The Case of the Klutzy King Charles

by B R Snow

  “What’s the deal with the lizard out front?” I said, nodding toward the front door.

  “Oh, that’s George,” the man said. “We’ve sort of adopted him.”

  “They’re protected, right?”

  “Yes, and making quite a comeback. There are more iguanas on the island than people.”

  “They’re cute. In a little lizardy sort of way. My name is Suzy Chandler,” I said, extending my hand.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Suzy,” he said, giving me an energetic handshake. “I’m Pastor Roy. How can I help you?”

  “I’m trying to get some information about a wedding,” I said, glancing around.

  “Well, congratulations. I’m sure that you’ll be very happy and find great satisfaction in the sanctity of marriage. And I hope that you and your husband will soon grace both your families with some wonderful grandchildren.”

  “You been talking to my mother, Pastor?” I said, cocking my head at him.

  “What?”

  “Nothing,” I said, shaking my head. “Forget it. I think it’s just a reflex response I’ve developed. Like a nervous tic. You see, Pastor, my mother is really starting to put the pressure on. And I want to give her at least one grandkid, but I haven’t met anybody I’d consider settling down with. Well, I’ve met a few, but something always seems to come up or get in the way. I’m sure you know what I mean. You must get that sort of thing all the time.”

  I paused to take a breath. Apparently, I must have paid some attention during church when I was a young Catholic girl. I guess some lessons really stick: Walk into church, search one’s soul, and start confessing. I forced another smile at him.

  “No, the wedding isn’t mine,” I said. “This is about a wedding that might have taken place a while ago.”

  “I see,” he said, giving me a confused look, apparently now unsure how good a candidate for motherhood I actually was. “When was the wedding?”

  “You see, that’s the problem. I’m not sure.”

  “Okay, and you came here seeking enlightenment?” he deadpanned.

  I stared at him, then got the joke.

  “Oh, good one,” I said, laughing. “Well, if that’s what I was going for, this would be the place, right?”

  “It’s certainly a good place to start,” he said, gesturing for me to take a seat. “Why don’t you tell me a bit about your dilemma?”

  “I’m trying to track down someone who I think might have gotten married on Owen Island,” I said.

  “It’s fairly common for people to exchange vows on the island,” he said, nodding. “And it seems to be gaining in popularity. I’ve performed several ceremonies there myself.”

  “I think this one might have happened twenty or even thirty years ago,” I said. “Maybe even longer.”

  “Then I doubt if I’ll be able to help you,” he said, shrugging. “I’m relatively new. But you might want to check with the General Registry over on Grand Cayman. They’re responsible for keeping track of all the public records.”

  “Yeah, I’ve already been there,” I said, frowning. “And they said they’re going to go through their archives when they get a chance.”

  “I would have thought they’d have it in their computer system,” he said, surprised.

  “That’s what I thought,” I said, placing a hand on his forearm. “But apparently a lot of the older records are still on paper.”

  “And it’s going to take them some time to pull all the records.”

  “Yes.”

  “But you’re in a rush to find it now and just can’t wait, right?”

  “You have been talking to my mother, haven’t you?” I said, laughing.

  “Let’s call it a lucky guess,” he said. “I’m sorry, but I’ve never seen a master list of all the weddings that have taken place here on the island. I write them down in my marriage book and send all the information to the General Registry.”

  “Well, it was worth a shot,” I said, getting up. “Thanks for your time.”

  “You know, I have an idea. It’s a bit of a long shot, but since you’re here, it might be worth checking out.”

  “What do you suggest?” I said.

  “You might want to pay Pastor Tim a visit. He lives in one of the old historical homes you probably saw on your way here.”

  “Pastor Tim?”

  “Yes, he’s a wonderful man. He was the pastor here for decades. But I doubt if he’ll be able to remember anything useful.” Pastor Roy flashed a sad smile. “He’s getting up there years. He just turned ninety, and I’m afraid his mind isn’t what it used to be. It’s quite sad to watch. But he’s had a remarkable life.”

  “Dementia? Alzheimer’s?” I said, frowning and immediately feeling empathy for the stranger.

  “I’m not sure of the official diagnosis at this point. But he is certainly dealing with some very difficult symptoms. About a year ago, we decided to help him out with a live-in housekeeper.”

  “Are you sure it would be okay if I stopped by?”

  “I think he would love it,” he said, walking with me as I headed toward the door. “It will give him a chance to reminisce and tell some of his stories again.” Pastor Roy chuckled. It was soft and sad. “I’m afraid I’ve heard all of his stories more times than I can remember.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. I hate seeing that happen,” I said.

  “Yes, well, I’m afraid that it’s one of the challenges that often come with living a very long life,” he said. “He’s a wonderful man. I just hope you catch him on a good day.”

  I shook hands with him and followed the directions he gave me. The directions weren’t really necessary, and a few minutes later I walked down a short stone path toward a wooden house that sat a short walk from the beach. The house was small and weathered, but well-preserved and inviting. I tapped on the screen door, and a middle-aged, dark-skinned woman came to the door.

  “Hello,” she said, pleasantly. “Can I help you?”

  “Hi, my name is Suzy Chandler. I was wondering if it would be possible for me to speak with Pastor Tim?”

  “Are you a friend of his?” she said, casually giving me the once over from the other side of the screen.

  “Actually, no. But Pastor Roy suggested I stop by. I’m trying to gather some information about a wedding that took place years ago.”

  “I see,” she said, giving my request some thought. “Well, he is having a good day. Just give me a moment. Let me go check to see if he feels up to it.”

  “Thanks,” I said, then turned around to take another look at Owen Island. I rocked back and forth on my heels and wondered what it would be like to exchange marriage vows on a deserted island. At a minimum, the island setting would provide the perfect insurance policy for a couple just in case one of them got cold feet at the last minute. As far as I was concerned, if faced with the choice of going through with the wedding or swimming back to shore with the sharks, I was pretty sure I’d take my chances on the marriage. I turned back around when I heard the woman approach.

  “Pastor Tim said he would love to talk with you. Please, come in.”

  She opened the screen door, and I stepped inside. I noticed a small, bald man sitting in an overstuffed chair staring at me. He used both hands to push himself up out of the chair and extended his hand. I’d been expecting a dark-skinned man, but he was pale white and had sparkling blue eyes that bore into me. I returned the handshake and smiled at him.

  “I can see you weren’t expecting me to be one of the white-devils,” he said with a soft cackle.

  He was correct. I hadn’t. The white part. Not the devil thing.

  “It’s so nice to meet you, Pastor Tim,” I said, for some reason embarrassed by my assumption about his skin color. “I’m Suzy Chandler.”

  “It’s very nice to meet you, Suzy,” he said, gesturing for me to sit down. I sunk into one of the overstuffed chairs and he sat back down. “To answer one of your questions, I arrived years ago as a young pa
stor from the midwest on a mission to tame the natives and never left.” He let loose with a booming laugh that belied his age. “Isn’t that right, Shirley?”

  “Listen to you,” Shirley said, shaking her head at him with a look of affection. Then she glanced over at me. “Don’t believe a word this old charlatan tells you.” She slid a pillow behind him, waited until he smiled up at her to indicate he was comfortable, then nodded. “Okay, you two have fun. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.”

  We both watched her depart then Pastor Tim glanced over at me.

  “She takes such good care of me,” he said. “But don’t tell her that.” He winked at me. “Truth be told, most days I need all the help I can get.”

  “I don’t know if I’d say that, Pastor. You seem pretty spry to me,” I said, grinning.

  “I’m afraid spry is the least of my concerns,” he said, suddenly turning serious. “I often feel like my mind is swimming in fog.” He stared at me. “Does that make any sense to you?”

  “Sure, I get that,” I said, nodding. “But I can’t imagine what it must be like if it never clears up .”

  “I can’t complain,” he said, now turning philosophical. “I’ve been blessed with a very long life, and I’ve spent it in this beautiful place surrounded by a wonderful family and many, many friends.”

  “You can’t ask for much more than that, right?” I said, enjoying the cross breeze that was spilling in through the open windows.

  “One can always ask for more,” he said, chuckling. “Like being able to remember what I had for breakfast. But enough about me and my problems. I can’t imagine you came all this way to hear my thoughts about the meaning of life or the challenges of old age. How can I help you?”

  “I’m trying to track down a wedding that might have taken place on Owen Island several years ago.”

  “I see,” he said, squinting at me. “Can I ask you why?”

  “This is going to sound pretty crazy,” I said, frowning.

  “Don’t worry about that. In my line of work, I get that all the time,” he said, cutting loose with a loud cackle.

  “Okay,” I said, smiling and leaning forward in my chair. “I think it might have something to do with a woman’s disappearance. And a murder.”

  He frowned and placed both hands on the arms of his chair.

  “Oh, my. Please, continue,” he said softly.

  I spent a few minutes giving him the short version of the events that had brought me here. He listened closely and seemed to be following the thread of the story. When I finished, I sat back in my chair and waited for him to respond.

  “Shirley?” he called out eventually.

  Shirley came out of the kitchen drying her hands on a dish towel.

  “Yes?”

  “Am I imagining it, or did Bess Campbell call recently?” Pastor Tim said, squinting at his housekeeper.

  “As a matter of fact, she did,” Shirley said. “I believe it was a few weeks ago. Well done, Pastor Tim.”

  “And you thought I’d completely lost it,” he said, cackling. “I knew I remembered her calling.

  “Who’s Bess Campbell?” I said, glancing back and forth at them.

  “She’s the owner of Owen Island,” Pastor Tim said. “At least she is at the moment. She’s getting ready to sell it.”

  My neurons woke up and protested as they sluggishly got into gear. Must be too much sun, I decided.

  “Did she happen to mention who she’s selling it to?” I said.

  “I believe she did,” Pastor Tim said, frowning. “But I can’t remember the name for the life of me. It was some company, I think. Do you remember, Shirley?”

  “I remember you mentioning the name after you finished talking to her, but I can’t recall it at the moment,” she said, shaking her head. “But it definitely wasn’t the name of a person.”

  “Why is she selling the island?” I said.

  “Like me, Bess is getting up there in years,” he said, shrugging. Then he stared off into the distance as if remembering a fond memory from the distant past. “And she simply isn’t able to get down here anymore. It must be, what would you say, Shirley, at least ten years since we’ve seen her?”

  “At least,” Shirley said.

  “She’s trying to get her affairs in order,” Pastor Tim said. “And she said the offer was just too much money to refuse.”

  “I need to get back to the kitchen,” Shirley said. “I’m roasting a chicken, and I’d hate to overcook it. Would you like to stay for dinner?”

  “No, thank you, Shirley. That’s very kind, but I’ll need to get back to Grand Cayman.”

  “Roast chicken, again?” Pastor Tim, said, scowling. “We just had it yesterday.”

  “That was a week ago,” Shirley said softly with a shake of her head.

  “It was?” he said, frowning. “Time flies, huh?” He cackled again and shrugged his bony shoulders at me.

  If I was ever stricken with his malady at some point later in life, I hoped I’d be able to deal with it as well as he seemed to be handling it. Shirley strolled back into the kitchen, and I looked over at Pastor Tim who was deep in thought.

  “I could have sworn we had chicken yesterday,” he said. “Oh, well. Lucky for me, I love chicken.”

  “Me too,” I said, nodding. “Did you perform some marriage ceremonies on Owen Island?”

  “Of course,” he said, smiling at me. “They used to only happen occasionally, but as the area became more popular with visitors, they increased in number.”

  I hated myself for having to ask the next question, but I couldn’t come up with any way to avoid it.

  “Do you remember conducting any ceremonies back in the Seventies and Eighties?”

  “I do,” he said, nodding. “But no specific ones come to mind. I remember they were always a lot of fun. Very special.”

  I frowned and drifted off as my thoughts began to steamroll and collide. I sat quietly and let them do their work for several moments then shrugged.

  “Then I guess I’ll just have to wait for the General Registry to finish their research,” I said out loud to myself.

  “There’s no need to do that,” he said, staring at me.

  “I’m sorry. What did you say?” I said, refocusing on him.

  “I said there’s no need to wait for the folks at General Registry to find time for you. In my experience, like most bureaucracies, they tend to move at their own pace,” he said. “I remember this one time when I had to wait forever for a…no, that wasn’t General Registry. That was…who the heck was that? Oh, well. It’s probably not important.” He stared at me, bemused. “What was I saying?”

  “You were saying something about my not having to wait for General Registry to finish their work,” I said, leaning forward in my chair.

  “Of course,” he said, nodding. “No need to do that. I’ll just check my marriage book.” He glanced toward the kitchen. “Shirley!”

  “You kept your marriage book?” I said, my neurons suddenly firing on all cylinders.

  “Yes, I did,” he said, smiling. “My plan is to bequeath it to the museum. You probably saw it on your way over. It’s right next to the church.”

  “I did notice it.”

  “What now?” Shirley said, doing her best to feign annoyance.

  “Could you please grab my marriage book from the bookshelf?”

  “If I burn the chicken, it’s going to be your fault,” she said, laughing as she headed off. “You do know that, right?”

  I did my best to stay calm and appear relaxed. Shirley soon returned holding an old ledger book and handed it to him.

  “Will there be anything else, Your Majesty?” she said, winking at me.

  “No, that will be all for now,” he said, staring down at the book as he leafed through the pages.

  Shirley shook her head affectionately at the old man and returned to the kitchen.

  “If I performed the ceremony, it would definitely be in here,” he
said, struggling to make sense of what he was looking at. Then he shook his head and handed the book to me. “Why don’t you take a look? You at least have some idea of what you’re looking for.”

  I accepted the well-worn book with yellowed pages. I flipped to the first page and glanced at the initial entry.

  “1964?” I said. “That was a long time ago.”

  “It was,” he said, smiling. “I do remember that one because it was my first ceremony. I think I was more nervous than the couple getting married. I’d only been here about a month.”

  “That’s amazing.” I slowly scanned each page then flipped to the next. “There aren’t a lot of entries, especially from way back then,” I said, glancing up at him.

  “It’s a very small island,” he said, shrugging. “And tourist weddings didn’t really start to get popular until sometime in the Nineties.” Then he frowned. “I think it was around that time.”

  I flipped to another page, and the dates moved into the Seventies. I found three ceremonies conducted on Owen Island in that decade and jotted them down.

  “Did you find something?” he said, leaning forward to get a closer look.

  “I’m not sure,” I said. “I’ll have to do some follow-up research when I get back home.” I turned the page, moved into the Eighties, and scanned the entries. Then my mouth dropped open, and my neurons started popping. I blinked and set the book down on the table.

  “Are you all right, my dear?” Pastor Tim said, studying my shocked expression.

  “I’m fine,” I whispered.

  “I may be old and starting to lose it,” he said, chuckling. “But that is the look of a person who just found what she was looking for.”

  “You’re absolutely right, Pastor Tim,” I said, beaming at him. “And I couldn’t have done it without you. Can I ask you where the owner of the island lives?”

  “Bess lives in Atlanta,” he said. “Why?”

  “I’d like to talk to her.”

  “Then you’re going to need her phone number,” he said, glancing toward the kitchen. “Shirley!”

  Shirley poked her head into the room, again drying her hands on a dish towel.