by Bill Noel
“Strange,” he said.
“That’s all you have to say?”
He took another drag on his beer and said, “Think I need to get a ring before I pop the question?”
I said no, asked what time tomorrow, and where. He said eleven o’clock in the morning, and that he wanted to “pop the question” on the Folly Pier because it provided a great view of the beach and that it was where he’d said his farewells to his aunt. He’d spread her ashes in the ocean from the end of the pier. I said I’d meet him there, and said I’d better be going.
I echoed his comment as I walked to the car. “Strange.”
31
“Okay, nosy one, this is your duly appointed, highly competent, plum near able to walk on water police chief.”
I may have missed a word or two from her telephonic wakeup call since I glanced at the window and saw it was dark outside and looked at the bedside clock and saw it was five thirty.
“Good morning Cindy.”
“I figured since you’re the one who wakes the roosters up each morning, that I’d catch you awake. You were, weren’t you?”
I lied and said, “Of course. What have I done to be honored with your call?”
“Damned near nothing, but I figured you’d want to know what happened out on East Arctic yesterday since it involved someone you’ve taken an interest in.”
I opened my sleep-filled eyes wide and said, “Katelin Hatchett’s death?”
“You’ve already heard?”
I told her I was one of the inquisitive citizens at Katelin’s house.
Cindy sighed, “Why am I not surprised? Then I can go about keeping your island free of crime. Adios.”
“Cindy,” I said, hoping to stop her from hanging up.
“What now?”
“Was it suicide?”
“Everything points to it.”
“Did she leave a note?”
“No, but that doesn’t mean anything. Less than half of suicide victims leave notes.”
I carried the phone into the kitchen and started to fix coffee. I knew what Officer Spencer had told me, but asked Cindy anyway, “Were there any signs of a struggle?”
“What part of suicide don’t you get? Not really. She had a bump on her head but it was probably caused by it hitting the steering wheel when she first passed out.”
“Could she have been hit hard enough to knock her out?”
“Chris, how the hell would I know that? Tell you what, let me come over there and smack you on the head and see how big a bump it’ll take to knock you out. A bump’s a bump. But, I get your point. I’ll check with the ME.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I hear her housemate found her.”
“Yeah, Candice came home, changed clothes, and started to fix something to drink when she heard Katelin’s car running in the garage. At first, she thought Katelin had come home, and Candice didn’t hear the garage door open. She said she realized that she parked blocking the garage and her housemate couldn’t have gotten around her car. She went to check, and the rest is history.”
“Bear with me a second, Cindy. So, it’s possible Candice could have been home long enough to set it up to look like a suicide.”
“Stop and hold your jackass. Why would Candice kill Katelin?”
Instead of answering, I asked, “Did you check if Candice had an alibi for when Lauren was killed?”
There was a moment of silence on the other end of the phone. “Not yet. Crap, I could have asked her yesterday, but had a more immediate death on my hands. Are you saying she killed both housemates? And I guess more importantly, I’m looking at one suicide and one either accidental overdose or possibly suicide. Why the bee in your Tilley about them being killed?”
“Cindy, I’m only asking questions. I have no idea what’s happening. But don’t you think it’s mighty strange that they died so close together?”
“Yes, but because something is strange doesn’t raise it to the level of homicide.”
She was right, but I wasn’t ready to let it go. “Could you do me one big favor?”
Another sigh on the other end of the line. She said, “What?” It sounded like an exclamation more than a question.
“See if Joel Hurt has an alibi for when Katelin was killed, umm, died.”
The next thing I heard was a dial tone. I assumed that meant, “Of course I will, Chris. Good suggestion.”
Charles had said eleven o’clock, so I knew that meant ten thirty, so I arrived at the pier a little after ten. It was a gorgeous day with light billowy clouds overhead and a temperature in the mid-seventies. The pier was busier than usual. Several men had cast lines and were waiting for the fish to grab the bait for an early lunch. Two children were giggling and pointing to three birds that were fighting over a potato chip the children had accidentally—on purpose—dropped on the deck. And an elderly couple leaned over the edge and watched a group of college age men playing volleyball.
My phone rang and I was surprised that Cindy was able to get back with me so quickly. There was no need to be surprised since it wasn’t her.
“Thank god, you answered,” Charles said, sounding out of breath. “Come to Heather’s apartment. Now!”
For the second time this morning, I was hung up on. But Charles sounded much more distressed than Cindy. I was pulling up in front of Heather’s dilapidated apartment building ten minutes later and saw Charles’s car parked in front. Heather’s apartment door was open but I knocked before entering.
Charles came out of the kitchen waving a piece of paper in his hand, and said, “She’s gone. Everything’s gone.”
I glanced around and didn’t see any of the knickknacks that had dotted every surface in the apartment. “What do you mean gone?”
He handed me the paper, flopped down on the couch, and bowed his head.
The note was in flowing script and read: Chuckie, dear. I wanted to tell you this in person but chickened out. Sorry you must find out this way. My dream of singing is busted. It was squashed like an elephant stepping on an ant. My hopes of becoming your wife seem as far away as Spain. And I feel like I’m in one of those straitjacket things. I must leave. Honest to god, I must. I may be making a big mistake, but it’s what I want to do. I’m taking all that I can carry. You can do whatever you want to do with the rest. I’m getting a cab to the bus station and by the time you read this, I’m long gone. PLEASE do not try to find me. Chuckie, this isn’t your fault so don’t start blaming yourself. xoxo forever, Heather
Charles’s hands covered his head. For the first time, I noticed he had on a white, long-sleeve T-shirt unadorned with any logos or school mascots.
“I’m sorry,” I said, and felt helpless.
“No matter what she said, it’s my fault. I couldn’t do anything about her singing, but why didn’t I go through with marrying her the first time, and why didn’t I say something about getting hitched when she was feeling so bad the other night? Why, Chris, why?”
“There’re no easy answers, Charles. Getting married had to be right for both of you. The last time it wasn’t.”
“I know, but was I being selfish, wanting everything my way?”
“You were wonderful to her and she knew it. Don’t kick yourself. Any idea where she’s headed?”
He looked at the door. “I don’t know. Could be anywhere—except Nashville. She never mentioned wanting to be somewhere else.” He put his head back down. “If she’d waited one more day, one more measly day, my proposal …”
I didn’t say anything for a couple of minutes. Charles was deep in his thoughts and didn’t need to be disturbed. I finally said, “Want to try to find out where she’s going?”
He looked back at the door and at the note I still had in my hand. “She said for me not to. Chris, I’ve got to honor her wish. I’ve go to.”
Tears formed in the corner of his eyes and he looked away.
And I felt helpless.
32
I’d tried every way I kne
w to help my grieving friend. Nothing worked. He said he needed to be alone. I didn’t want to leave him, but his words had an edge of finality, so I told him to call me day or night if he needed anything. He said he would, but I’d be shocked if he did.
I called Bob on my way home and asked how he was doing.
“My best friend is about dead. I’m old and the idiot doctors tell me that I’m falling apart. I own a damned run-down bar that’s losing money. And Betty said that unless I get my sorry butt out of the chair and do something worth a damn, she was going to put me in the wheelbarrow and dump me at the curb for the trash collector. How the hell you think I’m doing?”
I coughed to mask a giggle and said, “Poor little Bobby Howard.”
“You’re damned right, for a change.”
Enough foolishness, I thought, as I pulled in my drive. “Any news about Al?”
“I called Tanesa an hour ago. She told me yesterday that she’d call me if she learned anything, but I was damned tired of waiting. Anyway, she said there’s slight improvement. He’s still in that damned coma but his heart sounds stronger this morning.”
“That’s good news.”
Bob said, “I suppose.”
I debated whether to tell him about Katelin’s alleged suicide and about Heather leaving but decided that Bob didn’t need more unwelcome news.
“He’s still alive, so that’s good.”
“Yeah,” Bob said. “Betty yelled something, so unless you want to hear me bitch and groan more, I’d better go see what she wants. She’s not that good with the wheelbarrow.”
“Tell her I said hi.”
For the third time today, I was hung up on. Fortunately, I’m not paranoid. What I did realize was that I was hungry and didn’t feel like facing people in a restaurant. I walked next door to Bert’s to grab whatever doughy delights they had in stock. I was pleased that they had a cinnamon Danish, but what I was not pleased to see was Wayne Swan heading my way.
“Chris Landrum, the person I wanted to see.”
Wayne Swan, the last person I wanted to see, I thought but didn’t say it. “Hi, Wayne. What’d you need?”
“Listen, Joel and I are going to be in the bar at Loggerheads this afternoon around four. Could you join us?”
I gave my best faux smile and said, “Why?”
“Joel would love to meet with you one more time. He has some things that might help you change your mind about supporting him.”
I wanted to scream, “No!” but thought it may be a good idea to meet with Joel, so I said that I’d be there. I didn’t tell Wayne that while I’d be there it wasn’t why they wanted to meet me. What better chance to learn more about Joel’s relationship with Lauren and Katelin?
Home was my next destination, and I reached it without having to get in an extended discussion with anyone else. I thought about calling Tanesa, but after she’d endured a call from Bob, she probably needed peace and quiet. I’m not a big nap person, but after Cindy’s early morning wakeup call, I managed to sleep for an hour before waking up regretting that I’d agreed to meet with Joel. What could I learn about his relationship with the two deceased housemates? I waffled between thinking he would reveal something that would lend support to my belief that he was responsible for their deaths, and that whatever he’d tell me couldn’t be believed.
I had a hard time focusing on anything other than Charles and Heather. My friend was in pain and there was nothing to do to help. How would things have been different if Charles had proposed earlier? I had known him for a long time and on numerous occasions he had confided that he was afraid of marriage. And he and Heather had lived together during their short-lived, ill-fated move to Nashville. It would have been the opportune time to see if marriage would be right for him, yet he never mentioned the possibility while they were there or after their return to Folly.
Nothing was being accomplished by my analyzing Charles’s situation and Joel’s believability, so I walked to Loggerhead’s. It was a half-hour before I was to meet Joel and Wayne and I smiled to myself as I headed up the steps to the elevated outside bar. I was becoming more like Charles than I ever imagined possible. The temperature was in the mid-eighties and a gray cloud-cover kept the sun from being intolerable, so the large outdoor seating area was packed. I wondered how long we would have to wait for a table when Ed, half of the husband and wife team owners of the restaurant, put his arm on my shoulder, welcomed me, and said that he was expecting me. I smiled and asked how he knew I’d be here.
He pointed to a table by the railing. “They said you were coming and if I saw you to point you their way.”
Joel and Wayne were at a table that had the best view across the street to the Oceanfront Villas. A sliver of the ocean could be seen through the gap between the parking lot and the elevated condo complex. They leaned toward each other and appeared in deep conversation.
I thanked Ed, told him to give my regards to his wife Yvonne and weaved my way past the standing room only crowd to Joel’s table. Wayne was flailing his arms around and saying something about not going to do it when Joel spotted me.
Joel waved his hand in front of Wayne, stood, smiled, and said, “You’re early. You caught us discussing the landscaping on a big project Wayne is working on.”
From the way Wayne was acting before I arrived, I would have used the word arguing rather than discussing, but whatever. I returned his smile and shook his hand. Wayne took a sip of his beer from a plastic cup and waved in my direction. He remained seated as I sat in the plastic chair facing the bar.
Joel looked at Wayne who hadn’t spoken and turned back to me. “I’ve asked Wayne to join us, hope you don’t mind.” He gave me a politician’s smile, baring all his teeth. “He can help keep me on track; I have a way of wandering in my conversations.”
“Fine with me,” I said, although I wanted Joel to wander.
A waitress had been at the table beside us and Wayne touched her back to get her attention. She pointed at the near-empty cups in front of Wayne and Joel. “Another round?”
Wayne said yes and ordered a glass of white wine for me. I was impressed that he knew my drink of choice but irritated that he ordered without asking if that was what I wanted. After the waitress had headed to the bar, Wayne said, “Sorry, Chris, I should have asked before ordering for you. Was that okay?”
Partial redemption. I said that it was.
Wayne looked at Joel and turned back to me. “I’m being rude. Sorry. Joel and I were debating an issue about a remodel. The owner keeps changing what he wants but doesn’t want to spend more money on it. We’re trying to see how to cut costs while giving him what he’s asking for.”
That wasn’t my impression of what they were arguing about, but I mumbled something about how it must be difficult to meet everyone’s needs.
Joel interrupted. “Neither here nor there. Don’t want to bore you with our work. I’m thrilled you agreed to meet with me again. Have you given more thought to supporting me in my Quixote-like quest to unseat Brian Newman?”
“A little,” I said. Most of my thought has been trying to figure out how to prove he killed the two women but didn’t think it would be wise to mention it.
“Good,” Joel said. “I was afraid you were so deep in his camp that I wouldn’t have a chance with you. And, before you say anything, I know that two of your friends have had fundraisers for Brian and you attended each of them. I understand friendship and am not a stranger to loyalty. In fact, I admire it, but I also know that you have the reputation of doing what you believe is right, regardless of what others may think. I also know about you getting involved in death investigations, often involving perilous situations.” He chuckled. “I’ve even heard you’re asking questions about the tragic death of Lauren Craft. I admire your gumption, although I’m afraid it’s misplaced with Lauren. The poor girl couldn’t handle the horrific dangers of drugs and overdosed.” He paused, shook his head, and said, “So sad.”
I couldn’t dec
ide if he was continuing to suck up to me or fishing to see how much I knew, or suspected, about Lauren’s death. Either way, I saw this as an opening to the real reason I was here.
“It was terrible about her death. I offer my deepest condolences. I know you and she were close and her loss must be painful.”
He glanced across the street toward the ocean and at me. “Yes, it is terrible, but we weren’t that close. We went out a few times but it wasn’t serious. Of course, I liked her, but didn’t see it going anywhere, and when I learned about her renewing her affair with drugs, I had to sever our relationship. As you know, I have a strong anti-drug stance; I see the use of illegal drugs and the misuse of legal prescriptions as being one of the biggest problems facing our country, and yes, infiltrating our community. I cannot tolerate it. I believe that is where our current elected officials and I differ, and—”
I wasn’t ready to listen to a campaign speech and interrupted, “I’m surprised. I was under the impression that you and Lauren were much closer than that.”
The waitress returned with our drinks.
“See, Wayne,” Joel said and pointed to me, “he doesn’t beat around the bush. He doesn’t hesitate to challenge things. I admire that.” He smiled and turned back to me. “You and I have a lot in common, and that’s why I’m asking you to support me.”
The waitress returned with our drinks and I noticed how much louder it was than when I had arrived. The crowd had increased and groups were speaking louder to be heard over other groups.
I wanted to steer the conversation back to Lauren but didn’t want to be obvious. “Joel, I’m honored that you are spending so much time with me and I think you have a lot of promising ideas, but I’ve known Brian Newman for a long time. I like and respect him. He’s not been perfect, and I don’t agree with all his positions, but he’s been good for our community, and I will continue to support him.”
