MURDER IN SOUTH CAROLINA
by
Agnes Alexander
WHISKEY CREEK PRESS
www.whiskeycreekpress.com
Published by
WHISKEY CREEK PRESS
www.whiskeycreekpress.com
Copyright © 2015 by Agnes Alexander
Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 (five) years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.
Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
ISBN: 978-1-63355-773-4
Credits
Cover Artist: Molly Courtright
Editor: Melanie Billings
Printed in the United States of America
For two women who I admired and dearly loved
I miss you both every day
My mother: Willa Dean Hall
My mother-in-law: Nola Mae Hampton
Chapter 1
Nola Dean Buckingham was tired. She’d driven four hours from her home in Greenville, SC to Winston-Salem, NC to enroll her only child, Emily, at Salem College, and then back to Greenville. As she depressed the garage door opener, she wondered how she was going to cope without Emily at home.
Then an idea hit her. She wouldn’t stay in the house. She’d go to her condo at Myrtle Beach for a few days. She always felt better at the beach.
She’d made sure everything was taken care of at the office before leaving with Emily, and she was sure Danny, her manager, would take care of anything that came up.
She’d pack the necessities in an hour, head out, and make the five-hour drive tonight. She shook off the thought that told her the smart thing to do would be to wait and head out in the morning. She didn’t want to stay alone tonight even though Maxie, her eight-year-old poodle mix and Bubbles, her five year Main Coon cat were in the house. She wouldn’t admit, even to herself, that not having a man in her life at this time added to her loneliness. But since the fiasco with Link Holloway, she was in no hurry to have another man around.
“I guess I’m experiencing the empty nest syndrome everyone warned me about,” she muttered as she picked up her purse and the empty flashlight beside it. She’d given Emily the batteries from it for one of her appliances. They needed to be replaced before she put it back in the glove box where she always kept it.
Once inside, she moved quickly. She fed and watered the pets, then headed to her room and pulled out her suitcase. She didn’t have to pack a lot because she kept clothes at the beach. Slipping out of her knit dress, she changed to a comfortable pair of denim slacks and a summer sweater.
When she tossed the bags, Bubbles’ carrier, Maxie and a few odds and ends of food in the car, it was seven twenty-five. This meant she’d arrive at the condo by midnight and wake up to relaxing sounds of crashing waves in the morning instead of having the long drive before her. With a smile on her lips, she pulled out of the driveway, popped a George Strait CD in the player and sat back to relax and enjoy the ride.
She stopped relaxing when on I-20 near Columbia. It was dark and rain had begun falling. She slowed and grew a little tense, but she knew she’d come halfway. It was too far to turn back. She took a deep breath and kept going.
* * * *
Arthur Brown was a happy man. As they had prearranged, he met with Mr. Smith at one in the afternoon in the luxury suite of one of the grand hotels of Myrtle Beach’s Grand Strand. As he’d been told to do, he stopped at Walmart on the way and brought the new doorknob and a screwdriver. Mr. Smith told him there was a door in his room which didn’t work and he needed a new lock on it. As soon as he entered the suite, Mr. Smith asked him to put the new lock on the closet door. Arthur wondered why Smith didn’t get the hotel to put a new lock on for him, but he didn’t ask. He didn’t mind doing this small favor for a man who had promised him five thousand dollars.
“While you’re working on that,” Smith said. “I’m going to get something out of my car. I won’t be long.”
“No problem, Mr. Smith,” Arthur said and began replacing the knob. It didn’t take him long. He was finished before Smith returned.
Putting away his screwdriver, Arthur looked around the room. He noticed a stack of papers on the table in the living room area of the suite. Giving in to his nosiness, he moved to the table and thumbed through them. A torn sheet containing a list of numbers fascinated him. It had been ripped down the middle and only half of each line of numbers was visible. For some reason, Arthur thought these numbers were important. If they weren’t, they wouldn’t be torn in half. Without hesitation, he took out the small notebook he always kept in his pocket to write down names and numbers of women he met. He flipped to a clean page and hastily wrote down the numbers. He replaced the paper and stuck the notebook in his pocket as he heard the entrance door open. He moved back to the closet door and began putting the new lock wrappings in the Walmart bag.
Mr. Smith nodded at the well-done job and said, “Here’s the up-front money we discussed, Mr. Brown.” He counted out five one hundred dollar bills and handed them to Arthur.
It was the most money Arthur had had in his hands in a long time. And there was so little he had to do for it. Mr. Smith told him to go, but to meet him back at the hotel at eleven o’clock that evening wearing the black pants he had on and a black shirt.
“No problem,” Arthur said again and headed out to run some errands. He tossed the bag with the old locks in the back seat of his rusty, fourteen-year-old Mustang and pulled out of the parking lot. He decided to spend some of the money on the women in his life. “Hell,” he said aloud. “I might even give them a little cash. Sure would surprise Denise when I lay a hundred on her. Especially when I tell her there’s going to be a lot more to follow.” He sighed. “And in good conscious, I guess I ought to give Nellie some, too. In fact, I’ll go see her first. She can fix that rip in these black pants that I got in a bar fight the other night.”
He turned toward the main section of Myrtle Beach and continued muttering. “Thank you, Mr. Smith, or whatever your real name is. You’ve made a new man out of me.”
He wheeled into the gravel drive in front of Nellie’s trailer and went inside without knocking. “Got a job for you, Nellie,” he yelled.
“What’s that?” she yelled back.
“You need to sew up a rip in my pants.”
“I figured it was something stupid like that.” She pulled her rubber gloves off and tossed them in the sink. “Well get them off and let me get it done. I don’t have time to wait on you all day.
Arthur sat on the worn living room sofa in his boxers and played with the kids while Nellie fixed the pants. When she brought them back to him, he handed the surprised woman a hundred dollar bill.
He grinned when she began to cry. “Now don’t start blubbering. I figured you could use it.”
“We can. Thank you so much, Arthur.”
“No problem.” He turned to go then stopped. “By the way, put this in a safe place.” He handed her the sheet of paper he’d written the numbers on. “This is my insurance. It’s gonna bring me a lot of money and maybe I’ll give you some more.”
Nellie t
ook the paper and nodded. Arthur grinned again and gave her a quick peck on the cheek. He then headed to the strip club where Denise worked.
For once he was smart enough not to drink too much before his meeting at eleven. He was glad he’d kept his head clear because by the time he got back to the hotel all the lights were out and it was raining so hard he was having trouble seeing. If he hadn’t been sober he probably wouldn’t have made it. He parked in the back of the lot, like Mr. Smith told him to do.
When he got out of the car, he felt he was in a tunnel with the roof leaking. There were no lights anywhere. He looked in his glove compartment and pulled out his flashlight, but the batteries were dead.
“Maybe this will help,” a voice said beside him.
Arthur jumped back. “I didn’t see you there, Mr. Smith.”
“I know you didn’t. That’s the point.” He handed Arthur a flashlight. “Come this way. I’m parked over here.” They got into Mr. Smith’s dark-colored, nondescript sedan and rode to the North Myrtle Beach condo in silence.
When they parked under the high-rise building, Mr. Smith said, “Are you sure you’re up to this, Mr. Brown?”
Arthur laughed a nervous little laugh. “I’m ready and able because I know as soon as this is over I’ll have that five thousand dollars you’re paying me right here in my hands.”
“You sure will.” Mr. Smith grinned into the night. “Let’s be on our way.”
* * * *
By the time she reached Florence, South Carolina Nola Dean was sorry she hadn’t waited until morning to start on this journey. Though she didn’t want to make a stop in all this rain, she had to. Maxie had whined for the last ten miles and she knew his whine meant he had to go for a walk. She pulled into a Burger King and parked beside the building. There was a nice grassy area along the edge of the parking lot. She grabbed her umbrella, put Maxie on his leash and took him for a quick walk. She was thankful the rain had let up a bit.
Maxie wanted to sniff every bush and every leaf on the ground, but she hurried him along. Finally she wiped his feet with a paper towel and put him back in the car.
Because she’d missed supper, she went through the drive through and ordered a cheeseburger and an iced tea. She balanced the hamburger and fries she bought on the armrest and fought Maxie off as she tried to drive and eat at the same time.
A few miles further, the rain began to come down hard again. She knew it was going to be nasty all the way to the coast. At times she could drive a little under normal speed. At other times, she had to crawl. In Aynor, she had no choice. She had to pull into the parking area of a closed service station to wait for the rain to slacken. As she sat there and watched the water wash across the windshield, she thought about her life.
Though they were from the same town, she’d met Marcus at the beach when she and some girlfriends had gone to celebrate their graduation from high school and he was there with a group of his college friends. After a short courtship, they were married. The newlyweds moved in with his widowed mother. Nola Dean was eighteen years old at the time and Grace Buckingham accepted her as the daughter she never had. A year later, Emily was born. Though the couple thought of buying a place of their own, the baby brought so much delight into the older woman’s life, they continued to live with her. The money they’d saved for a house was used to expand the real estate business Marcus’ father had left.
With her mother-in-law as a built-in babysitter, Nola Dean would often go to work with Marcus. She soon found herself immersed in the business and was eventually as good at it as her husband. But when the family felt they had to get away from the phones and clients for a little while, they would spend time at Myrtle Beach. After a few visits, they decided they wanted a second home in the area. Though it stretched their budget, they made a down payment on one of the condos under construction, expecting the property to increase in value. They were right. In two years, they could have recouped their money and made a tidy profit, but the condo meant too much to both of them. They said they’d keep it as long as they enjoyed going there. Nola Dean still owned it.
The storm around the car grew fiercer. Lightning flashed and she was sure there was hail in the water that was sheeting down. Nola Dean couldn’t help thinking back to the storm which had changed her life forever.
It was the winter Emily turned five and Nola Dean turned twenty-four. A group of Charlotte investors invited Marcus to a meeting to discuss the possibility of him finding the right property for them to relocate to Greenville. The weather had been threatening all day and there was a forecast of possible ice storms, but Marcus felt this was a wonderful opportunity for the company and decided to attend the meeting despite the weather. Nola Dean stayed behind to handle the office. “I’ll leave early enough tonight to get home before the storm hits,” he assured her with a kiss good-bye.
He was wrong. The storm came sooner than expected. It started in the Atlanta area and headed north. After missing several wrecks on his way home, Marcus’ luck ran out. Thirty miles from Greenville on Interstate 85, there was an eight car collision with two tractor and trailer rigs. Twenty-eight year old Marcus Buckingham was one of six people who didn’t survive.
At the time, Nola Dean wanted to give up on everything, but knowing her daughter and her mother-in-law now depended on her, she managed to go on. It took effort, but the real estate company continued to grow and Nola Dean became known as one of the most honest and reliable realtors in the business. Three years later, Grace Buckingham succumbed to a heart attack. It was then Nola Dean learned Grace had left the family home and the real estate business to her.
For the next eight years Nola Dean worked diligently expanding the business and making improvements on the home. She knew if she wanted to, she could sell out and she and Emily would have enough money to live comfortably for the rest of their lives. But she also knew she wouldn’t do that, not even if she had to go on without Emily in the house. Why would she want to? Nola Dean was now only thirty-seven years old. Much too young to retire.
The rain finally slackened and Nola Dean shook off the thoughts of her past and pulled away from her parking place. It was almost one-thirty when she finally got to the beach and turned onto Ocean Boulevard. She had only gone a block down the street when she noticed all the lights were out. She frowned. The storm must have been even worse here. It gave her an eerie feeling as she drove through the deep standing puddles on the road. Though the rain wasn’t coming down in torrents now, it was still falling in a steady flow. The lightning and thunder were filling the sky and the wind whipped the car. As she’d had to do most of the way, she fought to keep the vehicle on the road.
In a few more blocks, she saw a power truck. Two men, wearing yellow slickers, were in a cherry picker working on the power lines.
“Good,” she said aloud. “They’ll have the electricity back on soon.”
She bowed her head and thanked God she’d made it when she pulled into the parking lot under the condo building in Cherry Grove. She was exhausted. There was no way she could unload the car tonight. She made quick choices as to what to carry inside. Of course she had to take Bubbles in the cat carrier. She put Maxie on his leash because he was going for a quick walk. She knew she wasn’t coming back out with him tonight. She got the small sack of groceries, her purse and her make-up case. She then opened the glove compartment to get her flashlight. It wasn’t there.
“Oh, no.” She gasped. “I took it in the house to put in new batteries. I bet I left it on the kitchen counter.”
She had no other choice. She’d have to go up to her sixth floor condo in the dark. Opening the car door, she looked around while the inside car light was still on. When she saw nothing else, she locked the car and walked to the edge of the garage so Maxie could do his business.
She stood under the building as he sniffed around the grassy area. Finally he lifted his leg. When he finished, he wanted to pull her along for a walk, but she jerked the leash and headed him inside.
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br /> Of course the elevator wasn’t working. She gritted her teeth and headed up the stairs.
“Don’t complain,” she told herself. “You’re the one who wanted to get to the beach tonight.”
“Yeah,” she answered. “But how was I to know there would be no lights and no elevator?”
It was as dark as she’d ever seen and the thought flashed across her mind that a fiction writer would have a great setting for a mystery story. A lot of books she’d read had had the preverbal dark and stormy night in them. And if there had ever been a dark and stormy night, this was it.
She felt her way up the stairs and counted the landings so she’d know when she reached the sixth floor. As soon as they were in the sixth floor hall, Maxie jerked the leash out of her hand and headed down the passageway to the door of their condo.
“Smart Boy,” she said to him, panting for breath.
She slipped the key into the knob and she pushed the door open. Maxie ran inside ahead of her. Immediately he began barking and growling.
“Calm down, Maxie!” she commanded. It was so dark she couldn’t see what had excited him, but she knew it was probably something as simple as a cat toy Bubbles had left on the floor.
“I said pipe down, Maxie,” she commanded as he continued to bark and growl. He didn’t listen.
She dropped the bag of groceries on the kitchen counter and felt her way through the hall and into the living room. She was trying to get to the end table beside the sofa to put her other items down when, without warning, she ran into something and went sprawling face down on the floor. Her make-up case went in one direction, the cat carrier in another. Bubbles let out a screech. At the same time she screamed because she realized what she’d stumbled over was a human body.
“Who are you?” she demanded in a panicky voice, scrambling to her feet. She didn’t know if she expected the form on the floor to answer. In the dark she couldn’t see the person she was talking to.
She backed away in, what she hoped was, the direction of the bedroom. “Candles,” she said aloud. “I have some candles in there.” If she could get one and light it, maybe she could figure out what was happening.
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