The Folly Beach Mystery Collection Volume II

by Bill Noel

  She had my attention. I leaned forward in the chair and motioned for her to continue.

  “I was out back filling the food bowls. I put food out for the poor strays. Terrible how some people just throw their pets out to fend for themselves. Terrible. I was filling the bowls when the cutest little Australian Terrier peeked around the corner of the house. He saw the food and zip, he was eating out of the bowl. He was a spittin’ image of Gink. Lo-and-behold, the poor thing didn’t have a collar and licked my hand just like Gink used to do. Oh, the memories the cute thing brought back. Did I ever tell you about Vincent, Gink, and me going to the Grand Canyon?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  She continued, “I simply had to bring him in, feed him, and give him a warm home to live in.” She closed her eyes and slowly shook her head. “I had to.”

  I didn’t know who I felt sorrier for, Martha or Dude. Martha was reliving her past through Gink, umm, Pluto, and we were here to shatter her memories. And, I can’t imagine how much anguish Dude has been going though without Pluto. I also realized that Martha hadn’t asked why two near strangers appeared at her door.

  I was trying to figure out how to broach the subject of her taking Dude’s dog. Charles, didn’t share my dilemma.

  He nodded toward the door separating us from the rest of her family. “Martha, what if I told you that Gink belongs to our friend, Dude Sloan?”

  Her hand jerked up to cover her mouth. I would have sworn that Squeezy hissed at Charles. Martha exhaled and said, “Oh my heavens. That’s not possible. Gink didn’t have a collar. He came to me and begged me to take him in.” She lowered her head. “Who’s this Dude fellow?”

  I explained who he was and how Pluto had escaped, caught his collar on something in the yard, and how Dude and several others had been looking for him for days. She appeared to be shrinking in her chair. It may have been the light, but I thought I saw tears in her eyes. Charles and I remained silent. That was the least we could do after ruining her day.

  She pushed herself out of the chair and walked to the door where the dogs had been herded. She opened the door a few inches, bent down, and said, “Here, Gink.”

  Dude’s look-alike inched his way through the door, saw Charles, jumped in his lap, and licked his face. Charles returned Pluto’s “kisses” and said something to him in dog-speak.

  Martha returned to her chair, and whispered, “What’s his name?”

  Charles gave his lap mate another kiss, and said, “Dude Sloan.”

  “No, what’s Gink’s name?”

  “Pluto,” I said.

  “That’s a funny name,” said the person who has a snake named Squeezy, and cats named Cat One and Cat Two.

  I explained how Dude was an astronomy buff and named his dog after the dwarf planet.

  “He must be heartbroken,” she said after a long, uncomfortable silence.

  I said, “He is.”

  She stared at Pluto, and said, “You should call him and let him know his pup’s safe. He can come get him.”

  “That’s a good idea, Martha,” I said.

  “Won’t you call him now? I feel horrible that I stole someone’s family member. Horrible.”

  I punched in Dude’s number in my phone, and was rewarded with, “Unless you know where Pluto is, I don’t want to talk to you.”

  I smiled, told him who I was, and broke the news. Good news for Dude, not so good for Martha.

  He screamed so loud that I moved the phone a foot away from my ear. He screamed a second time before I had the nerve to return the phone close enough to tell him where we were.

  I heard Dude’s 1970 Chevrolet El Camino a block before it pulled in Martha’s drive. I opened the front door before he knocked it off the hinges. I’d never seen Dude move so quickly. Pluto ran a close second as he charged out of Charles’s lap and met his master in the center of the room.

  Watching Dude reunite with Pluto was a sight that would soften the hardest heart. I wouldn’t call it a Christmas miracle, but it was close. Even Martha, who’d moments earlier been tearing up about losing Gink, and feeling badly about taking in someone else’s dog, broke into a smile.

  Charles had tears in his eyes.

  I wasn’t far behind.

  29

  Charles and I left Martha, Dude, and Pluto/Gink after Martha apologized profusely for taking the surf shop owner’s dog, and Dude told her, “Me be giggly getting’ Pluto back.” He also told her that he wanted to meet all of Pluto’s new four-, two-, and zero-legged friends. We would’ve stayed longer, but Dude told Martha that it’d “be cool” to wrap Squeezy around his neck. That was our cue to exit.

  Charles dropped me at the house after saying he’d had enough excitement for one morning and wanted to take a nap to get ready for First Light’s Christmas Eve service. A cold wave was pushing through the area since my early morning walk to the Dog. The sky morphed from chamber of commerce blue to threatening rain. I didn’t need a nap yet thought spending several hours inside was becoming a better idea. I knew Dude would be so excited about getting Pluto back that he wouldn’t think to let anyone know his dog had been found.

  I called the Chief who answered with, “Ho, Ho, Ho! Merry Christmas Eve. If you say anything to stomp on my feelings of great joy, you won’t live long enough to wish anyone Merry Christmas tomorrow.”

  “Cindy, I’m about to make your day of feeling great joy even better.”

  “You and Charles are moving to Tibet.”

  “Guess again.”

  “You and Charles are moving to Tibet and taking my husband with you.”

  “What if I told you that Pluto has been reunited with Dude?”

  “Has he?”

  “Yes,” I said, through a smile.

  “Oh, my God. That’s incredible. How, when, where?”

  I filled her in on some details, leaving out the names of Martha’s animals, my near snake-handling experience, and Martha’s honeymoon trip to the Grand Canyon.

  “Chris, that’s the best news you could’ve given me. Thanks for letting me know.”

  “You’re the first person I’ve called. I’ll let you get back to whatever police chiefs do on Christmas Eve.”

  “Don’t go so fast, bearer of great news. I have a kernel of news for you although it’s not as great as Pluto’s return. I talked to the landlord where Joy lives or lived before she moved here. The guy who sounds about as smart as a corkscrew, but not as useful, is on vacation in some town in Maryland I’ve never heard of. He thought it was a brilliant idea to leave his tenants in a lurch while he’s frolicking with some floozy near our nation’s capital.”

  “Did he tell you that’s what he’s doing?”

  “Nah, he sounded like someone who’d be frolicking with a floozy. He remembered Joyce Tolliver, called her a ‘hot chick’ and said if he was twenty years older, or she was twenty years younger, he’d be camped out on her curb hoping she’d pick him up. Honest to God that’s what he said. Yuck. I told him I wasn’t a hot chick, but was a police chief and carried a gun, and if he didn’t want me camped on his curb, he’d call the second he got back to the complex and let me in her apartment.”

  “What’d he say?”

  “Yes, sir, Chief, ma’am.”

  “When’s he coming back?”

  “Day after Christmas.”

  “You’ll call me when he gets back?”

  “Nope. I’ll be calling the tenant who’s paid rent for that apartment. If she wants to let you know that’s her business.”

  “Fair enough. Anything on the whereabouts of Taylor Strong?”

  “Chris, you sure know how to drag a girl down after cheering her up about Pluto.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Our Mr. Strong has a rap sheet. If Preacher Burl was correct about his former resident attending school to learn locksmithing, either the school specialized in training burglars, or didn’t check his background before letting him in.”

  “Is that what he’d been arrested for?”


  “Yep, his career of crime had been given three years off when he was taking advantage of an all-expense paid vacation in Arkansas.”

  “Any idea where he is?”

  “Nary a clue. I’m going to swing by the house this afternoon to see if the driver’s license photo that was on record matches the Taylor Strong who stayed there. I’m fairly certain it will, but there’s always the chance it’s another guy with the same name.”

  “Anything more on his car?”

  “Negative. If I learn anything, you might be one of the first I’ll let know.”

  I knew not to push. “That’d be great, Cindy.”

  “Of course, it would.”

  My next call was to Preacher Burl.

  “Brother Chris,” he said, based on my name appearing on his phone, since I hadn’t said anything.

  “Yes, Preacher.”

  “Are you psychic?”

  “Preacher, I’ve been accused of many things. That’s not one of them. Why?”

  “I was reaching for the phone to call you.”

  “Why were you going to call?”

  “You called first. What do I owe the pleasure of this call?”

  I shared the news about Pluto’s reappearance, and Burl responded with “Halleluiah,” and a prayer. I then told him that he would be receiving a visit from Chief LaMond and the reason for her visit.

  “Ah, Brother Chris, perhaps you are psychic after all.”

  Burl was beginning to sound more and more like some of my other friends with disjointed comments, thoughts, and occasionally, actions. I asked what he meant.

  “Brother Lawrence from Holy City Locksmiths returned my call less than an hour ago. That’s the company I’d told Brother Taylor about. The store was closed today, but out of habit, Brother Lawrence checks his messages when the store’s closed. He said that around Christmas it’s not uncommon for people to get locked out of their home or vehicle. Mine happened to be the fifth message left for—”

  “That’s interesting, Preacher,” I interrupted. “What did he say about Taylor?”

  “He had little to share. It seems that Brother Taylor never showed for the interview. Can I surmise that Sister Cindy’s visit is related to Brother Taylor’s past?”

  I told him what I knew about his former resident and the reason for Cindy’s visit.

  It took him a long time to say, “Brother Chris, I have a confession to make, and a dilemma that I face in my profession.”

  “What?”

  “First, the dilemma. Faith is the foundation of my being. I, by personality and profession, seek the good in everyone. Over the years, I have seen firsthand how even the most horrid person can, as we preachers are prone to say, see the light. Men and women of all ilk can turn their lives around. I truly believe that miracles occur.” He was silent for a moment, before repeating, “Miracles occur.”

  “That’s wonderful, Preacher.”

  “There’s a downside, which leads to my confession. When I opened Hope House, I did so with much trepidation. It was created as a place where those with little hope could find not only the necessities of a warm bed and a warm meal, but where they could find, as its name says, hope. From hopeless to hope requires change, a change in the residents. It’s not up to me, nor is it in me to control the changes. That is up to a much higher power than in this humble, lowly, preacher man. Not everyone is ready or willing to make the necessary changes, hence the reason for my trepidation, and something that has kept me awake many a night with worry.” He paused again. I started to ask him to elaborate, when he said, “I have no application for admittance. I have no way to determine where the potential resident is with his or her life; what black holes have existed in the past; and, what evil thoughts may be present. Brother Chris, I continually am in fear of introducing someone to the house who has evil intent. How, pray tell, is it fair to the others if I subject them to such a person?”

  “Preacher, I’ve known you long enough to know that you’d do everything possible to prevent that from happening and look how much good Hope House has done. I know what Bernard was experiencing before you gave him a chance and hope. And look at Joy, she had no hope, nowhere to go. I don’t know as much about Adrienne or Rebekah, but from what I see, you’ve helped them immensely.”

  “That may be true, Brother Chris. While it’s taken me a long time to get to it, my confession is that I never had a good feeling about Brother Taylor.”

  “What about him?”

  “I may not be all-knowing,” he laughed. “Heavens, at times I’m not even part-knowing, but what I am decent at is detecting when someone is not being truthful. Brother Taylor often fit in that group. I should never have let him move in. I knew he was lying about previous jobs. That’s one reason I was intent on him attending the job interview at Holy City Locksmiths. I figured if they liked him, they would check his background. If there was nothing in it to raise red flags, he’d get the job and be on the road to a productive life. Most everyone lies about something. I told myself that his could be minor and Hope House was giving him the break he needed.”

  “Preacher, you had no way of knowing. You shouldn’t beat yourself up. You do wonderful work.”

  “Perhaps. I can only pray that by letting Brother Taylor reside here, it didn’t contribute to what he did to Sister Joy.”

  “Preacher, he didn’t meet her there. Whatever happened took place before she knew about your ministry.”

  “I suppose you’re right. I must focus on tonight’s message and not let this interfere with how I interact with those loyal members of my flock who will be celebrating Christmas Eve with fellow believers. You will be there tonight, won’t you?”

  “Of course,” I said, like there could be any other option.

  30

  The weather continued to deteriorate, so First Light’s Christmas Eve service will be in the storefront location. Last Christmas, the service was in a tent on the beach, but the tent wasn’t available this year.

  Joy met me at the door and asked if we could talk after the service. I told her yes, and she joined Mary and her two girls in the second pew. I smiled as I remembered watching Mary, Joanie, and Jewel enter last year’s Christmas Eve service. The girls had been wearing new clothes and entered the tent with their heads held high, radiating pride in their appearance.

  Charles was in the third pew waving for me to join him. I passed Amber and her son, Jason, seated with Samuel and his dad. Amber nodded to me as I passed. I slid in beside Charles and watched Joy, Joanie and Jewel laughing. Mary hushed them.

  Preacher Burl waved his hands for latecomers and those who wanted to continue their conversations to take their seats, and he began with, “Please silence thy portable communication devices.” Tonight, it was followed by him encouraging us to make a joyful noise unto the Lord by singing “O Come All Ye Faithful.”

  We tried to sound joyful, but William Hansel had the lone true singing voice. Burl thanked us for coming and began his traditional Christmas Eve sermon. I had to give him credit, he’d overcome his earlier feelings of trepidation and guilt for allowing Taylor to stay in Hope House. His message was inspirational, heartwarming, and had the rapt attention of everyone present. He followed it with another carol, a reminder of tomorrow morning’s regular Sunday service, before asking William to end the service with a solo of “Silent Night.”

  We slowly wandered out of the sanctuary into a light rain. Joanie asked her mom if the rain was going to turn to snow for Christmas. I didn’t hear Mary’s answer, but knew it would disappoint her daughter. Joy moved beside Charles and me. I asked if it was okay if Charles joined us. She said sure, and I suggested we make the short walk to the Crab Shack where we could stay dry and talk. Charles was leading the group, followed by Joy and me. As we got to the restaurant, I noticed a black car slowly pass us on Center Street and then turn on East Erie Avenue just past the restaurant. In the glow of the streetlight, it looked like it had a dent in the front bumper. Hadn’t Bern
ard mentioned that Taylor’s Ford Focus had a dent? Was the car that passed us a Focus or was I being paranoid? No way to know now.

  The restaurant, normally crowded on Saturday nights, was near empty. A couple of others from the church service were seated near the bar, and a half-dozen patrons were scattered throughout the dining room. We were told to sit anywhere, and I suggested a table by the wall and away from others. The server appeared and asked what we wanted to drink. Joy asked what imported beers they had, the server told her, and Joy said Heineken. Charles said Bud, and I ordered the house wine.

  “I remembered this morning that I preferred imported beer,” Joy said, explaining her order.

  “That’s great,” I said. “Anything else new?”

  “That’s what I wanted to talk about. Yesterday afternoon, your Police Chief came to talk to Preacher Burl. I didn’t know the Chief was there and walked in the kitchen where they were talking. I apologized and Chief LaMond said I wasn’t interrupting. She had a driver’s license photo and asked if I recognized the person.”

  “Did you?” Charles blurted, before Joy could finish talking.

  She put both palms on the table and leaned forward. “It was him.”

  Charles said, “Who?”

  “The man in the boat.”

  “You’re certain?” I said.

  She nodded, and said, “I remember walking home from work and the next thing I remember was laying on the back seat of the boat with my hands and feet tied. My head hurt so much that I figured I must still be alive. There was a dim light by the boat’s steering wheel, and I recognized that man Taylor in the front seat. No doubt, it was him. It was dark in the rest of the boat and I never got a good look at the other guy. I already told you what happened next.”

  Drinks arrived, and the server asked if we wanted something to eat. Charles and I declined, and Joy asked me if she could borrow a few dollars. Charles said that she couldn’t borrow anything and that he would pay. A Christmas miracle was in the making. She told the server that she wanted a cup of she crab soup and the house salad.