Side(H)arm

by James E. Abel

  “Where did you live before?”

  “Savannah, same as you.”

  “I guess we do have a lot in common.”

  Blue smiled and tapped Molly on the top of her head.

  “What do ya know, Molls? We’re blood sisters!”

  Molly walked over to the side of the pier to look down. When she turned around, Blue was standing on one of the benches lining the side of the pier. She threw one of her legs over the railing and said, “Help, help, I’m falling!”

  Molly laughed and said, “Wait! I’ll save you.” She ran over to Blue, pulled on her arm, and they both tumbled onto the pier, laughing.

  A half hour later, they were munching on candy bars and walking toward Blue’s house. It was a small, run-down, one-story home on a side street near the center of town. When they got near it, Blue pointed to the 2001, faded green Pontiac Bonneville sitting out front and said, “I got an idea. Let’s go to Savannah. I’ll show you where I go when I need to get away.”

  “You can drive?”

  “Sure, I’m fifteen now. I’m supposed to have an adult with me, but no one will stop us. Hey, maybe you can just sit on a pillow and make a real mean face, like you’re yelling at me. That’ll fake ’em out!”

  Molly laughed, pointed at the car, and asked, “Is it yours?”

  “No. But my dad won’t miss it. We’ll be back long before he wakes up.”

  “Maybe some other time. I have to get home, or my Aunt Jenna will miss me.”

  “Must be nice.” Blue turned to go in her house, and Molly headed back to Jenna’s.

  Chapter 28

  Friendship is a funny thing. We like to think it’s all about giving, but the truth is, it wouldn’t last if we weren’t getting something in return. As for Raymond and me, we both needed each other—even though it took him a while to figure that out.

  The following morning, Molly was outside at her easel with a box of oil paints and brushes sitting next to her when Raymond approached her, out for one of his walks. Blue and her other friends were nearby, hanging out down by the water’s edge.

  Raymond glanced over and asked, “Friends of yours?”

  “Sort of.”

  “Thought so. I saw them hanging around the day you snuck in my house. You sure they didn’t have something to do with that?”

  “I’m sure. But I’m glad you’re here. I have some oil paints now, and I don’t know what I’m doing. Can you help? Please?”

  “Alright. Let me see what’s in that box over there.”

  Raymond started rummaging through the box, talking to himself as he went.

  “No pencil, no walnut oil, no palette knife.”

  He turned to Molly and said, “You can’t paint like this. Isn’t your mother helping you at all?”

  Molly hesitated before answering. “No. She’s away.”

  “Well, can you go into the house and get some of her supplies? I’ll tell you what to look for.”

  “They’re not here. This is my Aunt Jenna’s house.”

  “Oh! I just assumed that you lived here.”

  Raymond thought for a minute and said, “Tell you what, I’ll go back to my place and get you what you need. But we’re not going to make a habit of this, okay?”

  Molly’s face lit up.

  “Yes, sir. And thank you so much. Can I come with you?”

  “No. I don’t like company.”

  “I’ve noticed.”

  As Raymond turned for home, he caught Blue watching, and he paused. He looked at Molly and said, “You know, when I was growing up, I loved to paint, but some of my friends thought I was a little strange. Can you imagine that?”

  “No. In what way?”

  “Seems that they thought a better way to spend my time was hanging out with them on the street corners, hustling tourists for money.”

  “So, what did you do?”

  “My mom had a saying. She’d tell me that it was far better to do what you like, then to be liked for what you do.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Raymond chuckled and said, “Someday you will.” And then he said, “I’ll be back in half an hour.” He turned for home.

  Fifteen minutes later, Raymond was at his place, rooting through the cardboard boxes lining the floor when he heard a familiar knock on his door. He reluctantly walked over and opened the door.

  “Don’t you ever listen? I told you to stay put.”

  “Please?”

  Raymond stepped aside.

  “Fine. Come in. Just stay out of my way.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Raymond went back to opening boxes, while Molly noticed an old framed picture sitting on the hutch. She walked over and picked it up.

  “Who’s this in the picture with you?”

  Raymond looked over and said, “That’s my wife, Patricia. It was taken a long time ago.”

  “Where is she now?”

  “She passed away, last year.”

  “How old was she?”

  “How old? She would have been seventy-three, a week ago today.”

  “Well that’s pretty old, but I’m sure you miss her anyway.”

  “You have no idea, but enough of that. Keep quiet while I try to find you what you need.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Raymond went back to digging through boxes while Molly looked at Raymond’s paintings, flipping through the ones stacked against the walls. Frustrated, Raymond went over to the cabinet under the hutch and opened it. He looked on one of the shelves but didn’t find what he was looking for. While he was standing by the hutch, Molly spotted a particular painting, and her eyes lit up. She let out a gasp and walked over to inspect it as Raymond paused to watch.

  “Like it?”

  “It looks like Tybee Pier. The one my mom used to take me to!”

  “That’s because it is. I painted it a long time ago, before they ripped out the wooden pilings and replaced them with the cement ones.”

  “I really miss that place.”

  “Why? Don’t you go there anymore?”

  “I…I lied to you earlier. My mom is dead. She was murdered.”

  “What! I…I am so sorry to hear that.”

  “Yeah, everyone is.”

  “Wait here. I want to get something for you.”

  Raymond walked down the hall toward his bedroom, forgetting to close the cabinet door. Molly walked over to push it shut when her eye caught something sitting inside. She pulled the door open and froze. On the bottom shelf was the Smith & Wesson revolver. She didn’t recognize it as the one that had killed her mother, but that didn’t matter. The memories of that night came rushing back, and she stood there, frozen in fear.

  “Found it!” Raymond called out from down the hall.

  Molly snapped out of her trance and pushed the cabinet door shut. Raymond entered the room carrying an old rusty tackle box and motioned Molly over to the table. He set it down and carefully opened it. Then he peered inside and pushed the contents around as he said, “Yup. This has everything you’ll need. There are some brushes, oil paints, solvents, sketching pencils, a palette knife, even some Gesso. Long ago, I’d use this whenever I went to the dunes to paint, like you do now. Take it. It’s yours.” And then he looked up, only to find Molly gazing off, lost in her own thoughts.

  “Young lady, have you heard a word I’ve said? I think a small gesture of appreciation might be in order.”

  Molly refocused and said, “Oh, I’m sorry. Thank you, Mr. Raymond. But…but don’t you still need it, you know, to paint?”

  “No. I don’t paint anymore, and I don’t plan to be around here much longer anyway.”

  Molly’s reaction was instantaneous and charged with emotion as she blurted out, “What do you mean? You can’t leave!”

  Raymond, startled at Molly’s outburst, asked, “Excuse me, young lady?”

  Molly reset her emotions and said, “You…you can’t leave. You have to teach me how to paint, with oils, like you do. Please,
Mr. Raymond?”

  The pleading look on Molly’s face unnerved Raymond. He stood up, walked to the window, and stared out at his fishing dock. Then he turned around, looked at Molly, and said, “We’ll see, Molly. We’ll see. Now you’d best be going. Take the tackle box and keep it at your Aunt Jenna’s. Maybe I’ll stop by tomorrow.”

  “I’ll be there waiting, so please, don’t forget.”

  Raymond walked to the door and held it open for Molly.

  “Okay. Now you get on home.”

  Molly left with the tackle box, and Raymond closed the door. He stood there and watched her as she walked toward the beach, and then, for the first time, he locked the door.

  Molly was almost home when Blue approached from the other direction. Blue pointed at the tackle box and asked, “Hey, Molls, whatcha got in there?”

  “You know the old man, the painter who lives by the inlet?”

  “Duh! It’s sort of how we met in case you don’t remember!”

  “Yeah, him. Well, he gave it to me. It’s got all sorts of paint supplies inside, and he told me he would stop by tomorrow and teach me how to use them.”

  “Is he bringing some weed along?”

  “Ha, ha! I told you: He doesn’t have any. But maybe you could help me?”

  “Sure. What is it?”

  When he’s here, I need you to sneak into his house and get something for me.”

  “Hey! You’re not trying to punk me are you?”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Never mind, just tell me what you want me to do.”

  “Okay, this is really important, and you can’t tell any of your friends. You have to do this by yourself, promise?”

  “Anything for you, Molls.”

  “I want you to steal his gun.”

  “What? A Gun! Are you crazy?”

  “Please? I’m afraid he’s gonna do something bad with it.”

  “What do you mean, like rob a bank or something?”

  “No. His wife died, and he’s talking sort of weird.”

  “Yeah. I had an uncle who shot himself—right in the head.”

  “So, you’ll help me?”

  “Maybe. First tell me exactly what you want me to do.”

  “Well, he always takes his afternoon walk around noon, so I’d like you to hang around with me until he shows up. Then, when you see him, take off for his cottage. It’s never locked, so when you get there, go inside, and you’ll see an old green cabinet. Open the lower righthand door. That’s where the gun is. Take along a paper bag or something like that to put it in. Then grab the gun, close the door to the cabinet, and leave.”

  “What do I do with it after I get it out of the house?”

  “I don’t know. Do you know any good hiding places?”

  Blue thought for a few seconds and then said, “Actually, I do! But it’s in Savannah—at my old house.”

  “Doesn’t somebody else live there now?”

  “No. We never owned it. We just rented it from some guy my dad knew. After we moved out, they boarded it up. I heard that they’re getting ready to tear the whole block down and build something else.”

  Blue pulled out a long chain she had around her neck. On the end was a key.

  “But I still have a key to get in! That’s my secret getaway when I need to be alone.”

  “Perfect. But how can you get over there?”

  “Tomorrow’s Friday, right?”

  “I think so.”

  “Well, then my old man works tomorrow, so he won’t be home.”

  “Is that good or bad?”

  “It’s good. It means the car will be at home, and he won’t be.”

  “He doesn’t drive to work?”

  “This is Tybee Island; you can walk almost everywhere. He’s a short order cook at one of the diners in town, so he always walks. That way, he can drink all he wants after work. I can drive over to the old house, hide the gun, and get back home before he does.”

  Molly gave Blue a hug and said, “Thank you so much!”

  “Yeah, well, you owe me now.”

  Chapter 29

  “Any sign of the old man yet?” Blue asked. She was standing with Molly by the dunes behind Jenna’s house. Molly had just finished bringing out an extra chair. The easel, a blank canvas, a table, and Raymond’s old tackle box were already in place.

  “No, but he’ll be here. I know he will.”

  “Maybe not. He might have shot himself last night! Wouldn’t that be weird?”

  “Don’t you dare think that! He’s a really nice man. You’d like him.”

  “Whatever!”

  Blue shaded her eyes from the sun, looked down the beach, and said, “Hey, what do you know, here he comes now.”

  Molly joined Blue gazing down the beach. About 100 yards away, she saw Raymond trudging along through the soft sand, carrying something in his hand.

  Molly said, “I told you so. Now quick, go away. Walk down to the water and don’t look back. You know the rest. Oh, did you bring a bag to put the gun in?”

  “Damn, I knew I forgot something.”

  Molly opened the tackle box and found what she was looking for: an old paper bag with a bunch of paintbrushes inside. She dumped the paintbrushes out onto the table, handed the bag to Blue, and said, “Here, take this. Now go.”

  Blue laughed and said, “Relax, girl. I’ll see ya later—maybe this afternoon?”

  “Okay. My Aunt Jenna should be back by then, but she won’t care. Just get out of here!”

  Blue ran off, and a minute later, Raymond reached Molly. He glanced over at Blue, watching her run toward the water, and said, “So, you’re still hanging around with that blue girl, I see.”

  “How’d you know her name?”

  “Can’t say as I did. Oh, here, I brought you something.”

  He handed Molly an old wooden painter’s palette.

  Molly looked it over, smiled, and said, “Thank you, Mr. Raymond. Is it yours?”

  Raymond smiled and said, “Well, I don’t know who else’s it would be. Do you?”

  Molly smiled and said, “Guess not.”

  Then Raymond looked around and said, “I see you’re all set up here. Even got my own chair, I see.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  Raymond sat down, turned to Molly, and said, “Okay then. Hand me the tackle box.”

  Molly handed it to Raymond. He reached inside, pulling out all sorts of things, including palette knives, containers, a small wooden box full of tubes of oil paints, and several rags. Then he looked at Molly and said, “Now, before you even pick up a brush, there are some basics we need to go over. For starters, you need to prepare the canvas with this stuff over here.”

  He grabbed a plastic container from the table and said, “It’s called Gesso. You start by putting a thin coat over the entire canvas.”

  With that, Molly’s first instruction in oil painting was in full gear. It went on for well over an hour, which was more than enough time for Blue to do what Molly had asked.

  Chapter 30

  While Raymond was sitting with Molly on the beach, Jordan was parking his car outside of police headquarters on East Lathrop Avenue in downtown Savannah. He jumped out, headed inside and walked up the stairs to his own cubicle. When he got there, he found Tommy waiting for him.

  Jordan smiled and said, “Thanks for coming.”

  “No problem. What is it you wanted to talk about?”

  “I wanted to know if you had any luck tracking down fingerprints for Kevin Phillips.”

  “I tried, but I came up empty. He’s never been in the system.”

  “Did you check with the University of Georgia? I don’t know the procedures on college campuses these days, but it wouldn’t surprise me if they take a set of prints from all the students.”

  “Sorry, never thought of that. I’ll check into it, but why are you all worked up about the Phillips kid?”

  “Because the more I think about it, the more I’m convince
d that he was involved in Casey’s murder. He disappeared about that time, he has some sort of connection to Lucien Baxter, and he generally fits Molly’s description. I’m figuring he got himself hooked on drugs and owes Baxter a lot of money. That’s why he broke into my house, and that’s why we found Baxter snooping around at the Phillips’s house. Think about it: Phillips would never go to his grandmother for help to pay off his drug debts. She thinks he’s a saint of some sort. Did Billy ever say anything about Kevin Phillips having a tattoo? It could have been some sort of bonding ritual when they went off to college.”

  “No. I don’t know anything about any tattoos.”

  “Okay. Then I’ll check with his grandmother.”

  “Please. Let me do that. You’ll just upset her.”

  “Fine, but get on it today. And while you’re talking to her, find out if she has a phone number for the kid. I checked with all the major carriers, and they don’t seem to have any accounts open in his name.”

  “Consider it done.”

  Good. Then you head over to the Phillips’s house while I stop by the Fine Arts and Curios Shop. Turns out the owner is a thirty-six-year-old man by the name of Cayden James, and he’s got a pretty spotty past.”

  “Really? What did you find?”

  “A couple of drug related arrests in the D.C. area, all within the past five years. Before that, not much of anything, other than a couple of speeding tickets.”

  “What’s the game plan? You going in as a cop or as a customer?”

  “I’m just gonna be a regular customer, looking for some art to hang on the walls of my new house. It should give me a feel for how this guy rolls, how smooth he is.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “Okay then, see you later.” Jordan stood up, put on his shoulder holster, and headed for the parking deck.

  Chapter 31

  Three Days Later

  “And that, folks, is why, to this day, our desk sergeant is still known as the Blue-Footed Booby.” Laughter and applause filled the room as Tommy Reynolds took his final bow. It was the Savannah Police Department’s annual charity ball, and Tommy was finishing up his act in front of 400 guests in the beautiful atrium overlooking Telfair Square inside of the Jepson Center. In addition to food, wine, and entertainment, the centerpiece of the evening was a silent auction, with all proceeds going to local organizations dedicated to the betterment of the community.