by Bill Noel
“I was thinking hippopotamus,” she said.
Amber had finished her broiled tilapia, and I was eating the last of the fries with my Chicken Finger Basket; the first bottle of wine was history and had been replaced by a full one. I was thoroughly enjoying listening to Amber share stories from both the Dog and her childhood. Noelle had switched stations, so she could wait on us. It was nearing ten, but people were still standing in the door waiting for a table. However, Noelle told us the table was ours as long as we wanted so the others would have to wait.
“Your high school buddy, the one who likes your photos, was in with his two friends this morning,” Amber said.
“Tommy, Louis, and my favorite, Parker,” I said.
“Yeah. Parker skipped out without paying. They were on the side deck. When I brought the checks, he walked past me and said he was going to the restroom. But instead of going in the building, he grabbed his bike and left.” Amber hesitated. “Whenever something like that happens, I think of what it’ll be like with Jason. Growing up without a dad has to be a bad on him. I pray I can give him enough to keep him from ending up like Parker.”
“I don’t think you have to worry,” I said. “You’re a great mom. Jason is lucky.”
“Maybe he’ll be more like the one who likes your photos.”
“Tommy?”
“Yeah, he paid Parker’s check and apologized. It was nice of him. I’ve heard he has plenty of money, and that his dad is a high-powered doctor.”
“Then he should buy some of my images; I could even sell him the entire gallery,” I said. Amber laughed.
“Oh yeah, I almost forgot,” she continued, “speaking of bad influences, Larry’s ex-employee, Tony, was in at lunch sitting with two guys I didn’t know—and I’m thankful I didn’t from the way they acted.”
I shared a little about Charles’s investigation at Tony’s garage that morning. Amber almost snarled at every mention of Tony.
“He was bragging to the straggly guy about how he’d killed five soldiers in Iraq,” she said. “He was working hard to impress the other two. He said he didn’t know if the guys he killed were the enemy, but he didn’t like their attitude. It was scary the way he was talking. He acted happier with every gory detail he spewed out.” She paused and took another sip of wine, “Chris, he was enjoying it too much. He gave me the willies, and I didn’t even hear it all.”
The night was pleasant, and I was having too good a time to let Tony bring it down, so I asked if she wanted to walk on the pier.
“Why not? The wine’s gone,” she said as she looked at the empty bottle.
I’d walked to the end of the pier countless times as the view was fantastic. Charles and I had gone on the thousand-foot path on several occasions, sometimes for fun, others to get away and discuss a murder. In our better times, Tammy and I’d taken the enjoyable walk over Folly’s miniscule part of the Atlantic. But without doubt, tonight’s slow one to the end of the pier was the best. Walking hand in hand, we stopped a few times to look in the mostly empty fishing buckets of the fishermen who were focused on their lines dangling in the Atlantic.
We sat on one of the few vacant wooden benches on the upper deck at the end farthest from the beach. The ocean breeze made the hot July air tolerable. Amber put her head on my shoulder, and we sat silently for a half hour. Lovers, fishermen, and pier walkers came and went as we soaked in the warmth of the air and each other. For a few minutes, Larry’s troubles were miles away.
Amber had to be at work early, so I suggested we head back. She agreed, but added it was “reluctantly.” That was nice to hear.
“Ready to use one of those rain checks?” said Amber as we approached her apartment.
I was ready. But on the walk from the pier to her stairs, I’d caught her trying to hide yawns. I knew she had to be at work early and was more tired than she let on. In another moment of weakness, I declined. She did promise a couple more rain checks and reminded me she would be off work midafternoon Saturday. I assured her my unpaid sales manager, Charles, would be able to handle the crowds at the gallery. She and I could catch a late lunch, and “whatever.” Lunch sounded good—whatever sounded sumptuous.
Chapter34
The customer mix on Saturday mornings at the Dog was eclectic, to say the least. The regulars, from dog walkers and police officers to a few local merchants, always arrived early. They were followed by the short-timers—vacationers only there for a week—who headed home after breakfast with a carload of sand and sunburned kids. A few local residents and vacationers who didn’t have to leave soon arrived in the next shift. And then, to compound the parking problems, the day-trippers came in for brunch before heading to the beach.
Charles and Larry had already arrived and were seated on the side deck. I’d planned to meet Charles for breakfast but was surprised to see Larry. He normally opened the store early on Saturdays. Amber had brought them coffee and juice and had my coffee at the table as I arrived.
“Long time no see,” she said. She placed my coffee in front of me, smiled, and walked away.
I caught Charles’s glance at Larry. “Hmm,” said Charles in a whisper that could be heard by everyone on the deck, “Wonder what that means, Larry? I heard our friend here had supper last night with a waitress we both know.” Charles and Larry were both staring at me. “Doesn’t seem like that long ago,” continued Charles. “Does it to you?”
Larry said, “Why no, Charles, but could it mean the opposite? People do that sometime. Should we ask Chris?”
The only good thing I could think of was that Dude wasn’t part of the conversation.
“Nah,” replied Charles. “Here’s why. First, our compadre wouldn’t give us a straight answer if his life depended on it. And second, I can imagine things a lot better than whatever actually happened.”
The conversation was plowing ground I thought should remain untilled. “What brings you out this morning, Larry?” I asked, hoping to change the subject.
“Charles said he’d enjoy having breakfast with me,” he answered as he looked at Charles. “He didn’t want me to be alone at the store, but he’d never admit it. Anyway, Brandon said he’d open, and here I am.”
“Now that you mentioned Brandon,” I said, feeling like I had dodged a bullet. “What do you know about him?”
“Not much, really. You know I was desperate to get rid of Tony. Brandon had some hardware experience, so I grabbed him.” Larry paused and took a sip of coffee. “He’s an aging hippie, for lack of a better term, although he’s gone about half establishment. Usually, he wears a tie-dyed T-shirt under his Pewter Hardware shirt—says it helps him stay connected.” Larry laughed. “I know he moved here from one of the poorer sections of North Charleston and lives in an old apartment off-island. He never mentions it, but I think he has an ex and a teenage daughter somewhere out of state. I’ve seen a picture in his wallet.”
Amber had been patiently waiting for a break in our discussion to take our order. She knew I’d want the pancakes and didn’t ask. Larry ordered Folly’s Original Breakfast Burrito, and Charles, living on the edge, asked for the cinnamon roll.
“Guys,” said Larry after Amber had headed to the kitchen, “last night I was thinking.”
I was glad Charles didn’t give in to being Charles by saying something like it’s about time. He knew this was rough for Larry.
“When I was in Garden State with Hugh, I always had an uncomfortable feeling.”
“Like what?” asked Charles.
“It’s hard to put in words. He kept talking about seeing the light and being saved, but I had the feeling that he was using the Bible as a weapon. I mean, it’s hard to go against someone who always uses the Bible in an argument. Then, if he was accused of anything, he would put the Bible in front of him like a shield. I know I’m not making sense. It’s only a feeling
.”
“I think I know,” I said, “but is there anything that could have caused that much resentment?”
“That’s what struck me last night.” Larry took another sip and hesitated.
“Garden State was maximum security,” he continued, “but we did have time to be with other inmates. We could even take some GED classes. Hugh got in big trouble for stealing another guy’s cigarettes—he got sucky work duty and lost most of his privileges. He was on bathroom duty, and one of the other guys shivved him. The knife missed an artery by less than an inch, and it nearly killed Hugh. The clown who did it was having some sort of psychotic break and didn’t remember any of it. He was shipped out pronto, but for some reason, Hugh held me responsible. He didn’t mention it for the longest time, but then he accused me of turning on him. He was steamed.”
Amber arrived with our food and a huge smile. I wished she could join us.
“Get plenty of rest last night, Amber?” asked Charles. Subtle, Charles.
“Yep,” she said, smiled, and walked away.
“Larry, could something as minor as the cigarette incident affect Hugh that much?” I asked.
“I wouldn’t think so, but, with all the other crap that happened in there, you never know. Like I said before, he was paranoid and did nearly die.”
“Well,” said Charles, “did you rat on him?”
Larry nodded yes. He smiled and took a large bite of Burrito. “I hate thieves.”
We enjoyed a leisurely breakfast, discussing more and more about Hugh but learning less and less. Basically we concluded he was a con artist.
“What brand of church was he preaching in?” asked Charles.
I doubted any denomination would like to be referred to as a brand, but we knew what Charles meant.
“Assembly of God, I think,” replied Larry.
“Uh oh,” Charles had turned away from Larry and me and was looking toward the parking lot. “Trouble cometh.”
Larry and I turned toward the massive body of Tony getting out of a rusty green Dodge pickup and bulling his way toward us.
“I don’t suppose he’s bringing you a refund on your oil change,” I whispered to Charles.
Tony never wavered from looking at our table and walking toward us. He stopped a foot from Larry.
“Well, if it isn’t little shrimp shit and his two conniving buddies!” Tony’s voice was loud enough for the dozen or so other diners to hear. Other conversations on the patio abruptly ended.
“Cool down, Tony,” said Larry. He looked calmer than I knew he was. Larry was still seated, and as Tony was more than a foot taller and a Volkswagen heavier, he lorded over Larry as if my friend were a miniature poodle. “What’s the problem?”
“What’s the problem?” Tony repeated. He was having difficulty standing erect as puffs of beer-baited-breath spewed from his mouth with each word. “You know the problem damn well. You’re spying on me! That’s the problem!” He stopped and spun around to the other occupied tables. “Did you all hear that? The damn shrimp shit thinks I’m out to get him.”
He grabbed the edge of the next table to keep from falling, then turned back to us. After stabilizing himself, he continued, “You’re a stinkin’ coward. You sent your crippled friend with his sorry-ass car to my shop to spy on me. He comes in swinging his stupid cane like a sword and noses around my stuff while I’m trying to work. Thinks I’m so stupid I don’t know what he’s doing.”
“Come on, Tony,” said Larry, still trying to bring some calm. “I’m not accusing you of anything. Calm down and let’s talk about it.”
A couple of customers left abruptly.
“There’s no talking, shrimp,” said Tony. He was getting louder with each slurred word. “Do you know where you’d be now if I was trying to kill you? I’ll tell you where—six feet under.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Charles reach for his cane. I jumped from my chair and faced Tony. I wasn’t going to let him bully us.
I was this close to punching him when I noticed Officer Ash coming toward us from inside the restaurant. She wasn’t smiling and her look said she was all business. She was half a yardstick shorter than Tony, but with her shoulders held back and police stare, she was his equal. She held her stare at Tony but spoke to me.
“Problem here?” she asked.
“No problem, officer,” I said evenly. “Mr. Anderson was about to leave.”
Officer Ash asked if she could walk Tony to his truck—asked the way a police officer asked to see your driver’s license when you’re pulled over for speeding. “I don’t think so,” was not an option. He wisely accepted her offer and stumbled off the edge of the elevated seating area. Before he had pulled out on Center Street, I could see Officer Ash was on her handheld radio before she returned to our table.
“Larry,” she said as she pulled a chair to our table, “What’s up?”
“To be honest, officer, I don’t know,” he said.
His voice was shaking even more now, and I was surprised he could speak at all. Officer Ash used her charming smile to put him at ease. It worked.
“We were just eating breakfast, minding our own business as usual,” Charles told her, oozing innocence.
Officer Ash put her hat on the table and tried to catch Amber’s attention. “Gentleman,” she said, “I’ve heard a lot about the three of you. To some, you’re heroes. To others, you’re first-class meddlers. Since I’m new, I haven’t figured out what to believe.”
Amber came back to our table and asked what she needed. “Coffee and granola,” she said. “Coffee in a cup, granola in a bowl.”
I thought that was either a cute way to say it, or the newest member of our police community was extraordinarily anal. I couldn’t think of anything good that could come out of discussing Tony further, so I asked about her background. She told us she’d been a member of the sheriff’s department in a small county in eastern Tennessee where she had grown up. She was vague about why she’d left Tennessee other than to say it was for personal reasons. Her ending up in Folly Beach was because she’d answered an ad in a police journal, as she hadn’t heard of our paradise until she looked on a map.
“We’re glad you’re here,” chimed in Charles. “Chief Newman always needs better help, and it’s pleasant to see an attractive female wearing the uniform.”
Charles, the charmer, had succeeded: Cindy Ash’s tanned face was turning an even darker shade of crimson.
“Okay,” she said, “if you put it that way, you must be the good guys. The chief asked us to keep a close watch on you, Larry. We’ll do the best we can, but be careful. I don’t know what’s going on with your buddy Tony. Watch your back, okay?”
Before Charles could add more charm to the discussion, Officer Ash’s radio made a screechy noise. “Yeah?” she said into it.
It was Officer Spencer calling to tell her he had pulled over a rusty green Dodge pickup and arrested a Mr. Tony Anderson for drunken driving.
What a coincidence, I thought.
Chapter35
Breakfast was finished, Larry had achieved a small amount of revenge against Tony, Officer Ash had made three new friends, and Charles and Larry had concluded an in-depth conversation on how attractive they thought Cindy Ash was and whether she were single. And most important, I had talked Charles into staffing the gallery for the rest of the day. All things considered, an interesting morning.
The Dog was hands down the best breakfast spot on Folly Beach, but for supper, the discerning diner frequented the Terrapin Café. I’d decided that the last place Amber needed to have a meal was in a restaurant, but my culinary skills were slightly less honed than my talents at piloting the space shuttle. A “catered” picnic was the simple solution. I also realized the last time I’d seen my picnic basket was when I sold it in a yard sale before leav
ing Louisville. A short walk to Bert’s Market was added to my agenda.
Mari Jon, my favorite clerk in the Folly-famous market, was quick to show me their extensive collection of two picnic baskets. That was fine with me; I wasn’t ready for too many choices. I selected the one that would hold the most food, and more importantly, the most bottles of wine.
“That’s a mighty big basket just for you,” said Mari Jon.
Not all fishing took place on the pier.
“Hadn’t thought of that,” I said. “Maybe I ought to find someone to share the food with.” I gave her my best smile and headed to the door. Her hook came up empty.
Next, I walked two blocks to the Terrapin Cafe and let the professionals prepare the food to fill part of the basket. I used my culinary skills to add two bottles of Chardonnay I’d bought at Bert’s to keep the food from sliding in the basket.
I was at Amber’s door an hour after she got off work. I had to knock this time, and I was afraid she wasn’t home, but then she opened the door. She had a towel around her head and asked me to come in for a few minutes. She was in crisp starched shorts and a linen shirt and smelled like she’d just gotten out of the shower. I sat in the small living room while she finished drying her hair.
When she reappeared, I was amazed how fantastic she looked; I knew she was in her early forties, but would have carded her if she wanted to buy beer from me. I told her I’d planned a picnic, and she said she was ready to eat anything. I told her it was her lucky day, but I knew it was really mine.
Parking spaces were in short supply on Center Street, so I hadn’t tried to drive to her place. We walked to my house for the car. From there, we drove east on Ashley Avenue, past the Washout to the end of the public road where heavy-duty stanchions prevented adventurous drivers from trespassing on property that formerly housed a Coast Guard station. I managed to find a space in a small gravel public parking lot near the stanchions and put money in a slot in the self-pay collection box. From there we would have to take the easy quarter mile walk to where the path ended at the beach.
