by Bill Noel
“There was a crowd. Would’ve been hard to notice anyone in particular.”
“Anyone leave when he did?”
Charles rubbed his chin. “Can’t say yea, can’t say nay.”
“So, you didn’t see anyone leave?”
Charles glared at the casually-dressed detective. “That’s what I said.”
Charles had taken great pride in getting along with everyone. Heather’s experience with the police was shortening his fuse when it came to law enforcement.
I said, “We didn’t see anyone leave. Sorry.” I hoped Charles wouldn’t say anything else.
“Did he carry large sums of money?”
“Not unless he was taking home the night’s revenue,” I said. “He was going to the car to get his phone, so I doubt he had much.”
“Did he have enemies?” the detective in the sport coat asked.
“Not really,” I said. “Everyone got along with him.”
“Other than robbery, can you think of any reason someone would want to harm him?”
For a second, I thought about Cal’s comment that he had figured something out about Starr’s murder. Could it have had something to do with that? I couldn’t see how, and didn’t want to get into the Heather/Starr situation with the insensitive detectives.
“Not really.”
Charles nodded and kept his mouth closed.
The detectives gave us their cards and asked us to call if we thought of anything.
We returned to the island and swung by Cal’s to see if Burl needed help closing. He had shooed the last customer out, finished a cursory clean-up, and was locking the door. We updated him, and thanked him for coming to our friend’s rescue. He said he would open the bar tomorrow night, actually tonight, since it was well past midnight. I dropped Charles at his apartment and drove home. My eyes watered from exhaustion and staring at pavement all day.
“What a day,” I said to myself as I fell into my familiar bed for the first time in several days. Ride ten hours with my best friend who was in the most depressed condition I had ever seen him in; find Cal motionless on the side of the road; spend two hours in the hospital, a building I had come to hate; and now I lay here, eyes wide open staring at the ceiling faintly illuminated by the green digital numerals from my bedside clock. Yes, what a day.
Did Cal know something about the murder? If he did, how could he have learned whatever it was? Would he recover enough to tell us? Then, why did Starr lie to his wife about where he’d been? Starr had told Heather he had been at the Tides with record executives from New York. That didn’t sound like something to keep from his wife. Considering what had happened, I wondered if he’d even been at the hotel.
I didn’t think I had, yet apparently, I’d fallen asleep somewhere in my thought process. Otherwise the loud ringtone from my phone wouldn’t be waking me up. The green digital numbers I had stared at most of the night, now indicated it was seven thirty.
“Let’s take a meeting with Cindy,” Charles said. He sounded more enthusiastic than he had in days.
“Huh?” I said, with less enthusiasm.
“Sorry. You’re not in the music business. That means let’s give a holler out to Cindy and see if she can jabber with us.”
Cindy LaMond was Folly’s director of public safety, police chief to most everyone else, and top cop to the more verbally challenged. She was also a good friend, married to another friend, Larry LaMond, the owner of Pewter Hardware, Folly’s pint-sized hardware store.
“I know what take a meeting means. The huh was for why?”
“I was sitting in the living room in the middle of the night and thinking about slime ball Starr and him fibbin’ to his wife about being here.”
“Not only do great minds think alike, so do mediocre ones.”
“Whatever.” He continued like I hadn’t spoken. “We need to fill her in on what’s going on. We need her coppy skills. We’ve got to get Heather out of that horrid place.”
“I was already thinking about calling the chief. Maybe she can learn if Starr was staying at the Tides and who he was meeting. She—”
“So why are you wasting time talking? Call her.”
It would have been pointless to tell him it wasn’t yet eight o’clock and I would wait until there was a better chance of not getting cussed out by calling so early. I told him I’d let him know as soon as I talked to her.
I reluctantly selected Chief LaMond’s number from my contacts list.
“Well, if it isn’t trouble’s lightning rod,” came the chief’s way too cheery voice.
I hated caller ID. “Good morning, Chief.”
“Don’t get all mushy with me. I’m sitting here at my super-duper, big-girl police chief’s desk reading a report my officers filed last night. And whose name should appear in big almost illegible print right on this here piece of paper?” I heard paper crinkling in the background. “What in the big pile of pachyderm poop have you stepped in now? Whoa, don't answer. How’s Cal?”
Cindy took a breath and I took the gap in her tirade to give her Cal’s condition and said I would tell her all about the pile of poop if she’d meet Charles and me at the Dog. She said that’s what she lived for and meeting with the two of us was right up there with spending a month in Paris with her hubby. The only Paris she’d ever seen was in her home state of Tennessee. I thanked her for the totally-insincere compliment and we agreed to meet in a half hour.
I called Charles and told him the plan. He told me he’d already figured that out and was on his way to the Dog. I had no desire to get in a car, so I walked the few blocks to the restaurant. It was already hot, and the humidity lingered in the air like smoke from a campfire. I dreaded the walk home. Charles was already there and sitting in my favorite booth in back, and was wearing a black, long-sleeve T-shirt with NYPD in large block letters on the front. It was one of the few T-shirts he owned that didn’t have a college name or mascot on the front. He wore the NYPD shirt when he was meeting with the police.
Charles looked at his imaginary watch. “She’s not here yet.”
Empty seats had already given that away and I reminded my pre-prompt friend it wasn’t time.
Charles said, “So?”
Cindy arrived before we had time to debate the merits of being early. The chief was in her early fifties, five-foot-three, with curly dark hair and most often a smile. Her smile was missing this morning. She rolled her eyes and gave a slight shake of the head as she lowered herself in the chair beside Charles.
“Welcome back, stranger,” she said and pinched Charles’s arm.
He smiled. “Thanks.”
Cindy turned to me. “If it weren’t for you two, I could lay-off half of my force and save the penny-pinching taxpayers a bundle.” My several-year-long crusade to reintroduce civility to personal greetings and introductions continued to fail. “You’re going to kill me with all the trouble you trip over. This bod’s not meant to work this hard.”
Charles patted her on the hand. “Ronnie Reagan said, ‘It’s true that hard work never killed anyone, but I figure, why take the chance?’”
She shook her head, this time with much more determination. “My crapometer says you and your quotes are full of it.”
Charles held his hands out, palms facing Cindy. “Look them up.”
“Like I have time, or care. Any news on Cal?”
I told her she knew everything we knew.
She nodded and turned to Charles. “How’s Heather?”
Charles gave a brief, canned answer. He didn’t delve into how she was adjusting to jail life.
“So, what’s so all-fired important that you’re going to buy me breakfast?”
Amber arrived at the table with coffee for the chief.
“Don’t I get any?” I asked.
She patted my arm like she would a puppy. “Top cop first. You’ll get yours soon enough.” She leaned over and gave Charles an awkward hug. “Good to see you; sorry about Heather. You okay?”
“Poor baby.”
The perceptive server saw Charles wasn’t going to say anything else. “I’ll get your coffee.”
Cindy put her hands around the mug but left it on the table. “What questionable deed are you two hankering for?”
Charles and I tag-teamed her with details of the search of the apartment and car, the police finding the murder weapon in Charles’s car, the other clients of Starr who would have had just as strong a motive to kill him, and the couple at the studio where Starr owed a boat-load of money, and details of how Heather had met Starr. We told her about talking with Starr’s wife and how she said he'd never been to Folly Beach. And finished with what Cal had said about learning something about Starr being here.
Cindy finally sipped her coffee. “You think it had something to do with his mugging?”
I said, “It may have been robbery. My gut tells me it was something else. Add to that what Starr’s wife had said about him not being here, and it seems to me there are too many coincidences.”
“Ah, this is where you drag me into your little drama?”
“No wonder you’re chief,” Charles said. “Brilliant, beautiful, and willing to help citizens in need.”
Cindy rolled her eyes. “Charles, now you’ve gone and blown the top off my crapometer.” She turned to me. “What do you need?”
“Check with the Tides and see if Kevin Starr stayed there. Your clout as chief can get information from the hotel that we can’t. If he was there, for how long; if he was alone, see if there were guests from New York at the same time, and if so, their names. If someone there remembers him, ask if they remember anything about his stay.”
“Like who he was having an affair with?” she added.
Charles said, “Knew we could count on you.”
“While I’m at it, why don’t I see if Starr’s little floozy told anyone at the hotel she planned to steal Heather’s gun and kill him with it.”
Charles said, “Your thinking’s getting gooder and gooder.”
Cindy rolled her eyes. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Charles pointed his cane toward the exit. “Now?”
“No way. I was promised breakfast.”
I gave her the approximate dates Starr had been here and she waved for Amber and ordered the most expensive item on the menu. Charles and I ordered the lowest priced meal. For the next forty-five minutes, we ate, Charles relaxed and talked about how Heather was, and told Cindy about Heather’s appearances at the Bluebird. Cindy said growing up in East Tennessee her dream was to be a country singer at Dollywood in Pigeon Forge. She said the only thing that held her back was she couldn’t sing “worth a bent toothpick.”
I thought, but of course didn’t say, it hadn’t stopped Heather.
Amber slid the check to my side of the table. Charles grabbed it and mumbled, “You’re the greatest friend anyone could ever have. I owe you big time.”
Cindy grabbed her cell phone and took a photo of Charles and turned to me, “Chris, got the number of the National Enquirer? Aliens have done taken over Charles’s body.”
Charles said, “Ha, ha.”
I smiled, and Cindy headed out to make our six-mile-long, half-mile-wide slice of heaven safer.
21
It hadn’t been the twenty-four hours the doc said Cal needed to rest. It didn’t stop Charles from insisting we stand outside his hospital room until he comes to his senses and tells what he had learned about Starr’s murder. The nurse said Cal had improved, was alert, yet he was still vague about recent events. She said the doc allowed two detectives to interview him earlier, and since we were already here, we could see him. She tapped her watch and said we could only stay a few minutes.
“See,” Charles said on our way to Cal’s door. “Told you he was okay.”
I followed Charles into the room. The head of Cal’s bed was elevated and he was watching television. His head was wrapped in gauze from his eyebrows up. I didn’t need to see that to know he wasn’t well. He was watching HGTV which was akin to me watching the Food Channel. That was proof his mind wasn’t functioning properly.
He glanced away from an “incredible” bathroom makeover and grinned. “Hear you two rustled me up and herded me toward this bunk. My hat’s off to you if I can remember where I left it.”
Smashed and along the side of the road, as I recall.
Charles asked, “How’re you feeling?”
He touched his gauze-covered skull. “Like the bull flung me off and stomped on my head.”
I said, “You were lucky.”
“You wouldn’t say that if you were livin’ inside this pounding head.”
“Lucky to still be with us,” I corrected.
He nodded and winced. “Remind me not to move so fast.”
I sat in the chair near the bed and Charles stood behind me.
“What happened?” I asked.
“That’s the same question the cops asked.” He ever so slowly shook his head. “I’ll give you the same answer I gave them. I don’t have a gnat-turd-sized clue.”
“Remember anything?” I asked.
“Opened the bar. Sold some beer and think I ran out of Bud Light. Remember two grumpy cops trying to get me to say things I don’t remember. That brings me up to now. How am I doing?”
I rested my hand on his shoulder. “You’re doing fine, Cal. Take your time.”
Charles started to speak. Instead, he closed his mouth. Maybe maturity was growing on him.
Cal closed his eyes and I leaned closer. “Remember us coming in last night when we got back from Nashville?”
“Nope, but the cops said you found me.”
“You don’t remember seeing us?” Charles asked like if he changed the words around he’d get a different answer.
He looked at Charles and at me. “Were you in the bar? Thought you found me on the street.”
I explained how we were there and how he’d said he left his phone in the car. We were worried when he didn’t come back, and came to find him. He thanked us again.
“Do you remember calling us in Nashville and saying you had learned something about why Starr was on Folly?”
Cal’s closed his eyes, opened them, and looked at me. Nothing.
Charles’s head dropped and he sighed.
“When did I do that?”
“Day before yesterday,” I said. “You called from the bar. It was loud and you said you knew something about Starr’s trip.”
“If you say so.” He looked around the room. “You know where my hat is? Feel naked without it.”
I told him we’d find it for him.
“Much obliged.” He closed his eyes.
The nurse stuck her head in the door and motioned us out.
I squeezed Cal’s hand. He thanked us for coming and said he thought a nap would work wonders, and we headed to the door. To say I was depressed, bewildered, and worried would have been like calling the Grand Canyon a big ditch. I was also confused, although nothing compared to Cal.
We passed the nurse in the corridor. “Did he recognize you?”
“Yes,” Charles said.
“That’s good. He’ll come around.”
Charles said, “When?”
“If only we could tell. Could be hours, days, or—never mind. That’s for the doctor to say.”
Charles stopped in mid stride and looked around. “Miss Nurse, I ain’t seeing no docs around. What’s your guess?”
“I wouldn’t venture a guess. I’ve seen it last months or longer. We just don’t know.”
I left Charles at his old apartment after we’d discussed going to the bar later to help Preacher Burl. It was open-mic night and this time of year Cal’s was often full with singing wannabes, their dutiful family and friends, regulars who were there each night, and the few who felt it was their calling to make fun of aspiring, albeit untalented musicians. Charles wasn’t enthused about helping Burl. A few years back, Cal had asked him to
“go undercover” as a bartender and use his self-anointed private detective skills. Cal was new to the bar business at the time and had suspected someone was stealing from him. The plan would have been perfect if Charles could bartend, which he couldn’t, and if he could detect, which he was inept at. Through the grace of God, a once-in-a-lifetime alignment of the stars, and pure luck, Charles, with the help of yours truly, had caught the culprit—sort of. That’s a story for another time.
Cal’s would be open beyond my senior-citizen, normal bedtime, and I was taking a nap when Cindy called.
“No one using the name Kevin Starr checked into the Tides on or before the dates you gave me.”
“How about Starr Management?” I said, task focused.
“Gee, Chris. Why didn’t I think of asking that?” She sighed. “Oh wait, I did. I’m not chief just because of my pretty face. Got the same answer.”
“Did you happen to use your amazing police-chief skills and pretty face to ask if there was a group from New York staying around that time?”
“Yes and no.”
I waited for more and finally said, “Yes you asked and no you didn’t ask, or yes you asked and the answer was no.”
“You’ve got it.” Cindy chuckled.
“No New Yorkers.”
“Two couples of geezers from Yonkers. That was it. Doubt they were on a music retreat or were singers meeting with an agent. Thickens your plot, don’t it?”
“Not only was he lying to his wife, he misled Heather about where and why he was here.”
“Sounds like it. Because he didn’t check in under his name, doesn’t mean he didn’t stay there. Yell if I can break any more laws for you.”
The Tides may not have had anyone named Starr as a registered guest, yet there was one person who would remember if he’d met the agent. Jay Vaughn was a friend and had worked at the Tides for years. No one seemed to know his official title, although everyone who had stayed at the hotel knew Jay, and he knew them. He was bellhop, unofficial greeter, provider of security, and information about everything Folly and most everything Charleston.
He was off Tuesdays, but I walked through the hotel’s lobby on my indirect route from home to Cal’s to see if other employees I knew might have remembered the agent. I was surprised to see Jay talking to two ladies dressed for a formal event in Charleston—or I hoped so, because if they went to any of Folly’s restaurants dressed that way, they would have been as out of place as a cheeseburger at a vegan convention.
