The Folly Beach Mystery Collection Volume II

by Bill Noel

  “First, in the zillion years we’ve know each other, you’ve never asked if you could join me, and second, you passed up laying a smart remark on me when I asked where you came from.”

  He knew me too well. I told him about my conversation with Tanesa.

  “Does Bob know?”

  “Don’t think so. Tanesa asked me to call him.”

  Charles put his hand over his face. “Make sure I’m a couple of miles away when you make that call.”

  A food delivery truck stopped in front of the restaurant and I couldn’t hear what Charles said next. I doubt I missed much. The truck, and its loud diesel engine moved down the road and Charles was saying something about Marc Salmon. I asked him to repeat it.

  He tilted his head toward the inside dining area. “I said, Marc said that one of his supporters told him Joel is holding fundraisers in West Ashley to get money for his council candidates to, as Marc put it, ‘stomp my ass.’ Marc said he’d never had to resort to begging for money to run for council, but if he wanted to stay on the job, he’d have to do something.”

  “I’m afraid Joel’s going to do whatever he needs to do to beat Brian and to get his candidates on the council.”

  Amber appeared at the table with coffee for me and asked if I wanted granola and yogurt; I said French toast. She smiled and headed to the kitchen.

  “Speaking of Joel,” Charles said as if Amber hadn’t been here, “you still think he had something to do with Lauren’s death?”

  I glanced around to see who was nearby. “I did, but now I’m not sure. Not even sure her death was anything more than what the coroner has ruled.”

  Charles started to say something but paused as a Folly Beach patrol car blasted down Center Street with its siren blaring. Seconds later, the distinct siren of one of the city’s fire engines started dogs howling as it pulled out of the station a couple of blocks away.

  Charles looked in the direction of the fire station, and said, “Don’t suppose you want to call Cindy and see what’s going on?”

  I may have the smart-aleck gene, but Charles had the nosy gene in spades. “No but speaking of Cindy.” I took a sip of coffee and shared my conversation with her and what she’d said about Joel’s alibi. Before Charles interrupted with a hundred questions, I told him about my visit to Katelin and what she’d said about Joel.

  “So, you figured Joel killed Lauren and Cindy blew it all by coming up with such a good alibi for Joel.” Another patrol car’s siren could be heard in the distance. “Sure, you don’t want to call Cindy?”

  “I’m sure.”

  Charles shrugged. “So, Wayne was Joel’s alibi?

  I nodded.

  “That’s the Wayne who’s running Joel’s campaign; the same Wayne who’s Joel’s good friend. Was there anyone else at this brochure-creating meeting?”

  “Cindy didn’t mention anyone.”

  “So, this could be the same Wayne who would be the only person on earth who could vouch for being with Joel when Lauren met her maker.”

  I nodded, again, and said, “And could be the same Wayne who’s such a good friend of Joel that he might lie about Joel being with him?”

  Charles pointed his knife at me. “Now you’re catching on. Lauren and Joel were dating, so it would make sense he would be with her that night. It had to be someone who knew her and that she trusted.”

  “Not necessarily. I’ve given it some thought. Anyone could have stuck a gun to her head and made her drive out there. And Charles, that’s assuming she was murdered, which it seems that only I believe.”

  “Add me to that short list. Oh yeah, there’s one other person who needs to be added.”

  “The killer,” I said.

  “Yep, and that could be the person you went to see yesterday.”

  “Katelin did seem intent on pointing fingers at Joel at the same time she was painting a picture of Lauren falling back into drugs.”

  “Throwing around stuff that would deflect attention from her. What’s her alibi?”

  “Cindy’s still checking.”

  Amber arrived with my breakfast and Charles had taken the last bite of his eggs. “And you’ll let me know the second you find out, right?”

  I told him of course, and he said he had to meet Heather. She’d said she needed to talk to him, and when Heather calls, Charles jumps. I was impressed by her control over him.

  There was one other table occupied on the patio, so I decided to call Bob and get that unpleasant task out of the way. I was surprised when Betty answered Bob’s cell phone. I told her who I was and asked if Bob was okay.

  “Oh, Chris, I’m glad you called. I don’t exactly know how to answer your question. I think his health is okay, or at least he hasn’t complained since yesterday about feeling bad. And when it comes to his health, he’s a big baby and will moan and groan about a splinter like someone was cutting his hand off. Anyway, I’m not worried about that, but I don’t recall ever seeing him so down about anything as he is about Al.”

  “I’m sorry to hear it. Anything I can do?”

  “Short of waving a magic wand and making Al well, I don’t know what it could be.”

  It wouldn’t help his mood, but I felt I needed to tell him what Tanesa had said. “Is he there now?”

  Betty said yes, but he was still asleep. She was surprised he had slept that long but didn’t want to disturb him. I shared what Tanesa had told me and asked if she wanted me to tell him when he woke up. She hesitated, but finally said it might be better if she told him. I deferred to her judgment and ended by saying I was sorry about Al and wished her luck in telling Bob. She said she’d need it.

  Amber brought a refill on my coffee, looked around, and sat where Charles had been earlier. She said, “Are you okay?”

  “Sure, why?”

  She tapped her fingers on the table. “Because you look like someone stole your car and burned your house down. You may be able to fib to other folks, but remember, I know you better than anyone here. So, what’s wrong?”

  I told her about Al and Bob. She reached over the table and put her hand on my hand that was holding the mug, and said, “Oh Chris, I’m so sorry. I know how much friends mean to you, and I know they’re two of your best. Anything I can do?”

  I smiled, thanked her, and said she was doing it.

  The couple at the other table waved for Amber to bring them the check. She nodded in their direction and said to me, “Let me know if you need anything, you hear?”

  After she left, I started thinking about what she had said about friends. Would Wayne have lied about Joel’s whereabouts? And I tried to remember what Katelin had said about her friend, and roommate, Candice. Wasn’t it something about Lauren possibly killing herself because of what happened to Candice? I was busy trying to figure out Katelin’s relationship with Lauren and why she may have killed her and didn’t catch what Katelin had meant about Candice. All I knew about the third housemate was she was seldom home and Dude had said she had been fired from one of Joel’s garden centers allegedly for theft but the rumor was that was actually because she had learned something about Joel that he didn’t want known. She was now working at a real estate office in Charleston. Would it help if I talked to her to get her take on what happened to Lauren? Possibly, but I didn’t know where she worked.

  Instead of sitting at the Dog and asking myself questions, that I knew I had no answer for, I decided to go back to Katelin and Candice’s house to see if Candice was there. I’d like to get her take on Joel and Lauren, and with luck, more about what had happened to her job at the garden center.

  A block before I got to their rental, one earlier question was answered—an answer I didn’t want to know.

  30

  Three police cars, two fire trucks, and an ambulance were parked at all angles in front of Katelin’s house. Yellow crime-scene tape blocked the entrance to the open garage door and a glimpse of the rear of Katelin’s Mazda was visible under a blue tarp on the other side of the tap
e. A gaggle of area residents were milling around the yard next door. One of the Folly Beach Public Safety officers was waving his arms at cars to keep moving on the busy street. One of the fire trucks blocked most of the garage as I slowly drove past the house so I parked in the next empty drive and walked to the group of people standing as close to Katelin’s house as the police permitted.

  It was easy to spot my friend, Chester Carr, in the group. Charles’s late Aunt Melinda had said he was a “spittin’ image of Mr. Magoo”, and she wasn’t far off. I’d known him for several years.

  I asked him what was going on.

  “Don’t know much,” he said and pointed to a woman on the other side of the group, “Marge said they found a body in that red car in the garage. I just got here, was on my way to visit a friend who lives out past the Washout.”

  I was afraid I knew the answer, but asked, “Anyone know who it was?”

  “Suppose the cops do, but I don’t.”

  There was a black Ford Focus in the drive. “Know whose car that is?”

  Chester turned his Coke bottle thick glasses my direction. “Chris, I just got here, and I ain’t a reporter.”

  “I know, but I thought you—”

  He stuck his hand in my face and said, “Hold on.” He turned and waved for the woman he’d referred to as Marge to come over. She smiled at Chester, gave a quick glance at the garage, and walked over.

  “Marge,” said Chester. “You know Chris?”

  She shook her head and Chester introduced me as the guy who used to have the photo gallery where Barb’s Books is now located and that I’ve helped the police catch a few killers. I wished he’d left out the last part. She shook my hand and said she was Marge Monroe and lived in the house across from Katelin’s. She was in her eighties but had a strong handshake and bounced on the balls of her feet with energy I hoped I had when I reached her age.

  Chester pointed to Katelin’s. “Marge, know who’s dead?”

  “Suspect it’s one of those girls who lived there. Think her name’s Katelin something. That’s her red car and the EMTs hauled somebody out of it. Couldn’t see much since they strung that blue tarp over the car.”

  That’s what I was afraid of. “Know who the black car belongs to?”

  Marge looked at the Ford Focus and back to me. “Candice Richardson, she’s the third gal who lives there. My goodness, that makes two of them dead. Hope nothing happens to Candice.”

  “Marge,” I said, “how well do you know Candice?”

  “Better than the other two, I suppose. She’s seldom there, but I’ve run into her a couple of times in Bert’s and she liked talking about flowers. I have a flower garden behind my house and Candice had planted some over there, so it was something we could talk about.”

  “Have you seen her since all this happened?”

  “No, but I guess she’s in the house since her car’s there.” She smiled and patted Chester on his bald head. “Gotta get back home. My hubby’ll be wondering what happened to me. He’s bedridden and I can’t be gone long. Nice meeting you, Carl.”

  I told her it was nice meeting her as well. I didn’t correct my name.

  A patrol car was parked directly across the street from where we were standing and Officer Allen Spencer was walking to it from Katelin’s house. I had known the six-foot tall, muscular officer since I had moved to Folly. He was new on the force at that time, and I was new to Folly so we had something to talk about. I excused myself from Chester and intercepted Allen as he reached the car door.

  “Hey, Chris.”

  He’d always been cordial, polite, and helpful, characteristics that not all police had shared.

  I shook his hand and said, “What happened?”

  “Looks like suicide. Young lady who lived there.” He glanced at something he’d written on his palm. “Her name’s Katelin Hatchett. She was in her locked car in the garage, motor running.”

  “Who found her?”

  “Housemate.”

  “Candice Richardson?”

  Allen stared at me. “How’d you know?”

  I told him a neighbor said the black car in the drive belonged to Candice and I knew she was the other housemate.

  “Tragic,” Allen said. “Such a young lady, so much life in front of her.”

  “Are you sure it was suicide?”

  “That’s what the EMTs said. No signs of foul play and the car was locked. She did have a big bruise on her forehead, but the guys think it was caused by the steering wheel her head hit when she passed out.” He hesitated, looked at the name on his palm, and back at me. “Do you think it was something else?”

  “Did you know Lauren Craft was a third housemate?”

  “The woman found dead near the County Park?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Doesn’t it seem strange both died this close together, both were found in their car, and both could have been suicides?”

  Allen nodded. “I suppose. I’m sure the detectives from the Sheriff’s office will get it sorted out. One of them should be here any minute.”

  “Do you know who’s coming?”

  “No.”

  I nodded toward the house. “Is the chief over there?”

  “Yeah, she’s waiting around for a detective. Chris, I’ve gotta run. I’m supposed to be on patrol.”

  I thanked him for the information, and he repeated they’ll figure it out, before pulling out to make my island safer. I hoped they would figure it out but didn’t have as much confidence as did Officer Spencer.

  There wasn’t anything I could do here but knew there was one thing I had to do, and that was to call Charles and let him know what’d happened. I would incur enormous quantities of grief if I didn’t tell him within seconds of when I learned something important. Even then, I would be surprised if he didn’t say, “What took you seconds to tell me?”

  “Got something important to tell you,” Charles blurted as way of greeting upon answering my call.

  “So do I,” I said.

  “Not as important as what I have. I’m home, come over. It’ll blow your mind away.”

  Since he didn’t bombard me with questions about what I had to tell him, I figured whatever he had to say might blow my mind away. Besides, with everything cluttering up my mind, it wouldn’t take much to make it explode.

  Charles had been watching for me. He opened the door before my car had come to a stop in the gravel and shell parking lot of his small, book-filled apartment on Sandbar Lane. He wore a crimson and blue Samford University, long-sleeve T-shirt, navy shorts, and a wide smile.

  “You’re not going to believe my news,” he said as I stepped in the book-filled living room.

  I didn’t waste my breath by saying something like Hi, Charles, nor did I step in the middle of his story to tell him about Katelin’s death. I said, “What’s the news?”

  He raised both hands over his head. “I’m getting married!”

  He’s right; I didn’t believe it. I headed to the kitchen that, if possible, was smaller than his tiny bathroom, and poured a glass of white wine out of the double-bottle he kept in his refrigerator for me. I asked if he wanted a beer. He said yes and told me to get back in the living room so he could tell me more about his nuptial plans.

  I handed him the Budweiser and said, “Is that what Heather wanted to talk to you about yesterday?”

  He took a sip, clinked the can down on a stack of books beside his chair, and scratched his stringy hair. “Sort of.”

  A couple of years back, Charles had proposed to Heather. Their marriage had been the final wish of his aunt before she’d succumbed to cancer. The proposal was more an emotional response to his aunt’s request than something he’d thought out, and he’d later decided he wasn’t ready for marriage, and may never be. Heather said she’d understood, but I was never certain she had accepted it.

  “Sort of?” I said.

  “She didn’t come right out and say we should get hitched, but wanted me to know she wasn’t
getting younger, and now her dream of becoming a country music star had been stomped on, she was feeling like a failure. You know I can’t do anything to make her a star, but I can help her meet her need to be married.”

  “Did you propose?”

  “No. Most of the time she talked about feeling like a failure and something had to happen. I spent most of the rest of the time reassuring her she was a wonderful person and far from a failure. Besides, popping the question and making her Mrs. Charles Fowler came to me in the middle of the night. I can’t imagine why she’d want to be that, but I’m going to make it happen. Chris, I’m excited.”

  “When are you going to ask her?”

  “Tomorrow, and you’re going to be there.”

  “Whoa,” I said. “Why? That’s a private moment between you two.”

  He shook his head. “Wrong. I’ve been reading up on this. The latest thing in marriage proposals is for the groom to invite his friends and sneaks around and invites her friends and family to be wherever the question’s to be popped. They even video the big knee-on-the-ground moment. Can you believe that?”

  I couldn’t, but didn’t say anything before he continued, “You’re my only friend, and I don’t have any family left, and I couldn’t figure out if Heather had anyone she would want to be there, so it’s you. Yep, you’ll be with us.”

  “Are you sure you want to propose, and if you are, about me being there?”

  “Gerald Ford said, ‘I know I am getting better at golf because I’m hitting fewer spectators.’ I’m going to get this proposal thing right this time; yes, I am. I’m definitely positive that I’m sure.”

  “Okay. I’d be honored to share the moment with you.” I also wondered what Heather would think about me crashing their intimate moment.

  Charles took another sip. “Now with that settled, what’s so important that you had to barge into my home and drink my wine for?”

  No, I didn’t remind him he’d invited me and the only reason he had wine in his apartment was for me. I did tell him where I’d been and what had happened.

  The first sign he was distracted by his marriage plans was when he didn’t chastise me for waiting so long to tell him. He also didn’t ask who was there, what everyone watching the police action had said, and if any of them had their dogs with them.