The Folly Beach Mystery Collection Volume II

by Bill Noel

  25

  I returned home, poured a glass of Cabernet, and plopped down in the living room. I would have bet money on Charles’s reaction to my trip to Joy’s former place of employment and would’ve won.

  “You did what?” he blurted before I got to the part about meeting the Blackbeard lookalike.

  “Charles, why don’t you let me finish and you’ll know what I did.”

  “You wouldn’t have to tell me if you’d let me go,” he said, in a voice that would make a sniveling, ten-year-old, with hurt feelings, throwing a tantrum sound like Gandhi.

  I continued sharing what we learned at Blackbeard’s Hangout Bar, and from the unsuccessful visit to the apartment complex Joy listed on her employment application.

  “Joyce Tolliver, Joyce Tolliver. I like Joy Doe better. How did she take it?”

  “As well as you can imagine. I was going to call Cindy and tell her but wanted to call you first.” I hoped to get a glimmer of appreciation from him.

  “You wouldn’t have had to call me at all if you’d taken me with you.”

  “Are you finished reminding me?”

  “Not sure. What happens now?”

  “I end this cheerful discussion and call Cindy.”

  “You could’ve already called her. You wouldn’t have had to call me if you’d taken me.”

  I did what some of my friends had done to me on more than one occasion. I hung up on him.

  The next call also went off the tracks before I got it headed the direction I’d desired.

  “Glad you called,” Cindy said instead of hello, reinforcing my dislike of caller ID. “Let me tell you about our two friends from north of the border.”

  “The Canadians?”

  Cindy made an audible sigh. “No, Santa and Mrs. Claus.”

  I smiled and asked what she’d learned.

  “I got a call this afternoon from Staff Sergeant Major Urton from the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. I’m a lowly ole cop in this humble burg, so I haven’t the foggiest how high or low a staff sergeant major is in the RCMP pecking order, but he seemed nice, although a bit stuffy when I asked if her rode a horse to work and wore a red coat and one of those funny wide-brimmed hats.”

  “Cindy, what’d he say?”

  “Patience, Charles in waiting. He was reporting on what he’d learned about Troy Ellis and Nate Cook’s early departure from our slice of heaven. It seems that Nate’s mother was in an auto accident near Ottawa. A lumber truck driver decided that one of those pesky stop signs wasn’t applicable to him and poor Mrs. Cook made the mistake of being in the intersection at the time. She’s in critical condition, and Nate’s father called and asked him to come home.”

  “You don’t think he had anything to do with Joy’s abduction?”

  “Unlikely. There goes your number one and number two suspect. Any other brilliant ideas?”

  It wasn’t brilliant, but I reminded her that I was the one who initiated the call, and shared what Joy and I’d learned from our trip to Joy’s former place of employment. Cindy scolded me for not letting her know where we were going. She added that I was too old, or in her words, “Way too fossilized to be gallivanting around where angels fear to tread.” I reminded her that Joy and I had simply visited a bar where she may’ve been employed and not barging in on a gang of thieves, abductors, and other mischief-makers.

  “How’d you know that before you got there?”

  She was right although I wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of agreeing. I asked if she could use her official resources to learn about the apartment complex where Joy allegedly lived and find the landlord to get a key to her apartment.

  “Chris, you know I’m at your beck and call, whatever that means, and live and breathe to seek answers to your countless questions.”

  She then did what I did moments earlier to Charles. The phone went dead.

  It was two more sips of wine before I remembered the note that Darryl had handed me.

  It read: Call me. I know the guys you asked Kevin about. He added a phone number.

  I punched in the numbers and four rings later was afraid no one was going to answer. Finally, I heard a rock song in the background that I didn’t recognize, and a voice that I did. “Yeah.”

  “Darryl, this is Chris, the guy with Joyce earlier today.”

  “Listen, I can’t talk now. Can I call you at this number in about an hour?”

  I said he could.

  The next hour lasted about a week, or so it seemed, until the phone rang, and Darryl said, “This Chris?”

  I said it was.

  “Listen, I’m on a break and can’t talk long. I overheard you talking to Kevin. It’s amazing what you can hear in here when the music’s not vibrating the walls. You asked about two guys who Joyce was talking to during her last shift. Kevin’s protective of his customers and flat-out lied when he said he didn’t know anything about it. He says many customers have been hassled by cops. He wants this to be a, how does he put it? Oh yeah, a hassle-free zone.”

  That was way more than I wanted to know. “Darryl, the guys?”

  “Yeah, them. Listen, I’ve seen them in here a few times, didn’t know them well. I don’t know what their deal was, but the last two times they talked all hush-hush like. Looking around like they were planning to overthrow the government and not wanting anyone to hear.”

  “Did you ever hear what they were talking about?”

  “No, but I think Joyce did.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “The last day she was here, I was getting off shift and grabbing my coat from the back room. Joyce was with me and started to go behind the bar near where the two guys were sitting. She stopped in the doorway for a long time. I couldn’t tell what she was doing. I headed out and didn’t think anything else of it until I heard you talking to Kevin. I figured it could’ve been important and had something to do with Joyce losing her memory. Am I right?”

  “I think so. Did Joyce say anything to you about it?”

  “No. I waved bye when I left and didn’t say another word to her until she showed up today.”

  “Do you know who the guys are?”

  “Only their first names. Raymond and Taylor.”

  “Know anything else about them.”

  “Raymond’s fond of Miller High Life; Taylor’s a Bud guy. That’s it. Sorry.”

  “What do they look like?”

  “White dudes. Looked like most of our other customers. Jeans, casual clothes. Average height. Raymond’s a couple of inches taller than Taylor. Not fat, not thin.”

  “Age?”

  “I’d guess late thirties, could be off several years. I’m not good with ages.”

  “Have you seen them since that night?”

  “I was off a couple of days. They weren’t in after that while I was here.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Not that I remember. You really think they had something to do with what happened to Joyce?”

  “There’s a good chance. I’m going to have the let the police know what you’ve said, so you might get a visit from someone from Folly Beach or the county Sheriff’s Office.”

  “I’m not a fan of cops. There’s a history there.” After a long pause, he sighed. “If it can help Joyce, I’ll talk to them. She seems like a nice lady.”

  “She is. I appreciate you telling me about the men.”

  “No problem,” he ended, with one of my least favorite sayings.

  26

  I’ve known a few Raymonds. Taylor was a more unusual and memorable name, and if I’m right, was the name of one of Burl’s recent residents. A phone call to the preacher should verify it.

  “Ah, Brother Chris, it’s good to hear from you,” he said, although he hadn’t heard anything from me yet, and was responding to my name appearing on his phone.

  “Good evening, Preacher. I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

  “In fact, you are. We’re having a Christmas party. Why
don’t you hop on your sled and have the reindeer bring you over and join us? Sister Joy was getting ready to tell me about your afternoon adventure. I know she’d love for you to be here.”

  I remembered how down she was when she got out of the car after our visit to Blackbeard’s, but I also knew it was a Hope House party and didn’t want to butt in. I thanked Burl for the invitation and shared my reluctance to crash the party.

  “Nonsense. You wouldn’t be crashing, I invited you. Besides, Sister Joy was saying how much she enjoyed spending time with you, and Brother Bernard was recounting how you and Charles had invited him to last year’s party at Cal’s. Remember how you encouraged him to speak with me about being homeless and the tough time he’d had finding a homeless shelter? It meant the world to him. He’d like to see you.”

  I wasn’t keen on the idea of going out again. I was more reluctant to turn down a generous offer from a minister this close to Christmas. Besides, I wanted to ask him about Taylor. I said I’d head over.

  The seasonal lights around the front door and along the roofline were in full holiday splendor. The house looked in much better repair in the dark than during daylight. Bernard greeted me wearing a stop-light red shirt and black jeans. He also greeted me with a smile, a firm handshake, and, “Welcome to the first annual Hope House Christmas party.” He leaned close and whispered. “Alcohol’s prohibited. Thought I’d warn you.”

  I thanked him for the welcome and the warning. He pointed to the living room where from the sounds of multiple voices I assumed everyone was gathered. Burl was standing on a two-step ladder by the tree and fiddling with a strand of lights that weren’t working and Rebekah was putting a CD in a portable player on the table in another corner. Adrienne was sitting in the chair farthest from the action and looking either tired or bored.

  Joy saw me in the doorway and jumped up from the sofa and rushed over and gave me a robust hug. She looked more refreshed than when I let her off earlier today but wore the same clothes.

  “Preacher said you were coming. It’s nice of you to join us.”

  Burl saw me and thanked me for coming while he was holding the unlit lights. He had on a red sweatshirt with a reindeer on the front, gray slacks, red house slippers, and a Santa hat. I asked if there was anything I could do to help, and he said he knew what the problem was and would soon have the lights burning brightly. He asked Bernard if he would take me to the kitchen to get something to eat and drink.

  Elvis’s version of “Santa Claus is Back in Town” began playing from the CD player and Bernard told me the drink menu included soft drinks and a fruit punch that he whispered was yucky. I selected Diet Coke before Bernard showed me the platter of peanut-butter sandwiches cut in half, and another platter of sliced celery, carrots, and for a reason I wouldn’t attempt to guess, dried okra. Apparently, Bernard couldn’t guess either. He shrugged.

  I filled a paper plate with portions of everything except okra and followed Bernard back to the party.

  Elvis was singing “White Christmas,” Burl had managed to get the lights working and was sitting on the sofa between Joy and Rebekah, and Adrienne was still in her chair expressionless. Bernard motioned me to sit in the remaining chair and lowered himself to a sitting position on the floor. I felt bad taking his seat, but not bad enough to stand and try to balance my food and drink while eating.

  “Here Comes Santa Claus,” started playing and Burl said, “Elvis’ Christmas Album. My favorite.”

  I knew who it was since at one time I had the same album. Adrienne didn’t appear to share Burl’s appreciation for the King. She rolled her eyes.

  Joy said, “I was getting ready to tell Preacher Burl about our trip to the bar when you called.”

  “That can wait,” Burl said. “Wouldn’t want to spoil the party. Chris, this is my first Christmas in here. I’ve been blessed this year.”

  Bernard said, “And we’re blessed you chose to share the house with us, Preacher.”

  Rebekah added, “Bernard’s right. We are blessed, Preacher.”

  Adrienne remained silent.

  Joy didn’t say anything. She was staring at the tree and I couldn’t imagine what must be going through her mind. For me, Christmas has always been a time of reflection. It’s been a time to look back, think about Christmases past, Christmases with family and friends, and while most people take New Year’s Eve and Day to think about the future, I found it more meaningful to focus those thoughts at Christmas. Joy can’t see back much more than a week. And, without that perspective, she wouldn’t be able to see, predict, or even hope for things to come. I looked over and gave her a smile, hopefully received as one of love, trust, and hope.

  She returned the smile, and Burl stood and said, “Brother Chris, we were getting ready to sing some Christmas carols. Now that you’re here, we can add another voice to our group. Sister Rebekah, would you ask Elvis to take a break until we get finished caroling?”

  Burl knew from listening to me in church that I had a terrible singing voice, so he clearly must be under the influence of Coke, the cola kind.

  “That’s okay, Preacher. I’d rather listen to your outstanding voices.”

  I had no idea how outstanding the others would be. All I knew was that compared to me, Alvin and the Chipmunks sounded operatic.

  “As you wish, Brother Chris. It’s not actually a carol, but let’s begin with ‘A Holly Jolly Christmas,’ a ditty made famous by Burl Ives, a man named after me.” The preacher chuckled at his joke; a joke that I was probably the only person in the room to catch. Preacher Burl was named after the singer Burl Ives because his father was a fan of the singing actor.

  Burl raised his arms like he was going to direct a choir and began singing, “Have a holly, jolly Christmas; it’s the best time of the year.”

  Few would argue with that sentiment. Many could argue that the sounds of this group singing couldn’t make this the best time of the evening. That didn’t stop the enthusiastic choir director from smiling and bouncing on the balls of his feet as he led the vocally challenged group through the song. Burl was the only person who knew the words past the first three lines, so he increased his volume to cover up the random words the remainder of the group were spewing. The sounds were sad, the intent uplifting.

  The song came to a merciful end and Burl beamed like he’d been conducting the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. “Joyous,” he said.

  Not the word I would have chosen; regardless, the group was having an enjoyable time. Even Adrienne smiled.

  “Great start,” Burl continued. “Brother Bernard, what’s your favorite Christmas carol?”

  Bernard turned and looked behind him like it was another Bernard the preacher was talking to. He then glanced at the Christmas tree and said, “Preacher Burl, I must say I’ve never given that much thought. I’ll go with ‘Away in a Manger.’”

  “Then let’s give it a go. Folks, let’s make a joyful noise unto the Lord.” He returned to his conducting stance and sang, “Away in a manger, no crib for His bed. The little…”

  It may have been my imagination, but the singing sounded nearly on key. I mouthed the words and enjoyed the fellowship. After Bernard’s favorite finished, the preacher asked Rebekah the same question, and she didn’t hesitate when she said, “O Holy Night.” We—they—muddled through it, when Burl turned to Adrienne and repeated his question.

  “Preacher Burl, if I had to choose one, it’d be ‘Pretty Paper.’”

  Burl smiled and didn’t tell her that the Willie Nelson penned song wasn’t a carol. “Good choice,” he said, and the group began singing Adrienne’s selection.

  It was heartwarming to see how not only the preacher, but everyone, embraced Adrienne’s song. I also wondered what he would say to the newcomer who had no memory of the past. Would he ask about her favorite carol, or would he acknowledge her lack of memory?

  We finished Willie’s “carol,” and Burl said, “Wonderful job.”

  I glanced at Joy who was staring a
t the floor like she was wishing to be somewhere else. I empathized with her.

  Burl moved closer to Joy and said, “Sister Joy, instead of asking you about your favorite carol, let me say that when I look at you, I can’t help but think about the beautiful carol ‘Joy to the World.’ Would you mind if I chose it as your song?”

  Joy smiled and nodded.

  That level of sensitivity was one more reason Preacher Burl was a godsend to Folly Beach and its residents without traditional church homes.

  Burl returned to his role of conductor and led the group in Joy’s song. With the final “And wonders of His love,” Burl put his arm around Joy and said, “Thank you for being with us.”

  She mumbled, “You’re welcome,” and Burl turned to me. “Now Brother Chris, I don’t have to ask your favorite. Last Christmas you told me it was ‘Silent Night.’ Folks, shall we sing the marvelous hymn to the man who’s been pretending to sing with us?”

  They did, and I was touched.

  “I don’t know about you,” Burl said, “my throat is parched. Shall we take a break and refresh our drinks?”

  No one protested and everyone except Burl and I moved to the kitchen.

  Burl watched everyone leave, and said, “It wasn’t lost on me that you called for a reason. Care to share it was while the others are imbibing?”

  “Preacher, didn’t you have a resident named Taylor?”

  Burl nodded. “That wasn’t a question I’d anticipated. Yes. You saw him the day I was in the Lost Dog Cafe. Remember, I told you I was looking for someone about a job.”

  “I remember, although I didn’t catch his name.”