by Bill Noel
He looked at Cal’s door and pointed his cane to the vacant lot beside the restaurant and bar. I took the hint and followed him around the side.
“Remember how I told you Heather was so sad the other night?”
I told him that I did.
“She told me about a vision that she had, but I didn’t pay much attention to it then. She said it came to her through her psychic powers.”
“Has she done that often?”
“Not much, well not much as I remember. Some of the stuff she says is so far out that I sort of tune some of it out. I’m not as big a believer in her psychic powers as she is.” He stared at the light pole across the street.
“What’d she say?”
That jarred him back to the here and now. “She said it came to her when she was half awake, half asleep, and half in psychic mode. I didn’t want to get in an argument with her about math, so I tried to do what you do. I nodded and told her to go on. She said that she was a baby bird, well, not that she was the bird, but seeing whatever was going on through the eyes of a bird. Apparently, the bird had a bad wing and somehow got separated from its mother. Heather, or the bird, felt lost in a large clump of trees near a river. She said, it may not have been too large a group of trees, but to a baby bird it seemed humongous.”
“What was her mood when she was telling you this?”
“Strange. It was sort of like she was telling me about a show she saw on TV. She didn’t seem happy or unhappy when she was talking. But the more I think about it, she could have been sounding all factual like so she wouldn’t get swept into the vision, or whatever it was.”
“I didn’t mean to stop you. What else did she, umm, see, dream, or think?”
“Said the little bird knew it was supposed to be somewhere else doing something, but it didn’t know what. It saw other birds fly away, but because of its bad wing it couldn’t follow. Some of the other birds fluttered down and sat on one of the trees and tweeted like they were as happy as—happy as a lark. She didn’t say lark. A couple of them came down and sat by the lame bird. They were nice, but the baby bird knew they couldn’t help it fly.” He looked down and back at me. “Chris, to be honest, I didn’t hear everything she was saying. It didn’t make sense, and I tuned some of it out. I started paying attention again when she said the one-wing bird saw a stubby log floating down the stream beside where it was sitting. The log was moving fast and the little bird decided to hop on and float wherever it was going. There was room on the log for the little bird, but not enough for any of the others. Suppose the big question was whether the little critter should get on the log and float away.”
“What did it do?”
Charles smiled for the first time since he’d arrived. “Don’t know. Heather woke up when the little thing was about to decide.”
I said, “And you think Heather saw herself as the bird and decided to let the log take her away?”
He tilted his head toward the ocean. “There wasn’t room on it for me.”
“And you’re blaming yourself for not understanding her vision, dream, whatever, and for doing something about it then.”
“Yeah,” he mumbled.
“Charles, there was no way to know she would leave.”
“I should have. She takes her psychic stuff seriously.”
Cal’s front door opened and sounds of George Jones singing “The Grand Tour” laid a blanket of country sadness on us.
Charles looked at the building and offered a weak smile. “Nothing like George’s moaning to cheer up a hurtin’ soul.”
As strange as it seemed, I understood. I said, “Time to get your party started,” and ushered him to Cal’s front door.
35
It was still ten minutes before the party was to begin and there were already a dozen patrons in the bar. Each table had a balloon floating above it attached to a string that was held in place by a fist-sized rock. A variety of messages were printed on the multi-colored balloons. One read Let’s Celebrate, three read Bon Voyage, and the rest read Happy Birthday. Cal met us at the door with a strong handshake and a pat on Charles’ back. He was attired in his traditional, sweat-stained Stetson, his rhinestone-studded, white jacket, and in the spirit of Folly, red knee-length shorts.
The bar owner waved around the room. “What do you think, Charles?”
Charles faked a smile and said, “Festive.”
“Yep,” Cal said, “Tried to get all Bon Voyage balloons but the store just had three. I figured after a few drinks, nobody’ll be able to read them anyhow. Got the rock idea from a party I sang at a few decades ago. They covered bricks with shiny paper and used them to hold down the balloons. Didn’t have any shiny paper or bricks.” Cal laughed. “Now I can say this ain’t only a country bar, but a rock bar.”
Charles smiled, sincerer this time. I told Cal it looked like he’d thought of everything.
Vern Gosdin was singing “Chiseled in Stone” from the jukebox and Cal said he would grab our drinks and for us to join the party. Dude was leaned against the bar talking to Preacher Burl. We walked over and Charles patted the back of Dude’s tie-dyed T-shirt.
Dude smiled and said, “Here be the guest of honor. Aloha.”
Preacher Burl took the more conservative route. “It’s good to see you, Charles. Thank you for inviting me to this significant event.”
“Glad you’re here,” Charles mumbled.
Cal handed Charles a beer and a plastic cup of wine to me. There were two men in deep conversation on the next two bar stools. I didn’t recognize them, so I caught Cal’s eye and nodded their direction.
Cal leaned close to me and said, “Couple of salesmen staying at the Tides. They’re not part of our shindig, but I let them buy beer anyway.”
Cal was generous like that. There were a few others in the bar I didn’t recognize and figured they were also here for the drinks and not, as Cal had put it, our shindig.
Cal had pulled a couple of the tables together in the center of the room, covered them with a Happy Birthday paper tablecloth and had placed a large bowl of chips in the center. Two smaller containers held salsa. Chester Carr was munching on a chip and talking to Cindy LaMond and her husband, Larry. I started to walk over to talk to them when Dude said, “Where be H?”
I had wondered how Charles would handle questions about Heather’s departure.
Charles looked around the room and back at Dude. “I don’t know, but I wish her well wherever it is.”
So far, so good, I thought.
Dude nodded. “Me be praying to sun god for H to have boss surfin’.”
Preacher Burl took a step closer to Charles. “My prayers are with her.”
I suppose he didn’t want his god to be left out. Barb walked in with Amber. They headed to the chips, and I asked Charles if he wanted to greet the latest arrivals. He told Dude and Burl he’d get back with them and followed me to the center of the room where he was mobbed by the chip munchers. Cal reached the group at the same time and asked who wanted drinks. The Charles lovefest was put on hold while everyone told Cal what they wanted. Fortunately, everyone said beer, so Cal could handle the orders. Amber hugged Charles; Barb gave me a peck on the cheek and was next to hug Charles. The chief hugged him next, and the men in the group forsook hugs and shook his hand. Charles thanked them for coming and from the jukebox the piano genius of Floyd Cramer played “Last Date.”
Several more of Charles’s acquaintances came in while he was with the salsa group. I knew most of them, but a couple were strangers; but since they seemed to know the others, I assumed they knew Charles and weren’t here just for drinks.
I moved away from the group and Cindy followed me. The decibel level increased with everyone talking over the music. The chief and I moved to the quietest corner.
“Talked with Joel about his alibis,” she said and took a sip of beer.
“And?”
“Cool your jets, impatient one. Give this chick a chance to enjoy Cal’s generosity.�
�� She took another sip, and continued, “Joel, a charming snake that boy is. Know what he told someone whose name I will not divulge?”
I had no idea, so I shrugged.
“Said the first thing he would do as mayor would be to fire the director of public safety. Since that’s the highfalutin title on my business card, I didn’t take too kindly to it. But, you’d be proud of me. When I was talking to him about his alibis, I didn’t once pull my gun and shoot him in the, let’s say, male body parts. I was tempted but figured it could possibly look bad on my record.”
I rolled my eyes. “Alibis?”
I didn’t think it possible, but the room was getting noisier. Several more of Charles’s friends arrived and gathered around him. It looked like a herd of cattle surrounding a food trough—figuratively speaking, of course. I moved closer to the chief to hear what she was saying. Nearby, Chester Carr was talking to David Darnell, an insurance agent who had moved to Folly a couple of years ago and was a member of a walking group Chester had formed around that time, but they weren’t as loud as most of the others in the room.
Cindy repeated in great detail what I had already known about Joel and the strategy session he was holding with Wayne at the time Lauren had died.
I wanted to move her along. “What about when Katelin was murd … umm, died?”
“Take a patience pill,” she said and sipped her beer. “That’s where the story gets a bit fuzzy. Joel said he had three yard crews working on the island that day. Said he spent most of the time going from crew to crew. Also said he may have been at one of his buddy’s remodeling job sites working on a landscaping bid.”
“Wayne Swan?” I asked.
Cindy nodded. “He wasn’t sure exactly when he and Wayne were meeting, nor when he was with his other crews.”
“Times that couldn’t be accounted for?”
“Yes, but don’t get all suspicious about that. I think most days, most of us would have a tough time accounting for every hour.”
“True,” I said. “But it still doesn’t get him off the hook. I wish it’d been more definitive.”
“Chris, I agree. Heck, I’d like to plant a little-ole chip in everyone’s head so we could track every movement around the island, but the mayor keeps throwing in my face that pesky thing called the Constitution and says I’d better stick to catching crooks the old-fashioned way. Bosses!”
As often is the case, she got a smile out of me, and said she’d better get back to her hubby before he started boring everyone with hardware store gobbledygook. Cindy moved away to save the non-hardware store obsessed public and Chester told David that he’d talk to him later and moved in front of me.
“Chris, I’m not the nosy, busybody type, but I couldn’t help overhearing parts of your conversation with the police chief.”
Chester was right. Among my friends and acquaintances, he was one of the least nosy—the key word being least, which, of course, still made him nosy.
“And?” I said.
“Did the chief say something about Joel Hurt meeting with someone during the time that poor Brad Burton’s daughter died?”
“Yes, he was meeting at Wayne Swan’s house, something about working on a campaign brochure.”
“Funny.”
“Why funny?” I asked.
“Maybe I have the time she died wrong, but I’d asked a couple of people and they said it was between eight and ten o’clock.”
I said, “I was told between seven and ten, but you’re close.”
“Where does Wayne live?”
“Somewhere near the Washout. Why?”
“That night I was sitting on my front porch talking on the phone to a cousin in Maine. Name’s Sally. I seldom get to talk to her, see we’re not close. Anyway, I saw Joel’s big truck speed by the house like a bat out of hell, can’t miss it, it’s got all that writing on the door bragging about his company. You know I’m less than a block off Center Street and it gets crowded that time of night.”
I interrupted. “What time was it?”
“Oh yeah, I hadn’t mentioned. Exactly nine-fifteen, Sally’s favorite show came on at nine-thirty and she only had fifteen minutes to talk. Anyway, I was irritated Joel was driving that fast; could’ve killed someone walking up the street. So, if he said he was meeting all that time with someone in the other direction, he’s not telling the truth.”
“You sure?”
“Yes, sir. I remember it was the next day that all the police cars and two television trucks went right in front of the house on their way toward the County Park and poor Brad Burton’s daughter.” Chester looked toward the entrance. “Speaking of Brad.”
I turned and was surprised to see Brad and Hazel Burton stepping into the bar and looking lost. I told Chester I’d talk to him later and went to the door to greet the Burtons.
“Brad, Hazel, thanks for coming.”
Hazel stepped in front of her husband and reached to shake my hand. Her hand was warm and clammy. Brad stayed behind her and gazed around the room. He looked as comfortable as a typewriter in an Apple store.
Hazel reached back and pulled Brad forward, turned to me, and said, “I was in Mr. John’s Beach Store yesterday and got in a conversation with a young lady buying a beach towel. She told me about this party and how the community sticks together whenever something bad has happened. Said everyone fights like dogs and cats unless there’s a crisis. She said she didn’t personally know Charles or Heather, but her boyfriend did and they were going to come out tonight to support Charles.”
“That was nice of her,” I said.
Hazel nodded. “So, I told Brad it was what we’d experienced since, umm, losing Lauren and maybe it’d be good if we came tonight. If for no other reason than getting us out of the house and not think all the time about our loss. Isn’t that right, Brad?”
Brad smiled and said yes, but he still looked like he’d rather be somewhere else.
I pointed toward the bar. “Follow me, and let’s get you something to drink.”
Hazel followed and Brad lingered a couple of steps behind us. Cal was quick to hand each of them a beer and Hazel said she saw the woman from Mr. John’s on the other side of the room and she and Brad should go over and thank her for inviting them.
Gene Watson was singing “Between This Time and the Next Time,” the smell of beer and burnt hamburgers filled the air, and I stood beside the bar and agreed with Hazel’s new acquaintance about the community gathering together in time of crisis or need. I also started thinking about what Chester had said about seeing Joel during the time he was allegedly with his friend working on the campaign. Did it prove he had something to do with Lauren’s death? Not really, but what it did was say he was a liar, and that was something I already knew.
The jukebox went silent, and Cal tapped on the softball-sized, silver microphone in the middle of the small stage. “Attention,” said the bar’s owner. “Y’all focus up here for a few.”
Most of the conflicting conversations ended but three people leaning against the bar kept talking. Cal tapped the mic again, and Brad, who was grabbing a second beer at the bar, grabbed one of the talkers by the shoulder and motioned for silence. It was probably a hold Brad hadn’t used since he was with the Sheriff’s office. It worked and Cal had everyone’s attention.
He held his forefinger in the air. “First, I want to thank all of you for coming out. It’s only been two days since my buddy Charles there,” Cal pointed at his buddy, “approached me about having this party. He’s going to say a few words in a minute, but I wanted to hog the stage for a few first.” Cal gave a stage grin. “For those of you who have been begging me to sing a few hits tonight, Charles said it was okay and I’ll croon a few later. But now you need to know why we’re gathered. As I suspect most of you know, Miss Heather’s not only a singer; heck, she’d used this here mic many a night to entertain many a happy customer, but she’s also a psychic. Now I know some of you aren’t believers in what psychics do, but I know Hea
ther, and she’s a powerful believer. She’s not with us in body tonight, and I’m not certain where she is. But what I am certain of, is wherever she is, she’s using her psychic power to learn about this here big party in her honor, and knows all our good thoughts,” Cal paused, looked at Preacher Burl, and continued, “and our prayers go with her on her journey. And Miss Heather, you’re missed a heap here and are welcome back anytime.”
Cal stopped and looked out on the gathering like he was waiting for a response. I wasn’t certain what response would be appropriate, but Dude must have. He applauded, and everyone followed his lead.
Cal nodded. “Thank y’all. Now Charles, want to say a few words?”
Charles was standing directly in front of the bandstand, whispered something to Cal, and Cal stepped back to the mic. “Charles’ll say a few words to us a little later. Drink up.”
And we did.
36
Hazel was still talking to the woman who told her about the party. I had seen her working in Mr. John’s but didn’t know her name. Brad grabbed a third beer and looked around the room and headed my way.
“I had no idea how many friends Lauren had here,” he said as he stopped beside me. “You wouldn’t believe how many people have come by the house or stopped Hazel or me on the street to offer condolences. Most of them I’d never seen before. Know what else surprised me?”
“What?”
“Every one of them expressed everything from surprise to shock about Lauren overdosing. Now some of them did say they knew her back when she was using, and even they said she’d kicked drugs and became vocal about not using whenever the topic came up. Two of her friends said that she swore to them there was no way she would ever use again.”
“I’d heard that too.”
“Chris, you and I have never seen eye to eye on, well, most everything, but the one thing I keep hearing about you is that you’re loyal to your friends and can keep a secret.”
“I like to think so,” I said wondering where he was going with this.
