by Bill Noel
He laughed. “I’ve thought that several times a day. Sister Lottie volunteers when I need extra help, which is often. As I shared with you when we first met, I have carpentry skills and they’re being utilized more than I ever imagined. Three of the windows leaked when it rained, and there are more holes in the drywall than I can count. One of my previous residents was a finish carpenter and a tremendous help, a gift from heaven, you might say. I was happy for him and saddened for Hope House when he was offered a high-paying job in Summerville and was able to afford an apartment. It was a sad day indeed when he left. Regardless, Lottie does the best she can, and is especially good with the women.”
Lottie was the first member of First Light and after some of us had pestered Burl about it, he realized that she wanted more than a preacher/member relationship. They’ve dated several months and the rumor among members of the flock was that they might soon be seeking another preacher. More specifically, a preacher to perform their wedding ceremony. I hoped it was true.
“That’s good.” I looked out the window. “Any static from neighbors about this type of establishment in the neighborhood?”
“Some looked askance at first, but I have strict rules and any violation is cause for immediate removal. Most of the folks who end up here are temporarily, shall I say, disenfranchised, and find their way back to a productive member of society. Or, they have been to this point.”
“Preacher, there’s one other thing I should mention. All that Joyce, Joy, remembers is being on a boat and then in the ocean clinging to a surfboard, before Barb and I found her.”
“I was aware of that, Brother Chris.”
“Then you know it’s possible something happened on the boat that could’ve caused her amnesia. Something bad. Whoever was on the boat may not know that she survived. Or, they do, they may try something.”
Burl nodded. “In other words, the fewer people who know she’s here the better.”
“It’d be best if no one knew.”
“My guests will know, and I feel I must tell Lottie since she’s good with the women.”
“That’s fine. If we can keep it to those few along with the police, it’d be best.”
Our conversation ended with a sales pitch from Preacher Burl for me to attend his Sunday service and his special Christmas Eve service. I told him I’d try. He didn’t appear convinced. Neither did I.
6
I hadn’t told Charles what I’d learned from Cindy, or from the visit to the hospital. I called, and he suggested that our conversation would best take place over an early lunch at the Crab Shack. The popular restaurant was halfway between Charles’s apartment on Sandbar Lane and my cottage on East Ashley Avenue. The temperature was still in the forties, yet I decided to walk. The exercise would do me good.
“About time you got here,” Charles said, as he grabbed a peanut out of the cardboard container in front of him. He wore a red and blue Walters State long-sleeve sweatshirt, and jeans. My friend has one of the largest collections of college and university logoed sweatshirts this side of Dick’s Sporting Goods. I’d tried to find out why he has them and where they came from. The best answer he’d come up with was, “Here and there.” I stopped asking years ago, although it never stopped him from sharing trivia about the shirts.
He pointed to his chest. “I know you’re wondering, they’re the Senators. It’s in Morristown, Tennessee.”
See?
“Good morning, Charles,” I said, ignoring his comment about me being late and the college highlighted on his torso. I picked a nut out of the container and cracked it open.
He sighed. My disinterest annoyed him, but I knew what I was going to share next would hold his attention.
“Barb and I visited Joyce in the hospital. She—”
He grabbed another nut and pointed it at me. “Who’s Joyce?”
I realized I hadn’t told him about yesterday’s conversation with Cindy.
“Chief LaMond found the name in the sweatshirt of the woman Barb and I found on the beach.”
His eyes narrowed. “When did you talk to Cindy?”
“Late yesterday,” I said, a slight time-shift.
“You didn’t call to tell me like you said you would, and then you called Barb and invited her instead of me to visit Jane Doe, umm, Joyce, in the hospital. Oh, and then you got home and instead of calling me, you did whatever you did at home. How am I doing?”
“Time got away.”
And, I haven’t even mentioned meeting with Preacher Burl and what’s going to happen next. Before I could dig a deeper hole, Kaylee, the server, appeared and asked if we were ready to order. She glanced at the container of peanuts and added, “Something other than freebees.”
We took the hint and ordered flounder crunch sandwiches and refills on the water she’d added to our table while we were gorging on peanuts.
Kaylee’s timely interruption took the steam out of Charles’s rant.
He leaned back, slowly shook his head, and said, “You went to the hospital without me?”
I thought that was self-evident but understood where he was going. “Yes. I thought about asking if you wanted to go but figured Joyce wouldn’t be comfortable with two strange guys visiting.”
“Barb and I could’ve visited while you stayed in the car. After all, I’m the detective. I could’ve found out…. Never mind, what’d you learn?”
“Nothing more than I told you the last time we talked. She has retrograde amnesia and doesn’t remember anything before being on a boat, and even then, she doesn’t remember what happened.”
“That’s horrible. When will she be well enough to get out of the hospital?”
“Could be today.”
Charles leaned his elbows on the table and stared at me. “Where’s she going? If she can’t remember anything, what’ll happen to her?”
I tightened my grip on the plastic water glass and prepared for rant number two. “Preacher Burl said he would see if he could get her released to Hope House. If he can, then—”
Charles leaned across the table and waved his hand in my face. “Whoa. When did this happen? How do you know?”
“That’s why I called you as soon as I left Burl,” I said, emphasis on as soon as.
Food arrived along with more questions. “When’s her memory coming back? Will Burl be able to take her to Hope House? Do you think she’s still in danger?” He hesitated and took a bite of his sandwich, and then with food in his mouth, said, “How’re we going to find out who she is and what happened?”
Instead of saying, “I don’t know?” four times, I shrugged and stuck a fry in my mouth.
I was seated facing a colorful mural featuring the Ferris wheel that once towered over Folly and Charles was facing the entry. He jumped up and headed toward the door. I turned to see what’d grabbed his attention and saw Chief LaMond talking to the hostess. Charles joined them and pointed at our table. I imagined that Cindy was thinking she’d chosen the wrong restaurant for lunch. I smiled as Charles put his arm around her shoulder and escorted her to the table and pulled out the chair beside his and motioned for her to join us.
“Hey, Chris, look who wanted to sit with us.”
Wanted to turn and run out the door as soon as she saw Charles, would’ve been my guess. “Glad you could join us.”
She glared at me like it was my fault she chose the wrong restaurant for a peaceful meal.
Charles pretended not to see Cindy’s glare, and said, “We were talking about the lady Chris and Barb found surfing. He was getting ready to call you and see if you learned who she is and what happened.” Charles turned to me.
Cindy glanced at me. “Hmm, is that right?”
“Have you found out who she is?” I asked, skirting Charles’s claim that I was going to call.
Kaylee returned to the table and asked Cindy what she wanted for lunch.
“I’d like three bourbons and a liter of gin to put up with these troublemakers. Instead, how about water and
whatever they’re having.”
Cindy shook her head as Kaylee headed to the kitchen. “No, I don’t know who she is. There are no missing person reports fitting her description, and her prints aren’t in the system. She’s still Joyce Doe or Jane Joyce, depending on if Joyce is her first or last name.”
I was tempted to tell her that Burl had shortened it to Joy. Instead, I told her of my conversation with Burl and that he was contacting the hospital to see if she could stay at Hope House. Rather than Cindy getting mad at me, and I suppose Burl, for butting in, she said she was glad. She’d be closer when her memory starts returning.
Her food arrived. I’d observed over the years how much quicker a police chief gets served than other mortals. Cindy took a sip of water and a bite of sandwich.
Charles took the break in her talking to ask, “Learn anything else?”
Cindy looked at Charles and rolled her eyes. “Yep, two things.”
“Well?” Charles said.
“First, to case the inside of a restaurant before coming in. Peace, quiet, and a relaxing lunch don’t go with Chris, Charles, and your pestering.”
“Second?” Charles said.
“Do you know Jamison and Renee Caulder?”
I said, “Don’t think so.”
“I know Renee.” Charles said. “Met her walking her dog Bowser. Adorable Pekingese pup, originally from China, Pekingese dogs, not Renee. They’re also called lion dogs because they look like the Chinese guardian lions that—”
“Enough,” Cindy interrupted.
I silently seconded that.
She continued, “The Caulders are a nice couple. Jamison retired early from a highfalutin, high-paying job, and bought a house out on Tabby Drive that backs up to the river and the marsh. They’ve got a walking pier that goes from their deck to the river. The last few days they’ve been up in Asheville visiting relatives and spending some of their oodles of dollars. They got home late yesterday and guess what was missing from their nice little walking pier?”
I didn’t know, but knew it was interesting or Cindy wouldn’t be telling the story. “What?”
“Their cute little eighteen-foot Tahoe Q4i runabout.”
“Do they know when the boat was taken?” I asked.
“Nope, and neither did their neighbors. The people in the nearest house were in Phoenix until yesterday. They’re the ones who noticed it missing and told Jamison when he got home.”
“Don’t suppose anyone’s found a lost eighteen-foot-long boat?” Charles said.
Cindy smiled. “Finally, a question I can answer. Yep.”
“Someone found it?” I asked.
She nodded. “Not far from where it was taken. It was tied to a pier, a piss-poor knot, I might add. It was behind a deserted house on Seacrest Lane. Some guy a couple of houses away saw it and didn’t think anything of it until his wife who likes to stick her nose in everyone’s business—like you, Charles—said it didn’t belong there and made him call us.”
I said, “I don’t suppose you found any prints on it.”
“Only Jamison and Renee’s. Also found an ignition that’d been mangled and hotwired. Want to guess what we didn’t find?”
“Not Bowser, I hope,” Charles said.
Cindy sighed, and said, “He went with them to Asheville.”
“What didn’t you find?” I asked.
“Jamison’s surfboard.”
“Let me guess,” I said. “Ocean Pacific?”
Cindy smiled. “You win the opportunity to pay for my lunch.”
“Chris always wins the good stuff,” Charles said, through smiling teeth.
I ignored him. “So, you think someone hotwired the boat, somehow and somewhere got Joyce on board, and took her out in the ocean to what?”
“A theory is that it was to get her far enough off shore to throw her overboard. Mind you, that’s mere speculation. Until her memory returns, we don’t know anything other than the boat was stolen.”
“What about the surfboard?” Charles asked.
“Charles, did you miss the part where I said, way back thirty seconds ago, that all we know is that the boat was stolen?”
Charles stuffed a fry in his mouth, nodded twice, and said, “So, Chief, what do you want us to do to help figure out what happened out on the deep-blue sea?”
She looked up from her plate, glared at Charles, and said, “In the spirit of the big guy in the red suit coming next week to visit all little chillins, and big chillins like you, Charles, I say Ho, Ho, Ho! In case that’s not clear, it means I’m laughing at your suggestion and the best way you can help is to stay out of our way. Leave the coppin’ to cops.”
Charles took the hint, or decided it wasn’t time to argue, and said, “That’s a good idea, Chief.”
I’d known Charles for a long time, knew his moods, knew his approach to most everything. I also knew he was lying through his teeth.
7
There was a good chance that Joyce had been on the stolen boat, yet several questions remained. Those questions kept me awake most of the night. Who was Joyce, be it her first or last name? What trauma erased her past? Will her memory return? If she’s from the area, why hadn’t someone reported her missing? And, if she’d been on the stolen boat, why?
I must have fallen asleep at some point. The phone jarred me awake at seven-thirty.
“Brother Chris, did I awaken you?”
I lied and said, no.
“Good. I was excited and wanted you to be first to know. I have been given authorization to collect Joy and bring her here. Praise the Lord.”
“That’s great news, Preacher. Do you know when she’ll be released?”
“They said I could come over now, and they’ll discharge her when I get there.”
“Great,” I repeated.
“Brother Chris, might I ask a huge favor?”
“Sure.”
“Would you go with me? You’re a familiar face to her. I know she’d appreciate you being there.”
“I’d be glad to.”
Burl’s granite-gray Dodge Grand Caravan pulled in the drive fifteen minutes after I’d agreed to go, and thirty minutes later we were in the hospital visitor’s lot.
Burl stepped behind me as I approached Joyce’s door, and said, “Since she knows you, why don’t you go in first?”
The patient was sitting on the chair. Her hair was pulled in a ponytail and she wore a long-sleeve, blue T-shirt and the same slacks she had on when we found her. Someone must’ve given her the shirt and had the slacks cleaned since they were sand free and pressed. She smiled when I entered. The smile lessened when she saw the man behind me.
“You look great,” I said. “Ready to get out of here?”
“Yes, but I don’t have anywhere—”
“Good morning, Sister Joy, I’m Preacher Burl Costello.”
Joyce glanced at Burl and quickly turned to me. “Chris, what’s going on?”
I smiled and hoped it put her at ease. “Joyce, Preacher Burl is a friend and the minister of First Light Church on Folly Beach. Part of First Light’s ministry is a large house where several people live. Preacher Burl talked to one of the hospital administrators and he agreed to let you stay there until you can get on your feet and your memory returns.”
“But, I don’t have money. I can’t afford—”
Burl took a step closer to Joyce and said, “Sister Joy—”
“Sir, who’s Joy, and what’s this sister stuff? I’m not your sister… I don’t think.”
“Joyce,” I said, “Preacher Burl calls those who attend First Light either brother or sister. Your name’s Joyce, so he thought Joy was a pretty sounding name.”
Burl added, “Christmas is right around the corner, so I thought calling you that would be reflective of the joy you will bring to us all.”
“Preacher, no offense. I don’t know you, crap, pardon my language, I don’t even know me. What makes you think I’ll bring joy? For all you know, for all I know,
I could be a serial killer, or I don’t know what.”
I wondered the same thing and waited for Burl’s response.
He rubbed his hand through his bristle-brush mustache. “Joyce, I hope you don’t mind me calling you Joy. As you can tell from looking at this rough-hewn face, I’ve been around the block a time or two. I’ve seen evil up close. Regardless, I believe the good in people. Yes, there’s a chance that you might not be a saint.” He chuckled. “The Good Lord knows I’m not. I see a lady who’s suffered a terrible fate. I can’t imagine how horrific it must be to not remember the past. I see a lady who needs a break or two to get back on her feet. And, I see someone I, even with my meager resources, can provide a comfortable bed, decent meals, and others who can share with you their hopes and dreams. I would be honored to have you as a part of Hope House for as long as you need, or want, to be there.”
She gave a faint smile and said in a faint voice so that Burl and I had to lean closer to hear, “That’s kind of you, sir, but I don’t have money. I can’t afford to pay.”
“Ah, Sister Joy, you’re in luck. You qualify for the special close-to-Christmas rent of zero dollars a week. And, for no additional charge, Chris and I will provide transportation to your new home.”
“Are you certain, Burl, umm, Preacher?”
“Absolutely.”
She gave Burl a tentative hug, and whispered, “Thank you.”
I gave a sigh of relief.
After what seemed like an eternity getting Joy discharged, the ride to Folly was awkward at best. Burl tried to explain how he founded First Light two years ago and how it met most Sundays on the beach near the Folly Beach Fishing Pier, and during inclement weather, in a storefront on Center Street next to Barb’s Books. I shared how I met the preacher when my photo gallery occupied the space where Barb’s is now. I didn’t get into the deaths that surrounded First Light’s first few months in existence.
