Faith Read online

  “Chris, this is Rose, Cindy’s sister. Did I catch you at a bad time?”

  I said no and resisted asking her if she could teach my friends phone etiquette.

  “I’m calling as Luke’s social secretary,” she said then chuckled. “We’re heading to Planet Follywood in a few minutes for lunch. Luke said how much you liked the restaurant. He wanted me to call to see if you’d join us.”

  I said I’d be honored. I also realized this was the first time in my adult life a pre-teen had his social secretary call to invite me to share a meal.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  I approached Luke and Rose’s table.

  “Mr. Landrum,” Luke said, “You said you loved eating here, so I asked mom to call you.”

  I thanked him for the invitation as a server arrived and put a glass of what appeared to be iced tea in front of Rose, a soft drink beside Luke. He asked if I wanted anything. I said water was fine.

  “Luke,” I said, “did Uncle Larry give you the day off?”

  “No, he said with Christmas two days away, he needed all the help he could get. I told him even a little boy has to eat. He said I could bring mom here for lunch.”

  “You’re a tough negotiator,” I said.

  He smiled like I’d called him king of the world.

  “This is part of my Christmas gift,” Rose said. “Luke is using his own money to buy lunch.”

  “Mr. Landrum, because you’ve been so nice to me, I want to buy yours too.”

  The phone rang before I told him that wasn’t necessary. Bob Howard’s name appeared on the screen.

  “Hi, Bob.”

  “Aren’t you going to insult me like you usually do?”

  “It’s Christmas, besides, you have that backward.”

  “Whatever. I have el scoopo on that woman you asked about.”

  “Hang on a second,” I said, then told my lunch mates I needed to take the call then headed to the back of the restaurant.

  “Okay,” I said.

  “If that was a second, you need a better watch. Ready for el scoopo?”

  “Ready.”

  “Kaycee Ericson. Late-forties, good looking according to the old coots I talked to. She divorced Alan Ericson a while back. Alan is a big-time developer in Charleston, but he’s done projects as far away as Asheville. Mostly large apartment complexes. Anyway, his ex took a bunch of money in the divorce. She built a small office building a half-block off Center Street in your town, and either two or three oceanfront McMansions. My source was vague on the number. As even you, as ignorant as you are about anything building wise, know, your zoning regulators are doing everything they can to limit new construction, especially super-sized buildings on property that originally held small beach houses. In other words, Kaycee has been running into brick walls instead of open arms from those in control.”

  I’d heard something similar from Cindy and shared that with Bob.

  “Okay, know it all, did you hear she’s trying to find properties, mostly multi-unit properties where the owners are, let’s say, having financial difficulties?”

  “That’s new.”

  “Like all good storytellers, I saved the best for last.”

  I waited for him to continue, he didn’t, so I assumed he wanted me to beg for the best. “What’s that, Mr. Fount of Information?”

  “That’s better. One of my sources said several years ago, one of Alan Ericson’s apartment buildings had a horrible fire. Was it caused by lightning? No. Electrical problem? No. How about by Aunt Sally leaving something on the stove? Nope, again. Now that I’ve given you all the clues, think you can guess the cause?”

  “Arson?”

  “You’re smarter than the average cucumber. There was a ton of speculation that Alan set the fire, but not an ounce of proof.”

  “You’re saying that Kaycee is guilty by marriage?”

  “Nope. I’m telling you what happened. You figure out the rest.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Hell, do I have to get you a signed, notarized confession?”

  “If you don’t mind.”

  He must’ve minded. He hung up.

  That didn’t prove Kaycee started the fire but was information Cindy needed. Seeing Luke staring in my direction, it’d have to wait.

  I returned to the table and Luke’s broad smile.

  “Mr. Landrum, I made an executive decision, although mom said I shouldn’t.”

  “What was that, Luke?”

  “I ordered your lunch. I got you the same thing you had when we were here the last time. I figured you liked it, or you wouldn’t have got it then.”

  “Excellent decision, Luke.”

  His smile increased. “See Mom, told you so.”

  “Everything okay?” Rose said, then nodded her head in the direction where I’d been.

  “Yes. Is your sister working today? I left her a message earlier but haven’t heard from her.”

  “As far as I know. She said she had several meetings.”

  Luke interrupted, “Aunt Cindy said yucky meetings.”

  “Luke, you know not to interrupt,” Rose said.

  He bowed his head.

  Rose turned to me. “You haven’t heard from her today?”

  “No, why?”

  “Last night, she told me she had news about the fire. She was going to call you.”

  Lunch arrived. I wasn’t the only one to order the same meal as last time. A hot dog was placed in front of Luke, a cheeseburger for Rose, and my chicken fingers. As much as I wanted to fight it, most of us are creatures of habit. We ate silently for a couple of minutes, but I kept going back to what Ty and Bob had said.

  “Rose, this may be a strange question, but do you remember seeing a blue Maserati SUV parked near the apartment complex?”

  “I don’t pay much attention to cars, never have.”

  Luke said, “I do.”

  Rose said, “Luke’s best friend’s dad owns a Chevy dealership in Morristown.”

  “Len’s dad is cool,” Luke said. “He lets us roam around the lot. When the repair shop is closed, we can go in there. His dad says insurance wouldn’t let us go in when mechanics are working.”

  That got my attention, about paying attention, not about his friend Len. “Do you mean you pay attention to cars, or do you remember seeing a blue SUV?”

  Rose patted her son on the arm. “See, Luke, how you say things is important.”

  He sighed, “I know, mom. You tell me all the time.”

  I can’t imagine how it would be growing up with an English teacher mom.

  I said. “Luke, help me understand what you mean.”

  He glanced at Rose then turned to me. “It’s sort of both, Mr. Landrum. I like looking at cars, especially new ones. And, I remember seeing a blue Maserati.”

  “Do you remember when you saw it?”

  “Day after we moved in. I thought it was cool looking. I hadn’t seen one.”

  “Was that the only time you saw it?”

  “Umm, two more times, I think.”

  “When?”

  “Suppose the next time was the day before the fire. It was close to our lot. Then I saw it the morning we were walking to watch the Christmas parade.”

  “Where was it?”

  “Parked at the road. I figured the lady in it was going to move in our building.”

  “Why?”

  “Mom and me were walking up our street when—”

  “Mom and I, Luke,” Rose said.

  Luke made a noise that sounded like a braying horse. I bit the inside of my lip to keep from laughing.

  “Yes, mom.” He continued, “Mom and I were headed toward the street where the parade was going to be. I looked back and saw the lady carrying a large box, sort of like those boxes we packed stuff in to move here. I figured she was moving in.”

  “Luke, are you sure she came out of the blue SUV?”

  Rose looked at Luke, then at me with narrowed eyes.

 
“Yes, sir. Know it was her. She didn’t move in, did she? Someone said the next-door apartment was still empty when the fire started.”

  I ate the chicken fingers, but they could easily have been glued sawdust for all the attention I paid to them. I held my need to talk to Cindy in check and tried to make Luke’s lunch for his mom and me as positive as possible.

  I must not have shown as much anxiety as I felt. We finished and Luke said it‘d been a wonderful Christmas lunch, that we ought to do it again.

  All I wanted to do again was talk to Chief LaMond. She may be convinced that Russell O’Leary torched his building. I thought I had a persuasive argument she was wrong.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Instead of going home after lunch, I crossed Center Street and headed toward the combination City Hall and Department of Public Safety building. Cindy’s pickup wasn’t in the lot behind the building, so I changed direction to head home.

  Patience may be a virtue, but with me, it’s often in short supply. I was tempted to leave the Chief another message but knew she’d call when she got a chance. By five-thirty, my head was about to explode from waiting.

  Fortunately, it didn’t, so I was able to answer the phone. It was Cindy.

  “Thank goodness you called,” I said. “I’ve learned—”

  “Hold that thought. Meet me at the Surf Bar in fifteen minutes. A day of meetings, boring meetings, and a trip downtown with the mayor, have me needing a cold beer more than anything you have to say.”

  The Surf Bar was across the street from the entrance to the Public Safety building, making it convenient for Cindy when she needed to escape her office. I got there in ten minutes to find her at a table near the door, gripping a beer in a Terrapin Beer Company glass. The turtle in the logo looked happier than the Chief.

  “Rough day?” I said as I sat across from her at the small table.

  “Spent most of it battling two councilmembers who think I’m spending too much money on overtime, one councilmember who thinks I need to increase police presence near his house, of course, then two hours in the car with our mayor listening to three million things he thinks the police need to do better. How do you think my day was?”

  “You’ve had better.”

  “I’ve had better days at the dentist when she forgot to give me enough numbing juice before jackhammering on a molar. With griping out of the way, there is a bright side and a bad side.”

  “I suppose you’re going to tell me both.”

  Cindy looked at the ceiling where dollar bills were attached to most non-moving surfaces. White Christmas lights were strung from the columns and roof trusses. I call them Christmas lights because that was their original purpose, but they’re year-round fixtures in the Surf Bar.

  “Chris, that’s the least I can do since you’re buying me this, and another, and another.”

  “It’s my pleasure,” I said with a tinge of sarcasm.

  “Russell O’Leary,” she said like that explained everything. “I had a nice long conversation with him this morning before every elected official in our fair city tried to take a chunk of my hide.”

  I’ve known the bartender for a few years, so he had a server bring me a glass of red wine without me having to say anything. That’s one good thing about living in a small town. I took a sip, while Cindy stared at me.

  I said, “What?”

  “I’m waiting for your full attention. This is a fun-filled story.”

  “Proceed.”

  “Landlord Russell lied about where he was and why?”

  “Is that the bright side?”

  “Is for him. Seems he has a heart condition, some long Latin word I couldn’t define, pronounce, or spell. Suffice to say, it’s serious. His Charleston cardiologist referred him to some world-renowned specialist at the Emory University Hospital near Atlanta, the keyword being near, as opposed to being in downtown Atlanta. Russell didn’t want his employer to know about the condition. He especially didn’t want his wife and kids to know. Didn’t want them to worry, he claimed.” She took a sip of beer, shook her head, then continued. “He made up the whole story about being at a get-rich-quick seminar.”

  “Why’d he lie to you? Did he think you’d tell his employer or his wife?”

  “Chris, in my entire life, I’ve never been a man. Most of the time, I don’t know how you dudes think. Hell, I know how you act, but not think. Assuming you think. I don’t know why he decided to stick me with the feeble story. He’s still above ground, so I assume it worked with his wife.”

  “What did the Emery doctor say?”

  “Said he has a heart. Whatever is wrong with it can be fixed with some expensive meds, or that’s what Russell said. Since he’s a proven liar, I don’t know if I believe it. What I am certain is he was in Georgia when his building went up in smoke. He showed me a hotel bill, two gas receipts, and a food receipt from a Waffle House.” She shook her head. “Who in the hell keeps Waffle House receipts?”

  “You’re a female, you wouldn’t understand,” I joked, or thought it was a joke.

  Cindy didn’t laugh, didn’t smile, didn’t say anything. Women often don’t appreciate how witty men are.

  “Chief, if that’s the good side, what’s the bad side?”

  “I’m sitting here, feeling sorry for myself, without anyone to nominate for arsonist of the year.”

  I took a sip, smiled, then said, “Let me see if I can help. Did you get a chance to talk to Kaycee Ericson?”

  “Not yet. Been wasting my time trying to prove Russell did something far worse than lie to his wife and me. Why? No, don’t answer that. Did she start the fire? Do you have proof?”

  “Proof, no, but let me tell you what I’ve learned.”

  She finished the beer and raised her glass for the server to bring a refill. “I’m all ears.”

  “I was talking with Ty who told me Kaycee approached him at the apartment building days before the fire. Started asking questions like how long he’d lived there, was the building well maintained, etc.”

  “What got Ty talking about that?”

  “Charles and I went to Bert’s to tell him that Martha Wright said he could stay at her place until he found somewhere else to live.”

  “Whoa, how’d that come about?”

  I told her the story about approaching Martha a few days ago, her rejection of the idea, and why.

  “Cindy almost choked on her beer, cleared her throat, then said, “Martha, the woman who’s about two hundred years old, thought her neighbor would think she was a cougar? Crapola, I thought I’d heard it all.”

  I didn’t add what Martha said her deceased husband would think. Instead, I told her about Martha’s change of heart.

  “That’s great, but what does it have to do with Kaycee?”

  “Nothing other than it’s the reason Charles and I were talking to Ty.”

  “Charles was with you?”

  I nodded.

  “Figures. Okay, go ahead with something I’d be interested in.”

  “Kaycee asked Ty about vacant units. He thought she may want to rent one.”

  “More interesting. Like the vacant unit where the fire started?”

  “That’s the one. Ty also told us she was driving a blue Maserati SUV. He pointed it out in Bert’s lot.”

  “That’s important, how?”

  “When Charles and I were walking up Ashley Avenue on our way to see what was burning, I saw a blue Maserati SUV in that small lot beside the apartment’s parking area. Didn’t you tell me Kaycee lives out by Harris Teeter?”

  Cindy nodded.

  “So, I wondered why her car, okay maybe not hers, but isn’t it unlikely there’re two blue Maserati SUVs over here?”

  “I’ve never seen one. So, it’s rare but not impossible. Go on.”

  I told her what Bob Howard’s research uncovered, with emphasis on how Kaycee’s ex-husband had been a suspect in an arson. I took a sip of wine, then added, “Do you know who I had lunch with t
oday?”

  “Dolly Parton?”

  “Guess again.”

  “I’m guessed out. Who?”

  “Your sister and nephew. Luke said he had so much fun eating with me last week, he had his mom invite me today.”

  “That boy needs to get out more and meet some fun people. How did Larry let him escape from the store?”

  I laughed. “Luke said he told Larry that employees need to eat.”

  “Smart kid. I suppose there’s a reason you’re telling me this.”

  “Yes, a good one.” I then bullet-pointed the highlights of our discussion.

  “Are you telling me Luke saw Kaycee carrying a box to the apartment building less than an hour before the fire?”

  “That’s what I’m telling you.”

  “Let me wrap this around my undersized brain. I had the most significant clue to who started the fire living under my roof.”

  I nodded.

  “Crap, I should kick myself in the butt and turn in my badge.”

  I didn’t ask how she planned to do the first part of that. Instead, I said, “Cindy, you couldn’t have known. It only came up because I asked Luke about the blue SUV.”

  She lowered her head and stared in her beer. “Yet an old geezer with no law enforcement training figures it out.”

  I smiled. “Yeah, but Charles is teaching me all the tricks of being a detective.”

  She let out a string of profanities, none of which bear repeating.

  I waited for her blood pressure to lower to non-stroke levels, then said, “It’s a lot of circumstantial evidence, but what are the chances of getting a conviction on what you now know?”

  “Slim, but it gives me a lot more to talk about tomorrow when I pay a Christmas Eve visit to Ms. Ericson.”

  “Excellent plan,” I said, then told her I had to get home to wait for Neil Wilson, my new housemate, to arrive.

  “You letting someone stay at your place. Will Christmas miracles never cease?”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Christmas Eve began with me sleeping late combined with rumbles of snores coming from my former office, current guest bedroom. It took a minute to remember why the snoring wasn’t in my dreams but from my new houseguest. Neil had arrived last night, thanked me just under five hundred times for letting him stay, then adjusted to his new environment. He knew from working at Cal’s I wasn’t a beer drinker, so he brought a six-pack with him. Three cans were in the refrigerator this morning. He’d shared he often worked late, so I shouldn’t expect to see him much in the mornings. I thought that was great since I’m a morning person who enjoys peace and quiet. I hadn’t contemplated snoring.