The Folly Beach Mystery Collection Volume II

by Bill Noel

  So far, there were no surprises and I hoped that wasn’t all Johnny R had called to tell Cal.

  “Anything else?”

  He wheezed. “Young man, anybody told you lately you’re impatient?”

  “You.”

  He laughed. “Good memory. There’s more. Give me time to get there. I don’t get a chance to talk to many folks who’re still haulin’ their mind around with them.”

  “I appreciate your time.”

  “Damn better, it’s valuable. Crap, I could be playing nurse with the nurses, but no, I’m wasting my time with the boring friend of my buddy Cal. You sure he’s going to be okay?”

  I told him I was and apologized for keeping him away from the nurses.

  He laughed again. “I heard your buddy Starr’s sinking in debt and the hole in his boat’s getting larger, until.” He wheezed and coughed, and then silence.

  “Until what?”

  “Until he found himself a backer, a moneybags, a sucker with deep pockets. The person either is going to, or had already pulled his wallet out of the fire. Rumor is the ‘backer’ just might be a gal friend.”

  “Did your source learn who the backer is?”

  “No, she said she don’t think anyone over here knows. There was a rumor the mystery person got turned sideways with him, royally pissed. It was only a rumor.”

  “Any idea why?”

  “No.” His hacking cough returned. “Think I’ve had all the talking fun I can take this morning. You tell Cal he better get himself well or I’ll tell everything I know about him to one of those tell-all TV shows. That’ll get their ratings up.”

  I told him I would and thanked him for talking to me.

  He coughed one more time. “Oh yeah, I almost forgot. You’re in South Carolina, aren’t you?”

  I told him, “Near Charleston.”

  “Thought so. My old flame said Starr’s money-chick was from your neck of the woods.

  24

  Two things became clear. First, Johnny R didn’t know that Starr was no longer among the living. And second, if Johnny R’s friend was right, there was finally a connection between Starr and South Carolina that went beyond him being on Folly for a retreat and a connection where someone was “royally pissed.” Was the person angry enough to kill? And a more important question, how do I find out who? Edwina Robinson came to mind. From the car she drove, she appeared to have money. Would she have had enough money and motivation to kill the agent? According to Olivia Anderson, Edwina was a regular at several open-mic nights, and had evaded my question about singing at the Bluebird. She and Starr were about the same age, had made music their life’s focus, and she was attractive and talented enough to have gotten Starr’s attention, although talent didn’t seem to be a criterion. That was all I knew about her.

  Caldwell may shed more light on Edwina, so I took the chance and gave him a call.

  “Hi, Chris, nice to hear from you,” Caldwell said in his well-modulated, calm voice.

  Caller ID strikes again. Out of habit, I told him who I was and asked how he was. I heard music in the background as he said he was fine. I asked if he had a few minutes. He said he was leaving a meeting with a client and to give him a second to get outside where he could talk.

  The background music subsided. “How’s Cal?”

  I updated him and he asked me to tell Cal he was praying for him. I told him I would.

  “So, what did I do to have the honor of this call?”

  I asked if he knew a singer named Edwina Robinson. He said the name sounded familiar, although he wasn’t sure from where. I reminded him her name was mentioned when we were meeting with Olivia Anderson.

  “Oh, yeah, that’s the singer who’s pushing Olivia to switch to country.”

  “Do you know her?”

  “No, why?”

  I shared what I knew and how it could possibly be tied to the murder in Nashville. Caldwell didn’t respond at first, and finally said, “That’s quite a stretch.”

  I said it was. It was all I had.

  “Tell you what, I’m meeting with Olivia in the morning. If you don’t mind some tedious financial talk about business, you can tag along. You can ask her about Edwina.”

  I told him it would be great and asked if I could bring Charles with me. Caldwell laughed. “Couldn’t stop him, could you?”

  Thunderstorms rolled through Lowcountry early Thursday morning and took some of the sweltering humidity with them as they had moved out to sea. It looked like it was going to be a gorgeous day; a day I would rather walk along the beach or take a photo-stroll along the historic Battery in Charleston, more than take a meeting in a bar. I called Charles to invite him, and was again reminded the second he got in the car we had to do something to “spring Heather.” Talking to Olivia was the best I could come up with. A walk on the beach or around Charleston would have to wait.

  Caldwell and Mel lived near downtown Charleston so Charles and I met the music promoter in the bar’s parking lot. Charles, to look more professional, wore a muted-yellow, long-sleeve T-shirt with a University of Tulsa logo on the breast pocket.

  Caldwell said, “She doesn’t know you’re coming, so follow my lead.”

  Charles pointed his cane at the door. “Of course.”

  Right, I thought.

  It was several hours before SHADES was to open, and the only vehicle in the lot was a red metallic Porsche Panamera that probably cost more than Charles’s, Caldwell’s, and my vehicle combined. Charles, the budding detective, detected the red mass of fine German ostentatiousness belonged to the bar’s owner; a deduction that was verified moments later when Olivia opened the side door and invited us in. If she was surprised to see Charles and me, it didn’t show. She smiled and shook our hands as Caldwell introduced Charles and reintroduced me. Today, she wore a navy suit with light gray blouse. Instead of the dress shoes she had on the last time we met, she wore a pair of black, Nike running shoes.

  She caught Charles looking at her shoes and chuckled. “The shoes I wear when we’re open kill these aging feet.”

  Charles smiled. “I was thinking how great those look. Hate dress shoes, as you can tell.”

  Charles pointed his cane at his torn, mud-stained, generic tennis shoes. Olivia smiled, not knowing how else to react.

  Her gold bracelets clinked against each other as she motioned us toward her office.

  “Hope you don’t mind Charles and Chris tagging along,” Caldwell said. “They had a couple of questions and I thought this would be a good opportunity.”

  “Not at all. If they don’t mind a boring meeting with us discussing budgets and your recommendations on how we start the rebirth.”

  Charles leaned forward and said, “President G. W. Bush said, ‘It’s clearly a budget. It’s got lots of numbers in it.’”

  Olivia tilted her head and looked at Charles like she was studying an aardvark in the zoo. I suspected she was reevaluating her response to Caldwell’s comment about us being here.

  Caldwell said, “Charles is big on quoting presidents.”

  Olivia chuckled. “Well he’s right about what the president said. My dearly-departed husband was the financial whiz. To me, budgets are as Bush said, lots of numbers.”

  Charles sat back in the chair and grinned.

  Olivia turned to me. “Questions?”

  This was where it would get tricky. How do I ask what she knows about Edwina without arousing suspicion? I didn’t know how well they knew each other or how much Olivia would tell Edwina about my curiosity.

  “A couple of nights ago I was in Cal’s bar on Folly and heard Edwina Robinson sing. She was good. We talked a little after her set before she had to leave. She told me she’d performed in Nashville.” I tilted my head toward Charles, “Charles lives in Nashville and his fiancé Heather is a singer. Since Edwina was so good, I wanted to ask if she had an agent, or if she would have some tips I could give Heather.”

  “Glad you mentioned Cal,” Olivia said, “I
meant to ask, how come he didn’t come with you. I like the old-timer. Makes me wish I had been in the business in the good old days.”

  Charles said, “He’s a little under the weather.”

  “Sorry to hear it. Hope he gets well soon.” She slowly shook her head. “Back to Edwina. She had an agent. His last name was Starr. Since you were talking about Nashville, that’s where he had his agency.”

  “Was?” I said, after she had said it twice.

  Olivia bowed her head. “Tragic. He was killed a while back. The story going around is one of the people he represented shot him. Edwina’s torn up about it. She didn’t tell me. I heard it from another singer that Edwina had given him a lot of money to advance her career. The kid’s had a hard life. She inherited a fortune from her parents who were killed when she was in her teens.”

  Charles leaned forward. “What happened?”

  I cringed. Let her talk.

  Olivia looked at her hand and at Charles. “They were coming home from a Christmas Party. Tipsy, I gathered. They ran a red light and were broadsided by a semi. Killed instantly. Thank God, Edwina wasn’t with them. Don’t know much else.”

  “I’m sorry,” Charles said.

  “Anyway, Edwina’s got a lot of talent, but not much business sense. She spends her money like she’s got an unlimited pot of it. I don’t see her outside here.” She waved her hand around the room. “She’s always talking about her cars, boats, a big, upscale condo overlooking the City Market, singing lessons, and paying her agent whatever he said he needed to make her famous.” She shook her head. “I love her to death. You know what, I’d like to shake some sense in her.”

  Charles asked, “Did she ever talk about meeting with this Starr fellow over here?”

  “She did. She told me—I think I have this right—he heard her sing, over by the ocean, I believe. He was impressed and asked to represent her. Think he’s been back a few times since then and I know Edwina’s been to Nashville.” She looked at the huge diamond on her left hand and at Charles. “She’s devastated about his death.”

  “That’s too bad,” I said. “I hope she got whatever she paid him for.”

  Olivia frowned. “I think the bundle she gave died with him. She doesn’t talk about it. I’ve been around her in here long enough to know she’s more upset than she lets on.”

  I glanced at Charles, then at Olivia. “When I was talking to her, she had to leave before I could get her contact information. Do you have her phone number or e-mail address?”

  She flipped through some papers on an expensive, black leather blotter on her polished mahogany desk, jotted down a phone number, and handed it to me.

  Caldwell looked at his watch and glanced at me.

  I took the hint. “Don’t let Charles and me keep you from your meeting. Charles, let’s take a walk and let these two get on with their work. It’s a perfect day.”

  Curiosity may kill the cat, yet Charles was ready to kill me for suggesting we miss anything Caldwell and Olivia would say. No feline alive could compete with Charles when it came to curiosity—nosiness.

  Charles groused as soon as we were outside. “Why leave?”

  “I don’t want Olivia thinking more about Starr’s death. If she’s been following it, she may have heard the name of the person who’d been arrested. I shouldn’t have mentioned Heather’s name. If Olivia puts two and two together she’ll realize why Heather sounded familiar. I’m afraid she’ll tell Edwina. Talking shop with Caldwell without us around may distract her enough to keep her mind off it.”

  “Wise,” Charles said, somewhat mollified.

  Forty-five minutes later, Caldwell called to say the meeting was over. Olivia had walked him to his car where Charles and I were waiting. We said our goodbyes and Caldwell asked us if we got what we were looking for.

  I said yes. At the same time, I wondered what it meant.

  25

  Charles called Heather’s lawyer while we were on the way back to the beach. The receptionist said the attorney wasn’t in, and that if Charles called, to tell him there was nothing new to report. He slammed his phone on the console, and I spent the last few miles reassuring him the attorney was doing all he could. Charles said he knew it and it still didn’t make him more patient. He suggested I could be more successful calling Edwina.

  “What do you propose I say?”

  “You’re the smart one, figure it out.”

  “That helps.”

  “Say the same stuff you lied to Olivia about. Tell her how great she is. Ask about her agent. Ask if she has any tips she could offer Heather. Ask if she killed Starr.”

  I looked at Charles. “That’s the kind of question only you could get away with.”

  Charles rubbed his chin. “Okay, leave out the last part. We can’t learn anything if you don’t call.”

  Except for asking if she killed Starr, his ideas weren’t horrible and I didn’t have a better plan. I motioned for him to punch in her number. He did and hit the speakerphone icon and handed the device to me.

  Instead of a live voice, I received a recording that said, “You have reached the voice-mail of recording artist Edwina Robinson. Please leave a message at the tone.”

  I tapped End Call.

  Charles leaned forward. “Recording artist?”

  I nodded. “She recorded a demo.”

  “So did Heather. She could add that to her message.” He hesitated and looked out the window. “When she gets out.” He jerked his head in my direction. “Why didn’t you leave a message?”

  I explained I was afraid she wouldn’t return my call. I'd rather catch her by surprise and play the conversation by ear. Charles agreed it was a decent idea—this time he didn’t go as far as saying it was wise.

  I had to promise I would continue calling until I reached the recording artist before he would get out at his near-empty apartment. We decided the best way for me to approach her would be to say she was so good I wanted to hear her sing and ask about her next gig. Maybe it would be soon, and nearby.

  I reached Edwina on the third try. At first, she was reticent to talk; after all, I was a near stranger. When I told her how much I enjoyed her set at Cal’s, she turned more friendly. She told me when and where she would be performing. My enthusiasm increased when she said it would be tomorrow night at one of the restaurants beside Charleston’s historic market. I said I’d try to make it. She said wonderful, the same word Charles used when I called and told him about it. She said she’d look forward to seeing me again. Charles said, "What time are you picking me up."

  I had asked Barb to supper, and met her at her condo where we could walk to the restaurant. She met me at the door, again wearing one of her trademark red blouses, and white, linen slacks. The temperature was still in the upper eighties so I suggested we go next door to Blu, the upscale restaurant in the Tides Hotel. She agreed and once we reached the hotel also agreed we should eat in air-conditioned comfort and not on the patio. We got the best of both worlds when the hostess seated us at a table beside the window overlooking the beach.

  I hadn’t seen Barb for a few days and asked if she’d heard about Cal.

  “What about him?”

  I told her about his encounter with a blunt object and where he was recuperating.

  “That’s terrible. I overheard some women talking about someone getting mugged. I didn’t hear who it was. Who would do that to such a dear sweet old man?”

  Cal would have liked her sentiment until she got to old man.

  I told her the police didn’t know but suspected robbery.

  The waitress arrived and took our drink order. Barb watched her head to the bar. “Do you think it had to do with Heather?”

  “Yes, he called me the day before. I was in Nashville and he said he knew something about why Starr was on Folly and wanted to know when I was getting back. I told him the next day and he wanted to tell me in person. He didn’t get a chance.”

  “How would whoever hit him know he was
going to tell you something?”

  I sighed. “No clue.”

  “So, what did he know?”

  “Don’t know. Cal can’t remember anything about the attack or what he was going to say. The doc thinks his memory will be back. The problem is no one knows when.”

  Our drinks arrived. We took a sip and gazed at the ocean as the shadows of the setting sun reflected off the rolling waves as they approached shore. There were still several people lounging on the beach and a couple of joggers weaved their way past the loungers.

  “Let me bounce something off you.” I began telling her about Edwina Robinson.

  Barb leaned forward and interrupted. “Is that the gal we heard sing at Cal’s?”

  “Yes. I’m impressed you remember.”

  “Don’t be impressed, it’s not often I hear the name Edwina.”

  I told Barb that Starr was Edwina’s agent, she had given him a substantial amount of money, and had gone to Nashville several times.

  Barb listened and didn’t interrupt which was one of her more endearing traits and unique among my gaggle of friends. She took a sip. “Any evidence she had something to do with Starr’s death or Cal’s run in with a blunt object?”

  “No.”

  The server returned and took our order. Barb chose soup and asparagus salad, and I went with the pork chop, another reason she was thin and I was, well, not.

  “Okay,” she continued, not distracted by the interruption. “Did Edwina know Heather?”

  “I don’t know. She told me that she might remember her if she saw her.”

  “So, all you know from the woman in Charleston is Edwina’s another wannabe singer pissed-off at Starr.”

  I nodded. “And she gave him a lot of money. Olivia didn’t say how much although it sounded like more than it would take to cut a demo and to use his marketing services.”

  Barb said, “It’s no telling how many other aspiring singers have done the same thing.”

  “True. I doubt there were many from here. And remember, Cal said he knew something about Starr being on Folly.”