Boneyard Beach

by Bill Noel

  “Later. They’ll be going to Robbie’s car.”

  Chester’s back door opened to a small, wood deck and two steps leading to the path to the Nissan. There was a large oleander shrub on our side of the deck that blocked the view of the industrial-sized dumpsters, and a four-by-eight foot, lattice privacy panel on the other side of the deck.

  I pointed for Charles to hide behind the panel and said that I’d be behind the shrub. With luck, Robbie will be too distracted to notice us in the rush to get out with his hostages before SWAT arrives and also by trying to wrangle Chester and the injured Theo. He had been waving a ball bat, so I figured that he didn’t have a gun. A lot rested on me being right.

  The screen door squeaked open and Chester backed out while supporting his injured friend. Theo wasn’t moving fast enough and Robbie gave him a shove. Chester stumbled backwards but caught himself on the rail and tumbled down the steps. His Coke-bottle glasses flew off his head. Robbie grabbed Theo’s belt and stopped him from landing on Chester.

  Charles inched toward the front of the lattice and within striking distance and I peeked around the shrub at the six-foot two, muscle-bound killer who looked even taller standing on the elevated porch. I had had more ridiculous ideas over the years, but none came to mind as I watched Robbie effortlessly holding Theo up with one hand while brandishing a baseball bat with the other. My feeble plan to tackle him and hold him down until the cops arrived, seemed more doable when I was in the car. I moved closer to the edge of the shrubs.

  Robbie was larger, much younger, and stronger than either Charles or me; but, he was occupied with his elderly captives so we should have the element of surprise on our side. That may even the odds on taking him. I continued to move closer to the edge.

  Our advantage evaporated when Charles stumbled on a metal trash can lid that had been propped against the porch.

  Robbie jerked toward the noise. “What the—” He saw Charles move around the lattice.

  Robbie let go of Theo’s belt and shoved him to his right. Theo stumbled into Chester who was fishing around the yard for his glasses. Chester and Theo hit the ground like bags of rocks.

  Charles lunged at the captain and Robbie moved the bat behind his back ready to swing at my friend. Charles’s cover had been blown, but Robbie hadn’t seen me. I took three steps toward him and grabbed the bat’s barrel as he started to swing.

  Robbie was startled. He twisted around to see who had grabbed the bat, and quickly recovered and tried to yank the weapon out of my hands. I held tight. He pulled again and he jerked the bat from my grip. Charles moved in and grabbed him around the waist. I stepped out of the bat’s range and Charles tried to twist Robbie to the ground. He was no match for the killer. Robbie clutched Charles’s arm, pried it off his waist, and hurled him to the ground. I put both hands on the bat while Robbie was busy with Charles. Robbie was distracted and I managed enough leverage to jerk the weapon out of his hand.

  The outnumbered captain flailed around, not making contact with anything. He took a step toward the car and tripped over Theo who hadn’t moved since he’d landed. The killer jumped to his feet, glanced at Charles who was pushing up from the yard, and then looked to me. I grabbed the bat and started after him. He turned and took a step toward his car.

  Chester was still on the ground to Robbie’s left. Even without his glasses, he saw Robbie trying to escape. Chester stuck his leg in the killer’s path and caught him by surprise. Robbie stumbled once and all six-foot-two of him hit the walkway like a giant redwood felled by a lumberjack. Chester flung his body over the prone killer while Charles and I regained our balance and hustled to his aid. The three of us piled on Robbie.

  The captain may have been bigger, much bigger, than either Charles or me, but with both of us holding him down, he couldn’t get enough leverage to push himself up. I asked Chester, who had rolled off Robbie and was sitting beside us on the walkway, if he had any rope.

  “Or duct tape,” Charles added, as he gasped for his breath.

  Chester, still breathing hard, found his glasses, and staggered into the house. He returned with a roll of duct tape and handed it to me. I told him to take my phone from my side pocket and call 911.

  “Aren’t the police on the way?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “But your message said—”

  Charles shouted, “Call the cops!”

  Chester still looked confused, but nodded, stepped back on the porch and dialed 911.

  Robbie continued to kick but we stayed out of range of his feet and Charles held him down while I wound the all-purpose silver fabric around his hands.

  Charles said, “Didn’t we just do this?”

  If my head didn’t ache, if my face didn’t sting, and if my hands didn’t hurt from Robbie yanking the bat from them, I would have smiled.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  It had been a week since Detective Adair and a gaggle of sheriff’s deputies had relieved Charles and me from our struggle with Robbie. It had been five days since the captain had been charged with a multitude of crimes, the most serious being the murder of Drew Casey, the student whose only crime had been going to Boneyard Beach with a group of fellow students for a night of relaxation, fun, and drinking. He had been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  Theo had spent three nights in the hospital. The wounds inflicted by Robbie to force him to tell who else knew of his suspicions were superficial and the main reason for the hospital stay was so he could regain strength.

  The gunshot graze to my head was beginning to heal and the burn on the side of my face only bothered me when I smiled. It burned a lot the next few days. Two killers had been taken off the streets, two of my friends had been cleared, and I was alive to savor it. My main regret was that Karen was still at her training program; I had missed being able to bounce my ideas off her and benefit from her years of experience. My face stung one more time when I smiled knowing she would be home tonight.

  I was sitting in my comfortable chair in the living room, enjoying the aroma and flavor of a cup of coffee, reflecting on the activities of the last few days, and since it was only nine in the morning, wondering what I should do with the rest of the day.

  I didn’t wonder long. The all too familiar sound of someone pounding on the door told me that whatever I had planned would change.

  Mel Evans pushed past me as he headed through the living room to the coffee pot. “Yo Chris, got a question.”

  I felt like I had stepped into the 1990’s movie Groundhog Day.

  “What’s there to eat?” he yelled from the kitchen.

  I followed the bellowing voice and was surprised to see a smile on my dour friend’s face. “You should know that I—”

  “Kidding,” he interrupted. “There’s not a damn thing here that’s not stale or tastes like wet cardboard.” He took a gulp of coffee and grinned. He had on the same woodland camo field pants and leather bomber jacket that he wore on his last visit when he interrupted my morning coffee got me into the mess that had dominated most every waking moment since then.

  “What’s your question?”

  He took a smaller gulp, set the cup on the counter, and led me back into the living room. “I lied. There’s no question. Move it. We’re leaving.”

  A normal person would ask the simple question: Where are we going? A normal person would have been surprised by Mel’s command.

  If I had learned one thing since I’d arrived on Folly, it was that among my friends normalcy was looked down on, and a trip down Normal Street led nowhere. I grabbed my Tilley, slid my feet into my deck shoes stationed by the front door, and said, “Lead on.”

  Mel’s Camaro was sideways in my front yard, Cal’s Cadillac was in the drive, and Chester’s Buick inched close behind Cal’s car. Now I was surprised.

  The windows in all three cars were down and I did a double take when Charles, William, Chester, David, and Theo waved at me.

  Mel said, “Don’t stand there dro
oling, get in. I’m throwing a sprung-from-the-hoosegow party. You’re holding us up.”

  Fifteen minutes later, the occupants of the three vehicles, two large coolers, a picnic basket that looked like it had spent a decade in Alaska before being run over by a team of huskies, and Cal’s guitar case were all loaded on Mad Mel’s Magical Marsh Machine and headed to Boneyard Beach. On the ride to the boat, Charles had explained that Mel had called him last evening and asked him to put together “the clump of civvies who helped spring him, and hell, might as well invite that damned .5 group too.” Mel wanted to thank everyone for what they had done and the only way he knew to do it was throw a party. He also had told Charles that it had to be early in the day because it would be a group of “old farts” and they couldn’t stay awake after suppertime.

  An hour later, the coolers were almost empty, we were gathered around the graffiti covered foundation where we had celebrated the walking group’s successful trip a few days earlier, and Cal was strumming and singing a medley of the greatest country hits of the 1950s. Theo was still weak, and began the day depressed over the loss of someone whom he thought had loved him. But, he had not become successful in the business world by letting the past drag him down, and by the time he’d finished three beers, he was singing a duet with Cal.

  Toasts were offered. Mel was the first when he jumped up on the concrete foundation, held his Budweiser can in the air. “I’m not good at mushy stuff, so bear with me. I’m gay and always have been. Don’t know if it’s right or wrong. I’m not a big follower of that God guy, but if he’s everything folks say he is, then there must not be anything wrong with me being queer or he wouldn’t have made me that way. So, I’m thankful that everyone knows that the death of that student wasn’t because he was gay or because it was anything that I had done, just the warped mind of that damned Robbie.” He shook his head. “He killed an innocent kid just to frame me. All because of money. Now ain’t that the shits? Well anyway, thanks for believing in me.”

  Mel was right, he wasn’t good at mushy, but everyone knew he was sincere and was trying to thank them.

  Mel hopped off the foundation and Chester waved his hand in the air like he either had a question or had to go to the bathroom.

  “Okay fellow .5 members and Mel, when Charles called last night to see if I wanted to come today, I wanted to say ‘no way, Jose.’ A load a bad stuff has happened to our little group. Abe Pottinger got himself killed, deserved to have it happen, but I suppose it was sad anyway. And misguided Harriet had to go and kill Abe. And Connie’s brother not only killed the student, but beat up on our good friend Theo and was going to kill him and me. I think .5 is cursed and we should all throw our hats into the sea.” Chester pointed toward the open sea, bowed his head, and then walked back to the coolers.

  David, who hadn’t said anything, moved to the foundation. “I’ve not been on Folly as long as all of you. In my brief time on your island, I’ve experienced firsthand, and seen more friendship, caring, and outright friendliness than anywhere I’ve ever been. Chester, you starting the .5 group is a perfect example of what’s right. Sure, you can be a bit dictatorial at times, and that’s okay.” He hesitated and chuckled. “We need that occasionally. I think it would be a big mistake to disband the group. You’re a great leader, and I plan to be at your house tomorrow morning raring to go wherever you tell us to go.”

  “Me too,” Theo shouted. He’d been fitted with hearing aids the day after he got out of the hospital, and had heard everything that David had said.

  “I will be in attendance as well,” William said.

  Charles nodded and I said so would I, and then I told Chester that he was the true hero. He caught—tripped—a killer and was critical in saving Theo’s life, and probably mine.

  Chester blushed. “Okay, bright and early tomorrow.” He looked at Mel. “Would you like to join us?”

  Mel gave one of his patented frowns. “Hell no. You won’t catch me dead around you fossils.”

  Now that’s the Mel I’d learned to love.

  I looked around and figured that several of the ‘fossils’ were getting tired and we needed to head back. “One more thing,” I said and pointed to the spot where Drew Casey had taken his last breath. “Could we gather over there for a moment?”

  No one spoke as the group moved to the path leading to the marsh. I didn’t know the exact spot where the body was, so I chose a small clearing for the group to stand. “William, could I impose on you to offer a hymn to the memory of Drew Casey?”

  William nodded, and began an a cappella version of “Amazing Grace.” It brought goose bumps to my arms and took me back to first hearing him sing the haunting hymn a few years ago at a funeral while we were standing ankle deep in snow in the middle of the Great Smoky Mountains. After the first verse, William gestured toward Cal’s guitar; Cal took the hint and played along.

  I had no doubt that if Drew Casey was in Heaven, God had called him to his side, and they were listening.

  William and Cal finished the last notes and the only sounds heard were a high-pitched squeak of an Oystercatcher sitting on one of the nearby wind-swept trees and the low roar of the water as it lapped against the shore.

  Charles did what Charles does best. He lightened the mood when he said, “Last one to the boat is a Theo!”

  Everyone glanced at Theo who laughed and slapped Charles on the arm.

  Actually, Theo wasn’t the last one to the boat. I was. My phone rang as I was heading to the boat. It was Karen.

  “Just got home,” she said. “Did I miss anything?”

  About the Author

  Bill Noel is author of the popular Folly Beach Mystery series that includes the titles Folly, The Pier, Washout, The Edge, The Marsh, Ghosts, Missing, Final Cut, and First Light. He is a fine arts photographer and retired university administrator. Bill lives in Louisville, Kentucky, with his wife, Susan.

  Also by Bill Noel

  Other Folly Beach Mysteries by Bill Noel

  * * *

  Folly

  The Pier

  Washout

  The Edge

  The Marsh

  Ghosts

  Missing

  Final Cut

  First Light

  Copyright © 2015 by Bill Noel

  All rights reserved.

  * * *

  This book or any portion thereof

  may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

  without the express written permission of the publisher

  except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  * * *

  Printed in the United States of America

  Hydra Publications

  Goshen, KY 40026

  * * *

  www.hydrapublications.com

  ISBN: 978-1-942212-34-8

  Created with Vellum

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