Crashing Waves

by L A Morgan

  “The Cat?”

  “Yes. Obviously this person has been robbing the local residents of their jewels for two weeks now. A private reward has been established for his capture. In fact, that’s why the desk officer thought I was calling.”

  ‘You’re kidding!” Laurel exclaimed.

  “No. There’s a $30,000 reward for any information leading to the apprehension of The Cat.”

  “If we got that, it would pay for our entire vacation plus a hefty, little bonus!”

  “Forget it, Laurel. Our description was too vague. We couldn’t even tell if it was a man or a woman.”

  “You’re right,” Laurel sighed. “It was a nice thought, anyway.”

  “Poor Eatha! This character must be a professional. The authorities have been trying to keep the whole affair under wraps, but the desk officer mentioned that the local papers had gotten a hold of the story today. Now, they’re being constantly bombarded with calls from the media and people who want to get the reward.”

  Laurel jumped to her feet.

  “They have newspapers right by the office! I’m going to get them!”

  “Wait! I’ll go with you!”

  Together, Laurel and Michael walked rapidly to the front of the building. A minute later, they procured the local papers and quickly made their way back to Laurel’s apartment. After returning to their seats, they each took a different paper to scan through them.

  After a moment, Laurel eagerly proclaimed, “Here it is!” She then proceeded to read a portion of the article aloud.

  “The local jewel thief that the Myrtle Beach Police refer to as The Cat has struck again! This time, the felon got away with $65,000 worth of jewelry from the oceanfront home of Mr. and Mrs. Ellsworth Grant shortly after dawn. The burglar’s escape was witnessed by some tourists that happened to be passing on the beach, but no adequate description was given to Sergeant Henry Shaw, who arrived on the crime scene moments after the robbery took place.

  “The distraught Mrs. Grant, a long-time resident of the area, was reported to have slept through the entire theft. The Cat has become a local menace during the past two weeks, stealing approximately $750,000 worth of jewelry from a variety of homes in the Myrtle Beach area.”

  Laurel summarized what she had read, saying, “The article describes all the other robberies that have taken place. It looks like the police don’t have a clue about The Cat’s identity.”

  Michael listened to her intently as his eyes swept over his own newspaper.

  “That about covers it,” he said. “My paper also states that the intruder, who was spotted by a passer-by only once before, is known to wear black clothing and a black, woolen hat. No fingerprints were found at any of the crime scenes, and the only clue that the police have to go on is an impression of The Cat’s footprint which was found in a muddy area. Apparently he was wearing running shoes.”

  “Isn’t that intriguing?” Laurel exclaimed excitedly.

  “Yes, but I don’t think it will give the police much help in tracking down this burglar. “

  “I wonder why they tried to keep a secret.”

  ‘“Since Myrtle Beach is known for its tourism, I can well imagine why they don’t want to advertise the fact that there’s a jewel thief around. The wealthier tourists would not be happy to hear about that.”

  “You’re right, Michael. I didn’t think of that.”

  “I suppose this town has its share of petty thievery during the main tourist season, but this must be somewhat of a novelty. “

  “Maybe I should hide my zircon earrings,” Laurel suggested in jest.

  Michael smiled and replied, “We stumbled into quite a little affair today, didn’t we? This thief might be wanted throughout the country. “

  “Do you think so?”

  “There’s always that possibility.”

  “Wait until I tell my mother about this!”

  “Maybe you should wait.”

  “Why?”

  “She might demand that you come home immediately.”

  “Would you care, Michael?”

  He smiled strangely when she said this. After a few seconds, he replied, “‘I think I would.”

  “Well, that’s nice to hear,’” Laurel said with a grin.

  Michael looked at her thoughtfully for a minute.

  Then he said, “I’ve become rather fond of you in the short time we’ve spent together. Don’t misunderstand me, Laurel. This is simply something that I never expected.”

  At hearing these words, the woman smiled inwardly. She did not care to press him any further.

  “Meeting you has definitely improved my vacation,” she declared with sincerity.

  “It’s strange that we met because you were playing that song on your guitar.”

  “Maybe it was Fate.”

  Michael smiled and shook his head.

  “I don’t believe in the workings of Fate,” he stated flatly. “I don’t believe that events interrelate or that there’s a divine providence watching over us all.”

  “Why are you so cynical?”

  “I could ask you why you’re so willing to believe something for which there is no conclusive proof.”

  “I guess we have each other at a stalemate here.”

  “It looks that way.”

  “Do you believe in God, Michael?”

  “I don’t think we ought to get into that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’m sure your opinion is not going to coincide with mine.”

  “Well, isn’t that the basis for all discussions?”

  “Some of them,” Michael was forced to concede.

  “Then, why shouldn’t we discuss God?”

  “The discussion might become an argument.”

  “What’s so bad about an argument?”

  “Arguments lead to nasty words, spoken in anger, and I can’t stand that.”

  “Why?”

  “You’re too persistent!”

  “‘And you, Michael, are too evasive. A discussion of God is not a personal subject, so it should not offend your sense of privacy.”

  “I believe most people consider it to be a very personal subject.”

  “Maybe, but it isn’t nearly as personal as discussing your private life, which I’ve taken care to avoid.”

  “I haven’t noticed that. When you asked me, I told you all about my home and my sister.”

  “But, you avoided speaking of whatever it is that makes you so sad.”

  “I see,” Michael replied, withdrawing coldly from the subject.

  Laurel immediately regretted her foolishness in approaching territory that had clearly been designated as forbidden. Her habit of saying whatever was on her mind had created problems for her in the past.

  ‘‘I’m sorry,” she sincerely apologized. “I didn’t intend to push you into a corner. I’m really sorry, Michael.”

  The man still looked disturbed.

  “It might be best if I left,” he stated tersely.

  “Please don’t!” Laurel pleaded. “I’ve always had this big mouth, and it’s gotten me into more trouble than you can imagine. Please, don’t go like this.”

  Michael wavered between getting up and leaving, and remaining to resolve the present difficulty.

  “I’ll promise not to bring up the subject again,” Laurel said encouragingly.

  The man regarded her through narrowed eyes. He was not ready to speak on a totally confidential level with anyone. For the past several years, he had strenuously avoided such intimate contact with others.

  Sensing his indecision, Laurel attempted to change the subject.

  “Look at how large the waves are!” she pointed out. “Do you think a storm might be on the way?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You can see the stars clearly. Please, Michael. I’m trying to be as impersonal as possible. Don’t go away now.”

  He looked at her thoughtfully. This sudden relationship had meant a lot to him
. It was his first close, personal contact with a woman in a long time.

  Suddenly, he made up his mind.

  “I’ll stay,” he said softly. “You have a way of getting under a man’s skin, Laurel. I’m not saying that’s a bad thing. It’s just different . . . and difficult for me.”

  “Do you have many friends?” Laurel felt compelled to ask.

  “No. I’ve been a loner for a while now.”

  “I thought so.”

  “Is it that obvious?”

  “Yes. You don’t have to tell me why, Michael. I care, but I’m not going to ask you any more questions about it. We agreed that we weren’t going to have any attachments in our relationship, and I’m willing to abide by that. Okay?”

  The man nodded solemnly. This amiable evening had now become filled with tension. In an effort to alleviate this, Laurel got up and went inside to get her guitar. Bringing it out onto the balcony, she sat down and tested it to make sure it was in tune.

  When this was done, she began to strum the chords of Crashing Waves. Michael appeared to once again relax in his chair. The ocean continued to beat against the shoreline, and this sound echoed within the framework of Laurel’s small, snug balcony.

  She sang the words without embarrassment, without caring about minor mistakes. The song flowed free and easy as its import steadied her hands and her voice. It seemed to time itself with the waves.

  Laurel wished that Michael would join in with her singing, but he did not. He stared out over the waters of time, enrapt with her words and melody. Life continued to roll in and out upon the shore.

  When her song was over, Laurel placed her guitar beside her chair. The moment seemed to cry out for a silent, thoughtful pause. At last, Michael spoke.

  “I like that song.”

  “It has a nice tune.”

  ‘It’s more than the tune. It’s the words.”

  Laurel took a few seconds to recall what she had sung. She wondered why the words had such a deep impact on the man and how it related to his life. Perhaps, one of these days, the tide would bring her the answer.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The following morning, Laurel had breakfast in her apartment. She tried to decide what she wanted to do that day, but no thoughts came to mind. Michael had made no mention of their getting together again before he had left her last night. She wondered if he harbored a grudge about her speaking so freely with him. They had been having such a nice time together, and she hoped that he wanted to continue their relationship.

  After putting away the breakfast dishes, Laurel grabbed her pocketbook and went out for a walk along Ocean Boulevard, toward the center of town. There were an impressive number of motels, condominiums, and apartments for rent along this thoroughfare. By the time she reached 10th Street North, these gave way to the Pavilion area.

  She noticed that a cement boardwalk on the beach side of the street extended into a big amusement park that was now open only on the weekend. Laurel walked along slowly, gazing at the penny arcades, horror houses, live shark shows, fast food restaurants, gift shops, and a Ripley’s Believe It Or Not Museum.

  One gift shop particularly caught her eye since it appeared to be the largest store in the area. It had a tremendous, glassed-in observation tower, bedecked with stuffed animals with a fountain in the center. The shop was still open, so Laurel went inside.

  She was amazed at the variety of items that were on sale throughout the store’s many levels. It was a veritable maze. Laurel stopped to look at the large selection of crystal figurines and decided to buy an attractive swan for her mother. She would enjoy adding this piece to her collection.

  After an hour or so of further browsing, Laurel walked slowly back to her motel. She packed the delicate, crystal swan in a safe corner of her suitcase and then changed into her bathing suit for a leisurely swim in the pool. As she swam back and forth, she could not stop herself from frequently glancing at Michael’s balcony. There was no sign of activity there and the drapes were drawn. She wondered what he was doing.

  An hour later, Laurel went back inside to shower and change. She considered treating herself out to lunch, but decided to save this pleasure for the evening meal. As a pot of soup simmered on the apartment stove, Laurel turned on her television. A news show was in progress. As she was about to change the station, the reporter said something that stilled her hand.

  “So, once again, The Cat, Myrtle Beach’s mysterious jewel thief, has struck without being caught or identified. His modus operandi is always the same; he breaks into a back window of a private residence, either in the early hours of the evening or close to dawn. Somehow, he has managed to open a dozen private safes without the aid of explosives.

  “The police still have no clue as to the identity of this person. The local residents have now upped the reward for information leading to the apprehension of The Cat to $45,000. The latest victim, Mrs. Elizabeth Crowley, is also offering a private reward of $50,000 for the safe return of her jewels. Anyone who has any information about The Cat, please contact the local police at 555-1742.”

  When the broadcast was over, Laurel turned off the TV and sat down on the end of the bed to think about what she had just heard. So the thief had struck again! He or she was certainly an active burglar. The newspapers had indicated that his crime scenes were chosen randomly, so the police had no idea where he would be likely to appear next. No neighborhood was safe from The Cat.

  The aroma of the simmering soup brought Laurel back to herself. After pouring it into a bowl, she settled down at the table by the window so she could look outside at the beach while she ate. Some people were brave enough to swim in the rapidly cooling waters of the Atlantic. Laurel shuddered as she watched them, preferring the heated waters of the motel’s pool.

  As she finished her cleanup, there was a knock at her door. With a quick pat to her hair, Laurel went to answer it.

  “How are you today?” Michael asked with a smile.

  “Fine,” Laurel cheerily replied, wondering if she should ask him inside.

  “I knocked at your door a few hours ago, but I guess you were out.”

  “I walked downtown to look around. This place must be a regular Coney Island in the summertime!”

  “That’s probably true. My parents took me to Coney Island once when I was very young.”

  “Me, too. I hear it’s changed a lot.”

  “That’s a shame.”

  This conversation was becoming more and more awkward.

  “I just finished some soup,” Laurel commented in order to break the pause that had ensued. “Have you had your lunch yet?”

  “I caught a quick bite while I was shopping at the Myrtle Square Mall. Did you know they have the world’s largest clock in there?”

  “You went shopping? I thought only women went shopping,” Laurel teasingly replied.

  Michael held up his hands in feigned horror.

  “So you caught me!” he declared. “Now, I suppose you’ll force me to admit that men like to shop as much as women do.”

  Laurel laughed, glad that Michael had regained his sense of humor.

  “Would you like to come in?” she asked.

  “I was hoping you might like to come out and go for a ride with me. There’s still a lot of exploring to be done.”

  Without any hesitation, Laurel replied, “I’d love to! Just let me get my bag.”

  Several minutes later, they were driving north on Highway 17. The sun was dazzling as they passed restaurants, beach outlet stores, and amusement areas. Laurel had brought along her camera on the chance she would find a sight worthy of a picture. In North Myrtle Beach, she came across her first photo op.

  “Look at that, Michael!” she exclaimed, pointing toward a small shopping area.

  On their right was a Bavarian-style clock tower that was leaning at a crazy angle like the tower of Pisa.

  “That’s certainly interesting,” Michael replied, pulling into the parking lot beside it.

&nbs
p; They both got out of the car so they could examine this oddity more closely. It made an interesting advertisement for the German restaurant that was beside it. Laurel raised her camera to take a picture.

  “Wait a minute!” interrupted Michael. “Why don’t you go and stand beside the tower, and I’ll take the picture for you.”

  Laurel readily agreed, handing her camera to him. As she walked over to the strange-looking landmark, an idea occurred to her. Instead of merely standing beside it, she placed her hands up against the leaning side to make it look as though she was holding up the tower. Michael laughed and took the picture.

  “I hope that won’t be blurry,” he commented as they walked back to the car.

  “Would you like me to take one of you in the same position?” she asked with a grin.

  “No thanks,” he replied. “I might not be strong enough to hold it up.”

  Laurel giggled and persisted, “I’d still like to take a picture of you, Michael.”

  “Okay, but not here. Let’s drive on and see what else we can find.”

  Shortly after this, they drove over a bridge that connected the island to the mainland. Beneath them flowed the Intracoastal Waterway. It was also called the Waccamaw River west of Myrtle Beach.

  “This looks like a good place for a picture,” Laurel said encouragingly.

  “If you’re thinking of getting the boats and that lighthouse, they’d be too far away.”

  “You’re the boss,” Laurel replied and they drive on to find a better sight.

  Soon they came to the South Carolina welcome station, just before the North Carolina border.

  “I’d like to go inside and get some more brochures,” said Laurel.

  “If there’s anything better than shopping, it’s getting free stuff,” Michael agreed. “Besides, everyone knows that you can never get enough travel brochures when you’re away on vacation. I always collect a whole bagful to take home with me. It’s a funny thing. When I get home, I don’t feel like reading them anymore, so I push them away in some corner until they finally get thrown out.”

  “I do the same thing,” Laurel said with a laugh. “I guess it’s the American tourist syndrome. Seeing all of that free literature, I just can’t stop myself from taking it.”