by Bill Noel
“Did he ever mention anything about food trucks?”
Cindy was silent for a moment. Finally, she said, “I hadn’t thought about it until now. When he got back from his mental respite, he caused a minor ruckus in front of Tokyo Crepes. I’ll pull the report. I seem to recall him being upset because the food truck always had a line of customers. My guys didn’t arrest him. Tannery apologized and went on his way. It appeared that his time having his noggin screwed back together did him good.”
“That’s it?”
“Pretty sure I would’ve remembered it if he said he was going to torch it. Tell you what, I’ll review what happened at Tokyo Crepes, and see if I can find where he’s staying. I’ll have one of my guys ask if he wants to have a tour of our lovely police department so I can see what he knows about the weenie roast in Theo’s drive.”
I told her that sounded like a great idea. She told me that it was a police matter and to wring out of my brain the notion about getting involved. I told her I understood; understood, but not that I wouldn’t get involved.
Chapter Forty
The phone rang two hours later, so I figured it was Cindy calling with a report on Joseph Tannery. Wrong. It was Charles inviting me to lunch at twelve-thirty at Rita’s. He was buying. I should’ve known there was no such thing as a free lunch when he added that Laurie, Dean, and Gail would be joining us. Other than Charles, they wouldn’t have been on my A list of people to eat with. I hesitated then he reminded me I had to eat somewhere.
It turned out to be the kind of wonderful day I’d only speculated about during my conversation with Cindy. I walked two blocks to the restaurant where I saw the others seated on the patio, enjoying the weather, two beers, and a glass of wine.
Charles waved me thought the patio’s gate. He wore a smile, gray shorts, and a red and black, long-sleeved T-shirt with FROSTBURG STATE UNIVERSITY BOBCATS in block letters on the front. The other three at the table were dressed in traditional beach garb, not displaying allegiances to anything. Charles had pulled a fifth chair to the table and nodded for me to join them.
Laurie pointed at Charles’s T-shirt, smiled, and said, “It’s in Maryland.”
“Oh,” I said, hoping that ended the discussion about the shirt.
“Dean and I are glad you could make it. We got in this morning. Going to spend a few days with Laurie,” Gail said, taking charge of the conversation. Surprise. Surprise.
Dean nodded agreement, a motion I suspected he was accustomed to making.
Kim, the server who’d waited on Barb and me during our recent visit, moved beside me to ask what I wanted to drink. I would have preferred a soft drink, but figured I’d need wine for lunch with Gail and Dean. I ordered Chardonnay.
We spent fifteen minutes sharing the niceties people who don’t know each other well talk about: weather, traffic, food, and more weather. It was turning out to be a pleasant conversation, until Laurie said how glad she was Dean had taken time from his business to be here.
Gail jerked her head toward her husband and gripped the edge of the table so tightly her knuckles turned white. “Running from the feakin’ bill collectors is more like it.”
“Now, Gail,” Laurie said as she touched her friend’s arm. “Charles and Chris don’t want to hear about it.”
She was wrong about Charles. He wouldn’t give up until he knew what “it” was.
Charles said, “That’s okay, Laurie, you’re among friends.”
Dean blinked, then in a lower voice said, “It’s no big deal. We’ve had a couple of financial setbacks. Nothing to worry about.”
I thought Gail was going to spring over the table. “Nothing to worry about! Losing the business, losing our house is nothing to worry about?”
Laurie looked like she wanted to crawl under the table. She slowly shook her head and stared at her empty wine glass.
I caught a glimpse of Kim behind Laurie, so I motioned her to the table. With luck, an interruption might calm Gail.
Kim asked if we were ready to order.
Without checking with anyone else, Charles said that we were.
Gail started to speak, took a deep breath, then glanced at the menu. Tension subsided slightly as we went around the table making selections.
When it got to Dean, he told Kim that he wasn’t hungry. He pushed away from the table and stormed out the gate.
Kim took it in stride, saying that she’d place our orders.
After an awkward silence, Gail said, “I apologize. I’m afraid the business is lost. Dean can’t fight any longer. Folks, as goes the store, so goes our house. We’ve been living off credit cards for months. Sorry to dump this on you.”
I was thinking how terrible it must be for them yet laying it on a friend who recently lost her husband seemed insensitive. I was thinking about Laurie’s situation while Charles was telling Gail something about how sorry he was, when a comment by Gail joggled me back to reality.
She had thanked Charles for his sympathy and was talking to Laurie. “I’m leaving him.”
Laurie stared at her friend. “What?”
“You heard me. I’m leaving Dean.”
Laurie said, “Why?”
“He’s having an affair.”
I reminded myself that Charles was paying for this soap opera. I sat back to watch the show.
Laurie looked at the gate where Dean had exited. “How do you know?”
“Remember when we were supposed to be here with you relic hunting?”
“Sure.”
Gail bobbed her head. “Dean said he couldn’t come, that I should come by myself. He said he had to be at a tire meeting in Tallahassee.”
Laurie said, “I remember.”
“He wasn’t.”
“How do you know?”
“One of his tire buddies called the day Anthony was killed. He asked to talk to Dean, said Dean didn’t answer his cell phone. I told him I thought my husband was with him in Tallahassee. He said he would’ve been if the meeting hadn’t been cancelled. That wasn’t the first time he’d lied about being out of town on business.”
I wasn’t nearly as interested in Dean and Gail’s marital status as I was to learn that despite her earlier claims that she had been with her husband in Jacksonville when Anthony was killed, she wasn’t. I also recalled that when I’d asked Laurie who knew she and Anthony would’ve been hunting for relics the night he was killed, she’d said she hadn’t told anyone, which could’ve meant not told anyone on Folly.
I asked, “When did Dean get home?”
Gail turned to me and seemed stunned that I’d said anything. “Don’t know. He was there when I got home, so I was more interested in where he’d been. He acted surprised I’d asked then gave me a song and dance about being in Tallahassee. I shut him up before he could weave his way through a pack of lies. I told him I knew he wasn’t at a meeting.”
Our food arrived. Laurie started on hers like she was starved. My guess was that she’d rather eat than join in the conversation. I was with her on that. Charles, on the other hand, was in his element. “Gail, how long—”
Gail pointed her fork at Charles. “Enough. I don’t want to burden Laurie with my problems. Let’s enjoy the weather, the food.”
“That’s okay,” Laurie said, “I know it must—”
“I said enough,” Gail said through a snarl.
The rest of our meal was eaten in peace, okay, silence, not peace.
After more than forty-five minutes of the most awkward meal I could remember, Charles paid the check.
Gail said she and Laurie needed to go to Harris Teeter to get cleaning supplies.
Laurie gave me a hug and a peck on the cheek then gave a longer hug to Charles and a super-sized peck on the cheek, more accurately, a kiss. She said that she’d call him later.
Charles and I moved to the bar to give the table to diners who’d been patiently waiting.
He told me he was still buying and added, “Wonder what took Dean so long to deci
de to leave Gail? That woman would drive me batty. Hope Dean’s new squeeze knows he can talk.”
Kim told the bartender what we’d been drinking, so he delivered beer to Charles, white wine to me, without our asking.
“Did you get what she’d said about Dean not being at the meeting in Tallahassee?”
Charles took a sip of beer. “Would’ve been hard to miss. I also remembered them saying they’d planned to be relic hunting with Anthony and Laurie but didn’t make the trip because of Dean’s meeting.”
I added, “They knew Laurie and Anthony would be at the Preserve.”
“Laurie said she didn’t tell anyone here.”
“She wasn’t sure if Anthony told anyone.”
Charles rubbed his chin. “Dean would’ve had a whopping motive to kill Anthony for the map.”
“A failing store, losing his house, losing his wife.”
“All good reasons. Remember, when the shot was taken at Laurie, Gail was here without Dean. He could’ve been with his new chick interest, or here shooting at Laurie.”
“Before we accuse Dean, think about something else. Gail was already here and could’ve easily taken the shot. Remember what she said over there?” I pointed to the table where we’d been.
“Which part? She said a heap of hostile stuff.”
“When I asked her when Dean got back from his alleged trip to Tallahassee, she said she wasn’t there when he got home.”
“So?”
“So,” I said, “she could’ve been killing Anthony, stealing the map.”
Charles dipped his head and tapped on the bar. “She could also have been at the grocery, getting a facial, dominating someone’s conversation, or hanging with a friend making the friend’s life miserable.”
“True. What we do know is she was on Folly when the first shot was taken at Laurie; she wasn’t with Dean when Anthony was killed.”
Charles rubbed his temple. “Let’s change the subject. All I get from thinking about this is a headache, a headache that started when dear, sweet Gail started unloading on Dean.”
I nodded. “Do you know Joseph Tannery?”
“Whoa. I thought I’d cornered the market on abrupt turns in a conversation.”
“I’ve learned from the best. Tannery?”
“Met him a couple of times. Don’t know him well. Why?”
I shared what Sal had said about Tannery’s discussion plus what Cindy had told me about the miniature golf course.
Charles stared at me. “You’re taking crime-fighting advice from Sal?”
“Advice, no. Information, yes. What do you know about Tannery?”
“I remember the incident in front of the miniature golf course. I was there. I doubt Tannery remembers it. He was so drunk that if someone had walked by with a lit cigarette, his breath would’ve caught fire. I didn’t see him for a few years after that. In fact, the next time I saw him was last week on the sidewalk. I nodded. He nodded. We didn’t speak.”
“Think he could’ve damaged and then burned Grace’s food truck?”
“In the old days, he could’ve. I don’t know about now. Do we need to find him so I can trick a confession out of him?”
“It’s in the capable hands of the police.”
“If you say so.”
Chapter Forty-One
Hanging with Charles at the Preserve afternoon number two began a couple hours after we’d gone our separate ways from Rita’s. I thought it was a futile effort. I didn’t point that out when he picked me up at the house. If I’d mentioned it, he’d ask what I had better to do. I’d admit not a thing. I hopped in the car, put my Nikon on the back seat beside his.
He said, “Ready to catch a killer?”
I said sure.
There were more cars near the entrance than there were yesterday, most likely, belonging to vacationers.
Clouds had rolled in providing a welcomed relief from direct sunlight. The temperature was still in the upper eighties, yet tolerable. We followed a similar path to the one we’d taken the day before. There were no birdwatchers, and we returned to the pavement and walked most of the way to where the roadway ended, a spot where large elevated foundations left from the Coast Guard buildings had been recently removed.
During the half hour we sat on a couple of large rocks, two dozen people walked past: two groups of four, a couple of men pulling fishing carts, three bicyclists, and several couples ranging in age from teenagers to seasoned citizens. None of them carried a shovel, or a metal detector.
Charles was unusually quiet most of the time.
I asked him twice what was wrong.
Both times, he said nothing.
I didn’t believe him, but knew that he would tell me when he was ready. I suggested that we walk farther up the road to explore a path on the marsh side of the pavement.
He shrugged then moved beside me as I walked a hundred yards until I saw the narrow path leading to our left. Branches provided a low canopy over much of the way, so we walked single file through the tightest spots.
The path opened to a wide area overlooking the marsh. There were burnt logs in the clearing, evidence that someone had built a fire. What wasn’t there was evidence of digging. We could hear voices coming from the beach fifty or so yards to our right, plus the sound of birds squawking about something.
Charles plopped down on a large, unburnt log, removed his Tilley and wiped his forehead with his arm. “Chris, I know you think this is a waste of time. It probably is. I’m worried about Laurie, don’t know what else to do. We’ve seen too many of our friends hurt. I don’t want her on that list.”
“You like her, don’t you?”
He looked at the sandy soil then kicked a piece of blackened wood. “I don’t know. She’s nice. For some reason, she latched onto me. She calls nearly every day. Look how many times she’s wanted me to eat with her.”
He rubbed a question mark in the sand with his foot. “I’ve seen videos of an animal, let’s say a dog, rescuing another kind of critter, a baby duck, for example. The baby critter starts hanging around its rescuer, follows it wherever it goes, does stuff a duck would never do if it hadn’t been rescued by the dog. I was the first person Laurie saw after that traumatic night. Could she be the baby duck, me the dog? Could that be why she’s acting like that with me?”
“That’d make sense.”
“I’ve had one serious romantic relationship in my million years on earth. That’s not a lot of experience, so I don’t know what to think, or do. I like her, think it’s possible that, someday, it could turn to something more. If she’s latched on me because of the dog/duck thing, I’d be barking up the wrong palmetto tree.” He looked at me. “What do I do?”
I was stuck on the dog/duck thing and palmetto tree. I hesitated before saying, “Charles, time’s the only thing that’ll answer that question. You need to be yourself then see what happens.”
“Gee, Chris, who but me can I be?”
“What I mean is don’t try to be someone you’re not. Don’t try to change to be what you think she wants. You being you is wonderful.”
“Thanks. That still doesn’t help keep her safe. The only way that’ll happen is for Anthony’s killer to spend the rest of his life eating slop, while looking at concrete block walls and bars. How’re we going to make that happen?”
I told him that I didn’t know. I suggested that we weren’t accomplishing anything out here. He grumbled, made a mild case for how it might help before kicking the ground one more time, then agreed with me.
We were getting in the car when Charles pointed to an older model, black Mercury Grand Marquis parked two cars over. “That’s Captain Gant’s car.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah,” Charles said as he opened the door and stepped out. “He told me he liked it because it reminded him of the Ford Crown Vics he drove when he was with the state cops. I also remember that AAA decal on the bumper. Let’s find him.” He started back toward the stanchions blocking the
entrance to the Preserve before I made it out of the car. He didn’t stay around long enough for me to suggest that Gant may be visiting one of the houses near his car instead of being at the Preserve.
I grabbed my camera then jogged to catch Charles. He had a renewed step in his gait while tapping his cane on the pavement like he was on a mission. I was less enthusiastic since we were charging off after a retired cop, a possible murderer. By the time I caught up with Charles, he was scanning each side of the road, reminding me of a coonhound sniffing the air in search of its prey. It was nearing sunset, so the number of walkers had thinned.
We passed the spot where we’d spent time earlier when Charles said, “This way. I think I saw someone.”
He pushed the branches out of his face and bent down to miss higher hanging limbs as he made his way down a narrow path leading toward the beach. We had to walk single file, so I was a couple of feet behind him when someone barked, “Stop!”
I twisted around to see Captain Gant stepping out from behind a large tree. He wore a short-sleeved black shirt, baggy camouflage-patterned slacks, and a snarl that would terrify anyone under the age of sixteen. That wasn’t what caught my eye. What grabbed my attention was the silver handgun pointed at my chest.
I turned to get a better look when he said, “Don’t move. Slowly clasp your hands behind your head.”
I was in no position to tell him we could do one or the other, not both. Charles moved beside me and mimicked the movement of my hands. Gant was too far away for me to grab the gun, yet close enough to not miss if he pulled the trigger.
He waved the handgun toward a log about five feet off the path. “Slowly walk over there and sit.”
If Charles and I quickly split up, the odds were one of us could get to the gun. The downside being one of us would most likely be shot.
Think quickly. What other options did we have?
Better to follow his command, for now.