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  “Remember the other day when we were talking? I told you I was certain Horace was the one who set the fire.”

  That wasn’t something I could easily forget. “Yes.”

  “Wasn’t him.”

  “How do you know?”

  “We had, guess still have, a mutual friend. Name’s Sally. She called yesterday to see if I’d heard about Horace. I’d heard a bunch of things about the no-good, two-timing, goat herder. I wasn’t sure what she was talking about, so I asked. You’ll never guess what she told me.”

  She hesitated. I wondered if she wanted me to guess. Instead, I said, “What?”

  “He had a stroke, happened two days before the fire. The two-timer was in the hospital in Mt. Pleasant. Nearly kicked the bucket.”

  “That’s too bad.”

  She sighed. “Not bad enough. He didn’t die. Got released yesterday. That’s what Sally called to tell me. Like she thought I cared. No sir, I didn’t.”

  “He couldn’t have started the fire.”

  “I figured the stroke was caused by the old man pretending he was a youngster fiddlin’ with that floozy he ran off with if you know what I mean.” She offered a sly grin.

  I did. Scratch one suspect. Which reminded me of something that’d bothered me since I had lunch with her in Snapper Jack’s, something that contributed to me getting little sleep last night. It was something she said before nearly falling off the chair. Instead of following up at the time, I thought it better to catch her before she hit the floor.

  “Janice, remember when we met the other day in Snapper Jack’s?”

  She smiled. “Not much. I was a bit under the weather if you know what I mean.”

  Drunk would have been the word I would’ve chosen.

  “We were talking about the apartment building and you said people had asked you about living there. You mentioned two people, a man, I believe his name was Jeff, and a woman named something like Kaycee. Remember?”

  “I remember them, but don’t remember telling you. Sure it was me?”

  Her not remembering didn’t surprise me considering her condition at the time.

  “What do you remember about them?”

  “The guy, Jeff, or something like that, looked like a street person if you ask me. He stopped me in the parking lot one afternoon, said he was looking for somewhere to live and wanted to know what I thought about the apartment building. I told him I didn’t think much of it, but that’s about all.”

  “What about the woman? You started to tell me something, but, umm, we were interrupted.” I didn’t add, “by you falling off the chair.”

  “Let’s see. I believe she said her name was Kaycee Ericson. She came knocking on my door, suppose a week or so before the fire.” Janice closed her eyes, then tapped her fingers on the steering wheel. “Told me she owned some apartments. They were full and she had someone she was looking for a place to live. Think I told her about the vacant unit on the first floor. She then asked how long I lived there. If I liked living in the building. Then she asked how many people lived in my apartment. That got my dander up. I asked if she was a census taker or what. I wanted to find out if she was something official before I told her it was none of her damned business who lived in my apartment. Nearly slammed the door in her face.” She could tell I was getting pissed.” Janice looked out the side window, scratched the side of her face, then said, “She then told me she was looking at buying the place. That got my attention, so I let her in, offered her a beer, told her everything she wanted to know. Even told her about the leaky faucet, although I didn’t have to since she could hear it drip, drip, drip all the way in the living room. Figured if she bought it, she couldn’t be as bad a landlord as O’Leary. Our conversation then headed a direction I didn’t like.”

  “How?”

  “She started whispering like there were other people in the room nosing into what she was saying. Said she was trying to figure if she could fix the building up enough so she could increase rents enough to make the deal work.” She looked at me and shrugged. “Didn’t think it was too wise telling a tenant all that. I’m no math wizard, but it sounded like it would’ve had me digging deeper in my pocketbook to live there. Hell, Chris, if I could afford a higher rent, I wouldn’t have been living in that dump.”

  “Janice, did she give you a card or her contact information?”

  “Sure did.”

  “Do you have it?”

  She frowned and looked at her hand on the steering wheel. “It was in the apartment.” She clapped her hands together like she was wiping something off. “It’s ashes.”

  “Janice, I appreciate you sharing. I don’t want to keep you any longer.”

  “Chris, you ain’t keeping me. All I have to do is go back to the damned hotel room.”

  “I’d better be going anyway. Are you going to be at Cal’s Christmas party?”

  She nodded. “Anything to get out of the hotel room.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  I finally made it home and to the cinnamon Danish I’d been carrying for a half hour. I microwaved the cold coffee then sat at the kitchen table. It was good eliminating Horace from the suspect list, although I never had him near the top.

  Janice did say something that struck me as significant, more than anything about Horace. That was Kaycee Ericson’s visit to Janice’s apartment a week before the fire. She apparently was someone who wanted to buy the building. Was Russell O’Leary going to sell to her? I’d never heard of Kaycee Ericson until Janice shared her name. Was she local?

  A call to Chief LaMond might provide answers.

  “What do you want now?” she said.

  I’d given up long ago trying to get my friends to answer with anything resembling a civil response.

  “What do you know about Kaycee Ericson?”

  “Chris, you’ve been around Charles way too much. What’s Kaycee have to do with anything?”

  I shared what Janice Raque had told me about the visit.

  “Interesting. Are you trying to screw up my theory that O’Leary torched his building?”

  “Cindy, you’re Chief. I’m simply a lowly citizen sharing a story. I have no business sticking my nose in your investigation.”

  “Chris, I say this lovingly, you’re as full of crap as Dumbo the elephant.”

  “Glad you said it lovingly.”

  “Want to pout or learn about Kaycee?”

  “What do you think?”

  “She lives in a condo across from Harris Teeter. Been here two years at the most. Someone said she moved from New Jersey, is connected to money. She’s built a couple of new oceanfront McMansions, sold them for a tidy profit.”

  “How do you know all that?”

  “I’m Chief. I know everything.”

  I waited, knowing once she got past the bluster, she’d elaborate.

  “She’s been all the talk around City Hall. With the two McMansions and now a condo building she wants to develop out West Ashley near the County Park, she’s good at pushing the zoning regulation boundaries. So far, she hasn’t crossed the line, but according to folks who know more about zoning than this lowly public servant, she’s within millimeters of violating the regs.”

  “Cindy, is this enough for you to talk with Kaycee?”

  “To be determined.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning, in fifteen minutes after I get a pesky citizen off the phone, Russell O’Leary will be in this big impressive office of Director of Public Safety. It’s time for me to ram sharpened bamboo sticks under his fingernails to get the truth about his alleged visit to the metropolis of Atlanta. Truth like where he stayed, how long he was actually there, and if he’s fortunate, proof he was there instead of here incinerating his building.”

  “Cindy, other than bamboo under his nails, that sounds like a good plan. Will you add questions about him selling the building?”

  “Wasn’t until three minutes ago. Bye.”

  Progress, she said bye b
efore hanging up.

  Thirty minutes later, the phone rang. At first, I thought it was Cindy, then realized she’d be talking to Russell. The screen read Barb.

  “Good morning, my favorite bookstore owner.”

  “Only bookstore owner.”

  “You’re my favorite, regardless how many bookstores there are. What did I do to deserve a call?”

  “Nothing. I wanted to tell you something I did last night.”

  That got my attention. “What?”

  “Invited Noelle to move in with me until she finds the kind of apartment she’s looking for.”

  “That’s wonderful. What did she say?”

  “Short version, yes. Slightly longer version, she was thrilled. She said if she had to spend many more nights in her truck, she’d either have to find a chiropractor or a witch doctor to work on her back. Before she told me that, she kept saying she didn’t want to inconvenience me. I told her she wouldn’t. She kept offering to pay rent. I told her no. I couldn’t tell for certain because of her sunglasses, but I think I saw tears.”

  “You’re a kind person. She’s lucky to have you as a friend.”

  “Don’t know about that, but it made me feel good being able to help.”

  “The Christmas spirit in action.”

  “Tis the season. I met her at Loggerhead’s. Before she left, know what she said?”

  “I hope it was thank you.”

  Barb laughed. “She got serious, touched me on the arm, looked across the street at my condo building, and said something like, ‘Don’t take offense, Barb. Your condo is way too nice for what I’m looking for.’ I told her I wasn’t offended. She’s moving in tonight.”

  I was touched by Barb’s generosity. After her call, I got up from the table, carried my coffee cup to my office. Charles was right, all that was in the room was a small table holding my computer and printer, a chair, and a filing cabinet holding years of tax papers, plus other items I probably didn’t need to save.

  I sat, took a sip of coffee getting cold again, and punched in Neil Wilson’s number. I didn’t think he was going to answer, but he finally did. He sounded like the phone awakened him. It may have. I told him who was calling then asked if he was available for lunch. He said he was due at Cal’s at three but could meet me at the Lost Dog Cafe in an hour.

  Good to his word, he was standing in front of the restaurant when I arrived. He looked like he’d just climbed out of bed, although I knew he’d been awake an hour earlier. He wore a royal blue sweatshirt with The Griffon Pub in large block letters on the front, tan slacks with fraying cuffs. His hair was sticking out from a Charleston RiverDogs cap. He looked like he’d slept in his clothes.

  We were escorted to a table in the center of the room. There were only four other tables occupied. Neil put his hat on the edge of the table, yawned, and ran his hand through his hair. It did little to get hairs going the same direction.

  “Did you work last night?”

  “Until two this morning. Can’t you tell?”

  I smiled. “Yes.”

  A server, who said her name was Anna, appeared with pen in hand.

  “Coffee,” Neil said. “That’ll get my eyes open enough to read the menu.”

  I told her the same.

  I filled the time until Anna returned by talking about the near-countless photos of dogs adorning the walls. Neil observed how different the decorations and colors were from those in Cal’s. Anna returned with mugs of steaming hot coffee. She said she’d be back to take our order. Neil took three sips before speaking.

  “I appreciate you calling,” he said, then hesitated, “although it made me wonder why.”

  Good to her word, Anna returned asking if we were ready to order. While I’d told Neil the invitation was for lunch, he had breakfast on his mind. He started to order a bagel until I said I was buying. He switched to bacon and eggs; I went with French toast, surprise, surprise. Anna said, “Excellent choices,” and headed to the kitchen. I wondered if she ever said, “Terrible choice.”

  “Chris, I appreciate you picking up the tab. Staying at the hotel is breaking me.”

  “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I have an extra room at my place. If you want, you could move in until you find somewhere of your own.”

  He stared at me. “You’re kidding.”

  “It’s nothing luxurious. The room’s small. Has a blowup mattress, no real bed.”

  Okay, it doesn’t have a blowup mattress, but with luck, it will before he gets there.

  “Not to be unappreciative,” he said, “how much?”

  “Nothing. It’s yours until you find a place to stay.”

  He repeated, “You’re kidding.”

  “I’m serious.”

  He stood, walked around the table, and shook my hand. “Thank you. I can’t believe something good is happening to me at Christmas.”

  Anna arrived with our food, so Neil returned to his chair.

  He took a bite of eggs, then said, “I won’t be able to move in until tomorrow. Besides, I’ve already paid the hotel for tonight. Wouldn’t want that money to go to waste.”

  Good. That’ll give me time to find a blowup mattress.

  “That’s fine, Neil.”

  Two more bites and he said, “Chris, you’re really not kidding?”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Before leaving the Dog, Neil told me he needed to get to the hotel to take a shower before heading to work. He wanted to use as much of the hotel’s water as he could to get his money’s worth. I remained at the table to call Charles.

  “Ready to go?” I said.

  “Sure,” he said, not asking where.

  “I’ll be there in ten minutes.” I hung up on him, a move he’d perfected. It felt good being on this end of the line for a change.

  Ten minutes later, I pulled in his crushed shell and gravel parking lot to see him standing in front of his apartment. He was wearing a maroon Texas A&M sweatshirt under a lightweight jacket, well-worn jeans, and his Tilley.

  “We going to buy my Christmas present?” he said as he slid in the passenger seat.

  “No,” I said, then pulled out of the lot.

  He snapped his fingers. “Done figured it out. We’re going to catch a flight to Bora Bora for the holidays?”

  “No,” I repeated. This was nearly as much fun as hanging up on him.

  We’d pulled off the island and past Harris Teeter.

  “I see we’re not grocery shopping. You can fill in our destination at any time.”

  Five minutes later, I pulled in Walmart’s parking lot.

  “Let me guess,” he said, “we’re going to Walmart.”

  “I see why you think you’re a detective.”

  Before he could respond with one of his many smart-aleck remarks, the phone rang.

  “Good afternoon, Cindy.”

  I parked and Charles motioned for me to put the phone on speaker. Rather than having to repeat everything she said, I tapped the speaker icon. Charles smiled.

  “It’s getting better by the minute,” Cindy said. “Don’t be surprised the next few days if you hear Russell O’Leary has been arrested for torching his apartment building.”

  “He confess?”

  “It’s not what he told me but what he didn’t.”

  Charles leaned toward the phone. “What’s that mean, Chief?”

  “Chris, you done gone and got a talking disease. You sound like your worthless friend.”

  Charles said, “Chief, he doesn’t sound anything like Bob Howard.”

  I heard her chuckle before saying, “His other worthless friend.”

  Enough! “Chief, what did Russell tell you?”

  “He stuck to his story that sounds like a fairytale. Still claims he was in Atlanta, as in downtown Atlanta, attending a get-rich-quick seminar, sleeping in a nearby cheap hotel, paying cash, and not able to remember the name of where he stayed. His body language and failure to look me in the eyes made me not belie
ve a word of it.”

  Charles said, “Who wouldn’t want to look in such a lovely lady’s eyes? He’s definitely lying.”

  “Charles, your BS is appreciated, but it doesn’t prove guilt.”

  “Cindy,” I said, “if that’s the case, why do you think he’ll be arrested?”

  “The only thing he appeared certain of in his far-fetched version of a trip to Atlanta, was where the seminar was held. After he left, I called the Westin Peachtree Plaza, the hotel he could remember. I had a pleasant talk with a nice lady with a cute southern accent. Seems she’s in charge of meetings and seminars.”

  “Let me guess,” I said, “there wasn’t a get-rich-quick seminar the day of the apartment fire.”

  “Not that day, not the day before, not the day after, in fact, not the week before or after. The closest thing they hosted was a two-day meeting on financing options for large office buildings held two days after Russell returned to South Carolina.”

  Charles said, “So why isn’t he sitting in a jail cell?”

  “Charged with what, fibbing to the fuzz? We need more. I told him to bring proof, anything, gas receipts, restaurant receipts, hell, I’d even take a receipt written on toilet paper from a panhandler if Russell donated to the bum’s liquor fund. Otherwise, my hands are tied until I have something more than a hunch to arrest him on.”

  “Cindy,” I said, “you’re convinced he did it?”

  “Plum near a thousand percent.”

  “Have you talked to Kaycee Ericson?”

  “I’m calling her as soon as I get off the phone with Folly’s nosiest troublemakers.”

  It didn’t take Charles’s detective skills to know who she was talking about. I wished her luck.

  “Did you drive me out here to sit in the parking lot?” Charles said after Cindy ended her call with the troublemakers.

  Instead of telling him where we were going, I took the show him approach. It took several unsuccessful trips up aisles before I found the blowup mattresses in the sports and outdoors section. I savored the walk by not telling him what I was trying to find. Cruel, but sweet revenge for him doing similar things over the years.