Fran Rizer - Callie Parrish 06 - A Corpse Under the Christmas Tree by Fran Rizer Read Free Book Online

shoulder-length now, which is long for me. Jane hasn’t really cut her hair in years. Sometimes I trim the ends, but basically she wears that long, straight hair because her mother had long, straight hair. Her mom was a flower child who died around the time we finished high school. Jane wears a lot of her mother’s vintage hippie outfits. I think it makes her feel close to her mom. My mother died giving me birth, and I have nothing particular that makes me think of her. Sometimes I wonder whether I would have enjoyed wearing her clothes if Daddy had saved them.
    “Are you okay?” Detective Robinson asked. “You seemed out of it for a minute.”
    “Just thinking.”
    Thank heaven Odell stepped in at that moment.
    “Looks good except for the nose,” he said.
    “I want you or Otis to help with that.”
    “No problem.” He turned toward Detective Robinson. “I saw you over at Callie’s house, didn’t I? Aren’t you the sheriff’s new homicide man?”
    “I’m new to the department, and I’ll be heading up homicide cases. My name’s Dean Robinson.”
    “Well, Deputy Robinson, I hope you haven’t had lunch. I went to that new place, Bubba’s Bodacious BBQ Barn, to pick up sandwiches for Callie, Otis, and me, but after I ordered, I saw they have pepper-vinegar, mustard base, and tomato base pork as well as chicken and catfish on their buffet. I couldn’t resist it. I ate there, so I’ve got two extra sandwiches in a bag on my desk.” He nodded at Robinson. “Help yourself to a sandwich while I work on Mr. Morgan’s nose.” He rubbed circles on his—well, in Odell’s case, the only word for it is belly . “I’m stuffed.”
    Robinson must have been as hungry as I was eager to avoid having to rebuild Jeff Morgan’s nose because neither of us wasted any time getting out of my workroom. Over coffee and barbecue sandwiches, he told me more about the Santa found on my porch.
    “I watched the medical examiner carefully, and I didn’t see any signs of violence other than the marks on the woman’s neck. There was definitely a circumferential ligature furrow around her neck as well as small abrasions or contusions periodically on the furrow. The doctor didn’t let me get my face right into what he was doing, but I could hear him dictating. He referred to petechial hemorrhages on the conjunctival surfaces of the eyes and facial skin. Are you familiar with petechial hemorrhages?” He took a big bite of his sandwich.
    “I’ve read about them in mystery books. They indicate strangulation, don’t they?” I took a bite, but not nearly so big as his had been.
    “Yes. I’m positive that the autopsy report will be that she died as a result of being choked to death with some kind of rope or cord.”
    “You sound like a medical examiner yourself.” Okay, I know that was stroking his ego, but the man was good-looking.
    “I’ve watched and read a whole lot of postmortem exams in Florida.” He sipped his coffee, and then beamed—a big, warm smile.
    “You’re not married, are you?” His eyes twinkled and questioned as much as his words.
    “Not anymore.”
    “Are you in a committed relationship?”
    I am about as far from a sweet, magnolia-mouthed, blushing Southern belle as possible, but I think my cheeks may have flushed bright pink.
    “I don’t think so,” I answered.
    “I didn’t see a man at your place Christmas night. Are you living with someone?”
    “No, I was getting serious about a doctor, but that faded. Then I met this man in October. He had to go back to Florida, and we talk on the telephone almost every night, but it’s not really any kind of relationship.” I paused but felt compelled to add, “He talks like he’s really interested and keeps saying he’s coming back to South Carolina to see me.”
    The detective smiled again. “Sounds to me like you might be free enough to have dinner with me Saturday night. How about it? I’m fairly new in town, and you could tell me the best