The Folly Beach Mystery Collection Volume II

by Bill Noel

  I wouldn’t have gone as far with the purposes, but I saw how it may be helpful in knowing what Joel disliked about the job Brian was doing. And, in the back of my mind, I was thinking about Lauren. Perhaps Joel could share insight into her mental state.

  “You win, I’ll meet with him.”

  Charles made a clicking sound with his mouth. “Wise man. Keep listening to me and there’s hope, albeit slight, that you could grow into a community leader.”

  I called Wayne Swan and told him I was willing to meet with Joel. Thirty minutes later, Wayne called and said Joel was available and wanted to know if I could I meet him tomorrow evening at BLU, the upscale restaurant in the Tides Hotel. I told him I thought I could fit it in my busy schedule and we agreed on a time. I spent the next day running some routine errands and continued to wonder what Joel really wanted.

  13

  Wayne was waiting for me as I walked through the automatic doors at the Tides ten minutes before I was to meet with Joel. He looked the part of a professional campaign manager with his navy blazer, blue button-down shirt, and gray slacks. I looked the part of a retired executive with my faded red golf shirt and wrinkled khakis. He and I were about the same height but unlike my blond and graying hair, he had dark hair with a bald spot on the back of his head. My bald spot had spread over most of my scalp. Wayne was also two decades younger than me.

  Wayne reached out and grabbed my hand like he was on a mission, which, of course, he was. “Chris, glad you could make it. Joel is eager to meet you. He’s already got a table. Hope you don’t mind eating inside; it’s too steamy for Joel on the deck. He has to work in this heat and humidity every day at the nursery, so he likes to get inside whenever possible.”

  I said it was fine and followed him to BLU’s nautically-themed indoor dining room. I was surprised to see Joel seated at a small table beside the window looking out on the outdoor bar and the Folly Pier.

  “Aren’t you joining us?” I asked Wayne as we approached the table set for two.

  “Afraid not, got another appointment. I wanted to be sure the two of you got together and then head out.”

  Joel saw us and stood. He was roughly three inches taller than Wayne, slimmer, and his sun-bleached, blond hair contrasted with his campaign manager’s. Other than those differences, Joel was dressed exactly like Wayne, with his blue blazer, light blue shirt, and gray slacks. He greeted me with a quick smile and a strong, confident handshake.

  “Thanks for agreeing to meet with me, Mr. Landrum. I know you must be busy.”

  The handful of times I had talked with him previously, he’d called me Chris. He was now in political mode. I told him it was my pleasure.

  Wayne put his arm around my shoulder and said, “I’ll leave you two to talk. Again, thanks for agreeing to this meeting, Chris.”

  Wayne turned to the exit and Joel motioned for me to be seated opposite him. A waiter was at the table before I could place the black napkin in my lap and asked if I wanted anything to drink. There was a half-empty white wine glass in front of Joel and I said I would have the same.

  “I’m terribly sorry that your gallery closed. I should have been in more often, but you know how work sometimes gets in the way of what you would like to do. Wayne told me wonderful things about your talent. I know he’s purchased several photos.”

  Since Joel had never been in the gallery, I thought should have been in more often was over the top, but I appreciated his kind words.

  “Yes, Wayne was a regular. I know his wife wanted to paint some of the photos and he enjoyed talking photography.”

  “Again, I am sorry you were forced to close. That’s one of the key issues that precipitated my desire to run for mayor. Small businesses have a challenging time staying viable on Folly. The island is inundated much of the year with hordes of what I call non-spenders—college students, adults with little disposable income, others who can only afford enough beer to get them through the day, and even then buy the drinks before arriving here. A business like yours was a perfect example. Forced out because of that kind of people. It galls me.”

  My wine arrived, and my only thought was that the “successful,” local resident sitting across from me had never stepped in my gallery, yet he was blaming outsiders for its demise.

  “I apologize for hopping on a soapbox,” Joel said and leaned back in the chair. “I’m passionate about the topic, and I sometimes get carried away.”

  I took a sip of wine, and lied when I said, “That’s okay. Is that why you’re running?”

  He shook his head and frowned. “Over the last few months, I have been approached by numerous residents who have shared their dissatisfaction with the happenings in City Hall. I can’t divulge their names at this point, but am certain you would know most of them, either personally or by reputation. They have offered their support, monetary and otherwise, if I would run.” He paused and finished his wine and held the glass up for a refill. The waiter was quick to the table and said he would take care of it. Joel turned back to me. “I considered their requests with mixed feelings. I do agree with their position, but I believe Mayor Newman has been an exceptional leader. He brought a wealth of experience to the job. He has a good handle on the city departments. He’s considered to be fair to his employees and presents a professional appearance to his constituents. Honestly, I like the man.”

  “But?” I said.

  “Shall we order supper first? It’s on me, of course.”

  The waiter returned with Joel’s wine and waited for us to order. Joel either had studied the menu before I had arrived or was a regular. I had neither advantage and perused the menu while he ordered a tomato and crab salad and I decided on a Caesar salad. Joel told the waiter we would decide on our entrees after the salads arrived.

  “But?” I repeated after the waiter headed to the kitchen.

  Joel smiled. “Mayor Newman has given most of his life to public service. He was serving our country before I was born, and I admire and praise him for that. He’s a true patriot. And, he has spent more than twenty years serving our community as either director of public safety or mayor.” Joel’s smile faded. “But sadly, his ideas for governing and his views about the future of Folly are stale and outdated, or so I believe as those who have asked me to run also believe.”

  I wanted to challenge him but knew this wasn’t the time.

  “Chris, I know I’ll be a dark horse candidate. I know I’ll be going up against lethargy on the part of many voters, the vast experience of Mayor Newman, and the current establishment, but I feel I must, as do those who support me. There are also council members we feel should be replaced.”

  Our salads arrived, and Joel quickly told the waiter he wanted the crispy snapper and I settled on the grilled Mahi Mahi. Joel nodded as if he had approved my selection. That was probably the only thing we would agree on tonight.

  “What are you proposing? What’s your platform? What will you do differently?” I asked.

  “First, we must crack down on those who flaunt the law. Drinking on the beach is illegal, yet you can go out there any day and find violators. Public drunkenness is illegal yet walk down Center Street any night of the week and see people under the influence of alcohol or other substances. It should go unsaid, but littering not only is unsightly, but a health hazard, yet, look how many yards of our fine citizens are dotted with trash daily. And we must do whatever we need to keep bums and college students away who have no reason for being on our beach other than to drink and cause trouble.”

  I could point out that everything he mentioned had been discussed, addressed, over-and-over since I had moved to Folly, and from what I had heard, that had been the case for many years prior to my arrival. I had several conversations with Brian Newman about each of these issues. Yes, they were concerns, but the city didn’t have the budget to hire enough law enforcement officials to stop it, and so many of the times the violations were marginal and could go either way. Folly was a beachside community, open an
d welcoming to everyone, and some inconveniences associated with that were part of what makes the island special.

  “What do you propose to do to stop the violations you’ve mentioned?”

  Joel looked out the window at the Folly Pier. “I’m not naïve enough to believe there are simple solutions, but innovative approaches must be tried.”

  “For example?”

  “We must dissuade outsiders from using our beach community as their debauchery location of choice.”

  His platitudes were beginning to irritate me. “How?”

  Instead of becoming angry, he smiled. “It will take time and dialog among many constituent groups. And that leads to one of the reasons I wanted to have this candid talk. I would like your support and for you to become part of one of my small groups of advisors who can work toward solutions.”

  Our food arrived, and my first bite gave me time to craft my answer. “Joel, I appreciate the supper invitation and the chance to hear your concerns. I suspect you also know Brian Newman and I are friends and I supported him in the last election. I think you have the same concerns that have been addressed numerous times, many of them by Mayor Newman himself. To be honest, I haven’t heard anything that would make my support for the mayor waiver.”

  “Chris, I didn’t come into this meeting blind. I am aware of your connections with the mayor and doubted I could persuade you to change horses over one meal, but I also thought it was important you got to hear my ideas first hand. There’s an old saying that it’s funny how the people who know the least about you, always have the most to say.” He took a bite of his fish and laughed. “Maybe if you know me a little better, you won’t say too many bad things about me.”

  I smiled. “I believe you also said there were a couple of council members you felt needed to be replaced. Who are they?”

  “Houston Bass and Marc Salmon?”

  “Why?”

  “Again, it’s nothing personal against either man. They have been on the council for years; they’ve devoted countless hours to the city’s business, and quite frankly, I like each of them. But, they appear to be puppets of the mayor rather than effective leaders. To make the kind of changes that I will be promoting, I need support and forward-thinking council members. That would not include Marc and Houston.”

  I thought of Charles’s comment about me needing to spy on the opponent. “Who would run against them?”

  “I’d love to say, but I’m sworn to secrecy. But again, you’d know them.”

  “What do you think your chances are of winning?”

  “As I mentioned, I’m the dark horse candidate, as will be the new candidates for council, but I like to look at it like I would crabgrass in my business. It—like the mayor and council—are deeply rooted and difficult to eradicate but can ruin a yard. It will not be easy to overcome the past and the harmful decisions being made, but that’s why I am starting my campaign earlier than has been the tradition. Several treatments of herbicides are often needed to kill crabgrass and it will take several months, and way more than several dollars, to unseat the current mayor and the two members of the council.” He paused and smiled. “But I believe I can be successful.”

  Not if I have anything to do with it, I thought, but returned his smile.

  He nodded and gave me a serious look. “I’ve talked a lot, but what I wanted to do was give you a chance to ask questions you may have.”

  “I have a good idea of what you want to do as mayor,” I said, although I didn’t. I wanted to get him off the crabgrass analogy. “Tell me a little about who you are. I’ve seen you around town and your landscape trucks seem to be everywhere, but I don’t know much about you.”

  He chuckled. “Yes, my gasoline bill lets me know how much the trucks are driving around Folly and James Island.” He gave me a capsule version of his businesses—nothing I didn’t know.

  “Are you married?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

  He bit his lower lip and gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head. “I’ve reached my mid-forties without finding the right lady. Came close a time or two. Recently I had been dating a wonderful young lady until … umm, no, to answer your question, I’m single.”

  I felt Charles channeling through me. “Until what?”

  He looked at me and I was afraid he wasn’t going to answer, but then he said, “Have you heard about the woman who died of a drug overdose near the county park the other day?”

  I said, “Sure.”

  “Her name was Lauren Craft. She and I had been dating.”

  I acted surprised. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

  “She was a wonderful person. I knew she had a history of drug abuse, in fact, she’d had a couple of stays at rehab, but I thought she’d kicked the horrible habit.” He paused and shook his head. “I believe drug use and the horrible consequences of it is one of Folly’s biggest problems—quite frankly, that’s not only on Folly but everywhere in this country, and I want to make it a big part of my campaign. And then something like this happens. I knew Lauren had become distant lately, and had avoided me on several occasions, but it wasn’t until a few weeks ago I learned she was using again.” He hesitated. “Using heavily.”

  “Heroin?” I asked.

  “Yes. The last time I saw her—I guess a couple of days before her … umm, her death, she confided she was back where she had been a year ago, struggling with staying away from the evil drug. She was avoiding me, and, well, allowing the drug to kill her.”

  “Sorry,” I repeated.

  “Two days before she left us, I talked to her into going back in rehab. She said she’d think about it. That was the last time I saw her.”

  I thought about what Cindy had said about there being only one needle mark on Lauren.

  “Joel, you’re certain she was using?”

  He cocked his head and looked me in the eye. “She said she was. I had no reason not to believe her. Of course, I never actually saw her shooting up, but the last time I saw her she was grabbing her cell phone out of her purse and I saw a couple of needles in there. God, what a tragedy.” He turned and stared at the beach.

  “Yes, it was,” I said, not knowing what else to say.

  We finished our entrees and Joel turned back to me. “Chris, I didn’t mean to get into any of this about Lauren. I apologize and hope I haven’t dissuaded you for considering my candidacy over such a tragic event regarding Lauren.”

  I told him it hadn’t, but I also didn’t tell him I wouldn’t have considered supporting him regardless what he’d told me. He said he wasn’t in the mood for dessert or an after-dinner drink, but I was welcome to have some. I declined, and he asked for the check. I usually was the one who was stuck with paying, and it felt good to see him pulling out a credit card.

  He thanked me for taking the time to meet with him and hoped I would consider supporting him. I lied and told him I would consider it.

  After he had gone, I headed to BLU’s outdoor dining area, leaned on the wooden bar, and stared at the waves rolling in as they were illuminated by the amber colored lights from the Folly Pier. I thought back on tonight’s conversation and could see how Joel could be a viable candidate. He was likable, more likable than I had anticipated. He would be well financed. His platform, while short on answers, would resonate with a sizable portion of the voting public. And he was starting his campaign early enough to pull together a significant amount of support. He might be a dark horse candidate, but he had a shot.

  14

  Heavy thunderstorms cascaded through the area overnight and steam rose from every wet surface as the sun peeked over the horizon. The slight smell of sea air oozed in the house through cracks under the front door. The temperature was supposed to reach triple digits and combined with sky-high humidity, it would be a great day to stay in air-conditioned comfort. Besides, I had nowhere to go or to be. Retirement was a wonderful thing, and my only regret was I couldn’t have begun it years earlier when I had energy and a stronger desire to tr
avel and experience more new things and places. So, instead of booking a flight to Tahiti or rushing out and buying a jogging suit so I could start training to run a marathon, I sat at my kitchen table, gripped a mug of steaming-hot coffee, and replayed much of last night’s conversation with Joel.

  He had been clear and outspoken about wanting change both in the position of mayor and two of the council members. He was clear about what he saw as Folly’s problems. Clarity ended when asked what he would do to solve them. And, when I had asked him about himself, he had shared little. In fact, he didn’t tell me anything I didn’t already know about his businesses. The one thing he had said that threw me was about Lauren. Joel said he knew she had begun using heroin again, that she had told him so. Yet there was only one needle mark on her body when she was found near the park. Why would she have lied to him? Or, why would he have lied to me. If he hadn’t told me the truth, could there be other things he might not have been as forthcoming about?

  Perhaps the most world-altering invention that had been created in my lifetime was the personal computer, more specifically, the Internet. The extraordinary tool provided everyone a window into worlds, information, and opinions previous generations could have only imagined. I moved to my spare bedroom that served as my office and turned on the computer and Googled Joel Hurt.

  A downside of the Internet was it often provided too much information. In fewer than three-seconds, I learned there were more than 25,000 references that mentioned Joel Hurt. Many of them were about a Joel Hurt who was an influential businessman in Atlanta. I used my brilliant power of deduction to eliminate him since he died in the 1920s. After limiting my search to South Carolina, I started finding references to the Joel Hurt I had shared a meal with. He was a more successful businessman than I had been led to believe. There were lists of charities he had donated thousands of dollars to, everything from childhood diabetes to Alzheimer’s research. There were a dozen photos of him at various charity events dressed in a tux and smiling at the camera. There were four different young ladies latched onto his arm in the various photos; none of whom were identified as Lauren Craft.