Missing

by Bill Noel

  CHAPTER 59

  Emergency vehicles lined the street in front of Samuel’s house along with two television news vans, a radio station’s small SUV, and a reporter from Charleston’s daily paper driving a faded Toyota Corolla. Newspaper readership was definitely on the decline.

  Chief Newman, who had a strong aversion to the media, was forced to make a statement to get them to leave. He stood in Samuel’s front yard, illuminated by the artificial television lights, and told the gathering reporters that Damian Sharp, a resident of Folly Beach, had been taken into custody for the murders of the three women. He conveniently failed to mention the woman we found in Damian’s apartment.

  The chief was asked how the police had identified the suspect, and he said something about observant citizens and threw the rest of the credit to the police work of Detective Brad Burton. Charles and I had sneaked out of the house through the back door and stood behind the newspaper reporter. It was cooler outside than in the stifling house. The EMTs had arrived and said that Samuel’s slashed ear wouldn’t require a trip to the hospital. We left him with his dad and Detective Burton. When Newman credited Burton, Charles elbowed me and said, “Did you hear that?”

  He knew that I hadn’t gone deaf, so I simply nodded. I figured that Brian didn’t want to get Samuel’s involvement any more attention than was necessary, and he knew that we didn’t want to have Charles’s or my name mentioned. The mayor already had it in for us.

  For the first time, I realized that sweat was pouring from every pore in my body. Brian was still saying something, but all I could think of was my ex-wife. Despite what everyone had told me, I knew there must have been something I could have done to save her. Perhaps saving Damian’s next victim, and my young friend Samuel, could soothe some of the burning in my stomach and pain in my heart over what had happened and what could have been—perhaps. It was then that I also realized that there was little difference between the tastes of perspiration and tears as they both rolled down my cheeks.

  Charles glanced over at me and then quickly turned his head away but patted my shoulder. I will be forever grateful for that kind gesture.

  The chief finally told the gathering that there wouldn’t be additional statements until tomorrow, so the television crews cut their lights and started packing their equipment. Other members of the media headed back to their vehicles, and the predictable gathering of locals standing around the adjacent yards and in the street scattered.

  I took a couple of deep breaths, gave a silent prayer, and then asked Charles if he was ready to go. He nodded. We drove to Melinda’s apartment and spent the next half hour telling her and Heather what had happened. Melinda’s collection of empty beer cans had increased by one, so I wasn’t sure if she would remember our conversation later. But at the moment she was clearly relieved.

  Heather said, “Oh, Chucky, my hero,” at least five times during our recounting of the events. All I wanted to do was go home, take a hot shower, and sleep for two days—or maybe a month.

  CHAPTER 60

  A week after Damian Sharp had been officially charged with the murder of three women and the abduction of another, Folly Beach began to return to normal—or in the eyes of outsiders, return to abnormal. After all, it’s not every day that the tiny island unveiled a serial killer.

  Melinda, Heather, and, for some reason, Chester Carr had decided to throw a “Killer Catchin’ Party” to honor Samuel, Charles, and me. To show how generous they were, they determined that the bash should take place in Landrum Gallery and be financed by the gallery’s owner. Melinda was so enthusiastic about the event that I had no choice but to say, “Great idea. I’d love to pay.”

  Karen and Brian were the only people I had invited. I didn’t know how many others the organizers had invited, but Melinda had borrowed my cell phone to access my contact list. Fortunately, I didn’t have many contacts. She told me I’d better buy plenty of libations and enough food to feed thousands. I had hoped she was teasing.

  Chester had lobbied to decorate the gallery with red, white, and blue streamers and two dozen balloons. Melinda reminded him that three women had been killed and didn’t think that the gallery should look like a Fourth of July celebration. He conceded, and they agreed on four tasteful flower arrangements that I could pay for. I was relieved that they didn’t think we needed two hot air balloons and a flyover by the Blue Angels.

  Charles, Melinda, and Heather arrived a half hour before the party was to begin. Charles and Heather offered to help set everything up, and Melinda wanted to make sure we had enough booze. Thankfully, Cal had agreed to furnish the beverages from his bar at cost provided that I didn’t turn him in to the Department of Revenue and Taxation.

  Melinda came through the door with a big smile, a bounce in her step, and a head unencumbered by a wig. I smiled and said, “Great look.”

  “It worked for Demi Moore in G. I. Jane,” she said as she rubbed her head. “Figure it can’t hurt me.”

  “It looks great,” added Charles.

  “Good,” she said. “’Cause I threw out my wig. That damned Damian—excuse my language—touched it. Yuck.” She frowned and just as quickly smiled. “Besides, Chester thinks it’s sexy.”

  That silenced the rest of us.

  Dude was the first nonorganizer to arrive. “This be party central?”

  Charles assured the aging hippy that he was in the right place and offered him a drink.

  “Why else be here?” said Dude. He then grinned and said, “Just be kiddin’. Wouldn’t miss el basho.”

  He took a beer from Charles and then walked over to Melinda and kissed her head. “Cool,” he said.

  “Think it’s sexy?” said Melinda.

  “Boss,” said Dude.

  He sipped the beer and turned to me. “Hear the news?”

  I’ve always found that to be a difficult question to answer and simply asked him what news.

  “Your fave, Mayor Lally, be skedaddling.”

  Charles was on his way across the room to get drinks for Cindy and Larry, who had just arrived. “Whoa, what?” he said and came to an abrupt halt. He told them to get their own beer and rushed over to Dude and me.

  “Lally’s mom-by-law be ill. She’s in big-wave state, and he’s moving there.”

  “Resigning as mayor?” said Charles.

  Dude gave a thumbs-up.

  What a coincidence, I thought. Now we really had something to celebrate.

  Cindy and Larry overheard part of Dude’s butchered news flash and joined our small group. She asked where he had heard it and he said, “Here and there.” She asked when he would be leaving and he said he wasn’t sure but that it would be soon. I was feeling better by the minute.

  Karen was next to arrive, with her dad in tow. She came over and kissed me on the cheek. Then she hugged Melinda and kissed her head. Brian nodded to each of us and then headed to the makeshift bar. Charles followed him and said, “Is it true?”

  I identified with Brian when he said, “You’re going to have to narrow that down a bit.”

  Charles impatiently shook his head. “That jackass quit?”

  Brian laughed. “If you mean my boss, Folly’s duly-elected mayor, yes.”

  Charles gave his best faux frown. “That’s too bad.”

  “Yes, it is,” replied Brian.

  I could tell he was lying from ten feet away.

  “He has to move to California to be close to his mother-in-law. She’s terribly ill.”

  “That’s what I heard,” said Charles.

  “I don’t think he can help her much,” said Brian. He hesitated and took a sip of white wine and shook his head. “According to his data sheet, his wife’s parents are both dead.”

  Charles rubbed his chin. “Must have forgot.”

  “Probably,” said Brian. He then walked over to me. “The sheriff’s office se
nt me an e-mail and said that they have enough evidence to send Damian Sharp away for about nine lifetimes. He’s not a cat, so you won’t have to worry about seeing him around here again.”

  I sent him over to repeat that to our guest of honor, Samuel, who had arrived with his father. The chief said that it would be a pleasure.

  Four people I didn’t know entered, looked around the room, and then headed to the food and drinks. They were followed by Chester, who spotted Melinda and planted a big, sloppy kiss on her lips. Apparently the top of her head wasn’t as appealing to him as it was to others. She smiled and gave him a lingering hug. She seemed livelier than I had ever seen her. I had no idea how much time she had with us, but we were going to make the most of each minute.

  Charles inched up to me, looked over at Melinda and Chester, and whispered, “As Thomas Jefferson once said, ‘The art of life is the art of avoiding pain.’”

  I started to agree, but he quickly moved to the front door to greet three others who had arrived—three more strangers.

  “Nice party you’re throwing in your honor,” said Karen. She gave me a hug and another kiss on the cheek. “Got a message for you,” she continued. “Saw Detective Burton yesterday.”

  “Sorry to hear that,” I said.

  “It’s my job,” she said. “He huffed, puffed, cursed, and then said for me to tell you thanks.”

  “Will wonders never cease?” I said.

  She smiled. “He also said that you’re not as big a troublemaking asshole as he thought you were.”

  The room was packed. I counted a dozen strangers. Charles said no when I asked if he had invited them.

  “Where did they come from?” I asked.

  He looked around the room. “Could have something to do with the big sign my dear, sweet Aunt M. put outside.”

  I zigzagged my way to the front door and stepped outside. In front of the window was a brick with five helium-filled balloons attached and a handwritten sign on poster board that read: “Free booze, food, and a sexy bald chick. Come on in!”

  I wiped the sweat off the back of my neck and smiled. There have been hotter summers on Folly Beach, but I’d never experienced one. I love it here.