The Folly Beach Mystery Collection Volume II

by Bill Noel

  She took another bite and shook her head. “Not enough for the money I gave him. He got me a couple of gigs in Music Row bars and one on lower Broadway. Didn’t get paid, but got all the drinks I could put away.” She paused, looked around the room, leaned closer to the table, and whispered, “Don’t blame Heather for shooting him. He sold a bigger bill of goods than he could deliver. He screwed a lot of people.”

  Charles jerked his head closer to Edwina. “Heather didn’t kill him.”

  Edwina slowly shook her head. “Hope you’re right. I like her. From what I hear, it looks bad. Wasn’t it her gun?”

  Barb gave Edwina a motherly pat on the forearm. “For the sake of argument, let’s say Heather didn’t do it. Do you know anyone who might have been angry enough to want him dead?”

  Edwina smiled. “Me, for one. And I could name four or five others I know personally. No telling how many more there could’ve been.”

  “You didn’t do it, did you?” Barb chuckled. “Just kidding.”

  Edwina started to say something, hesitated, and smiled. “Should have.”

  I asked, “Were the other people you thought were angry enough to shoot him in Nashville?”

  “Some of them. Look, I need to get back to work. Good talking to you, and Charles, if you see Heather, tell her I said hey and hope everything works out.”

  Barb touched Edwina’s arm. “Even if a bunch of you were angry with him, it had to be terrible learning he was killed. Were you in Nashville when it happened?”

  Edwina cocked her head in Barb’s direction. “Nah, I was taking some time to clear my head. I was surfing over on Folly. That’s how I get away from worrying about things.”

  “Sounds like fun,” Charles said, the person I’d never known to wade into the ocean, much less surf.

  “Yeah, it is. Thanks for coming.” She took another bite, guzzled the last of her beer, and returned to the stage.

  Edwina opened her set with Tanya Tucker’s “Delta Dawn,” we finished our pizza and drinks, and Barb said we needed to head out as well, since she was the only one in the group who had to go to work tomorrow. I agreed since it was already past my bedtime.

  We spent most of the ride home in silence. Charles finally said, “Well, she didn’t feed us a pack of lies, but there was one whopper, wasn’t there?”

  “That she was here when Starr was killed?” I said.

  “Yep.”

  “She also told me a pretty big one when I was talking to her at Cal’s the other night,” I said.

  “That she didn’t think she knew Heather?”

  “Tonight, you’d think they were best buds. Sounds like she knew her well enough to frame her.”

  Barb said, “Lies aren’t proof.”

  Charles said, “Thank you, Miss Defense Attorney.”

  “They’re enough for me to tell Cindy,” I added. “She’ll find it interesting.”

  “Interesting enough to share with the police in Nashville or enough to talk to Edwina?” Barb said.

  “Hope so,” Charles said.

  27

  I called Cindy before I headed to the hospital to spring Cal. She was in a meeting with the mayor and said she’d call as soon as she “agreed with everything His Honor said and followed all of his wise and perceptive wishes and commands.”

  “Brian’s listening, isn’t he?”

  Cindy giggled. “Yes, Mayor Newman is finding this conversation both stimulating and interfering with his meeting with the best police chief that has ever been under his command.”

  “You mean only chief.”

  “I’ll call.”

  Cal was in an equally good mood, as I would have been if I was escaping from the hospital. He said the doctor had been in and told him he could leave as soon as someone showed up to collect him. I commandeered a wheelchair parked by the nurse’s station and had Cal in it and headed to the exit before anyone saw us. We had almost made it to the door when two nurses spotted us and rushed over. I was afraid they were going to herd Cal back to his room. Instead, they hugged him, said he was a delight to take care of, and wished him and his injured Stetson complete recoveries.

  Cal patted his back pocket and looked from one nurse to the other. “Got your numbers. I’ll be a callin’ as soon as I’m back to full strength so we can get together.”

  The health-care providers smiled. I wondered if Cal was serious. I suspected he was.

  We sat at a stoplight a block from the hospital. Cal gazed out the windshield. “More’s coming back to me.”

  Traffic, like most mornings in the hospital district, was terrible and we spent more time stopped than moving.

  “You remember what you figured out about Starr?”

  “Not at all. Still don’t remember anything about getting conked, but think I remember that gal singer Edwina, umm, Robinson in the bar a couple of days earlier, or maybe it was weeks, little vague on that. She could’ve been talking about Starr.”

  “Who was she talking to?”

  “Some younger gal, don’t recall seeing her before, but with my memory cells dying off, I could have. They were sitting at the bar so I was close enough to hear some of their yacking.”

  “What do you remember?”

  “The young chick was POed about something. I didn’t hear what. From what Edwina was saying, I figured it was about Starr. Something about taking a bunch of money, and Edwina said, and I do remember this, that the young chick didn’t lose nearly as much to the conniving shyster as she lost, and she knew others who were suckered out of their hard-earned cash.”

  “Did she say how much or why?”

  “May have, I didn’t hear. Now here’s the interesting part. She didn’t use these words, but I had the impression Starr and Edwina may have been close, if you get my drift.”

  I did. “What makes you think that?”

  Cal touched the bandage on his head, and turned to me. “I’ve been hanging out in bars since Noah parked the Ark. Been singing most of that time, drinking a few decades’ worth of hours, and watching humans and their nature all my life. I’ve known more drunks than show up at an AA convention. Cheating and affair talk has its own ring to it, and it ain’t a wedding ring. I know it when I hear it.”

  Clearly, I hadn’t been around nearly as many bars as Cal, so I tried again. “Do you remember what was said to make you believe Edwina and Starr were lovers?”

  “Not all of it. I recall her saying the other woman kept getting in the way. That’s the problem with affairs; pesky wives complicate sinning.”

  All Cal could add before I left him at his apartment was his head hurt and he needed to “rest a spell” before relieving Burl at the bar. I said he should stay in bed and let Burl tend bar until Cal had regained his strength. He waved me off and said he needed to get back before the good Preacher turned the place into a branch of First Light Church and the only wine to be found was at communion.

  “Whatever.”

  Cal turned and looked in the back seat like he’d just remembered it was there. “Where’s my hat? You did pick it up from where I got smacked?”

  I told him it was pretty mushed up and had saved his life.

  “Knew I could count on it. Where’s it recuperating?”

  I told him it was at my house.

  “That old thing’s been with me through thick, thin, and thinner. I’d hate to part company with it now.”

  “I’ll bring it by.”

  He tipped an imaginary Stetson. “Thanks, pard.”

  On Cindy’s way to following Mayor Newman’s wishes and commands, she called and asked if I was buying her breakfast at Black Magic Cafe. I asked if breakfast was enough to get her to do a favor for me. She said, “Yes, if the favor doesn’t involve taking time, energy, money, or breaking any laws.”

  I agreed even though I knew what I wanted would infringe on one or more of those things.

  The Black Magic Cafe was less than a block off Center Street, located near the Folly’s retail area, and three blo
cks from the ocean. It was closer than that to my house, so I walked. Cindy’s unmarked, GMC Yukon was parked in front of the restaurant and she was waiting for me near the entry at a table beside a large potted plant. She was gripping a yellow Black Magic mug.

  She held the mug up. “I couldn’t wait. Meetings put me to sleep and your duly-elected mayor didn’t offer caffeine. They’re fixing my breakfast. Told them you’d be in soon to pick it up and pay. You can get yourself something if you want.”

  Cindy, like Charles, was generous when it came to allowing me to pick up the tab. Meetings with the mayor not only had put the chief to sleep, they whetted her appetite. She had ordered the chicken and waffles with a side of hominy grits and orange juice. I grabbed a cheese Danish and coffee and joined her on the deck.

  “How’s hardheaded Cal?”

  I told her.

  “How’s Heather?”

  I told her I hadn’t heard anything in the last few days.

  “How’s Charles?”

  I said he wasn’t doing well, but was hiding it.

  Cindy cut into her waffle and to the chase. “What do you need?”

  “Edwina Robinson,” I said and sipped my coffee.

  “Her again.”

  I spent fifteen minutes telling Cindy what I knew, much of what I speculated, and everything I hoped about Edwina. To my surprise, the chief took notes and only interrupted twice. She had already heard some of it, and still listened as I repeated my thoughts.

  “Is that all?”

  I said it was.

  She closed her notebook and stared at me. “Let me get this straight. You want me to traipse over to her fancy-dancy downtown condo, lock her in a windowless room, and browbeat a confession out of her?”

  “Of course not.” I smiled. “The room doesn’t have to be windowless.”

  “Funny,” she said, slobbering sarcasm.

  “I don’t know what you can do, Cindy. I know she lied about knowing Heather. According to what you told me, she lied about where she was when Starr was killed. She could’ve known about Heather’s gun, and it’s clear she was angry with the agent about taking her money. From her previous encounter with the law, she’d capable of violence.”

  “Chris,” Cindy pointed toward Folly’s main street. “I’m one insignificant police chief on one tiny island. I have no jurisdiction outside Folly Beach. What do you think I can do?”

  “Talk to her. Apply some of your endearing pressure. She doesn’t know what authority you have. Give it a try.”

  She pointed a fork at her half-empty plate. “If you think you’re getting by with this itty-bitty bribe, you’re dumber than an earthworm with a lobotomy. I’ll give it my best shot, although I won’t be able to do it for a few days. I promised Larry I’d go with him to Charlotte for a hardware store trade show. We’re leaving in a couple of hours. He says next to the latest innovations in power drills, I’ll be the most exciting thing there.”

  I smiled. “Such a romantic.”

  “He’s a charmer. I used to be offended. Now I know how much he loves power drills, so I figure I’m swell. Anyway, it’ll be a few days, and when I do talk to her, don’t expect her to hand me a written confession.”

  “That’s all I ask.”

  I spent the rest of the day doing what I often spent mindless hours doing: catching up on my bills, housecleaning, and rationalizing that my aching back, arthritic hands, and pain in my knees were caused by healthy, strenuous exercise rather than old age. I spent less time on the routine rationalization than usual and devoted more time to trying to figure out if there was anything I had learned that would get Heather off the hook.

  The longer I thought, I realized I had moved past the belief she had murdered Starr and was convinced Edwina was the killer. So, how did she know about Heather’s gun and where it was hidden? When did she take it, and return it? If she hit Cal, did anyone see her that night in the bar or the night when she could have overheard Cal telling me he knew something? Should I have taken my suspicions to the cops in Nashville rather than sharing them with Cindy who couldn’t investigate in Tennessee? And, was I focusing on Edwina because she was one of Starr’s clients and she had told us a couple of lies? I wanted to call Charles but figured he needed a day of rest and if he needed anything he knew how to get me.

  Something had to be done and I didn’t want to wait for Cindy to get back in town to talk to Edwina. I could stop by her condo. Other than looking like a stalker, what would I accomplish? I could call her again, and say what? Cindy had already culled whatever was available on the Internet and from police databases, so there wasn’t any reason to try to go down that road.

  I fixed a well-rounded supper of Velveeta cheese on rye and kettle chips, washed it down with a Diet Pepsi, and decided to walk to Cal’s to see if the owner was there. I grabbed his sad-looking, mashed Stetson, tried to shape it to look more like a hat, was halfway successful, and headed to the bar.

  It was early and there were only a handful of customers spread around the room. Burl was in deep discussion with Cal who saw me—saw his Stetson—and his face wrinkled into a frown. I thought he was going to cry. He stepped from behind the bar and took the hat in his hands like he was lifting a baby bird with a broken wing. He flipped the hat over and looked inside the crown, and up at me and thanked me for returning it. I asked how he was feeling.

  “Was feeling like a hundred-fifty-three bucks until I got here and that preaching dictator told me I should go home.” He looked back down at his hat, and sighed. “I told him the joint’s name was Cal’s and not Burl’s Bible Bar and I appreciated everything he’d done. I was just fine, thank you.”

  “What’d he say?”

  “He’d pray for me to get better and if I kicked the bucket because I didn’t take his advice, he’d preach my funeral. I thanked him and said that’s what preacher friends are for.”

  If there’d been a bigger crowd, Burl would have been right, but the preaching bartender and I managed to get Cal to park his weak, thinner-than-usual body at a table near the door and serve as greeter while Burl and I handled the beer distribution. His part-time cook fried a burger or two for the few hungry patrons. Every so often, Cal sauntered to the jukebox at the corner of the bandstand and punched in some country classics. His halted movement and forced smile revealed he was more comfortable at the table than he wanted us to know. It was still good seeing him back and getting better.

  Burl wanted to talk about two members of his flock and their earthly trials and tribulations, and I was happy to listen, since I didn’t know what to say about Heather and Starr’s murder. I wondered when Cindy would have a chance to talk to Edwina and what, if anything, she could learn that could help Charles’s fiancé. More than anything, I was frustrated.

  Fortunate for Cal, Burl, and me, we closed the bar around ten after the last two customers drifted off. Sleep came slowly as I kept thinking there must be something I could do to help Heather, and wondering if there was something I already knew that could tie Edwina to the murder.

  Short hours later, I was awakened by the shrill sounds of my phone. I opened one eye and glanced at the clock that told me it was only five thirty-five. I shook the cobwebs out of my head, picked up the phone.

  I heard sobbing and realized it was Charles. “She tried to kill herself. Gotta go back. Can…can I borrow your car?”

  He was gasping for breath and I couldn’t understand what he was saying. “Slow down, are you talking about Heather?”

  “Yes. Gotta go back now…now!”

  It wouldn’t do any good to try to ask for details. “I’ll drive. When do you want me to get you?”

  “Now, Chris. She may be dead.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  28

  Charles was pacing the gravel and shell parking area in front of his apartment when I pulled in. He wore a plain white T-shirt without any logos, so I knew he was traumatized. He slid in the passenger seat before I got out of the car. His eyes were bloods
hot from being up all night or from crying. His hand shook as he threw his cane and clothes bag in the back seat.

  All he said was, “Go.”

  He wasn’t ready to talk and I didn’t push. I had driven off the island and was in Charleston on the way to the Interstate before he spoke.

  He stared out his side window. “Her attorney called at one-thirty.” He hesitated and sniffled. I didn’t think he was going to say anything else, until he added, “He didn’t know anything—wasn’t certain if she was alive. Chris, what will I do if she’s…you know?”

  “What did he say?”

  “She wasn’t adjusting to being in there. They wouldn’t let me to talk to her much. Each time I did she seemed so … depressed. She wouldn’t say anything. I just don’t know.”

  That didn’t answer my question. We’d be in the car for many hours and he would talk when ready. Before today he’d confided that she seemed down when he had talked to her. He hadn’t hinted it was more than what anyone would experience if locked up.

  Thirty more miles of silence and I started telling him about last night at Cal’s and asking Cindy to try to talk to Edwina.

  He turned from staring out the window. “Too little, too late,” he interrupted before I told him my suspicions.

  “We don’t know.”

  He took the phone from his pocket and set it on the console. “Edelen’s supposed to call when he learns something.” He looked at the phone like it would ring if he stared at it. “They called him around one this morning. The person he talked to knew she had been taken to the hospital. Said it was serious and that was it.” He smacked his hand on the dash. “I was numb. I wanted to call you and go then. I was shaking so bad I couldn’t hit the right numbers on the phone. What’s going to happen?”

  I put my hand on his shoulder. “I don’t know. Let’s wait and see.”

  An hour later, the phone jolted Charles out of his funk. He stared at it like it was a poisonous snake and nothing bad could happen if he pulled away from it. Curiosity got the better of him and he grabbed it and cringed. “Hello.”