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  “Again, Laurie, we’re so sorry,” I said. “We won’t take more of your time. Is there someone we can call to be with you? Relatives?”

  “Thank you, no. Anthony’s only living relatives are distant cousins. They live in Miami. He never had contact with them. I doubt they’ll come to his funeral. Mine are in Seattle. We’re not close. Two friends are coming up from Jacksonville tomorrow. They’re going to stay a few days to help with funeral arrangements.”

  “Good,” Charles said. “Let me give you my number. Please call if there’s anything you need or if Chris and I can help.”

  She took the number then walked us to the door. “Thanks again for stopping by. Sorry I wasn’t good company.”

  The inside of the car felt like we were in an oven with the heat turned to 350 degrees. I switched the air conditioner to high and turned to Charles.

  “What do you think?” I asked.

  “What do I think about what? The poor lady lost her husband. Now, she’s stranded on an island where she doesn’t know anyone. She’s a mess. That’s what I think.”

  “I agree, although did you catch what she said about why they were separated the night Anthony was killed?”

  “Sure. She said she told him to try to find his way back to the car, that she’d be okay where she was.”

  “Yes, that’s what she said today. Remember what she told us when we found her at her car?”

  Charles rubbed his three-day old whiskers. “Sure. Umm, maybe.”

  “She said Anthony told her to stay where she was. He’d find the trail to the car. She then told him they had to stick together.”

  “Now that you mention it, yeah. Two different stories?”

  I nodded. “She could’ve been confused that night. The rain, being lost, sleeping in the car, being confronted by two men she didn’t know.”

  “We need to tell Cindy?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I do,” Charles grabbed my phone off the console and handed it to me.

  The chief’s voicemail kicked in after five rings. Charles rolled his eyes, like Cindy had the nerve not to take such an important call. I left her a message to call when she had a chance.

  Charles looked over at the house. “I’ll grant you that Laurie could’ve been confused about her stories, or she’s having trouble keeping her story straight. Remember, when she was talking to the EMTs she was confused about if Anthony was even there. Confusion would be simple, if it’s all a lie.”

  Chapter Seven

  I began the next day with a cinnamon Danish from my next-door neighbor, Bert’s Market. My culinary skills exceeded a butterfly’s ability to bake a cherry pie, but not by much. If it wasn’t for Bert’s, the island’s only grocery, and the Lost Dog Cafe, I would’ve shriveled up and blown away. The humidity was low, the temperature cooler than it had been for a couple of weeks, so I took the Danish, a cup of complimentary coffee, then walked two blocks to the Folly Beach Fishing Pier.

  After walking to the far end of the thousand-foot long structure, I stopped to observe five surfers sitting on their boards, waiting for a wave, and two men on paddleboards creating their own excitement by paddling through the calm surf. Chief LaMond hadn’t returned my call, so I was tempted to call her until I realized that the inconsistencies in Laurie’s stories were minor, easily explained. I didn’t want to be an alarmist, or worse, a Charles. I also replayed the rest of the conversation with Laurie, but nothing else struck me as important.

  Laurie saying that she and her family weren’t close reminded me of what Theo had confided about his son. I also remembered Charles interrupting his story. Did Theo want to tell me more, or what was important about a phone call that Sal mentioned? One way to find out. I didn’t know him as well as I knew William, so I wasn’t comfortable showing up at his door unannounced.

  Instead of calling Cindy, I punched Theo’s number in the phone. I told him I felt bad that our conversation at the Dog had been interrupted and wondered if he wanted to share more. He said he would, then hesitated before saying it really wasn’t anything to burden me with. That was all it took. I asked if he wanted to meet for lunch. He said he would but had promised to take Sal to the mall for shoes. I told him I was nearby and could come to his house. He hesitated before saying okay.

  When Theo opened the door I had to bite my tongue not to laugh. He was wearing red, white, and blue striped jogging shorts, well, they’d be called jogging shorts on anyone other than Theo. On him, shuffling shorts came to mind. He also wore a tank-top T-shirt, or as trivia-collecting Charles had informed me was called an A-shirt, the A standing for athletic. It had a paint stain on the side. Rounding out his attire were his knee-length, black, support socks.

  Theo waved me in, then ushered me to the great room where floor to ceiling windows provided a panoramic view of the marsh and the Folly River. I’d been in the room several times, was always impressed with the high-end, aka expensive, furnishings, with original oil paintings on three walls. Theo had founded a window-replacement company where he discovered a gas he sandwiched between two panes of glass, helping keep cold air in when it’s hot outside, warm air in during the winter. He’d tried to explain the chemistry to me, although all I understood was that he’d sold the company for several million dollars.

  “Where’s Sal?” I asked after I took a seat on the oversized, latte-colored leather sofa.

  Theo pointed toward the ceiling. “Still asleep. He seldom stirs before noon. After years performing late nights in comedy clubs, his circadian rhythm pattern is asunder. When we saw you at the Dog, I had to wake him up to go with me.”

  In non-technical talk, I supposed that meant that Sal slept late. “You were used to living alone. How are things working out with him?”

  “It’s been an adjustment. He stays out of my way, spends most of his time in his room. After sleeping in hotel rooms for decades, he says he’s comfortable in the small space. That’s fine with me. How about coffee?”

  I said it sounded good then followed him to the kitchen that looked like it was taken from the pages of Charleston Living Magazine.

  “At the Dog, you were talking about your son. Sal mentioned a call, but you didn’t get to tell me about it.”

  I stopped hoping he’d pick up on the conversation. He handed me the drink, then we returned to the great room.

  “I told you I wasn’t a good dad. His mom was great, encouraged him in school. He had straight A’s in high school. I wanted him to follow in my footsteps and go into engineering, maybe law school. In hindsight, it was a mistake. We had a major blowout over it. He rebelled, left home the week he finished high school. Chris, I shouldn’t have pushed.”

  Theo looked at the floor and shook his head.

  “What happened?”

  “He moved to Southern California, taking a series of low-paying restaurant jobs. The only reason I know is because he kept in contact with his mother. Eunice told me that he worked his way up to be a cook at better restaurants. We didn’t hear anything for five years, then we got a note saying he and another guy were opening a fish restaurant, said he was happier than he’d ever been.” He shook his head like he was shaking out memories. “Did I tell you he got married?”

  “You’d mentioned it before Charles interrupted.”

  “Sure you want to hear this?”

  I said that I did.

  “The next time I heard from him was when we got the wedding invitation, got it after the wedding. When Eunice died, I found the name of his restaurant in one of the letters he’d sent her. I called. It was strange talking to Teddy after all those years. You know what he told me?”

  I shook my head.

  “It was busy season. He couldn’t get away to come to the funeral. He sent a big arrangement of flowers to the funeral home. Chris, I hate to admit it, but I wanted to hurl them in the trash.” Theo twisted the corner of a throw pillow in his lap.

  “Theo, you don’t have to tell me unless you want to. You said he died a y
ear or so ago. What happened?”

  Theo stared out the window. A walking pier extended from the back of the house, across a narrow strip of marsh, to the edge of the river.

  “I was out at the end of the pier, this time of day, in fact. The phone rang. A female voice with an accent, possibly Caribbean, asked if I was Theodore Stoll, father of Theodore Jr. I told her I was and asked who she was. Her name was Grace, said she was my son’s wife. He was dead.” He stared at the pillow in his hands. “I was stunned.”

  “What happened?”

  “Grace, umm, Teddy’s wife, said he was on his motorcycle on the way to work when a car swerved to avoid hitting a dog. It struck Teddy’s front wheel. The motorcycle flipped, Teddy was thrown over the handlebars, his head hit the raised curb. He wasn’t wearing a helmet. Killed instantly.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He shook his head. “It took me a few minutes to grasp what she’d said. Finally, I asked about funeral arrangements while mentally trying to figure out how I could get there. I needn’t have. The woman said he’d been cremated. She and Teddy’s friends spread his ashes in the Pacific.” Theo threw the pillow across the room. “My son didn’t want me around when he was alive. Didn’t want me there in death.”

  I repeated how sorry I was.

  After a long pause, Theo said, “You asked about the call. Grace said she was on the way to Charleston. She wants to meet me. Chris, I don’t know one iota about the woman.” He held his arms out, palms up. “Why would she want to meet me? Why would I want to meet her?”

  “Don’t suppose you’ll know until you meet her. When’s she getting here?”

  “Two days.” He stared out the window before turning back to me. “Will you go with me?”

  Chief LaMond returned my call that evening and apologized for taking so long, something about a two-day training session in Charleston for local police chiefs. I asked how the sessions were. She unceremoniously said that she had learned more painting her toenails while daydreaming about Brad Pitt. She added the meals were better than Larry could fix on his outdoor grill. That meant the meals were nothing to write a culinary magazine about since Larry was almost as good a “chef” as I was. I told her that I was sorry, she added a couple of her native East Tennessee profanities, then added that her officers benefitted by her being at the meetings instead of pestering them. She ran out of steam griping about the training session then finally asked why I’d called.

  “Couple of reasons. I was curious if you’ve learned anything else about Anthony Fitzsimmons’s death, or—”

  “I knew it,” she interrupted. “Larry owes me a steak dinner at Halls Chophouse. Halleluiah!”

  Halls was one of the top restaurants in Charleston.

  “Let me guess. He bet I wouldn’t call to ask about the death?”

  “Yep, the boy will never learn. That’s after I told him you already left the message.”

  “Congratulations. So have you learned anything?”

  “Hang on a second. Let me get the taste of that scrumptious filet mignon out of my mouth before I scream at you for sticking your cute little nose in police business, business that’s none of your business.”

  “Cindy, I’m not butting in. Charles and I found Laurie. I was curious.”

  “Butting in, nosy, curious, inquisitive, all the same. You, and I suppose your sidekick, are for what, the seventieth time, playing detective, assuming the highly-trained police professionals couldn’t find their noses during allergy season.”

  I choked back a chuckle. “So anything new?”

  Cindy uttered a loud sigh, followed by, “Autopsy results indicate time of death was Sunday between midnight and 4:00 a.m. Cause of death didn’t need an autopsy to determine. A bullet hole in the head ruled out prostate cancer. Even us dumb cops got that right.” She hesitated and said, “This is the point where you’re supposed to say, ‘Now, chief, that’s not true. I have faith that you and the other cops will figure it out. I will stay out of your way to let you do your job.’ ”

  “Did you learn anything else?”

  Another sigh. “Not really. The rain washed away any prints. The shot was from close range. A couple of the nearby houses were occupied, everyone claimed that they were asleep after midnight, didn’t hear, or see, anything. None of them even said they saw the glow-in-the-dark, orange car parked near their house. A lot of lightning was nearby so, if anyone heard the gunshot, it could’ve been mistaken for thunder. That’s about it. Don’t worry. I’m sitting here at my expensive police-chief desk waiting for the damn killer to walk in to confess. To think, you don’t believe us cops know what we’re doing.”

  “Cindy, I know you know what—”

  “Chris, no need to say it. I’m frustrated, letting off steam. We have nothing. It feels like crap. You called for two reasons.”

  I could almost hear her shout butting in before I told her the second reason. “Charles and I went to see Laurie Fitzsimmons yesterday. She said—”

  “That’s not butting in?” the chief shouted as I moved the phone away from my ear.

  “Charles thought—”

  “That’s two damn words that should never be neighbors.”

  “We thought since Laurie told him that she and her husband were new to Folly that they might not know many people here. We wanted to see if she needed anything.”

  “Chris, that’s about the biggest pile of moose manure I’ve heard this year and, believe me, I’ve heard piles of it.”

  It was my turn to sigh. “Chief, do you want to hear what we learned or want to continue your harangue?”

  “What did you and your social worker friend learn when you went to help the damsel in distress?”

  “When we found her that morning, she said Anthony told her to stay where she was. He’d find the trail to the car. She told him that they had to stick together.”

  “So?”

  “When we met yesterday, she said that she told Anthony to try to find his way back to the car, that she’d be okay where she was. Don’t you think those are significant differences?”

  “Chris, they’re different but, under the circumstances, doesn’t it make sense that she could’ve been confused, especially when you first met her? Her husband was missing. She’d been asleep. It’d been storming. She was in a strange place. And, you and Charles appeared out of nowhere. If I ran into someone looking like Charles under those circumstances, he’d scare the, well, you know what, out of me.”

  “You’re right, of course.”

  “But you don’t believe it?”

  “Cindy, my gut tells me it’s more than confusion.”

  “Is your theory she killed him?”

  “Okay, I’m butting in a little. If I was a detective, I wouldn’t rule it out.”

  “You do realize you’re not a detective.”

  “Of course not, chief.”

  “Right. What do you and your fake private eye friend think her motive was?”

  “No idea.”

  “If she was asleep, had been out there all night, what did she do with the gun?”

  “No idea.”

  “That helps. I don’t know how I’d keep Folly safe without such incredible citizen support.”

  Cindy was good at passing out grief and sarcasm. She was also an exceptional law enforcement official. From numerous discussions over the years, I knew that she’d taken me seriously. Even if she didn’t acknowledge it, she’d follow up on whatever I shared. She was a good cop, an even better friend.

  “Cindy, what’s going to happen next?”

  “No idea.”

  Chapter Eight

  I ran into Dude Sloan the next morning in front of Planet Follywood. After a brief discussion, the only kind possible with Dude; I agreed to have lunch with him at Loggerhead’s. We’d often talked but seldom broke bread together, so I was looking forward to the meal, sitting outside on a beautiful summer afternoon, while sharing partial sentences with the surf shop owner.

  I was
seated on the deck at a table near the railing overlooking the Oceanfront Villas, an expansive four-story, oceanfront, condo complex, when Dude appeared at the top of the steps. The aging surfer was five years younger than I, three inches shorter, a ton of pounds lighter. His face looked like a cross between Arlo Guthrie and Willie Nelson. He wore one of his many florescent tie-dyed T-shirts with a peace symbol dominating the front, along with one of his many confused looks on his face. He spotted me then weaved his way around several tables. The patio was nearly full, with two servers working at Mach speed to keep up.

  Dude looked at me then at his watch. “Christer be early.”

  It was a malady I’d caught from Charles.

  I pointed to a chair on the opposite side of the table. “I wanted to make sure we got a table.”

  Dude looked around at the crowded seating area. “It worked.”

  Tiffany, a server who’d waited on me several times, always with a friendly smile, and a kind comment, was quick to the table and asked Dude if he wanted something to drink.

  He looked at the glass of white wine in front of me. He said, “Martini, tres green fruitees, stuck with wood.” He grinned at Tiffany. “Please.”

  Tiffany looked at me, still with the smile on her face, and shrugged.

  “Gin martini with three olives,” I said.

  Dudespeak often required a translator, and like gin martinis, was an acquired taste. Tiffany seemed satisfied as she headed to the outdoor bar.

  “Be snugglin’ with fractional sis?”

  Since I’d started dating Barb, Dude’s half-sister, a little over a year ago, he’d gone out of his way to have more contact with me. We talked a couple of times a week at the Dog, and he and Pluto, his Australian Terrier, had stopped by the house a few times. He and Barb had never been close; their professional lives had little in common until she moved to Folly. Their current common interest was they both owned retail stores, although the surf shop had been wildly successful for years while Barb’s Books was new, struggling to gain a profitable customer base. They’d become closer a year ago when a tragic event touched each of them. They’re now protective of each other.