fifteen

My stomach tensed, and I gripped the phone tighter. “I can’t help you, Kendall,” I said. “If you’ve got suspicions, call the police.”

“They’d think I was batshit crazy. You’re the only one who ever listened to me. That’s why I called. Plus, you’re boyfriend is a lawyer. We might need him. See, I found evidence this morning. I was vacuuming Lester’s bedroom and the Electrolux sucked up the edge of the rug. Then it sucked up a paper. It was a computer printout. It had a list of organs and how much they sell for.”

A picture took shape in my mind, a carved cherry pipe organ like the one at First Baptist. “Was she buying or selling?” I asked.

“I don’t know.”

“If she was selling, the organs would be at her house, right?”

Kendall sighed. “I’ve been to the house a lot and never saw any. But I didn’t look in the refrigerator. She’s got a Sub-Zero. She could’ve fit several organs in there.”

“An organ won’t fit in the fridge.” I wove my fingers through the phone cord.

“’Course it would. Wait, do you think I’m talking about a musical instrument? No, no, no. I mean human organs. Eyes. Skin. Teeth. Veins. Creepy stuff like that. Barb’s got a long list with prices. Gosh, an Achilles tendon sells for $2,000.”

I jerked my fingers out of the phone cord. She might as well have said the Philpots were reptilians from outer space. “Barb wouldn’t sell black market organs.”

“She used to work in medical records at Bonaventure Regional. When I saw the printout, I thought it was job related. So I called her old boss. She told me that the hospital doesn’t do transplants. But even if they did, Barb wouldn’t have been involved with organs. She was just a coder.”

“A what?”

“Her job was to match a bunch of numbers to an illness. The medical records lady told me that the code for diabetes is 2501. There’s a code for everything. It’s for insurance companies.”

“So?”

“Don’t you get it? Barb was selling body parts, and the job got her killed. I want to come over to your house and give you the printout. Your boyfriend can check it out.”

“He’ll need more than a printout.” I paced in front of the window, stretching the phone cord behind me.

“What more does he need?” Kendall asked.

“I don’t know. Some kind of proof that she was selling organs.”

Okay.” She sighed. “I’ll see what I can dig up.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t. What if Lester is involved?”

“Seriously? He’d never do something mean like that. He won’t let us put out rat poison at the store. He uses sticky traps and sets the rats free. They just run back into the store.”

“If Barb was selling body parts, Lester would know about it. She’d have to explain the extra money she was earning. If Lester won’t kill a rat, he sure wouldn’t mess with the IRS.”

“No, he wouldn’t. Lester’s worried about money. His business is sucking. The new Walgreens is about to bankrupt him.”

“Hold on. Lester wouldn’t be worried about money if his wife was selling tendons.”

“He might not have known about it. He’s real upset over his cash flow problems. Saturday morning, he and Norris got into a fight—right in the middle of the drugstore. It’s a good thing no customers were there. Norris drove off. He didn’t turn up until the next day. He looked like he’d been up all night. I guess he went to a massage parlor.”

My thoughts whirled. Barb had disappeared last Saturday night. The man who’d choked her had looked thin and rangy. Just like Norris. Could he have killed her? But why?

“What if the printout didn’t belong to Barb?” I asked.

“Who else would hide something like that?”

“Norris. He’s an eye doctor.”

Kendall snorted. “He don’t like hard work. Cutting people up would be hard.”

“Norris knows how to remove corneas. Maybe he stuck that printout under the rug.”

“That’s not his style. Barb’s the one who hides things. Norris is into sex. There’s only one part of the body that interests him, and it can’t be sold on the black market. Have you talked to Zee Quinn, the girl who works at Baskin-Robbins?”

“No.”

“See? Nobody listens to me. But you’ll listen if I get more proof, won’t you?”

“I guess.”

“Fine. I’ll get it and then I’ll come straight to your house. And you can give it to your boyfriend.”

She hung up. I put my head in my hands. If Barb had been selling black market organs, Lester knew about it. Maybe he and Barb were selling, and Norris was doing the surgery. A family operation. But where were they getting cadavers?

I was still in my nightgown, so I ran upstairs and rummaged in Mama’s old closet. I put on a red blouse, a skirt that was patterned with cherries, and red cowboy boots. Then I went downstairs to wait for Kendall.

Thirty minutes later, I was pacing by the front door, glancing every few minutes at the driveway. What if Kendall had made this up? She was in love with a freshly widowed man. And his brother had been missing from Saturday morning until Sunday at noon.

I went over that night again. What if Norris had gone to Barb’s rental? All this time, I’d had trouble understanding how my phone had gotten from Sullivan’s Island to Bonaventure. Now I knew. Norris Philpot had been wearing that mask. He’d found my phone.

An hour went by, and I decided I couldn’t stay in that house another second. I packed a bag, then I hooked a leash to Sir’s collar. I grabbed the truck keys and we walked to the barn. The old Ford rose up like a humpback whale, gray-black with white pits in the fender. I yanked open the door, and searing air curled out, stinking of oil and sour milk. Aunt Bluette had been a packrat. I pushed a rusty Thermos to the floorboard.

“Hop in, Sir,” I said, giving him a little boost. I tossed my suitcase into the truck bed, then I climbed into the front seat. The engine turned over with a thump. Halfway to the Piggly Wiggly, I passed a wrecker that was towing a black Mazda. A graduation tassel dangled from the rearview mirror.

Kendall’s car.

I pulled off the road and told Sir to stay, then I scrambled out of the truck and waved both arms at the wrecker. The brakes screeched, and the driver poked his head out the window.

“Is this Kendall McCormack’s car?” I called.

The driver pushed back a Georgia Bulldogs cap, revealing damp red curls. “Yessum. Her Mazda’s totaled.”

The back of my throat started to ache. “You’re sure?”

“That it’s totaled?” The driver’s eyes widened.

“No, are you sure it’s Kendall’s car?”

“The police did a DMV check. The Mazda is registered to Kendall McCormack.” He made a tsking sound. “Looks like she got drunk and wrecked.”

“Drunk?” I said. “This early in the morning? I just talked to her. She was sober.”

The man leaned out of the tow truck’s window, the morning sun gleaming against his hair. His eyes were bloodshot, as if he’d been awake since the Eisenhower administration. “I ain’t passing judgment, Miss. I’m just repeating what I heard.”

“How bad was she hurt?” I knotted my hand against my stomach.

“Can’t say for sure. By the time they called for a tow, the paramedics done took the girl to the hospital.” He wiped the sweat off his forehead with a dirty hand. “When I showed up, a few responders were still here. They didn’t mention no fatalities. Maybe she got banged up?”

I stepped toward the Mazda. “May I take a peek?”

He looked up at the sky, his mouth twisting into a bow. While he made up his mind, the heat from the asphalt leeched through my boots, stinging my bare feet. I stamped my foot, trying to blunt the pain.

The driver snapped to attention. “Well, I reckon it won’t hurt. Just make it quick.”

I ran over to the Mazda. The front fender was crushed. The windshield was cracked on the driver’s side. Blood was splashed over the dashboard and the driver’s seat. She’d been hurt real bad.

My legs wobbled, and I grabbed the door handle to keep from losing my balance. I didn’t like blood. But this wasn’t the moment to wimp out. I forced myself to take another look. I didn’t see the printout she’d mentioned. A Hello Kitty key chain dangled from the ignition. And one of those keys went to Philpot’s Pharmacy. I leaned into the car, snatched the chain, and shoved it into my pocket. I hurried back to my truck and waved at the driver, hoping he hadn’t seen what I’d done.

The tow truck rumbled by, dragging the Mazda. I felt weak when I saw Kendall’s shattered windshield, and I buried my face against Sir. He gave me a few halfhearted licks, reminding me that the body count would rise if I didn’t get him some water.

I drove home and put Sir in the parlor, where it was cool, then I went straight to the phone and dialed Coop. He answered on the second ring. I filled him in on Kendall’s strange call, the list of organs, her wreck, Lester’s finances, and my suspicions about Norris.

“The printout and the wreck are mutually exclusive, Teeny. You have no proof that Barb or the Philpots were involved in illegal trafficking.”

“For once, instead of thinking like a lawyer, can’t you think like a criminal?” I stamped my boot on the floor. “Norris lost his medical license. Lester’s drugstore is bankrupt. Barb liked jewelry. They had motives.”

“For?”

“To run a chop shop for human body organs. Innocent people don’t hide a price list of corneas under the bedroom rug.”

“If there’s a list.” He paused, as if to let his words resonate. “Go to my parents’ house. I’ll try to drive back to Bonaventure tomorrow.”

But I wasn’t going to the O’Malleys’ just yet. After Coop and I hung up, I dialed the hospital and asked the operator to page Dot Agnew. Two minutes later, a familiar voice said, “Teeny, I was just thinking about you. But I’m late for a meeting.”

“Oh, okay. Listen, if you get a minute, will you check on a patient? She’s in Bonaventure Regional.”

“Oh, honey. I can’t do that,” Dot said. “I can’t tell you about our patients. Hospital policy, you know. But I can put you through to the patient’s room. What’s the name?”

“Kendall McCormick.”

There was a slight pause. “What happened. Did Lester finally get her cherry?”

“You know about that?”

“Everyone in town knows. Kendall has a big mouth. Seriously, why’s she in the hospital?” Dot laughed. “Did she lose another Tampax inside her?”

I gripped the phone. “I shouldn’t have told you that.”

“Back then, you told me everything. And I do mean everything. Oh, Teeny. Don’t be angry. I’m sorry I poked fun at the McCormick girl. I didn’t realize you all were still close.”

“She was on her way to my house when she wrecked.” I felt swimmy-headed and propped my hand against the wall. If I hadn’t told Kendall to get proof, she wouldn’t have wrecked. But I couldn’t tell this to Dot. She’d have me slapped into a straitjacket.

“Oh, sweetie,” Dot said. “I wish I could help. But I’d lose my job.”

“Don’t explain. I know about rules.” I grimaced. Boy, did I ever know.

I ran back outside to the truck. I had to see if Kendall was all right. I drove to the hospital and bought a tin of cookies in the gift shop. Chocolate chip pecan, dipped in white chocolate. A volunteer directed me to room 312.

I stepped into the elevator, and a group of LPN students swarmed around me. The overhead speakers crackled and a nasal voice said, “Code Blue, room—”

The doors glided shut and the voice snapped off. The students talked about a tonsillectomy. That morning, a sixteen-year-old boy had gone into cardiac arrest and died.

The elevator dinged, and the students rushed out. Hospital personnel raced past them and disappeared around a corner. Another nurse ran by, pushing the Code Blue cart.

The students followed the rapid-response team, and I followed the students. They stopped outside room 312. A plump, middle-aged woman was trying to push her way into the room, screaming Kendall’s name.

A student put her arm around the woman. “Let’s go to the visitors’ waiting room, Mrs. McCormack,” the nurse said. More members of the trauma team bolted down the hall and swung into Kendall’s crowded room.

The student led Mrs. McCormack away. I lowered my hand to my purse, feeling the outline of the Hello Kitty key chain. If I gave them to Kendall’s mother, the memento would push her over the edge. The poor woman was already in shock.

I was feeling pretty stunned myself. Pictures of the Mazda’s shattered windshield kept flying through my head like bits of glass. My hands shook so much, the cookies rattled inside the tin. I made up a new recipe called Please-Don’t-Die Peach Vinegar. Take a cup of chopped peaches and add white wine vinegar. Strain through cheesecloth, over and over until the liquid is clear; pour it into sterilized jars. Add a cinnamon stick to each jar and put them in the fridge. Steep two weeks. Remind yourself that anything can turn bitter. All it takes is time and coldness.

I walked back to the elevator in a daze. The metal doors slid open, and Son Finnegan stepped out.