by Bill Noel
She squeezed my arm. “I love you. Like I told you before, you wouldn’t be happy and that would kill everything. Besides, the company has seventeen locations, one’s here in Charleston and another in Savannah. I’ll be travelling with the job and some of those trips will be nearby. We’d be able to see each other. That way—”
She put her head against my arm and her arms around my waist. Her body shook and I thought I heard sobs through the icy wind. We stood for several minutes, neither of us wanting to move. We had seen less and less of each other the last six months and she had talked more about our age difference. I had known it was a problem from day one, and hoped, possibly unrealistically, that it was a minor issue. If I was fifteen years younger, I would look at moving. I would look at a long life ahead of me with options. Now, I know I won’t be around for many more years and change becomes more difficult. Karen needs to move on with her life, and the new job will provide her the financial stability a single woman on a governmental salary can only dream about.
“Charlotte’s not that far away,” I said.
We were both mature enough and had been around enough to know I was lying.
She pushed away from me. “I have to go to work. Let’s get back.”
When she called, I had hoped to be able to share what had happened yesterday and talk through the situation and see if the detectives had more leads on who may have hired Panella. That was until I saw the look on her face as she stood in the door. Now wasn’t the time to bring it up. Besides, I was freezing.
Karen kissed me on the cheek as she walked me to my door and headed to her car. The temperature in the house was forty degrees warmer than outside, but the chill from the walk and her announcement stayed with me the rest of the morning.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Avoidance had long been one of my go-to defense mechanisms. After spending the best part of the morning thinking about how I felt about Karen leaving, the prospect of moving to Charlotte to be near her, or proposing, and her possible reactions, I had to switch gears or I’d either go crazy or ram my fist through the wall I began running through everything I knew about the threat to Barb. It didn’t take long once I realized I knew almost nothing about why someone was out to get her, or who it might be. It seemed obvious that it was about her life before moving here. Her husband was involved in crimes that involved millions of dollars. Barb said she didn’t know what was going on; the police believed her or she would have been indicted. Yet it seemed someone didn’t buy her story and felt she was a threat.
I fixed more coffee and moved on to something that had bothered me for days. Who broke in my house and why? Then, while replaying the conversation with Rocky, I began to feel more confident about what I had speculated about the other day. The person who hired Panella must think I have the money he’d paid the hit man. The police hadn’t found it on the body, nothing was found in his car, not much in his hotel room, and no one knew Rocky had pulled the trigger. I would have been the logical person to have killed Panella and taken the cash.
If true, the person who hired Panella would have been in the area, at least the three times my house was violated. And, according to Rocky, Panella said he had to meet at someone’s house. The person who wanted Barb dead was not in Pennsylvania, but here.
My cupboard was bare so I headed to the Dog for a late lunch. The restaurant wasn’t as empty as the beach had been, but it was close. Three tables were occupied; two with regulars and the third by Jane Campbell, a lady who owned several rental properties but whom I had seldom seen in the Dog. Her arm was in a sling and her head buried in the morning’s Post and Courier. Amber saw me and waved for me to sit wherever I wanted, so I headed to my favorite booth.
She delivered meals to a nearby table and brought me coffee. “Afternoon.” She frowned. “You look like someone ran over your Corkie. You okay?”
“Rough morning.”
She grinned. “Someone break in your house—again?”
I smiled. “Not this time.”
She took my order, took it to the kitchen, returned to the table, and looked around the restaurant and didn’t see anyone needing her attention. She slid in the booth.
“Give?” she said.
Despite being friends, I was uncomfortable talking with her about my personal life. My friends didn’t have that reservation and kept her updated on everything that went on with me. I’d often kidded she knew more about what was happening to me than I did. I had only been half kidding.
“Karen is taking a job in Charlotte.”
“Oh.”
For once, I shared something that someone hadn’t already told her.
“You going with her?”
I shook my head. “No.”
“Oh.”
That was as close as Amber comes to speechless.
“We’ll see each other from time to time. The company has an office here and she’ll be back.”
Amber waited for me to continue. I didn’t, and she said, “They say absence makes the heart grow fonder. From what I’ve seen, it makes it hell on relationships. If you don’t mind me saying, I don’t see it working. Maybe it will at first, but not for long.” She shrugged. “I’m being honest.”
“I know, and don’t disagree. Folly is my home and I can’t see leaving.”
“I don’t know about the new job and why she’s taking it, but I’ll tell you what I do know. I’m butting in. If you want to hear it, I’ll tell you.”
“Amber, I’ve known you longer than anyone here. I always want to know what you think. I don’t always agree, but ...” I smiled.
“Here it is. You’re one of the most regular regulars in here. You’re in a couple of times a week or more and you’re my favorite by far, and that’s not because you’re that great a tipper. Anyway, I hear bits and pieces of your conversation with folks and I’ve got to tell you, you’ve talked less about Karen, and pray tell, I can’t remember the last time she was here with you.”
“Okay.”
“That tells me there’s drifting going on. Could be you drifting away from her or her from you; either way, something’s coming on, and it hasn’t been wedding bells.”
I hated to admit she was right. Regardless, I didn’t want to talk about it. I glanced over at Jane.
“What happened to her?”
Amber leaned closer. “She fell down the stairs of a rental she owns on West Huron.” She leaned even closer and whispered. “Hear she was a tad under the weather, if you get my meaning. She missed a step. Was lucky to get off with a broken arm.”
There was a reason Amber was one of the island’s leading contenders for top gossip collector and distributor.
I nodded and Amber stood. “Let me grab your food.”
A minute later she returned with my lunch and a question.
“Speaking of accidents, do you know if Russ Vick was in a bad one?”
“Is he in a cast?”
“No, I don’t mean recent.”
“Why?”
She pointed to her forehead at the hairline. “ Most times I see customers when they’re sitting at a table and I’m looking down at them. I’ve got a great view of your bald spot a lot of people can’t see.”
“Thanks, that’s what I needed reminding of.”
She smiled. “My point, Mr. Self-Conscious, is Russ has a scar right about here.” She again pointed to her hairline. “Most people wouldn’t see it unless they were looking.”
“You think it’s from a wreck?”
“Suppose so. Don’t know what else it could be.”
“Yoo-hoo, Amber,” called Jane from across the room as she held her coffee mug in the air with her good arm.
Amber smiled at Jane, hopped up and headed to the coffee pot. I watched her go and thought about what she had said about Russ’s scar. I then remembered something that had been said when Russ, Dude, and I were in here right after I had met the T-shirt store owner. I didn’t think about it at the time, but he’d said Dude wasn’t anything
like Barb. That wasn’t profound for anyone who had met the siblings, half siblings, but unless I was mistaken, Russ had said he hadn’t had a chance to meet Barb. How would he have known they were different?
Until now, I hadn’t given Russ a second thought in relation to the dead man. Other than both being a recent arrivals to Folly, there was no obvious connection between the two. And, Barb first met Russ the day she and I were in here, and after he left, she said she’d seen him around town. Had he hired Panella? Hadn’t Barb said when her husband was caught some of the people her ex had been in cahoots with had gone missing—like cockroaches when the lights came on. Could Russ be one of them? Thinking back on when Barb had met Russ, he didn’t stay long and she didn’t get a good look at him. Could the scar have been from plastic surgery to alter his appearance rather than from a wreck? The full beard could add to his disguise.
Amber had refilled Jane’s mug and was occupied with a family of four who had braved the cold for a hot breakfast. Russ had also made a point of sharing he had been in Las Vegas when Panella had been murdered. In hindsight, his revelation seemed unusual to be sharing with someone he’d just met. Could he have been planting his alibi for the time Panella should have killed Barb?
Despite a new look, Russ could have figured that with both of them on the small island and having businesses within sight of each other, she would eventually recognize him as one of her ex-husband’s partners in crime; one of the partners in hiding.
I left my lunch unfinished, left a substantial tip for the lady who might have given me the biggest tip, and left the restaurant to start an Internet search for Russell Vick, current resident of Folly Beach, formerly of locations unknown.
A crick in my neck was all I got after an hour searching websites and references for Russell Vick, Russ Vick, and variations of the spelling of the name. He had said he was from Delaware so I started the search there. There was no shortage of Russell Vicks on the Internet, and many of the sights had images of Mr. Vick, and even if he didn’t have a beard or plastic surgery, none of them came close to looking like the T-shirt shop owner. I wasn’t optimistic about the search since I figured if he went to that much trouble to change his appearance, he would have changed his name. It was worth a try, besides it took my mind off Karen.
I had suffered another sleepless night before semi-focusing my eyes enough to brew a pot of coffee. As cold as it had been yesterday, I half expected to see a rare layer of snow outside my window. There wasn’t snow, but the bleak grayness of the sky led me to believe today wasn’t going to be warmer than yesterday. In the middle of the night, I had decided to call Chief LaMond and incur her ire by telling her my theory about Russ Vick. I knew she would call me every creative name someone from East Tennessee could call a jackass. In the end, she’d listen and if a glimmer of what I said made sense, she’d investigate.
I was reaching for the phone to call the chief when it rang.
“Guess what Heather got?” Charles said.
I didn’t share his enthusiasm for a daily quiz. “What?”
“No guesses today?” He sounded disappointed.
I sighed. “Okay, a pet chinchilla.”
“Not a bad idea, no. She got the prettiest little red and white gingham dress you’ve ever seen. Found it at Stein Mart. You wouldn’t believe all the stores they have here.”
I often thought Charles would be dangerous if he had a way to get around other than by bike. Nashville’s retail establishments were getting a taste of my friend.
“For her demo session?”
“She wants to look her best when she’s cutting it. ‘Look good, sound good,’ she says.”
“Has she paid for the demo?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Good. I talked with Cal about it. He—”
Charles interrupted, “Do I want to hear what he said?”
Doubt it, I thought. “Let me tell you and you decide.”
He didn’t respond so I told him Cal’s, shall I say, less than enthusiastic, opinion of what was happening to Heather and how he felt the alleged agent was playing on her ambition and ripping her off.
Charles listened, interjected a couple of comments along the way, and when I had finished, he didn’t speak for a long time, until he said, “Cal’s been around the block so many times he’s worn the pavement off. I trust his opinion. I sort of have a bad feeling about Starr, but you know Heather. It’d take more than a herd of buffalo to stop her once she has her mind made up.”
Charles was right, yet I felt I’d be letting my friend down if I didn’t share what I’d learned.
“Tell you what,” Charles said. “I’ll tell my honey what Cal said. I’ll even, gulp, tell her I agree with him. And if she hasn’t already clobbered me with her guitar, I’ll try to tell her I think it’s best if we temporarily abandoned her dream and head home, home being Folly Beach.”
I smiled. “Good.”
“If she tries to throw me out the window, I’m going to tell her it was all your idea.”
“That’s what friends are for.”
“Now that you’ve decided what I should do, have you figured out who killed the killer man?”
“Interesting you should ask. I think so.”
Charles proceeded to lambast me for not calling him in the middle of the night with my theory. I told him I would have shared it at the beginning of this conversation if he hadn’t been intent on giving me a fashion update. I got down to telling him everything I’d been thinking. He asked if I had proof, the question I would have asked him when he was on one of his tangents. I said no, and he asked what I was going to do. I said I was getting ready to call Chief LaMond when he called. He said he’d step outside so he could hear the chief’s scream all the way to Nashville. I said thanks.
He finished by saying, “I hope to see you soon.”
I refilled my coffee and called Cindy’s cell. She was in her office and said she had a meeting with the mayor in ten minutes. She added, “Of course, whatever you have to say is much more important than meeting with my boss, so take your time.”
It didn’t take the entire ten minutes to lay out what I suspected. I finished and she didn’t yell, probably because she was in her office.
“Chris, you never cease to amaze me—not impress me, not convince me, not even make me think you’re making sense.” I heard her sigh. “On the other hand, it’s more than the super-dooper, hotshot detective Adair has come up with. I’ll give him a holler and do some nosing around. And hey, when it proves to be worthless and Adair says it’s the dumbest thing he’s ever heard, don’t worry, I’ll give you credit.”
Cindy had her hands full with the usual bureaucratic and personnel day-to-day issues that she had to deal with her department, and will be tied up for the next couple of hours with the mayor. Even if she got time to call Detective Adair, it wouldn’t be soon, and from other things he’d said about my previous theories, he may not give credence to what she’d tell him. Barb’s life was in danger, and my house was becoming a hangout for unwanted visitors, so I didn’t have the luxury of waiting for something to happen. I needed to talk with Barb, so why not over a meal?
I reached for the phone, still warm from my previous two conversations, and called Barb’s Books. After four rings, I had begun to wonder if she was there, but then she answered. I told her who I was and was pleased when she said she recognized my voice. I asked if she was free for supper. She hesitated, then said she had to eat. We agreed to meet at Loggerhead’s since it across the street from her condo and close to my house. After I hung up, I wondered why I didn’t go to the bookstore to talk to her. Oh well, I too had to eat.
I was standing at the steps leading to the elevated restaurant when Barb rushed across the road from her building.
“Is it always this cold in February?” she asked, as I met her in the restaurant’s parking lot. “I moved here to get away from icicles hanging off my nose.”
I smiled, not only because she was a pleasant sigh
t in her black leather jacket and dark-gray wool fedora with a narrow red band around the crown, but because she’d already fallen prey to not greeting people with the common courtesies.
I explained it was exceptionally cold and most winters she wouldn’t have to worry about icicles.
“Good,” She jogged up the steps.
Loggerheads, like most restaurants on the island in this weather, was nearly empty and Ed, the owner, said for us to sit anywhere. We settled in a booth along the wall and a waitress took our drink order. Barb asked for a gin and tonic with a brand of gin I’d never heard of. Neither had the waitress who said she’d see if they had it. She returned and said no and Barb ordered a Loggerhead’s Draft, a comedown from a gin and tonic, yet a drink the waitress was certain she could find. I stuck with the house cabernet.
Barb took off her heavy coat to reveal another bright red blouse, her trademark color, and said, “Something tells me your invitation wasn’t social.”
“I confess, you’re right. There is something, although I could have done it on the phone.”
“Hmm.” She watched the waitress return with our drinks and ask if we were ready to order.
I looked at Barb and she shook her head and I told the waitress we needed a few minutes.
I sipped wine to stall and figure out how to ease into a discussion about Russ Vick.
She took a long draw on her beer and gave me a look that would have intimidated a hostile witness in court. “What is it?”
“Have you had much contact with Russ Vick?”
She tilted her head. “Russ Vick?”
“The T-shirt store guy?”
“Folly Tease and SML Shirts. Just met him once, at the Dog. You were there.”
“That’s the only time?”
She frowned, uncomfortable with my line of questions. “Why?”
Might as well hit it head on. “I’ve got a theory.” I held out my palm. “It might sound ridiculous, and I’ll admit, it might be, but I think he hired Panella to kill you.”
