by Bill Noel
“Already knew that,” I said. “What about his background? Problems in the past? Complaints against him?”
Brian gave me his patented police stare. “Why?”
I shrugged. “Is he working today?” I continued. “I noticed that he wasn’t at the shooting.”
“No,” said Brian. “He’s off. Why?”
I looked down at the table and then said, “Just curio—”
“Whoa,” interrupted Brian. “You’re not thinking he could be the killer?”
“Are you?” blurted Charles.
“Bear with me, guys,” I said. “I’m not accusing him of anything, but he’s about the same size as the guy Samuel saw and the guy who tried to bludgeon Charles the other day. When Samuel and I went to the police station, O’Hara seemed nervous at first, but after Samuel said that he didn’t think he would recognize the abductor, he was more at ease.”
“Hardly anything to scream guilt,” said Brian.
“Hold on,” I said. “And then Dude told me about O’Hara trying to pick up girls at the Washout. He called him a chick collector.”
Brian frowned.
I held up my hand. “All three of the dead females were attractive, and neither their friends nor their relatives knew where they were or when they would be returning home. In other words, no one would miss them. That’s the kind of information O’Hara could easily have gotten.” I took a sip of water. “Add to that, doesn’t O’Hara drive a dark Crown Vic, the same kind of car Samuel saw the night of the abduction?”
Brian shook his head. “Yes, but—”
“Let the man finish,” interrupted Charles. “This is getting good.”
“All I have left is this morning,” I said. “It’s his day off, so he could have been the shooter. He knew Charles was putting up the signs and talking to everyone who would listen to him about the girls. Charles was doing more investigating than the entire sheriff’s office. He’s getting close.”
Brian sighed again. “One question. Motive?”
“Good question,” said Charles.
“I agree,” I said. “Here’s my guess.”
Charles leaned back in his chair, and Brian leaned closer.
“O’Hara either pulled each of them over for some minor infraction or talked to them on the street. He used his badge to ask questions that the women wouldn’t normally answer for a stranger.”
“Such as?” asked Brian.
“Where were they staying,” I said, “or who was with them, how long they would be on Folly, and who knew they were here.”
“And then?” said Brian.
“And then he hit on them,” I said. “Could be one or more of them went out with him.”
“Quite a leap from a date to murder,” said Brian, but he still leaned toward me.
“I know,” I said. “The only reason to kill them I can think of is if they rejected him or made him angry.” I looked at the large dog lapping water from a bowl near the exit and back at Brian. “Or he’s simply a very sick puppy. Whoever is killing the girls is either a psychopath or has serious anger issues. He doesn’t need a logical reason for his actions, does he?”
Brian thought about it. “No.”
“Does O’Hara have a temper?” asked Charles.
“I haven’t seen it,” said Brian.
“I’m not saying it’s him,” I said. “Seems he would be in a good position to learn about the girls, and his reputation doesn’t help.”
“Tell you what,” said Brian. He hesitated and then looked down at his glass. “I can check to see if he was working when Samuel saw the alleged abduction.”
“And when the rebar-wielding guy met me at my apartment?” said Charles.
“Then too,” said Brian. “But I’ve got to tell you: I don’t like the guy. He’s an egomaniacal jerk. But I don’t see him as a killer.”
“But—” said Charles.
Brian held up his hand. “I said I’ll check.”
“Fair enough,” I said and shook his hand.
Brian walked off the patio, and Amber headed to the table. She had been watching for the chief to leave. “Chris, could I talk to you a minute?”
Charles took the hint and said he had to check on Melinda. He told Amber that I would take care of the check—no surprise—and said he’d call me later. I was relieved that Charles hadn’t invited the entire Baptist church choir to breakfast.
“Let’s not talk here,” she said. I paid for Dude’s, Brian’s, Charles’s, and my morning refreshments and followed Amber.
Curious, I thought.
CHAPTER 44
I FOLLOWED AMBER OFF THE PATIO AND AROUND THE restaurant to the small city park behind the combined library and community center. I smiled as I read “It’s Okay To Drool” on the back of her yellow Lost Dog Café T-shirt. I smiled, but I was still curious about her mysterious request and need for privacy.
“Thought you ought to know,” she said as she leaned on the wooden rail of the small bridge that overlooked a pond in the park. “Jason said that Samuel is telling everyone in school that he saw the ‘lady killer’ abduct Corman-Eades.” Jason was Amber’s son and was also Samuel’s best friend.
“You sure?”
“No reason for Jason to lie about it, is there?” she said through clenched teeth.
The reason Amber and I had stopped dating was that she felt that I had put her son in danger after I got mixed up in a murder case a couple of years ago. Jason had been with me when I discovered one of the victims. She was afraid for her son. I didn’t think he was in danger, but I understood—he was all she had. The last thing I wanted to do was to dredge up feelings of those terrible days.
“Of course not,” I said. “I’m not questioning Jason. Just thought maybe whoever told him was confused. You know how rumors get started.”
“Samuel told him. Would’ve been hard to get confused, don’t you think?” She gripped the handrail and glared at me.
In fewer than two minutes, I had irritated Amber by questioning her son. I didn’t mean to accuse him of anything. “Oh,” I said. “Sorry, I didn’t mean he misunderstood. I’m confused. Samuel told me that he didn’t see the person. He heard a girl scream. He caught a glimpse of a man earlier who he later thought may have taken her, and he had seen a car drive away.” I shrugged. “He said he couldn’t identify the abductor.”
She loosened her grip and hesitated before speaking. “You know how boys are,” she said, her voice calmer. “Everyone at school’s talking about the murders. Samuel’s a big man in school with his story. I hate it when you get involved in this horrible stuff, but I’m resigned to the fact that you will. Charles has shown pictures of the victims to everyone who lives, works, and visits Folly, so the two of you are already neck deep in it.”
I started to protest, but she touched my arm and shook her head. “Don’t say anything. You’ll do what you have to do.” She smiled. “That’s why I love and hate you at the same time.”
“I only—”
She squeezed my arm and continued, “Jason made a good point. He said if everyone in school believes that Samuel saw the killer, he was afraid that the killer would find out.” She looked out on the small pond and then back at me. “He’s afraid for Samuel. So am I.”
I would love to have reassured her and said that Samuel wasn’t in danger, but I knew better. This was a small community. Kids tell their parents and parents tell their friends. Pretty soon, everyone knows. Samuel didn’t get a clear look at the killer and couldn’t identify him, but the killer didn’t know that.
“I’m worried too,” I said and put my hand on her shoulder.
She looked back toward the Dog. “Wanted you to know. Got to get back to work. Good luck.” She kissed me on the cheek and hurried back to the restaurant.
I watched her go and knew that she was right. Samuel
was in danger. The killer had already made two attempts on Charles’s life. What would stop him from going after a teenager who could possibly identify him?
The phone rang before I could think about Samuel’s exaggeration, a teenager’s tale that could get him killed.
“So what’d she want to tell you that she couldn’t say in front of me?” said Charles.
If he had owned a cell phone, I would have sworn that he was hiding behind a nearby tree watching for Amber to leave. He couldn’t let her story linger.
“She said you were the sweetest, most kind and generous man on earth. She didn’t want to say it in front of you; she was afraid she’d blush,” I said.
“Wow, really?” said Charles.
“In your dreams,” I said. “I’ll tell you later.”
“Good,” he said. “So here’s our plan. Melinda told me she’s feeling chipper and wants a night on the town. Heather says it’s about time I spent some money on her. And I bet Karen could use a good meal.”
Unless I had drifted during it, I had missed the plan, but I had a hunch I was involved. “The plan?”
“The plan is that you call Karen and invite her out to dinner and then you head over this way later and take us to Blu.”
The upscale restaurant was in the Tides. The food was great, but it was probably the most expensive restaurant on Folly. Even though it was Charles’s party, the odds were high that the check would be mine. “Why Blu?”
“Melinda said that she had a hankerin’ for a good meal at the resort hotel where we put her up her first night here.” He laughed. “She said she knew her wonderful and generous nephew would want to splurge on her.”
I wondered if she had another nephew but said, “What time?”
I had just started to punch in Karen’s number when the phone rang again. The caller ID read, “Mayor Lally.” My first reaction was to think, what an ego. Then I wanted to throw the phone in the pond, but curiosity won out.
“Mr. Landrum,” said the mayor, “meet me for lunch tomorrow. Our regular meeting spot.” He cackled at his feeble joke.
I sighed, regretted not throwing the phone in the water, and said that I’d be there.
I didn’t know what he wanted but was certain that our mayor didn’t want to give me a good citizenship award.
Heather had nothing on me when it came to being psychic.
CHAPTER 45
THE HUMIDITY WAS STIFLING, BUT WE MANAGED TO GET an inside table beside the large windows overlooking the ocean. It was seven o’clock, but the summer sun was still high in the sky, and the beach had no shortage of couples and walkers. A few preschoolers jumped and squealed as each wave slapped their legs. Two surfers optimistically waited for the perfect wave.
“Don’t see many surfers back home,” said Melinda. She had been staring at two young men sitting on their boards waiting for something to happen. It seldom did. Her eyes sparkled, and she seemed more alert than I had seen her in the last few days. She stared at the surfers. I stared at her shamrock-green hair and thought she’d give M&M’s a run for their color choices. I wasn’t going to mention her ever-changing locks, but I hoped that Charles or Heather would ask about it.
“Guess that’s why Chuckie’s not a surfer,” said Heather. I thought she was kidding, but with her, I could never tell. She and Charles were made for each other.
A waitress interrupted our intellectually stimulating conversation. Melinda hadn’t looked at the menu, and Heather said she didn’t know how to order from such an exotic selection. Everyone knew how to order drinks.
“I thought Karen was coming,” said Melinda. She looked around as if Karen might be at another table.
“She may stop by later,” I said. “Something came up at work.” I didn’t want to ruin a perfectly pleasant evening by telling Melinda that someone had the nerve to get murdered in Charleston just to keep Karen from joining us.
“Ho, ho! There you are,” came a familiar voice from across the room.
I turned and saw Chester Carr hobble our way. He wore a white short-sleeved dress shirt and something no human in his late eighties should wear in public: shorts. The purple veins in his legs reminded me of a road map of Florida. Thankfully, his white tube socks covered Miami. A broad smile peeked through his Magoo glasses.
Melinda stood and pointed at the chair that had been saved for Karen. I glanced at Charles, who seemed as surprised as I was to see Chester. Charles looked at Melinda, and she gave him a wide grin.
“Thanks for the invite,” said Chester, who then gave Melinda a peck on the cheek. He patted her on the head. “I do like that color—quite fetching. Puts me in the holiday spirit.”
Halloween? I wondered.
Melinda turned her head so he could see the back. “St. Patty’s Day,” she said.
“Little early for that,” said Heather. “Isn’t it a half year away?”
“It’s never too early, my dear,” said Melinda.
“Fetching,” repeated Chester.
My stomach knotted as I wondered if it was green because she figured she wouldn’t be around in March for St. Patrick’s Day. I took a deep breath and decided to enjoy the moment. Melinda had a way of brightening the dreariest day.
“Folly Curls is the greatest,” she said. “Damian said he’d change the color any old time I wanted.”
Heather leaned toward the table and whispered something. Chester put his hand behind his ear and said, “Huh?”
Melinda said, “What?”
My hearing was on the slow path toward deafness, so I appreciated their questions.
“I said,”—Heather spoke more loudly but clearly didn’t want anyone at nearby tables to hear—“rumor is that Anne’s been running around on poor Cameron.”
“Who?” said Chester.
“Anne Potterfield, the lady who owns Folly Curls,” said Charles in a tone that implied everyone should know.
“Oh,” said Chester. “I get my hair cut there and never knew her name. Cute little thing. Who’s Cameron?”
“Her husband, duh,” said Heather.
“Oh yeah, the woodcutter,” said Chester.
“Carpenter,” said the always-accurate Charles. “Where’d you hear it?”
He wanted to be able to footnote the rumor.
“Millie’s,” she said. “Tongues are a-waggin’. All the ladies have been talking about it.”
“She seems so nice,” said Melinda. “Sort of reminds me of two of those poor dead girls from the picture you’re showing around, Charles.” She paused. “Yes, she’s so nice and—”
“That’s the problem,” interrupted Heather. “She’s too nice. Hear she ran off to St. Thomas with one of her clients. He’s that real estate hunk who’s always primping. His picture is always in the ads in the paper, standing in front of the Cooper River Bridge like he’d just sold it. Anne told poor Cameron that she was at a stylists’ convention in Las Vegas. Hear it wasn’t her first trip with the creep—few days here, few there.” She shook her head. “Poor hubby. He’d kill her if he found out.”
Charles had heard enough about the salacious life of half the Potterfield family. “So, Melinda, it was nice of you to invite Chester to supper. Did you forget to mention it to me?”
“Nope,” she said and then sipped her gin and tonic.
Chester leaned toward me. “Have the police caught the maniac who’s killing those cute muchachas?”
Heather piped in, “Chuckie says there’s not a snowball’s chance in Laredo, Mexico, that that detective in Charleston will figure it out.”
Melinda reached over and pinched her nephew’s cheek. “Charles is right. But, don’t worry your adorable hairless head about it, Chester. My nephew, the detective, and his friend here almost have it solved.” She pointed at me.
Heather gave two oversized nods. “They sure do.”
Chester turned to Charles. “Who is it?”
“Don’t want to say just yet,” said Charles.
“Sort of like that priest thing,” added Heather. “He can’t tell.”
“Oh,” said Chester.
“It’s that creepy cop,” said Melinda. “The Irish one, O something.”
Chester cupped his left hand behind his ear. “Who?”
“O’Hara,” said Heather. “Whoops, sorry, Chuckie. It just flew out.”
He looked at her like she’d stepped on his toe but said, “That’s okay. We’re all friends. Besides, we’re not exactly sure.”
“Hope you’re right,” said Chester. “I was talking to some of the guys at Bert’s yesterday, and we all figured it must be a bartender. You know, someone the girls would open up to. They were here alone, weren’t they? Someone said that not even their families knew where they were.”
“He’s not gay,” said Melinda.
I glanced at Charles. He looked at Chester, who said, “I most definitely am not.”
“Not you, silly,” said Melinda, who then winked at him. “Never thought you were.”
“Who, Aunt M.?” asked Charles for all of us.
“Damian, of course.”
“What brought that up?” I asked.
“Chester mentioned bartenders which reminded me of Damian. Hairdressers learn all sorts of stuff about their clients; they’re like bartenders with scissors.”
“Anne sure did,” said Heather.
Couldn’t argue with that, I thought. “How do you know he’s not gay?” I asked.
Chester turned to Melinda. “Put a move on you, didn’t he?”
She giggled. “No. Charles isn’t the only detective in the family. I know a thing or two about detecting.”
“See him kiss a girl?” asked Chester. “Watch women’s beach volleyball?”
“Nope,” she said. “When I was in there yesterday getting my hair ready for St. Patty’s Day, I looked him in the eye and said, ‘Are you gay?’”
I nearly choked on my wine, Charles put his head down on the table, and Heather said, “Great detecting?”
