The Folly Beach Mystery Collection Volume II

by Bill Noel

  Charles had secured my favorite booth along the back wall and was in conversation with a distinguished looking, white-haired gentleman at the nearby table. I slid in the booth opposite Charles and he introduced me to Alex, a “young man” from Gravenhurst, Ontario. He quickly went on to say Alex had recently retired and he and his wife Hilary were travelling along the east coast and had been on Folly for the last week. Alex only nodded as Charles rattled on about his friend like he’d known him for years. It may have been my imagination, but I thought I could detect a Canadian accent as Charles, the chameleon, went on to say that Hilary had slept in this morning and they were going to visit a couple of Charleston’s plantations this afternoon.

  Amber stood to the side as Alex said he had to be going and how nice it was to meet Charles, and me, and headed to the exit. She set a mug of coffee in front of me and asked if I was ready to order. I asked her to give me a few minutes.

  Charles lifted his Tilley hat that was sitting on the seat next to his cane. “Alex liked my hat.”

  I smiled, and nodded toward his gold colored, University of Minnesota T-shirt. “What’d he say about that goofy-looking gopher on your shirt?”

  “Didn’t mention it. He probably sees a lot of these shirts in his neck-of-the-Canadian-woods. Enough about my fine taste in attire, let’s hear about last night. Everything about it.”

  I knew he meant it when he said everything, so I started from arriving and the valet parking. After that I had to tell him the color of the cones that had been reserving space along the street, what the valet had been wearing, and if the house had a single or a double door entry. Finally, he let me tell about entering the house. My coffee was cold before he let me catch my breath, take a sip, and regret not insisting he accompany me to the fundraiser. Amber returned to see if we were ready to order and Charles told her not yet because he didn’t want me to slow up my story by sticking food in my mouth. I did manage to nod toward my mug and Amber said she’d get me coffee. I continued my narrative of everything—everything—that had happened at Bob’s.

  I was telling him in chronological order, so I had shared almost everything when I got to the part about meeting the Holthouses and what they had said about Joel.

  Charles raised his hand. “Whoa, let me interrupt a sec. When you’re done, I’ve got something to tell you about Joel.”

  Interrupt a sec, I thought. He’d already interrupted my story 7,000 times. I said okay and continued sharing up until Barb and I left the party, and changed directions, something my friend had mastered decades ago and that he’d tutored me in.

  “What about Joel?”

  “I decided to get a laptop computer instead of one of those with that big black box attached. The guy at the store said the black box ones are obsolete and I can take mine everywhere and even can get Internet access with its Y-fly.”

  “Wi-Fi,” I corrected.

  “Whatever.”

  “About Joel?”

  “I’m getting there. Be patient.”

  I didn’t think he knew the word patient, and I knew he’d never followed it. “Go ahead.”

  “So, while you were hobnobbing with all the snobs at Bob’s and before I spent the, umm, evening, yeah, the evening, with Heather, I was at the Surf Bar doing what you’re supposed to do in a place with surf in its name. I was surfing the web from their free Y-fly—Wi-Fi.”

  “And?” I tried again.

  Charles sighed. “John Quincy Adams said, ‘Patience and perseverance have a magical effect before which difficulties disappear and obstacles vanish.’”

  I stared at him. “Chris Landrum said what did you learn about Joel?”

  “Chris, you’re beginning to sound like me. There’s hope for you.”

  I chose to follow the axiom, regardless who’d said it: Silence is golden.

  “Anyway,” he said, “Teri came in and asked where Heather was.”

  “Teri?”

  “You know, Teri, the hairdresser at Milli’s.”

  I didn’t, but said, “Okay.”

  “I told her I’d see Heather later and she asked if I could give her a message. Guess what she told me?”

  “Do you want me to guess?”

  “No. We’d be here all day. She told me she was talking to Katelin yesterday in the shop and she—Katelin, not Teri—said Lauren told her she was afraid of Joel.”

  “Did she say why, and why did Teri want to tell Heather?”

  “She said Heather had been asking everyone who worked at the salon about Lauren. Teri said she figured I had put Heather up to it, because everyone who knows Heather knows I’m a pretty good detective and have helped the police crack some of their most difficult cases.” Charles chuckled. “Heather had told them I was so good I’d cracked cases that weren’t even cases.”

  That was the same Heather who thought she was a good country music singer!

  “Why was Lauren afraid of Joel?”

  “That’s where it gets convoluted, if that’s the right word. It seems Lauren told it to the other housemate, Candice Richardson. Candice didn’t think anything of it but after Lauren turned up dead, she told Katelin, who told Teri, or maybe she told it to one of the other hairdressers who told Teri. Anyway, the story is Joel was angry about Lauren getting back on drugs. And get this about the heartless, selfish Joel, he wasn’t upset for Lauren, but was worried her drugging would be bad for his campaign. I guess he’s going to hang one of his campaign promises on being anti-drugs.”

  Amber returned and each of us ordered French toast, my breakfast of choice.

  “I’m shocked,” she mumbled as she headed to the kitchen.

  “Did she say anything else about Lauren or Joel?”

  “Nope.”

  “Was Teri, or Candice, or Katelin implying Joel might have something to do with Lauren’s death?”

  “After she decided she wanted an order of fries to go with her beer, Teri said she wanted to tell Heather because she knew Heather and I were close. Then she decided I didn’t have to tell Heather because the only reason to tell her was, so she could tell me, and since Teri already told me, I didn’t have to tell Heather.”

  It took me a moment to follow the trail of who told who what, and I said, “Do you think Joel could have been responsible for Lauren’s death?”

  “Good question. Could have been. He could have split with her over the drugs and she decided she didn’t have anything to live for and took the overdose. That would make him responsible, I suppose.”

  “Do you think he could have killed her?”

  “Like on purpose?”

  I nodded. “Yes, Mr. Detective.”

  “Since they’d been dating, she would have let him go with her that night.” He paused and rubbed his chin. “She was drunk and could have been out of it enough for him to inject her. That could explain why there weren’t prints on the door. It’s something to think about.”

  “You’re sure Teri didn’t say anything else?”

  “Other than another beer barkeep and a few burps, nope.”

  “I was going to tell Cindy what I learned from the realtors last night. Think Teri would mind if I give the chief her name? It sounds like what she said was consistent with Joel’s character.”

  “Tell away.”

  “How is Heather?”

  I had wanted to ask earlier, but he was too intent on hearing about the fundraiser.

  “To be honest, I don’t know.”

  Breakfast arrived, and Charles took two quick bites before he pointed his fork at me and started to say something, but instead shook his head and looked down at his plate.

  “You don’t know?” I said, prompting him.

  He took a bite, rubbed his forehead, and said, “We had a good time last night. She brought up a couple of funny things that happened after we moved to Nashville. We laughed at some stuff she couldn’t kid about when it happened. She talked about the singing buddies she met at her gigs at the Bluebird Cafe and that she missed them but was still
able to laugh about not being there.” He hesitated. “Yeah, we had a good time.”

  The look on his face told me there was more. “But?”

  He moved his head from side to side. “Can’t put my pinkie on it. There’s something she’s not telling me. She says she’s glad we moved back. She says she’s enjoying working at Milli’s. She says she’s happy that she can get back to singin’ at open-mic night at Cal’s. Umm, don’t know what it is. I don’t. Just a feeling.”

  Charles, along with being one of the quirkiest people I know, was also one of the most perceptive. He managed to see through the smokescreen that many people throw up when they’re trying to mask their feelings. He recognized insecurities in others that most of us can’t see and bolstered their positives. He could bring out good traits in others even if they couldn’t see them in themselves. So, when he said it was just a feeling he had about Heather, I knew he was right. What did surprise me was he couldn’t define it.

  “Help me understand, what gives you the impression there’s something she’s not telling you?”

  Charles looked around the crowded room and toward the outside door. I followed his gaze and didn’t notice anything unusual. There were several people waiting for tables, but that was not unusual this time of day. My friend dropped his fork on the plate, waved for Amber to bring the check, and said, “Let’s get out of here.”

  I paid and followed him out the door. He ignored the group milling around and walked past two large dogs drinking out of a water bowl provided by the restaurant. I knew something was wrong when Charles didn’t bend down to let the dogs welcome him with slobbery licks—kisses.

  21

  I followed Charles across Center Street to the Folly River Park where he flopped down on a picnic table under the small covered pavilion. Unlike the area around the restaurant, the park was deserted, and Charles stared at the steady stream of traffic on the bridge. Two good-sized fishing boats motored past on their way upstream. The temperature had to be approaching ninety and the shade felt good on my aging bones.

  Charles finally turned towards me. “You know how off-the-wall Heather is. She blurts out whatever’s on her mind regardless how it may be taken.” He chuckled. “She’s stuck her foot in her mouth so often that if she was a cow she’d have hoof-in-mouth disease.”

  I nodded and smiled. “I’ll be sure to tell her you don’t think she’s a cow.”

  “Ha, ha,” he said and turned serious. “There’ve been more and more spells when she won’t say anything; stretches of time that before she’d fill with who knows what. Silence is something she’d never taken kindly to. Chris, she gets this look in her eyes like she’s staring into another world. She says she’s a psychic, but before when she’d go into psychic mode she didn’t stare that weird. I don’t know what’s going on.”

  “The other day you said she hadn’t met with the counselor. Has she seen him yet?”

  “Funny you asked. Last night when I was trying to figure out what was wrong, I asked the same thing. She would’ve reacted better if I’d asked her to go in the kitchen and slice her thumb off with a steak knife.”

  “Sorry. Does that mean she hasn’t talked to the counselor?”

  Charles looked at the ceiling of the gazebo. “Don’t recall her saying no, but she left the room and slammed the door so hard I thought it’d knock the paint off the wall. I may’ve missed her answer.”

  “Sounds like no,” I said and patted him on the shoulder.

  Charles turned and looked toward Center Street. “Speaking of the devil.”

  We weren’t, but with Charles it didn’t matter. I looked in the direction he was facing and saw Chief LaMond’s unmarked car parked in a parking spot parallel to the road. Cindy walked our way.

  Charles said, “Howdy, Chief. What brings you out on such a lovely day?”

  “Got a complaint about a couple of old, really old, farts hanging out and doing no-telling-what in the park. Figured I needed to earn my astronomical salary paid by the good citizens like the one who complained and came to check it out.”

  She stifled a smile, so I said, “You made that up.”

  “Yep, especially the astronomical salary part. I was riding by and saw you and thought there was no time like the present to share a nugget of news.”

  I patted to the empty space on the bench. “Join us.”

  “Thought you’d never ask.” She pointed toward town. “You get kicked out of a restaurant or a store?”

  “Us, kicked out,” Charles said in mock exasperation. “We were at the Dog and they begged me to stay to add some class to the joint, but Chris insisted we come over here, so we could enjoy the sweltering, miserable heat.”

  Cindy rolled her eyes. “Then let me suck some of that enjoyment out of your day. Got off the phone about an hour ago with Detective Adair. Chris, I told him what you’d said about Joel and Kristin.”

  Charles interrupted, “What’d he say?”

  “He said he didn’t see how that changed anything. Said as far as he was concerned, the case was closed. He was confident Lauren had accidentally or intentionally overdosed. Said there’s no way to tell which it was.”

  I was surprised. “It didn’t matter that Joel had a reason for her death?”

  Cindy watched a beer truck cross the bridge and turned to me. “Guys, I’m as frustrated as you are, but the case is with the Sheriff’s office and I’m stuck with their conclusion. But tell you what, if you hear anything else, let me know. No guarantees that it’ll do any good, but I’ll try.”

  I said we would. She stood and said, “Gotta go stir up some crap in my office. The guys will think I’m goofing off if I’m not on their case about something. The mayor says it’s superior administrative oversight.”

  We watched her pull back in traffic and Charles turned to me. “Why didn’t you tell her what Katelin said to Candice, who told Teri, who told me?”

  “And then you told me, and now wanted me to tell Cindy.”

  He nodded.

  “I might later, but for now that’s too many who tolds to hit Cindy with.”

  Charles shrugged. “If you say so. I’ve got to make a delivery for the surf shop, so I’ll leave you here to ponder … well, to ponder whatever you want to ponder.”

  He grabbed his cane and left me to ponder.

  It was hot, humid, and the sun was out at full force, so I decided the shade of the pavilion was as good a place to ponder as any. At least, it beat walking anywhere.

  I was amazed Charles didn’t know what was going on with Heather. They were a perfect couple, or as close to perfect as a couple could be in this imperfect world. They were quirky beyond definition. They both marched to the beat of a different drummer, or guitar in Heather’s case. They were kinder than ninety-nine percent of the people I’d ever met, and on the surface, it appeared their main interest was making the other one happy. I vacillated between telling myself that whatever was bothering her was none of my business and trying to think of what I could do to help them through whatever was going on.

  All I accomplished by trying to figure it out was giving myself a headache, so I tried thinking about something else. What jumped to the forefront was Lauren and what had happened. Why was her death bugging me? The police were convinced it was either accidental or a suicide. Why couldn’t I let it go at that? Since I had been on Folly, I had been involved in several murders. Was I beginning to see all deaths as being nefarious? There was no evidence of foul play, so why was it still on my mind. Sure, the lack of fingerprints on the passenger’s door could seem suspicious, but there were logical explanations. Was Joel angry enough to want her dead? Possible, but it was also possible—maybe even probable—that I was looking at him through bias-tinted glasses. He was running against a friend and that could be clouding my opinion.

  I took a deep breath, shook a couple of random thoughts out of my head, leaned back against the picnic table, and watched three trucks and a scooter cross the bridge. When I had gotten dragg
ed into previous murder cases it was because of one of two reasons: I was nearby when the death occurred, or the murder involved one or more of my friends. So why now? I never knew or met Lauren Craft, and the only connection between her and someone I did know, was her father. Technically Brad and Hazel Burton were next door neighbors, so there could have been a friendship connection, but Brad and I were as far from being friends as were a worm and a catfish. There was no reason for me to get involved. No, not a single reason.

  So why was I having to convince myself?

  I headed home. After two blocks, I realized how wise I had been to stay under the shade provided by the park’s shelter. Two more blocks and sweat was running down my face. I approached my house and saw Brad Burton sitting on his front step; a sight I hadn’t seen since he had lived there. It was even stranger when he saw me approaching, smiled, and waved. For a moment I thought I was hallucinating from the heat. I returned his gesture and walked past my house to his yard.

  Brad stood and shook my hand. I apologized for it being sweaty. He said his was too and asked if I wanted to join him. The front of his house shaded us from direct sunlight and I sat next to him. I didn’t know what to say so I asked him how he was doing and realized how stupid a question it was. He had lost his only child, and by being nice to me indicated something was wrong with him. He glanced over at me and I imagined him saying something like, “How do you think I feel, you idiot?”

  He started to speak, thought better of it, and lowered his head. I watched a squirrel foraging around in the side yard, before Brad finally said, “Chris, I’ve spent my entire professional life staring at dead bodies. After so long, I became calloused to the sight, smell, and revulsion. I had to do that, or I couldn’t do what I was paid to do; find the person responsible and bring justice and some small degree of closure to the families of the deceased. At first, I took the images of the horrible transgressions home with me. I’m afraid I burdened Hazel with my gut-wrenching feelings. She was an angel to put up with it; nearly didn’t … umm, well, I finally was able to block it out.” He hesitated, watched a plumbing truck roll by, and again lowered his head.