She looked so vulnerable in that moment, I was actually rather touched. Maybe I was more important to Tabitha than I realized. Maybe after all these years of working together we were forming a friendship, despite her outward hostility toward me? I moved to give her a hug, but she took a step back.
“Besides, a dead body doesn’t need an ambulance. It needs an obituary. You do write obituaries, don’t you?”
Okay. So maybe she didn’t call me for support.
“Why don’t we go sit down?” I said. I was a bit stung, but more than that I was eager to change the subject. I may have slightly exaggerated the level of my responsibility in the obits department to Tabitha. But when she kept pressing me to cover more and more of her shifts at the library, I felt it sounded better to refuse because I’m swamped at the paper, rather than I just want more time to hang out with my hot new boyfriend Jay. And besides, it wasn’t my fault that I wasn’t writing obits yet. That was on Flick.
“Don’t worry about the obit,” I added. “I’m sure we can get it in for this Sunday, or worst case, next week’s edition.”
“Next week?” Tabitha rounded on me like a cage fighter. “Do you know what is happening here exactly twelve days from tomorrow?”
Of course I knew, but I wasn’t about to answer her when she asked me like that.
“The wedding event of the season is going to be held in this very house. Have you ever planned a wedding for 450 guests, Riley? I doubt it very much. So let me tell you, it doesn’t just happen. It takes time, precision, and decisive action.” She spoke of it more like a military operation than a wedding. “And it’s not like I’m getting a lot of help or anything. So I’m sorry that Arthur is dead, I really am, but you will excuse me if I’m being proactive in getting the ball rolling on his obituary. If it doesn’t get in this Sunday’s paper, there is no way we can have the funeral by next Thursday, which needs to happen because the antler artists will need to get in here by the following Monday, latest.” Her face was flushed, eyes wild. “The arch takes four days to be constructed, which only leaves us a one-day cushion for contingencies. Not to mention the flagstone path that needs to be finished up, final alterations on my dress, confirming the musicians, the caterers, and the florists”—she was really working herself into a lather—“so as sad as it is, you’ll understand the importance of getting the show on the road so-to-speak. Life doesn’t just stop because someone dies!”
“Okay, just calm down, Tabith—”
“Why am I even explaining this to you?” She turned away, cutting me off like a boil. A second later we heard the sound of sirens screaming up the long, winding stone driveway. It was acting-Sheriff Carl Haight and his deputy Chip Churner, who everyone called Butter.
“Miss St. Simon. Miss Ellison,” Carl said as he stepped out of his cruiser. Even though I had known Carl Haight since I was four years old and we used to play Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles together at preschool, he preferred that we keep things professional while on the job.
“Acting-Sheriff Haight,” I said. “Hey, Butter.” Butter didn’t stand on ceremony.
Carl tipped the corner of his hat toward Tabitha. “I’m sorry for your loss, ma’am. Coroner’s on the way.”
Tabitha’s arms were crossed tightly across her chest. “I’ll show you to the, um, body.” She led the two officers toward the back, leaving me alone in the foyer. “Riley, don’t go anywhere,” she called over her shoulder.
As I watched them walk away, I couldn’t help but wonder why Tabitha had called me before she called the sheriff. I wasn’t buying her obituary story, and it wasn’t like we were exactly friends. We were more like frenemies, if anything. And it’s not like a girl with nine bridesmaids would call a former co-worker-slash-frenemy for support. There was something weird going on with Tabitha.
I heard the click-clack of shoes coming back down the long hallway as she walked back toward me holding a neat manila file. “This should get you started. If you need any interviews, I’ve listed family names and numbers on top. The theme we’re going for is understated heroism, okay? And we want maximum number of inches allowed—at least a half page; a full one, if possible. This will need to run in Sunday’s paper. Got it?”
I looked at her, stunned by the businesslike way in which she was handling all of this. I knew Tabitha wasn’t the dissolve-into-tears sort, but she had just found her future father-in-law dead. You would have thought at least a short period of mourning or shock would have been in order.
“Does Thad know yet?”
She looked away; emotion rolled across her face briefly. “Yes. I called him before you got here. He’s on his way home from a meeting in Richmond.”
The front door was still standing open and the sound of another car pulling into the circle drive drifted in. We turned to see the red pickup truck of the county coroner roll into the Davenport driveway.
The Tuttle County government was like many other rural communities in the United States: economically disadvantaged. So they had to make some concessions. For example, we didn’t have a medical examiner; we had a coroner. The difference is that while a medical examiner has to be a physician trained in forensic pathology, a coroner simply has to be elected, like a member of the school board or the president of the PTA.
Tuttle County’s coroner was Tiffany Peters, a former beauty queen (five-time Miss Junior Johnnycake) and
