The Folly Beach Mystery Collection Volume II

by Bill Noel

  “I was a cop for a long time, way too long a time,” he said and closed his eyes. “During that time, I investigated numerous suicides. Kneeling down and looking at a body with half its head blown away or looking up at someone who’d hanged himself…or herself…was no picnic, but you know the hardest part?”

  I guessed. “Breaking the news to their loved ones?”

  Brad nodded. “Nearly every one of them swore the death couldn’t have been suicide. Their dear sweet daughter, son, husband, wife, or whatever couldn’t possibly have done it. It had to be something else, usually murder, and I as a cop had better find the killer and find him quick. Regardless how obvious the cause of death, they were in total denial.” He looked around and said, “I’ll be back,” and headed to the bar for beer number four.

  What he’d said didn’t surprise me, but why was he telling me? He was back with a fresh beer in hand so I didn’t have to wait long for an answer.

  He took a deep breath and sighed. “Chris, when I heard about Lauren, every one of those notifications flooded my mind. I was determined not to fall into the same state of denial as did all those family members. So, even after her friends said she was clean, and the coroner found little, if any, drugs in her system, I told myself not to do what those other people had done. I bought into the suicide or accidental overdose explanation.” He hesitated and looked at the floor. “I think I was wrong.”

  “I do too,” I said to the top of his head.

  His head jerked up. “Really?”

  I said yes and told him what I had learned about Joel from Chester, and about my suspicions about him having something to do with Katelin’s death. Brad’s hand gripped the beer so hard his knuckles turned red. He took a step toward the bar but turned and came back to me.

  He pointed the empty beer bottle at me. “First thing Monday, I’m going to contact my friends in the Sheriff’s office and push them, push them hard, to pursue her death—her murder.”

  From the comments I had heard from his colleagues, I’d be surprised if he had any friends left in the office but was glad to hear someone felt as strongly about it as I did.

  “Good.”

  “If they don’t want to do their job, I’m going to figure it out myself. Damned if I’m going to let my little girl’s killer get away.”

  My phone rang before I could respond. The screen indicated it was Tanesa. I excused myself and moved to the sidewalk where I could hear better. I noticed my hand shaking as I touched the answer button. Please let this be good news.

  “Chris, this is Tanesa. Can you talk?”

  I said I could.

  “I wanted to tell you Dad has pulled out of his coma.”

  “Wonderful,” I interrupted.

  “Yes, he’s talking some, but not making any sense. That’s not necessarily bad. It’s understandable that his brain’s a bit scrambled after what he’s been through.”

  I told her I remembered how a couple of months earlier Cal had confused timeframes after he awoke from his coma after being hit in the head. It took him a couple of weeks to get back to normal—Cal normal.

  “I hope that’s the case,” Tanesa said. “But it’ll be a while before we know if dad has suffered permanent damage. The flow of blood had been restricted for a long time, and some, hopefully minor, damage is likely.”

  “The good news is he’s still alive.”

  “Where there’s life, there’s hope,” Tanesa said, sounding more like a philosopher than an ER doc.

  I agreed, thanked her for calling, and asked if he could be having visitors anytime soon. She said she’d let me know, but it might be a while. I asked if she had called Bob to let him know. She said no and she had to get back to work and asked if I’d call him.

  I made a quick call to Bob before I returned to the party. I felt I was talking to a total stranger rather than Bob. He was civil, almost polite, thrilled about Al, and for the cherry on top of the soda, he thanked me for calling. I hit end call and glanced at the screen to make sure I had called the same Bob Howard I had learned to love, despite himself.

  I returned to the bar and found Barb to tell her the good news. She was talking to her step-brother Dude and from the slice of conversation I overheard they were sharing a story from their childhood in Pennsylvania.

  I heard Dude say, “You be weird sis.”

  Barb laughed and said, “You calling me weird’s like a frill-necked lizard calling a rabbit weird.”

  Dude looked at her and ran his hand through his long, stringy hair. “Me no know what naked lizard be.”

  Barb chuckled, “Frill-necked lizard. Take my word for it, it’s weirder than a rabbit.”

  Dude rubbed his hair again. “Me take word of lawyerster even weirder.”

  Barb said, “I’m no longer a lawyer; I’m a simple bookstore owner.”

  “Cool.”

  I’d heard enough about weird and moved closer to Barb and put my arm around her waist.

  Dude said, “Ewe, mushy. Me leave and let you mush-away.”

  I watched Dude move in Charles’s direction and asked if Barb needed another drink.

  “You had to ask if I wanted more beer after you saw me talking with Dude?”

  I smiled and headed to the bar to get her another beer and refill my wine. Brad had another beer in his hand and was leaning on the bar; to be closer to Chester Carr who he was talking to, and to stay balanced. I heard him slur something about murder and going to catch the killer. I also saw Hazel headed his way, hopefully to rein him in.

  I handed Barb her drink and told her about my call from Tanesa. She said that was great and pointed the neck of her bottle at Brad. “See you and your good bud have been powwowing.”

  “Good bud, no; powwowing, sort of. He’s coming around to believing his daughter’s death was not by her own hand.” I told her what I had learned from Chester that shot down Joel’s alibi. Barb asked if I had told Chief LaMond. I said, “Not yet.”

  She gave me a stern look and tilted her head in Cindy’s direction. “You haven’t asked my advice, but if you had, I’d tell you to tell the police what Chester told you and then butt out.” She held out her hand before I could respond. “I know, I know. The odds on you doing that are as great as Dude playing Hamlet in a theatre production in town. So, please be careful. I’m getting accustomed to spending time with you, time with you alive.”

  “To show how much I pay attention to your advice, I’ll tell Cindy now.”

  I started toward Cindy and Larry when Cal tapped on the classic microphone. I stopped and returned to Barb’s side.

  “Okay ladies and gentlemen,” said Cal in his Texas accent. “Here’s what you’ve been waiting for. Charles, come on up.”

  Charles looked at Cal, and turned to look at the crowd, before stepping behind the mic. He wiped the back of his hand on his shorts and gently touched the mic with his other hand and said, “I want to, umm, I want to thank …” He lowered his head and coughed back a tear. He wiped his eyes and said, “Thank you for coming.” He stepped back and Cal rushed over to him, put his arm on Charles’s shoulder and leaned toward the mic.

  “Folks, Charles wants to thank all of you for being so kind to him and to Heather before she left. He knows with all your fine thoughts she’s bound to be okay, wherever she is. Now before some of you drift off, and before I sing a tune or two to honor Heather, let’s all move closer to the stage.”

  Cal grabbed one of the chairs from the front table and set it behind the mic. He had Chester bring a long-handled, silver flashlight to the stage and told him where to stand with it. Cal asked Larry to hit the light switches so the only illumination in the room came from the neon beer sign over the bar. The room became eerily silent and Cal said something to Chester who turned the flashlight on and pointed it at the empty chair.

  Cal said, “This is for you, Heather. Safe travels.” He started singing Heather’s favorite song, and one she had sung at every performance in Cal’s. “Crazy.”

  I b
egan to feel like I was at a funeral, and in some way, I suppose I was.

  37

  Cal’s tribute was well intentioned. He had a huge heart and wanted to do everything in his power to smooth Heather’s departure and to show Charles he and many others cared. Unfortunately, it had the opposite effect on my friend. After Cal’s flashlight moment, he slid into a set of traditional country songs, and Charles came close to sliding off the stage. Even before the lights were turned back on, I saw Charles slump and grab his knees. I rushed to the stage and gave him a shoulder to lean on as he moved to the nearest table. He was hurting. I got him a glass of water and asked if he was okay to walk. He didn’t need to stay in the bar any longer. I motioned for Barb to help me clear the way to the exit and Charles walked, with the aid of each of us, out the door where he sucked in the fresh air and regained his composure. Several people who had come for the sole purpose of supporting Charles saw us, wanted to say something to him, but instead respected his privacy as we left.

  Charles had driven the seven blocks from his apartment to Cal’s, but said he’d feel better if he walked around a while before walking home. I asked if I could go with him, and I was pleased when he said yes. Barb headed to her condo, and Charles and I inched our way to the Folly Pier. It was in the opposite direction from his apartment, but I could tell he wanted the peaceful walk to the end of the structure. It was in the mid-eighties but a brisk breeze blew off the ocean and made the walk comfortable. I didn’t know what to say, and Charles seemed caught up in his thoughts and didn’t speak.

  We reached the end of the pier, Charles flopped down on one of the wooden benches, and I sat beside him and waited for him to start the conversation. No words came as we both stared at the lights of the Tides Hotel and the large Charleston Oceanfront Villas condo complex beside the hotel. A few small groups of people walked along the beach swinging flashlights toward the sand as they went along.

  “Nice tribute Cal put together,” Charles said, the first words he’d spoken in fifteen minutes.

  “It was,” I said.

  “Wouldn’t be surprised if Heather didn’t see it however she gets the vibes. Hope she did.”

  “She knows we all care.”

  Charles stared at the shore and said, “Chris, I thought I was as messed up as a person could be after Melinda died two years ago.” He turned to me. “I didn’t know what screwed up was until now. Why didn’t I ask Heather to marry me earlier? Why?”

  No answer would be adequate, so I said, “Sorry. You know she did what she had to do. Maybe she’ll come back. You never know.”

  He shook his head like he was flailing out bad thoughts. “Heard anything about Al?”

  I was glad he’d changed the subject. What else could be said about Heather? I was also glad to tell him about Tanesa’s call and Al’s improved condition.

  He sat up straighter. “When were you going to tell me?”

  Charles was getting back to being Charles. I told him this was the first opportunity. He didn’t agree or disagree; he huffed.

  “Want to know what I heard about Joel’s alibi for the time Lauren Craft died?”

  “Duh!”

  I told him about what Chester had said and that I was going to share that information with Cindy in the morning. I hesitated and told him what Barb had said about me about me butting out. Charles asked why? I said because I didn’t know how I could find out more and was leaving it to the police.

  He looked at the Tides and at me. “Teddy Roosevelt said, ‘Whenever you are asked if you can do a job, tell’em, Certainly, I can! Then get busy and find out how to do it.’ You’ve got to find out how to catch that sleazeball who killed Lauren, and who’s trying to stomp Brian’s chance of getting reelected.”

  “Tomorrow,” I said. “I’ll deal with it tomorrow.”

  Charles nodded, and said, “Think I need to get this weary sack of bones home.”

  “I’ll walk with you.”

  “Out of your way, besides, I need to be alone.”

  Charles stood, grabbed his cane from the deck, and left me seated on the pier.

  The faint sounds of music coming from the bars on Center Street combined with an occasional slap of waves against the pier’s pilings were the only sounds I heard. Most of the noise came from thoughts and questions rattling around in my mind. Tonight’s party, even though it was the creation of Charles himself, showed him how much support he had and how much everyone missed Heather, but I was afraid that instead of cheering him up, it put him deeper into a funk. Charles was hurting and there was nothing I could do for him. I would be there for him if he asked for anything, but was that enough? Al had broken free from his coma, but could have significant brain damage, a condition possibly worse than if he had died. Bob now had a bar to run; a career change that would tax anyone, so no telling how it would affect my burly, aging, iconoclastic friend. There were way more downsides than positives. And I still had the nagging feeling Lauren’s and Katelin’s deaths were at the hands of the person who was trying to unseat my friend as mayor, instead of suicide or resulting from an overdose.

  It was too late to call Cindy and tell her what I’d learned about Joel. Too late to do anything to help Charles. And there was nothing I could do to help Al. I started to tell myself things couldn’t get worse but reminded myself that every time I had thought that, I was proven wrong. The wisest thing for me to do would be to go home, get some sleep, and contact Cindy first thing in the morning.

  For once, I did the wise thing.

  A light rain was falling the next morning as I crawled out of bed. My head was fuzzy from having more wine at Cal’s party than food or sense. I was hungry and certain there was nothing in the house to eat; or at least, nothing intended to be eaten this early in the morning. I wasn’t ready to face anyone in the Dog, so I walked next door to Bert’s to grab coffee and a muffin. I was half-asleep as I left the house, but the steady rain served the same purpose as a shower, and I was fully awake as I stepped through the double door of the iconic store.

  “Hear there was quite a bash at Cal’s last night,” boomed the cheerful voice of Eric as I headed to the coffee urn. “Suppose you were there.” He threw the hand towel he’d been using to wipe crumbs off the counter over his shoulder and walked my way.

  Somehow, our conversation had passed the good morning phase, so I smiled and said, “Yes, it was nice.”

  “How’s Charles? Must have been a mixed bag for him.”

  I said he was pleased that so many people had turned out but was still in shock about Heather leaving.

  “Sorry to hear it,” Eric said, and tilted his head in the direction of my house. “Also hear your neighbor showed a side we haven’t seen around here.”

  “Brad Burton?”

  “That would be the one.”

  “What’d he do?” I asked.

  Eric smoothed out his beard and nodded. “Let’s see. First, I hear he tried to drink Cal’s dry. Came close, from the word that’s been spreading around here.”

  I looked at my watch. It wasn’t yet eight o’clock, fewer than seven hours after the party ended. “Who’d you hear that from?”

  “Chester Carr about a half hour ago, and Janice, she left right before you came in. That’s all so far. I also hear he was nearly screaming before his wife dragged him out.”

  “Screaming about what?”

  Eric looked around and even though we were the only two in the store, he leaned closer and said, “Screaming that Joel Hurt killed his little girl and he was going to prove it and make sure Hurt burns. You were there, didn’t you hear him?”

  I explained that Charles and I had left before it was over and missed Brad’s outbursts.

  “By now, you’re probably the only two on Folly who haven’t heard about it.” Eric waved his arms around. “Speed of light and speed of rumors are about the same.”

  Eric was right and I told him so, when Preacher Burl strolled in, saw Eric and me, and gave a big Sunday morning smile. H
e wore a wrinkled white shirt, black suit slacks, and a food-stained tie.

  “How is my favorite Bert’s employee and my favorite retired, former photo gallery owner this fine Sabbath morn?”

  Eric told the preacher he was “as fine as frog hair,” a simile I understood, but had never been a fan of since frogs don’t have hair, fine or otherwise. I simply said I was okay.

  “Brother Chris, did you and Charles leave the gala early? I looked for you and no one seemed to know where you had gone.”

  “Charles needed fresh air, so we walked to the pier.” Not quite the whole truth, but close.

  “I thought it was as such. Brother Charles didn’t appear chipper after Cal performed his moving rendition of Heather’s favorite song. Is Charles okay?”

  Eric excused himself to wait on a new customer.

  I lowered my voice and said, “I’m glad you asked, Preacher. It might be helpful if you’d talk to Charles. He’s pretty torn up about Heather leaving. I think it’s worse than he was when his Aunt passed away.”

  “I will try to engage him in conversation after this morning’s service. Of course, that’s if he attends. Looks like we’ll have to meet in the foul-weather sanctuary rather than on the beach. Will you be joining us?”

  I hadn’t planned to but couldn’t think of a good excuse not to. “I hope to.”

  “Excellent, and I will do whatever I can to help Charles. He’s lucky to have such a good friend as you. Of course, true friendship goes both ways.”

  “I agree, Preacher. I don’t know how I would have survived over here without Charles.”

  Burl smiled and said, “I wish I had such close friends during my times of need.”

  “One question,” I said, “did my neighbor, Brad Burton, say anything, umm, unusual after I left the party?”

  Burl looked down at the concrete floor. “Now, Brother Chris, you know I’m not prone to gossip and am uncomfortable saying anything negative about someone, especially after the tragic loss of his daughter.”