by Bill Noel
Chester had caught up with the leaders and turned them in the direction of Bert’s. I turned and watched Theo laughing at something that Harriet had said, and wondered about Larry’s request and how I had planned to get the slightest idea about what, if anything, Abe was planning to do to rip people off.
I sighed, stretched out my arms, and turned to Charles. “True, but look how much exercise we’re getting.”
I wondered if that was all we’d get by following Larry’s hunches.
“Well, well,” exclaimed Eric, Bert’s Market’s amiable clerk and man with the most-recognizable beard on Folly Beach. “What brings such a distinguished group in this morning?”
Calling us distinguished said a lot about other customers who frequented Bert’s at all hours of the day and night, but I let Chester answer. He moved to the front of the group, pulled his shoulders back, and, with great pride, said, “Eric, this is our walking group. We start at the pier and head out in different directions a few times a week.”
“Welcome,” Eric said. “What can I get for you after such a long excursion, Chester? Water, candy, oxygen?”
Eric had known Chester since the group’s leader had worked part-time in the store and felt comfortable teasing him. Besides, I agreed with Eric about oxygen since Chester now leaned against the counter and was trying to catch his breath. David and Abraham appeared full of energy and antsy to continue, but Harriet and William had followed Chester’s lead and leaned on the nearest horizontal surface.
“Funny,” Chester said and wiped sweat off his forehead. “We needed to cool off, we’re about at the mid-point of our longest walk yet. After the group jabbers a bit and cools down, I’m going to buy each one an ice-cream sandwich.”
I moved away from Chester and Eric and spotted Abe in the back corner of the store huddled with Connie and Harriet. Their body language screamed something more intense than talking about the walk, so I moved over one aisle and as close as possible without appearing to eavesdrop. I picked up a jar of pickles and studied the label like it contained a map to the fountain of youth.
Abe had an arm around Connie but was talking to Harriet. “Incredible deal for us more mature adults.” He lowered his voice and all I could make out was, “…simple as that … few papers and the money starts rolling in … turn your house into cash today …”
Harriet glanced over at me but must have figured that I wasn’t close enough to hear or didn’t care if I overheard. She turned to Abe. “It’s called a reverse mortgage?”
“Sure is,” Abe said. “All the smart people in California, Florida, and New York are jumping on the bandwagon. You get to stay in your house as long as you want, and the company pays you a lot of money each month for as long as you live.”
He said something about how much they would get after their house was appraised, but I didn’t catch the details.
“And you’re the exclusive agent for the company in the Charleston area?” Connie asked.
“Sure am.” Abe noticed me and my fascination with the pickle jar. He smiled at me and motioned for the ladies to move closer to him.
Harriet asked, “Are other companies selling it?”
“Oh yes. It’s the hottest thing in wealth management.”
“So why should I go with your company?” she asked.
Excellent question, I thought.
“Excellent question,” Abe not only thought but said. “Here’s the best part. My company has a huge international conglomerate behind it. It’s so hush-hush that I’m not even at liberty to divulge the name, but rest assured, you’ve heard of it. They’re wanting to corner the reverse mortgage market. They’ve got deep pockets and don’t mind paying more, much more I might add, for the houses now so they can flush competitors out.” He mumbled something else I couldn’t hear and then said, “For the next forty-five days, they’re paying a twenty percent premium to people who take advantage of their already great deal. I put my house in the program and am getting way more than anyone else offered and lifetime security.”
Connie looked at the floor and back at Abe. “Interesting.”
They moved farther down the aisle and would have known that I was listening if I followed. I heard Abe say something about getting together with the ladies later when Chester interrupted and asked us to gather around the ice-cream freezer.
That was when I learned that Theo could move faster than a glacier. He was the first to the freezer and the others followed. Chester said that since this was the longest hike to date, he was buying everyone a treat. No one applauded, but they were pleased.
The distance to the ending point of the excursion from Bert’s was a long block and a half along the second busiest street on the island, so Chester’s treat provided not only a cool refreshment but enough sugar to keep the group energized. We were in the homestretch, albeit a long one, walking single file since there were no sidewalks and we occasionally had to step on the busy street. Charles was in front of me tapping his way with his cane on the gravel berm and William was a step to my rear. Abe walked in front of Charles and had his left arm around Connie. Between the sounds of cars roaring by, I caught Abe sharing more about the miracle product, reverse mortgages. Harriet was behind Connie and seemed more intent on complaining about us walking too fast, the dust we were stirring up along the way, and the nerve of Chester making the group walk so far.
On a more pleasant note, William walked behind me and was humming “What A Wonderful World.” From anyone else, it may have been a pleasant sound; from one of the best singers that I’d ever heard, it was a delight.
The mood turned less pleasant when William tapped me on the shoulder and asked if I had learned anything more about the murder. He said that after our conversation, he’d heard that several of his students had known the dead man and were “bummed.” I told him that he knew as much as I did, and he said that he hoped that the authorities had a better understanding than the two of us. I agreed.
“Chris, allow me to ask you another question.” He continued before I agreed to allow him to ask. “Are you familiar with a financial product known as a reverse mortgage?”
I had received a brochure in the mail a year or so ago from a finance company in Columbia touting the benefits to the elderly of getting one. I was not in a financial bind and deposited the colorful brochure in the trash with other junk mail. I had made the mistake of asking Bob Howard about the product, something that I had only learned about through the brochure. He began one of his Bob Howard patented rants about how reverse mortgages are the worst thing since mosquitos and Twitter and how they took advantage of the elderly and something about the downfall of the global economy. I had asked him what was wrong with them and all I got, or could understand, was that they were high-interest loans against the house and that the fees were, in his words, “damned astronomical,” the heirs may not get the house, and all the house expenses still fell to the person getting the reverse mortgage. Bob conceded, in a whisper as I recall, that for some people they could be a good thing. He didn’t say the same for mosquitos and Twitter.
“William, I’m no expert, but from what I’ve heard, they need to be looked at closely before going down that road. Why?”
William pointed to the front of the group. “Abe called last night to talk to me about them. It seems he represents a company getting into the business of selling the product and was touting the advantages. I, as you are well aware, am quite conservative and look askance at anything new, particularly when it comes to my economic wellbeing.”
“Wise,” I said.
“I told Abe that I would contemplate the opportunity. I wish I’d replied in the negative. He told me that he was also a financial advisor and that if I wished to look at investment opportunities that far exceeded the index funds, he would be glad to review my portfolio.”
“What’d you say?”
William chuckled. “I informed him that I was a college professor and that to me a portfolio was something that I had my students
prepare to showcase their work and that I would never be financially ‘loaded,’ as my students say, enough to need a financial advisor. He shook his head and said ‘you never know,’ and for me to keep him in mind if I ever needed assistance with my wealth-management plan.”
From comments that he had made over the years, I knew that William was more financially secure than he would let on, but was relieved that he didn’t let Abraham know it.
“Did he say anything else?” I asked.
“Not much. He did indicate that he was working with Theo and since everyone in the group knew that Mr. Stoll was well off, that should tell me something about Abe’s financial-management savvy.”
Knowing Larry’s history with Abe and his concerns about Abe’s arrival on Folly, I was afraid that it told me too much.
Chapter Thirteen
The group walked, crawled, up three steps to Chester’s screened-in porch on his faded-yellow cottage. We looked more like we had traversed Pennsylvania barefoot rather than the five-block-long walk with an ice cream break in the middle. Harriet complained about having to move one of Chester’s plastic chairs off the walk; Connie said that she may have pulled a muscle in her calf while crossing Center Street and sat in the lawn chair that Harriet had griped about having to move and rubbed her leg. Theo yelled “What?” at Connie, and went on to say that he may be suffering sunstroke; and, David didn’t say anything because he was gasping for breath. Charles and I followed David’s lead and didn’t say anything, not because we couldn’t breathe but because we had nothing to say. Abe put his arm around Theo and said, “Refreshing!” William smiled and said something pedantic that meant that it was fun, and Chester said, “Lemonade anyone?”
That got everyone’s attention except Connie who was sitting in front of the house when a rusting, silver Nissan Maxima skidded to a stop in the gravel along the side of the road. I was on the porch and saw Connie rise from the chair, warily put weight on her leg, and limp to the passenger side of the car. The windows were tinted and the passenger window was partially down so I couldn’t get a clear look at the driver but he looked vaguely familiar. Abe was helping Chester with the plastic cups he was filling from a sailing-flag covered, glass pitcher that he brought from the kitchen. Harriet remained true to her complaining self when she said, “It’s about time.” To Abe’s credit, he smiled and thanked her for being patient. Con artist or consummate salesman?
The Nissan was thirty feet away and I couldn’t hear what was being said, but Connie was flailing her arm around and had the windowsill in a death grip with her other hand. Saying that she was agitated would be mild. She pushed away from the car and it spun its wheels in the gravel as it pulled back on the street. Connie turned and stormed toward the porch; her calf injury having miraculously recuperated. She yanked on Chester’s screen door so hard that I was afraid that it would pull off its hinges, took a deep breath, and grabbed the last cup of lemonade. The rest of us pretended that nothing had happened and even Abe didn’t try to comfort her.
Chester cleared his throat, and failing to get everyone’s attention, clapped his hands. All but Theo stopped talking and looked at the host. Harriet tapped Theo on the arm and pointed at Chester.
Chester increased his volume and said, “Folks, our humble walking group added two new members today.”
Everyone but Charles and I clapped, feebly, but an effort nonetheless. I attributed the lack of enthusiasm to the exhausting excursion.
After the non-thunderous applause died down, Chester said, “Now that Charles and Chris are full-fledged members, we can tell them the genesis of our name.” He nodded and looked outside, probably to make sure that no television crew or international spy ring was eavesdropping on the soon-to-be revealed secret. “The lofty goal of our group is to walk from where the old Coast Guard station began at the end of East Ashley Avenue to the end of the island where we can have a view of the glorious Morris Island Lighthouse.”
Harriet interrupted. “It’ll never happen.”
Chester ignored her. “The distance from the stanchions at East Ashley to the end of the island is a quarter of a mile, and the return trip an equal distance.”
Harriet, oozing sarcasm, said, “Who knew he was a mathematician?”
Chester shook his head. “Anyway, the full walk will equal a half mile. Now, you know all those oval stickers you see on young people’s cars that say 13.1 or 26.2?”
Chester stared at me until I nodded. “Well, that’s the number of miles that those young, fit folks run, in a mini-marathon or a marathon.”
I wondered if Chester thought Charles and I didn’t know that, but I decided to remain silent and nodded, again.
“So, in case you haven’t figured it out, the .5 stands for a half mile, the distance to the lighthouse view and back. There you go, now you know the secret. Cool, huh?”
“Stupid,” Harriet said.
Charles said, “Cool.”
And Connie remained quiet on the other side of the room. She stared out at the road and rubbed her forehead. Charles was talking to Chester about where he could get a .5 sticker to put on his bicycle, so I took the opportunity to get more lemonade and moved to the vacant chair beside Connie.
“You okay?” I asked.
She continued to stare out the screen window but said, “Yeah, he drives me crazy.”
“Who?”
“My brother,” She tilted her head toward the road. “That was Robbie out there while you all were pretending you didn’t see us arguing.”
“Does he run marsh tours?”
Connie finally looked up at me. “Yeah. You know him?”
“Not really. I met him last night at the Surf Bar. He was with some of the other captains.”
“That’s probably where the trouble started.”
“Trouble?” I asked.
“Yeah, his buddy Timothy’s getting married to a nice gal who works at Loggerhead’s.”
I told her that that’s what I’d heard.
“Seems that Timothy’s long on ignorance and short on cash and asked Robbie if he could borrow two thousand dollars to help get through the wedding expenses. Robbie’s got two thousand bucks like this is my natural hair color hair and I have all my teeth. You can guess what my stupid brother pulled up to ask for.”
“Money.”
“He had the audacity to ask me if I’d lend Timothy two thousand dollars. Can you believe that?”
I said I thought that was unreasonable.
“You bet your cute tush it was,” she said and shook her head. “Now don’t get me wrong, I want Timothy and Samantha to be happy. Sam seems like a nice gal, but I don’t know what she sees in Timothy. He’s a moocher, always griping about how bad business is and thinks there are too many captains doing the same thing out there and Folly’d be better off if one or more of them disappeared.” She paused and shook her head again. “Oh well, love beats all. If I had it, I’d lend the money to Sam but never to Timothy. Don’t matter anyway, I don’t have it to give, excuse me, to lend.”
I asked if I could get her more lemonade and she said that would be nice. Charles, Chester, and now David were in deep conversation about the stickers; William had excused himself and headed home; and, Abe was in the corner whispering with Harriet.
I returned with Connie’s drink. She took a sip and then said, “Looks like Timothy might get his wish about getting rid of one of the captains.”
I asked what she meant.
“Rumor is that a guy named Mel killed one of his passengers, some college kid.”
“Why do they think he did it?”
Connie looked around and leaned closer. “Now this is rumor, you understand.”
I motioned for her to continue.
“Robbie likes Mel, even though Mel’s gay; says he lives with a man, and get this, the man he lives with is black.” Connie looked at the ground and shook her head. “What’s the world coming to? Anyway, rumor has it that the dead college kid was gay and that Mel made a pass
at him and the college kid who was decades younger than the captain rebuked him.”
I waited for more, but Connie seemed to be at the end of her story. “They think that Mel killed the young man because of that?”
Knowing Mel, it’s farfetched, but I also knew that nothing spreads faster than a rumor, regardless how valid or ridiculous it may be. It hurt to think this kind of thing was being said about a friend. I had no idea what had happened the night of the party, but knew that Mel would not have killed the kid for that reason.
“Connie, I’ve known Mel Evans for years. I would trust him with my life, in fact I did trust him with it a year or so ago. I can’t believe he killed the student.”
“I’m just telling you what’s going around. Somebody killed him, Mel was responsible for the group, and I hear the police have interrogated him.”
“That may be so, but that doesn’t mean he had anything to do with it.”
“Tell you what.” She looked at the street, and back at me. “I’ll take your word about Mel and if anybody asks my opinion, I’ll say I don’t know anything. Fair enough?”
I told her that it was, but I still had a sour feeling in my stomach. Regardless how I had defended him, Mel was responsible for the group and opened himself up to suspicion because he did a poor job of accounting for members of the group when they left Boneyard Beach.
Chapter Fourteen
Chester had run out of lemonade and everyone but Charles and I had drifted away, most likely to ice sore legs, feet, and to take an afternoon nap to recuperate from their longest walk yet.
Chester watched David as he walked to his car. “Fellows, could you spare a few more minutes? Got something to bounce off you.”
Put like that, I knew that Chester wouldn’t have been able to get rid of Charles if he’d pointed a loaded copperhead at him.
“Think so,” Charles said. He then glanced at me.