No, remember I don't embalm. My work begins after the embalming. I do hair, makeup, and clothes."

  "Can I watch?"

  "I couldn't let you do that. It would violate Mr. Delgado's privacy."

  "Oh." She sounded really disappointed. What was with her? Did she have some morbid fetish? "You said when Maum passes, you'd get one of your bosses to come to the island to take care of her. Would you come, too, and help me get her dressed and pretty?"

  "Yes, I'll do that, but is your grandmother ill? Why are you obsessing about her dying?"

  "She's not sick. She's just old, and I worry about her."

  "I promise you that when the time comes, I'll get you the help you need." I thought about Melena Delgado. "Rizzie?"

  "Yes."

  "When you need us, you'll have to pay the Middletons for their work, but I'll do my job off the clock, free for you, okay?"

  "I'm not looking for charity." Huffy tone. Insulted.

  "Didn't mean it that way. I just don't want to mislead anyone."

  "I'm not giving you free sweetgrass baskets, and when my restaurant opens I expect you to pay for your food."

  "Deal."

  "I'm going out to search some more." She giggled softly and added, "I'll keep an eye on the sheriff 's people, too."

  She disconnected the phone. I flipped my own cell closed and shivered. I feared her finding Jane. I didn't think Jane was still on the island alive, and I didn't want Rizzie or anyone else to find her dead.

  At the religious supply store, I was pleasantly surprised to see Gwen Foster, an old high school friend, working there.

  "Callie!" she said when I walked in, "I haven't seen you in ages. How are you doing?"

  "Not so well. My friend Jane--"

  Gwen didn't give me time to finish the statement. "Yes," she interrupted, "I saw the news about the murders at the festival and about Jane Baker on television. I'm not a bluegrass fan, so I didn't know the men, but I remember you and Jane from school. It's such a shock when something like that happens to someone we know. Do you think she was really kidnapped or could she have wandered off and gotten lost on the island because of her blindness?" Gwen paused for breath.

  "I think she was kidnapped, and I believe it's related to the two murders. I've come to buy candles for the vigil tomorrow night."

  "Sure. I'll give you a discount, the same one we give to churches. What kind do you want?"

  "What do you mean?" Good grief. Was she asking if I wanted a Baptist or Methodist or Jewish discount?

  "What kind of candles? We've got several sizes, and do you want the slip-on wax catchers?"

  "I thought they were made onto the candles. Why don't you recommend what you think is best?"

  "Let me show you." She went to the back and came out with several cartons of different-size candles. She also had a box of white cardboard circles with an X cut into the center of each one. "See. You just slip these onto the candles. Leave enough room at the bottom to hold the candle." She demonstrated.

  "You could just buy candles and make the wax guards yourself," she suggested. Like I couldn't afford to buy them for my best friend's vigil. Well, actually I couldn't, but I counted on John reimbursing me. "Cut circles or squares out of cardboard or heavy paper and punch a hole in the middle," she added.

  "No," I said, "I'll buy the guards. Wonder how many I should buy?"

  "Purchase more than you need. You can return any you don't use and get your money back."

  As Gwen processed the charge slip for 250 candles and guards, she told me about her children. Three of them. Showed me a picture and pointed to each one. "This is Miranda. She's my oldest, then Danielle, and the baby is my boy. His name's Kadge."

  I didn't quite ooh and ahh, but I came close. They were cute kids. What Southerners call cottontops, with blond hair the color I retouched mine every three weeks.

  Gwen handed me a pen, and I signed the charge slip. She reached for my bagged purchase, looked over my shoulder toward the glass window, and asked, "Is that your blue Mustang?"

  I really thought she was going to say something like, "Cool car," but instead she said, "Better go check it. Somebody just put something under the back bumper."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I saw someone bending over the back. When he stood up, he pulled his hand from beneath your car."

  Shih tzu! What would a person be sticking under my car? Should I go out and look or should I call the sheriff? No, not the sheriff; Beaufort's patrolled by a city police department.

  "Are you okay, Callie?" Gwen asked.

  "I don't know. I can't imagine what someone would be putting under my car."

  "Do you think it could be a bomb?"

  "A bomb? Why would anyone do that?"

  "I don't know. Do you still read mysteries? Someone's always blowing up Stephanie Plum's cars in those books."

  "I'm not Stephanie Plum, and I'm not a bounty hunter."

  "Yeah, but something bad happened to your friend Jane

  and now somebody might be after you. I don't think you should go out there. We need to call someone." She reached under the counter.

  "Are you sure the person touched my car? He could have been picking up something dropped on the ground," I suggested.

  Gwen's eyes bugged before she even had a chance to answer me.

  "Down! Get down and spread 'em!" The voice was loud and harsh. "Face down!"

  I turned around and saw two policemen with guns drawn. Pointing at me. I spun back toward Gwen to see who else was there just as two more officers ran in and a big hand grabbed my shoulder. Another voice barked, "Down! Now!"

  "Who? Me?" My voice shook, but not half as much as my body.

  "Yeah, you!"

  I sank to my knees, then slid flat onto the floor and spread my arms.

  "Put both hands behind your head!"

  I did.

  "Why are you doing this?" Gwen wailed.

  I tried to look up at her, but the big hand pushed my face back onto the floor.

 

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