The Folly Beach Mystery Collection Volume II

by Bill Noel

  Joy alternated between listening to Burl patter on about First Light and staring out the window with her mind wandering. Burl didn’t notice the difference until he asked if she would be interested in attending his Sunday service in two days.

  “I’m sorry, Preacher. What?”

  He repeated the question.

  “Preacher, are there other churches on Folly?”

  “Excellent question, Sister Joy. There are three other wonderful houses of worship on our tiny island. The Baptist, Catholic, and Methodist churches are within sight of each other.”

  She turned from staring out the window to Burl. “Why start another one?”

  “Another excellent question, my dear. First Light is nondenominational and attracts men and women who, for whatever reason, are not attracted to the more traditional denominations.” He laughed. “Some of the first to attend were surfers who’d been on the beach waiting to ply their skill in the waves. I’d love to say that my wonderful, spiritual, and inspirational message drew them in. They finally told me that they were bored waiting for, as they said, ‘boss’ waves, and enjoyed the group singing.”

  Joy said, “That must’ve been disheartening.”

  Burl patted her on the arm. “To the contrary. As I often share from the pulpit, God works in strange and mysterious ways. That day, He provided a flat sea to prevent the young people from surfing and provided members of the flock singing at the top of their lungs to attract those nearby. Several of the surfers have attended religiously, pun intended, since that glorious day.”

  Burl pulled in my drive and I said it was nice seeing Joy again and that she would find Hope House and Preacher Burl to her liking. I had no idea if that was true, but wanted to reinforce the decision for her to stay there. In a less than convincing tone, she said she hoped so. Our conversation ended with her thanking me for coming with Burl to pick her up and for me to say hi to Barb.

  The first thing I did when I got in the house was call Charles to let him know the latest on Joy. I was pleased when he didn’t scold me for waiting to tell him. He added that he was planning attend First Light’s next service. I said I might see him there, emphasis on might. I was an irregular attender which meant I attended more often than Christmas and Easter, but less, far less, than weekly.

  Charles thought he had my commitment to attend, then asked if Joy had regained her memory and shared with what had happened on the boat.

  “Charles, don’t you think if that happened, I would’ve led with it?”

  “Does that mean she doesn’t remember?”

  “No more than the last time we talked.”

  “Doesn’t give us much to work with finding out what happened, does it?”

  “We’re not trying to find out, remember?”

  “Good Ole Abe Lincoln said, ‘How many legs does a dog have if you call the tail a leg? Calling a tail a leg doesn’t make it a leg.’”

  Another of Charles’s quirks was quoting United States Presidents, or he said they were actual quotes. I had never taken the time to research their origin. As Chris Landrum said, I don’t care an atom if they are. That sentiment was shared by others who knew my friend, although it didn’t stop him from spewing them.

  “Your point is?”

  “The point, my friend, is whether you say you are or not, you along with the help of your trusty sidekick are on the case. You can deny it to Cindy, to Burl, to anyone who will listen, and to the Caulders’ dog Bowser. That still don’t mean you ain’t trying.”

  “Whatever.”

  He laughed, and the phone went dead.

  8

  Moving to a strange house, surrounded by strangers, and not knowing who you are, where you came from, or anything about your past, had to be traumatic. I decided to drop by and see how Joy was adjusting. I didn’t have anything encouraging to offer except a face that she’d known longer than anyone there. I hoped that would be enough.

  It took three knocks before Bernard Prine opened the door. I hardly recognized him. When we’d met a year ago, he had stringy, dark-brown hair, a week-old beard, and wore a faded army jacket and gray dress slacks two sizes too large. Now, his hair was neatly trimmed and combed, he had on a long-sleeve, yellow dress shirt, black jeans, new tennis shoes, and a smile he’d seldom shared a year ago.

  “Well if it isn’t my friend, Chris Landrum,” Bernard said in a Southern drawl. “Welcome, sir.”

  We’d had little contact since last Christmas, so I was pleased that he’d referred to me as a friend. He shook my hand with a grip powerful enough to open a stubborn food jar.

  “It’s good to see you, Bernard. How do you like it here?”

  He smiled. “One of the best things that ever happened to me was last Christmas when you told me that I could talk to Preacher Burl about my issues. He’s a godsend. Crap—whoops, Preacher doesn’t like me saying crap—umm, phooey, even if he wasn’t a preacher, I’d still say he’s a godsend. He’s provided room and board, lent me a few dollars when I’ve needed them, and best of all, he’s been there when I sort of threw a couple of temper tantrums, the kind that got me kicked out of homeless shelters. Preacher put his arm around me and took me aside and talked me through whatever inspired me to make an ass, umm, a fool out of myself. I’d do anything for that man.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. Is your newest resident around?”

  “Yes, sir. We were in the kitchen having coffee with Preacher Burl. How about joining us?”

  He was leading me to the kitchen before I could answer. We passed one of the female residents, Adrienne, I believe. She was dressed in a light jacket, jeans that were no stranger to manual labor, and calf-high, leather work boots.

  Bernard said, “Off to work?”

  Adrienne lowered her eyes when she saw me, and mumbled, “Yes.”

  She headed to the door, and Bernard leaned close and whispered, “If you ask me, she’s housing a herd of secrets.”

  Coming from Bernard, that was something. I remembered how many times Charles and I tried to get him to tell us where he was living when we first met. He never would.

  “What kind of secrets?”

  He rubbed his chin and stared as Adrienne exited. “If I knew, they wouldn’t be secrets. Reckon it’s a feeling I get when I’m around her.” He shrugged.

  Burl was pouring coffee in a mug in front of Joy, and she was laughing.

  He saw me in the doorway and without skipping a beat, grabbed another mug, filled it, and handed it to me.

  “Brother Chris, if you’d arrived a half hour earlier, you could have joined us for breakfast.”

  “Yes,” Bernard said, “we had crepes, blackberry-mint scones, arugula and pistachio pesto quiche, and, oh yeah, crumpets.”

  “Really?” I said.

  Burl laughed, and said, “Brother Chris, we had a bowl of Raisin Bran and orange juice.”

  I had forgotten Bernard’s sense of humor. “Sounds good.”

  Bernard glanced at Burl and said, “I must’ve been thinking about yesterday.”

  Joy ignored the factual and fictional breakfast menu, and said, “Chris, it’s nice to see you again.”

  “You too, Joy. How do you like it here?”

  “It’s far better than the room at the hospital. Preacher Burl gave me a choice of two bedrooms and I picked the one with two windows instead of one.”

  “Brother Taylor moved out and looks like Sister Rebekah will be leaving soon. She’s doing well at her job at Black Magic and will be moving to her own apartment after Christmas.”

  “It’s great that your residents find places to live,” I said.

  “They’re blessed, yet I’m always sad to see them go.”

  Bernard pointed his mug at Burl. “Don’t worry, Preacher. I won’t leave you.”

  Burl chuckled. “You have a home here as long as you wish.”

  Bernard took the last sip and excused himself saying that he thought a walk would do him good. He headed out the back door, and I told him it was good see
ing him again.

  Joy whispered something I couldn’t understand. Apparently, Burl couldn’t either and asked her to repeat it.

  She stared in her mug and said, “What if I have a house somewhere? What if I have a husband, children? Brothers, sisters, parents? What if…” She held out her hands palms up and repeated, “What if?”

  Burl reached out and hugged her. I didn’t know what to say and sipped coffee.

  A minute later, Joy stepped back from Burl and said, “If you gentlemen don’t mind, I’d like to go to my room.”

  Burl said, “Joy, this is now your home. Feel free to come, go, and do as you please. I lock the doors each night, but I’ll give you a key. And, I’m here if you need anything.”

  She nodded and left the kitchen.

  Burl watched her go, and said, “Christmas is a week away and the best gift in the world for Sister Joy would be her memory. I can’t give that to her.”

  “None of us can. What you are giving are some of the greatest gifts possible, a place to call home and a loving environment.”

  “Yes,” Burl said, “I’m afraid that isn’t enough when it comes to Sister Joy. My other residents know where they’ve been yet are uncertain of their future. That’s why most end up under this roof. Without knowledge of her past, Sister Joy can’t determine whether staying here is a good or a bad thing. She had no perspective on her reality.”

  “Did she share anything beyond being on the boat?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing like a direct memory, but here’s something. I was showing her around upstairs and she pointed to a couple of places where I needed to repair the wood trim. She said she could help.”

  “Perhaps she has construction experience.”

  “Maybe, although not necessarily,” Burl said. “I told her I’d worked construction back in the day. She could’ve wanted to help and figured I’d show her what to do. She wants to help.”

  “True. Did she say anything else?”

  “No.”

  “What did you tell the others about her?”

  “Nothing other than she’s been in the hospital and would be staying here until she got back on her feet.”

  “Did you say anything about her memory?”

  “I told them that she was foggy about the past.”

  “How does she get along with them?”

  “There’s been little contact. She stayed in her room most of time. She talked for a while to Bernard, but little to the others.”

  “Preacher, I’m still worried that there is someone who may want to harm her. Have you told everyone that it’s important that they don’t talk about her with anyone outside this house?”

  “I told Sister Adrienne and Brother Bernard. I haven’t had a chance to talk with Rebekah. I will when she returns from work. More coffee?”

  I told him I was okay, and he said, “Now, a question. Have the police learned anything about what happened?”

  I told him about the stolen boat and surfboard.

  “They’re certain that the surfboard was the same one you and Sister Barb found with Joy?”

  I nodded.

  “Have they checked the boat for fingerprints?”

  “Chief LaMond said there weren’t any except those of the owners.”

  I told him I’d better be going and asked him to call if Joy said anything that would help the police.

  He said he would and ended with, “I look forward to seeing you at tomorrow’s worship service.”

  How could I say no to that?

  9

  A clear, pollution-free sky greeted me as I left the house to walk to the morning service at First Light. The temperature was flirting with the upper thirties, so I headed three blocks to the church’s inclement weather sanctuary. Attendance was lower when the service was indoors, and approximately twenty people were standing around a coffee pot in back of the room. It was easy to spot Preacher Burl. He was wearing a white robe crafted from a bedsheet and pouring coffee in a Styrofoam cup. Lottie was nearby. I was reminded of the first time I’d seen her. She was in this building and helping Burl and a few others refinish discarded church pews to use in the sanctuary. She wore oversized clothes hiding her attractive figure and had a self-cut hairstyle. Today she looked and acted the part of a preacher’s wife, something I hoped she’d soon become. She handed coffee to William Hansel, another friend of mine and a regular at First Light.

  Joy was in the corner in animated conversation with Bernard. She had on a tan blouse and dress slacks, clothes I assumed donated by one of the other residents. It was good seeing her socializing. Amber and Jason, her nineteen-year-old son, were in the front of the room talking to a woman I didn’t know.

  Charles was huddled with Mary Ewing and her girls, Jewel, seven, and Joanie, three. Mary had been homeless until Preacher Burl learned of her plight a year ago and worked with her to find a house to share with two women, and to get a job at Bert’s Market. Charles saw me, glanced at his bare wrist, and shook his head like he was scolding me for being late.

  I was on my way to talk to Charles, Mary, Joanie and Jewel, when Lottie whispered something to Burl and he moved to an old lectern that’d spent its better years in a high school gymnasium. The preacher cleared his throat, and said, “Please repose thyselves.” He pointed to the pews.

  A couple of older ladies I didn’t know moved to the front row and reposed thyselves. They were followed by three more members who heeded his charge. The others either weren’t ready to stop socializing or didn’t know what the preacher meant. I knew because he announced the beginning of many services with those words, so the regulars who hadn’t moved, weren’t ready to.

  Burl tapped his hand on the lectern and repeated his “call to worship,” and gained the attention of the remaining talkers. Dude Sloan, was among that group. He’d seldom attended First Light until earlier this year when one of his employees was killed attempting to save Barb from the hands of a man trying to kill her.

  I was going to see if Joy wanted to sit with me, but she was already seated beside Bernard. I slid in the pew next to Dude as Preacher Burl was saying something that began each service. “Please silence thy portable communication devices.” Most did, and Burl asked William Hansel to lead the group in singing “Away in a Manger” from the songbook made from sheets of paper stapled together. The songs had been photocopied from a church hymnal.

  William had a phenomenal voice and most of us, including me, knew that unless we could improve on the song, he shouldn’t try. We mouthed the words as we listened to him sing. Burl’s flock was kind, considerate, and many other good things, but except for William, singers we were not.

  Burl was in his element, standing in front of his flock, sharing a lesson from the Gospel, and reminding us of the historic and spiritual events leading to Christmas, seven days away. Joy was staring at the preacher, and I wondered what was going through her mind.

  Burl announced two services for next weekend. He called the first a Christmas Eve midnight service while at the same time saying it’d begin at seven o’clock. He joked—I assume he was joking—that it would be held then instead of midnight because his message would be more meaningful if his flock was sober, and there was a better chance of that at seven. He then said the Christmas morning service would be at the regular eleven o’clock time. Today’s service concluded with William singing “O Come All Ye Faithful” with a few of us humming along and the rest mouthing the words.

  Charles was on the sidewalk talking to the two women who’d been on the front pew. I stood aside until he patted each of them on the back and they walked away.

  “Who’re they? I don’t remember seeing them before.”

  Charles watched the ladies go, and said, “You have to come to the service to see who’s here.”

  Touché. “So, who are they?”

  “Dixie and Martha.”

  “Dixie?”

  “Doubt it says that on her birth certificate. That’s all I’ve ever heard her called. S
he lives in the three hundred block of East Arctic across the street from Martha. Dixie’s an ubergardener.”

  “A what?”

  “A super-duper gardener. Her back yard is full of plants, flowers, herbs, and other growing things. Rumor is she has name holders beside each plant with the name, both the common name and the Latin name, printed on them.”

  “Why?”

  Charles rolled his eyes. “Why do you wear boring clothes instead of educational, inspirational, and nifty shirts like moi?”

  “What’s that have to do with Dixie posting names of each of her…plant things?”

  “Same answer to each question. Because she wants to.”

  “That helps.”

  He rolled his eyes, again. “Can I get back to what I was saying?”

  “Please do.”

  “Martha and Dixie are widows. Kind of quiet, don’t think they get out much. I occasionally see Martha walking around carrying a cane.” He waved his handmade wooden cane in the air. “Not nice like this, one of those silver ones they sell at Harris Teeter. Enough about them, learn anything new about Joy?”

  I told him no, and he was interrupted from asking me why not when Burl approached and said that he, Lottie, Joy, Bernard, and Dude were heading to Loggerhead’s for lunch, and wondered if we would like to join them. The invitation was kind, participation by Dude unusual, and the chance for Charles to grill Joy about her past impossible to turn down. He answered yes for both of us.

  Loggerhead’s was on West Arctic Avenue, four blocks from First Light’s foul-weather sanctuary, and across the street from Barb’s condo in the Oceanfront Villas. Burl had removed his robe/sheet, so he didn’t look like a ghost as we followed him to the restaurant. Charles spent the entire walk talking to Joy, not surprising knowing how curious—nosy—he was. In better weather, the large outside bar and dining area would have been packed. Today we were forced to move inside. Burl must have used his heavenly influence since there was a table available large enough to accommodate our group.