Dead Center Read online

  I apologized for calling and thanked them for coming out on a Sunday night. Cindy said she was glad I did because it was more fun than watching Larry lay on the couch and snore while the television blares some kissy-faced movie on the Hallmark Channel.

  I was exhausted after Cindy and Larry left, and slumped down in my recliner. My body may have been tired, but my mind continued to wander. Was Rocky right about Barb being the target? What other reason would someone have for breaking in the house unless it was related to Panella’s murder? Was someone trying to scare me into leaving Folly with the note, or was that a smokescreen to keep me from thinking he was looking for something? And, if it was something, was Larry right about it being the money Panella had been paid for the hit?

  Did Preacher Burl have a legitimate concern about Douglas? Other than Douglas being the target because of something from his earlier life, I could see how someone would want him dead because he was so obnoxious.

  Where was Charles when I needed him? We had occasionally proven the whole was, in fact, greater than the sum of its parts, and found answers. Of course, more often than not, we had proven two wrongs don’t make a right. I groaned at my bad clichés, and reached for the phone to make my first long-distance call to Nashville, Tennessee.

  Instead of hearing the familiar voice of my best friend, I got a mechanized voice-mail message saying the person I was calling was unavailable and to leave a message. I paraphrased another cliché, and mumbled you can lead a Charles to a cell phone, but you can’t make him turn it on.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  In addition to being frustrated by the lack of answers, angry about my house becoming break-in-central, and my friends feeling threatened, I woke up hungry. There was little I could do about the first two problems, but a trip to the Lost Dog Cafe would solve my hunger.

  Several tables were vacant but before I could choose one, Dude waved for me from the far side of the room. His tablemate was Russ Vick and with only water in front of them, I suspected they hadn’t been there long. I wasn’t in the mood for conversation. Dude pointed at the chair beside him with such enthusiasm that I didn’t have the heart to decline the offer.

  Dude wore his ever-present, tie-died, peace-symbol adorned T-shirt and Russ had on ratty jeans and a black T-shirt with PORN STAR in florescent yellow on the front. They looked like two aging hippies reliving their bad-trip old days.

  Dude said, “Chrisster, welcome.”

  “Hi, Chris,” Russ said with less enthusiasm. “Good to see you.”

  “We be flapping lips about business,” Dude said as if I had asked. “T-shirt sales sucking.”

  Russ looked at Dude and smiled. “Don’t believe we need to share our conversation with Chris. I’m sure he’s not interested.”

  “He be nosy, but lips be sealed.” Dude mimed closing a zipper on his mouth. “Okeydokey to share.”

  Russ turned to me. “I suppose you know how difficult it is to break in a successful business.”

  I smiled but didn’t mean it. “Do I ever. Winter’s a terrible time for business anyway.”

  Dude waved his hand around the Dog. “Be Dude’s winter office.”

  “I see why,” Russ said. “Nobody’s in the stores.”

  Dude jerked his head away from looking at Russ and turned to me. “Speakin’ about broke and brakin’, hear su casa be boss break-in spot.”

  Russ, a relative newcomer to Dudespeak, said, “Huh?”

  I knew what he’d meant. “Where’d you hear that?”

  Dude put his hand to his ear and imitated a telephone. “Stephon thought big news since you and me be big buds. He interrupted quality time with Pluto.”

  “Stephon?” I said.

  “He be learnin’ it from Rocky Horror surf-stuff seller.”

  Russ repeated, “Huh?”

  The waitress approached and asked if we were ready to order, before he could say more. We each ordered and Russ watched the college-age waitress walk to the kitchen.

  I thought I’d better translate for Russ who already seemed confused. “Dude’s two employees are Rocky and Stephon. Rocky told Stephon about the break in, and then Stephon called Dude who was playing with his dog, Pluto.”

  Russ looked at Dude and at me. “You got all that from what he said?”

  I smiled. “Clear as day.”

  “Ah, thanks,” Russ said. He didn’t look convinced.

  Dude nodded. “The Rock man boogied in Chrisster’s casa and got skilleted. Good deed, bad ending.”

  “Is he okay?” Russ asked, grasping the salient points of Dudespeak.

  “I think so,” I said. “Someone was breaking in my house and Rocky was trying to catch the guy when he got hit.”

  Russ looked at Dude and at me. “Why was someone breaking in your house?”

  Dude said, “New popular Folly event.”

  “This is the third time,” I said to the confused T-shirt shop owner. “I don’t know why.”

  “Note say for Chrisster to boggie board off island,” Dude said.

  “The person left me a note saying I needed to leave, or else.”

  Russ said, “Sounds like you’ve got an enemy.”

  “Chrisster be catching dude who kilt kill-man. Somebody pissed about that. Trying to run my bud off.” Dude shook his head. “No be workin’.”

  “It had to be terrible finding the guy,” Russ said. “I can’t imagine it.”

  “I’ve had better mornings.”

  “I’m glad I wasn’t here,” Russ said. “I’m often in that alley since my store is less than a block from where you found him. It could have been me who stumbled on him.”

  “Doubt it,” Dude said. “Chrisster be early bird. He caught dead bod instead of worm. He be out before most creatures be stirrin’.”

  “What do the police say?” Russ asked.

  Dude said, “They be befuddled.”

  I figured Russ caught Dude’s drift and didn’t say anything. I also had heard enough about yesterday. “Have you always owned T-shirt shops?”

  “Nope.”

  “What’d you do before moving here?”

  “VP of a global import business.”

  “Flip side of T-shirt sellin’,” Dude said.

  Russ smiled. “That’s an understatement.”

  “Why’d you leave?” I asked.

  Dude interrupted, “Said he be nosy.”

  Russ laughed. “I noticed. I got tired of the red tape and crap I had to deal with. I knew it’d do me in if I stayed. Took retirement and got the hell out of there. Selling T-shirts doesn’t pay as well and I’m not wealthy, but if I stayed, I’d be dead long before my time.”

  “I know what you mean,” I said. “My story’s not much different.”

  “That’s what I hear. At least, I think it’s what Dude’s been saying. I’ve been taking some getting-along-with-the-locals lessons. Being the newcomer is a hard nut to crack.”

  I chuckled. “Learn anything helpful?”

  Russ looked at Dude and tilted his head. “Me be patient.”

  I smiled. “Good lesson.”

  “I was going to open one shop. The rent was so good on the second location I figured two shops would be twice as good as one.”

  Food arrived and feeding our curiosity took a back seat to feeding our faces. Russ asked a few questions about the other gift shops and if we knew how well they were doing. I didn’t want to be too direct, but tried to hint the small island was oversaturated with similar items. Russ agreed he may have made a mistake by opening two stores and said if he kept one open, it would be Folly Tease because its shirts were different than the hundreds of others and its sales were double those at SML Shirts.

  “Not be easy, being at two shops same time,” Dude said.

  Russ chucked. “Good point, Dude. And paying someone to work in the other store is draining. Chris, that’s what I’d been talking to Charles about. With his local knowledge and appreciation for T-shirts, he would’ve been a natural to run SML Shirt
s. Now I hear he’s moved. I didn’t know him well, but that came as a surprise.”

  “A bummer,” Dude said.

  I agreed, more than he knew.

  I wanted to move away from talking about Charles. “Have you talked to Barbara Deanelli about her experiences of opening a store? The two of you might have a lot in common; both moving here and opening a business. I think she’s having a hard time adjusting to the beach life and lifestyle.”

  “I haven’t, but that’s a good idea.”

  “She be my fractional-sis,” added Dude. “She be lawyertress turned queen of books.”

  “Wise move,” Russ said, and laughed. “I avoid lawyers.”

  “You plus everyone else,” Dude said.

  I nodded to that, and my phone rang.

  “Chris,” said the familiar voice of Preacher Burl, “did I catch you at a bad time?”

  “No. I was finishing breakfast.”

  “Good. I don’t usually call anyone this early. I knew you’re an early riser and took a chance.”

  It sounded better than calling me a bird catching a body.

  “What can I do for you, Preacher?”

  “Can you meet me at the storefront? I promise not to put you to work.”

  “When?”

  Dude began waving his hand in the air and pointing to the phone.

  “Just a sec, Preacher. I’m with Dude and he wants to say something.” I handed the phone to Dude.

  “Boss sermon, yesterday. Inspired to the gills.”

  He handed the phone back to me before the preacher had a chance to respond.

  “I’m back, Preacher.”

  He laughed. “Don’t often inspire to the gills. Tell Dude I appreciate his endorsement.”

  I said I’d pass the message along and asked when he wanted to meet. He said soon; I said how about now. He said come on over.

  I had left Dude and Russ continuing their bemoaning about the poor business climate on Center Street. Both had given lip-service to it being the middle of winter and off-season, yet continued to wonder why the full-time residents and handful of vacationers weren’t clamoring to buy surf gear and T-shirts.

  First Light’s front door squeaked open and I was greeted with, “Thanks for coming, Brother Chris. All I have to offer is water.”

  “I’m fine.”

  Burl pointed to a pew near the front and followed me as I took a seat.

  “I had a disturbing visit last night from Brother Douglas.”

  “Oh.”

  Burl shook his head. “I smelled Devil juice on his breath. I wouldn’t call him inebriated, but wouldn’t want him driving. He said his fear had exceeded his desire to remain on Folly.” Burl hesitated. “Sure you don’t want water?”

  “No thanks.”

  He fiddled with the button on his shirt, and wiped a cobweb off the back of the pew, and finally said, “Even though the first man sent to kill him had been taken care of, Douglas was certain there’d be others. He decided to leave the Lowcountry and despite his rude and loathsome demeanor wanted me to know he appreciated my efforts to ensure he had a better life.”

  I doubted those were Douglas’s words.

  “When’s he leaving?”

  “He didn’t say. I had the impression it was soon. He could have been heading off-island when he left my apartment. I had asked you to assist in finding out if Brother Douglas was in danger, so I felt it incumbent to share this with you.”

  “Preacher, someone broke into my house yesterday. One of Dude’s employees, Rocky, saw him and was rewarded with a skillet to the head for trying to catch the intruder.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry. Is Brother Rocky okay? He was at yesterday’s service with his associate, Brother Stephon.”

  “He’s fine.”

  “Why did someone break in? It’s happened before, hasn’t it?”

  I told him about the other two times, and he asked if I knew why. I shared what I had told everyone else who had asked, and I asked if he thought it could have been Douglas.

  “I would feel better if I could say no. To be honest, it wouldn’t surprise me.”

  “That’s what I thought. Let’s get back to what he said last night.”

  Burl nodded.

  “I believe you said he told you the first man who had been sent to kill him ‘had been taken care of.’”

  The preacher nodded again.

  “Are you certain those were his words?”

  Burl looked to the door, swiped another cobweb off the pew, and turned back to me. “I can’t be certain. It was late, and I was trying to figure out what he was talking about instead of paying attention to each word. Why?”

  “Is it possible he could have said he had taken care of it rather than it had been taken care of?”

  Burl squeezed his hands together and took a deep breath. “Are you saying Brother Douglas killed the gentleman sent to kill him?”

  “It’s possible. I don’t know what he did to get in the witness protection program. From his actions and attitude toward me, it’s not a big leap to picture a violent past. He’d told me he could take care of his own problems and didn’t need me, or you, to butt in.”

  Burl looked at the floor and shook his head. “To answer your question, Brother Chris, yes, it’s possible he said he had taken care of the problem. In fact, the more I think about it, the more, I believe you may be right.” He sighed. “As we discussed the other day, I acknowledged the possibility of his guilt, but I wanted to disbelieve.”

  Burl would feel I was breaking a confidence, and I might lose a friend because of it, but I also knew the police were getting nowhere with the case.

  I walked to the large plate glass window overlooking Center Street and glanced across the street at the combination city hall, police and fire station, and turned to Burl. “Preacher, I need to tell Chief LaMond. I know you’d prefer I didn’t. The police need to find Douglas before he gets too far away.”

  “I suppose I knew that when I told you about Brother Douglas leaving. I prayed about it last night. God chose not to give me a clear answer. He left it up to me, and I chose to call you. Perhaps it’s his will, Brother Chris.” He hesitated, and said, “Do what you must.”

  Burl needed alone time to pray about the situation, and said he’d be there if the police wanted to talk to him. I walked home and called Chief LaMond who said she was in her office playing Angry Birds on her laptop, but figured she could break away a few minutes to catch a killer. An hour later, I met her at First Light and listened to Burl tell everything he knew about Douglas Garfield—Harlan Powers. Cindy took notes, gave Burl and me dirty looks, and told us how irresponsible we were by not telling her sooner.

  She said, “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” twice when Burl started talking about his role as pastor with Douglas and why he didn’t feel comfortable telling the authorities. She came close to forgiving him when he told her what kind of car Douglas drove, where he lived, and where he thought he may be going.

  I felt some progress had been made on learning who had killed the hit man. And I felt better knowing Barb wasn’t in danger.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  The phone rang at five forty-five the next morning.

  “Guess what I’ve got?” came the familiar question from Charles.

  I knew not to guess cell phone since that train had already left the station.

  “Insomnia? It’s not even six o’clock.”

  “Not five here, but that’s not it. Want to guess again?”

  “No,” I growled.

  “You’ve turned crankier since I left. Okay, I doubt you’d be able to guess. Got myself a picture on this phone to send you as soon as I figure out how.”

  “Picture of what?”

  “Not only what, but where, Mr. Crank.”

  I sighed. “Where?”

  “The Bluebird Cafe and guess who I got to listen to?”

  A six a.m. phone call, a picture, the Bluebird Cafe, and excitement in his voice; I knew the answer, althoug
h for the life of me, I couldn’t imagine how it could be true.

  “The Rolling Stones?”

  If he woke me up, the least I could do was give him grief.

  “Close, but no cappuccino. Heather got to sing at the galaxy-famous Bluebird Cafe. Can you believe it?”

  No, I thought. “Wasn’t she going to call them yesterday to see about scheduling a date?”

  “She was, she did, and low-and-behold, they told her they didn’t take open-mic singing reservations over the phone, and because of the yucky weather yesterday they told her if she was there by sign-up time at five-thirty she had a good shot at slipping in. We were there at two fifteen, shivering, starving, and so excited about playing she made five pit stops at McDonald’s down the street while I held her place in line.”

  “That’s great,” I said. “How’d she do?”

  “By the time she went on at eight-thirty, a half hour before open-mic night ended, the place was two-thirds full. I was surprised how small it is; holds about ninety people. Anyway, she did the song she wrote and a few people applauded when she was finished.”

  A few applauding didn’t sound like a rousing debut. I moved to the kitchen and fired-up Mr. Coffee while trying to comprehend Heather performing at the Bluebird. It seemed like a dream, but I knew I was awake because I stumped my toe on the counter.

  “What’d she think?”

  “She was peein’-in-her-pants excited. Said it was the happiest day of her life. She left there flying higher than the space shuttle.”

  “Glad to hear it,” I said, not as happy as I should have been. “Was Kevin Starr there?”

  “Nah,” Charles said. “She called him after they said she may be able to sing. He said he had to take a meeting with one of his famous recording artists last night and couldn’t make it. Take a meeting is what big time music peeps call gabbin’ with someone.”