by Bill Noel
“He’s Taylor Strong. He moved out the night before we were blessed by the appearance of Joy. Why?”
“Preacher, what can you tell me about him?”
“I assume you will answer my question at the appropriate time.”
I nodded.
“Brother Taylor was only here a few weeks. He was quiet, not as quiet as Sister Adrienne, but quieter than the rest. He shared that he was originally from North Carolina, never said what town. Getting him to talk was a challenge. I managed to get that he’d had various jobs over the years. He said he’d been an armored car driver, and a clerk in a convenience store. He also shared that a few years ago he went to school to learn how to be a locksmith. In fact, the day you saw me looking for him, I was there to tell him about a vacant position in a locksmith company in North Charleston.”
“Did he get the job?”
“He didn’t tell me directly, but I gathered that he did and would be earning enough to move.”
“You don’t know for certain?”
“No.” The preacher smiled. “It was fortunate that he left because that freed up the best room in the house for Joy.”
Bernard and Rebekah returned and moved back to their previous locations. Adrienne came back and asked if she could get Burl and me something else to drink. The caroling must have put her in a better, if not more generous, mood. Burl said that another Coke would be great, and I said I’d go with her to get the drinks.
“Brother Chris,” Adrienne said as she poured the Preacher’s Coke, “this is one of the nicest nights I can remember. I love it here.”
I was surprised since she looked bored most of the evening. Once again, I was reminded not to judge others by appearances.
We returned, and Burl led us in a few more Christmas songs, more secular than religious, and I told him I needed to be going. He walked me to the door.
“Preacher, would you do me a favor?”
“If I can.”
“Call the locksmith shop and see if Taylor took the job?”
“I’ll try, but tomorrow is Christmas Eve. I don’t know if it’ll be open.”
I said I understood and asked him to try.
“You think he was one of the men who abducted Joy?”
I nodded.
“I pray not,” he said.
“I’ll be calling Chief LaMond in the morning. She’ll probably be contacting you to learn everything you know about him. Do you know what kind of car he drives?”
“I’m horrible with stuff like that. I know it’s a few years old and black. I doubt that helps.”
We shook hands, and he told me to have a pleasant rest of the evening.
27
Christmas Eve began as another beautiful day. The sun rose over the ocean a little after seven and was escorted on its upwards path by wispy cirrus clouds. The temperature was already in the low-forties, ten degrees above average. I decided that this would be a good morning to walk to the Lost Dog Cafe for breakfast. It appeared that I wasn’t the only person to have that thought. Amber saw me enter and pointed to the only two empty tables. I chose the smaller of the two, and she had a mug of coffee in front of me before I’d wiggled out of my jacket.
“Merry Christmas Eve,” she said and followed up by leaning over and hugging me around the neck.
“And the same to you. What are you and Jason doing tomorrow?”
She glanced around the room to see if her services were needed elsewhere. They weren’t, and she turned back to me. “We’re going to First Light’s service and then to Samuel and Jacob’s house for lunch.”
Samuel was a good friend of Amber’s son, Jason. Jacob, Samuel’s dad, and Amber had been dating a year. Their first date was last Christmas at Burl’s Christmas Eve service.
“Great. Is Jacob fixing lunch?”
Amber chuckled. “Jacob’s a guy; Samuel’s a guy. The best they can muster is burning toast. I’ll do everything.”
Jacob and Samuel’s culinary skills had me beat, but I didn’t remind Amber of my shortcomings. “It’s great you’ll get a chance to be together.”
“I think so. Changing the subject, have you heard anything about Pluto? Dude was in for lunch yesterday and I thought he was going to cry when I asked him if his pup had turned up.”
“I haven’t heard anything.”
“Don’t know what’d happen to Dude if something happened to his short look-alike.”
“I agree.”
“Any news about Joy?”
Amber had earned her reputation of knowing all the gossip worth repeating.
I told her about going to Burl’s party and how well Joy appeared to be adjusting to her new home. I then added, “Do you know Taylor Strong?”
“Name’s not familiar. Why?”
I shared what Joy and I’d learned about her job at Blackbeard’s and overhearing something that possibly resulted in her abduction.
“Want me to ask around?”
“Yes, if you limit it to people you can trust. I don’t want Taylor hearing about it.”
“Have you told the police any of this?”
“Some of it. I need to talk to Chief LaMond.”
She pointed at me and frowned. “Yes, you do.”
She took my order and headed to the kitchen.
My phone rang while I was waiting for food to arrive. I didn’t recognize the number and nearly didn’t answer. There are only so many “free” vacations I can win, or “opportunities” I must learn about the latest-greatest Medicare supplemental insurance.
“Chris, Chris Landrum,” said the voice on the other end. It was familiar, but I couldn’t place it.
“Yes.”
“Oh good. This is Bernard, you know, the one at Hope House.”
“Sure, Bernard. How are you?” I said, although I was more wanting to know why he was calling rather than how he was.
“I’m fine, sir. I was talking to Preacher Burl after you left last night. He told me you were asking about Taylor Strong. The preacher said you asked what Taylor drove, and Preacher didn’t know. He’s mighty good about knowing the scriptures; he’s short on knowledge about some things in this here world. Cars are one of them.”
“Do you know what Taylor drives?”
“Yes, sir. A black, 2013 Ford Focus. Got itself a dent in the front bumper. The rear tires have too much mileage on them and are nearly bald.”
“Thanks. That may help the police find him.”
“There’s more, sir. It has South Carolina plates; the first three numbers are 339. I hate to say, I don’t recall the last three.”
“How do you know that?”
“That’s the kind of unimportant stuff I remember.”
“Bernard, that’ll be helpful. It’s not unimportant. Do you know anything else about Taylor, other than he was a locksmith and moved out the night before Joy arrived?”
“I don’t know the best way to put it, but he acted like he was in a box and no one could find a way in. Don’t get me wrong, he was friendly enough. It’s like he had secrets and didn’t want anyone to get close enough to figure them out. Does that make sense?”
“Yes. Do you know if he had friends on Folly other than people in Hope House? Anyone ever come to visit him or to pick him up?”
“It wasn’t at the house. I saw him on West Ashley talking to a man. They were huddled up against the wall at St. James Gate, near the opening to the outdoor patio. Know where I mean?”
I told him I did.
“I couldn’t tell what they were talking about because I was on the sidewalk at the stoplight. It looked sort of sketchy, sir.”
“Can you describe the other man?”
“Not really. He looked taller than Taylor and heavier. Sorry, that’s the best I can do.”
“That’s fine, Bernard. Anything else?”
“Nothing about anything I know about Taylor. I know Preacher Burl tried to call the locksmith where Taylor was supposed to go to work. I think the place is closed until after Christmas.
He left a message on the machine. I won’t take up more of your time. Will I see you at tonight’s service?”
I said I’d be there.
“Then, adios, sir.”
Amber had slid my breakfast in front of me while I was talking to Bernard. I was on my second bite when Chief LaMond came in the restaurant, looked around, and headed to my table.
“Merry Christmas Eve, Cindy. Care to join me?”
“You buying?”
“Wouldn’t that be bribing a law-enforcement official?”
“Not unless you plan to ask me to do something illegal, immoral, or considering the season, un-Christian.”
“None of the above. Have a seat.”
Amber must have figured that the Chief would be joining me. She had a mug of coffee for Cindy before she had time to remove her jacket, and said, “Something to eat, Chief?”
“Anything expensive and put it on his tab.” Needless to say, she pointed at me.
Cindy took a sip of coffee, and I said, “Dude find Pluto?”
She shook her head.
“Too bad. You working or taking today off?”
“What do you think? Dear sweet hubby’s chained to the cash register at the hardware store and won’t get home until every Tom, Dick, and Harriet buy every battery, extension cord, and those cheap, chintzy, hecho en Mexico Christmas ornaments that hang on the tree, spin, and play ‘Jingle Bells.’”
“Sorry.”
“I’m not. That’s what makes him enough money to spoil me and allows me to live like a queen.”
“A queen?”
“Whoops, I drifted into my fantasy world for a moment. Enough about my phantasmagorias life. Yes, I’m working. In fact, I’m waiting for a call from the landlord at the apartment where Joy lives, or where the owner of that bar thinks she lives. What other trouble have you been sticking your nose in?”
Cindy’s expensive breakfast arrived, and I told her what Bernard had shared. She jotted down the vehicle information and said she’d see what she could find out, although she wasn’t optimistic since, in her words, without the last three numbers of the license, there were “three billion combinations.” I was certain that was a tad high but didn’t get in an argument about math. I’d exhausted my latest information, and our conversation drifted to what she was doing Christmas Day—attending Cal’s party, going to Planet Follywood’s annual Christmas pot-luck dinner later in the day, and acting like a queen. I shared my plans.
I waited for her to finish eating, paid the tab, and walked with her to the door. In a moment totally out of character, she hugged me and said, “Merry Christmas, and thanks for being such a good friend.”
She slid back to her normal self when she said, “You tell anyone I did that, and I’ll have you arrested for embarrassing a public official.”
I told her that the act of kindness was safe with me.
28
I was headed home after leaving the Dog when the phone rang again. This time, I knew who it was.
“Merry Christmas Eve, Charles.”
“Yeah, yeah. Where are you?”
“In front of City Hall.”
“Park your butt on the nearest bench. I’ll pick you up in ten minutes.”
“Where are we going?” I asked, wasting words since he’d already hung up.
It couldn’t have been more than five minutes before Charles’ Toyota pulled to the curb and he waved me in.
“Could you tell me where we’re going?” I asked, thinking it was not too much to ask.
He turned left on East Arctic Avenue, and said, “Dixie called and said Martha was home.”
“Your plan is to barge in on Martha on Christmas Eve?”
“Nope. Figured you’d ring the doorbell and flash your old-man charm. How could she resist inviting us in?”
I could think of several ways and rolled my eyes.
I rang the doorbell and the sounds of her menagerie filled the house. Unlike our earlier visit, the door opened, and Martha said, “Hold on a second, Teri, I’ll get your … Whoa, you’re not Teri.”
Charles stepped in front of me. “Hi, Martha, I’m Charles from church. This is my friend, Chris.”
Martha wore gray sweatshirt and sweatpants. She leaned on her cane and looked from Charles to me. “Where’s Teri?”
Charles looked down the steps and toward the street. “Who’s Teri?”
“The child watching my family while I was away. She’s supposed to stop by this morning to get her money.” She stepped on the porch, closed the door, probably to keep her herd of family members inside, and looked up and down the street. “If you’re not Teri, why are you here?”
“Chris and I stopped by the other day to see you. Your neighbor, Dixie, said you were out of town.”
“Yes, I was up in Dayton visiting, poor Tommy. He had a stroke, you know. Got back last night. Flight was three hours late. Can you believe that?”
Charles said that he could.
“Oh, I’m being inconsiderate. Would you like a cup of coffee?” She hesitated and winked at Charles. “Or a hot toddy? I’ve got some good whiskey to spike it with.”
Charles said, “Coffee would be fine.”
“Give me a minute to herd my family into another room. Otherwise they’d lick the livin’ tar out of you.”
She opened the door enough to slip back in the house and Charles turned to me and whispered, “Wonder how long it’ll be before we’re begging for the hot toddy?”
The animals quietened to a low roar, and Martha opened the door and invited us in and led us to what she referred to as the “sitting room.” I would’ve called it an animal play house. In one corner there was a three-foot-high, triple deck, carpeted cat tower. Beside the tower was a large wicker basket filled with rubber balls, a tennis ball that looked like it’d rolled under a running lawnmower, and a hard-rubber thing shaped like a five-pound weight. Other toys were located on the brown pile carpet.
She told us to sit anywhere we liked while she got the coffee and asked again if we were sure we didn’t want a toddy. I declined, although I was getting closer to saying yes. We each chose one of the three wingback chairs and lowered our bodies in the dog and cat hair infested seats. I noticed an end table beside my chair holding a large aquarium. It wasn’t more than a foot away, so I saw there was no water in it. What it was filled with was a boa constructor that was a mile long, or so it seemed. It stared at me and I knew what a mouse must feel like on its way to supper—the boa’s supper.
Martha returned to the room carrying two, white china cups of coffee. “Oh,” she said, “I see you’ve met Squeezy. Would you like to hold him?”
Where was the hot toddy when I needed it? “That’s okay, Martha. Not today.” Not tomorrow, not ever, I thought.
“Martha,” Charles said, “You have a lovely house.”
“Thank you. It’s comfortable, and wonderful for my pets.”
Charles asked, “How many pets do you have?”
“It varies. Most of the time, there’re a dozen of God’s wonderful creatures living with me.”
That probably meant there were more until Squeezy got hungry. “How many dogs?” I asked, hoping to move the conversation closer to the reason for our visit.
She bit her lower lip, held out her hand and raised her fingers, one at a time. “Let’s see, Bruce, Ink Spot, Little Dog, Pooch, Gink, and Lady. That’s six today. Now don’t neglect asking about my other lovely creatures.”
“What’re their names?” Mr. Nosy asked.
She pointed her cane at the boa. “You already met Squeezy. There are three cats, Cat One, Cat Two, and Crazy. My poor little parrot, Jolly Roger, must stay upstairs. He doesn’t get along with the cats, and his vocabulary is, well let’s say, his mouth needs to be washed out with soap more often than I would like. We celebrated his ninth birthday before I went to visit poor Tommy.”
Charles wiggled his fingers like he was counting. “Martha, if my ciphering is right, that’s only eleven pets. Didn�
��t you say twelve?”
“Oh, you’re right. I keep forgetting Davy Crockett.” She looked around like Davy was loose in the room. I hoped Mr. Crockett wasn’t another snake.
“Davy Crockett?” Charles said.
“A raccoon. He’s my indoor/outdoor pet.” She put her finger to her lips, and whispered, “It’s illegal to have a raccoon as a pet. You won’t turn me in to the pet police, will you?”
We assured her we wouldn’t although turning her in to a mental institution was becoming a tempting option.
“Martha,” I said. “Are any of your dogs Australian Terriers?”
“What a queer question, young man. Gink is.”
Charles said, “Gink?”
“The word Gink means ‘a peculiar fellow,’ in Australian. That’s why Vincent and I named our little fellow that. That little bugger, Gink, not Vincent, was as strange as any dog we ever had.”
Pot calling a kettle black came to mind.
“Vincent’s not here is he?” Charles said.
“Heavens no. I dumped him back in Atlanta eons ago. Can you believe he hated the beach?”
“No, ma’am,” Charles said.
“Now young men, don’t get me wrong. Vincent was a wonderful husband, and we had some great times. I remember back when we got married in ’58, and he bought the prettiest blue, 1957 Chevy. For our honeymoon, we drove all the way to the Grand Canyon, soaking in the air from the open windows. Gink would stick his head out the window and gobble up the breeze like he was lapping water. Ah, the good old days.”
Now to get back to the not-so-good current days. “Martha, I’m confused. Gink was your Australian Terrier when you were in Atlanta?”
She nodded.
“Yet, when you were naming your dogs, didn’t you say Gink?”
“Yes, so?”
“Gink is an Australian Terrier, right?”
She nodded again.
“And he’s in the other room with your other dogs?”
Another nod.
“I see,” I said, although I didn’t. “How long have you had Gink?”
“Let’s see. It was a few days before I left to visit poor Tommy. He had a stroke, you know?”