Secrets, Lies, and Crawfish Pies Read online

  “Good to be home,” I said. “And, yes, you better hurry up or there might be another murder around here.”

  When J.R. and I got to the kitchen, Auntie had turned one of the kitchen chairs around to face the stove and parked Josephine Gail in it. She was keeping an eye on her as she busied making one of her cure-all potions. She had filled the teapot, set it on the stove and was hunting through the many small spice bottles she kept for just the right root or leaf, or whatever it was she was going to use to resurrect Josephine Gail.

  “What I’d like to know,” Pogue said, coming into the room with the blankets, “is how an extra body could have gotten in here.”

  “That’s easy,” Auntie said. She took one of the towels and used it to dry Josephine Gail’s hair and clothes. “We got them from the Hollerbach Funeral Home over in Sunrise. They had a fire and needed some place for their bodies.”

  “And you just took them in?” Pogue asked.

  “Of course I did,” she said, sucking her lips. “Death don’t stop for nothing and nobody. And we in the NFDA have an obligation to the families we serve and to each other to get the job done no matter what.” She looked at Pogue. “You should know that.”

  Auntie had not only been a member of the National Funeral Directors Association for half a century, but had been the president of her region for eighty percent of that time.

  “The question you should be asking,” Auntie Zanne continued as she poured hot water into a cup, “is what you are going to do about the body that doesn’t belong here.” She raised her eyebrows. “Whether he was murdered or not, he’s still got to be readied for burial.”

  “There’s a lot to be done before we put him in the ground,” Pogue said. He narrowed his eyes at Auntie. “And I do know what to do.”

  “Well, first thing we need to do is make sure he isn’t one of the bodies from Hollerbach,” she said. She sat down next to Josephine Gail and started spoon-feeding her some of the piping hot concoction she’d made. “Rhett, go get that list they sent us and let’s see if we can’t account for all the bodies. Most of them have already been buried, I’m sure.”

  “Okay,” he said. “I’ll do a walk-through while I’m at it.”

  “If he isn’t from Hollarbach, then me and Romaine’ll take a look at the body and see if we can’t determine the cause of death.”

  “You’ll do no such thing,” Pogue said. “Doc Westin is the medical examiner for Sabine, Shelby, and San Augustine Counties. Appointed by the County Commissioner Court. That’s his job.”

  “I know who he is,” Auntie said. “ME for the Tri-County area for as long as I can remember. But he isn’t here.”

  “He’s over in San Augustine County taking care of some business. That’s the only reason he isn’t here now.” Pogue sat at the kitchen table and pulled out his notebook. “As soon as he can get this way, he’ll check out the body.”

  “You gon’ wait till then?” Auntie Zanne asked. “That body will rot and stink up my whole place. We don’t have any idea how long it’s been here.”

  “The doc won’t be long.” Pogue held up his head and inhaled. “I don’t smell anything. I think that we should be good until he gets here.”

  “You think we should be good?” Auntie popped up from her seat where she’d been nursing Josephine Gail. “We don’t do the thinking around here,” she said in a huff. “This is my funeral parlor and I do all the thinking.”

  “Well, I am the law around here and—”

  “Don’t you say it,” Auntie warned.

  “And I…I have to take care of this, Babet.” His voice squeaked as he tried to stand his ground. “You know I do,” his voice had changed from demanding to a plea for understanding.

  “Why can’t Romaine take a look at the body for you?” she said, not backing down.

  “She may be a medical examiner up in Chicago,” Pogue said giving me a look that told me he wasn’t trying to be mean. “But if it is a murder, her testimony wouldn’t hold up in court because she’s not licensed here.”

  “Oh, hogwash,” Auntie Zanne said before I could speak up in my defense. “She is more of a legitimate doctor in Texas than you are a sheriff, that’s for sure.”

  “I am licensed here.” I finally got in a word between the two of them going back and forth. “Did my residency in pathology and fellowship in forensic pathology over at Houston Methodist. You know that.”

  “He also ought to know that you keep up your medical examiner’s license here, too,” Auntie said. “That’s why you came home two years ago, to take those continuing learning classes.”

  “Continuing education,” I corrected.

  She nodded her head. “And her board certification, in forensic medicine, Mr. I-Am-The-Law, is good anywhere.”

  Pogue couldn’t say anything after we double teamed him with my credentials. And to be honest, I wanted to have a look at a corpse that was able to make its way to the inside of a funeral home before its death had even been called.

  “Fine. If Josephine Gail isn’t confused and the body isn’t from Hollarbach, Romie can have a look at it,” Pogue acquiesced.

  “Good,” Auntie said. “Just hold on and let me get some more of this tea into her. Rhett should be back with confirmation and then we can go and see what we can see.”

  “Who exactly is Rhett?” I asked. “I thought he was just someone that was picking us up to give us a ride home.”

  “No, darlin’,” Auntie said. “He is my right-hand man around here. I’m grooming both him and Josephine Gail for the funeral business.”

  “Isn’t Josephine Gail too old to start learning a new trade?” I asked.

  “No,” Auntie Zanne said.

  “She’s in her seventies,” I said.

  “Haven’t you heard?” she said. “Eighty is the new fifty, so that makes seventy the new thirty.”

  “I don’t think that’s how it goes, Auntie.”

  “Sure it is. Josephine Gail is practically a spring chicken.”

  Pogue and I had to duck our heads and cover our mouths so she wouldn’t see us holding back our laughter. For someone who worked with death on a daily basis, she was quite optimistic about immortality.

  “And,” she was still talking. “I wouldn’t have needed Rhett, except my business is booming. People are dropping like flies. I swear, you’d think the world was ending and they were trying to beat the rush.”

  “And you’ve even got non-paying ones dropping in,” I muttered.

  “That’s just what I was thinking,” Pogue said.

  “Just the two of you hope you live as long as me.” She pulled the blanket up tighter around Josephine Gail then looked at us. “Okay. Let’s take a look at the squatter.” She pointed at J.R. “Be a good boy and stay here and watch over Josephine Gail.”

  He barked out his reply, then went and laid at her feet.

  Rhett met us as we headed out of the kitchen. He had found the body.

  “Is he one of the bodies from Hollerbach?” Auntie asked.

  “As far as I can tell, he isn’t,” Rhett said. “I couldn’t find two that were on the list, but seems like I remember their funerals.”

  He led us into a small room that was used for those that didn’t have much family to speak of, or enough money for a package deal. But when I saw the body, I wouldn’t have ever been able to guess he hadn’t been readied by a licensed mortician.

  The squatter was a middle-aged white male. He was dressed in a suit that was a couple sizes too big and hastily put on, but he had been carefully placed in a casket, hands holding onto the bedding and showing little signs of decay.

  “Do you recognize him, Babet?” Pogue asked.

  “Why would I know him?” Auntie said. “I’ve been gone for two weeks. At least a million people have died in that time.”

  “They didn’t come th
rough here,” Pogue said.

  “And if they had,” Auntie countered, “I still wouldn’t have seen them. I was in Chicago.”

  “I need some latex gloves,” I said, interrupting their banter.

  “I’ve got some.” Rhett pulled a pair out of his pocket.

  I gave him a look that said I was impressed with his readiness.

  “I was just inspecting the bodies,” he said. “I couldn’t touch them all without gloves.”

  I nodded and turned my eyes to Mr. Dead Intruder to start a visual examination. “I really can’t tell much without cutting him open,” I said.

  “Doc Westin’ll do that,” Pogue said. “Just see what you can see now.”

  The first thing I did was lift his head from the pillow to see if there was any trauma. I didn’t see anything obvious but noticed that the body felt firm. I pushed in on the cartilaginous parts of the corpse–the ears and nose. They appeared somewhat brittle and discolored.

  “There isn’t much desiccation,” I said, announcing my observation without lifting my head up.

  “Be careful,” Pogue said. “I don’t want to lose any evidence.”

  “I do this for a living,” I said. “I know how to preserve evidence.”

  I placed my finger over one eyelid and rolled it back. Then the other.

  I glanced at Pogue. “Blue eyes,” I said.

  “Good observation. Important, I’m sure.”

  I didn’t miss the sarcasm in his voice.

  I didn’t comment, I only nodded. I couldn’t let him break my concentration.

  Color of the irises was only a side note to me opening the dead man’s eyes. I was looking for evidence of strangulation or asphyxiation. But his corneas were clear and the conjunctivae–the mucous membrane covering the eyes was free of petechiae. Those purple and red spots would have meant broken blood vessels. They were often present when there a restriction of blood to the head from choking or pressure being placed around the neck. Them not being there was not conclusive, but it pushed me more to want to search for the manner of death.

  I took one hand at a time and checked his nails. Underneath for material, on top for break or chips, signs of a struggle. Then the skin for any marks, scars or even tattoos.

  Nothing.

  I unbuttoned the suit jacket and then the shirt.

  I ran my hand over the man’s chest to feel for any breaks or lumps in the skin. It was cool, smooth, and firm.

  “What is he saying to you?” Auntie asked, leaning over from behind me, peering at the body.

  There went my concentration.

  I looked down at her. “He isn’t saying anything, Auntie. He’s dead. Even though you’ve said it a hundred times, it doesn’t make it true. Corpses don’t talk.”

  “Sure they do.” She sucked her tongue. “You never talk to the people on your autopsy table?”

  “No. I don’t. I talk into the microphone.”

  “Well, you should try talking to them. You’d be surprised at what they have to say. You could learn a lot.” She nudged me over with her hip and bent down toward the body, nearly touching her face to his exposed stomach. “You gotta use your ears,” she said.

  “That’s your nose, Auntie,” I said. “Are you going to talk to him or smell him?”

  “That’s enough,” Pogue said. “From the both of you. No offense, Romie, but we’ve got a coroner. Just button him back up.”

  “Okay.” I did as he asked.

  “Did you find out anything?” Pogue asked.

  “I did,” Auntie said, raising her hand.

  “I was talking to Romie, Babet.”

  “Well,” I said pulling the dead guy’s suit jacket together and securing the button. “I couldn’t find any visible signs of trauma.”

  “That’s all you got?” he asked.

  “It was just a visual exam, Pogue. Nothing in depth.” I turned around and looked at him.

  “Okay,” he said. “Let’s just go see if Josephine Gail is ready to talk.”

  Although I was intrigued and would have loved to have more of a look around Dead Guy, I had no intentions of stepping on my cousin’s toes. I wouldn’t be around long enough to mend any bridges with family.

  I put my hands up, surrender-style. I stepped away from the body.

  Auntie Zanne didn’t move. Pogue looked at her, then me.

  I reached out and pulled Auntie Zanne over next to me. Then I looped my arm around hers to keep her anchored and out of the way.

  “All yours,” I said.

  Chapter Four

  Sunlight was streaming in through the light fabric covering the window over the kitchen sink. The rain storm had passed and there was a peacefulness surrounding it. But there was another storm brewing inside our walls.

  We put our John Doe into the cooler and headed back upstairs to the kitchen. When we walked back into the room everything was still and quiet, including the occupants.

  Josephine Gail and J.R. both had their heads down, eyes open wide and there wasn’t a wag or a peep coming from either one of them.

  Josephine Gail, I believed, was in shock. I think that J.R. just wanted someone to rescue him.

  Auntie Zanne leaned in and whispered in Josephine Gail’s ear. Then she bent over and scratched the top of J.R.’s head.

  “Good boy,” Auntie said. “You are released of duty.” J.R. stood hesitantly. He gave a wag of his tail and looked from me to Pogue back to Auntie Zanne as if he wanted to be sure. “I’ll take care of her now.” His tail went into overdrive. He gave out a bark and scampered out of the room.

  “Even the dog doesn’t want to be around to hear you dig into Josephine Gail,” Auntie Zanne said.

  “It’s my job,” Pogue said. “I just need a minute with her.”

  “I’m not leaving,” Auntie Zanne said. “And Romaine,” she pointed at me, “is her doctor. They’ve got privilege. Or something. So, she’s staying, too.”

  Pogue huffed.

  He pulled out a chair facing it toward Josephine Gail and sat down. He matched her gaze and held it as if he were trying to read her thoughts. After the quiet moment between them, he reached out and touched her. She didn’t move.

  “I need to ask you some questions,” Pogue said gently. “You up to it?”

  She nodded.

  He licked his lip and didn’t let his eyes stray from hers. “When did you find the body?” he asked.

  Josephine Gail lowered her eyes. I saw her taking deep, quick breaths, and her hands, which were placed in her lap, began to tremble. “When I called you.” Those were the first words I’d heard her utter since we’d gotten back. And they emerged seemingly with trepidation.

  “That was the first you saw of it?” he asked.

  “That’s what she said,” Auntie jumped in.

  “Babet.”

  Auntie held up both her hands. “Just trying to keep this moving. She’s liable to shut down any minute.”

  “And what does that mean?”

  Auntie cupped her hand aside her mouth and in a loud whisper, enunciating each syllable, said, “Her depression.”

  “Whose benefit was the whisper for?” Pogue asked, obviously annoyed. “Everyone could hear you.”

  “Just didn’t want to say it out loud,” she said and shrugged. “Not something that should be discussed. It’s a disease you know.”

  Pogue huffed. Again.

  “Do you know how he got into the casket?” Pogue asked.

  Josephine Gail slowly shook her head tugging on her bottom lip with her teeth.

  “She said, ‘no,’” Auntie-The-Translator said.

  “Thank you, Babet.” Pogue’s sarcasm filled the room.

  “You’re welcome,” Auntie Zanne said. “But that question seems obvious. I mean someone had to put him there. He couldn�
�t have gotten there by himself.”

  “Babet. I can’t do this with you here.” He stood up and faced her. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

  “Leave?” she sputtered out. “You can’t ask me to leave my own house.”

  “Not the house, Babet. Just the room.”

  “I can’t leave Josephine Gail,” she said pouting. I thought she’d be angry and flat out refuse. Instead she acted as if he could tell her what to do.

  “I’ll be here,” I said, speaking up for the first time during Pogue’s scant questioning. “But I don’t see how Pogue’ll get through this with you here answering everything.” I pulled up a chair next to Josephine Gail and ran my hand across her still damp back. “Is it okay if I stay in Auntie Zanne’s place?”

  Josephine Gail’s eyes slowly went up to Auntie’s. She held them there for a moment then let them fall back down to her hands. She gave a single nod of her head.

  The pain showed in Auntie Zanne’s face. Her eyes were pleading. I knew she didn’t want to leave her friend to agonize through the questioning. I understood that making someone who suffered from depression do anything was tasking and could sometimes make things worse.

  I had known Josephine Gail for as long as I could remember. Even before I came to live in Roble, I could remember her and Auntie Zanne being friends. And I’d seen Josephine Gail depressed before too–plenty of times.

  When I was younger and she’d get that way, my auntie would take me when she’d go to visit. The house would be dark, clothes and dirty dishes everywhere. We’d take her food and straighten up her place.

  Auntie would be so gentle and kind with her, treating her like she was a sweet little child. Oftentimes Auntie Zanne would make Josephine Gail a lavender bath and help her in the tub to soak, squeezing the water from the sponge over her hair and down her back. She’d sometimes sit her in a chair and brush her hair with deliberate, tender strokes. We’d always put clean sheets on her bed before we’d put her back in it, and then Auntie would feed her.

  We’d never stay long because Auntie would say that people suffering from depression don’t like having people around, and they don’t like to talk. Then she’d say, “Depression is contagious, and we can’t afford to get it because we have to stay strong, so we can help Josephine Gail.”