Relic

by Bill Noel

  We did. He looked at Charles then at me, before saying, “Where’s the map?”

  My voice crackled as I said, “We don’t have it.”

  He pointed the gun at my shorts. “Empty your pockets.”

  I wasn’t fast enough. He said, “Now! Back pockets, too.”

  We removed everything from our pockets, placing it on the log beside us. Gant looked at our wallets, car keys, a ballpoint pen I kept with me. “Where is it?”

  I knew what he’d meant. I also knew how unhappy he’d be with my answer. “We don’t have it. Why do you think we do?”

  “Because you took it after killing that damned relic hunter.”

  That was the last answer I would’ve expected.

  Charles took a deep breath. “We thought you killed him.”

  Gant looked at Charles like he’d seen the ghost of Blackbeard. “You what? That’s preposterous. Crap, I’m a retired cop. You know, law and order. Why would I kill him?”

  “Because you hated him, didn’t want him digging up the past,” Charles said.

  “Holy smokes, Charles, I hate lots of people. If I went and killed all of them, this island would be near empty.”

  Charles said, “What are you doing out here? While you’re thinking up an answer, could you lower that gun?”

  “Not on your life. I’m here to catch whoever has the damned map and is trying to dig up the loot.” He waved the gun at Charles. “What in the hell are you doing here?”

  “We saw your car at the entrance, came looking for you. Chris thought you might be trying to find the treasure.”

  Thanks, Charles.

  Gant continued staring at us. I suppose he didn’t know what to think. He wasn’t alone. Beads of sweat rolled down his face.

  “Captain,” I said, “why don’t you have a seat? Let’s talk about it.”

  He must not have seen us as a threat. He sat on the log out of our reach, picked a sandspur off his camo pants, before turning to Charles. “I got intel someone was going to be out here digging, digging for Civil War relics or gold. What’s buried must remain buried.”

  I was sick of hearing his tiring mantra. “What intel? Who told you?”

  He turned my direction and scowled. He wasn’t accustomed to being on the receiving side of an interrogation. “Bar talk. Don’t know his name. He said word was going around someone got a treasure map off the dead guy. The guy said it was that nosy guy who was here when the cops found the body. That was you. If that’s not why you’re here, why are you?”

  “It’s a nice day, so Charles and I decided to walk out to where we could see the lighthouse to grab a photo, or two.” I held my camera as part of my multi-media presentation.

  It was a camera, not a shovel, so Gant appeared to buy my story. He rubbed his hands over his thighs, shook his head. “I’m too old for this crap. In my prime, I could stake out a spot for hours.” Out of character, he chuckled. “That was back when I didn’t have to pee every half hour. Damned prostate.”

  I nodded like I understood. Thankfully, I didn’t.

  He set the gun on the log, looked at me, then at Charles. “If one of you didn’t shoot the guy, and I know I didn’t, who did?”

  Charles said, “That’s what we’re trying to find out.”

  “Did you tell Chief LaMond you thought I was the killer?”

  Charles bowed. “We might’ve mentioned something about it.”

  Gant smiled. “Figures. That’s why she came to my place to ask where I was when he was killed.”

  “Could be,” Charles said, one of his rare understatements.

  The Captain shook his head then repeated, “I’m getting too old for this.”

  So am I, I thought.

  Charles didn’t admit to aging. He said, “Any idea who might’ve shot him, other than us?”

  “Probably the lovey-dovey wife. They’re always the first in the line of suspects.”

  Charles sat up straighter. “She didn’t do it.”

  “You sure?”

  I wondered the same thing.

  Charles said, “Yes.”

  Gant shrugged. “Suppose it’s someone else, then.” He nodded toward the handgun. “Fellas, sorry I pulled this on you. When I’m wrong, I admit it. Here’s some advice. Instead of following strangers out here, leave it to the police. It’s their job.” He looked around. “I better head to the casa and let you get on your way.”

  We agreed and watched him walk away. I suggested that we wait on the log until he left the parking area before heading out. Charles said Gant was one more suspect to remove from the list. He didn’t have a shovel with him today. In my mind, that still didn’t eliminate him, although he was convincing when he accused us of being the killer. Add to that, he didn’t appear to know the map’s whereabouts. I shared my thoughts with Charles. He said, after our eventful lunch with Laurie and her “friends,” his sharing his feelings about Laurie with me, the encounter with Gant and his gun, he was too tired to think straight. I wasn’t far behind.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  The clouds that blanketed the area during the day turned ferocious overnight. Heavy rain pelted the tin roof, the accompanying wind whistled as it leaked through cracks around my ancient windows rattling the panes. I’m a heavy sleeper, so I would’ve missed most of the rain, and wind, had it not been for Anthony’s murder bouncing around in my head. Gant was correct when he said we should leave it to the police. So why wasn’t I willing to let it go?

  I knew the answer, but simply didn’t want to admit it. Charles and I were there when his body was found. Laurie latched onto us, no, latched onto Charles, who was my best friend. The more I got to know her, her friends, and others who were pulled into the situation, the closer I was to being involved.

  The police should solve it, yet they’d already admitted the murder wasn’t on top of their growing caseload. Besides, Charles and I’d already spent more time with Laurie and the potential suspects than had the police. Did I learn anything that would point to the killer? A clap of thunder rocked the house, and rocked me awake. It was a little past three and, regardless how much I wanted it to, sleep wouldn’t return. I padded my way to the kitchen, started a pot of coffee, then stared at the darkness outside the rain-drenched window.

  Despite Charles, and my encounter with Captain Gant and the story he’d shared, I wasn’t convinced that he was innocent. His over-the-top reaction to anyone having the audacity to dig up the past made it easy for me to keep the door open to his guilt. Yet, if he was guilty, wouldn’t he have the map? Then, what about the “intel” that someone told him in a bar that we had the missing document.

  That brought me to Laurie. On the surface, she was the obvious suspect. Her story about getting separated from Anthony, finding the car, and falling asleep was nearly as farfetched as Gant’s story that he heard about us in a bar. She was the only person we knew who’d been at the Preserve when her husband was shot. The insurance policy would’ve been a motive. She’d given us conflicting stories about getting separated from her husband, and more conflicting versions of where she was when the first shot was fired through her window. She may’ve killed her husband, but she couldn’t have taken the shot when Charles and I were with her.

  Was it possible that the shootings at her house had nothing to do with her husband’s murder? Unlikely. Another possibility was that she had an accomplice. The second person could’ve taken the shot when we were there to deflect suspicion from Laurie. I tried to remember the sequence of events surrounding the shots fired into Laurie’s house. Gail was there but had gone to the grocery the first time, so Laurie could’ve pulled the trigger. Nothing else from the first event had stuck out as being significant other than Laurie telling two versions of where she’d been.

  The second shooting into the house left a larger impact since I was there. Laurie acted terrified. Real or faked? I took two large sips and remembered something that occurred after the shooting. Laurie called Gail to see if she could come stay w
ith her for a few days. Gail hadn’t answered, so Laurie called Dean who told her Gail was out of town and may’ve left her phone in the hotel room. He hadn’t told Laurie where Gail was. Was it possible that she was standing outside Laurie’s house?

  Gail was pushy, always interrupting her friend, and someone I dreaded spending time with. I’d never considered her a murderer until the other day. She knew about the map. Her husband’s business was in trouble, as was their marriage. She had said that she and Dean were supposed to be with Anthony and Laurie when Anthony was killed but didn’t come because Dean was at a meeting out of town. That meant she could’ve been on Folly for all three incidents.

  It was still raining, although the torrential downpour had eased. I must’ve drifted asleep in the chair. The sky had lightened, my clock indicated sunrise was minutes away. I stood. My back told me that not only had I fallen asleep, I’d fallen asleep in an awkward position. I got dressed and remembered the Captain’s advice about leaving it to the police. I decided to tell the chief what’d happened with Gant in the Preserve and my suspicions about Gail. I also decided that I was hungry so the call to Cindy could wait until after breakfast. I drove to the Dog, which had just opened. The heavy rain had kept the crowds away, so I had my choice of tables and headed to my favorite. Kimberly, one of several friendly servers, was quick to the table with coffee and a cheerful greeting, both welcomed.

  My need to call Chief LaMond ended when I saw her coming in the door. She took off her raincoat, wiped water off its shoulders, looked around the dining room, saw me, and came my way.

  “Went by your house, and your car wasn’t there.” She slid in the booth opposite me. “Figured I’d find you here. What’re you buying me for breakfast?”

  “You went by the house to see if I wanted to take you to breakfast?”

  “Nope.” She nodded to the entrance. “That inspiration came when I got here, saw your car, and my stomach growled.”

  Kimberly was back at the table, so Cindy said, “Coffee, and the most expensive breakfast on the menu, whatever it is.”

  I told the server that I’d stick to French toast, even though there were more expensive options.

  Kimberly headed to the kitchen, and I said, “Glad you’re here. I’ve got something—”

  Cindy put her hand in my face. “Cool your jets, me first.” She didn’t give me time to protest. “After you told me what Sal said about Joseph Tannery, I had my guys go to his apartment to invite him to the station for a chat. He wasn’t home, so they went looking for him. They didn’t have to look too hard. Dispatch got a call from a concerned citizen, who said he almost got run over while he was minding his business, whistling ‘Dixie,’ and walking in front of the post office.”

  She shrugged. “I added the ‘Dixie’ part. Anyway, it seems a car was weaving all over the place after it nearly squashed the concerned citizen. My guys took the citizen’s statement then went looking for the weaver.”

  “I assume they found a car owned by Mr. Tannery.”

  “Yes, detective-wannabe. It was in the front yard of the house across the street from Theo’s place. The driver was passed out under the influence of gallons of alcohol. My guys knew I was looking for Tannery, so they called me at home. Since I was sworn to serve and protect, I went to see Mr. Tannery in his then-current state of passed out.”

  “What happened?”

  “Let’s see. First Larry, my dear, sweet, hubby was pissed I was leaving. Now, don’t worry, I made it up to him later. How is none of your business.” She grinned. “Back to Tannery, he was coming to by the time I arrived. The boy smelled like a brewery. I asked him if he knew where he was. He said, ‘I’m right here.’ I asked him if he knew where ‘here’ was. I asked that since he was directly across from Theo’s with the charcoal-broiled food truck in his drive. Know what he said?”

  “What?”

  “Interesting you ask. He looked out the window at the truck then mumbled something that sounded like, ‘I had one of those.’ So, I asked what he had. Here’s the good part. He said, ‘Tood fuc…’ He giggled. ‘I mean food truck.’ Before I could stop him, he blurted out that the damned bank took it back then added, this is an exact quote, ‘If I can’t have one, neither can that wiener woman. Ha, ha. Burnt to a crisp. My finest hour.’”

  Our food arrived. Cindy attacked it like she hadn’t eaten in days. “What can I say? I’m a growing girl.”

  My safest response was no response. Instead, I said, “He confessed to torching Grace’s truck?”

  “Close enough, especially after he said something about trashing it twice before the fire. I read him his rights, although I doubt he understood anything I said. I suggested that, as soon as he sobers up, he should find a good lawyer and, because I was so nice I was going to provide him a bed for the night with a heart-unhealthy breakfast.” She stared in her mug then slowly shook her head. “Chris, I don’t think he even met Grace. Her truck represented something bad that’d been burning inside him for a long time. Sorry.”

  “And burned Grace’s dream because of it.”

  “Yes. I’m glad you told me about what he was saying, or what you said Sal said he was saying. If you hadn’t, Tannery would’ve been charged with DUI, never questioned about the fire. As much as it galls me to say it, thanks.”

  “Sal deserves most of the credit. Regardless, you’re welcome.”

  She took another bite of her expensive meal, wiped her napkin across her lips, and said, “What did you want to tell me?”

  I realized that what I’d been thinking in the middle of the night seemed more significant then than now. I shared an abbreviated version of my thoughts on Laurie and Gail.

  Cindy listened, although she kept shaking her head. I didn’t blame her. When I started telling her about our encounter with the Captain at the Preserve, I thought she was going to hop on the table.

  “You were where? You were doing what?”

  I repeated that Charles and I were trying to catch someone digging for the fortune. She said she thought that’s what I said, then spent what seemed like hours lambasting me for my stupid, idiotic, dangerous, plus a few other words I prefer not to repeat, actions. That was all before I got to the part where Gant pointed a gun at my stomach. That’s when she fell back in her seat, bowed her head, rubbed her temples. Her hand covered her face so, when she made strange sounds, I couldn’t tell if she was laughing or crying. I sipped water and waited.

  Cindy finally moved her hand from her face, pulled her shoulders back, leaned closer to the table, and said, “Chris, are you and Charles okay?”

  I told her that we were.

  “Do you want me to arrest Gant?”

  “For what?”

  “I’m sure I can find some archaic law that prohibits sticking a gun in someone’s bellybutton, even if the recipients are total idiots, while trying to rob said idiots of a treasure map.”

  “Let it go. He thought we’d killed Anthony. It wouldn’t do any good having him arrested. I appreciate your concern.”

  “Okay, but you and your lamebrain friend are still idiots.”

  She got no argument from me.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  I called Theo to see if he and Grace were home. They were, and he said he’d be delighted for me to visit. They would be more delighted when I shared what I’d learned about the arsonist.

  Instead of Theo, Grace greeted me at the door with a smile and a hug. “Wait until you hear the news,” she said before she bounced up and down like a teenager telling her best friend that the coolest boy in school had invited her to the prom. “Pardon my manners, please, come in.”

  Grace turned to Theo, who’d moved beside her. “Can I tell him, or would you like the honor?”

  Theo put his arm around her shoulder. “Grace, Chris asked to stop by. Why don’t we let him tell us why?” He motioned for us to join him in the great room. “Then, you can share the news.”

  Grace was so excited that I wanted her to go first, un
til I imagined what I had to say was more important.

  Theo offered coffee. I was already two cups past my limit, so I declined.

  Grace sat opposite me and wrapped her arms around her legs. She was straining to hold back her glee.

  “So,” Theo said, “What brings you out this morning?”

  “Is Sal here?”

  Theo pointed to the ceiling then tilted his head and rested it on his hand. Asleep, I translated.

  “Why?”

  I began the story of Sal talking to me about the person he’d talked to in the bar and how that led to me talking to Cindy. By the time I got to the part about Joseph Tannery parked across the street, both Theo and Grace were sitting on the edge of their seats, staring at me. I seldom had this attentive an audience. I admit, I savored it longer than I should have before continuing the story ending with Tannery confessing, well, almost confessing, to trashing the truck then starting the fire that put Grace out of business.

  Grace formed a confused look on her face. “I don’t know who this Tannery person is. Did he know me? Did I somehow offend him?”

  I shook my head. “Grace, it didn’t have anything to do with you. It could’ve been any food truck. He’s unstable. He took his anger out on your vehicle.”

  “Thank God,” Theo added. “That’s a good thing. Grace, you have nothing to worry about.”

  “I’m blessed,” she said, before turning to Theo. “Can we tell him now?”

  Theo smiled at her then nodded. Grace returned his smile and said, “Theo’s setting me up in a restaurant. A real one. No wheels.”

  “Great. Where?”

  Grace turned to Theo who said, “You know that little restaurant on West Huron just past what used to be the Wish Doctor?”

  The restaurant had operated under several different names since I’d been on Folly; none lasted more than a year or two. I said that I knew the spot.

  “I bought the building. It’s a mess on the inside, but—”

  Grace interrupted, “Not too big a mess for me. Teddy and I did a lot of renovating. No big deal for this tomboy.”