No Joke Page 2

  “A while,” Sal said, clarifying nothing.

  Theo elaborated. “They’re taking a respite from touring. They’ve been on the road for a long time.”

  “How long you ask?” Sal asked and answered, “We started traveling around the country with Daniel Boone. That coon-skinned cap guy couldn’t tell a joke if his life depended on it but was a hell of an injun fighter.”

  If that was as funny as his show, a respite was long overdue.

  “We started doing comedy in 1965,” Wallace said.

  Since he’d said he saw a body either today or four years ago, I wasn’t ready to put faith in the year they started.

  Theo said, “I believe that is correct, isn’t it, Sal?”

  Sal must have been running low on jokes. He nodded.

  “Nap time,” Wallace said, related to nothing.

  I took the hint. “Guys, it was nice meeting you. I’d better be running.”

  Sal said, “Likewise.” Wallace yawned.

  Theo said he’d walk me out.

  I nudged Theo to the front porch, closed the door so Wallace and Sal couldn’t hear, then told Theo what’d happened.

  He shook his head. “Remember when we first met?”

  “Sure.”

  “Some of my, our, friends thought I was getting Alzheimer’s because I seemed to forget things.”

  I said I remembered.

  “Truth be known, it was because I couldn’t hear. I was too stubborn to get hearing aids.”

  When I met Theo, if anyone wanted him to hear what they were saying, they had to speak in a voice the decibel level of Niagara Falls. After two harrowing experiences where he nearly got killed, he decided the electronic aid to his hearing might be a good idea.

  “Yes.”

  “After I almost got killed then got off my high, stubborn, horse and got these, everything changed.” He pointed to his hearing aids.

  Interesting, but nothing I didn’t know.

  “There are two reasons I’m telling you this. First, Sal thinks I’m losing my mind. All he remembered before showing up at my door last week was the phone conversations we had before I got the aids. I couldn’t hear him. I had to guess what he was talking about. That’s not easy to do because he tends to talk comedy, jokes, weird things.

  “Anyway, he has a bigger heart than he shows, and came to make sure I was okay. That’s the reason he gave. It may be true, although I’m guessing it’s more than that. I don’t think they’ve worked in years, except maybe Wallace’s son. He makes regular appearances at clubs and on TV. They came bumming free rooms. They don’t think I know. Understand?”

  I did, but suspected there was more. “You said two things.”

  “They’re worried about Wallace. As you can tell, his mind wanders from sharp to huh? They believe that if he can get settled somewhere for more than a few days, he may not have as many distractions. He can concentrate on seeing things better.”

  That didn’t make much sense. “Do you think it’ll work?”

  “Probably not.”

  I shared what Wallace told me about a body, then asked if Theo thought Wallace actually saw one.

  “In his mind, he did. In reality, who knows.”

  I didn’t want to call Allen with that analysis, yet knew I’d better. I owed him that much for letting me take Wallace to Theo’s. I called when I got home to share what little I’d learned after returning Wallace to his temporary residence.

  Allen said it sounded like Wallace might need more psychological help than the others with him could provide. If I thought he didn’t appear to be harmful to himself or others, it was okay to let Wallace stay. I thanked him for caring.

  “Chris, I told Chief LaMond what your new acquaintance said about a body.”

  Chief Cindy LaMond and I had been friends since she arrived nine years ago from East Tennessee. She was promoted two years back to chief, or Director of Public Safety, of the Folly Beach Department of Public Safety. For reasons that defied explanation and beat all odds, I’d been involved in several murder investigations since arriving on the island. That would’ve made sense if my career was in law enforcement.

  I’d spent a better—some might say best—part of my life being a tiny cog in the bureaucratic wheel of a large, healthcare company in Kentucky. After moving to Folly, I’d owned a modest photo gallery, which didn’t defy the odds and, like eighty-percent of small businesses, went belly-up a year ago. I had no business being involved in crimes, much less murder, but when my friends were touched by evil, I felt the need to get involved. Cindy was a part of some of the cases and had proclaimed me as being a murder-magnet; not the legacy I desired to perpetuate.

  I sighed. “What did she say?”

  Allen chuckled. “I won’t tell you what the chief said. It was laced with four letter words.”

  “Don’t suppose love was one of them?”

  “She mumbled so many so fast, I could’ve missed it but I don’t think so.”

  “Figures.”

  “Tell you what she did do. She said while she didn’t think there was a speck of truth to what the delusional fishing-rod waver told us, to be safe, she sent a couple of our guys to walk the dunes. Unless a body is out in the open, I doubt they’ll find anything. We’re short-handed, so they only had a short time to check.”

  “Good,” I said. “It’s an effort. Thanks for following up.”

  Chapter Three

  The following morning, I walked next door to Bert’s Market for a danish and a cup of complimentary coffee. It wasn’t the breakfast of champions, but my chances of becoming the champion of anything were long gone. Bert’s was a must-visit location for locals and vacationers in need of food, drink, and the necessities of island life, such as toilet paper, beer, and gossip. The grocery prided itself on never closing. To me, it met the meaning of if they don’t have it, you don’t need it.

  I was sipping coffee and talking to a couple of employees who always had a smile plus an occasional bit of information about what was happening to share with customers on the six-mile long, half-mile wide island. Our conversation was interrupted by Charles Fowler.

  “Chris, see you’re bummin’ coffee,” Charles said as he winked at the employees.

  His use of the word bummin’ fell under the definition of irony when spoken by Charles. I met the long-time resident my first week on Folly. For reasons I couldn’t articulate, we became best friends. He retired to the island at the age of thirty-four, after a less-than-illustrious career on the line at Ford in Detroit, and a few years working for a landscape company where he’d proudly bragged that he’d been a hoer.

  He was a couple of years younger than I, more than a few pounds lighter. While I’d been spending thousands of hours a year working, he’d spent an equal number of hours perfecting unemployment. When I opened the photo gallery, Charles appointed himself executive sales manager. Since I’d never paid him, I was glad to let him wear the inflated title.

  Bert’s employees said they needed to get to work and left Charles and me to do whatever.

  He watched them go behind the deli counter. “Rumor is that you’ve been playing school crossing guard on Center Street.”

  “Where’d you hear that?”

  “Tell you one thing, I didn’t hear it from you.”

  Charles was one of the island’s repositories of rumor, fact, and trivia. Two things irritated him more than should bother a rational person. Unless you wanted to hear an earful of nasty, don’t call him Chuck, Charlie, or any derivative of Charles, and if you know something that he would deem important, you’d better not dally telling him. I often practiced that second irritant.

  “Who told you?”

  He huffed. “Amber. She heard it from Marc Salmon, who heard it from—”

  Amber was a waitress at the Lost Dog Cafe who knew as much as or more than Charles about the goings-on on the island. Marc was a long-term city councilmember who was in the Dog nearly as often as Amber.

  “Got it,
that’s enough. Did you know Theo Stoll has a brother?”

  Charles pulled his shoulders back. “Sure, Salvador. Theo told me a while back that his younger brother was a stand-up comic, had been big back in the heyday of stand up. Why?”

  “Did you know Salvador is staying with Theo?”

  Charles tilted his head like he was thinking about it. “Is that who was fishing in the street?”

  Finally, I knew something that Charles didn’t know. “No, it was Wallace Bentley. He—”

  “What’s that got to do with Theo and Sal?”

  Several customers converged on the area where we were standing.

  “Grab coffee and let’s walk.”

  Charles got a cup.

  I refilled mine and led him up the long block to Center Street then right toward the Folly River.

  We’d walked a block before Charles began to pester me about what I knew about Theo and his brother. He would’ve started the questions sooner but had been distracted by a couple walking two Labs. Four-legged creatures were one of the few things that could distract my friend from zeroing in on whatever he wanted to know.

  We crossed Center Street and were standing in front of City Hall when Charles pointed at the sidewalk. “Park it, and tell me what herding a fisherman out of the street has to do with Theo and Sal.”

  The Devil was not in the details to Charles, although he’ll bestow the wrath of the Devil on anyone who didn’t share all the details. I began with finding Wallace in the street then, after a couple of dozen questions, managed to finish by telling him I escorted Wallace to Theo’s house. He wouldn’t be satisfied until he knew the color of Wallace’s bathing suit, if his shoes were slip on or lace up, and if I knew the brand of fishing rod.

  I tried to explain how Wallace seemed to confuse reality with fantasy.

  “Don’t we all?” Charles asked.

  No, I thought and shrugged.

  I saved the part about Wallace seeing a body for last. If I’d mentioned it earlier, the conversation would’ve gone in a different direction. I never would’ve finished the story.

  Charles’s eyes bulged. He put his hands on his hips and glared at me. “He said what?”

  I repeated what Wallace had said, emphasizing the part about Wallace not knowing if he’d seen it yesterday, the day before, or four years ago.

  “How’re we going to find it?”

  Years ago, Charles decided he was a private detective. He had no formal training, had never been a police officer, yet figured that since he’d been a lifelong reader of detective novels, he knew everything there was to know about the profession. The scary thing was that, over the last decade, he, a cadre of our pals, and I had solved several crimes that had stumped the police.

  “You mean the alleged body that had been somewhere along some beach between one day to four years ago?”

  “That’s the one.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  He looked at his phone. “Whoops. I’m supposed to deliver something for Dude.”

  Dude Sloan owned the surf shop and had Charles deliver packages to local customers. That, along with helping restaurants clean during busy spells, and providing an extra set of hands for local contractors, provided Charles with enough income to afford his tiny apartment and minimal living expenses.

  He turned and started to walk to the surf shop when my phone rang. Charles’s nosy factor kicked in. He stopped, then reversed direction.

  “Hi, Theo,” I said.

  Charles leaned closer.

  “Sure, what time?”

  Charles had no idea what I was talking about but pointed to his chest.

  I took the hint. “Can Charles come?”

  Charles smiled and nodded.

  Theo said, “Could I stop him?”

  “No.”

  I looked at Charles. “Theo’s house, noon, tomorrow.”

  Charles gave a bigger nod as he headed to the surf shop.

  Chapter Four

  I was in front of Theo’s a half hour before the time he asked us over. Charles considered on-time thirty minutes before those of us who pay attention to watches define as on-time. My friend is not constrained by owning a watch, seldom checks the time on his cell phone, yet his altered reality prevails. And, no, it does no good to argue with him. It’s easier to adjust to his time.

  An older model, silver Lincoln Town Car land yacht was parked behind Theo’s Mercedes. Charles jogged up the street, stopped in front of me, panted, and put his hands on his knees.

  “You’re almost late,” I said.

  “Nope. Didn’t want to keep Theo waiting.”

  Theo wasn’t as familiar with Charles’s time-altered universe; he acted surprised to see us on the porch.

  “Oh,” he said and looked at his watch. “I didn’t expect you this early.”

  Charles said, “We’re not ear—”

  “Got here quicker than I thought we would,” I interrupted before Charles got into a time-wasting discussion about time. “We can come back later.”

  Theo stepped back, waved us in. “No, no, that’s fine. Not sure the others are up.”

  I didn’t see anyone else on the first floor but heard sounds from a television coming from upstairs.

  Theo motioned for us sit on the couch in the great room then asked if we wanted coffee. We declined.

  He looked at the stairs, joined us on the couch, and whispered, “It’s good that I caught you alone. The whole crew will be here this morning. They said they wanted to meet you.”

  That seemed strange since I’d already met Sal and Wallace.

  Charles said, “I’d like to meet your brother and his friends.”

  That was no surprise since one of Charles’s unmet needs was to meet each living soul on earth, plus visitors from other planets who might stumble on earth during their space travels.

  Theo bit his upper lip and glanced at the stairs. “Also, wanted to tell you something about Wallace. Chris got a hint when he brought him back yesterday. Charles, Wallace sort of loses touch with reality.” Theo shook his head.

  Sort of loses touch, I thought. Delusional would better describe him.

  Charles said, “Oh.”

  “Sal told me it’s been coming on for years. Said, at first, it was funny. His friends thought it was part of Wallace’s act, except it kept getting worse; he did it all the time, not just on stage.”

  I said, “Has he seen anyone about it?”

  “Chris, he’s seventy-five. Men his age,” Theo tilted his head. “Umm, men his age, and my age, think it’s a sign of weakness to get head-doc help. He hasn’t and flat out won’t. Sal says Wallace is harmless, the group keeps an eye on him.”

  Keeps an eye on him like when he was nearly run down in the street. “I hope they’re right. He could’ve been killed yesterday.”

  “I know. I wanted to ask you to be patient with him. He might not remember what happened. He might not recognize you.”

  I nodded.

  “Think he saw a body?” Charles asked.

  Theo looked at the stairs again. “Depends on how close he was to reality at the time. You understand, I barely know him. From what I’ve seen, I’d give it a fifty-fifty chance. There’s something else you need to know. Wallace’s son, Raymond is, how shall I say it, he’s not personable.”

  Charles leaned close to Theo. “Meaning?”

  Theo lowered his voice so low that I hardly heard him. “He’s rude, obnoxious.”

  “Meaning?” Charles repeated.

  “Didn’t rude and obnoxious cover it?”

  The sound of someone coming down the stairs kept Theo from elaborating.

  Sal hit the bottom step, turned toward the couch, and smiled. He wore another colorful, open-collar shirt, black slacks, with untied boat shoes on sockless feet. “Well, if it isn’t one of my old brother’s only friends. I bet you’re Chucky, the bum-looking buddy.”

  I took a step toward Sal, ostensibly, to shake his hand, but more to be between Charles—C
hucky—and Sal so my friend couldn’t attack.

  “Good to see you again, Carl,” Sal said as he grabbed my hand.

  I faked a smile. “It’s Chris. Good to see you.”

  Charles moved beside me and reached out for Sal’s hand. “And I’m Charles.”

  “Whatever. Glad to see you. Theo says you’re a crime-fighting duo. Something about you catch killers before the police figure it out.”

  “I wouldn’t say that. We’re—”

  Charles interrupted. “Yes, we are.”

  “You helped save my bro’s life a while back,” Sal said.

  “Theo was the real hero,” I said. “He figured out who the killer was and—”

  “And was seconds from an untimely trip to meet my Maker,” Theo interrupted. “Enough ancient history. I told the guys you’d be stopping by.”

  “Yeah,” Sal said. “He wants you to meet the rest of his houseguests. Don’t know why, the rest of them are pretty unlikable.”

  After Sal’s underwhelming greeting, and him thinking that the rest of the crew was unlikable, I wondered how we could get out of the house. The sounds of someone clomping down the steps stopped Sal before he could insult us further.

  “Good morning, Wallace,” Theo said, as the latest arrival made his way over. He had on a light-blue nurses’ scrub top over red and white checkered pajama pants.

  Wallace said, “We have visitors?” He wiped his eyes before glancing from Charles to me.

  “You remember Chris,” Theo said as he patted me on the shoulder. “You met him yesterday. And this is my friend, Charles.” He put his other hand on Charles’s arm.

  Wallace blinked in the direction of Charles, then turned to me. “Can’t say I remember. Were you at my show?”

  Theo saved me. “Chris met you in town. He brought you to the house.”

  “Oh,” Wallace said, apparently not convinced.

  Two more men had made their way down the stairs while Wallace shared his confusion.

  Theo said, “Here’s the rest of the crew.”

  “Hi, gentlemen. I’m Marvin Peters, but prefer Pete Marvin.”

  He, like Sal and Wallace, was in his mid to late seventies, average height, bald, and unlike the others, chubby. From the muscle turned to flab in his forearms, he could’ve been a weightlifter in earlier times.