Relic

by Bill Noel

  “She invited you.”

  “There’s no reason to get so picky about it. Would you go with me? She sounded like there was something strange going on. I’d feel more comfortable with you there.”

  “Strange, how?”

  “Can’t put my finger on it. Strange.”

  “That helps. What’s she going to say if you show up at her door with me in tow?”

  “I’ll let you know in the morning.”

  I rolled my eyes at the phone. “What do you think she wants?”

  “I’ll let you know in the morning.”

  I surrendered. He said he had to deliver a surfboard for the surf shop and would meet me at Laurie’s house. She wanted him to be there at nine, so I knew he’d be there at 8:30, Charles Standard Time.

  I’m certain he said, “Thank you.” Of course, I couldn’t hear it since he’d hung up.

  Chapter Eighteen

  I pulled in Laurie’s gravel drive and parked behind Charles’s Toyota Venza and Laurie’s MINI. Charles stepped out of his vehicle. He had on navy shorts, and a long-sleeved, gray T-shirt with IPFW in blue letters on the front. I had stopped asking about the shirts years ago, although it’d never stopped him from sharing, in my opinion, worthless information about his logo ware. I was clueless about what the letters stood for and comfortable remaining that way.

  Fortunately, he didn’t feel the need to enlighten me. He said, “On time, good.”

  We walked up Laurie’s steps thirty minutes early, and one person more than she’d invited. I stood behind Charles, wishing myself invisible as the homeowner opened the door. She’d abandoned her black, mourning clothes. She had on a baby-blue blouse and tan slacks, a drastic contrast from our first visit when she was in a quilted robe. Her face looked refreshed, with no remnants of tears.

  “Oh,” she said. “You’re early,” proving that she didn’t know Charles enough to know about his time quirk. She glanced around Charles. “Hi, Chris.”

  Charles said, “Is it okay if my friend came with me?”

  I didn’t expect her to say, “No.”

  “I suppose, come on in.”

  Not quite an open-arms welcome, although, under the circumstances it wasn’t bad.

  We followed her to the kitchen, where she asked how we liked our coffee. We said black.

  “Good. I have all this food the good people of Folly have given me, but I don’t have cream.” She got two mugs out of the cabinet and poured our drinks. She handed a mug to Charles and said, “What’s IPFW, a union?”

  “Thanks for asking,” he said as he glanced at me. “It’s Indiana University, Purdue University Fort Wayne.”

  “Oh,” she said.

  My sentiments exactly.

  “Did you go to school there?”

  Further proof that she didn’t know Charles that well.

  “No. I thought the shirt was interesting.”

  “Oh,” she said, for the third time. She walked us to the living room where we sat on the sofa. Laurie took the Lazy Boy.

  “Did your company get off okay?” I asked.

  “Yes, thank goodness. Dean has a meeting with his banker this afternoon, so I think Gail would’ve stayed forever if her ride hadn’t been leaving. I love her to death; she’d do anything for me. As you could tell from lunch, she’d smother me with kindness, and advice. As wonderful as she is, smothering is still smothering.” She turned to Charles. “That’s why I asked Charles over. I wanted to apologize for getting him in the middle of our carping.”

  The use of him wasn’t lost on me, so I waited for the only person she’d invited to respond.

  “Laurie,” Charles said. “I hadn’t given it a thought. We were glad you invited us, weren’t bothered a bit. Were we, Chris?”

  Yes, it bothered me, yes, I felt uncomfortable horning in on her grief. Of course, I said, “No. It was fine.”

  “Thank you. I feel better with that out of the way.”

  Charles said, “Has Gail always been that pushy?”

  Laurie looked at the floor. “I don’t know what’s gotten into her. She wasn’t always that bad. Honest, she wasn’t.”

  I didn’t think she expected a response, especially since we didn’t know Gail at all. It didn’t stop Charles.

  “You’ve been friends a long time. I’m sure Anthony’s death struck her hard. Maybe that’s why.”

  Laurie looked up from the floor. “You’re a wise man, Charles. That’s probably it.”

  It was the first time I’d heard Charles called wise without being followed by another word for donkey.

  The wise man said, “Are you going to be okay?”

  “I think so. I hope so. I don’t know what I’ll do without Anthony. He did everything for me. Perhaps Gail was right about me moving back to Jacksonville. I don’t know many people here. And what about that bullet that nearly killed me? Somebody killed Anthony, somebody was trying to kill me, Charles. I don’t know what to think. What’s to say they won’t try again?”

  Charles looked over at me, expecting me to respond. She was talking to Charles, so I stayed out of it. He took the hint.

  “Any idea who it might’ve been?”

  She jerked her head toward Charles. “No. Why kill Anthony? I know he could be difficult. Lordy, we had our differences, but no one knew him here. So why kill him? What have we done to make someone that angry?” She jumped out of the chair and grabbed our mugs. “Let me get you more.” She headed to the kitchen without waiting for us to respond.

  I looked at Charles, who shrugged.

  Laurie returned with refills. Her hands were shaking as she handed us the mugs. Not knowing what to say, I took a sip as she returned to the La-Z-Boy.

  “Laurie,” Charles said, “could Anthony’s death, umm, murder, have something to do with what you were looking for out there?”

  “Why? All we were doing was looking for Civil War relics.”

  I took a gamble. “Laurie, when we were at lunch, you mentioned that Anthony said something about you not having to worry after you found the buried treasure. What was—”

  She leaned up in her chair so fast that I thought she might fall out. “You must’ve misunderstood. I wouldn’t have said buried treasure. Heavens, that sounds like gold, silver, or something more valuable than what we were looking for. They may have worth, but nothing like buried treasure. A simple misunderstanding.” She leaned back.

  I hadn’t heard her incorrectly at lunch. “I misunderstood. Sorry.”

  “Are you a treasure hunter?” She had leaned back yet her words were as sharp as they were seconds earlier.

  I smiled. “Far from it. I’d never thought about it. Why?”

  “Nothing. I was curious.”

  Curious, and ill at ease with the topic.

  “I know it’s none of my business,” Charles said. “Are you going to be okay financially?”

  “It’s okay to ask, Charles,” she said as her smile returned. “I’m glad you’re concerned. I think so. Anthony had insisted on that nice insurance policy. I have my teachers’ retirement.”

  “If you ever need anything, don’t feel bad about calling.”

  “Charles, thank you for the offer. I may take you up on it. I appreciate you, umm, both of you, stopping by. I know you must be busy, so I won’t keep you.”

  A dismissal, albeit a polite one. We stood, thanked her for the coffee, and reiterated that she could call Charles if she needed anything.

  On the drive home, I asked myself two questions. First, why did Laurie really ask Charles over? She could’ve told him on the phone she was sorry about how he was caught in an awkward situation at lunch. That would’ve been as effective and easier than Charles going to her house. The second question was why did she lie about what she’d said at lunch concerning a buried treasure? The drive home was too short for me to come up with adequate answers. What I did come up with was a need to learn the truth.

  Despite the food Laurie’s neighbors had brought, all she had offered
Charles and me was coffee. I parked in the drive but, instead of going in the house, I walked next door to Bert’s Market to grab something to quench my hunger. I found a Reuben sandwich that I could microwave at home, and found Abraham, excuse me, Captain Gant pulling a six-pack of Budweiser out of the wall cooler. He lowered the beer to his side and gave me a vague smile of recognition.

  “Hi, Captain,” I said, and in case he didn’t remember, added, “I’m Chris.”

  “Of course. I may be old, but I’m not senile.”

  Old, not senile, and cranky, I thought, before I said something about it being a muggy day and that it looked like it would rain tomorrow.

  “We need the rain,” he said.

  I turned to walk away when he said, “Glad I ran into you.” He set the beer on the floor. “Have you heard if the police have suspects in the damned relic hunter’s murder?”

  I thought it was a strange question. He was the retired cop, not me.

  “No, why do you think I’d know?”

  “I hear rumors. Someone said you’re good friends with the chief. I thought she might’ve shared something.”

  “We’re friends although she—”

  “You know what she accused me of?”

  Irritating interrupting came to mind. I said that I didn’t.

  “She questioned me a half hour yesterday, accusing me of taking a shot at the damned relic hunter’s wife. How stupid is that?”

  I didn’t think it was stupid since I’d suggested it to Cindy. “Why’d she think that?”

  “She was playing it close to the vest. Admirable, I suppose. That’s how I would’ve handled it back in the day when I interrogated suspects. The chief didn’t say why I was a suspect. I figure it was because of how I’d badmouthed the couple for meddling in the past, things they had no damned business doing.”

  “What’d you tell her?”

  He glared at me. “Young man, it’s none of your damned business what I told her.” His glare turned to a wicked smile. He put his hand near my face, palm out. “I have nothing to hide. I was at a doctor’s appointment in Charleston. Told the chief there was a herd of sick people in the waiting room the entire two hours. That’s right, two hours waiting. Ought to be a law about that. I had to sit there listening to people cough, wheeze, spew germs. If I wasn’t sick when I got there, I damned well could’ve been when I left. There were witnesses galore. The damned doc couldn’t vouch for most of that time because he didn’t see me for two hours. Did I already say that?”

  I nodded. “Good alibi.”

  Abraham was at the top of my suspect list. Even if he didn’t take a shot at Laurie, he could’ve killed Anthony.

  “Not saying I wouldn’t have had a desire to kill the damned woman for her and her husband digging for buried treasure. It’s pathetic how people meddle where they shouldn’t. I’m not sorry someone’s trying to end her meddling life. I’m only saying it wasn’t me.”

  That was today’s second reference to buried treasure.

  “Captain, my understanding is that they were searching for Civil War relics. What do you mean about buried treasure?”

  He looked around the store and leaned closer to me, like he was about to whisper the nuclear missile launch code. “Remember when I told you about the grandfather of the woman I was accused of trying to shoot?”

  “Harnell Levi. You said he was a nut.”

  “Good recall.”

  “You said he was always talking about pirates, about treasure.”

  “Meddling in the past. Horrible.”

  I didn’t want him to get on another rant about those who dig up the past. “Do you think he told his granddaughter about buried treasure and that’s what they were hunting?”

  “Sure do.”

  “People have searched here, plus on the other barrier islands for decades. They haven’t found anything other than Civil War items, or skeletons. What makes you think the Fitzsimmonses would have a chance at finding something of value?”

  He rubbed the side of his face and looked around again. “I didn’t take it too serious at the time. Hell, I didn’t take anything the old coot said serious. Didn’t give it a thought, until the damned relic hunter was killed.”

  “Take what seriously?”

  Gant nodded. “The map.”

  “Map?”

  “In addition to running around singing show tunes, talking about Nazi subs he claimed to see, and looking like a character actor out of a B cowboy movie, when the old codger got a few of those in his system,” Gant pointed to the six-pack on the floor, “he’d spout off about a treasure map that was going to lead him to riches.”

  “Was he serious?”

  “Serious as a delusional, screwed-up, old codger can be.”

  “Where’d he get this supposed treasure map?”

  “As far as I know he never said.”

  “Anyone ever see it?”

  “I never heard about him showing it to anyone.”

  “Except Laurie?”

  “Speculation, my friend. Pure speculation.”

  A little sucking up may be fruitful. “You’re a former law enforcement officer, a good one I’ve heard. You have good instincts, decades of experience. Any thoughts on who had reason to shoot Anthony Fitzsimmons?”

  He smiled. “Flattery, not a bad technique.” His smile disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. “Back in the day, if I was looking for a killer, I’d start with the spouse. The relic hunter’s wife. Does she have motive? Money’s always a big one? Did hubby have a lot of it? Was he worth more dead than alive? Then there’s love. Was he having an affair, or did she love someone else, and her husband was an albatross around her neck, a problem she needed to eliminate?”

  “I don’t know—”

  He ignored me. “Then you get reasons that are flat out stupid. Did she get mad at him because he wanted to watch a NASCAR race when she wanted to watch a Hallmark movie, or she didn’t like the way he criticized her for the way she cooked pork chops? Stupid reasons, yet I’ve seen spouses killed because of them.”

  “Who else would you consider besides the wife?”

  Abraham looked at his hand and held up three fingers. “My third choice would be someone who knew about the treasure, someone who wanted to get it before the dead guy found it.”

  “If Anthony had the map you mentioned, why wouldn’t the killer wait until he dug up whatever was out there then steal it?”

  “That’s what I said or meant to say. How do you know he didn’t?”

  “It doesn’t make sense that they found something. If they found the treasure, why wouldn’t she have said something to the police, or to me when Charles and I found her in the car? As far as I know, the police didn’t find a shovel or where digging had taken place.”

  Gant grinned and shrugged. “They didn’t find a murder weapon either, did they? It would’ve been easy to throw the gun and whatever he had been digging with in the ocean. It’d been raining hard. With the land low out there, it could’ve flooded, washed sand and crap into wherever he’d been digging. Tons of unanswered questions, ain’t there? That’s why they call it a mystery.”

  “True.”

  “I’ll tell you one thing, mister. It’s a mystery for the police to figure out. It’s nothing for a retired state police officer or a whatever you are to waste time with.”

  I wasn’t about to argue. I’m also far from a mathematician and have trouble balancing my own check book, yet I realized something Gant had said didn’t compute.

  “You said your third choice was someone who knew about the treasure hunt. Who’s your second choice?”

  His smile returned. “You’re looking at him.”

  He picked up the six pack of Bud, turned, and walked to the cash register leaving me staring at the cooler and thinking how much simpler life would be if Charles and I had decided to drive to Charleston to take photos of the mansions overlooked the bay rather than traipsing off to the old Coast Guard property that fateful morning
. I also thought that Abraham had a good point that whatever had happened to Anthony Fitzsimmons was none of my business. It would better be left to the police.

  Finally, I wondered why that wouldn’t be the case.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The next morning, the heavy rain that Abraham and I wasted time talking about had done its damage, and eased. A puddle the size of Lake Erie was in the front yard as water cascaded off the roof of the screened-in porch. An hour later, the rain ended, and I decided to make a visit to Barb’s Books. She was standing by the large plate glass window, gazing at the traffic passing on Center Street, a practice that consumed hours of my time when the space had been my gallery.

  She smiled. “Thank goodness, someone enters.”

  She had on another red blouse. As a concession to the summer temperatures, and the custom of many island retail employees, she wore shorts and tennis shoes.

  “Slow day?”

  “Including you, I can count today’s customers on one finger.”

  “Suppose I should buy something.”

  She rolled her eyes. “How many books have you bought since I’ve been open?”

  “Counting on one hand, zero fingers.”

  “Don’t ruin your perfect record. Can I interest you in a Diet Pepsi?”

  “You twisted my arm,” I followed her to the office. I looked around, again marveling how different the office looked than when it was Landrum Gallery’s office, snack bar, and hang out for my friends.

  She said as she handed me a drink, “Let’s head up front so I don’t miss any of the customers who don’t come in.”

  I was pleased she was acclimating to the quirky character of many of the island’s residents. I joined her as she returned to the staring spot at the front window then shared my conversation with Captain Gant.

  Barb listened with the intensity of an attorney, took a sip of Diet Root Beer, before saying, “It’s interesting how he included himself in his list of suspects. That was an effective way to deflect guilt.”

  “What do you mean?”