by Bill Noel
Lizzy was back with our drinks and asked if we wanted to order. I told her I wasn’t hungry. Cindy wasn’t to be discouraged. She ordered a cheeseburger for me and a house salad with chicken for herself. It reminded me of doing the same thing for Charles when he’d said he wasn’t hungry. She told Lizzy I needed the food and if she wanted, she could stand and watch the weight fall off the chief with each bite of salad. Lizzy smiled, like she would at any inane customer remark.
I watched the waitress leave and turned to Cindy. “It’s okay,” I said, even though a heads-up would have been appreciated. “What I don’t understand is why he thinks I had something to do with Edwina’s death and then push for him to investigate. He’d already decided it was an accident.”
Cindy sipped her tea, said yummy, made a gagging motion, and turned serious. “All I can figure is he started becoming suspicious before you began your crusade. If that’s the case, he might have thought that by you saying it wasn’t an accident, you were trying to appear not guilty. I know it’s circle-like thinking—your buddy William would say circuitous. Since I’m from the hills, I don’t know those big words.”
She was trying to cheer me. I was having none of it. “Edwina Robinson was murdered. I knew it and now the cops believe it. Cindy, you know I didn’t kill her.”
The chief hesitated. I hope she wasn’t going to make some smart remark about not knowing I didn’t kill Robinson. “So, who did? And, did Robinson kill Starr?”
Our food arrived and Lizzy asked if there was anything else we needed. Cindy said I needed more wine. I declined and Lizzy moved to a family of four on the other side of the patio. The smell from my cheeseburger made me realize Cindy had been right about me needing to eat.
I scarfed down two bites and took a deep breath. “Cindy, I’m still confused. Until Edwina’s death, I was convinced she had killed Starr. She may have, so what reason would anyone have to kill her?”
I would love to say Cindy and I solved the various mysteries while I devoured my cheeseburger and pounds fell off her as she grazed on her salad. All we managed to do was to talk in circles—circuitously, in William-speak—and sated nothing except my appetite.
I was exhausted after the drive, my brief, disconcerting conversation with Detective Grolier, and the fruitless discussion with Cindy. The thought of going home and worrying had little appeal, so I headed the short distance to Cal’s where I was met by the aroma of stale beer, burnt burgers, and Cal singing his much-performed cover of Hank Williams Sr.’s “Hey Good Lookin’.” He was in full stage regalia in his rhinestone-studded coat. His long, gray hair flowed off his shoulders around the sides of his misshaped Stetson.
The room was two tables shy of full and I suspected the busy weekday crowd had inspired Cal to do an impromptu set. He was more comfortable standing behind a microphone than tending bar. His part-time cook was at the grill and Kristin, the waitress, was scampering around the room trying to keep up with drinks. I didn’t recognize many of the patrons and assumed most were from a convention at the Tides since they were dressed like they had come from a meeting rather than from the beach. I did recognize a couple sitting at a table near the back of the room. It would have been hard not to recognize Caldwell’s six-foot-four frame towering above others in the room. In addition, he was seated with his partner, Mel, whose bomber jacket and camo attire stood out like the Goodyear blimp at a funeral in contrast to the bright-colored golf shirts worn by most of the customers.
Caldwell saw me in the doorway and waved me over and before I lowered myself in one of the two vacant chairs, he asked, “How are Charles and Heather?”
I didn’t know if he had heard about Heather’s suicide attempt, so I kept my answer generic and said they were both doing as well as could be expected.
“I hope everything gets sorted out soon,” Caldwell said.
That told me he hadn’t heard about Heather’s health.
Mel, not being a big fan of being left out of a conversation, leaned forward. “I’m no stranger to being cornered and crapped on by cops, so I know Charles’s little lady can’t be doing well. What can we do to spring her? I got it! I could make a couple of calls and get a slightly-used shoulder fired rocket launcher. That ought to do it.”
I assumed Mel was teasing, or not. I told him it was up to the lawyers.
Mel waved his hand around and pointed to two or three of the tables. “Don’t take me for one of these paper-pushing bureaucrats who don’t know a jib from a jellybean. I know it’s somewhere in your screwed-up genetic structure to catch whoever killed that scumbag agent and get Heather out of the pokey.”
I didn’t want to tell him I didn’t know what a jib was other than something on a boat, and said I had been looking at suspects.
Two tables of paper-pushing bureaucrats sang along with Cal as he began the chorus of Merle Haggard’s “Okie from Muskogee”. Kristin delivered a glass of chardonnay without me having to ask, and I quickly forgot I was tired.
Mel’s chair nearly toppled over when he leaned back; its front legs were off the floor. His crusty, permanently-affixed frown broke momentarily into what I knew was a smile, others would think he had gas. “Told you, Caldwell. I knew Chris’d be on killer patrol.”
Caldwell put his arm behind Mel and pushed him forward until four of the chair’s legs were where they were designed to be. “You were right.”
“Damned right I’m right.”
“Anyway,” Caldwell said as he turned to me. “You really think Heather’s innocent?”
“Yes.” I remembered our visit to SHADES and wondered if Caldwell could recall what Olivia had said about Edwina. Perhaps she had said something I had forgotten. I also realized Caldwell and Mel might not know about the drowning. “Caldwell, remember when we were at SHADES?”
“Sure.”
“Do you remember Olivia talking about Edwina?”
“Yes, the lady who talked her into trying open-mic nights.”
“Did she say—”
“Howdy, Kentucky,” Cal interrupted. He had finished his set and was standing over our table. “How’re Charles and Heather?”
I gave him the same evasive answer I’d rehearsed on Mel and Caldwell.
“It’ll be fine; know it will.”
“Is your jukebox broken?” I asked, knowing it provided most of the weeknight entertainment.
Cal grinned. “No pard. I’m doing two sets by popular demand. Couple of these here conventioneers said they heard me last year and said I could sure do the whole group a heaping favor if I’d share my talents with them.”
Mel pointed at Cal. “Crap, Cal. Why don’t you do this old jarhead a heaping favor and sing some good music, like some funky James Brown. Your prehistoric country songs give me the runs.”
Caldwell channeled all of us when he smacked Mel on the arm. Cal nodded to Caldwell, and Mel grinned. No one grabbed a camera quick enough to capture the historic moment.
I figured we had suffered enough foolishness. “Cal, how’s your head?”
“Hard and empty,” interrupted Mel.
Cal ignored him. “Thanks for asking, Kentucky, it’s better.”
“Remember more about that night and what you wanted to tell me?”
“It’s not all there yet. You’ll be the first to know.” He looked at the empty stage and over at the bar. “Gotta grab a drink and get back to my fans. Tell Charles and Heather I said hey when you talk to them.”
I told him I would.
“What about Edwina?” Caldwell asked, taking advantage of a music free bar.
“Have you heard what happened to her?”
Caldwell said, “What?”
“Why would I care?” Mel asked.
I turned to Caldwell. “She’s dead. Drowned a few days ago at the Washout.”
Caldwell gasped. “My God. What happened?”
Mel blurted, “Rip current?”
Mel had come close to dying in a rip current more than twenty years ago, and was saved by my surf
ing-buddy Dude. The two had been the most unlikely of friends ever since, and Mel had rip currents on his mind whenever anything bad happened to anyone in water—ocean, river, or bath.
“That’s what the cops said at first. Now they think she may have been killed and someone tried to make it look like an accident.”
“I suppose you’re trying to solve that one too,” Mel said.
I wasn’t about to tell them that I was a suspect. “I think she may have had something to do with the music agent’s death. Caldwell, that’s why I was wondering if you remember anything Olivia may have said about her.”
Cal was back on stage. He thanked the group from the hotel for coming and told them to be sure and tip Kristin for all her hard work, and started singing “Rose Colored Glasses.”
Mel shook his head. “Where’re the Doobie Brothers when you need them?”
Never in Cal’s, I thought.
“Remember anything else, Caldwell?”
He looked at his beer bottle and at the stage. “Not really. Olivia and I talked about what she would need to change and I was leaving most of the open-mic stuff up to Cal.”
My exhaustion from everything that had happened during the last twenty-four hours was catching up to me. I told my tablemates I was heading home, waved bye to Cal, and the only thing I remembered after falling into bed was the sun shining in the window at nine-fifteen the next morning.
35
I’m no fan of telephones even though they served a purpose, and though I try never to be away from home without mine, I would rather have my conversations in person. I also wasn’t ready to drive back to Nashville, so I grabbed my much-maligned phone and punched in Charles’s number.
“It’s about time you called. Did you run into a bison on the Interstate; run out of gas; throw your phone out the window? Well, I’m waiting for a great explanation why you didn’t let me know you made it home.”
I held the phone away from my ear and took a deep breath. “Charles—”
“I’m not done. What’d Cindy want?”
“Done?”
“For now.”
I told him I had a bison-free trip, had plenty of gas, and still had my phone since he was talking to me on it. I told him about my meeting with the detective, wishing I had hit a bison instead, and about talking with Mel and Caldwell.
“You couldn’t find ten minutes in all that to call?”
“Could, but didn’t. Sorry.”
“Your sincere, heartfelt apology is accepted. Now why in Neptune’s name do the cops think you drowned Edwina?”
“Because I pushed Cindy to have them think beyond accidental drowning.”
“That doesn’t make a lick of sense.”
I agreed and shared Cindy’s theory that I may have thought the cops would decide it wasn’t accidental and by drawing attention to it, would make me look less guilty. Charles said he didn’t think the sheriff’s office was that smart, and I changed the subject and asked if he was going to see Heather. He said the slow-moving attorney was working on it. I asked him to let me know.
“Like you let me know you made it home?”
The phone went dead.
The temperature was still tolerable, yet was supposed to reach the upper eighties by mid-afternoon. My legs needed to stretch after yesterday’s marathon drive, so I headed towards a couple of blocks to the Folly Pier. Over the years, the Pier had become my prime thinking spot, or that’s the excuse I used for visiting the Folly landmark. Puffy white clouds were overhead and a gathering of storm clouds loomed inland. I didn’t remember the forecaster mentioning rain, although this time of year pop-up showers could appear anytime.
As with telephones, I was also not a fan of symbolism, but I couldn’t help think about how my life since retiring was like the unexpected storms. I was happily retired, living what most would consider the good life, and more often than anyone should be exposed to, I’m confronted with death—death of a friend, or a death where one of my friends was accused of being responsible. These were situations only the police should have to deal with. Did I have to get involved? Of course not. When one of my friends was touched by a tragedy or accused of murder, I was touched as well. I’d nearly been killed on more than one occasion because I stuck my nose into a situation I had no business being involved in. Had I regretted getting involved? Absolutely not.
Here I was again, trying to keep Heather from being convicted of a crime I was convinced she hadn’t committed. Not only trying to find out who killed an agent who probably had been killed because of his unethical behavior, but now I find myself the focal point of an investigation into the death of a singer I barely knew. What now?
I didn’t know what to do and was relieved when the phone rang and the screen said Ramsey Promotions.
“Chris, this is Caldwell. Is this a good time to talk?”
I was pleased someone in my circle of friends could still be courteous on the phone. I told him it was and I was glad to hear from him.
“I just got off the phone with Olivia at SHADES. Thought it was interesting since we were talking about her last night. Anyway, it looks like all my work, and Cal’s thinking, are for naught.”
“Why?” I asked and watched three surfers riding a medium-sized wave to shore.
“Don’t know the details. She’ll fill me in when I meet with her in a little while. It sounds like she may have to postpone the remodel and the switch to country. Too bad. After you left last night, Cal finished his set and told me he had come up with a list of things she could do to attract the best open-mic performers around. Some of his ideas were good. The old boy surprised me.”
“I learned a few years back not to underestimate Cal. Why’s she postponing?”
“Said she’s made a bad investment and it was coming back to haunt her. Thought you’d be interested since we were talking about her.”
“Thanks, and tell Mel I said hi.”
Caldwell laughed. “It’ll have to wait. Mel said he can’t hear anything because his ears were bleeding from the thorny country cactuses stuck in them at Cal’s.”
I chuckled and said Caldwell could write him a note. He said he would, but then he’d have to teach Mel to read. I put the phone in my pocket and watched the surfers. I wondered if one of them could be riding Edwina’s surfboard.
The storm clouds were inching closer to the beach. I thought about what Caldwell had said. Was it possible Starr was Olivia’s poor investment? She had said Edwina gave Starr a lot of money, and hinted it was more than the cost of the demo tapes and marketing promotions. Olivia may be able to give me insights into Edwina’s relationship with the promoter. And even if she didn’t, at least I’d feel like I was doing something; something to help Heather. Caldwell said he was meeting with her. If I tagged along with him, I could ask some of the questions without looking like I was accusing her friend of doing anything bad. And, it would be safer with Caldwell present.
I called him back. “Hello, Chris. Seems like I just talked to you.”
I laughed and said it was because he had. I asked when he was meeting Olivia. He said in an hour and told him I was wondering if he minded if I tagged along. He hesitated, said that I could, and didn’t ask why. It was refreshing not to have to explain.
A half hour later, I was barely off the island. Blue sky was to my left, but the black clouds were overhead and doing what heavy rainclouds were known for. Rain pelted the windshield. Another couple of miles and the rain had ended as quickly as it had begun. The more I thought about what Caldwell had said, the more I wondered if Olivia could be tied with Starr more than I had imagined. When we’d visited Heather in the hospital, she said a friend of Edwina had given Starr more money than Edwina had. Hadn’t Heather said “he” when referring to Edwina’s friend? Heather had also said she was confused. Could the person’s gender be one of the things she was confused about? At the first stoplight, I called Cindy.
“Yes, my favorite troublemaker?” the chief said.
I sh
ould have Caldwell conduct a seminar on phone courtesies.
“Got a favor to ask.”
I heard her exhale. “Of course, you do.”
The next voice was Larry in the background. “Hi, Chris.”
“Tell Larry hi,” I said. “Where are you?”
“Making Larry take me to Harris Teeter. He hates grocery shopping and I’m torturing him for dragging me to hardware hell. What’s the favor? It’s not legal for a change, is it?”
“Would I ask you to do anything illegal?”
“Yes. What is it?”
“See if Olivia Anderson, may be using her maiden name, Mona Alliendre, or if Dale or Kelly Windsor, possibly going by DK Studio, stayed at the Tides in the last few months.”
“I already checked on the Windsor’s, remember?”
“Yes, but maybe Kelly checked in as DK Studio.”
“Gee, okay. Want me to see if the president, the pope, or the Easter Bunny stayed there too?”
“Not yet.”
Cindy mumbled something and said for me to hold my nosiness while she got something to write on. It sounded like a glove box clanking closed and she returned. “Okay, names again. I told her and she reminded me she was a simple country girl and asked how to spell Alliendre. I gave it my best guess and she said she would be “seriously starved” after she got the answers. I told her I was on my way to meet Caldwell at SHADES and I’d trade supper for information. “You’re danged right you will,” she said and was gone.
A couple more miles down the road and I remembered something Cal had said when he was speculating Edwina had been having an affair with Starr. He said Edwina had been angry about Starr taking her money and he had taken much more from someone else. She also said something about the other woman. Cal thought it was Starr’s wife and how “pesky wives complicated sinning.” What if Edwina had been referring to Starr’s relationship with Olivia?