The Folly Beach Mystery Collection Volume II

by Bill Noel

  I left the Dog with a full stomach, a lighter wallet, and more unanswered questions than I had entered with. At least, I knew the origin of the word mistletoe.

  23

  It was turning out to be one of the warmest late-December days I could remember, so I headed to the far end of the Folly Pier to walk off a few of the hundreds, okay, thousands, of calories I’d devoured with my French toast. The Pier, like much of downtown Folly two days before Christmas, was nearly deserted. A handful of diners were enjoying an early lunch in Pier 101, but there couldn’t have been more than ten people strolling along the thousand-plus-foot-long fishing pier. From the end of the structure, I had a view of much of the island’s Atlantic shoreline and in the distance a glimpse of the County Park where I first met Joy. With a little imagination, I pictured the area of the ocean where she bailed from the boat. It was a miracle that the surfboard carried her to safety.

  The phone rang as I was climbing the steps to the second level of the Pier.

  “Mr. Landrum, this is Joyce, I mean Joy.”

  I asked how she was doing.

  “Okay. I just saw Bernard, and he said he had breakfast with you. Are you still at the Lost Dog Cafe?”

  I told her no, where I was, and asked why.

  “I remembered a few more things overnight, and you told me to let you know so you could tell the police. I could call them but feel more comfortable talking to you.”

  “Want me to come by the house?”

  “I’d like to get out of here. If you’re going to be there for a while, I could walk over and meet you.”

  Thirty minutes later, I saw her heading my way. I waved from the upper deck and she smiled and returned my wave. Her hair was pulled in a neat ponytail and she had on jeans, a white blouse, and a gray jacket.

  She said, “Thanks for waiting.”

  I motioned for her to join me on the bench. I didn’t tell her I had nowhere else to be.

  She looked toward shore, and said, “This is my second time out here. It’s relaxing.”

  I agreed and waited for her to get to the reason for the visit. If the walk to the end of the pier relaxed her, I’d hate to see her when she wasn’t. Her hand moved from her lap to pushing an errant strand of hair behind her ear, back to her lap, and then zipped and unzipped her jacket.

  “Joy, are you okay?”

  She continued to look at the hotel, and said, “How would I know if I’m okay? I don’t know who I am, where I should be, who I should be with, and what’ll happen next.”

  I understood that, yet she appeared more anxious than the last two times I’d been with her. “I don’t know how I’d handle it either.”

  She slowly turned my direction. “Have you heard of a bar called something like Blackbeard’s?”

  “I don’t think so. Why?”

  “It came to me during the night. It may be where I worked.”

  “Have you asked anyone else?”

  “No. I’m not sure who I can trust. I know I’m being paranoid, but the guy trying to get in my door freaked me out. I think I can trust you.”

  I told her she could. I also knew that anyone could say that and saying it didn’t make it true.

  “Joy, is that all you remembered?”

  “I don’t think I worked there long.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “It didn’t seem that familiar, like I couldn’t find the clean bar towels. I know it sounds silly, and I could’ve remembered it wrong. It’s vague.”

  I took out my phone and searched for Blackbeard’s Bar in the Charleston area. There were numerous references to the notorious pirate called Blackbeard, most of them talked about his terrorizing merchant ships along the coast in the early 1700s. There were nearly as many pirate tales in the Lowcountry as there were ghost stories, and those were in the too-many-to-count range. There was only one bar with Blackbeard in the name.

  “Joy, does Blackbeard’s Hangout Bar sound familiar?”

  “Vaguely. Is that a bar over here?”

  I showed her a photo of the front of the bar from its website. “Look familiar?”

  “I’d love to say yes. Honestly, I can’t tell. Where is it?”

  “About seven miles up Folly Road. Would you like to go there?”

  She jerked her head in my direction. “When?”

  “We could go now.”

  “Like, right now?”

  “Now or later today. It’s up to you.”

  “I don’t think … okay. Would you mind?”

  “Gosh, Joy, it’ll take valuable time away from me sitting here wasting the day away.”

  She smiled. “I might learn who I am.” She closed her eyes and was silent for the longest time. Finally, she said, “Let’s go before I chicken out.”

  We were leaving my drive ten minutes later. I didn’t tell Joy, but I started to question what we might face. What if she worked at the bar and someone there was the person who’d abducted her? We pulled off the island, and I wondered if I should’ve asked Charles to go. What if we’re headed into danger?

  Joy didn’t help when she said, “I’m scared. I want to know who I am, yet, what if I don’t like me?” She turned in the seat and faced me. “What if the men who took me are there? I might not know who they are.”

  I’d driven this stretch of Folly Road numerous times, in fact, one of my favorite restaurants, the Charleston Crab House, was less than a half-mile from Blackbeard’s Hangout Bar, yet I couldn’t recall ever seeing our destination. When the street numbers indicated we were there, I understood my confusion. There was a deteriorating strip center on the left and at the far end of it was a narrow storefront with a faded-black awning and the words Blackbeard’s Hangout Bar in Old English script. If I hadn’t been looking for it, I wouldn’t have noticed the sign. Several cars were parked at the other end of the shopping center in front of a dollar store and a nail salon. No vehicles were in front of the bar and the plate-glass windows were painted black, so I couldn’t tell if anyone was behind them.

  “Joy, does anything look familiar?” I said and parked in front of the black awning.

  She stared at the door, gripped the center console, and whispered, “That’s where I work, where I worked.”

  Joy’s paranoia was rubbing off on me and I thought the smart thing for me to do was to call Cindy LaMond and see if she could “visit” the venue with us. We were out of her jurisdiction, but I would’ve felt safer visiting with someone carrying a weapon.

  “Let’s get this over,” Joy said before I could make the call.

  “Are you sure?”

  She nodded and opened the door.

  For better or worse, here we go.

  24

  Compared to Blackbeard’s Hangout Bar, the darkest bar I’d ever been in looked as bright as a polar bear in a snowstorm. We stepped into the darkness to the blaring sounds of “Dark Necessities” by the Red Hot Chili Peppers. There was a dim, red light over the exit door at the rear of the building, and I thought I saw movement from the right side of the room.

  The song ended and someone with a deep, gruff voice said, “Well, look what the cat dragged in.”

  Whoever it was must have been wearing night-vision goggles or was a bat with a bass voice. I couldn’t see anyone. Joy walked in the direction of the sound. I followed and hoped I wouldn’t trip over a chair, table, or vampire.

  “Kevin’s going to have a cow when he sees you,” said the voice. “You sure you want to be here?”

  A refrigerator door opened, and its light illuminated the face of the man who pulled it open, and the person, I assumed, who’d been talking. I wasn’t old enough by a couple of hundred years to have seen Blackbeard, but imagined the man standing in front of us shared a striking resemblance. He was at least six-foot-five, weighed two-seventy, with black, stringy hair that reached his shoulders and a beard that reached low on his chest.

  My eyes were beginning to adjust to the near darkness, and I glanced around. The room was empty
except for Joy, Mr. Blackbeard, and me.

  “Do I know you?” Joy said to the unsmiling bartender.

  “Crap, kiddo, did you crack your skull and forget the only friend you had here?”

  He wasn’t far off.

  She smiled. “Something like that. What’s your name?”

  “You’re serious, ain’t you?”

  I stepped closer to the man dressed in black. He could’ve been one of those creepy creatures in a Halloween haunted house.

  “Hi, I’m Chris. My friend Joy’s suffering from amnesia. Did she work here?”

  “Joy,” the man said. “You mean Joyce?”

  “Yes, and you are?”

  “I’m Darryl. Joyce and I worked two shifts together, and then she disappeared. Thought Kevin was going to blow a gasket when she didn’t show her next shift.” He turned to Joy. “What happened, sweetie?”

  “I don’t know. Who’s Kevin?”

  Darryl waved his hand around the room. “Kevin Beard, owner of this dump.”

  With no music playing, I heard traffic on Folly Road, and a door slamming in back of the building.

  Following closely behind the slamming door, came a higher-pitched voice that said, “Joyce Tolliver, if you think you’re going to slink in here and get a check for the two days you worked, you’re out of your freakin’ gourd.”

  I stepped between the new voice and Joy. “Hi, I’m Chris Landrum, a friend of Joyce. Are you Kevin Beard?”

  The room was still dark, but I thought I saw him nod.

  “Is there somewhere the three of us can talk?” I asked and looked around for an office, hopefully with lights.

  He headed to the far side of the room, and I followed. Darryl whispered to Joy, “Good luck. He’s pissed.”

  Kevin ushered us into a small office that doubled as a storeroom. I thought Darryl’s beard was long until I saw Kevin’s. If it didn’t reach his belt, it didn’t lack much. He wore black slacks, black tennis shoes, and a white T-shirt. Cases of beer were stacked six high on one side, and three cases of liquor were on the floor beside two chairs with rips in their vinyl seats. They’d probably been taken out of service from the bar. Kevin pointed to the chairs, and we sat. He had a chair behind the makeshift desk but sat on the edge of the desk.

  “What happened, Joyce? I thought you were going to be reliable. You gave me a song and dance about how you never missed work and had bartending experience. You said you lived in walking distance, so you could be here whenever I needed you.”

  “Mr. Beard, Joy, umm, Joyce, had a traumatic event that caused amnesia. She—”

  “Mister, was I talking to you? I asked Joyce a question. What are you anyway, her doctor?”

  “Mister Beard, Chris is a friend who saved my life. He’s right about my amnesia so we’d appreciate it if you could tell us what you know about me.”

  “Joyce, I told you when I hired you to call me Kevin. You serious about losing your memory?”

  “Yes. How long did I work here?”

  “Two nights. A Friday and Saturday. You were scheduled to be off Sunday and come in Monday. The last I saw you was when you left that Saturday.”

  “They’ve shown my photo on television. Didn’t you see me there?”

  “Joyce, guess you don’t remember me telling you this when you hired on. This is probably the only bar in Charleston without televisions. My customers are here to grab a drink and don’t want to be caught up in sports and politics, stuff that dominates the danged TV. I don’t even have a television in my house, although it wouldn’t matter, I’m never there. This place is my life.”

  “Kevin,” I said, and hoped he would allow me in the conversation. “Joyce really has amnesia. What can you tell us about her?”

  He glared at me and I was afraid he wasn’t going to say anything, at least nothing pleasant. He slid off the desk, moved behind it, opened a drawer, and pulled out a manila folder that had scribbling on the front and a tab that was peeling off the top. I couldn’t read what was on the paper he pulled out of the folder, but it looked like a job application.

  He looked at the document and up at Joyce. “Your application says that you’re Joyce E. Tolliver, age forty-seven. Born in Kansas City, Kansas, and ain’t got any living relatives.” He looked down at the paper and flipped it over to the other side. “Any of this coming back to you?”

  She shook her head.

  “You have a management degree from Kansas State University. It’s not on the application, but you told me that you’d been married to an eye doctor, an optometrist. Something about him leaving you for one of his patients.” Darryl smiled, something I didn’t think was in his repertoire. “I remember why you told me someone with a job in management wanted to tend bar. Said you were bored working in an office and took part-time bartending jobs.” He glanced at me and turned to Joy. “You remember any of this?”

  “Afraid not, Kevin. Did I tell you what brought me to Charleston?”

  “Nothing other than you said you moved around a lot. Spent time in Texas, Oklahoma, and I think Georgia. That’s all you said.”

  “Were you here the second night she worked?”

  “I’m here every Saturday night. I done told you that’s the last time I saw her.”

  “Do you remember if there was a crowd?”

  “Good, but not one of my best. Why?”

  I didn’t want to tell him too much about what’d happened. For all I knew, he could’ve been one of the abductors. “Just curious. Something may have happened to Joyce after she left here.”

  “Like what?”

  “We’re not certain.”

  “Joyce, you remember telling me how you walked home after work and I said I’d get you a ride if you wanted? It’s not good having an attractive lady like you walking around at two in the morning.”

  “I don’t remember that.”

  “Sorry,” he said. “Of course, you don’t.”

  “Kevin, do you remember Joyce talking to a couple of men more than others that night?”

  “Chris, that’s your name, right?”

  I nodded.

  “You saw how dark it was out there. If my hands weren’t connected, I’d have trouble knowing where they were most of the time.”

  I assumed that meant no. “Didn’t you wonder what happened to Joyce when she didn’t return?”

  “Sure. She didn’t have a phone, so I couldn’t call. Besides, she’s not the first person I hired who skipped out after a few days. This isn’t the most fun work, and I struggle to get good help. Getting any help. I figured you’d moved on to another job or skipped town.”

  “Kevin, this may sound like a strange question, where does it say I live?”

  He was looking down at the application and slowly raised his head and looked at her. “You really don’t remember anything?”

  “No.”

  “Wow,” he said and shook his head. He gave her the name of the apartment complex off the application. He told her it was three blocks behind the bar and that it’d been there forever. I asked if an apartment number was listed. He glanced at the application and wrinkled his nose. “Nope. Wonder why I didn’t catch that?”

  “What about the other paperwork you need on a new employee,” I said.

  He glanced over at Joy and returned his gaze to me. “I was desperate to fill the bartender’s job. The last one walked out on me with the weekend around the corner. Joyce said she had bartending experience. That was enough for me. I told her that we would get all that done the next week when things slowed down.” He looked at her again. “You didn’t come back to do it.”

  He was getting either nervous about not filling out the required paperwork, or angry that we were pestering him. We thanked him for the information and stood to leave.

  “Joyce, if you get your memory back and want to come back to work, I could find a place for you. Sorry about whatever happened.”

  Kevin stood in the office’s doorway as we weaved our way through the dark room. />
  I nearly bumped into Darryl who was standing by the front door. He gave Joy a hug and said he was sorry she wasn’t still working there. She thanked him, and he glanced back at his boss who was still standing in his office doorway. Joy opened the front door and Darryl slipped me a folded piece of paper, patted me on the back, and said, “Take good care of Joyce. She’s a nice lady.”

  We left on much better terms than when we’d arrived, as Coldplay filled the air with “A Sky Full of Stars.”

  I didn’t know if I should look at the paper in front of Joy, so I slipped it in my pocket and headed to the car.

  Joy stopped me. “Can we walk to where I lived, umm, live?”

  “Do you remember the way?”

  “Not really. Didn’t Darryl say it was three blocks that way?” She pointed behind the bar.

  We walked three blocks in the direction Darryl had indicated and found two apartment buildings. They were decades from being new and backed up to each other with a gravel alley separating the structures. There were no signs listing the name of the complex or anything indicating there was an office. The apartment numbers were the same style, so I assumed they were part of the same development. Now what, I wondered. “Anything look familiar?”

  Joy looked at the building on our side of the alley and then at the one on the other side. “Not really.”

  I jotted the street name and address on a card from my pocket and said that I’d call Chief LaMond and see if she could find out anything about the apartments and the company that managed them, and with luck, which apartment had been rented by Joyce Tolliver. She agreed and said she’d like to get back to people she knew.

  Joy was exhausted by the time I pulled in her parking area. She had her hand on the car’s door handle. Instead of getting out she said, “The rain was blowing sideways. Ocean water lapped over the side of the boat and my head kept bouncing off the wooden arm rest each time we hit a wave. I was soaked, and I twisted my arms until the rope I was tied with loosened enough for me to pull my hand free.” She closed her eyes, gave an abbreviated nod, and continued, “The man in the seat in front of me cussed the weather and kept saying the boat was going to sink. I managed to untie my feet and grabbed the surfboard and slipped over the side. I didn’t know where we were but knew the farther away from the boat I could get, the safer I’d be.” She stared at the house and then said. “Chris, the next thing I remember was you and Barb looking down at me on the beach.”