Washout
Page 25
A dark plum Chrysler PT Cruiser was parked behind the fire truck, and Bob Howard was parked behind his car. His ample body leaned on the back hatch.
“Mr. LaMond,” Bob said before we were across the street, “this is your lucky day.”
Larry didn’t know Bob like I did.
“And how’s that?” Larry asked.
“The best Realtor in the second largest of Folly’s three small realty firms is standing in front of this pile of charcoal ready to find you a new domicile. How much luckier could you be?”
I should add fire truck chaser to Bob’s resume.
Before Larry could agree with Bob, or tell him where to take his offer, Mr. Howard handed Larry a key and told him it was to a vacant apartment by the marsh, less than two blocks from where we stood. It was furnished, said Bob, free and available for as long as Larry needed to find a new house. Bob also handed Larry six fax sheets on houses for sale or rent on Folly Beach.
The cantankerous, gruff, kindhearted Realtor now turned to me: “What in the hell are you and your idiotic friends doing now? Why is it that every time I turn my back, you and your damn friend, Charles the twerp, are trying to get yourself killed?” Bob turned toward Charles and shook his head. “Now you’re trying to be kung fu fighters.” Charles grinned. Then Bob’s full attention was back on me. “And you. Yeah, I heard about you pulling wires off a bomb like you knew what you were doing. You almost got yourself killed! What would I have told Al or my sweet cousin Louise?”
He was almost out of breath so his tirade was winding down.
“Gosh, Bob,” I said, “there I go again—thinking more about saving my friends than what you’ll have to tell Al, or Louise. Thanks for reminding me.”
“That’s better. Apology accepted,” he said. He looked around to make sure there were no cameras, then put his thick arms around me and gave me a quick hug. He gave a quick glance at Charles. “You didn’t see that, you damn twerp.”
“See what?” asked Charles as he and Larry stepped over the fire hoses snaked around Larry’s yard and slowly walked to the front concrete steps that led to nothing.
Another typical morning on Folly Beach.
WASHOUT
A F O L LY B E AC H M Y S T E RY
Copyright © 2009, 2010 by Bill Noel
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ISBN: 978-1-936236-02-2 (sc)
ISBN: 978-1-936236-03-9 (ebook)
Library of Congress Control Number: 2010920759
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iUniverse rev. date: 1/14/2010