Read Casket Case for Free Online Page A

through the door.”
    “She does seem strange,” I said before changing the subject. “Do you mind if I call Otis? He was upset for you, wanted to come with me.”
    “Sure,” she said and handed me her telephone. Her phone, not the one Roxanne uses.
    “Middleton’s Mortuary,” Otis answered. “How may I help you?”
    “Callie here. Jane’s okay. The woman who’s buying Pearl White’s property was here and wouldn’t answer, stayed quiet when Jane asked who was there.”
    “That’s weird . Do you need to spend more time with Jane? The little girl’s family won’t be bringing her clothing in until tomorrow, so you can stay with Jane if you want. Just be on time in the morning.”
    I thanked Otis and disconnected the phone. Turning to Jane, I said, “Otis has given me the afternoon off to spend with you. What do you want to do?”
    Jane squealed with joy. She worked her phone line at night, and I was busy at the mortuary most days, so we didn’t have as much time together as we’d like. “Let’s pick up some po’boy sandwiches and picnic on the beach,” she suggested.
    I’d never shared the secret with anyone. Jane and I used to skip school and go picnic on the beach. It was still one of our favorite things to do. Sitting on the sand, watching waves, was peaceful and brought memories of when we were young and our only problems related to which boys we each liked that week.
    Jane locked her apartment door, mumbling that she hoped Pearl hadn’t given “that blankety-blank” keys to everything yet. I’ve tried to convert Jane’s profanity to my kind of kindergarten cursing, but she’s not always a believer. We put the ragtop down on the Mustang and headed to Rizzie’s Gastric Gullah near Hunting Island.
    The restaurant had been open only a little over a month, but from the cars in the parking lot, it looked like Rizzie was doing well. Rizzie is a Gullah girl, well, woman, from Surcie Island. She’s beautiful—tall and dark as Godiva chocolate. She wore a red and turquoise-patterned piece of cloth that covered her breasts, wrapped around one shoulder, then circled her hips, forming a dress that exposed her toned arms. When she moved, one leg showed, but only up to her knee. She’d shown me how to wrap the long cloth to make a dress, but I never got the hang of it. Rizzie also wore a head cloth in turquoise with gold threads through it. Traditional to her West African roots.
    “Huddy, ev’rybuddy,” she called loudly. “Come jine we on we bittle.”
    “What did she say?” Jane questioned. She hadn’t come to St. Mary until we were in ninth grade, and she doesn’t understand the Gullah language as well as I do.
    “She said,” I answered, “hurry, everybody, come join us and our food.”
    “You got it!” Rizzie said as she motioned Jane and me to one of the small tables. Rizzie speaks Gullah for tourists, and though I understand the language better than I speak it, sometimes she enjoys laying it on for me, too.
    “No table,” I said. “We want you to pack us a picnic. We’re on our way to Hunting Island Beach.”
    “Where’s your picnic basket?” Rizzie asked and pushed a stray curl of jet black hair back up under her head cloth.
    “We didn’t bring a basket,” Jane answered. “Just put it in a bag.”
    “What do you want in your picnic?” Rizzie said.
    I laughed. “From the smells in here, I want one of everything you’re cooking today, but we’ll settle for some sandwiches and drinks.”
    “What kind of sandwiches?”
    “How about shrimp po’boys?” I suggested. “That’s not very Gullah, but it’s what I want.”
    “All seafood is Gullah,” Rizzie said. “My people lived on the islands for a long time and we cooked mostly what came from the ocean. I can make you the best shrimp you ever tasted. I’ll put some hush puppies in for you, too.”
    Having eaten here several times in the few weeks Rizzie’s restaurant had been open, I knew she made the best hush